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ell-vellan · 1 year

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(art by @thegoblinwitchqueen !!)

Lathlen Ghilassan Mahariel

An overview of my Mahariel and his "elfy" worldstate.

Born with a chip on his shoulder, prickly, quietly cunning, and snarky but with carefully-chosen timing, Lathlen is fiercely loyal to elves with a healthy distrust (bordering on pure, vengeful hatred) of humans.

He was named Lathlen ("child of love") in honor of his parents' memory. He chooses Andruil's vallaslin and dedicates himself to the Vir Tanadhal, espousing their ideals as his main worldview. Even still, he has few friends in the clan and has a difficult time forming bonds, instead spending most of his time alone in the woods perfecting his skill with a bow until he can take incredibly difficult shots with confidence. For this skill, he earns the second name Ghilassan, "guiding arrow." He answers to both, likes neither, and prefers going by Mahariel.

Mahariel gives people one chance to prove themselves, and one chance only. He accepts leaving the clan to live among humans as something he must do, and considers it an acceptable sacrifice to prevent more of his people falling to the Blight. If anyone had to leave, it might as well be him -- orphaned as he was, and with Tamlen dead or gone, it was best for everyone that it be him, than someone with a family.

When Tamlen was infected by the Blight, he and Lathlen were in the earliest stages of a relationship. They would flirt and tease when out alone on hunting trips, and had snuck a few clandestine kisses when the timing felt right, but neither had so much as acknowledged what was growing between them. It wasn't serious yet, as Mahariel likes to take his time, and doesn't jump into anything with both feet. He regrets not telling Tamlen how much he cares for him while he still had the chance.

Once he leaves with Duncan for Ostagar, his motto becomes "what choice is most advantageous for me, personally, that won't also bring the wrath of humans down on me or my people in retaliation?" His goal becomes "stay alive, and whenever possible, twist the situation to my advantage." He lets people think he is stoic and quiet, but he's always scheming and probably muttering something biting and sarcastic under his breath.

He initially views the humans in his party with a resigned opinion of "whoever I can use to help me stay alive", carefully cultivating allies by saying the right things and not pissing people off -- but if push came to shove, he would not hesitate to leave them in the dirt should they stop furthering his goals.

He privately thinks Morrigan is funny, if too arrogant for a human in matters of magic, in which he feels the Dalish are superior. He eventually comes to view Alistair as something of a brother, and though he frequently eyerolls the man's attempt at humor in the beginning, he eventually does realize it's his way of coping with Ostagar. Once he realizes the man is a bastard prince, he pities him; though they both never had parents, at least Mahariel was raised with love.

He becomes determined to convince Alistair to accept his role as king, as he would rather someone he knows become the leader of the humans of Ferelden. He thinks perhaps his camaraderie with Mahariel will make him sympathetic to elves - or at least, make him hesitate before purging alienages. Expecting, as always, that humans will always be humans, and even the most trusted among them can one day turn on you.

Betrayed (unsurprisingly) by humans at Ostagar, and with a bounty on his head, he sees it as only practical that the first and last person he can trust immediately afterward is Alistair, who is too ridiculous a man to plot to betray him and the only one with inborn ideals that would engender loyalty to a Dalish elf. Like it or not, they're part of a brotherhood of Wardens now. And seeing as they share common enemies, it only makes sense to stay at Alistair's side.

He initially plans to use the people around him to ultimately gain status and then revenge (you don't get to wrong him and get away with it) but comes to like a few of his party against his will. Leliana he thinks is ridiculous and a bit nutty, but as a fellow archer he has to respect her skill at killing and tricking people. Wynn he only brings along to keep him alive, but gains a slight amount of respect (or perhaps curiosity) for her when she reveals she's an abomination. He doesn't understand Sten at all, nor does he try; but the man knows how to kill and Mahariel appreciates his dry humor. They part ways on good terms after the battle for Denerim, and rarely but regularly keep in contact even when Sten becomes the Arishok.

Shale is similar: an indestructible golem who is unintentionally hilarious? Worth getting on its good side, certainly. Oghren he quietly detests, but figures another body between him and darkspawn won't hurt.

Zevran, he's immediately attracted to. He didn't see Zevran's attempt to kill him as serious -- he had an inkling that Zevran was much more skilled than he let on, and too easily surrendered. He's intrigued and curious by this, and welcomes the company of another elf - especially one so good at killing.

A beautiful and dangerous elf who's witty and charming? Mahariel is pretty certain he's won the assassin's interest but like with most things, he angles and analyzes and takes things slow. He joins Zevran in a threesome with Isabela, but mostly because Zevran likes her, Isabela is funny, and he's game to try anything once.

He kills Loghain without mercy; the man betrayed him, and traitors deserve death. He unites the Dalish and the werewolves, stops the purge of the Circle because mostly because he hates templars, and used the ashes to heal Eamon's son -- again, all choices made more with cold calculations of recruiting as many against the darkspawn as possible and winning people to his side. He knows he will be viewed as a monolith of the Dalish and so restrains his more vengeful instincts among the humans, trying to gain allies and esteem amongst the nobility to spare his people retaliation for his actions.

The dwarven king he may as well have blindly thrown a dart to choose the successor - he cares little, and writes them off as unimportant in larger the scheme of things. As soon as they leave the Deep Roads, Mahariel immediately forgets the king's name.

He hardens Alistair and convinced him to take the throne alone by leaning on their bond they have built as brothers, the only Wardens in Ferelden who knows the truth - "You're the only human I trust on that throne" - and so Alistair does it reluctantly. Mahariel knows he doesn't want to, and won't enjoy the crown; but he also doesn't really care. He could think of many worse fates than being rich and powerful.

He takes Morrigan up on her offer because no way is he dying for these people, not when his plans are finally coming together and he sees his exit plan with Zevran - sleeping with a woman is a small sacrifice to make, and he wishes her well with her very interesting plan, whatever it may be, as long as it doesn't come back to bit him in the ass.

He lives out his days with Zevran, following him to Antiva and helping take down the Crows from the inside. Lathlen introduces him to some of the northern clans of Dalish, helping him reclaim a little of his lost heritage. He eventually eschews his duty to the Wardens entirely -- he's given enough to them. He saved the world once; it can fend for itself now, for all he cares.

#my ocs #lathlen mahariel #this is rambly and not in order but i'll fix it later lol

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designernishiki · 10 months

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nishiki 12, 29?? 👀 i want to create chaos -squishy

sorry this was so late aghsdhahdh I always write too much and then have to whittle things down a bit so my thoughts are comprehensible

12. sexuality hc?

wellll I can pretty easily accept either gay or bi, but the way I interpret some of his actions/history/behavior/etc makes my personal view of him lean more towards gay than anything.

he’s never really shown real interest/attraction to women beyond using them as status symbols, and the whole thing with yumi made no sense (for him and kiryu both- you know my opinion on that plotpoint by now) and if I had to explain it rather than ignore it I’d have to say it was a weird half-assed excuse he came up with to explain some of his actions instead of addressing his actual issues at first.

but yeah I mean come on. have you SEEN reina. she’s cool and ridiculously pretty and goes above and beyond to care for him and others in general and etc etc etc, she was interested for YEARS and he never reciprocated At All. to me the Easiest explanation for that, whether he was aware of it or not (probably not), is just. him not really being into women. and possibly (at least at first) respecting reina enough to not fake her out and treat her like the girls that he had hang around him at the bars to look good to his superiors. in fact I think if he were to open up about all this to anyone it would be her (drunk, crying).

idk, a lot about him just sort of makes sense when you consider him to be gay and very repressed. boy’s got identity issues off the SHITS already, so it ties into that quite naturally.

29. how do you think they would be as a parent?

I think it depends on where he is in his recovery (mentally and physically) and the circumstances leading to that parenthood. similar to kiryu, I think he’d connect with orphans well and empathize with them strongly for obvious reasons. if he were to spend time in okinawa, perhaps to help him recover after The Incident, he’d be pretty closed off and prickly with everyone, kids included, at first– but honestly I think they’d help alot to get him to open up, regain trust, and enjoy life again. I don’t think he’d want to do it alone, or trust himself to, but he could end up fitting in pretty naturally as a guardian to them, and on the flip side, he’d benefit from having genuine care and lack of judgment through a tough recovery.

(I think he’d become quickly attached to riona above all else due to them sharing some feelings about their burn scars and how they look, and survivors guilt surrounding their parents)

#nishiki #asks #rambling #this was my only ask from this ask game and I was still ridiculously late agdhdshshshdhd #sorry squishy it’s not u it’s me………..#I have a LOT of thoughts about that situation of nishiki at morning glory during recovery and all that….a lot of thoughts #I mean shit having to cope with the burns is one thing but getting used to an entire limb missing potentially??? that’s a MAJOR lifestyle #change that everyone would end up helping with at least a little I think #I can just imagine him going to help the kids play baseball on the beach and realizing as soon as he picks up a bat that he doesn’t have #two hands to swing with anymore and that just sorta. breaking him #it’s reminding me of an oc of mine who lost an arm in a train/car collision and afterwards when he was having to return to everyday life #(especially before getting a prosthetic) he goes and tries to cook for his fiancé before he gets home and his fiancé ends up coming home to #find him on the floor on his knees in the kitchen with some stuff knocked over on the ground that he presumably tried to pull from the #cabinet and hold with his arm that isn’t there or something along those lines and he’s just. sobbing.#his fiancé ends up helping him out and holding things for him and all that but yeah point is I feel like nishiki would have alot of these #kinds of moments but Worse and More Often and more regarding his appearance than anything else #cause we know this boy’s already got some major self image issues #it’s very sweet to think about how he’d bond with riona and how she’d help him open up a bit more and come to terms with his physical state #long post

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notdeflectingmischief · 1 year

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Two weeks ago I was at Jemaa el-Fnaa in Marrakech and Frank O’Hara’s “Autobiographia Literaria” appeared in my head:

When I was a child I played by myself in a corner of the schoolyard all alone.

I hated dolls and I hated games, animals were not friendly and birds flew away.

If anyone was looking for me I hid behind a tree and cried out “I am an orphan.”

And here I am, the center of all beauty! writing these poems! Imagine!

It must have been over half my lifetime ago that I first encountered my poem. It came to me in its entirety while I sat on the outskirts of the square, watching some boys balance an empty water bottle upside-down on the cap of another empty water bottle and use that as a goal for soccer. There were circles of people, and steady low drumming, and glowing orb toys that someone kept throwing into the air so that it lit up the sky very briefly before falling back to Earth and no doubt being sold to a tourist. The orange juice vendors I purchased from, though I’d been so stridently warned about food poisoning, and so nervous about my upcoming international flight, that I didn’t dare try the street food. Sadder things, too, filled the square, like the snake charmers and the monkeys with chains around their necks.

When that poem came to me, it turned out I had misremembered it. I had thought the last line was “and here I am, at the center of all beauty,” not that the speaker was declaring himself the center of all beauty. There’s a hubris to claiming yourself as the center instead of at the margins or simply another sharp, shining point in the constellation. Still, the melodrama appeals—the center of all beauty, at a time when we are constantly told to center everything but ourselves. Wherever you go, there you are, and if you’re beautiful, won’t you always bring that beauty with you?

It’s irritating when people talk too much about their love of travel and make travel a synonym for curiosity and discovery when some of the least interesting and most incurious people I know love to tick countries off a checklist. Travel is curiosity on easy mode—of course it’s simple to be curious when there is novelty; it would be challenging not to be changed. In recent years, as I’ve started traveling more and more, I find the most illuminating part not necessarily the novelty itself but the clarification and sharpening of what I actually like: bike tours more than museums, the Hagia Sofia more than European architecture, that day floating in the Aegean off the coast of Turkey with a friend I’d met ten years ago who was getting married half a lifetime away. Traveling becomes more enjoyable when I consider it an evacuation of discernment and aesthetics rather than an act that demands awe and wonder; focus too much on the latter and my eyes grow tired and defended; I become tired because I know that you want me to gape. I become the child who retreats, who played in the schoolyard all alone, who hates dolls and games and hates everything that they feel is foisted onto them and supposed to make them happy.

In the square, I didn’t need to gape. I seemed to fragment then and for a moment, thinking of the O’Hara poem, watching those glowing toys, hearing the heartbeat of the drum, it felt like I was speaking to myself from long ago. In particular I spoke to the girl who made a list of countries she’d like to visit, a list I’ve since lost but I’m sure included many of the places I’ve been to, and most than likely, Morocco itself. And I thought: you never trusted me, ever ever ever, at every moment you thought that I couldn’t give you what you wanted, but didn’t I take you here, in the end?

#travel #marrakech #frank o'hara #autobiographia literaria #poetry

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tomdutch · 2 years

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thoughts on uncharted!!

i can really sum it all up in one short paragraph:

another funny, sweet, sexy, and traumatised orphan played by tom holland for me to love. sophia and tati ate this shit up, they left no crumbs for anyone else and i could not be prouder to be an arab and black woman and to see my sisters thrive and shine like this. so well deserved.

overall rating: 4/5!

spoilers below of course both in writing and some pics i took in the theatre <3

• first of all let’s just take a moment to appreciate how fine this man is

• i was so surprised by how likeable nate is. i was expecting some cocky, annoying, loudmouth lowkey misogynistic dude but he is actually. delectable. and i don’t mean just physically, but he’s actually so engaging and very easy to not only sympathise with, but love and root for. nate is so smart yet goofy, kind, knowledgable, well learned. he’s got a very strong sense of loyalty even to ppl who’ve abandoned him and new ppl he shouldn’t trust as easily, but it doesn’t make him naive. if anything, it makes him more heartfelt and sincere among ruthless ppl on the hunt for gold. he has so much love for his brother and almost always refers to him as “my brother, sam” instead of just by his name 🥺

• the relationship between nate and sully (even tho he’s played by he who shall be executed publicly) was granted a lil cliche but it was still fun to watch and i definitely enjoyed tom going off on multiple occasions. while sully was more one-note than nate or chloe, he did have a character arc accomplished towards the end and i liked it!

• i was worried they would make nate and chloe’s relationship forced and just 2 hot ppl flirting relentlessly for no apparent reason, but it was anything but that. tom and sophia’s chemistry and their characters’ chemistry really shone through. they’re setting up for a sequel i’m sure, even if it actually coming to live isn’t confirmed or anything, so i really appreciate that they took the time to slowly develop chloe and nate’s relationship. there was an immediate physical attraction for both of them, but the film shows that chloe has a lot of trust and abandonment issues, and proves that for her and nate to get closer, they’re gonna need much more than lust at first sight or a meaningless crush which y’all know pisses me off and i didn’t want chloe to be another mj dropped from the sky to suddenly be the love interest. but they actually did a great job!! who would’ve thought. nate and chloe clearly have an attraction to each other and nate is less jaded than chloe, but their relationship is complicated and takes a lot of time to develop from two strangers with one-sided dislike and mutual distrust to two semi-friends torn between the connection they’ve developed in their time together and their past experiences and trauma. i really hope we get a second film so we can see them grow closer and learn to let go of the hurt from the past.

• on her own, chloe is very interesting and much more developed as a character than i would’ve expected from sony considering she’s just a love interest or at least that’s how she’s marketed as. y’all know somy is the worst at giving any substance to female love interests other than they for some reason wanna fuck the main dude, but we actually learn so much abt chloe! she shares that she’s loved adventuring and exploring since she was young, and that her father took advantage of her passion and abandoned her for his own monetary gain, which is the root of her trust issues. i love seeing her struggle between her witty, intelligent and self-preserving self that she’s had to be because of her rough schedule, and her more sensitive, caring persona that nate brings out. sophia did an amazing job with the stunts and with portraying this duality in chloe.

