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siren-serenity · 11 months

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the takeover of crews has begun...

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 they call the second generation shitty and filled with fucking pussies...i think they need to be fucked up to oblivion.

-all written by 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍-

note: the ones with (nsfw) are not suitable for minors! minors dni. however, those without any other labelling are safe for everyone :)

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔…𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐒. 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒. note: i will only write platonic/romantic for the students of J-High School unless they are aged up because they are minors. i will allow romantic/nsfw as long as the reader is appropriately aged compared to the character (no large age gaps allowed) ex. all J-High students must be aged up for nsfw work. i will not write for anyone in the first generation or pre-generation unless they are for platonic purposes (james lee is 21~23 years old so nsfw and romantic is allowed) all my LOOKISM works contain spoilers from the webtoon. you have been warned!

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 ↳˳;; ❝ a hopeless romantic all my lifeᵕ̈೫˚∗

"quick daniel!" you drag him away from the chaotic group at lotte world and to the photobooths. daniel is stuck in a stupor of wonder as he stares at the bright and colorful decorations around him, like he just entered a whole new world. lotte world is just that amazing, in your honest opinion. you gesture for him to lean down and you put the silly mickey mouse ears in his hair before pointing at the camera. "one, two, three!" just as the camera flashes, daniel turns around to press his lips to your cheeks, his own cheeks flushing bright red at his actions.

𝐙𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐄 ↳˳;; ❝ _______________ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i'm sorry," zack apologizes. the room is barren and quiet, save for you two. you dab a small cotton fluff that was previously dipped in alcohol and press it to his cut, making him let out a wince. "sorry for fighting when you said you hate it." you hum before smiling. "but that guy ended up way worse, right?" zack's chest huffs up as he gives you a grin. "of course! no one insults my lover and gets away with it that easily!"

𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐄/𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐎 ↳˳;; ❝ cuteness overloadᵕ̈೫˚∗

vasco calls out your name eagerly; his voice echos in the halls of j-high, making everyone stare at the two of you. he dashes through the corridors before taking a leap into your arms. if it weren't for your strength, you both would have crashed into the floor painfully. "good morning, vasco," you greet him with a kiss to his forehead. his eyelids flutter at the action before grinning at you back. "morning y/n! i love you!"

𝐉𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆 ↳˳;; ❝ _______________ᵕ̈೫˚∗

his body language conveys all the emotions he doesn't convey with his voice. your hands entangle with his and squeeze his fingers tight, reassuring him that you'll always be here for him. jay hong gives you a gentle smile before pressing a gentle kiss to your exposed collarbone. it speaks more than whatever flimsy compliments you earn from your 'fanbase'. 'i love you', jay hong expresses.

𝐕𝐈𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐍 ↳˳;; ❝ _______________ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i'm a monster," vin jin mutters, stubbornly looking away from you. his big, tacky sunglasses remain perched on his face and the blood boiling in your veins itches to take them off. you know the story, you know the truth, but why is he so stubborn to refuse? "you'll hate me." your hand reaches out to grab his chin, tilting it to meet your loving eyes. you lean in, lips only inches away from his before murmuring. "you aren't a monster. you're my lover - you are my vin jin. forever."

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐌 ↳˳;; ❝ bunny boy!jake headcanons (slight nsfw)ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ oversizedᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ sunsets in two different waysᵕ̈೫˚∗

the streets of big deal are empty, which was to be expected since it was late at night. jake kim bids goodbye to his crew members with a warm smile before slinging his black jacket over his shoulders and striding back home. home, that was a new word to his vocabulary but only added because of you. "what's for dinner?" he sneaks up and cuddles you from behind, making you yelp and hit him on the head. "wash up, jake kim! i can still smell blood on you!" you push him away but not before sneaking a tiny kiss on his cheek. he only pouts and goes off to do so, but not before yelling a quick "dinner smells good, love!"

𝐆𝐔𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 ↳˳;; ❝ good boy (nsfw)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"holy shit," gun park breathes out in awe. he tears the sunglasses away from his face, revealing fully black sclera and stunningly white pupils that make him seem like a devil. groaning bodies surrounding the manmade devil and blood is splattered all over the alleys. "fight me!" you scoff and walk away from your own pile of bodies, away from the bloodshed, away from your past, and away from the mysterious handsome man that seems to be enamored by you. "no thanks. i'm done." you dodge a brazillian kick, hissing at the newly-forming bruise on your arm. gun's eyes widen and something within him stirs up, something he hasn't felt in a long, long time. "it wasn't a question, love."

𝐆𝐎𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐌 ↳˳;; ❝ boredom (nsfw)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i'll beat you at mario kart one day!" goo cries out as you dance in victory, throwing him the childish 'L' signs and laughing at the fake-blond. you throw yourself onto the couch and in the process, threw goo off the couch and onto the carpet. "hey!" he yells before pouncing on you, fingers dancing across your sides and you let out high-pitched laughs. "s-stop!" "not until you say i'm the best at mario kart!" goo responds with a twinkle in his eyes as you continue to fill the house with warmth and so much laughter.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 ↳˳;; ❝ _______________ᵕ̈೫˚∗

ruffling eden's fur, you couldn't help the smile on your face from the absolutely lovely weather today. johan seong couldn't help but disagree and it was clear by the way his jacket was stubbornly wrapped around you like a burrito - god dog's proud logo drawn on the back. "you're going to get cold," he says, blushing. you only tilt your head back to laugh. "it's spring, johan. i'm not going to get a cold." "you never know," he huffs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. the bright red blush on his ears gives away all his emotions and you give him a teasing push.

𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐎 ↳˳;; ❝ markedᵕ̈೫˚∗

"are you done yet?" samuel scrolls on his phone as he sits on the cheap leather couch. he gives no attention to all the blushing people blatantly staring at him, only to his phone which was filled with numbers and words. "done!" you smile and walk out of the fitting room. samuel immediately puts away his phone and stares at you with adoring eyes. "we're buying it immediately. along with everything else," he smirks at your face. he takes out his thick wallet and walks to the counter, blowing you a kiss in return.

𝐄𝐋𝐈 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐆 ↳˳;; ❝ hair dyeᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ a hopeless romantic all my lifeᵕ̈೫˚∗

the day you met yenna, it was like an angel descended onto the world. eli jang couldn't help the gentle smile crawling onto his face as he sat next to you on the old carpet. your hands fiddled with yenna's chubby ones, a smile filled with glee on your face like it was permanently engraved there. little murmurs of 'so cute!' were repeated like a mantra and eli couldn't help the pride blossoming in his soul. "love you," he presses a kiss onto your cheek and you blink at him cluelessly. "that was so random, but," you snuggled into him. "love you too."

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐍 ↳˳;; ❝ sunsets in two different waysᵕ̈೫˚∗

"come on now," sinu han's arms snaked around your waist and tugged you closer to him. his face naturally and automatically buried into the crook of your collarbone and the edges of his black hair tickled against your skin. you laughed, the carefree noise making sinu's heart race, and he couldn't help his teasing words. "keep laughing like that and i will never let you go!"

#lookism #lookism x reader #webtoon #daniel park #zack lee #euntae lee #vasco #vin jin #jake kim #jay hong #gun park #goo kim #johan seong #samuel seo #eli jang #sinu han

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laluvlidovezgal · 5 months

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JUST LIKE A DREAM.

TW! manga spoilers.

bittersweet! wistful.

t. muichiro x gn. reader.

HE FOUND HIMSELF ENSNARED IN THE RAPTUROUS EMBRACE OF A PLAIN, UNADORNED NOTEBOOK. its pristine pages beckoning him to whisper tantalizing secrets.

seating himself in the seiza style-his limbs folded gracefully—he wielded a quill like a maestro's baton, while his other hand languidly cradled his cheek-a solitary pillar of repose in the vast expanse of contemplation.

with a sigh of resignation, he embarked upon the wondrous dance between ink and parchment.

...hey.

he paused, his countenance adorned with a mask of impassivity, concealing a tempest of thoughts within.

why, he mused, did he feel compelled to extend his greetings to a humble sheet of paper?

yet, a flicker of ephemeral memory flickered through the corridors of his mind—a faint echo that whispered of customs and courtesies, of beginnings and origins.

though he found himself adrift in the enigma of it all, he yielded to the notion that a simple "hello" would serve as the key to unlock the labyrinth of his newfound routine.

anyways..

that butterfly lady gave me this.

i don't know why, she just did.

he blinked, his brows ascending with a subtle grace, as a revelation had alighted upon his consciousness like a silken butterfly.

i don't know why, she just did.

actually, i do.

she gave me this because she said that journaling..

it'd help me with my memories somehow.

if i recall correctly..she told me to write down anything i figured is worth noting, saying it'll help me 'treasure' it or something.

as he neared the culmination of his literary pilgrimage, he sighed yet again, his breath a gentle zephyr that whispered secrets to the dull room.

whatever. it doesn't matter.

the final words dripped like honey from his quill, an offering to the vast expanse of time and oblivion. yet, even as he penned the denouement of his day, a knowing knowledge clung to his intellect—one he had unfortunately grown accustomed to.

i'll forget about this, anyways.

on the contrary—to his own astonishment—he found himself ensnared within the confines of familiarity, as if destiny had conspired to recreate the tableau of days past.

an unexpected sense of accomplishment fluttered within his being, though he nonchalantly brushed it aside, for its allure held no sway over his seemingly impassive demeanor.

wow.

this again.

never thought i'd actually come back to this.

i guess that person was just so weird that i instantly went here subconsciously.

and yet—a query lingered, teasing the fringes of his consciousness.

how did he manage to recall the precise location where this artifact had been bestowed? his gaze faltered, searching the surroundings with an air of detachment, even as his countenance remained stoic and unyielding.

alas, pondering the intricacies of remembrance proved an exercise in futility.

the answer—it seemed—resided in the glorious mist of poorly scrapped away details.

in reality, for—in a moment of abandon-he had actually just left this vessel exposed upon the very table that bore witness to its initial unveiling.

with that profound comprehension nestled in the recesses of his clouded mind, he simply blinked before returning to the task of diligently jotting down the words he had momentarily paused, delicately inscribing the words that had eluded him mere seconds ago—fully aware that they would soon inevitably slip from his memory.

a pensive cloud descended upon his countenance, casting a shadow upon the dainty tapestry of his thoughts.

his brows, like twin sentinels of vexation, furrowed once more, mirroring the tumultuous musings that swirled within the depths of his mind.

speaking of which, what's their deal anyways?

he simultaneously pondered, his memory a fragmented mosaic that teased the edges of his recollection. who exactly was this vexing interloper that had managed to impede upon his path? the tendrils of remembrance danced just beyond his grasp, tantalizingly close yet frustratingly distant.

bothersome brat getting in the way like that.

the realization dawned, an ember of understanding amidst the haze. it seemed that this individual, by the mere virtue of their skills, bore the mark of a fellow demon slayer. though their intentions remained obscured, he acknowledged that their presence, even as an ally, posed an inconvenience.

yet, he couldn't help but acknowledge that the situation would have been far more dire had they been an unsuspecting civilian thrust into the fray.