• SAM !!!!! firstable who is the dude that plays sam he’s so hot i want him. secondable i rlly enjoyed what little we go to see of him! there was a literal collective gasp in the cinema when the final scene came on like PLEASE give me a second movie i need more sam 😔

• and last but not least, miss ma’am who stole the show: TAT GABRIELLE 🗣🗣🗣🗣 now i’m gonna be honest….. none of the ppl who said her character’s name were clear bc i have no clue what it is. i literally had to google it on the way home cause i was like is it jill… jean… joey… it was BRADDOCK 😭 girl no one said it right. whatever her name was, she fucking killed it, she gave a delicious twist. she was a perfect villain—clear motives, incredible stunts, fucking fantastic lines, she looked amazing the whole time and exuded such confidence.

• the ONLY fault in her character isn’t even her fault, but she and sully have been proven explicitly to have had a relationship in the past… WHICH IS FUCKED UP. not only bc sully’s played by he who deserves to be buried in the desert but bc she and nate are the same age and sully calls him “kid” and we KNOW sully and braddock fucked around many years ago i.e when she was even younger….. DEATH.

• one of my fave things abt this movie is pretty obvious but the visuals are amazing. travel is clearly a huge part of the plot, and they did a g r e a t job with the visuals. absolutely breathtaking.

but yeah tl;dr i enjoyed this movie so so so much, anyone who gives it less than a 3 stars is a damn liar 🗣 as i said in my letterboxd review:

convinced half the ppl who left reviews didn’t actually watch the movie lmaooo like how were y’all not entertained at the very least? it was action-packed, visually stunning, the stunts were insane amazing phenomenal like tom, tati and sophia really put their whole pussies into it. it had well-paced complicated romance, the most fun adventure i’ve ever seen play out on screen, begrudging friendships and character growth, the humour was corny and funny and exactly what i want from an adventure film. i think y’all just hate to have fun and wanted to see all 273927 video games played out by sock puppets in front of a digital camera.

here’s a couple more fine ass tom pics lmao

#uncharted #uncharted spoilers #txt

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half-bakedboy · 3 years

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it’s okay (not to be okay)

(read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “Great idea. Eddie really shouldn’t be exerting himself right now.”

“Seriously, Buck?” Eddie asked, standing up with a huff.

Buck didn’t have time to be frustrated, because Bobby was instructing him to assist with other patients and he had a job to do.

(Two jobs, if he counted protecting Eddie from himself.)

___________________________

[From: Ana]

Eddie had a panic attack and was taken to the hospital. He’s okay, but he’s struggling, Buck. I can’t get through to him, but I think you can.

[From: Ana]

He doesn’t want anyone to know. Chris had to tell the doctor he was shot. I don’t know what to do.

[From: Ana]

He just dropped me off at my house. Maybe someone should check on him later?

Buck stared down at the messages on his phone, panic thrumming through his body with each passing moment. He ran his fingers through his hair and held in the breath he had sharply inhaled to hold back his own alarm. It was a feeling he was used to, one that he grew to absorb and hold back because he couldn’t let it interfere with his life, his job. He needed a clear head and when he didn’t have one, the panic would become too much to handle, a cross he couldn’t and wouldn’t let himself bear.

Eddie didn’t panic. Eddie was the one who didn’t make rash decisions, who thought through everything before he acted, who kept everyone else calm in each crisis the team had. His level head made him an amazing soldier, a phenomenal firefighter, an ideal father, and… well, everything Buck had ever wanted to be.

So to say he was worried about Ana’s texts was an understatement.

He held his phone up to his ear and when the sound of Eddie’s voice rung through the speaker, he deflated. The familiar sound of Eddie’s always professional voicemail pissed him off more than anything so he wasn’t about to give up. He dialed the other number saved into his favorites and after a few rings, rustling sounded through.

“Buck?” Christopher asked, voice muffled with sleep. Buck checked the time on his watch and sighed.

“I’m sorry, buddy, you go to sleep. I was just trying to reach—”

“Dad’s not gonna answer.”

Christopher said the words so matter-of-factly that Buck felt his heartbeat speed up.

“You think so? Why is that?”

“He told me and Ana not to tell anyone,” Christopher began.

Buck could hear his pout and he wanted to ruffle his hair and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but he had to convince himself of it first. Christopher could see right through him and he wasn’t willing to have the kid lose sleep over his own nerves.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Buck promised, “but can you let me know what your dad is doing right now?”

“He’s in bed. He didn’t even take a shower and he loves showers,” Christopher exaggerated. Buck let out a huff of laughter.

“You’re observant, you know that?” A few moments of silence passed and even through the phone, Buck could hear Christopher’s worry. “Hey, he’s okay, right?”

“I think so.” He didn’t sound sure.

“Well, both Ana and I are looking after him and you know who else is?” Buck asked.

“Who?” Christopher whispered. His breathing was starting to slow, his voice sounding even more muffled as he slowly lulled himself to sleep.

“ You . He’s okay because he has you, just like he always has, got it?”

“Got it,” Chris agreed quietly. “Love you, Buck,” he added.

The line went dead before Buck could say it back, but he figured Chris knew what his response would be anyway.

___________________________

Over the next day, Buck did what he did best. He watched. He noted Eddie’s behavior. He considered the inflections of his voice, the content of his words, the way he handled himself. To any outsider, it was like nothing ever happened.

Buck wasn’t just anyone, especially to Eddie.

He pretended not to notice Eddie’s hesitation when he was tasked with helping Chim wire the air traffic controller. He pretended that Eddie’s hand didn’t feel too heavy on his shoulder when he stood up to quickly diagnose the other man with a potential panic attack.

He pretended he didn’t see the way Eddie’s hands trembled a little more than they usually did after a call while they made their way to the fire truck and ambulances with the victims. He pretended not to see Eddie close his eyes for a few moments and take a deep breath, in and out, calculated like it wasn’t quite second nature anymore.

It wasn’t until they entered the emergency department that he had ammo for confrontation.

“Hey, what was with that doctor on the way in? Why is she asking if you’re alright?” Buck asked. He played nonchalance really well but he could be proud of himself for that later.

“It was nothing.” Buck just stared and Eddie sighed. “I wasn’t feeling well the other day, so… she checked me out.”

“She’s a cardiologist. At a hospital,” Buck supplied. He knew Eddie didn’t think he was that stupid—or at least, he hoped. “Are you saying you had a heart attack?” Buck asked, immediately concerned that maybe he didn’t let Ana and Christopher in on the full story.

“No, I’m not saying I had a heart attack. I’m saying the opposite,” Eddie said smugly, “I’m saying I didn’t have a heart attack.”

“But you did think you were having a heart attack,” Buck appended. He was leading Eddie to the point, feigning dumb for the good of the situation, but Eddie wouldn’t budge.

“Can we just drop this?”

Before Buck could argue, Hen walked over and asked, “Guys, want us to tag you out?” Eddie agreed, but Buck felt his annoyance rise within him. He couldn’t stop himself from his next words.

“Great idea. Eddie really shouldn’t be exerting himself right now.”

“Seriously, Buck?” Eddie asked, standing up with a huff.

Buck didn’t have time to be frustrated, because Bobby was instructing him to assist with other patients and he had a job to do.

(Two jobs, if he counted protecting Eddie from himself.)

___________________________

The front door to Eddie's apartment slammed and Buck could see the tension jerk at Eddie’s shoulders.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Buck questioned.

“There wasn’t anything to tell, Buck,” Eddie said stubbornly. Buck would have smacked him if he wasn’t so worried.

“Nothing to tell, huh?” He held up his hand and counted off his fingers as he listed off, “You had a presumed heart attack and were sent by ambulance to the hospital. Turns out it was a panic attack and when asked if there were any stressors lately, you lied to the doctor about getting shot—”

“I didn’t lie, I—”

Eddie stopped himself when Buck’s glare narrowed even further.

“Your son had to tell the doctor that you were shot,” Buck corrected. Eddie pressed his lips together, unwilling to argue. “You almost have another panic attack on a scene and tell approximately no one only have a full-blown meltdown on a helicopter that’s hanging on by a thread in the middle of a rescue. Am I missing anything?” Buck asked, though it was clear he wasn’t looking for an answer.

“I’m fine—” Eddie began.

Buck waltzed up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him as hard as he could while still being aware of the bullet hole-shaped scar left behind from those few months ago. The scar that might have physically stayed on Eddie, but lingered in the back of Buck’s mind every single day.

“You’re not fine, Eddie! You almost died and you’re sitting here like life goes on and nothing has changed.”

“Nothing has. It was a panic attack, not another near-death experience.”

“You say another like it’s a normal occurrence in people’s lives,” Buck exclaimed. “It’s not! It’s not normal for people to get shot and survive—not once, but twice. It’s not normal for people to just move on with their lives like they weren’t nearly ended. It’s not normal to carry on like nothing is wrong when something is fucking wrong, Eddie!”

“Buck, you should take a step back—”

Buck pushed himself away before Eddie’s hands could press against his shoulders, that thumbprint on his pulse that reminded both of them that they were still there. He leaned against the wall behind him, unable to hold himself up without assistance anymore, and sighed.

“You didn’t tell me,” Buck said, a whisper of admission into the air between them like a secret Buck wasn’t ready to tell.

“I couldn’t,” Eddie muttered.

“You couldn’t?” Buck scoffed. “You didn’t trust me? You didn’t want me to exhaust you with my worry? Give me one good reason why you couldn’t tell me!”

“Because then it’s real, Buck, okay?!” Eddie yelled. He ran his hands through his hair before he pounded a fist against the wall beside him. It would hurt in the morning, that much was obvious by the sound that echoed through the empty room.

“What?” Buck asked quietly. Eddie breathed deeply like he hadn’t taken in air in months. Buck wasn’t convinced he had.

“If you don’t know, then I can forget it’s happening. I’m not reminded of that moment where the pain was so great that I couldn’t hold myself up and only trusted myself to reach out to you to pick me back up. I’m not haunted by the fact that I almost made my son an orphan for the third time in his life. If you don’t know, then I can pretend it never happened and move forward.”

“From what, Eddie? You can’t just move forward. You know that,” Buck prodded.

“Yeah, well, I sure as hell can try .”

They both paused, taking the moment of silence to breathe, to think, to figure out what was next.

Eddie made the first move, walking over to where Buck had leaned back against the wall and matched his position. He pressed their shoulders together, his eyes glued to the way Buck’s chest moved up and down slowly, imitating the movement as if he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it himself.

Buck yearned to reach out and hold him, but instead, he asked the questions that lingered on his mind.

“When are going to let us—any of us—in? When are you going to let me help you ? When are you going to admit that you’re not okay?”

Eddie didn’t—couldn’t—answer, but the shake in his shoulders was unmistakable.

As he slid down the wall, Buck followed his every move, wrapping an arm around his waist to ease the fall. When they landed, Eddie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a gutwrenching sob that had tears bubbling behind Buck’s eyelids. He held them back as best he could because, at that moment, nothing else could matter but Eddie.

Cries of pain, anguish, fear, every horrible emotion that had been welling up inside of both of them burst from Eddie’s mouth and he fell into Buck for the support he extended. He clawed at the collar of Buck’s shirt, his nails raking against the skin of Buck’s chest, but nothing was as painful as the way Eddie gasped at the breaths that didn’t seem to come as quickly as he needed them to.

Buck held Eddie’s hand to his heart so he could feel the simple rise and fall of his chest and mimic it again. His other hand grasped at the shirt of Eddie’s back to keep his panic away, his own way of anchoring himself there so he could continue to be the solid weight Eddie needed to push through.

Every part of them was entangled and Eddie had no choice but to press his face into Buck’s neck. Buck hoped his heartbeat stayed solid enough to remind Eddie they were both still alive, even if it felt like they weren’t.

“I’ve got you, Eds, I’m here. I won’t let you go, never.”

It was too much to say, too easy for Eddie to read into the double entendre of his words and Buck selfishly hoped he was too lost in his own mind to realize it.

But the words or the touch or the steady calmness Buck forced himself into seemed to ease Eddie out of the attack of emotions that surged through him. Little by little, Eddie’s sobs turned to hiccups, his tears turned to trickles, and the white-knuckled grip he had on Buck loosened but didn’t fall. He breathed in time with Buck, his heartbeat slowing to its correct rhythm, and the tremors in his body settled to occasional chills.

“Buck?” Eddie asked, as if he barely realized what was happening inside of him.

“I’m here,” Buck reassured.

Eddie shook his head and when he finally glanced up, all Buck could see was the redness around his eyes and the tear stains that looked too permanent on his skin.

“I’m not okay,” Eddie admitted— finally —before pressing his face back into Buck’s neck with a whimper like the words were painful to acknowledge out loud.

“Yeah, Eddie, I know.”

Buck couldn’t resist kissing the top of his head and letting his lips linger for just a second too long.

“I need your help,” Eddie said, his voice graveled with emotion.

“You’ve got it,” he promised again.

“Yeah, Buck, I know,” Eddie teased because of course, even in his darkest moment, he had to get the last word in and it had to be something full of that sarcastic barrier he protected himself with.

Buck let him, though, because he figured Eddie knew what his response would be anyway.

#911 on fox #buddie #911 #911 spoilers #5x1 coda #evan buckley #eddie diaz #my writing #im so happy this season has started #coda fics are gonna own me for the next few months alksdjfl;asd #911fic

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Chapter 5 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4)

Nie Mingjue took three tries to wake up.

In all truth, he wasn’t that badly injured – if it hadn’t been for how tangled his spiritual energy already was, steeped in resentment from his wayward cultivation and burned by trying to keep a saber’s pace from within a human body, a night’s rest and some tonics would probably have been enough to put him right. But it was, and he was, and so the concern of his doctors was all the more pronounced.

The first time he woke, it was to Nie Xiaoxuan, a cantankerous old doctor who’d lost all patience with her patients years before Nie Mingjue had been conceived, looking down at him with a scowl, saying, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Go back to sleep!”

A needle had descended, leaving him not much choice about the matter – it was a good thing he was used to such rough treatment, or else he might’ve worried. Instead he found some comfort in how some things were always the same, and his Nie sect’s objectively awful bedside manner was one of them.

He slept.

He woke a second time to arguing outside his door in the middle of the night, whispers and hisses that were so loud as to be unworthy of being called lowered voices –

“– the Sect Leader deserves to know!”

“Nie-er-gongzi gave the order, and it was obeyed. There isn’t any need to disturb the Sect Leader’s recuperation over nonsense.”

“Nonsense?! Do you know what the implications will be? Nie-er-gongzi is still young, he doesn’t understand –”

“Sect Leader was once younger still. There is still sect discipline, or are you making an official challenge to his judgment? If so, you should be bothering Nie-er-gongzi, as the one who gave the order, and a council of peers that would be assembled to determine if his judgment was flawed.”

“I - no. I won’t.”

“If there’s no challenge to the quality of Nie-er-gongzi’s judgment, then there’s no reason to talk to the Sect Leader.”

Nie Mingjue smiled, proud of his sect and of his brother – even if he didn’t know exactly what it was that Nie Huaisang had ordered that had caused such a stir – and went back to sleep.

He woke up the third time to the sounds of a guqin.

He’d always been slow to wake from an induced sleep, and this time was no different – his body was heavy, confining, and it was a long time before he managed to open his eyes. A half-shichen at least, and yet the guqin continued steadfastly onwards.

So by the time he did manage to open his eyes, the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth were, “Wangji, please stop making a racket.”

The sound of the guqin paused.

Nie Mingjue turned his head to look at him. Lan Wangji looked better than he had the last time he’d seen him, in that horrible mixture of nightmare and reality that had been their flight from the Cloud Recesses and the terrible strain of flying all the way to Qinghe in a single night. If either of them had been lesser cultivators, they wouldn’t have been able to manage it; even at their level, it was considered highly unwise, and they had known that they were spending life energy rather than spiritual qi to buy them the strength they needed.

At least it had been late enough that both children, initially excited by all the rushing around involved in their escape, had quickly lapsed back into sleep instead of descending to tears.

Still, better was a low bar. By the end of their flight, Lan Wangji had had blood soaking through his white robes, his eye locked on the horizon and unable to focus on anything nearer, his entire body wracked with occasional shudders – if he’d been anyone else, he would have been screaming.

He still look pale and bloodless, his eyes hunted and guilty and tired, stark white bandages visible beneath the pale (but not white) robes that looked like something Nie Huaisang had once owned, but he didn’t look about to expire, so Nie Mingjue would take that as a victory.

“I would have thought,” Lan Wangji said carefully, laying his hands on the guqin chords to stop the sound, “that you would prefer that it not be silent.”

“There’s silence and then there’s silence,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to shrug and abruptly realizing that that was a bad idea. His shoulders and neck and back all hurt – possibly he’d dislocated something in trying to get out of that horrible room. Probably, even. “Not wanting to be locked in a room designed to be as close to nothingness as possible doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t want some peace and quiet once in a while…I shouldn’t have called your playing a racket. It’s very good. There was just a lot of it.”

Lan Wangji blinked, then shook his head. “I do not take offense,” he said, simply enough that Nie Mingjue believed him. “It is a surprise that you think the way you do about silence, even now. I myself have been…struggling, with the concept.”

“It’s very loud here,” Nie Mingjue said knowingly, and Lan Wangji averted his eyes. “It’s all right if you don’t like it that much, you know. Has Huaisang talked with you about the options for soundproofing?”

“He has,” Lan Wangji said. “I have not yet accepted.”

“Why not?”

“It feels –” he hesitated. “Like a step backwards. My Lan sect has always valued silence, quiet – not just valued, but imposed, even on those for whom it is not appropriate.”

Like you, he meant, or maybe he was thinking about little Lan Jingyi, the orphan he’d stolen away from his own sect – truly stolen, since unlike little Lan Sizhui Lan Wangji had no guardianship rights over him to justify taking him away.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t objected to it, figuring that it didn’t make much difference to the amount of scandal he would undoubtedly causse whether he had taken away one child or two when he convinced the Second Jade of Lan to abandon his ‘seclusion’ in favor of refuge at the Unclean Realm. Anyway, if Lan Wangji had concluded that it would be better for the child to leave, then it probably was – Nie Mingjue trusted his judgment.

Just like you trusted Lan Xichen’s?

“Each sect has a different cultivation style,” he said, deciding not to think about that right now. “With both strengths and weaknesses. My Nie sect has a martial style, aggressive and overpowering; your Lan sect, although it still follows the orthodoxy of sword cultivation, focuses on contemplation, thoughtfulness, and, yes, quiet. Who is to say which is better than the other? They’re just different.”

Lan Wangji was frowning.

“Sometimes I think Wen Mao made a mistake when he abandoned sects based on preference and style in favor of raising up his clan,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “And your ancestors and mine, too, in following his lead. Look at Huaisang – to cultivate a saber is his heritage, his birthright and his duty to our bloodline, and so he must do so despite being clearly unsuited for it.” He paused, then sighed. “Not that he’s all that suitable for anything else, either.”

Lan Wangji shot him a quelling look, disapproving, but in the sort of way that Lans had when they were amused by you.

“Still, we’re all cultivators, each of us fighting against fate,” Nie Mingjue continued. “While we must be guided by our traditions, we must also each find the path that suits us best. You’ve always enjoyed the quiet, Wangji; you welcome peace, prefer order, thrive within the confines of your sect’s rules. Finding the point at which you and your traditions part ways does not mean that you are morally obligated to give up everything about them.”

“Not even when those traditions have caused so much harm?”

“Even so,” Nie Mingjue said firmly. “We’re all on a path, and in choosing to take a new turn, you are not disregarding the past, but adding your wisdom to that of those who came before you. I made changes to my Nie sect’s cultivation style once I became sect leader, just as my father did before me; my brother will make still more when he takes the position after I go. Each of my Nie sect disciples practices the Nie sect style, but each one takes it and makes it their own. Keep what helps, discard what hurts.”

“But in this case, is it not the very same thing?” Lan Wangji asked. His brow was still furrowed, the matter clearly one of great concern to him. “I have always turned to the quiet for comfort and strength, sought seclusion to temper myself and test myself, and yet – in the absence of all noise– I found myself slowly going mad, locked away and alone. You yourself nearly died from it. What lesson can I take from this, if not that the quiet is evil?”

“You can take the lesson that too much quiet can be an evil, in the same way too much medicine can be a poison,” Nie Mingjue said. “I might hate your jingshi, since it doesn’t suit me, but I’m given to understand that it often helps, too. It brings peace to cultivators who are tormented by a mind full of thoughts they cannot quiet and helps them fight the demons in their hearts, it allows those who are too connected to the world to tear themselves away. It was built for a purpose.”

“It was,” Lan Wangji said. “A purpose it has now betrayed.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t have anything to say about that. He’d once told Lan Xichen that he thought his sect’s practice of introducing children to that place until they learned quiet whether they liked it or not was inhumane and cruel, and Lan Xichen – in a rare moment of sarcasm – had asked him if teaching them to cultivate a saber spirit that would eventually consume their minds with rage was somehow meant to be morally superior.

To each their own faults, he supposed. Perhaps the next generation would do better.

(He found himself thinking things like that a great deal, these days. He was only in his twenties, and yet his thoughts resembled an old man’s – the feeling of death stalking his footsteps, the day nearly done, his legacy a book that seemed to be nearly completed.

That had been what had driven him to stop his sessions of Clarity with Jin Guangyao, in fact. He’d been reviewing a plan for renovating the western courtyards of the Unclean Realm as part of a long-term plan to get more air and light in there and he’d found himself thinking I probably won’t be here to see this completed, and that had been when he’d realized that it was time to start seriously planning for succession.)

“Perhaps it is the conflation of different things,” Lan Wangji mused, more to himself than anyone else. “The quiet, being alone, loneliness…and yet you can have quiet without being alone, you can be alone without being lonely, you can be lonely without quiet. A balance between disconnecting from the world and connecting with other people.”

That sounded like poetry, and Nie Mingjue could see Lan Wangji’s fingers twitch towards the guqin – he’d probably been inspired.

Nie Mingjue sighed and put his hand over his eyes. His father had told him that being an elder brother meant a life of sacrifice, and he’d been right. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead and play something. I know you want to.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a few long moments, and then his fingers began to move, the too-familiar sound of the Song of Clarity rising up to fill Nie Mingjue’s ears.

“I didn’t mean for me,” Nie Mingjue clarified, rolling his eyes while his hand was still hiding them. The Lan were always so earnest. “I’m not even meditating right now, Wangji. Don’t waste your effort.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers stilled briefly, then continued.

“Chifeng-zun –”

Nie Mingjue pulled his hand away long enough to give Lan Wangji a stern look – he’d already told him several times to refer to him more casually, and however long or short his stay at the Unclean Realm was, if they were going to endure a scandal together, he was simply going to have to adjust to their ways.

Lan Wangji looked long-suffering.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he conceded, and Nie Mingjue nodded, pleased. “Please pay close attention to my playing. Identify if there are any differences between my rendition and –”

“Wangji,” Nie Mingjue interrupted, feeling pained at the very thought. “I can’t.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, his eyes showing distress.

Nie Mingjue felt guilty at once, and exhaled a sigh. “Wangji, you know I don’t cultivate with music,” he said. “It’s all just interminable plucking to me.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows shot up. “Plucking?” he echoed, and Nie Mingjue winced – he’d probably shocked poor Lan Wangji’s conscience. “Mingjue-xiong…you really don’t like music, do you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “I can more or less follow a beat or rhythm, and military calls are fine no matter what instrument is involved, but the rest is all a mess of pointless noise. I can’t tell if the notes are high or low, which ones go before the others, and apparently there are different tones in music as there are in speech? Except in music, certain of them apparently sporadically considered bad, in a variety of different and exciting ways, sometimes but not others, none of which make the slightest difference – ”

He stopped talking on account of Lan Wangji having started to make an unusual hiccupping sound.

Nie Mingjue squinted. Was Lan Wangji…laughing?

If so, he was sorely out of practice. Though now that he thought it, that seemed to make some sense.

“Forgive me,” Lan Wangji said, shoulders shaking – he’d stopped making audible noise, but he was evidently still suffering from an attack of hilarity. “You speak so well, Mingjue-xiong; I had not realized that you suffered from amusia.” He saw Nie Mingjue’s frown of confusion and clarified, “Tone-deafness.”

“I say so all the time!”

“I had incorrectly assumed, as I suspect many have, that you were using the term colloquially,” Lan Wangji said. “How do you fight alongside my brother? I have seen you do so flawlessly, without any impediment, even when he wields Liebing.”

“I can follow along with what he’s doing with his qi,” Nie Mingjue said. “We have been close for so many years, and his spiritual energy is as familiar to me as my own –”

Lan Wangji flinched.

Nie Mingjue stopped talking.

His heart was heavy in his chest, weighed down with feeling, all those things he’d been so carefully not thinking about suddenly stifling him. Lan Xichen, his childhood friend, his lover, his beloved…

He’d hurt him.

Nie Mingjue couldn’t bring himself to believe that the act had been intentional or malicious, not even when Lan Wangji’s arrival made painfully clear that Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to supervise him. It simply wasn’t in Lan Xichen’s nature to do such an underhanded thing –

(You once thought Meng Yao wouldn’t do that sort of thing, either. Do you make a habit of blindness?)

He had known Lan Xichen for such a long time, though. If he didn’t know him, both virtues and faults, what person existed that he could say he understood?

No, Lan Xichen must have been trying to help him, not hurt him. And yet – regardless of his intent – he had.

He had hurt him very badly.

Lan Xichen hadn’t listened to him, had ignored him, disregarded him – Nie Mingjue had been as clear as he could be about how he felt about the quiet room. Perhaps he hadn’t told Lan Xichen about his youthful attempt to see if he could handle it, at first out of simply not wanting to appear weak in front of his lover, but later out of (admittedly petty) principle: shouldn’t his ‘no’ be enough? Shouldn’t Lan Xichen have trusted him?

He hadn’t.

He’d trusted Jin Guangyao instead.

Jin Guangyao with his smiles and slippery manner, with his so-believable excuses and always-present rationalizations, always the victim in every exchange they had – Lan Xichen always went to comfort him first after they had another one of their arguments, Nie Mingjue recalled abruptly. He’d called him on it once, in his anger, but Lan Xichen had explained that he knew how strong Nie Mingjue was, how resilient, and that his “A-Yao” needed his sympathy more.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He was resilient, and anyway he knew how frightening his rages could be; he’d thought perhaps that Lan Xichen simply wanted the excuse to be elsewhere until he’d had a chance to calm down.

He’d rationalized a lot of things. Maybe too many. But this?

This was too much.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said hesitantly. “About – about my brother…”

Nie Mingjue grimaced, and Lan Wangji felt silent once more.

Nie Mingjue’s heart cried out for his lover, the kind and gentle man who might be a little too reluctant to express himself, a little prone to going with the will of the majority to avoid confrontation, a little inclined to panic at the thought of disappointing people, but whose faults only made him the more human, the more loveable.

But Nie Mingjue had slept, and slept well, and even if his heart was still tangled, his mind was now clear.

“I have long thought,” he said carefully, painfully cognizant of the fact that Lan Wangji was Lan Xichen’s younger brother, “that fate had arranged for your brother and I to meet, and that we would live the rest of our lives intertwined, our hears and minds filled with thoughts of one another. But it seems to me now that that was perhaps – not our destiny.”

“My brother has wronged you,” Lan Wangji said solemnly.

“I still believe his intent was good,” Nie Mingjue assured him earnestly. “Your brother has – more reason than most, I think, to resent my intransigence on matters of my health, and to suspect – to suspect –”

He stopped, swallowed. He had long been (politely) termed to be a straightforward man; it was not in his character to stutter over his speech, to be unable to say the unvarnished truth no matter how painful. Even if it was his lover who was causing him such pain.

“Wangji,” he said instead, and Lan Wangji looked at him. “You know that my family – does not live long lives.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“It is not uncommon,” he said carefully, “for those in my family to begin to show signs of decline before the end. A certain rigidity of thought –”

“You are not so far down that path that your thinking has become impaired,” Lan Wangji said abruptly, his voice unexpectedly fierce. “Moreover, your refusal was not new, but consistent with your prior thoughts, your opinion expressed repeatedly and consistently. Do not make excuses for him.”

Nie Mingjue was a little surprised, having expected Lan Wangji to defend his brother, but then he recalled the matter of those thirty-three marks marring Lan Wangji’s back. Even if Lan Wangji’s conduct had been wrong, it had been motivated by love, and at any rate the others in the Lan sect had not died – no one had died, except for Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji had only been able to offer his beloved the succor of his presence for a short time before he returned to submit himself to punishment.

Impulsive, hot-headed, passionate – it might not be the actions of a Lan, but, as a Nie, Nie Mingjue found his sympathies lay with Lan Wangji in this matter. Yes, he had defended a murderer from being torn apart by the hands of his victims, and Nie Mingjue would not say that he did not think it was necessary for Wei Wuxian to die, but even those that had been duly tried and sentenced to the worst capital punishment might still be allowed the mercy of a good meal and the touch of their lover’s hand before they were executed, and a bit of disobedience against one’s elders was to be expected in any love affair.

Was fending off a few old men to buy a few shichen of love before its premature end really worth a punishment that would have crippled anyone weaker?

“Actions matter more than intent,” he agreed, wondering how he could convey his thoughts on the subject without being offensive to the Lan sect, “but that doesn’t make intent meaningless. To act from love and affection is still better than for – other reasons.”

He wasn’t sure Lan Wangji had understood his meaning: the other man only lowered his eyes.

Nie Mingjue’s mind reluctantly returned to his own troubles.

“I’ll speak with Xichen,” he decided, even though he knew it was probably a bad idea. Lan Xichen’s conduct, however it was meant, could be understood as having brought him to the very precipice of death – enough justification to start a war, given that Nie Mingjue was a sect leader. Their respective positions meant that a disagreement between them could never be simply personal, but was also political; if Nie Mingjue allowed his soft heart to convince him to forgive Lan Xichen, he would be setting a poor standard for the future. “He can explain what he was thinking. If I find his explanation unsatisfactory, I will – tell him what I told you.”

Nie Mingjue was blunt and direct, sparing no one – not even himself – but he was not so cold as to be able to cut off a relationship that already spanned the majority of his life sign unseen. He would give Lan Xichen one chance to salvage things between them, to be shocked into sobriety by the extent of how things had gotten out of hand, to genuinely apologize –

“I think,” Lan Wangji said, very slowly, eyes still locked on the floor as if there was something fascinating there, “that brother’s explanation may omit that he was distracted by his other lover.”

Nie Mingjue’s heart froze in his chest.

“Other – lover?” he said dumbly. Lan Wangji refused to look at him. “Wangji – are you saying – Xichen has..?”