"had I not intervened, you would've gotten hit instead."

the echo of their words reverberated within his mind like a daunting scene, conjuring a vivid portrait of their visage. a flicker of irritation danced in his eye, an involuntary twitch that betrayed his lingering frustration.

at least that weirdo refrained from whining and coercing me into helping them seek the aid of that butterfly lady.

even still—a veil of perplexity settled upon his thoughts, shrouding his mind in a haze of bewilderment. the actions of that imbecile confounded him, defying all logic and reason. how dare they insinuate that he lacked the agility to evade the blow? and even if he hadn't, was it not just another day, with the ebb and flow of danger an ever-present companion?

furthermore, the question lingered like a specter; why did they possess such fervent concern, enough to willingly absorb the impact intended for him? a cynical frown danced upon his lips, for he harbored a deep-seated suspicion that their motivations were rooted in a desire to don the mantle of heroism.

ordinarily, such trifling matters would have been dismissed with a mere shrug, relegated to the realm of inconsequential distractions.

and yet, that singular event, like a pebble tossed into a still pond, sent ripples coursing through the depths of his being. it stirred a dormant fire within him, kindling a smoldering embers of annoyance that refused to be extinguished.

the enigma of their actions gnawed at his consciousness, an incessant itch that demanded his attention. why did their interference provoke such a visceral reaction? what lay beneath the surface of his irritation? the answers eluded him, concealed in the murk of his own introspection.

eventually, a flicker of relief danced upon his countenance, as if a gentle breeze had brushed away the creases of consternation etched upon his features. for, in this fortuitous moment, salvation arrived in the form of ginko, his loyal companion, his assigned kasugai crow.

entering the room through the open window with a graceful flutter of ebony wings, the avian harbinger announced his imminent departure towards yet another mission, a clarion call that whisked away the tendrils of disquietude that had begun to take hold.

had he been pondering for that long?

he blinked, extending a hand adorned with purposeful gentleness, he bestowed upon ginko a few aimless caresses to the sleek feathers that adorned the crow's head. a momentary respite amidst the chaos, a fleeting connection between two souls bonded by the trials of their shared endeavors.

and then, with a seamless transition, his expression reverted back to its stoic neutrality, a mask of detachment that shielded the depths of his thoughts.

his gaze, once adrift and almost forgotten, refocused upon the near-forgotten notebook that lay before him—its pages, blank with very few words but brimming with the promise of untold tales, unlike before—it now beckoned him with an irresistible allure. who’s to say that this encounter, this outpouring of his thoughts upon its parchment, would be his last? the question lingered, suspended in the air, as if the notebook itself whispered of secrets yet untold.

however—a hint of exasperation tinged his thoughts once more, a testament to the minutes squandered upon this wearisome endeavor. the weight of time wasted settled upon his shoulders like an oppressive burden, threatening to drown him in a sea of regret. had that butterfly lady bestowed this upon him merely as a means to pass the hours in such a pitiful manner?

what’s with everyone pissing him off lately? a disapproving click of his tongue resounded, accompanied by an inward huff of frustration, as if to dismiss such thoughts as inconsequential.

yet, even as he brushed aside the notion, a lingering seed of doubt remained. the origins of this diversion, this seemingly trivial pastime, stirred a restlessness within him. but he swiftly quelled the rising tide of contemplation, for there were matters of greater import to attend to.

with a languid motion, his hand lazily fell back to his side, a symbol of resignation to the inevitability of his next mission.

ginko—ever attentive—observed his movements with unwavering focus through her beady eyes.

as he rose to his feet and walked away without a word, she hastened to follow, a silent guardian ensuring he treaded the correct path this time.

perchance, had he paid greater heed—he would have discerned the inadvertent significance he ascribed to that encounter.

possibly, if he could decipher his emotions amidst the shroud of negativity, he would come to comprehend the profound influence this ostensibly unavailing—or so he perceives it to be—undertaking continues to hold within the recesses of his hazy recollections.

a sense of weariness pervaded his being, his form slouched over the table in an exhausted posture. his arm, draped atop the surface, cradled his lower face in a gesture of weary surrender.

heavy-lidded eyes, devoid of their usual sharpness, stared blankly at the notebook before him, its pages a repository of familiarity and untapped potential.

his restless fingers found solace in the quill, an instrument of creation and expression. yet, instead of purposeful strokes, they engaged in aimless fiddling, a subconscious act of seeking comfort in the familiar. the quill danced between his fingertips, its weight and texture grounding him in the present moment.

as time trickled by, his hand slowly maneuvered with deliberate relaxation.

the quill hovered mere inches above the pristine expanse of the paper, its poised tip a conduit for the thoughts that swirled within his mind. the ink droplets within the quill began to fall, each one a testament to the passage of time and the stillness that enveloped him.

then, with a leisurely descent—the quill found its mark upon the page, leaving behind a trail of ink as he transcribed the words that lingered in his thoughts. beginning another silent conversation between the depths of his mind and the blankness of the paper.

if i had known that i’d be assigned with that idiot on the mission, i wouldn’t have even waited for their arrival.

eh. i guess they were somewhat useful..for baiting the demon.

the words upon the page bore the unmistakable mark of apathy, as if they had been woven with little to no effort. lines connected words haphazardly, yet he remained unperturbed by their disarray.

a mere blink was his response to the warm embrace of the rising sun's rays streaming through the window, causing him to momentarily shield his eyes. his lids fluttered, adjusting to the light.

shifting slightly, he raised his head, casting a glance towards the window. the sight of the morning's arrival beckoned his attention, a gentle reminder of the passing hours that had slipped away unnoticed.

would you look at that... it's morning already, and i haven't even managed a wink of sleep yet.

a yawn escaped his lips, an involuntary reflex brought forth by the weariness that engulfed him.

craning his head to the right, he raised a hand, fingers reaching out to massage the tense muscles at the back of his neck. the physical sensation provided a fleeting respite from the mental strain that weighed upon him.

tearing his gaze away from the luminous frame of light, his attention returned to the page before him.

the letters—now seemingly slid onto the page without care—formed words that appeared smudged or messy. yet, his response was one of detached observation, his eyes trailing along the inked lines as if merely skimming their surface. his mind adrift in a sea of fatigue and contemplation.

a wistful breath escaped his lips, carrying with it a tinge of reflection. to think that in the end, he found himself aiding them, joining forces with those he once regarded with a mix of skepticism and reservation. vague memories of their coordination and shared battles flickered in his mind, a testament to their surprising competence.

irony hung in the air, as he ever-so begrudgingly acknowledged the decency of their skill, granting them the credit they deserved.

but to say that he still harbored a grudge would be an overstatement. time had a way of blurring the sharp edges of resentment, softening the sting of past grievances.

he had moved on—or at least strived to do so—simply because he no longer wished to expend mental energy on such affairs.

of course, the reasoning behind their initial encounter still eluded him. the circumstances that had brought them together remained shrouded in mystery, a puzzle piece that refused to fit neatly into the larger picture.

yet, despite this lack of understanding, he had chosen to extend his assistance.

it was a matter of reciprocity, an unspoken agreement that demanded the return of the favor. they had aided him, and so he, in turn, had done the same.

but let it be known that his actions were certainly not born out of deliberate intention. it wasn't a calculated decision to seek their gratitude or favor. no, he had been driven solely by his sense of duty, a commitment to vanquish the demon that had threatened their lives. their expressions of gratitude that followed were—in his perception—unwarranted and unnecessary.

don’t get him wrong, it wasn't a matter of rejecting their appreciation out of disdain or arrogance. it was simply a matter of perspective. he saw his actions as obligations fulfilled, his purpose aligned with the task at hand. the gratitude they offered was an unexpected byproduct, an outcome that held little significance in the grand scheme of his mission.

unbeknownst to him—his head gradually dipped lower, a subtle surrender to the weight of exhaustion. his eyes, utterly heavy with weariness, would occasionally flutter open, a futile effort to rouse himself from the encroaching grasp of sleep.

but little did he know, there existed a vast realm of his true intentions beneath the surface of his consciousness, waiting to be explored, waiting to unveil its secrets—a landscape of an undiscovered reality and hidden depths lay dormant, longing to be discovered.

yet, in his current state, he remained oblivious to the elusive wonders that lay within.

oblivious to the possibilities that awaited him, he continued to battle the encroaching embrace of sleep, unaware of the treasures that could be unearthed once he relinquished his conscious hold.

but perhaps, in due time, the mist would lift, and he would come to realize the vastness that lay hidden within, embracing the unknown with open arms and truly delving into the depths, and alas reaching a benevolent understanding of his own subconscious.

soon enough, he found himself absentmindedly twirling a petal between his fingers as he entered the room. his focus remained fixated on the delicate blossom even as his hand closed the door behind him, and even as he made his way towards the mirror.

gradually, he lifted his gaze, his eyes settling on the flower crown adorning his head. the sakura petals, masterfully intertwined, caught his attention, their beauty captivating his senses.

with an almost contemplative look, he then raised the petal he held to eye-level, keenly studying its intricate details.

of all people, who would have thought he'd be adorning something as whimsical as this? it seemed that over time, through some inexplicable force, he had found himself repeatedly crossing paths with an individual he had once deemed a nuisance.

bizzarely, he discovered that he often engaged in small conversations with them—or rather—they spoke while he found himself lost in his own thoughts as usual, staring at the wispy clouds.

however, that habit of his had not lasted long with them.

he recalled a time when he unexpectedly began sparing a not-so discreet glance for the person who stood beside him, whilst internally pursuing his own musings while they carried on with their activities.

perhaps it was because he secretly wished for their presence to vanish? he had made his feelings abundantly clear, even voicing his desire to be rid of them. yet, they stubbornly persisted, undeterred by his dismissive attitude.

and so, he had resigned himself to their constant presence, reluctantly accepting the fact that they would be a part of his daily life.

today, it was he who stumbled upon them—a reversal of their usual encounters.

he couldn't help but note the uncharacteristic silence that enveloped them, a departure from their usual chatter.

enveloped in a realm of heightened intrigue, his inquisitive spirit awakened. his gaze, like a wandering star, was drawn to the focal point that held their rapt fascination.

with an arched ascent, his eyebrows mirrored his amazement. majestically poised, a resplendent tapestry unfolded before him—a bountiful cherry blossom tree, its branches bedecked in resplendent blooms. the sakura petals—akin to balletic maestros—pirouetted gracefully through the air, composing a symphony of ethereal enchantment.

in that instant, he comprehended the rationale behind their entranced stare. the vision of the grand cherry blossom tree, its delicate petals dancing with elegance, possessed an irresistible charm that surpassed his customary indifference. it stood as a tableau of organic marvel, another spectacle capable of evoking a latent response within him, even if he had not fully embraced it until now.

blinking in a manner reminiscent of an owl, he returned to the present moment.

ultilizing both hands, he delicately removed the flower crown from his head. unusually, he handled it with an exceptional tenderness, treating it as though it were a fragile treasure he was determined to preserve with utmost care.

however, inexplicably, he decided to place it adjacent to his notebook. then, his attention shifted back to the petal he had held throughout the entire process, and a subtle downturn of his lips coupled with a slight furrowing of his brows betrayed his disappointment.

the petal appeared slightly crumpled... perhaps he should have focused on it first before removing the crown?

his head instinctively tilted as he contemplated the past. unbeknownst to him, the fact that he was investing such reflection into a... gift—as they had claimed it to be—went entirely unnoticed.

an idea flickered to life within the recesses of his mind, though it may not have been grand in scale.

with a sense of purpose, he resolved to safeguard this newfound notion within the pages of his trusty notebook instead of just noting them down much like the previous, yet now said to be countless of times he did so. it wasn't that he had no intention of exploring the idea further; rather, he held a silly belief that by preserving the delicate petal within its confines, he would be able to summon fragments of today's events whenever he cast his gaze upon it.

it was, undoubtedly, a risky endeavor.

the transience of memory and the fragility of moments made such attempts at preservation inherently uncertain. yet, undeterred by the potential pitfalls, he was determined to give it a try.

there was a spark of hope that momentarily alighted within his ever-so dull eyes as he carefully placed the petal between the pages, allowing it to find its place amidst the inked words and scribbled thoughts.

in his mind, the notebook was like a vessel of recollection, the doorway through which he could access the essence of that particular day.

with each passing glance, he believed he would be transported back to the sights, sounds, and emotions that had colored his experience. it was a belief steeped in a touch of magic, a genuine desire to capture the essence of fleeting moments and keep them alive in some tangible form.

of course, he understood the inherent risk of such an endeavor. memories could be fickle, subject to the passage of time and the distortions of perception—that he knew all too well, yet, he couldn't resist the allure of the notion, the tantalizing prospect of preserving a piece of today's events within the pages of his notebook.

thus, he closed the notebook—sealing the petal within its protective embrace. only time would reveal whether his whimsical idea would bear fruit. but for now, he carried a glimmer of anticipation, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, he had found a way to capture the essence of the present and carry it with him into the future.

one day, on the verge of departing for the swordsmith village, he found himself casting a final glance around his room.

as his eyes scanned the space, they landed upon a particular object resting undisturbed on the table, alongside a vibrant, circular rosy crown. yet, his gaze lingered upon the sight of the flowers, a momentary pause in his preparations.

was there something he was forgetting?

he brushed off the thought, convincing himself that it was nothing of importance.

or was it?

perhaps a faint inkling nagged at the back of his mind, suggesting that there was more to it than he initially believed.

without realizing it—he was drawn across the room, his steps guided by an unseen force.

he found himself crouching down near the designated area, his hand reaching out to flip through the pages of his notebook. however, his action was halted as his eyes caught sight of a roseate petal nestled within the notebook's pages.

curiosity sparked within him, and he raised an eyebrow as he gingerly plucked the petal from its sanctuary. absentmindedly, he twirled it between his fingers, a gesture that felt oddly familiar, inducing a sense of déjà vu.

but where had he witnessed such a scene before?

as he pondered, a realization dawned upon him. It wasn't a memory of witnessing someone else engage in this action; rather, it was he himself who had performed it.

a surge of recollection washed over him, memories resurfacing from the depths of his mind. the twirling of the petal, the sensation between his fingertips—these were gestures he had made before, though their significance had slipped from his conscious grasp.

In that singular moment, the forgotten fragments of his own past intertwined with the present, weaving together a tapestry of connections that transcended time.

recognition dawned upon him with a sudden clarity. it was from that day—the day where a sensation so tender and poignant stirred within him, almost like a bittersweet ache, evoking a warmth that eluded his understanding, leaving him unable to grasp its true essence.

the memory resurfaced, vivid and potent, as he held the petal in his hand. it was a symbol—a relic that carried the weight of a significant moment, a moment that had shaped him in ways he had yet to fully comprehend.

as his gaze shifted between the delicate petal and the floral circlet, he couldn't help but acknowledge their significance. they were gifts, given to him by that same person whose presence had once been a source of annoyance, but had since become intertwined with his life in ways he never anticipated.

a subtle flicker of a smile danced across his features, fleeting yet unmistakable.

it was a ghost of a smile, evoking a sense of warmth and nostalgia. just like that very same day, beneath the sakura tree.

after a few more contemplative moments, he gently placed the petal back within the pages of his notebook. it was an act imbued with a renewed sense of curiosity and introspection.

as he carefully tucked it away, he recognized that this petal held more than just a fragment of his present—it also served as a tether to his past.

standing up, he straightened his attire, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed during his moment of reflection.

leaving the room behind, he stepped forward, his footsteps carrying him away from the familiar and towards the villa—yet, as he ventured forth, he carried with him the knowledge that within the depths of his own experiences, there were secrets waiting to be unveiled. these hidden truths, veiled within the recesses of his own identity, held the potential to guide him closer to understanding who he truly was.

muichiro’s brows knit together, his eyes narrowing slightly as he winced, perusing the passages he had penned not long ago—but in that period, he found himself at the nadir of his existence, akin to a vessel housing an empty soul, where the flicker of life seemed to wane within him.

immersed in the depths of his own written words, a wave of self-critique washed over him. the realization of his perceived deficiencies bore down heavily upon his psyche.

was my prose truly so lackluster?

his countenance contorted into a visage of melancholic discontent. he couldn't help but introspect on his conduct and acknowledge the impoliteness he had exhibited. it pained him to recognize the echoes of his late twin brother within himself, bearing the burden of both his loss, and their shared flaws.

a tinge of remorse lingered as he ran a hand through his hair, grappling with the repercussions of his actions.

yet, amidst the remorse, his spirits gradually ascended as he reminisced on a separate recollection—the instant when he emerged from his coma, their unwavering presence by his side.

that memory bestowed a glimmer of solace, softening his somber expression. they had been dumbfounded, incapable of containing their emotions upon witnessing his awakening.

in that fleeting moment, they had clung to him fervently, as if he were their vital lifeline. though their embrace—much to his dismay—had swiftly slackened upon realizing his frailty, the impact of their initial response eternally etched in his consciousness.

reflecting upon that juncture, a smile graced his lips. he held no remorse for his instinctive reaction to embrace them, despite his own corporeal anguish.

a gentle flush tinged his cheeks as he sensed that familiar flutter in his heart, impelling him to tilt his head inquisitively.

“that feeling again...” he mused—this time, aloud—as he rose a hand to the region where his heartbeat, almost amplifying with its errancies—resided. his gaze descended, fixated upon that enigmatic yet captivating feeling. curiously pirouetted in his eyes, a pure and guileless yearning for comprehension.

he contemplated the prospect of unraveling the enigma at the butterfly mansion, where he might unearth the veracity behind this inexplicable sensation.

maybe, it was naught but a lingering malady, an unseen affliction that had eluded his awareness. he mulled over the displeasing notion, recognizing the imperative to illuminate the puzzle that lay dormant within him.

little did he fathom the profundity of what lay ahead, the intricate tapestry of emotions and connections that awaited him.

if only he comprehended the significance of that flutter in his heart, the profound impact it would wield upon his odyssey.

several weeks had elapsed, and once more he found himself clutching his notebook, as if it were an extension of his being.

resting against the wall, he clasped the item firmly in his grasp, his gaze wandering towards the window as he settled into a seated position. with his knees drawn up to his chest, they formed an improvised tabletop, providing a stable surface for him to write on.

the room was bathed in the spill of moonlight, bestowing upon it a tranquil luminescence that infused the scene with ethereal allure. positioned at the precipice of the empty page, his quill poised like a delicate dancer, he sensed a surge of anticipation welling within him.

it had been a while since he had last visited the notebook, let alone written in it.

initially, this realization held a tinge of sadness. however, he began to view it as a form of success—a testament to his growth and progress—he no longer needed the notebook as a vessel for his memories, as he had learned to hold them within himself without the fear of them dispersing from his mind.

although he had been reluctant to let go of the notebook in the beginning, fearing that he would regress to his former self, he gradually grew accustomed to relying less on its pages. this change was thanks to a certain someone who had provided him with remarkable encouragement and support along the way.

speaking of that someone..

a gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he reminisced about the unfolding events.

at long last, he had mustered the courage to convey his heartfelt gratitude to them for rescuing him on that fateful day of their initial encounter. in retrospect, he finally recognized how his own negativity had obscured the fact that his concern and guilt had driven his actions, leading to harm befalling their well-being.

with the weight of unexpressed appreciation lifted from his shoulders, a profound sense of contentment and relief settled within him.

it felt really good.

and relieving too. i’m glad to finally be able to appreciate them properly now.

the words resonated within him, echoing the profound impact this newfound expression of gratitude had on his relationship with them as he lowered his quill onto the waiting page, he began to write, capturing the essence of his gratitude in ink. the words flowed freely, a testament to his newfound ability to express his appreciation and to cherish the moments that had led him to this point.

in that quiet room, with the moon as his witness, he continued to write, allowing his emotions to spill onto the pages, creating a tangible record of his gratitude and the growth he had achieved.

naturally, he expressed his gratitude to shinobu as well, for she was the catalyst that set the entire endeavor in motion.

however, he couldn't deny that his experience with that particular individual had left a deeper impact on him, resonating within his being in a way that he couldn't easily dismiss.

we made origami today.

was if their first time? i wouldn’t believe it at all if they said yes, they did amazing.

the corners of his mouth lifted even further, a radiant smile spreading across his face. pride swelled within his chest as he reminisced about the moment when he, much like they had done beneath the sakura tree during the day—left his creations with them as a souvenir—a heartfelt gift.

his eyes fluttered, lids half-lowered, as his smile softened. the memory of their laughter resonated in his ears, a joyful sound that echoed through his mind. it was a honeyed melody, harmonious and timeless, etched into his memories like a cherished tune he would never grow tired of.

in that moment, he felt a deep sense of connection and shared happiness. the blossoming of their laughter and their appreciation had filled him with a profound sense of fulfillment.

i made them laugh, their smile truly is adorable.

i want them to stay happy.

an undeniably childish wish.

..i wanna be the reason they do.

a selfish, yet reasonable desire.

i could just say it outright, but...

his thoughts trailed off, contemplating the words he longed to express.

his heart swelled with a mixture of emotions, and yet, there was a hesitancy that held him back. the idea of openly conveying his yearning to be their source of joy brought forth an inexplicable feeling, a blend of anticipation and seldom vulnerability.

with a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back, seeking a moment of respite.

however, to his dismay—he misjudged the distance and inadvertently hit the wall with more force than intended. the impact elicited a wince and a deadpan expression as a wave of discomfort washed over him.

“ouch..”

rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, he closed one eye, gritting his teeth in response to the pain. regret filled his thoughts as he berated himself for not considering the consequences of his actions.

"just why didn't I take that into consideration?" he muttered, a tinge of frustration evident in his mellow voice.

it was a momentary lapse, a reminder of the fallibility that resided within him. the physical discomfort mirrored the emotional unease he felt, a reminder that expressing his feelings came with its own set of risks and uncertainties.

no, he had abandoned his initial notion of visiting the butterfly mansion to have his ‘condition’ assessed. as due to being one of the hashiras, it was now his duty to train the lower-ranked individuals, aiming to help them awaken their own marks while enhancing their abilities.

in essence, he found himself devoid of the time needed to pursue his plan. although it was indeed a missed opportunity, he chose not to dwell on it excessively.

besides, none of his attributes seemed to have weakened, so he simply disregarded the occasional peculiar sensation blooming in his chest whenever thoughts of them arose, dismissing it as a mere figment of his imagination—a hallucination.

he let out a resigned breath, a sense of acceptance washing over him. his hand fell back to his side, but as he blinked, his gaze followed a petal as it slipped out of his notebook's grasp, gracefully descending onto the floor beside him.

his mouth formed a small "o" of surprise, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. he blinked thrice, processing the unexpected turn of events. however, his features soon softened, morphing into a tender expression as he retrieved the fallen petal.

solicitously cradling the delicate leaf between his fingers, he twirled it once more, marveling at its beauty. the petal really did hold a certain allure, captivating his attention and stirring memories within him.

"it’s as beautiful as i remember..” he whispered softly, a touch of nostalgia coloring his voice. in that simple petal, he found a reflection of past beauty, a reminder of moments that had touched his soul.

as he held the petal, he couldn't help but reflect on the transient nature of beauty and the fleeting nature of time. just like the petal, moments of beauty come and go, leaving only memories behind. yet, in that fleeting beauty, there is a sense of profound appreciation and wonder.

while the world could be cruel, he yearned to bask in the fragments of ephemeral glory and find joy in the fleeting moments. he’s now understood that life was a continuous stream of passing experiences, and he made a conscious effort to cherish each and every memory that crossed his path.

in the midst of this realization, an idea sparked in his mind—a realization that he had never written about the day beneath the sakura tree.

how had he overlooked such a profound and cherished memory?

a surge of exhilaration and eager anticipation flowed through him as he envisioned immortalizing that extraordinary day within the sacred confines of his notebook. the memory, a veritable trove of exquisite beauty, served as a poignant emblem of life's fleeting nature and the timeless significance of shared experiences.

with a determined resolve, he opened the notebook to a fresh page, his quill poised to bring the memory to life through ink. the sakura tree, with its delicate blossoms fluttering in the breeze, held a significant place in his heart. it was a sanctuary of beauty, a haven where he had experienced a profound connection with another soul—with them.

….

as the final words pirouetted gracefully upon the page, he tenderly closed his eyes, his velvety lashes caressing his cheek in a delicate dance. in this ephemeral interlude, he granted himself a stolen breath, a cherished opportunity to savor the essence of the memory once more. the day spent beneath the resplendent sakura tree had been etched with profound artistry upon the sanctums of his heart, and now, like a cherished relic, it had found its eternal dwelling within the cradle of his notebook's pages.

a contented smile graced his visage as he delicately sealed the notebook shut, its once blank canvases now adorned with fragments of his existence—a treasury of treasured recollections.

on that day, they looked exactly like a dream—all i’ve wanted, all i’ve ever needed.

the parchment succumbed to the deluge of your cascading tears, becoming drenched and sodden, as if thirstily drinking in the sorrow that overflowed from your heart. with a poignant gaze, you traversed the final passage, each word a painful reminder of the bittersweet victory that had come at the cost of his absence.

weariness weighed heavily upon your eyes, threatening to seal them shut, yearning for respite from the harsh grip of reality. your trembling lips contorted, caught in a delicate dance between joy and sorrow, forming a wistful smile that held the essence of longing. in the sanctuary of your other hand, cradled with tender reverence, lay the very petal you had once bestowed upon him. under the caress of the sun's gentle rays, it gleamed like an iridescent gem, casting a luminous glow that illuminated your tears, turning them into shimmering crystals of anguish.

geto, one of the many sentinel who had witnessed the entwined trial of your beloved and tanjiro, could offer naught but a humble bow, his head lowered in utmost deference. he understood the futility of his desire to provide solace through an embrace, recognizing the unfathomable depths of the pain that gripped your soul. as you clung tightly to the notebook he had dutifully delivered, he stood as a silent witness to your inconsolable sorrow.

in the realm of young love, tragedy often unfolds with a poetic grace.

like a tapestry woven from wisps of a dream, your intertwined forms swayed in the breeze, as if caught in the ethereal embrace of destiny. and as the wind whispered its gentle secrets through the tendrils of your existence, the memory, forever enshrined, would reside as an indelible impression within the chambers of your collective memories, transcending the boundaries of time and spanning an unfathomable infinity.

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pink-november · 5 months

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Slay the Princess Endings poorly summarized

warning big spoilers ahead

A New And Unending Dawn

you and the squad kill your gorgeous, divine, irreplaceable other half, the goddess of change and growth, containing death in her multitudes and everything that gives meaning to life and existence, in an attempt to birth a new reality where she doesn't exist any longer to prevent the heat death of the universe or something and definitely not because you got distracted of the philosophical debate you just had with her prior to going to her heart and especially not because you're a Narrator simp (Narrator route when????) or something, noooo sir. atleast you and the gang have each other, right? time heals all wounds after all, even one as irreversible as this.