Lan Xichen wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

“Lianfeng-zun has told him lies, and Brother accepted them without verification,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice was bitter. “I believe that he feared confronting you on the subject of a man he knew you disliked, and also saw an opportunity to obtain his heart’s desire – to not give up anything and yet gain something he wanted. And Lianfeng-zun is known to be skilled in anticipating people’s desires.”

Nie Mingjue stared at the ceiling in a daze, his mind whirling.

So many little things suddenly made a belated sort of sense.

The way Lan Xichen seemed so certain that all the troubles between them were only temporary, the way that he entreated Nie Mingjue to think kindly of Jin Guangyao as if there was a stronger bond between them than a lost former friendship and a new sworn brotherhood. The way Jin Guangyao acted more intimately with Nie Mingjue whenever Lan Xichen was present, only to return to a more professional remove once they were alone – he’d assumed that was because Jin Guangyao knew that Lan Xichen would protect him if Nie Mingjue got annoyed with him for such familiarities and that Nie Mingjue would not want to upset his beloved by scolding over something so minor.

But if, for instance, Jin Guangyao had told Lan Xichen that they had been lovers once, those public intimacies, and Lan Xichen’s joy in them, all suddenly took on a new flavor –

Surely Lan Xichen knew that Nie Mingjue would never have done that to him?

Skilled in anticipating people’s desires.

Nie Mingjue had noticed Lan Xichen’s fondness for Jin Guangyao from the first, back when Jin Guangyao had been only Meng Yao, and he’d known that Meng Yao had respected and even revered the beautiful, powerful, and chivalrous Zewu-jun. He’d been pleased when they’d become friends, hadn’t minded the occasional light flirtation – he’d been so certain that nothing would come of it, trusted in Lan Xichen’s morality and their love. He himself was not skilled in wordplay the way they were, nor as sensitive to the subtle changes in a conversation, preferring to stay silent rather than risk mis-stepping, a habit formed of too much responsibility and exposure to politics at too early an age. Why shouldn’t Lan Xichen get to enjoy the cut and thrust of charming, clever conversation with an expert at the art?

They had all been friends back then. Nie Mingjue had been so proud of his prized deputy, and pleased beyond measure that Lan Xichen liked him as well; Nie Mingjue had so few friends that the addition of another one was something he treasured. Even if Lan Xichen’s good sense had surely told him that such betrayal was impossible, given Nie Mingjue’s character, he might still in his reckless desires allow himself to be intoxicated by his affections and believe it for just a little while – just long enough to taste Jin Guangyao’s lips, perhaps.

That’d be enough.

Nie Mingjue knew Lan Xichen well; he knew his lover’s faults as well as he knew his virtues. If Lan Xichen had allowed himself to act foolishly for a moment, he would have panicked at the thought of coming to terms with it, and Jin Guangyao was so good at soothing his panic. Too good: where Nie Mingjue, in his harshness, had always advised revisiting mistakes and learning from them, no matter how difficult the process, Jin Guangyao would always recommend being kind to oneself, taking care of oneself, avoiding the pain that came with tackling one’s flaws and erroneous self-conceptions head-on.

Too much care for the self would eventually mean not enough care for others, Nie Mingjue had always thought, rolling his eyes whenever Jin Guangyao earnestly held forth on his views. But Lan Xichen had liked it – and why wouldn’t he? It was easier to put yourself first, to refuse to admit mistakes were mistakes, to rationalize events until you were always the victim and everyone else wrong. It meant you didn’t have to confront your own capacity for cruelty and selfishness, could conceive of yourself as always virtuous and always good and always right.

Right, rather than righteous.

Justified, rather than just.

The way Jin Guangyao always did.

Yes, Lan Xichen might allow himself to kiss Jin Guangyao, or more if Jin Guangyao pushed his advantage – which he would, Nie Mingjue had no doubt of that – and then, after the fog of lust had cleared, Lan Xichen would realize that he’d have to confess the entire thing to Nie Mingjue.

An emotional confrontation of the sort he hated most.

And then, of course, just as Lan Xichen was most upset and vulnerable, Jin Guangyao would offer him a way out – a way for Lan Xichen to continue to see himself as a good person who had done no wrong, who didn’t need confront anything – a way to get a new love alongside the old, to have Jin Guangyao’s clever speech and gentle care while not losing Nie Mingjue’s steadfast affection and support.

It was not uncommon in their times for a man to have more than one wife and entirely possible for him to love them both equally; the idea of a triad was not so strange. But Lan Xichen should have asked.

He didn’t.

He didn’t ask because some part of him knew that the answer would be no, and, just as he had with the quiet room, that was not an answer he wished to accept.

And that…that was not something that could be blamed on Jin Guangyao, as much as Nie Mingjue would prefer to do so.

That was all Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen...how could you do this to me?

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes in pain. It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him, like a really good punch might do - he felt hollow, weightless, disconnected, as if he had been struck by a blow that had shattered his bones and he was drifting in that blank space in the moment after the blow landed but before the pain reached his brain.

The full weight of the revelation would hit, eventually. He would feel it all, eventually.

“I see,” he said, and he did. Lan Wangji was upset over it in a way that suggested that he had only recently learned the truth. Given the speed of their travel, that meant he must have discovered it while conversing with Nie Huaisang – and that was another problem, because Nie Huaisang was their father’s son just as Nie Mingjue was, and nothing sparked their rage more than an offense against a loved one. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It is what I should do.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, his throat tight, his chest dull as if there was a knot where his heart had been - yes, he would need some time to deal with this.

“Huaisang is managing well?” he asked, not quite able to bring himself to actually ask for a little more time before he had to return to being the stern and untouchable sect leader, before he had to once again take on the mantle of power and make all the decisions – to force himself to react as a politician rather than a betrayed lover. It would be disgraceful to give into such weakness.

“He is,” Lan Wangji said. “He has given orders that you may not leave your room until the end of the week at the earliest, so as to remind the disciples of the benefit of rest following an injury.”

Nie Mingjue loved his brother.

“Very well,” he said, and decided not to ask about what Nie Huaisang might or might not have gotten into over the last day or so that had led some disciples to think they needed to disturb his rest in order to tell him. It didn’t really matter. They needed to adjust to taking Nie Huaisang’s orders as if he was sect leader in truth – especially if Nie Mingjue’s health continued to deteriorate…

He didn’t have time to think too much on that before Lan Wangji spoke again, saying, “Even if you do not understand music, you can follow the emanations of qi from an instrument, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Nie Mingjue said, a little puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation but deeply relieved to have something to think about - anything, really, as long as it wasn’t the brutal feeling of his heart being torn to shreds within his chest.

“So if I were to utilize musical cultivation, you might be able to determine if I were using the same patterns as you had heard others use?”

“I suppose so,” Nie Mingjue said. It would be extremely irritating to have to pay attention to such small ebbs and flows, especially when he was also trying to meditate and draw the qi into himself for the fullest effect, but he was familiar enough with Clarity by now that he probably could if he really had to. “But why?”

“A suspicion,” Lan Wangji said. “Nie Huaisang has pointed out that Lianfeng-zun’s actions in connection to my brother are suggestive of malice against you, his actions in convincing my brother to lock you into the jingshi doubly so, and yet he comes to visit you regularly, purportedly to improve your health.”

Purportedly.

Nie Mingjue grimaced again, but this time it was with anger at himself – because the suggestion did not shock him the way the information about Lan Xichen had. Meng Yao, Meng Yao, he thought, I wish I didn’t believe this of you. I extended my trust to you twice over, and each time you have disappointed me…it’s my own fault, I suppose, for being arrogant enough to think I could change you.

“Thank you, Wangji,” he said, suddenly tired. “I understand your implication, and we will of course need to examine whether it is correct. But not today.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji said, and stood up. “I will take my leave and go tell Nie Huaisang to move me into one of the soundproofed rooms. I require time to contemplate the subject of quiet.”

That made Nie Mingjue want to smile, though he couldn’t quite manage it, still twisted by all the revelations that had relentlessly pounded against him since he had awoken. “Good,” he said instead, turning to nod at Lan Wangji in approval. “I hope your meditation on the subject is fruitful.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agreed. “As you said, I must find my own path, be guided by tradition but not unduly restricted by it. But there is one point in what you said that was incorrect.”

“Oh?”

“You said that I should not, without consideration, throw out my sect’s traditions,” Lan Wangji said, and he was standing stiffly, at attention, with his face as serious as it ever got. “But at the moment, it is not my sect. You have given me permission to stay here, and I intend to do so.”

Nie Mingjue’s first thought was oh that’s going to have some serious political implications, followed immediately by I guess I did do that didn’t I and someone is going to wring my throat over this, probably Huaisang, but very shortly thereafter with if this is what he needs then so be it.

Still, he could do nothing but watch, stunned, as Lan Wangji lifted his hands to his forehead and very deliberately removed the forehead ribbon that marked him as a member of the Lan sect – the symbol of his family, the symbol of his restraint, which he would normally have never allowed another person outside his family to see him without – and, just as deliberately, wrapped it around Nie Mingjue’s wrist.

“I would ask that you keep this for me, Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said, and his tone when he said Nie Mingjue’s name was the same as when he called Lan Xichen brother. “Until such time as I decide to reclaim it as my own, or discard it forever.”

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice a little faint from shock. “Whatever you need, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, grateful, and saluted deeply before leaving.

Nie Mingjue lay back down on the bed and stared at his wrist for a long moment.

This is going to have some serious political implications, he thought a second time. And Lan Xichen won’t ever forgive me for stealing away his little brother.

A moment later, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Lan Xichen had made his choices.

Now he would have to pay for them.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #the quiet room

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reminisce05-20 · 3 years

Text

Dazai - The Book - Double Black

Dazai couldn't remember being a child, one of elementary age. He had only started to remember when he was around 14, which was when he first met Mori.

Sometimes, he wondered if he should be searching for answers, of who his parents could've been or where he came from, but he had easily moved on. Perhaps too easily, but he had no regrets. After all, the past didn't define him. He could write his own story from the present.

Only after words started to be written on his pale skin did he start to wonder who he really was.

Long sleeves could suffice, but just in case, Dazai wrapped bandages around his arms. Then his torso. Then up to his neck and finally his eye to give the air of an injury. The words hadn't spread quite that much, but it made his stomach crawl whenever he saw the squiggly lines all over his body. It was simply a precaution in case more words suddenly appeared.

Dazai soon met Chuuya, who was loud and angry and short, which made it even funnier when Dazai riled him up. Chuuya insisted that he was still young and growing. For the first time, Dazai wanted to laugh at the words he had seen yesterday on his elbow. Chuuya will never grow.

Although the words brought occasional joy, when he was 18, he saw words on the back of his left arm that said, Sakunosuke Oda will die. Sakunosuke couldn't die. His ability allowed him to see things moments before they actually happened, and Sakunosuke wasn't dumb. He would be fine.

He never had allowed the words on his arms and body to ever affect him. Words, in general, had never affected him since Dazai believed actions could speak much more.

"Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but... saving others is something just a bit wonderful."

For once, he took the words to heart.

Once, long ago when he was still young, not in the Detective Agency nor even the Mafia, Dazai had written something on his arm, something that tattooed itself to his arm for just a second before it burned away with terrible pain.

Dazai experimented. His ability, "No Longer Human", obviously canceled out abilities with no exception. The words were things to happen, things that were happening, and things that had happened. The timing for when the events actually took place differed, from as small as a minute to as long as a year. Dazai couldn't change events that were going to happen or create an entirely new one. It was probably a strange mix of the words and his ability.

Dazai had considered going to the President to inform him of the words. He was fairly sure that everyone else in the agency believed the bandages to be a fashion choice, excluding Ranpo and the President. He walked in front of the office door for a few minutes, pacing, before walking back to his desk. Perhaps the talk could be moved to another time.

The words were often too ugly to be shown to others.

Dazai was good at planning things, which made it entirely his fault that he hadn't prepared ahead for this.

A few days ago words had appeared on his collarbone, ones that said, "Chuuya will unleash Arahabaki once more. Secrets will be revealed." If Chuuya was going to showcase his powers, Dazai would no doubt be sent along unless Chuuya had managed to somehow subdue his powers effectively. Sure enough, he was sent to settle a dispute that would benefit both the Mafia and the Agency. It was always nice, seeing the top of Chuuya's hat, showing that he had indeed not grown a single bit.

He had misinterpreted the "secrets" on his arm. Dazai had expected it to be Chuuya's secrets, of how he stayed so short all the time.

In Arahabaki form, Chuuya had never attacked Dazai, at least not to kill. He had to have some semblance of control to not kill the only person that could bring him back, even if Chuuya hated him. But this time, right after defeating the enemy, Chuuya turned on him in an instant, giving Dazai no time to nullify his ability.

It would have been fine. Dazai only took a few hard hits before he tapped Chuuya on the head, nullifying his ability. They both staggered for a moment before Dazai laughed.

"Well, that was awfully close wasn't it, Chuuya?"

Chuuya huffed, angry but too tired to anything about it.

"Only if you had touched me a little earlier maybe you - hey what's that on your arm?"

Dazai froze before he looked at his left arm, bandages slightly unraveled, revealing the inky text on his arm.

"Some tattoo shit? Or maybe weird scars..."

Chuuya took a step forward while Dazai hurriedly rebandaged his arm with a hopefully winning grin.

"How observant of you."

Chuuya scowled for a second before staring at Dazai.

"Seriously, was it just some weirdo tattoo? Show me what you have written there."

Dazai made a mental note to seriously work out and train with Kunikida. Then again, it probably wouldn't bring him near Chuuya's level for a long time. Even after using Arahabaki, Chuuya stomped forward, grabbing his arm and unwrapping the bandage with unreasonable strength and speed. His control must have actually been getting better. Or maybe they had just defeated the enemy faster today.

"What the - what the heck is this Dazai?"

He didn't have the strength to stand properly, staggering a little bit while unsuccessfully trying to get out of Chuuya's iron grip.

"An occult tattoo I got when I was 14. It says 'fuck off Chuuya'."

"It literally says 'Sakunosuke Oda will die'. I've heard of that name before... who was that again?"

Out of all the sentences Chuuya could have seen, it had to be that one. Why not the one about Atsushi dropping his ice cream, or maybe the one about Chuuya's height? They could have laughed over that.

"This actually happened didn't it Dazai? Like, a few years ago?"

At this point, Dazai simply didn't care enough to wrench his wrist away from Chuuya. He had wanted to tell someone about this for so long. Chuuya and he didn't have the best relationship, but they could certainly trust each other. After all, they had been partners, right?

"It tells me things that are going to happen. Well, at the time of course. This already happened a while ago."

Chuuya simply stared, unsure of what to believe.

"I tried changing history once. It hurt really bad, I think it's got something to do with my goddamn ability, I hate seeing the words every day and having to bandage them - "

"Um... Dazai, calm down."

He hadn't realized he was breathing so heavily. His chest felt like it was burning.

It felt like it was burning just like when he was young - why was it like this when he hadn't written anything down on his skin?

"Dazai, what's going on?"

Dazai turned away from Chuuya before throwing his jacket off, then his vest, then his shirt to reveal the mass of bandages covering every inch of his skin.

"What the fuck Dazai, stop stripping in front of me - "

Dazai for once ignored Chuuya instead of sending back an angry retort. He unwrapped the bandages, not caring if Chuuya saw the words or not since the pain was burning as if he was dying and he wanted it to just stop. Stop stop stop.

The bandages were off to show the mass of writing on his back and arms and stomach and even up to his neck. Chuuya's breathing became softer, more confused and curious.

Chuuya will never grow.

Dazai will trip and fall on the doormat before meeting Akutagawa for the first time.

Sakunosuke Oda will die.

Atsushi will drop the ice cream Dazai bought for him and will be horrified.