Leave as Gods Ending

you awake as your greater self, cosmic wings spanning far and wide and shattering the construct you and her are trapped in. she tells you she loves you and though violence and conflict color your dance, you are now together for all eternity. a thousand sunsets and sunrises welcome you, worlds are born anew and worlds are torn asunder as you travel from reality to reality, universes blooming and dying, hand in many many many lovable hands, never to part as you continue the cycle that the Echo sought to tear apart due to His own hubris. you and her, forever.

Leave the Cabin Together

there is nothing but the two of you, once more at the beginning of everything, godhood a terrifying concept to grasp, everything that was once unknowable reduced to the shapes The Narrator gave and nurtured through the trials and pain and happiness you experienced throughout your journey. it is okay. she will be with you. uncertainty fills you both but your love triumphs still and you join hands once again, shadows of your former selves, lesser but enough, ready to face the future… together.

Loop Ending

you and the best boi ever (and other best boi if done right) take the pristine blade ready to confront the Princess once again but oh shit you don't wanna be alone again or become gods because the people outside the construct would just continue to suffer either way fucking hell who gave the birb of stasis and epitome of passiveness the capacity to make reality-altering choices and expect a good thing out of it??? gf seems to disagree with the sentiment (bless her kind and loving heart) and continues to accept everything about you and suggest another option: go back to the beginning, do everything all over again before you knew the truth, and trust that you might make the same choice once more if you find yourselves back here. seems reasonable. you confess to each other before the princess stabs you again and-

You're on a path in the woods-

Oblivion Ending

you deny and deny and deny and deny and deny, your rejection of your Other here hurts her more than any other routes you could have done. you starve your Other of her potential, shrinking yourself in the process of this endeavor. your Other is betrayed in such a way you cannot fathom yet and probably never will, do you even understand the magnitude of the pain you inflicted on her? can you even still? you are bliss. you are agony. there are no wrong decisions, only fresh perspectives. you are bliss. you are agony. you left her to wither. you are bliss. you are agony. hollowness fills the space that is once you, becomes you, and continues to be you. you are empty. you made the wrong choice. you are nothing. you are oblivion. you are together. you exist.

A New And Unending Dawn and Everything about this ending is fucking horrible it physically pains me inside to hear the littol guys be so angry and throwing curses at me. paranoid calling me torturer hurts my kokoro fuck fuck fuck nooooooo -100000/10 ending tbh you just killed your wonderful eldritch gf for this new reality and all your voices fucking hates you??? The Narrator isn't even here to tell you did a good job for doing what He wanted cuz you obliterated Him during your ascent to godhood *sighs* good fucking luck XP

#slay the princess #slay the princess spoilers #stp spoilers #i accidentally posted this one before i finished it so for anyone who saw the initial draft... oops #guess what my favorite ending is from this lmao

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thehistoriangirl · 7 months

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The Delirium of Still-Lifes [One]

Putting a unrelated gif of the blorbo because I haven't done the headers yet :D and because looook at hiiiim sirrrrr i wanna be ur hexcore--

Happy Halloween! <333

Vampire!Viktor x Fem!Artist! Reader----1.2K---SFW

> MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

Debts are paid with blood.

After a visit from death and ending all alone, you had no other option than to become like your late guardians—seeking refuge in the shady business where rewards are as high as the risks.

Your latest mission: steal and forge an expensive painting from a secretive private collector to complete the series of your current boss, and thus finally pay off the burden you still carry.

Debts are passed on by blood.

When infiltrating ends up being harder than planned, you have no choice but to apply as a working staff. Though working inside isn’t as easy as it seems, with all the strange noises echoing at night, and the random droplets of crimson staining the floors, the endless hallways with their flickering lights.

There are eyes always watching, whispers carrying secrets—and of course, the hidden painting that would define your life forevermore.

Maybe freedom can be given without the need of blood.

Ruins, fragments of a gilded past that had died with the house’s owner.

The building itself seemed to mourn; the curtains in the gigantic windows dirtying, sending grey hues against the dusty floor that clung to your footsteps, in the need of company after so many years of oblivion.

Yet there were strange signs of life blooming in the corners of the rooms; there where the furniture wasn’t covered in ghostly bedsheets, with no presence hidden behind them, waiting to haunt you.

Your boss was right—someone was renovating this house, which meant you had to find the forgotten painting, and soon.

The house creaked, breathed alongside you the further you went, the flame of your oil lamp flickering with each step, morphing you into a monster just like the ones the stories said haunted here at night.

From the second floor, you heard the slam of a door. The little hairs on the back of your neck rose with a blow of chilling wind, almost whispering to you to run away.

But you couldn't—there was no escape in that rusty gate you crossed, almost devoured by wildflowers. There was no escape out of the life blood that had tied to you, out of the debts death hadn't erased.

Closing your eyes, tucked in a corner with your back against the wall, you remembered the plans of construction for the house. The third floor was the office and library, your last option. In the second, all the bedrooms were divided in the East Wing, for the members of the late Ulhir family; and in the West, for all their guests. Unlikely.

The first floor, however, was meant to be the gallery, the nursery, and the music room.

A burned and draped carpet was laid over the spiral staircase that submerged in the darkness. However, you only need to go so far. An empty music room, a desolated nursery, all but bare of paintings, though the outline of their places hung in the wall prevailed.

Then, it was the shadow.

A dash of black against the discolored grey of the ruins, of something almost alive—certainly, if it moved that fast. From under the stairs like all monsters crawled under beds in those children’s stories, to the ballroom with the broken chandelier at the right.

Your palms were sweaty while taking ahold of the revolver, the metal becoming sticky and hot too quickly.

Monster or not, you doubted something could survive a dozen bullet wounds. If only you could finish with the monsters in your life so easily.

How the thing had been under the staircase? Nothing was supposed to be under it, only the wall where there was barely a corner to hide, or so the house plans said.

Aiming to the dark, the sensation of being accompanied by something had vanished, leaving only a cold void that could taken as relief when you saw the secret door.

Contrary to the other wings in the house, this gallery’s entry was tucked beneath the staircase, similar to the structure of a wooden decorative wall a simple ebony door, almost drowned in the shadows of midnight, with the clock suspended in the south wall of the foyer chiming so hard it made you tremble.

But with the cacophony, you could open the creaky door without a problem, still thinking that someone may be watching you.

The once spotless, dark ebony floor was covered in the ghostly veil of dust, welcoming your presence with avidness, marking each step you took inside as if the gallery had missed company, with all the unfinished portraits looking at you with the impassive gaze of eternity.

You almost dropped the slippery gun, tucking it behind the belt cinching your dark pants together.

All dozens of paintings, gold-framed and slightly crooked hung on the walls, none of them the ones you were looking for. These merged with the chaos of the desk, stains of color, and unfinished lines like paths leading nowhere.

Except for the one ahead of you; free of furniture, with the floor opening a path to show a bare wall where a lonely easel stood in front of a mirror, the canvas barely visible beneath the web of black scratches covering what once was a sketch.

Not only a sketch but a self-portrait, if the mirror was clue enough.

Opaqued by dust, you could barely see your reflection in it, passing your gloved hand over the surface to let you see the shameful image of what you have become. A liar, just like your parents. A thief. Would your parents be proud of you?

Probably. And such realization hurt so much more.

“I wasn’t aware I’d had guests for dinner.” A voice said, its strange cadence echoing in the still room. “And such a familiar one, at that.”

Your scream mixed with the thud of the canvas falling to the ground, turning to see the tall silhouette of a man leaning against a column, barely some feet away from you, two golden beacons as eyes piercing through the dark to keep you frozen in fear.

“W-wh-who are you?!” you said, trembling fingers trying to pull out the lent revolver, unsuccessfully. Part of you tugged at the sudden dèjá-vu, the cloaked man. Death.

It was Mr. Ulhir, of course. The owner of the manor and the one you were meant to steal from. The one that had died… years ago.

I’m talking with a ghost.

“I believe you shouldn’t be the one asking questions, should you? What are you doing in my house?”

“This can’t be your house—this… this place had been abandoned for decades!” You stopped, thoughts pouring into your brain. “Oh, I get what this is. You took this place for yourself and now you feel the owner…” you spat, walking toward him, just to discover that said beacons were too, too high up.

I’m talking with a ghost.

Your grasp on the revolver tightened, his eyes flickering down to where you kept it hidden in your back.

The man chuckled. “Well, this is getting interesting. What are you hiding there?”

Feeling bold at his taunt, you aimed your revolver toward him, only to feel cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist as soon as you raised your arm. His presence leaning against yours, the soft cotton of his shirt brushing your cheek.

He was cold, yet solid.

He was no ghost.

You tried to yank away, but his grasp was like iron. Huffing at the effort, your eyes got drawn to the mirror, hoping the moonlight could at least decipher the outline of this sudden presence.

Alas, all that you could over its broken surface were a dozen of reflections of you, completely alone in the room.

“Truly unfortunate,” the man said, his free hand guiding your gaze away from the mirror and into his face, long fingers pressing the back of your neck as he tilted you toward him. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

See what? There was nothing there—

He was no ghost. He was…

The man sighed. “Nothing personal, little fairy,” he said, pressing the sides of your neck with his fingers, your pulse quickening at the cold, ruthless movement. Your gaze swam toward the ceiling, parched glass ceiling to block the moonlight, and yet you saw him, truly, saw him.

"Ah—!" you tried to scream, but only a gurgle rippled out your mouth, your limbs becoming heavy, heartbeat exhausted, slow.

“Goodnight,” you heard his voice where there was nothing anywhere else, your gaze becoming black, brain shutting down until you were one with the night—all darkness, all void.

#viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor fanfic #arcane viktor fanfic #viktor arcane fanfic #arcane x female reader #viktor arcane x f! reader

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thana-topsy · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday (Finally)

Finally taking a moment to actually share a WIP after completely falling out of the practice for nearly two months lmao

Thanks so much for everyone who has tagged me in the interim, I'm probably missing a few but thank you to and I also tag @mareenavee @paraparadigm @saltymaplesyrup @ladytanithia @throughtrialbyfire @kookaburra1701 @skyrim-forever @boethiahspillowbook @friend-of-giants @elfinismsarts @wildhexe @viss-and-pinegar

Here's a snippet from the upcoming chapter of Halfway to the Sky (Chapter 23), in which Aiden and Gelebor have a moment to chat. No spoilers for those who haven't made it this far, aside from just "yes, they meet Gelebor eventually" lol:

Gelebor tapped the wooden ladle against the cooking pot before covering it with a lid. The sound echoed through the room like a struck bell. He then stepped over to gingerly sit in one of the other chairs by the fire, moving slowly as if he thought Aiden might startle. “You are a devotee of Auriel, are you not?” Aiden looked up, forcing himself to meet Gelebor’s piercing blue eyes. “Yes. As much as any proper son of Summerset should be.” Gelebor’s smile was a disarming thing. “By all accounts I am thousands of years old, but I have hardly felt a single year passing. Life outside of the Vale might as well be a realm of Oblivion compared to the world that I once knew. But Auriel has blessed me in this way—removed me from the flow of time as it continues to ravage the world around me. I would have surely gone mad otherwise.” Aiden could only nod, his gaze sliding to focus on the crease of Gelebor’s knuckles where his hands rested against his knees. He supposed he hadn’t considered the implications of what living for so long, especially in isolation, might do to one’s mind. “And so, in removing me from the flow of time, Auriel has shown me the truth in such things. Your anxieties, these ‘what ifs’ that haunt you… they are rooted in an understanding of time as something that has a ‘correct’ path. There is no future that you have robbed Sarel of, nor is there any past that could be different from what it has already been. There is only what exists here. Now. Past and future do not exist, not in the way that we think they do. By languishing in the way that you do, you rob only yourself of the present moment.” Aiden swallowed around the knot in his throat, straightening his back. “So… you’re saying I should—?” “I am not saying you should do anything, Aiden.”

#topsy writes #wip wednesday #gelebor #oc: aiden #fic: halfway to the sky #skyrim fanfic #elder scrolls fanfic #skyrim #falmer #tesblr

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acourtofsnakes · 1 year

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Desolation - Freefall, Chapter 4 || The Bad Batch x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Can you always trust a Force vision? Knowing what Anakin saw of his mother, you've always believed in them. But the things you see... They might just be the end of you.

Warnings: 18+, TBB Season 2 finale spoilers, extensive injuries, descriptions of drugs, blood, falls, canon violence and weapons, swearing, nicknamed reader (Ghost)

A/N: A good chunk of this chapter will describe in detail the events of the finale. I wrote this chapter shortly after watching it and needed to get that emotion out somewhere. I am more than happy to send an edited version without those scenes, just shoot me a message✨

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Now

During your time with the boys, you had never felt a hand of violence. Never seen anger in their eyes, never seen them look upon you in disgust or confusion. You had never watched their expression glaze over when you went on an infodump about something, and they never rolled their eyes when you struggled to explain the howling storm inside your head and chest.

Even after everything, Crosshair never laid a hand in you with the intention to hurt. Ever.

There may have been fury in his eyes sometimes but there was never violence toward you.

Not from any of them.

Not like now.

Your body screamed, howled with agony every time your heart struggled to beat, to push blood around your shattered form.

Every breath was a mixture of fires hotter than Mustafar, ice colder than Hoth and lightning fiercer than Kamino. As if someone was pouring jet fuel into your lungs and setting it ablaze.

You didn’t feel the cold anymore though, so that was something.

Everything was a drug fuelled haze, the very life, the Force, in you choked and restrained, leaving you shaking, numb, cut off from the world and the living energy of everything.

It was like being in a pit in the darkest, deepest corner of the Galaxy.

Of course, there were days where you were in somewhere just like that.

Not a pi though, but a box.

A coffin, almost. They’d found it in the rubble of the Clone War, copied its designs and commissioned a handful to be made for moments like this.

If it could hold Darth Maul, it could hold you.

That’s what they said.

You’d never be able to break out of that, regardless of your power being up by what Anakin’s used to be.

Don’t worry about her, she’s too weak to be a threat. Not anymore.

Were you still a threat?

You didn’t know now.

You flexed your fingers as much as you could, feeling the dried blood crack on your skin, thick and itchy.

They hadn’t bothered to clean you off before they hauled you in here, the screams of their brethren still echoing from your loss of control, the moment where you snapped and let that beast rage free.

I let it out, Crosshair.

But you weren’t there to see it.

None of you were.

The liquid they pumped into you felt heavy in your veins, sick, wrong. It dragged through your body, leaving it icy cold and numb. The force presence in your soul was limp, whimpering in agony from the effects of the cage, so ravaged that it couldn’t even alert you to the fact this drug was poison of the worst kind, chugging slowly towards your brain.

It was slow enough that you felt it, felt the way it left nothing behind, dragging the life from your body so delicately, so painfully that it was as if you felt every single limb go dead and weak.

You were effectively paralysed, lungs feeling like duracrete was being poured into them, each breath like shallow fire.

It slowed down your heart, so slowly you swore you could hear each tendon and muscle pushing blood that was too thick and too cold into unresponsive veins.

Then it reached your mind.

It paused, as if assessing where to begin but then it tore through your mental shields, destroying you so potently from within that you were out cold in less than a second, flung into a heavy oblivion that weighed in from all sides, stuffing down your throat and ears, strangling you within your own body, leaving you defenceless and subservient as that crackling, thundering fight dragged out of you in an instant.

You were crushed in that awful place for what felt like forever yet no time at all, for then you were dumped into the middle of a storm, the sky roaring in fury, crashing, echoing like it was trying to come apart as harsh lightning forked across the sky with enough power to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Then you were knocked sideways between one blink and the next, suddenly on a traincart hundreds and hundreds of feet in the air. It was rocking heavily side to side, that sickening screech of metal protesting as it barely hung on.

Bright, searing bolts shot past on all sides, whizzing through the air from the TIE fighters advancing in relentless waves.

It was clear that luck was not on the boy's side, even though you flung your hands out to try and deflect the bolts. But nothing happened. Nothing.

“Hunter!!! Hunter, we need to get this cart moving, they’re going to swarm us.” You looked around frantically for something, anything to help… Yet Hunter didn’t respond. He just kept firing, like he hadn’t heard you.

That was weird.

You frowned at the side of his face, drawing your sabers and you lifted them to try and deflect this way - but the shots went straight through.

It’s like… Like you weren’t here.

Present yet invisible.

Confusion clouded your mind until a memory surfaced from the fog, one of Anakin, frantically pacing in front of you, sandy hair in wild disarray as he recounted the dreams he had been having of his mother, how he was there with her but could do nothing.

Visions, brought forward through the force, sometimes seconds in advance, sometimes right in that moment.

Which meant whilst you were here, bound and gagged in a beskar box, your boys were fighting for their lives.

And you could do nothing to help.

There were no words for the terror you were feeling, side by side with Hunter as he fought for his life, shooting down TIE fighters with nothing but his blasters, but for every single fighter that fell from the sky, another took its place, battering the cart with relentless shots.

“Hurry up, Tech!!!” Wrecker’s strained voice rumbled from somewhere behind you, and you spun round to see Omega and Wrecker hovering at the end of the card, Wrecker’s hands wrapped around the very framework of the adjoining one and his muscles rippling as he fought to keep it stable.

But then that meant…

Your heart dropped somewhere to the ground below, and you raced across the cart, the debris causing you no trouble as you simply passed through it like a phantom. Thankfully, that would mean your weight couldn’t shift anything, because…

Because what you saw over Wrecker’s shoulder was enough to churn your stomach and rip away every single breath and coherent thought you had.

Tech was dangling below the destroyed cart, his grappling line looped around the frame as he pulled himself up as quick as he could, one hand over the other, up up up but it felt like he was gaining no ground, still stuck in the same place as another wave of attacks rattled the entire structure. Metal screeched and rumbled, the sound tearing through your limbs because there was only one way this thing was going to end.

Omega sobbed, dancing on her feet behind Wrecker, her bow drawn in readiness but the tears building in her eyes were going to make any target a blurry mess. You would know, you felt the same. “Come on, Tech, just a little more, you have to hurry!!” The fear in her words was so potent, so raw that it caused a sob to wrack in your chest and you looked down at Tech, wishing you could be there, could be truly beside these boys so you could help.

You could have had him up now, safe, all of them safe.

“I can’t keep them back for much longer, there’s too many of them!!” For the first time in the entire time you knew him, there was panic in Hunter’s words, a franticness that was so different to his usual composure.

It was like that moment in a bad dream, the second right before you fell, that one moment where primal instinct told you that you couldn’t make it. That nothing you did would get you out of this.

Tech looked over his shoulder at the rising attacks, the whir and hum of more fighters approaching, the onslaught of enemy fire becoming something that would be impossible to fight, even if you had been there with sabers in hand, “Wrecker, you must take Omega and Hunter and leave me, get back to Echo. Now!”

No, no no no no no - you knew that tone. You’d heard that tone from so many of your friends, so many of your loved ones over the years. And it always ended in agony.

“No.” Wrecker’s snarl was more animal than human, violent almost in its outright intense refusal. “Don’t you dare. That’s an order, Tech.”

Omega was choking on sobs now, trying to get past Wrecker but he was managing to block her as well as hold onto the bars, “Tech no, please!! Please don’t do this, you can get up, you can do it!” She threw her bow to the side, ducking underneath Wrecker’s arm and she flung her own out into open space, “Here! Take my hand, take it!! I can pull you up - please Tech!” Her body was hanging far too close over the edge, and Wrecker shifted, his boot coming across to in front of her knees, bracing her but he made no moves to stop her - he couldn’t.

Tech slowly looked up, his honey eyes heavy and weighted. Knowing. “When have we ever followed orders, Wrecker?” He sounded weary, as if… As if he’d already accepted what was to happen. He lifted his hand, his blaster nestled between his fingers and he took aim at the bolts holding the cart to the line, his aim as sure as Crosshair’s, as calculated and perfect. “Bring Ghost home safe.”

And then if in slow motion, his finger squeezed down on the trigger, the blaster bolt cutting through the air, through your heart.

Time sped up again and your silent scream tore through your body, helpless to be heard or to help, yet echoed by Wrecker’s roar of anguish as the structure slipped through his palms, cutting deep.

Omega’s mirroring scream as both Tech and the cart fell, his eyes drifting to the space where you were, widening for a second as if he could see you there.

Before you could do anything, you were flung sideways, everything going black before it exploded into colour again, damp clouds flashing past your vision, the sickening sense of every organ, every drop of blood being propelled the opposite way as your body hurtled toward the ground with unstoppable force.

You were in Tech’s body.

It was only when the clouds, smoke and debris blocked his vision that he allowed himself a cry of fear, instantly snatched away by the wind, his breath coming in short, sharp pants.

Through the haze of terror in his brain, he frantically tried to think of a way out of this, think of something he could do, something he could use to stop his fall and get back to his brothers - but he came up empty. There was nothing. He couldn’t do anything.

He could only watch the display through his visor, the number of feet dropping so quickly that the symbols were a blur as the ground came racing up toward him.

At least he managed to save his brothers, give them the chance they needed to escape, to get to you and save you.

Bring you home, finally.

A sense of peace washed over him, washed over you, the pair of you spinning through the air, down, down, down.

When his descent dropped into triple figures, he closed his eyes. A single breath, drawn in, filling his lungs, his last image not that of the debris rushing down to meet him, but of his family.

All of his brothers, together, laughing with Omega.

Of you, in the middle, laughing with your head tipped back and not an inch of a stormcloud weighing down on any of you.

Double figures.

Then single.

Then… Nothing.

He was gone.

Yet, if you thought this vision would end there, you were so very wrong.

Now, you were in Hunter’s body, silence raging in his head above the chaos of battle around him, because he could no longer hear his brother’s rapid heartbeat.

He heard the impact, the thud of bone on duracrete, the screech of metal - a cacophony of sounds that would hound him for the rest of his days.

He couldn’t think.

Couldn’t do anything.

Tech was gone, he was dead, and he could do nothing to stop it.

He had failed his brothers, and he had failed you.

He wasn’t a leader, and he never would be.

A leader wouldn’t let their family die.

Seconds flew past, maybe hours and you were suddenly with Hunter, Omega, Echo and Wrecker, into the parlour.

The very still, very quiet parlour.

Empty.

Desolate.

Like a literal ghost, you travelled through the Force alongside Hunter, as he knocked on the door to a back room and entered.

Omega was sitting up in the cot inside, hugging Lula to her chest, tears still tracking silently down her bruised cheeks.

Whatever had happened in the latest vision jump had caused her injuries as well, scrapes on her arms too. Something else that ripped guilt through him, and you.

“Tell me this is all a dream, Hunter.” Omega’s voice was so torn, so broken as she looked at Lula’s face, hands squishing her plush body, “Tell me none of this is real and I’ll wake up and everyone will still be here.”

Hunter swallowed, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, pain evident in every line of his body, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time we stop fighting and… rest.” Even now, the words felt foreign in his mouth, “The time we had on Pabu, it was what we all needed, I think.” He looked down at his hands, hanging loosely between his spread thighs, “We’re going to clear things up officially with Cid, then head there. To stay. Be a.. Be a family.”

Omega’s lower lip trembled again, a sob breaking free and her little body bowed forward over her knees, crushing Lula to her chest, “A family? Half of our family is gone, Hunter.” Her words were almost indistinguishable through her sobs, pain that a child should never feel, even though technically, she was older than them.

But without the accelerated ageing, she was still a child. And despite how well she kept up, she wasn’t a soldier.

Hunter’s face collapsed, his back straightening as he watched her crumble, his own eyes glassy and he whispered, near silently, “I really wish you were here, Ghost.” He shuffled over on the bed, winding an arm around Omega’s shoulders, and then coaxing her into his chest.

You were almost expecting it this time, being going through the Force, but it was only a few metres now.

The main parlour, only an hour later by the looks of the dusty chrono on the wall.

Wrecker looked up from his slumped over position at the bar, their usual table too painful and too full of memories, “She okay?” His voice was devoid of its usual fervour, his usual energy sapped from him.

From your space across the parlour, you could see the anguish etched on his face.

He was the strong one of the team, the literal muscle that always forced their way through any situation where delicacy didn’t work.

He was the one holding the train cart.

He should have been strong enough.

He should have saved Tech.

Hunter shook his head, pausing in the middle of the parlour, at a loss at where to put himself, “No. Not at all.” He sighed, head ducking down to stare at the floor, his hands curling into fists, “I don’t know how to make this right, Wrecker. We were supposed to save Ghost. We were supposed to get Crosshair back. We weren’t supposed to…”

Wrecker turned on his stool, facing Hunter and by theory, you. “This wasn’t your fault, Hunter. This…” He sighed, slumping even more, “It just went wrong.”

Hunter opened his mouth, but he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up again with sluggish warning.