More evil will soon come in Yokohama.

Chuuya will unleash Arahabaki once more. Secrets will be revealed.

Chuuya simply stared, dumbfounded, trying to read everything written on Dazai's back. Dazai on the other hand, looked down at the center of his chest to see just a few words.

Yokohama's Page - By Osamu Dazai.

The words were a gleaming gold, burning his skin before suddenly cooling into the familiar black, only a small golden border on the edges of each letter. Chuuya had now walked in front of him, kneeling, reading the words that had just appeared.

"So. You're some special shit."

Dazai let out a flat laugh. Indeed he was.

"It says 'More evil will soon come in Yokohama'. Right, Dazai?"

Dazai nodded blindly. He couldn't remember that one, but maybe it was because it was on his back. It was hard to read from a mirror.

"You should tell your agency this. Have you told them?"

Dazai's silence was the same as a confirmation. Chuuya mumbled something about how he always had to make his life worse, although Dazai knew that it was halfhearted.

After Dazai put on every single one of his bandages, thoroughly covering every inch of skin along with his other clothes, Chuuya and he walked in silence for a little. Usually, they would've been arguing all the way back, making the silence feel even worse.

"Oy. Dazai."

Chuuya growled when Dazai didn't make any move to answer before sighing and backing down. Dazai blinked, seeing that for the first time, Chuuya had backed down from an argument.

"We were partners before. Are we still partners?"

Dazai smiled.

"If we're partners, I'll be annoying you all day! I think that'd be pretty nice ~ "

"Well fuck you too!"

It was nice, feeling the usual annoyance flowing through Chuuya, the same remarks they always passed forth to each other.

"So you're saying we are partners, Dazai."

Dazai's eyes narrowed. What was with Chuuya being overly... nice all of a sudden? Being so calm?

Chuuya, catching Dazai's eyes screeched again before kicking over a trash can.

"I'm saying I can help you with this goddamn book shit! Words! Partners! The fuck is wrong with you?"

Dazai stared as Chuuya knocked over a few more trash cans while screaming about how utterly dumb Dazai could be for someone that was supposed to be so smart, so crafty, and so manipulative.

The familiar tickle of more words caused Dazai to flinch, hand moving toward his neck where the words seemed to be. Chuuya, who was done with his little fit, stopped for a second before walking over, no doubt intrigued. Dazai tugged the bandages down a little bit while Chuuya read the words out loud.

"Fyodor Dostoevsky is looking for another part of the book in Yokohama."

Dazai's eyes widened when he heard the name, and Chuuya no doubt understood that this man was someone dangerous if they could elicit such a reaction from Dazai. They looked at each other, understanding passing through their eyes.

"Well, I guess we're partners again Chuuya!"

"Only because I fucking have to!"

Dazai supposed that he would also have to tell the Agency about this. And as more people knew, the news would inevitably spread to the Mafia too. He only had to make sure that Fyodor didn't receive the information, and that was if Fyodor didn't already know about him.

"Fucking Dazai."

Chuuya grabbed Dazai's hair and pulled, forcing Dazai to yelp while batting Chuuya's hands away.

"We're going to crush this bastard Fyodor."

Dazai laughed at the sheer amount of determination in Chuuya's name, laughing like he never had ever before.

Indeed, Double Black would crush the enemy like they always did.

___________________________

Kind of an abrupt end, but you get the idea :>

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hakasims · 3 years

Text

The Most In-depth Analysis of Luca Marinelli’s Characters You’ll Ever Need

You’d think I was done with classifications, but I’m not! There’s so much more I can say about Luca Marinelli’s oeuvre and his magnificent roster of characters. And yes, I’ve made this post before where I highlighted specific tropes that show up in a lot of his movies, but that was surface-level shit. This is an actual exploration of what makes a Luca Marinelli character besides being a kinky little whore. And don’t worry, it’s still in that user-friendly question-answer format because I love you.

Here’s the thing: Luca is a chameleon but he also has a type, and this type is:

✨ a (likely) queer repressed addict with daddy issues ✨

That’s the skeleton. Let’s see how many of his major roles possess that skeleton at all and what flavors they add to the picture.

Disclaimer: I excluded characters with little screen time and Joseph from Mary of Nazareth because he doesn’t deserve rights. Also, instead of going in the boring chronological order, I’m gonna start with the least typical character for Luca and end with the crème de la crème. The results may not surprise you.

Nicky (The Old Guard)

Is he queer? Undeniably.

Is he repressed? No.

Does he have an addiction? No.

Does he have daddy issues? I know we’re all deeply affected by our shitty father figures but I would genuinely question Nicky’s sanity if he were still on that shit at the ripe age of 951. A little tip for daddy-hating immortals out there: just do what Angel did and kill your shitty dad. Problem solved.

Is he violent? Despite doling out tons of violence, he doesn’t have a violent nature and seems uninterested in hating his enemy or delivering retribution.

Does he need a good night sleep? I’m sure nothing helps one sleep better than a Joe-shaped big spoon.

Does he need a good cry? Doesn’t seem like it.

Flavors: A perfect immortal warrior bean in a healthy relationship.

Conclusion: Ironically but unsurprisingly, Nicky is the least Luca-like character.

Guido (Tutti i santi giorni)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so but who knows? If someone told me he’s demisexual, I’d believe it.

Is he repressed? The movie may disagree, but I say yes, obviously.

Does he have an addiction? Not unless you count his romantic relationship.

Does he have daddy issues? His family is so supportive and wholesome it’s almost parodic.

Is he violent? He’s the opposite of a toxic macho dude, but then he has a violent outburst out of nowhere because the movie is bad.

Does he need a good night sleep? He doesn’t like sleeping at night.

Does he need a good cry? Naturally.

Flavors: An adorkable awkward nerd with flowery speech.

Conclusion: I can forgive straightness and wholesomeness but I can’t forgive lack of complexity.

Martin (Martin Eden)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so.

Is he repressed? Yes.

Does he have an addiction? No.

Does he have daddy issues? Not to my knowledge.

Is he violent? When he deems it necessary to be.

Does he need a good night sleep? Sure.

Does he need a good cry? Cry your little heart out, Martin!

Flavors: An arrogant, pretentious, politically confused writer.

Conclusion: A little too straight for your typical Luca, but he makes up for it with being complex and complicated.

Loris (Il mondo fino in fondo)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so.

Is he repressed? So fucking repressed!

Does he have an addiction? Nothing beyond his savior complex.

Does he have daddy issues? He has a shitty dad he’s spent his whole life trying to please, and also his mommy left, so like yeah, obviously.

Is he violent? He has his straight dude moments.

Does he need a good night sleep? Definitely.

Does he need a good cry? Oh yeah, let him cry, it’s good for him.

Flavors: A casually homophobic mother hen.

Conclusion: Ruined by heterosexual agenda.

Lui (Ricordi?)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so.

Is he repressed? Very.

Does he have an addiction? No.

Does he have daddy issues? A big sack of them.

Is he violent? No.

Does he need a good night sleep? Oh yes. To sleep, perchance to dream about anything other than his traumatic memories.

Does he need a good cry? So much.

Flavors: Up-his-butt and pensive.

Conclusion: Leave it to Luca to take a guy who would be an absolute nightmare in real life and turn him into someone I actually want to watch for two hours and see happy by the end.

Gabriele (Waves)

Is he queer? There’s evidence he might be gay.

Is he repressed? I’d bet on it.

Does he have an addiction? Doesn’t seem like it.

Does he have daddy issues? Nobody knows.

Is he violent? No.

Does he need a good night sleep? He probably will with how the movie ended.

Does he need a good cry? At least one.

Flavors: A sweet introverted guy who loves boats.

Conclusion: While not particularly complex, Gabriele has layers and nuances. Also give him a big muscular daddy.

Fabrizio (Fabrizio de André - Principe libero)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so.

Is he repressed? He was before music became his only career.

Does he have an addiction? Alcohol, cigarettes, sex, cheating - take your pick.

Does he have daddy issues? Not as bad as some of the other guys here but he’s heard his fair share of “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed” speeches.

Is he violent? He’s soft.

Does he need a good night sleep? He’s an artist, what do you think?

Does he need a good cry? He’s an artist, what do you think?

Flavors: Fabrizio de André is the flavor.

Conclusion: Even though it’s a biopic, there are still many Luca-isms there. He’s just that kind of actor.

Milton (Una questione privata)

Is he queer? It could be argued that he is bisexual.

Is he repressed? Do you even need to ask?

Does he have an addiction? About half of the breaths he takes are filled with cigarette smoke.

Does he have daddy issues? He seems to have a good and loving relationship with both his parents.

Is he violent? Not by nature.

Does he need a good night sleep? Yep.

Does he need a good cry? He certainly does.

Flavors: A repressed bisexual feeling powerless in a horrible world.

Conclusion: This is proof that Luca can carry a whole entire movie on his sexy shoulders, alone. Also Milton needs a safe and loving triad.

Mattia (La solitudine dei numeri primi)

Is he queer? I personally read him as asexual. Though assigning asexuality to characters who are traumatized is a dangerous path so don’t quote me on this, okay?

Is he repressed? Just the most repressed.

Does he have an addiction? It’s debatable whether self-harm and eating disorders can be considered addictions, but they’re part of his character, and I thought you should know.

Does he have daddy issues? His parents played their part in messing him up which then led to the big thing that really messed him up, though other than that his dad is barely a presence.

Is he violent? Not at all.

Does he need a good night sleep? At least 17 hours.

Does he need a good cry? Oh, so much. He needs all the cry.

Flavors: A quiet genius with lots of guilt.

Conclusion: Can you believe this was his first film role? Our boy is talented af!

Fabio (Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot)

Is he queer? Undeniably.

Is he repressed? You could argue that he is repressed by being limited in his place in social hierarchy.

Does he have an addiction? Amazingly enough, no. He has fixations, though.

Does he have daddy issues? Thinking his father was a loser and not wanting to end up like him is textbook stuff.

Is he violent? Very.

Does he need a good night sleep? Yes please.

Does he need a good cry? He needs to purge his soul from all the bottled up stuff.

Flavors: A campy psycho.

Conclusion: Luca’s most iconic character, so of course he scored high on the list.

Paolo (Il padre d’Italia)

Is he queer? Undeniably.

Is he repressed? I can’t even start listing all the ways in which he’s repressed.

Does he have an addiction? He smokes a lot.

Does he have daddy issues? His issues are more of a mommy variety.

Is he violent? Not in the slightest.

Does he need a good night sleep? He’s the poster boy for needing a good night sleep.

Does he need a good cry? A good cry, a good weep, a good sob, a good bawl, *googles more synonyms* a good wail, a good squall...

Flavors: A self-loathing gay orphan in need of some life goodness.

Conclusion: What can I say about Paolo that all of you aren’t already thinking? Decent film, great character, excellent portrayal.

Mickey (Die Pfeiler der Macht)

Is he queer? Undeniably.

Is he repressed? It’s Victorian England, you guys.

Does he have an addiction? He smokes casually but other than that... eh. And don’t tell me he has sex addiction. He uses his body strategically.

Does he have daddy issues? If what he has isn’t daddy issues, I don’t know what is.

Is he violent? He’s got tons of bottled up aggression.

Does he need a good night sleep? It would be great if he could use the day’s darkest hours for sleeping.

Does he need a good cry? Undeniably.

Flavors: A conniving slut extraordinaire.

Conclusion: A major player in the book (says me who managed like 50 pages), Mickey Miranda was turned into such a nothing character in the miniseries that they needed a truly extraordinary actor to make him memorable. And guess what, Luca delivered.

Cesare (Non essere cattivo)

Is he queer? Not explicitly, but come on.

Is he repressed? Lethally.

Does he have an addiction? He’s an addiction textbook.

Does he have daddy issues? *Jake Peralta voice* Yeah, the guy without a daddy is the one with daddy issues. Explain that logic.

Is he violent? Oh yeah, he’s a rabid little trash goblin.

Does he need a good night sleep? So much.

Does he need a good cry? He’s had his fair share of good cries, but he could always use more.

Flavors: A aimless junkie.

Conclusion: The quintessential Luca. Beautiful.

Primo (Trust)

Is he queer? Listen, just because we don’t see him fuck a dude on screen it doesn’t mean he isn’t a motherfluffing queer icon. It’s not subtext; it’s TEXT.

Is he repressed? Where do I even fucking start?

Does he have an addiction? Oh yeah. And a coke nail to prove it.

Does he have daddy issues? I would need a whole separate post to unpack his daddy issues.

Is he violent? So very violent.

Does he need a good night sleep? Yes, please. On an actual bed in an actual bedroom.

Does he need a good cry? You can just tell.

Flavors: A ruthless criminal with a strong mafia boss potential.

Conclusion: The pièce de résistance of the Luca Marinelli filmography. Not only does he tick every box, he gets bonus points for the excellent wardrobe choices that emphasize Luca’s best features. Primo Nizzuto is everything great you want from Luca, except singing. (Though in my headcanon that whole white car in a snowstorm monologue was a musical number.)

#luca marinelli #the old guard #tutti i santi giorni #martin eden #il mondo fino in fondo #ricordi?#waves 2012 #fabrizio de andré - principe libero #una questione privata #la solitudine dei numeri primi #lo chiamavano jeeg robot #il padre d'italia #die pfeiler der macht #non essere cattivo #trust fx

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cocobutnochanel · 3 years

Text

The Kims | 18+

Genre: smut, angst, romance, au, drama

Main Characters: Kim Minseok, Kim Junmyeon, Kim Jongdae x Reader (oc: female)

Warnings: swearing, sex scenes, slavery(not literally iguess), mentions of death, mentions of abuse, abandonment

Summary: When you thought life wasn't a fairytale and you were no Cinderella, truth slaps you in the face when you become an orphan overnight and your step-family sells you off to the richest family in town.

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

Part 1

(Part 2, Part 3)

‘Live, baby. Live your life to the fullest.’

You can still hear your eomma's last words to you before she passed away. It kept replaying in your head ever since she was announced dead.

She was the only family member left. You were an only child whose father was also dead. Life may have not been in your favor exactly but you came from a rich family. At least, that made up for it.

You feel hot tears run down your face when you see your mother's face inside a coffin. Sadness, anger and longing wash over you. You knew your mother's health was getting bad but you weren't expecting her to leave you just like that.

"Y/N! Get your stuff sorted!" You hear your stepbrother, Oh Sehun, scream from the second floor of your house. You were suspicious as to why he was in your room and touching your things but you shrugged it off. Your stepfather would kill you if you said something bad about his sons.

You ignored the the strangeness of the situation and immediately climbed upstairs. "Coming!" You called, wiping your tears away. You hear Chanyeol, your other stepbrother, chuckle at the sight of you crying. You just sigh and make your way to Sehun who wouldn't stop shouting your name now.

You knew it was strange that he was in your room but what surprised you was him stuffing your things inside a suitcase.

"Oppa! What are you doing?" You exclaimed, running to your room that became a mess after what he did. Your hands were trembling as your eyes scanned your things that were half-ruined now because of your stepbrother. You quickly get on your knees to see your belongings now scattered on the floor.

You look up to him, looking for some sort of explanation but his eyes were dead and he refused to say anything. God, this frustrated you so much.

You feel another presence in the room so you whip your head around and see Chanyeol leaning on the doorframe. "Appa's getting rid of you finally." His icy deep voice was enough to scare you, the idea of moving out made you want to faint.

You tried to control your breathing as you see Chanyeol smiling at your state. "Please don't." You begged shamelessly and that earned another chuckle from Chanyeol. You bit your lip so hard, you tasted blood in your mouth.

Moving out? Getting rid? The hot tears you wiped off your face earlier came back in a split second. The Ohs weren't exactly nice to you but they were all you had after your mother passed away. No relatives, no family friends, no anything. This house was the only roof you could go under. Fuck, the world outside was meaner than the Ohs could ever be. It terrified you beyond belief.

"I'm sorry." An emotionless apology from Sehun didn't make it any better. You spent almost eight years with them ever since your eomma married your stepfather when you were barely eleven. "Appa was struggling with the funds when your mom was sick. He had no choice but to borrow money and now, he couldn't return it. The only way to pay it was to send you there." Your eyes widen at his reason. It was absolute bullshit.

"B-But my trust fund! It could pay the debt, right? Shouldn’t we call the family lawyer first?" You try to find another reason to stay but Chanyeol cut your thoughts off with his voice. "Pack it up, Cinderella, you don't have all day." With that, he walked out of the room.

With slumped shoulders, you fall to the floor. You were defeated in all aspects. You lost your mother and now, you had to lose your home and only family too.

"I don't understand it at all. I had a trust fund. That would be enough to pay off eomma's hospital bills." You whispered as your heart ached. You tried to look at Sehun again but his eyes were emotionless. You knew he was the kinder brother to you despite being whiney but what you couldn't believe was him lying to you right now. Your trust fund was more than enough. Also, your mother’s company wasn’t going bankrupt for your family to reach this measure.

"You really need to pack up, Y/N. Appa would be fuming if he went home and you're still here.." Sehun said, pushing your suitcase nearer to you. It might hurt that these people you consider family are sending you to some stranger they borrowed money from but Sehun made a point. "You know it'd be bad to anger Appa." He retaliated.

That woke you up. Your stepfather may have not laid a finger on you before but he spat so many hurtful words. He had the shortest temper and you weren't sure that he wouldn't hurt you physically now that your mother was dead.

With his anger management issues and hugeass body, he could kill you with his bare hands. That urged you to stand and start stuffing your suitcase with as much clothes as you could.

Your tears eventually dried and Sehun left your room. Your knees and hands were trembling like they were earlier but that didn't stop you from packing your things. The imagery of your angry stepfather's huge figure made you go on. It was fear that made you want to live even if your whole life was as trashy as it was already. After all, this was all your mother wanted before she died. For you to live.

After putting all the stuff you needed inside your bags, you quickly scurry off to the entrance of your house. You had no idea where you would be going but staying in this house also meant you'd die. You had to try your chances that the people your stepfather is indebted to is somehow less cruel and would not kill me. Wherever it was, you tried to assure yourself it'd be better than staying here.

"Hey, Cindy! A carriage is waiting outside for you." You hated the new nickname Chanyeol gave you but you knew you'd never see him again in your life. You guessed. These people would never let you go without paying the debt and you know your stepfather would never do that. That thought dismissed all the anger in your head for him.

You drag your luggage outside and see a black car. This must be the carriage Chanyeol was referring to. It looked very expensive and it was also heavily tinted. Whoever your stepfather was indebted to, they were filthy rich.

You hesitated as it approached you. Was this right? Your mother's dead body was lying in your living room right now. You should be weeping instead of running away. You haven't even had the chance to grieve yet here you are, being kicked out of the house you grew up in. The house you made memories with. The only home that you ever knew.

The hesitations quickly evaporated as you heard your stepfather's Range Rover approaching. You knew that engine sound all too well. You have hurried off to your room a lot when you were younger whenever you got in trouble with your stepdad. So instinctively, you ran to the black car's door, never looking back at the home you once had.

Your hands stopped shaking and you finally started to breathe properly as the black car pulled out of your home's driveway. Your stepfather’s Range Rover was already out of earshot and you knew you were safe. For now.

Doubts and overthinking clouded your mind. You wanted to be afraid and scared at what might await me. But also, you couldn’t go back home. Your head hurt after so much thinking, you dozed off inside the car as the worries now left your troubled mind.

You felt a nudge on your shoulder, pulling you to consciousness. Your eyes slowly flutter open as you try to sit up properly. "We're here.." You heard the driver say. He was a white-haired guy my age. He also gave me a smile and tried to help me up.

"Where are we, sir?" Your voice was hoarse and the car door flew open beside you. It revealed a grand mansion in front of you and it earned a gasp from you.

You see a man walking by the entrance of the huge manor. His tall stature demanded attention and you automatically assumed he was the owner. With that classy tuxedo and refined posture, you knew nothing about him was cheap.

He suddenly turned around and your eyes widened at that. As if his money wasn't enough to make him intimidating, he had a perfect face. It may have a permanent scowl but you couldn't deny his face was truly perfect. Tanned complexion, defined jaw, plump lips and thick eyebrows. He was definitely handsome.

"Who are you to look at me straight in the eye?" His voice was deep and authoritative and loud enough to snap you out of your thoughts, it surprised you. His scowl even grew which made you bow your head and quickly apologize. "I'm sorry." You mumbled, the fear of death immediately taking over your senses.

"Be nicer." Another voice interrupted that made you look up. A man with a child on his arm went out of the house, standing by the door. He wore a similar suit to the man who was scowling. Another handsome man, you thought. He looked older but no less handsome. He also looked friendlier as a little girl bounced in his arms.

This man was definitely kinder, you could safely assume. His eyes were soft despite his features being sharp and his thin lips had a pressed smile.

The scowling man passed by him and went inside the huge house. You could only look at his leaving back, hoping you didn't piss him enough to get yourself killed. You couldn't possibly die the first day you're here.

"Hey, get inside. I'm sorry for that. My brother's just wired that way." He offered a smile as the little girl in his arms looked at him adoringly. You nodded at what he said, trying to take in the information. His kind smile was nothing compared to the previous man’s scowl. Their air was too different. "Let her inside, Baek. We’ll be at the study." He nodded at the driver before going back inside his room.

The driver who was named Baek started carrying my bags. "No, it's okay." You try to take it away from him but he insists. He carried your luggage inside the house to the large living room.

The house was so large, it was nothing compared to your home before. Marble walls made everything stand out in elegance as the paintings that graced it made it warmer to the eyes. The furniture was obviously expensive despite its basic structures. The grand staircase that led to another floor also made it seem like it’s a palace.

Baek snapped you out of your awe by entering with your bags. He set it down by a sofa. "I'm Baekhyun and I'm the errand boy here." He gave you a toothy grin which made you smile back at him. "It's hard to find a friend here but I assure you, I can be your friend." You nodded like a seal at what he said. You knew you needed help and an offer like this isn't something you can pass up.

"I'll find time to talk to you and all but the bosses need you at the study right now. They'll decide whether what to use you for." You look at him in confusion. He immediately gets the message and tries to clear up the confusion. "Your family is in a debt and now, this family owns you. The Kims. You have to be of use to them. We’re considered as slaves here but it doesn’t really sound that bad. It’s just working without pay but with absolute loyalty." You were surprised at what he said. How could he know? You didn't tell him anything. Also, the fact that you were called slaves sounded wrong to you. It seemed inhumane despite what Baek tried to explain.

He looked at me as if he was sorry. “It’s okay. I know cause it happened to me and all the others too. I will explain soon since I’m always the one hanging around here but right now, you have to go to the study. They will decide how to use you before they let you settle in. Now, go, okay? You don’t want to anger the youngest Kim.” He was talking while he dragged you at the end of the first floor’s hall. The information was too much to take in and before you knew it, you had to face your new bosses now. Or owners. You have no idea how to refer to them.

Baek turns the doorknob swiftly as he stands straighter than he did when you two were alone. He looks back at you once last time and assures you with a look as he entered the quiet room. "Young masters, the new girl is about to get in." You hear someone say to bring you in and Baek immediately ushers you inside.

The room they called study was large and carpeted. It was filled with books and tables. The air inside was also warmer than it was in the hallways.

Baekhyun pointed to the center and I immediately got the signal. Baek left as you finally got to where he wanted you to stand. You stood there, in front of four men in suits. Their eyes were examining every inch of you and it made your skin crawl. The black dress you were still wearing for your mother's funeral wasn't exactly pretty. The thought of showing your makeup-less and swollen face to four dashing men who were supposed to be your new bosses didn't make it any better.

"Jun-hyung, what do you think?" The guy with a baby girl earlier spoke up first and asked a man in an all-black suit. You wanted to keep your eyes on the floor but they were too handsome to peel your sight off them.

This man called Jun looked angelic yet his face was stoic. He had a gentle aura but something about him warned your gut that you should be extra careful around this man. Nonetheless, it amazed you how four extremely good-looking men could be in one room. You suddenly recall Baekhyun’s words and they were the Kims. Must be a family. Amazing genes, you couldn’t help but think

"She has no special talents mentioned in her file." You wince at that Jun guy's comment, quickly waking you up from the daydream you just had about these gorgous men. You realize you were just an average human which is basically why your stepfamily didn't want to keep you. You weren't talented, intelligent or creative.

You were also surprised that you had a file already with them. But then, it was your stepfather we were talking about. He would go to hell and back just to get rid of you

"She's pretty. I want her. Can I keep her, Jun?" You looked up at the person who spoke. It was a man who gave a different vibe. He looked very playful with his exotic face features but something told you he was just as dangerous as the other two. The man with a baby in his arms didn’t really scare you as much as the scowling man did. The other similarity he had with the rest was the expensive suit he was wearing.

He takes a good look at you before speaking. "Jun, I want her. You know we need a new plaything." He spoke with finality, smiling at you. You didn't know what he meant and your puzzled face gave off what you were thinking. "He wants to fuck you, dummy." The scowling man glared at you with so much intensity as he solved the confusion in your head.

Fuck me? Plaything? These words resonated in your head. You didn't know how to react. How was somebody supposed to react to someone wanting to fuck them?

"We don't do that anymore, Minseok-hyung." The Jun guy sighed, his eyes filled with pity as he stared at you. He really does look angelic, you thought. You snapped out of it again and bit your lip as you put your head down, not knowing what to say.

"We can if we get her consent." The guy with exotic features who seems to be named Minseok shrugged. He looks at you with so much determination once again. "Hey, what's your name, again?" He speaks again and you widen your eyes at his question.

"U-Um.. Y/N." You stuttered with so much fear. You really didn't want to die at all. You know you had to do whatever they wanted just to stay alive. Living was so meaningless like this but you didn't want your mother to be disappointed in you for just giving up. If these men returned you home, your stepfather would kill you.

"So, Y/N, is it okay if we have sex with you from time to time? We really need the stress reliever." This Minseok guy smirked again. His directness shocked you to the core. You had to say yes, right? If you didn't, they'd kill you? Or torture you? Or return you home? None sounds appealing to you.

You really have no choice...

"I-I'd like t-to be of help to you with a-anything." You fiddled with your fingers as you said this. You were nervous as hell and hearing the scowling man's chuckle made it worse.

"See, she's okay with this, Jun!" Minseok exclaimed with a huge grin on his face, eyeing you up and down. He patted Jun’s back and smirked at the scowling man. You weren't really opposed to what they wanted. They were handsome and you wanted to be alive, nothing more or less. You weren’t usually this shallow and easy but your eomma’s words keep ringing in your ears. You had to be alive.

"I guess it's settled then." The man with a baby girl earlier gave you an apologetic smile and stood up. You were about to walk out but the Jun guy spoke once again. "Tell Baekhyun to show you the available room on the fifth floor." He nodded at you. You were about to walk again but then something interrupted.

You heard the scowling man beside him laugh, stopping your tracks again. "Jun, you're really treating your whores right." He smirked and looked at you as if he was belittling you. You shuddered under his sight. He was truly intimidating, he had a different air to the other men. He was blunt and he never hesitated.

"You should leave now. Never mind his foul mouth." The guy with a baby waved off to you. Once again, this man has made your arrival here warmer. You nodded at them with finality and got out of the room as you heard Jun scold the other guys. “Jongdae, thank you for being nice today but treat slaves as they should be treated. Jongin, stop being mean. You’re being irrational.” He authoritatively announced to the two boys, making you assume he was the leader or something.

You close the door behind you with a final thud. You see Baekhyun leaning at the wall beside the study. He immediately went up to you.

"So, how did it go?" You didn't really know how to answer this question. How would you explain to someone that you agreed to fucking people?

"U-Uh.. That guy named Jun told me to tell you to show me the room on the fifth floor?" You said with so much uncertainty, chewing on your bottom lip. His eyes were as large as saucers and his jaw dropped the moment you say this aloud. He couldn’t believe himself either.

Baekhyun shook his head in disbelief and tried to be as calm as he could. "What the hell did you agree to?! They never let slaves like us in the fifth floor! What more live there?" He asked in a hushed yet raised tone. He briskly dragged me to an elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

"Well, the Minseok guy asked me if I could help them sexually? I guess?" What you just said earned a loud gasp from Baekhyun. Your cheeks heated at the mention of this. "Holy shit..." You heard him mutter a curse and honestly, you couldn't help but agree. Non-survival you would never agree to anything like this but this is the new you. You had to survive. For your mother’s wishes and for your own good too. This time, Baekhyun looks at you with so much amusement.

"You're in for a fucking ride."

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Canary, Part 7

First

Marinette sighed as docks came into view.

She didn’t like that it was at the docks. Everyone with half a brain knew what happened at the docks.

She’d come prepared, of course. She had hidden a bulletproof vest under her hoodie, there was a pack of fake blood in her pocket… but her head was uncovered. There was no way to protect herself from that kind of attack without being suspicious and she hated it.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat, pulled her hood up, and speedwalked the rest of the way to her ‘job interview’.

There were a bunch of crates around. Not a surprise, it was still the docks, but the labels of ‘acid flowers’, ‘fake weapons’, and ‘red lipstick’ just kind of drove in the fact that this was an interview to be a Joker goon and she was so fucked.

She sidled up to the weird line that had formed.

There were eight other people there already. A group interview, she thought sarcastically.

The first three in line were obviously Joker fanatics, with deathly pale skin and bright smiles. The other five of them seemed to be regular goons that had run out of options.

She glanced at the time. Eleven pm exactly, just when they were supposed to meet. She was probably the last one.

“Well, this is a shitty way to spend Juneteenth,” said the kid next to her.

She snickered a little before she realized. A kid? Shit.

“Hey, how old are you?” She asked quietly.

They shrunk back a little more. “Fourteen.”

“Great. Good that you know the legal age to start working, that’s good. What’s your actual age, though? I’m not going to tell.”

“... twelve.”

“Okay. Alright. You need to leave.”

“You just want the spot,” they said, glaring at her.

“Shut up. I don’t even want to be here. You need to go because things are about to get really messed up --.”

She saw something out of the corner of her eyes. Too late.

Joker emerged from a pile of boxes and slowly walked down the line. She straightened a little under his gaze. It took everything in her to not glare at him.

“Now, as you all know, there is only one spot open --.”

“Yes sir,” said one of the Joker fanatics eagerly.

Joker’s gaze snapped to him and in one swift motion his gun was out. Marinette closed her eyes so none of the blood would get in them.

He blew a bit of smoke from the barrel, that smile still in place, and then turned back to everyone else. “Sorry. I do hate suckups.”

Marinette thought that Harley would disagree. She didn’t say it aloud -- Joker didn’t like smartasses, either.

“Okay, with only one spot left… I want to make sure that I get the best person for the job.”

He set the gun down on the ground and rested his foot on it.

“Any questions?”

Marinette hesitantly raised her hand.

His eyes narrowed at her. “Yes?”

“That gun only holds six bullets -- well, five now that you’ve shot him -- and there’s eight of us left… can we improvise with our own weapons?”