But, yet again, for what seemed to be the hundredth time lately… he was too slow.

The parlour was filled with the unwelcome sound of swift feet marching in, controlled and precise footsteps, the clatter of armour plates against one another.

The doorways were suddenly choked with the imposing presence of the Commando’s, their visors glowing the dim white-blue that was a painful reminder of your sabers.

Wrecker was off his stool in an instant, his rage and pain fuelling him as he leapt for the closest handful despite the brace around his neck.

“Wrecker!!!” Hunter lunged for his brother, yanking his blade free but more Commandos came flooding in, cutting them off from each other.

He too engaged with the closest enemy, delivering a swift blow to the Commando’s arm, causing him to drop his weapon and allowing Hunter to plunge his blade between the armour on his chest and helmet.

Yet again, you were helpless, watching the battered remnants of your family fight for the lives mere hours after they’d been ripped apart looking for you.

You had no idea where Echo had gotten to, or if Omega was okay, pinned helpless in this vision like a butterfly.

Wreckers grunts and growls echoed under the blast of weapons, the crashing of furniture as bodies and blasts flew into it.

But the boys were broken, inside and out.

They were injured.

Their usual deadly precision was tipping closer to a frantic desperation, clawing at escape and defence rather than their unbreakable offensive manoeuvres.

Everything blurred to sound and colour before Wrecker’s roar of agony shattered the cacophony, his body being pulled to the ground by the stinging clash of a dozen stuns, forcing him to his knees whilst restraints were slapped on him.

Hunter’s head whipped toward him, his growl of anguish swallowed as he too was taken down with a vicious punch to the head, leaving him reeling and collapsing to one knee.

“Stop fighting, Sergeant. Or your brother joins the rest of them.” The Commando holding Wrecker jammed a blaster into the side of his head, safety flicked off and finger hovering over the trigger.

But the thing is, Wrecker didn’t even try and fight. At full strength, he could have easily overpowered them… But he just stayed there. Back slumped over, head hanging as low as his brace would allow him. There was no fight left in his body, no spark.

He’d given up.

Hunter snarled at the Commando, fighting against the hands working to pull his arms behind his back, hair falling in his wild eyes, teeth bared.

He was an injured animal on the back foot, desperately trying to protect his broken pack, to tear apart the enemy and hold onto whatever semblance of safety they had left.

You were forced to watch as Hunter was restrained, a hand gripping the back of his head, forcing it down toward the ground. His eyes flickered as another set of footsteps appeared behind you, revulsion written clear on Hunter’s face.

Yet that wasn’t what scared you.

What terrified you the most was what you felt in his signature.

Guilt and pain so potent it nearly choked you, fury that could rival the fires of your own, bitter desperation, but underneath all that?

The faintest trace of hopelessness and fear.

Before you could try and help to no avail, the edges of your vision started to blur and you felt the overarching suffocation of that previous darkness.

The vision was coming to an end, muffling your ears so all you caught were the faint snippets of words.

“A shame about your brothers.”

“-Could do nothing to help them.”

Omega’s scream of fear, so young, so helpless.

“-Broken promises.”

“-found your brother outside.” “-killed him, of course. I have no use for clones who aren’t whole and CT-one-four-oh-nine should have died a long time ago.”

Oh stars, no, Echo. He was… No no no no.

Hunter and Wrecker’s combined roars of anguish.

The hissing spark of them being stunned.

With a scream that echoed in your own mind, you tried to swim back through that oppressive shroud, needing to hear, needing to know -

“-We caught him helping you. Warning you.”

“…such behaviour cannot be condoned, of course. He might have been useful but he was a traitor. First to you, then to the Empire.”

“A waste of a good soldier and sniper, but necessary.”

Crosshair was gone too.

It was too much, too much to bear.

The vision was nearly fading, your family falling apart one by one, and right before your head broke the surface, you heard blaster shots.

Three of them, the impression of their fire like muted lightning in oblivion.

Three shots, for three remaining members of your family.

Then silence.

There was no relief when reality came flooding back by way of the cage.

The agony was too raw, too potent, too fucking suffocating. It wrapped beskar hands around your throat and restricted, it ripped your heart and lungs from your chest.

It tore through you with a pain unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You’d lost your family. You’d lost your friends after the Order, and that almost broke you. But you didn’t see that. You were with the boys. Your boys. Family.

And you just watched them die.

You just watched them die and you weren’t there to save them. You could have. You could have stopped Tech falling. You could have stopped Hunter from losing control for the first time and Wrecker being used as bait. Crosshair wouldn’t be dead trying to protect them and Echo wouldn’t have been shot outside, alone. And Omega…

You were supposed to save each other, that's what you did, you looked after one another and fought anyone who tried to change that.

The hands pulling you from the cage felt simultaneously like fire, burning your skin, your bones, making you want to rip them off yet you also couldn’t feel them.

You couldn’t feel anything except this pain, this agony and fury and rage that you couldn’t save them, building up and up and up.

The pressure in the room filled too, the air becoming charged, zapping and pinging against people's skin but they passed it off as an off-charge from the cage.

Fools.

Their clipped words to put you back in your cell, restrain you until you gained consciousness fell against your body and to the ground uselessly.

Falling.

When do we ever follow orders?

He was right.

Something snapped. That energy, the link to the rest of the world came roaring back to life, almost knocking you back.

With a hoarse scream that was more tortured animal, more tortured beast of vengeance than human, you exploded.

Force-fuelled lightning crackled out from your fingertips, from your feet, your eyes, everywhere. It burst from you like you were the centre of a galaxy-shattering storm, filling the room with its blinding white glow, shorting out the electronics.

The sparking, forked tips found their purchase in the scientists surrounding you, burrowing under armour and helmets to bare skin, to vital organs and frying them from the inside out.

You fell to your knees, fingers scrabbling on the ground as you vowed an unbreakable promise to the galaxy, to the Maker, that you would make every single person suffer, find every single one who’d ever hurt your family, your boys, and you’d rip them to shreds.

Then you’d join your family.

Tears streaked your face in an endless torrent, chest caving open and you were still sparking and exploding like a star, so you were helpless to notice the gas filling the room, the polished boots suddenly inches from your face.

You didn’t even feel the disturbance in the force, the vile poison spreading through the room and making the life energy itself recoil.

“Well, this is just fascinating, isn’t it?”

That voice. That voice saying his words.

That quiet, silken, sick voice that stole along the corridors of this facility, more monster than anything.

Everything was growing hazy and dark, your senses screaming at you that there was something wrong with the air, something tainted and foul but it was lost to the pool of darkness, sinking to the bottom like rocks.

His boot moved to tuck under your chin, forcing your head to lift from the ground and for your tear-filled eyes to meet his unnaturally blue ones, one half of his face in shadow.

Hemlock smirked at you, face full of violent delight even as his workers smouldered and smoked around him, and you snarled at him, ““I had a feeling that would work. Now, let’s get to it, shall we?”

He removed his foot as quickly as he’d lifted your head, causing your chin to smash into the floor and your teeth to sink into your lip.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, couldn’t think.

It was almost a relief to succumb to the gas in the air and drown in the dark again.

Hunter jerked awake, that sense of other pulling him from slumber, telling him to get up, that there was danger.

He lifted his head from the bunk, finding his hand curled around his blade already, yet the Marauder was silent. As always.

They were in the middle of hyperspace, so the chances of danger were few and far between - but you never know.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and he paused for a second, just to listen.

Nothing. Just the sounds of his brother's breathing. And Wrecker’s snoring.

Yet he couldn’t shake it, the ripple down his back, the tightness to his skin.

It was a cold breath along the back of his neck, a flutter in the air around him, something deeper than a gut feeling.

His fingers tapped along the hilt of his blade before he sheathed it, the faint sing of metal providing a small pocket of calm but he was too agitated, too wound up.

Waiting.

Something was inherently wrong, but it was nothing here, nothing he could see or touch. But it was there.

He rose from the bed, moving through the ship on silent footsteps, keen eyes roaming the dark recesses and shadows, checking everywhere even though he knew.

He knew deep down what this was, what had pulled him from his slumber.

As he passed out of the bunk area, his gaze snagged on the fact there was an empty bed - another empty bed.

Hunter moved through to the front of the ship, the glimmering lights of hyperspace casting a cobalt glow over everything, softening the instruments and chairs, the metal hull. He’d often wake up in the middle of the night and find you here, cross legged on the floor, just watching out the windows as the galaxy flew past. Sometimes you were looking for Purrgils, other times you were lost to memories that he didn’t want to break you out of, so he would just sit by you, his foot resting against your leg to let you know he was still here.

Right now though, it wasn’t you seated in the empty cockpit, it was Echo.

He was leaning forward, elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands, apparently lost to memories too. His foot tapped absently on the floor, and it was that agitated movement that told Hunter that he wasn’t the only one who felt this disturbance.

“You felt it too.” Hunter sat down in the pilot’s chair, spinning it round to face Echo, his agitation clear as day and humming in the air.

Echo lifted his eyes to Hunter, then his head, his pale golden eyes shadowed, swallowed up by memories that Hunter couldn’t fix. You were the only one who had that ability, you and Rex alone. “Back when I was an Arc Trooper, with Ghost… She’d have these moments.” He hesitated, as if he didn’t feel right sharing this information. But he wasn’t blind, he saw the connection you had with Hunter, knew that he was probably somewhat aware, “Moments where… where everything built up inside her. She used to say it felt like pressure, like something waiting to snap.”

His eyes were glazed still, moving to stare unseeingly at some point in the corner.

Hunter half mirrored Echo’s position, leaning over, forearms on his thighs and his hands dangling between as he willed his body to be still, despite that humming agitation, “Like she has now?” He refused to talk in the past tense when referring to you.

Echo nodded faintly, his hand curling into a fist and then relaxing, “Being a Jedi Commander, she had to muffle it, learn to not let it control her and to let it go. She would try mediation, but we could see it in her eyes when it was threatening to swallow her.” He barely blinked, entire body rigid, “Rex would try and help her the way he helped General Skywalker sometimes, but it wasn’t enough. Something else was battling her, the rage from losing her family, the fact she never quite fit in…” Now he moved, ducking his head to stare at his scomp with a tense jaw.

Hunter watched his friend, his brother, almost seeing the memories hovering around him, the battle going on in his mind but he stayed quiet, letting Echo take his time and talk. He’d learnt that from Rex. Sometimes being a leader meant knowing when to back off.

His brother sighed softly, brows lowered heavy over his eyes, “I was with her the first time it happened. It was after a hard mission, we lost a lot of men and a couple of Jedi too. That, combined with…” He hesitated, still loyal to his Jedi Commander, even now, “Combined with something.. It triggered her and she just exploded.” He twisted his scomp side to side absently, “It was like being in the middle of an electrical storm. There was lightning everywhere, from her hands, her body… It blew across the field and turned half the rubble to ash almost instantly.”

Hunter sat up a little straighter, because they’d all seen the hints of that force lightning, seen you wield it in the most dire situations.

To him, it was an asset. A weapon you could utilise, something part of you, something… beautiful, actually.

Yet it had been so ingrained into you that force lightning was wrong, it was a mark of the Sith, that you almost always fell victim to guilt, frustration and endless darkness afterwards.

Echo was still talking, “It didn’t hurt me though.. She never hurt me.” He touched a hand to his chest, palm splaying out over it, “But I felt it. I felt a glimmer of her pain in my own chest.” Now he looked at Hunter, his expression one Hunter had never seen before on his brother but he recognised, “And I felt it again tonight. And I know you felt something too.”

He looked at Echo quietly for a second, denial coating his tongue like acid, then he swallowed, his own fists curling up on his thighs, “We don’t know that, we don’t know that there’s something wrong.”

There couldn’t be. Because if they’d both felt it, if Hunter’s senses had felt it from wherever you were… You weren’t just in pain or in danger.

You were in utter turmoil.

Echo opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by the scuff of boots, and Tech’s voice, “Neither of you are wrong, Hunter.” He walked into the cockpit, doing a double take at Hunter in his spot. His fingers twitched on his datapad, gloves flexing but he kept walking anyway, pressing a few buttons in the instrument panel, “My scanners picked up a significant disturbance in the force at the same time you both felt something.”

Hunter blinked a few times, looking up at the side of Tech’s head, “You’ve been monitoring the force? How is that even possible?” He paused, “Why didn’t you tell us?” This last question was more a demand, his voice hardening but he couldn’t help it. This was important, something they all should have known.

Tech glanced at him over his shoulder, his own honey eyes unusually hard, as was the tone in his voice, “Rex.” He stated it so bluntly in response to the first question that it left no room for argument, “To answer your second question, you are all aware that I have been monitoring a number of data points to look for Ghost. I did not realise I would need to give you an extensive list.” That bite, the cold tone of his voice told Hunter everything, that they were all dancing on a knife’s edge at what this data meant.

A shrill beeping cut him off mid-sentence, cutting through the air of the ship like a wounded animal.

There were footsteps at the door, and then Wrecker’s voice as he reached up to cover his ears, “Aahh!! Make it stop!!” He glared at Tech’s datapad, the source of the sound. “What is that?!”

Tech frowned for a split second then looked down at the pad, “That would be another alert that I set up to monitor comms chatter.” He tapped a few things, then that frowned returned, “Interesting.”

The tone of Tech’s voice immediately set Hunter on edge even more, something tiptoeing down his spine, waiting. “Tech.” He tried to keep the irritation and impatience out of his voice, because it wasn’t his brother's fault but he knew something was about to happen, and he’d already made Tech snap at him once.

“It appears we have been sent a comms message from the Ojoster sector. A planet called Weyland.” He adjusted his goggles, tapping the screen, “I have begun a decoding program on the message.”

Echo was frowning, looking at Tech but unseeingly, like he was trying to work something out, muttering the name over again.

Hunter cocked his head, leaning further across his chair again, arms crossed over his chest, “Echo? What is it?” He observed his brother carefully, “You know that name, don’t you? That planet?”

He shook his head slightly, “I don’t know. It sounds familiar, maybe, but only in a passing comment. I’m sure…” He trailed off, then lifted his head to look at Hunter, something in his eyes.

There was that feeling again, a whisper in the back of his mind, that voice that taunted Hunter with the knowledge he couldn’t grasp yet. “Tech, any chance you can hurry that message up?” Each second was feeling like an eternity, an anxious energy humming through his body, making him want to pace, to run, shoot something, find you.

Hunter quelled this uncharacteristic franticness, allowing himself a deep, slow breath.

Rex wouldn’t lose his head over this. He would be calm, efficient. He would gather all of the information and then make his plan.

Except, as his eyes drifted to Echo again, he remembered a time when Rex was anything but that steady presence of calm. He was almost wild compared to his usual demeanour, desperate even.

Because he knew something wasn’t right and his brother was hurt.

Just before Hunter thought he might explode out of his skin, Tech straightened, “Here. It’s ready.” He pressed play on the datapad, and Hunter was sure no one missed the way his fingers trembled as they all leant in.

There was a burst of static, an echo, before a voice came over - a droids flat tone, “The storm is coming. I repeat, the storm is coming.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

The comms message plinked and then played from the beginning again those words echoing around the ship and their very souls.

That message was a distress code, a code given to you when you were separated. The Batch had a code for themselves, but this was yours.

Except that wasn’t what the issue was.

“Hunter…” Echo was even paler than usual, his golden honey eyes heavy, knowing.

You had never, ever used your distress code. Not even when you were facing down an entire army, not even when your ship was tumbling through space with no engines, no fuel, no brakes.

Not even when you’d been taken from them in an explosion that Hunter still heard in every hour of his waking and sleeping mind.

So it could only mean one thing.

“It’s a trap.” Even Wrecker’s voice had dropped a level, a similar expression of sickness but growing anger, fury even, that you’d been taken in the first place.

Something rose in Hunter’s chest, a roaring beast of rage, terror, guilt, but above all, fierce protection. That heat seeped through his blood, clearing his head and he yanked his helmet back on with a roll of his shoulders, “Of course it’s a trap. Which means Ghost needs our help more than ever.” He rose from the pilot's chair, a sergeant commanding his army, “Tech, change course from Moraband to Weyland. I want the fastest route there, now. Someone contact Rex and see if he can meet us there.” He turned to face the lights of hyperspace, letting out a breath as he finally realised what those senses were screaming at him, and they finally had a course for you.

We’re coming, Ghost.

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 4 months

Text

Hey hey y'all want a very evil out-of-context spoiler for my Doctor Who fic series? Do ya? Do you want to be kept on tenterhooks to find out what the context could possibly be for a scene that will absolutely rip your heart from your chest? Do you want to have an excuse to scream at me?

Well here you go! *thumbs up*

The Doctor nods and rolls up the sleeve of her prison uniform. “My life in your hands, nurse,” she says, tasting the echo of words she said to Rory over a hundred years ago in another body.

The Doctor could close her eyes. She could welcome oblivion by preparing herself for it.

But instead, she looks Rory directly in his bright eyes as he sinks the needle into her shoulder. She stares at him with nothing but trust, nothing but faith.

She is giving up her agency, the most terrifying thing in the world, but she trusts Rory Pond with her whole heart.

So the Doctor lets Rory Pond kill her.

#listen listen listen this will make so much sense in context #but is that possibly the best *needle drop* line I've ever written into a fic?#possibly #spoilers #doctor who #rory williams #rory pond #thirteenth doctor #thirteen x amy x rory #fic excerpt #aletterinthenameofsanity #fanfic #my fics #ao3

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mareenavee · 8 months

Text

WIP Whatever ~

Hi, all. Sorry I'm late. I finished a piece yesterday so I was scramblin' a bit and didn't have my braincells in one place for enough WIP to share (that I haven't already or that which does not contain spoilers lol)

Tagged by the fantastic @thequeenofthewinter, @kookaburra1701, @throughtrialbyfire, and @ladytanithia!

Tagging the amazing: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @polypolymorph, @elfinismsarts, @gilgamish, @snippetsrus, @archangelsunited, @thana-topsy, @dirty-bosmer, @wildhexe, @oblivions-dawn, @saltymaplesyrup and of course YOU, yes you. You who haven't posted a WIP in a while. You're tagged! Yeet one on here and tag me, too!

This is part of a challenge I'm doing this month. The prompt is 'Summoning' and @snippetsrus has encouraged and inspired me to try the isekai genre. (: I'm also severely, severely inspired in all things, but not least about how to handle Isekai, by @paraparadigm's OC, Vera. <3 Ya'll and your uncanny ability to have me reaching way off my path here for stories. I love it. I appreciate it. A prompt challenge is a perfect time to try this. This is inspired by a PVRIS song called Separate, and in fact the title is a whole line from that song. Super, super fresh from the braincells but SO MUCH FUN. Under the cut!

WIP: As Long as It Won’t Separate You From Me, I’ll Be Fine A hedge witch from (a version of) Earth conducts a ritual to recover a spirit from beyond the veil. In her reaching, Aubrey is taken by something other, pulled through the veil, and finds herself freezing to death in a different world entirely. This story begins when she feels her theory and research will finally send her home.

The Hall of Attainment had been Aubrey’s home now for almost a year. It was where she was found, and, she supposed, where she would leave—if there was anything left to return to. She leaned into the wind as she ascended to the rooftop, summoning circle laid out before her and dotted with melted stubs of candles. Everything felt raw from the bite of the weather off the Sea of Ghosts, from the salt, and from the gravity of what she was about to do. But she’d long since run out of tears. Or so she thought.

“Durant, wait!”

A familiar voice, and one that ached to hear. She’d told him she had to go. The entire goal of all this research and all this time was to find a way back home. He knew this. News of her and her research was why he traveled all the way to this snowbank of a town to begin with, and…well. She knew why he stayed.

Aubrey tilted her head back as if the motion would prevent the tears from falling. Her braids, unbound and held by strength of will and third-day grime alone came unraveled in the wind, dark curls flying every which way. She pulled the hood of her mage robes up and tried to ignore his voice and the sound of his footsteps echoing as he ran up cold stone steps. Ignoring him as best as she could, Aubrey stood in the center of the circle and wiped away the stray tears that had managed to escape.

Professor Gestor had found her here, curled in on herself, protecting her head, freezing to death in the scrap of white cotton dress that had survived her crossing. They thought she’d been imprisoned in Oblivion, narrowly escaping some horrible death by the hand of some nightmare or another. How very close to the truth that had been. That was the story the College proliferated on her behalf while feelers were put out for any resources that could help at all. That was the story that attracted the attention of Neloth. That was why Talvas was still here, calling her name and weakening her resolve. Gods, but he wouldn’t leave, would he?

She pushed her sleeve back and ran her hand down the black rose-and-bramble tattoos on her left arm, fingers pausing at each white ink starburst interspersed within illustrated flora. She had sixteen now—had earned the last one on her wrist bone before the summoning. Maybe she hadn’t earned it at all, considering the result.

The memory was like a slash from a razor, still too raw, still open to infection.

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late-nite-scholar · 10 months

Text

Aug 11th (Day 8)- Free Day!

Day 8: A series of short snippets chronicling a very different Oblivion Crisis. As a Nord, Aethelfrid immediately has a plan upon hearing that Martin is Dragonborn. She smuggles him to High Hrothgar where he quickly masters a handful of Shouts. They now fight together against the Daedric invasion and the battle with Mehrunes Dagon in the Temple of the One goes very differently.

Prompts by @tes-summer-fest This was super fun! Thanks for having us all out for this!

Nord HoK x Martin Septim

Warnings- Canon typical violence, otherwise tossing canon to the wind, long-ass read, wishful thinking

Wordcount- Almost 4K. I know it's long, but this was the shortest it could be and still be somewhat coherent.

(Pictures at the bottom this time for spoiler purposes!)

***

Oblivion AU- The Hero and the Dragonborn:

“Hail Dragonborn! Hail Martin Septim!” The Blades’ words rang out around them. Martin spoke, but Aethelfrid was hardly listening. The same word echoed over and over in her mind, and all she could do was stare. Could it be…?

“Was I really that bad?” Martin joked, pulling her back to reality.

“It was a good first try. Are you really Dragonborn?” The question fell from her lips before she could stop it.

“I guess so? That’s what they say about the Septim blood, isn’t it? That Tiber was one? Is… is that bad?”

“No. I just… we’ll talk later.” She put on a big smile. “Your Blades all want to meet you, after all, Your Highness. And we’ve had a long trip. Let’s relax for at least a few moments.”

“Of course. That’s a splendid idea.”

As Martin was folded into the gathered Blades, shaking hands and asking names, Aethelfrid’s mind worked. And it continued to do so as she studied the layout of the Temple as they moved inside. Yes, she could figure this out.

+++

Martin tensed as the door to his quarters opened and closed almost silently, but relaxed just as quickly as he caught a flash of bright orange hair. Aethelfrid wasted no time crossing the room to where he stood. He had to admit the look of intensity on her face put him on edge. There was something going on, and he worried what that could be.

“Aethelfrid? What’s on your mind? You’ve been acting strange since you heard them call me Dragonborn. Let’s sit, and tell me what bothers you.”

As they sat, her intense expression melted into a smile that took his breath for an instant. Then she laughed a little. “Oh, no, it’s quite the opposite! My father told me stories of dragonborn warriors when I was a little girl. Of the things they could do, the incredible power they wielded. Of the power of the Voice.”

“The Voice?”

“An ability given to my people by Kyne herself. By speaking the right words you could shatter mountains, bring forth fire and storm, move and be like the wind. There is no equal to a dragonborn warrior’s abilities. Martin, if you are Dragonborn, you can do that, too! We could turn this invasion around in no time with that power!”

“Aethelfrid… I have no idea how to use such abilities. I’ve never even heard of this! How would I even start?”

“You can’t learn it here. But I know where you can. Every Nord, even one born here like me, knows of the monks of High Hrothgar. They teach the Way of the Voice. If we get you to them, then they can do the rest.”

“Where are they?” He sat forward, intrigued but feeling an odd, nervous prickle in the back of his neck.

“At the top of the Throat of the World. I know the way. The last time my family visited Skyrim my father pointed out the path.”

“The Blades aren’t going to let me jaunt off to Skyrim.”

The door opened and closed again. They both froze as Baurus slipped in. But he sat down beside them. “I’m going to go to the Imperial City on a lead. I’ll get you both out of here. We’ll split off once we’re out of sight. You two head for the Pale Pass, I’ll go to the city. Meet me there as soon as you get back. I’ll start setting the groundwork and see what I can dig up while you’re gone.”

+++

Martin and Aethelfrid stared up at the trail before them. Seven thousand steps, the people in the village had said. The mere idea sounded exhausting. They’d traveled nonstop since Baurus had snuck Martin out of a secret entrance and they’d split off in their opposite directions. Martin thanked the Divines for Baurus. His knowledge of Cloud Ruler Temple had made it so much easier for them to get out without being noticed. He also thanked them for Aethelfrid. She was just as tireless and driven as she had been on their trip from Kvatch. And now that they were in Skyrim, she fell easily into the culture, chatting with locals in their Nordic language without even a hint of a Cyrod accent. He certainly wouldn’t have gotten here without her.