Joker looked at her for a long time before his smile split wider. “No. You can still kill someone with an unloaded gun.”

Marinette thought she was going to be sick.

Joker slowly backed away from the gun and then pushed himself up onto the nearest crate.

There was a beat where the seven of them looked at each other.

And then there was a mad grab for the gun.

Marinette grabbed the back of the kid’s shirt and dragged them over to hide behind a crate.

She ignored the first gunshot as she peeled off her hoodie and then started tearing at the straps of her vest.

“Take this, duck your head, and run. Zigzag. If you get shot, go limp and pop the fake blood in your pocket. How are you with --” Another shot. “riddles?”

“Uh…?”

“Nevermind. Go to Scarecrow for a job. Tell him that…” Another shot made her temporarily forget the old pseud she had used for him. “... Carrie! Tell him that Carrie sent you.”

The kid’s brown eyes were bright with terror. Scarecrow would love them.

One more shot was fired in the time it took the kid to put on the bulletproof vest and hoodie.

She pushed them towards the exit and waited to see them start running before jumping onto the crate.

Not that bad but tw: murder

There were two people left -- a normal woman and a fanatic. They rolled around in the blood, trying to get the upperhand enough to shoot without risking wasting a bullet. Joker smiled brightly as he watched the two of them, clapping and laughing like this was a comedy or something.

Marinette looked down at the two of them, considering, and then jumped down. The blood on the ground splashed onto them. The normal one yelped and looked away on instinct. The lady got a new piercing, which is terrible news for her but great news for them.

The fanatic pushed the body off of himself and slowly advanced on her. She stood stock still, eyes locked on the gun.

It slowly raised to her face.

She tore her gaze from it and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Make it quick, will you?”

The man grinned and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. Empty.

She smirked.

His eyes widened in realization and her hand came up to steal the gun from his hands. She twirled it around her knuckles and then socked him in the jaw as hard as she could.

The man’s head jerked back and he was out like a light, falling back in the blood with a splash.

She glanced over at Joker. “Do I really have to kill him? That’ll take forever by hand… or by… gun-hand.”

Joker chuckled and nodded.

Marinette’s nose scrunched as she looked down at the man. He was stirring slowly, because getting knocked unconscious hardly ever lasted even a minute.

She jumped on top of the fanatic and started whaling on him, using the gun as makeshift brass knuckles. It kind of hurt, guns were definitely not made for that, but she doubted it hurt her as much as it hurt him if the blood and gore splattering over them like the mist of a demented fountain were anything to go by. The man tried to push back against her but she just moved up to pin his arms under his knees and continued working at pounding his face in.

He went slack. She didn’t believe him. It hadn’t been long enough. She did use it as an opportunity to switch the hand the gun was on, though. A few more punches in he brought himself back to try and plead with her.

Couldn’t have that. She started aiming at his mouth, trying to get him to just shut up and die already. Disgust built in her throat like the blood he was trying desperately to cough up, trying to get a breath of fresh air in. She smashed his nose and the gasps became more panicked, the breaths gurgled. She gave him one more hit to the temple.

His head lolled. She drew back a little, silent except for her ragged pants. Her chest heaved. His didn’t move.

Tw over

Joker’s clapping picked up.

She slowly lifted her head to look at him. He looked delighted.

She wiped at the blood around her mouth to try and speak. All it did was smear.

“Done, Joker, sir,” she said softly.

“Yes. Well done,” he said. “Now, clean up the bodies for me and I’ll take you back to the warehouse for your first assignment.”

She sighed a little and started dragging the bodies to the water.

Marinette was cold and wet from a quick dip in the harbor (no one in Gotham is all that phased by people walking around with blood on them, but she’d felt all sticky, so...). The fact that she was about to be a Joker goon, and meet up with other Joker goons did not help.

She stepped into the warehouse. Twelve pairs of eyes turned on her.

“Nathalie? Nathalie!”

A person ran over, skidding to a stop only a foot away with a bright smile.

“Emma,” she breathed.

Emma, somehow, brightened up even more at being recognized. As if Marinette would, somehow, not recognize her.

She watched the woman bounce on the balls of her feet for a moment before realizing what she wanted.

“You… there’s a lot to catch up on… you can hug me,” Marinette said softly.

Emma gathered her into a hug so tight she thought she could pop and Marinette could only stand there in shock.

Emma squeezed a little more and then pulled back, smiling brightly. “I can’t believe… I thought you were dead!”

And then Emma’s face darkened. She pulled back and slapped Marinette, which she totally deserved but ow.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, YOU ASSHOLE! I SAT BY YOUR GRAVE! I FUCKING MOURNED YOU!”

Marinette gave a weak smile. “... tada?”

She got slapped again. Also very deserved. Also very ow.

And then arms opened and she leaned in to nonverbally accept another hug from Emma.

“You’d better have a good reason for fake dying,” she said.

Marinette glanced over at Joker, who was watching the two of them with a thoughtful expression. It was nice to pretend he was finally realizing the beauty of meaningfully connecting with other people. He was probably just making a mental note of their bond so he could exploit it later.

“I do. For now… what are we doing?”

“Blowing up orphanages in the shape of a smiley face,” said Joker brightly. “No more orphans means no more Robins.”

Christ --.

Everyone relaxed when Joker left, even the four-ish fanatics seemed relieved. Never meet your idols, she supposed.

She sat herself down on a crate marked ‘explosives’ -- a bad idea but whatever -- and everyone sat down like a bunch of kids listening to their teacher tell a story. The mental image made her smile.

She noticed that a good half of the people there were younger than her. Her smile lessened a little.

They all gave her their names. She told them that, despite what Emma said, she now went by Marinette and would prefer if they called her that instead.

This sated everyone enough to leave Emma and her alone. Or, at least, they left the room. They were probably listening in on the other side. Henchmen are the biggest gossips.

“So… what’re the chances, huh?”

Emma sighed. “Well, at least I know it’s still you. You still stall like a dumbass.”

Marinette giggled a little. It was more nervous than happy, though.

She didn’t want to lie, Emma didn’t deserve that. She’d just… leave some critical information out. Definitely not lying. Don’t look up what lying by omission is, just trust her on this.

“I got out,” she said. “Remember how I died?”

“Of course. Riddler killed you.”

“He tried. He saw me stealing the stupid weapons that he wanted and he told me a stupid riddle and I found a way around it. He tried again, and I found a way out of dying again. After that… he offered me a way out of being a henchman.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Marinette looked at the ceiling to prevent them from falling.

“It was a way out. He was offering a job, food, water, a house -- a house, Emma! I couldn’t just say no.”

Emma’s face softened instantly. She’d been a henchman far longer than Marinette had been, after all. Any goon would give anything to get out. Even their friends, if they had to.

“Why’d you die?”

“It felt like the right time. Symbolic, I guess, to ‘kill’ the old me when moving onto a ‘new life’.” Then, Marinette gave a weak smile. “Also, I figured it was about time to let Nathalie Sancoeur rest. She’d been dead for at least two years at that point.”

Emma gave a wet laugh. “Nathalie was a real person? That explains why your ID said forty-something when you were, like, sixteen max.”

“I managed to get alcohol with it a few times, too,” Marinette half-joked.

Emma frowned. “You should have told me. I thought we were…”

Friends. Family, even. But...

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me,” she said. It was probably the most honest she’d been in years.

“I couldn’t be disappointed in you. Not for that,” Emma said. Then, she smiled a little. “What was it like?”

“Better.”

The words ‘not good’ hung in the air without her needing to say them.

Emma smiled sadly.

“How’d you end up back here?”

Marinette’s lips twisted into a grimace. “I don’t think there’s a way to get out of the hole. Not really. Best you can do is hold onto a branch and enjoy the view for as long as you can while you wait for it to break.”

Emma nodded her understanding. She’d been a henchman for longer than Marinette had, after all.

“... so, how did you end up here? Even that old job we had with Penguin was better than this,” said Marinette.

“Fail to get out of the hole enough and eventually you stop trying.”

~~~

TheBetterCanary: beat the shit out of a joker stan today so i think my life is going pretty good

SpoilerAlert: 👨‍🦯👨‍🦯

Daylightwing: As You Should.

Oracle: Oh dear, seems like I’ve gone blind now, too.

Batman7: As long as no one died...

DeadHood: Not as good as beating the shit out of the real thing but still pretty good.

BlackBat: :D

TheOneTrueRobin: Good for her.

~~~~~

Perma taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Canary taglist: @jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram @iloontjeboontje @mystery-5-5 @flyhighdreamer

#canary #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #timari #timmari #timinette #shutterbug

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

Text

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

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leviiattacks · 3 years

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Two Faced | Chapter Two

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 2.6k → click here for the next part !

You're apprehensive the first few days. Peering over your shoulder when you walk through the halls of the Duke's estate. You often find yourself fiddling with the only real possession you have remaining from the entire ordeal - a silver locket given to you by your mother, it hasn't stood the test of time, it's littered in small scratches and it's clearly seen better days. Neither does it shine the way it used to but you need it to feel at ease.

Currently, sitting in the estate's library you attempt to focus on reading the book in front of you. It details the life of an orphaned child, the rest of the plot is a blur to you as this task is not done with the intent of enjoying the literature but with the purpose of distracting yourself.

You've been avoiding Duke Ackerman for days on end now. He's made the occasional visit to your quarters, always politely asks if he's permitted to speak to you - allowed to take even a second of your precious time. You decline every single request, your excuses range from "I'm feeling particularly ill today." to"I would like to rest early.", He never inquires after you've responded. You do however find he communicates in a variety of different ways ; Meals of the finest standard, A luxurious place to live, the maids also offer you the opportunity to venture out into the beautiful gardens but you know he's asked them to do so.

Quite frankly, you're still petrified and are unable to fathom what happened that fateful day, you had never been one to put much faith in God especially after all he had put you through, but maybe there was a God or a higher being or a somebody who helped you in your moment of despair.

Eyes darting from your page to the door of the library, you swear you see the door knob twist and you hastily double take. Nothing looks out of the ordinary so you allow yourself to shake it off. Your eyes droop shut as you knead your shoulders attempting to relieve some of the tension you feel. Recently, you find it to be an ordinary occurrence for your muscles to seize at the worst possible opportunities.

"May I speak to you?" A beaming voice enters the room from behind you but never had such a cheerful voice made you freeze in fright. It's him.

At his appearance you begin to think of all sorts of scenarios and outcomes but the specific thought you've been actively ignoring slyly slips into view. What if the spell weakens?

Fate is an ever changing entity, one minute it may be in your favour, the next... you'd rather not delve any deeper into that alternative.

Jumping to your feet you don't look in his direction trying to keep the contact you have with him minimal.

He audibly huffs and just as you're about to scurry away he speaks again. "Halt your movements."

Something about his voice beckons you to do so and you anxiously face him.

"Did I come off too bold?" The expression he makes is unlike any other you've seen from him before. His eyes twinkle and it looks as if he's holding his breathe expectantly. It's almost comical how different he looks and you can't stop your cheeks from flushing. He's quite adorable under this spell.

But then a flashback is presented to you. The anger in his eyes, the cold feeling of his sword, if he were any closer he would have been swiftly slicing your neck open. Y/N, you were seconds away from becoming a corpse you remind yourself fiercely.

"I'm not doing very well at courting you, Am I?" He frowns as he asks but he's not upset, perhaps disappointed.

Looking at the floor you hear him bombard you with even more questions, he's crowding around you now like a swarm of bees - somehow he manages the job of an entire hive on his own. No one has ever taken such an interest in you.

Your conscience tells you that you will regret this later on down the line, it tells you this will come back and bite you incredibly hard, you will regret being so ignorant and trusting yet you yield. Is it so wrong for you to consider feeling affection? When the Duke snaps out of this spell he will promptly execute you and you're aware of that fact, so what reason is there to cower away in fear?

For all your life you have never experienced the true feeling of love. You had mother's maternal love, which hadn't lasted very long at all. Never would you have any other opportunity to experience the romantic intimate kind involving a significant other. If you were to die you may as well play the role of his wife for as long as this spell wills it. Perhaps he'll receive his memories back so late he forgets or simply no longer cares. Part of you hopes he doesn't remember at all.

"Would you like to..." you pause already regretting what you're doing but before you can continue the Duke cuts you off.

"Have tea together? Explore the gardens together?"

What really sticks out to you most is how he casually emphasizes the word together. He really doesn't care what activity you engage in as long as it's with him. You feel your heart twist in your chest. This is dangerous.

He's eager, leaning forward with wide eyes. It feels odd having someone care about your input, even more odd seeing that person smile at you with the same spirit of an elated child. It's bittersweet knowing his true character.

"Let's have some tea."

A few months have passed since then. Surprisingly you're still alive and the spell shows no signs of wearing away any time soon.

After the raid at your palace he's been nothing but sweet towards you. At first many people were against him courting you and a handful of his advisors attempted to steer his sights away due to suspicions and speculation that you were a "sinful witch" who had manipulated or even seduced him.

The day he had heard those rumors he caused an uproar and had fired the royal advisor who spread them around. "Impertinent fools have the audacity to make such comments about my Duchess." You would usually add in you were not worth such respect considering you were not officially a Duchess but the fiery blaze in his eyes had stopped you.

"Hey Lev, lets go have some tea they've learnt their lesson." You shot the gossiping maids a sympathetic look.

Being under the spell does not make him more tolerable towards other people is what you learnt that day.

Multiple women all with visuals worlds more appealing than your own approach him, some even sent by his advisors to set you up. They test if his love is strong enough to withstand the attacks of others. Time and time again he proves everyone wrong and doesn't think for a second to give up on you.

You're glad for that because through these few months you've ascertained how much you love the Duke for who he is. Well, who he's acting as. You want to slam your head against a concrete wall repeatedly when you think about the level of affection and tenderness you hold towards the man but you can not lie and say you hate him.

The fact that before meeting him you lived a life lacking of love and affection does not help your case either. It only makes it harder.

But it's painfully obvious to you that this is all truly one sided. You aren't really in love with the Duke but you're in love with the magic holding him hostage.

You share these thoughts to yourself as you take a short sip from your tea cup. Sasha has left the room to fetch some pastries and sweets. She takes her job seriously as head maid (you never address her as such because really she's just a friend to you). It's a chilly day hence why you've covered yourself up in a shawl, it coincidentally matches the beige drapes.

Suddenly a boy who you recognize to be one of the young apprentices by the name of Eren bursts through the doors of your tea room. His hair is all over the place and he's panting as he tries to formulate a sentence.

"Duke." Puff. " Duke Ackerman" Puff. "Refuses to return to the Imperial Palace and is threatening the Emperor stating he won't return to his duties!"

You ignore it and try to keep to your own affairs because who are you to interfere in military business? It's looked down upon to involve yourself in such matters.

You send him off and in the mean time Sasha makes her way back.

A few minutes later as the both of you are munching on a particularly sweet macron the palace's butler bursts in the same way as Jaeger and tries to get a word in but Sasha manages to interject first.

"My lady, perhaps you should check in on the Duke." she suggests.

You try to speak but the Butler cuts in abruptly.

"Duchess. I'm afraid he hasn't ate a meal in five days. Please talk to him."

"Mike there is no need to call me a Duchess when I hold no such title...wait the Duke hasn't ate for five days???"

You find it unbelievable that Levi has forgotten to eat or possibly starved himself for something.

Making your way to his office you enter with a speech prepared about how eating is one of the blessings you've been given and how it should be appreciated but instead you're met face to face with a trail of rose petals that lead to the Duke.

You stare at him in confusion. He holds a bouquet of roses in his hands and they kiss his chest, He gives you a look of admiration that can only be described as the look that is reserved for your one true love. His eyes glimmer and they shine along with his glossy raven hair. You look him up and down in astonishment.

He's arranged all this for you.

"I'd do anything to have you be by my side for all of eternity. Will you honor me with the opportunity of taking your hand?"

Just looking at this entirely different version of the Duke, you feel relieved and in the moment you recklessly accept his proposal. You know it's stupid, you know it's ignorant, you know you should be denying him but you can't make yourself ignore the will of your heart.

"I hope to live a long life. One with you present." he whispers into the shell of your ear, it tingles.

After weeks of the Duke's courting you accept his marriage proposal and the both of you quietly wed two months later.

He's so kind and affectionate that you're plagued with nightmares where the spell wears off.

In your nightmares he continues what he left unfinished. Every time he's about to plunge his sword into the depths of your chest he wakes you up and caresses your face in between his large hands. He wraps his arms around you after some time. Once your breathing relaxes he asks what has made you cry and you can't do anything to explain. It only hurts more seeing his concerned expression. The way his eyes flick between your eyes and trembling lips, you want to tell him the truth, instead you state that you"had a nightmare, and don't wish to talk about it." You don't want him asking questions over it.

It's another Wednesday and you're pacing back and forth in front of his office door arguing with yourself about whether or not you should enter. Finally, you decide to make your entrance and peek inside. You hear him arguing with his advisors as normal.

"Instead of blithering like a idiot and making excuses why don't yo-" he's midway through his sentence when he sees you at the doorway.

Dropping the previous matter he rushes over towards you and scoops you up in his arms. Smiling up at you, you smile back sheepishly ignoring the stares of his staff.

"Honey, why did you leave me? Where did you go?" He whines into your neck and you try to push him away shyly but he won't budge.

Everyone around you grimaces at his usual mood swings as well as the heavy flirting that he's targeting at you.

"You haven't come to eat dinner with me for three nights. You're the workaholic who left me." You swiftly retort his point and you pout at the end of your sentence. He pouts back and you can see his cheeks are tinged a blushed pink.

"Then we must dine immediately, you should have informed me that I had made you feel so neglected, my darling!"

After making your way to the dining room you and Levi are conversing happily as per usual when you spot his highly agitated secretary Mikasa. It settles in that she's been standing there for a considerable amount of time, time flies when you and Levi speak. She's clearly waiting for him to report back to duty.

The first time you had met Mikasa she was highly suspicious of you and would keep an eye on your movements at all times (literally) , you thought she perhaps fancied the Duke but later learnt that she was related to him and that was probably why she was on edge at the appearance of a new individual. Besides all that she's sweet really, sometime she joins you and Sasha for tea and you happily converse. She isn't much of a talker, more of a listener which works out well considering how extroverted Sasha is and how you love to story tell. You've shared many fond memories with her.

That's why you place a hand on Levi's shoulder and interrupt him.

"Why don't you return to your work? It's about time I send you back now." You suggest but he rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Why do you keep on trying to get rid of me? I want to stay for a little longer. After all you are my wife. You count as one of my duties. If not the most important duty of all!" He's about to break out into one of his embarrassing speeches and you want to save Mikasa from that.

"Mikasa really needs you to complete your other duties. Do it for me Lev." You try and butter him up with the mention of his nickname. As expected he perks up and stands up to leave, not before placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Ah Lev, I'll be taking a short trip out today. Is that alright with you?"

You don't specify that 'out' means the Sunday Market place, he'll ask question after question.

He holds onto your chin with his thumb and leans in for a chaste kiss.

"Of course my darling. Be careful."

He giddily waves at you as he leaves and you wave back with the same enthusiasm. You giggle at the sight of Mikasa practically gagging at the two of you and glaring daggers at Levi.

The door then shuts and you're left alone.

All that accompanies you is silence and you purse your lips together trying to keep it together. Recently as soon as he turns away from you all you can think about is how this love of his is a hoax.

He doesn't really love you.

That doesn't stop all the sweet words he's ever uttered from flooding your memory.

"You're mine and I'm yours."

"My beautiful love."

"I love you I mean it." It hurts. He doesn't mean it.

But you'll keep the charade up. You'll find a way to keep him this way forever. It's selfish but you can't be blamed, It keeps you safe and happy.

Love is nice but you would prefer to live.

#levi ackerman #attack on titan levi #attack on titan #snk #aot #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi aot #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #levi fluff #levi smut #levi angst #duke levi #leviiattacks #levi fanfiction

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 3 years

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So I rewatched Raya.

And I was really trying to watch it without a skeptical lens. I wanted to be able to act like the oblivious kids in that theater and just enjoy the movie. But I just couldn't. I've mentioned it before it's a gorgeous movie but there are so many things wrong with it that just bug me. And I’ve mentioned before the changes that could be made to fix it and the main one being just completely scrapping the movie and starting from scratch with a tv show. And because I’m on spring break and I have nothing to do (also I’m a perfectionist and I tend to hyper-fixate on things that I know have easy solutions) I broke down how I would make it better in two different categories. The first one being kind of baseline stuff like animation and character designs and other stuff I had small problems with and the second being plot.

Section One:

Okay so I know we all hate Sisu’s design. As someone who grew up with Naga carvings and paintings all around my house seeing this Elsa fursona was like a slap to the face. Like I know I really shouldn’t expect more from Disney but I did. I mentioned in this post that I would have loved to see a longer series even if it meant the animation quality went down. And I feel like Neeith_ on TikTok did a great job of drawing what Sisu could have looked like which only disappointed me more. Caldatelier on Twitter also pointed out the many flaws with Raya’s outfit design which fully proved to me that Disney did little to no research and chose style points over historical accuracy. I also felt like the designs of the main characters were very unremarkable and before you’re like “that the whole point it’s supposed to be normal people saving the world” I don't mean that I mean it feels like they took previous designs and just made them Asian. Like my sister and I were talking about it and she said the baby just reminded her of the boss baby and Tong reminded her of one of the twins from rapunzel with a little more depth. This is also kind of a small thing but it kind of bugged me that they were all the same skin tone if not lighter. SEA is incredibly diverse and if they weren’t going to represent all of the cultures in full then they could at least shown their features. I feel like the food should have been more important. I know I mentioned it in my last post but food is an incredibly important part of our culture. It’s not a placeholder or a set-piece to make a scene look more aesthetically pleasing. It’s a way for us to bond and show each other we care it’s a way we show genuine love and appreciation. And when you have a main character who is emotionally stunted it felt like food was a perfect way for her to show her love and they blew it. Like can you imagine Raya and her dad getting into huge fights and then bringing each other food as an apology sitting in front of that window not needing to say a word because they simply get each other? Can you imagine Raya visiting Namaari and stocking up on foods that she knows Namaari loves but also hasn’t been able to eat for a while? We could have had genuinely heartwarming scenes centered around food but instead, we got set pieces and props. And one more thing that stuck with me was the voice acting this movie should have been a change for SEA voice actors to really put their names out there and be a part of a really big Disney project but as always out voiced were overshadowed by someone lighter.

Section Two:

(I’m going to warn you this is gonna be really long because I’m essentially rewriting the entire plot because as I said before I’m a perfectionist)

I feel like the first ep should be dedicated to the backstory and the lore

How were the Druuns made how where they defeated

I feel like it would have been interesting to see them fighting over the gem

But I think it would have been really interesting to see from the get-go how Sisu wasn’t the one who made the gem

So instead of having this big reveal alongside Raya, we would know that her hope of finding this all powerful Naga is hopeless because the story was a lie

Another thing I think another person who should have had more screentime was Raya’s dad

I think it would have been interesting to know his backstory and get some questions answered like “why does he have so much faith in the other rulers to help him on his journey to make Kumandra a thing?” “When did he become the protector of the gem?” “And how many attempts of stealing the gem has he thwarted”

Also as much as I love him I feel like his personality incredibly unrealistic because all SEA men I’ve met have been really emotionally stunted

Idk it’s just a small thing that made me go “eh he talks to his daughter. What kind of magic world is this?”

I would have liked to see Raya’s various attempts at becoming a protector of the gem

I think it would have been a really good way to show how resilient she is from a very young age

And when she finally succeeds the audience could have celebrated with her like a small “yes she finally got it and all her hard work finally paid off” moment

I feel like we should have gotten more Raya and Namaari moments right from the start

Like how they meet is basically the same but Raya doesn’t trust her with the gem’s location an hour after meeting her

It's a trust that both of them fought for in their own way

Like you get to see them bond over their mutual understanding of “well the worlds fucked”

So when Namaari finally stabs Raya in the back when she betrays her for the first time it hurts when she says the throwaway line about them being friends in another world in burns Raya

Because she thought they were friends and she genuinely trusted Namaari

Which would have really justified her distrust in the world

And again I feel like we should have seen that 6 year period of Raya trying to find Sisu

We would get to experience the frustration of building up the hope of finally finding her just to have it knocked down when she’s not there

It could also do two more things

Raya making genuine connections with people

And Raya and Namaari’s strange alliance forming

Now for the first one, I feel like it would have been really cool for Raya to be introduced to the different lands

And yeah sure I feel like it would make her feel like kind of a tourist but I feel like it would be really interesting to see her go through culture shock

Because she really thought she knew these places but boom they’re completely different from what she was told

And while she’s making her way around she learns about the different lands and the people inhabiting them and also their culture

We could have seen Raya make genuine connections outside of the main cast

And if you’re feeling a little masochistic we could see her lose those people because of the druune or simply because they died

But the main point is we would be able to see her become less and less selfish

Now back to Raya and Namaari’s alliance/romance later on

I mentioned in my other post that when Raya trusted Namaari to put the gem back together it felt very flat very fake

So I feel like it would be cool for the series to be split into two parts the first part being from Raya’s perspective and the second part being Namaari’s

I also feel like Namaari would have to be a constant in Raya’s journey

And what I mean by that is like she’s there every other episode either trying to stop Raya or she’s trying to save her from life or death situations

And later on down the line, we find out the main reason why she kept helping Raya (in her own way) was that she didn’t want to see her get seriously hurt

But anyway that’s mostly backstory and now we’re in the present tense

And like I said before we know that Sisu wasn’t the one who made the gem so we know that Raya’s quest is pointless

But because we’ve seen her various attempts at becoming the protector of the gem and the six years of looking for Sisu we know she’s too stubborn to give up just yet

So she and Sisu head out to find the other gem pieces

Now with context, her and Namaari’s standoff has more tension because for the first time in years Namaari doesn’t know the motives behind Raya’s actions

I don’t really have many ideas for Sisu other than she starts to trust people less and less

Like she’s still really innocent for the most part but there’s a small part of her a really small part that’s kind of lost faith in humanity

And after this, we meet Boun

I feel like we should have known more about Boun considering the fact he’s the first side characters we met

But it’s very clear they gave no thought to his character I’m sure they just wrote down “funny kid who lost his family”

This is such a shame because he could have been so much more than just “Raya’s funny younger brother”

Like he could have been this selfless kid who hands out food to the orphans around and offering his ship to homeless people during the night

Next with the baby and the monkeys, there’s really not much you can do with them unless you seriously age them up

Like at the very least have Noi be a grade-schooler who can express more emotions than mad and hungry

Like she can still be the baby of the group while taking care of herself and expressing her emotions a great example of this is Polly from amphibia (which is a great show with a SEA main character you should check it out)

With Tong, I have two words: Survivors Guilt which is something Raya would be able to relate to in fact they all would

I feel like Tong’s entire character arc would be him realizing that he can’t save everyone

Which yeah sure would seem pretty contradictory with the ending being them literally saving everybody but I have a fix for that too

And finally, we get to Namaari who is selfless to a fault

Giving me very much typical Disney princess she gives up food to kids who seem particularly hungry

She’s usually the one who tells the stories to the kids but her mom was taking over that day

She helps her people in any way she can and honestly, she’s wearing herself a little thin

Because while she’s doing all that she’s also saving Raya & co from their own mistakes

Giving me very much burning the candle at both ends

So you see all these characters bonding over the course of at least a year

Making and losing more allies along the way

And because Namaari has been helping them they trust her… for the most part

But there have been times when she trips them up and makes their end goal all the more difficult

And because they haven’t known her as long as Raya has each character has at least one moment when they look up at the sky and scream in frustration “What is this binturi’s deal!”

But anyway they finally get to fang and Raya is more open to the idea of just talking to Namaari because she trusts her not because Sisu told her to but because she’s seen Namaari do good

And Namaari is even more reluctant to take the gem pieces by force because she has a decent relationship with Raya like yeah sure they’re not best friends but they’re in a good place

And shocker shocker she’s maybe just maybe head over heels in love with the princess of heart

But her mother gives her an ultimatum and that is “either you take it from her or I will”

Because here’s the thing, Queen Virana isn't a moron the exact opposite in fact and she knows her daughter has been going easy on Raya these past six years

She also knows that she could squash Raya under her shoe if she damn well pleased and Namaari knows this too

So when Namaari gets her necklace back she doesn’t even hesitate to take her crossbow when she leaves

The meet up goes basically the same except its more Raya talking Namaari down than Sisu

And while they’re having their little heart to heart Sisu notices Namaari’s finger twitch and she goes to jump in front of Raya

And Namaari was shaken by the sudden movement and fires and kills Sisu

I feel like this would make Raya furious for two reasons one she killed her best friend and two she deep down trusted Namaari to do the right thing

So when the fight goes down instead of the whole “I don't care if you trust me because Sisu did” it would be “I trusted you and you murdered her”

And when the dust settles Raya realizes that this battle doesn’t matter because fighting Namaari isn’t going to bring Sisu and she’s also sick and tired of hurting the people she loves

And she decides to help people instead not because Sisu would want her to but because its the right thing to do

Which is cliche sure but its better than the scene they gave us which really wasn’t faithful to her character arc of not caring for people who aren't close to her

And I feel like Namaari joining her makes more sense with my context if anything else

And here’s how I would fix this scene even with them fighting the Druune off to the best of their abilities there are still falling buildings and the gem can’t really save people from that

So they lose some people not because of the Druune but because death happens even when the heroes are fighting their hardest

And because I feel like this would just affirm Tong’s character arc because there are people dying under these buildings he knows it’ll take too long to save them and its not time they have

So he leaves them behind prioritizing the people he knows he can save

Anyway, after a long battle scene, they finally end up underground

And it goes basically the same except it doesn’t take Raya as long to convince them

And instead of Raya’s reasoning of “Sisu told us to” it's more “all this fighting isn't going to bring Sisu back” and “I know she’s done something terrible and you can be mad at her after this but for now trust her”

So when they all make their sacrifices it’s less “I’m doing this for Raya” and more “I’m doing this because deep down I know you’ll do the right thing”

And Namaari does do the right thing obviously

Sisu comes back and it's all “yay we saved the world!” but it doesn’t really end there

Because I hate the “lifetime” ending of “even though we all went through incredibly traumatic events we’re all fine months later” no they’re running around for months and years fixing their mess

And while this is happening Raya and Namaari is mending their relationship they’ve apologized for all the terrible things they’ve done to each other

And when they’re fixing their world they’re helping each other become the best versions of themselves

That’s when they really fall in love

Like don't get me wrong they loved each other when all the bad shit was going down but there was too much bad blood them to really process it and talk it out

But that’s exactly what they do when it’s all over they talk it out for hours

In fact, they both said its the most they’ve heard the other speak

They both agree they’re in the best place to start a relationship and so they do

#disney raya #raya #namaari #rayaari #raya and the last dragon #did I just basically write the rough draft for a tv show in the span of 4 hours #yes yes I did

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