“You’re going to be warm enough?” She asked as they climbed. “It’s going to get cold as we go up.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m ready to do this.”

+++

By the time they reached the top, and stood before the massive temple, he was exhausted. Even Aethelfrid was breathing heavily. It had been a long trip up the mountain, occasionally beset by wolves lurking the trail.

“We made it.” he said softly, looking up at the somber, stone building.

“Yes. High Hrothgar. I never thought to see it for myself,” she whispered. “Can you feel the power?”

“Yes. Do we… do we just go in?”

“I suppose so. We shall see if the Greybeards will grant us an audience. Maybe they’ll already know of our coming, of your coming.”

They trudged up the stairs and, with trepidation, entered through the ancient, intricately-carved door. A small group of men in grey robes waited for them, all silent. Aethefrid’s heart thundered in her chest. Now that they were here, what would the Greybeards think of them just wandering in? Maybe they should have knocked?

One of them took a step forward, and the fear redoubled. Any of these men could obliterate them both with no more than a word. But he was looking at Martin now, and spoke in a quiet voice.

“Welcome, Dragonborn. What do you seek from us?”

Martin took a deep breath before replying. “If I am Dragonborn, then I am here to learn the Way of the Voice.”

“Your destiny does not lie among our number.”

“I know. I cannot leave the world and its people, my people, helpless to the threat of Oblivion. I need to learn from you so that I can protect them, fight for them the way my ancestors did.” He silently thanked Aethelfrid for the steady stream of explanations she’d given him during their journey. Otherwise he’d have been lost at what to say.

“We do not use the Thu'um for war, for fighting.” the Greybeard said pointedly. Martin’s heart sank until he continued. “But the way of the Dragonborn is guided by a different fate. We will teach you. We will begin immediately.”

“Thank you.” He could’ve fallen to his knees before the man, but instead followed him further in, only turning once to see Aethelfrid smiling encouragingly.

+++

Ten days later, Martin and Aethelfrid prepared to make their way back down the mountain. The Greybeards were as good as their word, and Martin had ravenously taken their knowledge. He’d barely slept the whole time, pouring himself into learning everything he could. In return, the Greybeards had gifted him the words to five Shouts. Martin doubted they’d planned to give him so much, but he’d pushed them for more and learned them fast.

“You’ve done amazing!” Aethefrid laughed as they made their way down the mountain. “I don’t know if those monks have ever seen someone learn as fast as you. I’m… I’m so proud of you.”

He flushed. “You’re too kind. This is for the people. We have to help them, so I knew I needed to gain as much from my time here as I could. I hope it will be enough.”

“If it’s not, I’m not sure anything would be.”

+++

Three dremora popped out of a side door. Two of them charged as the third lifted its bow. She ran towards them, sword and shield at the ready.

"Aethelfrid!" he cried.

"Get the sigil stone! I've got this!" she shouted over her shoulder. Then she was swinging at the dremora, teeth bared in a snarl.

He ran up to the platform, grabbing the stone floating in the air. Immediately, everything began to shake.

"WULD… NAH KEST!" The Shout propelled him back down the ramp as fast as the wind. He threw his arms around Aethelfrid's waist just as he felt himself pulled from this dimension and back to Nirn. It only made him hold on tighter.

Even though he felt the magicka dissipate and knew they were back in Cyrodiil, he didn’t let go. "By Akatosh! I felt it pulling me away and I thought it was going to leave you behind and… Aethelfrid, I thought I was going to lose you…"

“Martin?”

He reached up, taking gentle hold of her face and guiding her down until they were nose-to-nose. “I’d be lost without you, my Aethelfrid.”

As he closed the last little bit of distance between them, all he could think about was the softness of her lips. When they pulled away, her freckled face had washed over with pink. She kissed him again, very softly.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Thank the gods for that.”

+++

She materialized back onto the battlefield, finding herself looking up at the massive siege engine. It was too late! It was coming through! She leapt out of its way, and none too soon, either. The Gate winked out abruptly, leaving half the siege engine in the Deadlands. The part that had made it through the Gate collapsed into useless wreckage, but that didn’t stop the Daedra that had accompanied it from attacking her. These included five large, armored dremora who circled her warily. She steeled herself for a hard battle; everyone else was still fighting their own enemies. She’d have to do this on her own.

“KRII… LUN AUS!” The dremora stumbled in unison, cracks appearing in their armor. Aethelfrid wasted no time, swinging her sword and smashing her shield into the first of the weakened creatures. Then a second Shout rang out, “FO… KRAH DIIN!”

She lifted her shield as an icy gale howled, freezing the Dremora solid. Wasting no time, she smashed their frozen forms as a final Shout sounded, and then Martin was at her side in a rush of wind. They fell into each other’s arms.

“I got it.” she whispered. “The Great Stone we need.”

“Thank Akatosh!” Smiling at her, he added, “And thank Kyne, too.”

Aethelfrid’s eyes softened with tears, but people were gathering now. Martin stepped back, addressing the crowd. “We have been victorious! All hail Aethelfrid, the Savior of Bruma!”

“All hail the Savior of Bruma!” The crowd shouted back, over and over, cheering and whooping.

Aethelfrid glared over at Martin, hissing, “This is your victory, not mine!”

“Nonsense, you’re the hero here, Champion to the would-be Emperor! This is your day.”

Aethelfrid didn’t get a chance to respond before they were swept into the crowd, and soon back into the city for a proper party. Martin grinned ear-to-ear as he watched the people celebrate his beloved. And so they should, for none were as brave and strong as her.

+++

“What am I waiting for? After all this is my destiny. No man can deny his destiny.” He took the amulet from Aethelfrid’s hand and lifted it over his head. Aethelfrid clenched her fists, waiting to see if something would happen.

Nothing.

She let out a laugh that was almost a sob. “Oh, thank Kyne! I knew you could wear it, but… I’m so glad nothing happened.”

“That makes two of us,” he joked gently. Turning serious, he added, “I’ve sent a message to High Chancellor Ocato, we’re going to meet him in the Imperial City and end this once and for all. The Blades are preparing things already.”

“We’ll be ready to go by morning,” Jauffre confirmed.

Martin clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I must speak to the Champion alone about a very important matter.”

He led her out of the chamber and through the halls until they reached the back doors, Baurus in tow. They stepped out into the crisp mountain air, the setting sun painting the sky in stunning reds and purples.

Martin turned, taking Aethelfrid’s hands. His voice remained steady, though his hands shook. “Aethelfrid, we’re leaving tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen when we get to the Imperial City. But I cannot leave without asking you this. I’ve thought about it for a long time and… I cannot go into whatever destiny awaits me without knowing the answer.”

He pulled a thin, braided cord from his pocket. It was red, run through with gold. The braiding was an intricate, Nordic style and Aethelfrid gasped.

“This is a handfasting cord! Where did you get this?”

“A woman in Bruma made it for me. If you know what this is, then you know what I wish to ask you. Will you come to the Imperial City with me, fight this last battle with me, as my wife?”

“Yes! Of course I will!”

Baurus took the cord and bound their hands as they faced one another, smiles brightening both their faces. It was almost too beautiful to be true, too perfect.

“Will you bear witness to our words?” Aethelfrid asked, looking over at Baurus. “If you will, say your name before the gods, that they might know you.”

Gamely, he stepped forward. “I am Baurus of Port Hunding, and I will bear witness.”

“Thank you. In the names of the Hearth Gods, I make this vow,” Aethelfrid intoned, tears threatening in her eyes. “Mother Kyne, hear our words as we join ourselves together. In the name of your handmaiden Mara, I name myself wife to Martin Septim. May Dibella prepare the way for our future together, and may you guide us ever onward, Great Mother.”

Martin’s voice cracked with emotion, all of his practiced, priestly ways gone as he replied, “In the name of the Hearth Gods, and of Akatosh, I make this vow. Mother Kyne, hear our words as we join ourselves together. In the name of Mother Mara, I name myself husband to Aethelfrid Bright-Spear. May Dibella prepare the way for our future together, and may we be ever guided by the Great Mother, as I am also guided by Akatosh.”

Baurus looked between them both, and nodded with all solemnity. "I have heard and witnessed these vows. May they stand for all of your lives, and may you live well together in them."

The tears overflowed over Aethelfrid's cheeks. "Thank you, Baurus."

"Of course, my lady Champion. Why don't we go in, and you two retire for the night? I'll make sure you have a meal and that no one bothers you."

The night passed most beautifully, and filled with love.

+++

“It’s too late…” Martin whispered as they watched the giant, four-armed Prince swing his axe.

“What do we do?” Aethelfrid wound her fingers into his, gripping them tightly.

“There is one thing I could try. I found… I found an apocryphal account of a Shout, barely legible… I never tested it, but… I need to get to the Temple of the One. It’s the only chance.”

“I’ve got your back.”

They wound through the streets, Aethelfrid and Baurus fighting off whatever daedra came their way until they stood in the temple. Martin turned and put his hands on Aethelfrid’s shoulders.

“I don’t know if this will work, or if I’ll survive. But if it banishes the daedra for good, it’ll be worth it.”

“Martin…”

“I love you, Aethelfrid. No matter what happens, I will always love you.”

“And I love you, Martin.”

They kissed once; quickly, violently, and with a desperate need. Then Martin turned away, and walked to where the Dragonfires would have been lit. Instead, he took the Amulet of Kings from around his neck and held it up.

“Great Akatosh, let my dragon’s blood be strong and true! Mother Kyne, let my Voice be as the storm itself! Give me your power, so that Mehrunes Dagon cannot stand before me! MUL… QAH DIIV!”

As he Shouted, he threw the Amulet to the ground. It smashed, and gold light raced around him, becoming ethereal horns, spikes, and claws. Martin grew taller within this power until he dwarfed Aethelfrid, and then continued to grow as he made his way out of the temple until he was nearly as tall as the Daedric Prince. Fire streamed from his eyes like he was Akatosh himself.

Mehrunes Dagon turned, hefting his axe and grinning. But Martin grinned back, and his teeth were sharp. His Shouts were like the roars of a dragon. “ZUN... HAAL VIIK!”

The axe flew out of Dagon’s hand, and Martin caught it as it sailed past. The Prince stared, surprised, and Martin knew that this was his chance, and he had to take it. If not, he might not get another.

“KRII… LUN AUS!” Dagon staggered as the Shout hit him, weakening him.

“FO… KRAH DIIN!” Crystals of ice appeared on his skin, and he began to stumble sluggishly as the cold assailed him.

“FUS… RO DAH!” The force of the Shout shattered bones as it threw Dagon backwards. His flight was brought up short as he crashed into the steps of the palace, causing an earthquake to ripple outwards and rattle the city around them.

“WULD… NAH KEST!” Dagon had not even recovered his feet before Martin appeared before him, moving with preternatural speed. And before he could react, Martin swung the axe into his neck, separating head from body. An angry light seared through the city, and then Mehrunes Dagon was gone, sent back to Oblivion.

+++

Aethelfrid raced through the streets toward the palace, cutting down any daedra in her path. She had to get to Martin! She had to make sure he was… that he was okay. If not… if not then she would have to fight on, and hope for some miracle. That was her only thought, even as the ground rocked, nearly knocking her from her feet. She had to get to Martin!

She raced across the bridge just as searing red light washed over everything. When it was gone, so was Dagon. Only a gold light remained, shrinking and growing fainter.

“No! Mother Kyne, please! Please don’t let it be…” the fervent whispers tore from her lips as she raced to the stairs. Martin, once again himself, lay at the bottom, unmoving. With a cry, she threw herself to the ground. Gathering him into her arms, she began to sob. He was so still… so… empty. She clung to him, painful cries bursting from her chest.

Time slowed to a crawl, the world lost all meaning. What meaning could there be, if he was gone? Would she be a widow, just as her goddess was? Would Kyne escort Martin to her husband's table? He had certainly proved himself worthy of Sovngarde, and he had the blood of the dragon and the Thu’um within him. If Cyrods were allowed to enter Sovngarde. If not…

Martin’s body shuddered and he let out a ragged gasp. As he opened his eyes, he murmured, “Aethelfrid?”

“Martin? Oh, thank the gods!” She kissed him over and over. “I thought you were…”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me,” he joked. He held up his left hand where half of the red cord was tied. “I made a promise.”

“Thank the gods for that.”

+++

A week later they came again to the Temple of the One. There were no Dragonfires, no Amulet of Kings, as there had been before. This was instead a new beginning, a new Age, where such things were no longer needed.

And Martin and Aethelfrid were not the same as a week ago, either. Martin wore an elegant, but simple, fur-trimmed robe, his crimson shirt bearing the Imperial dragon embroidered in gold. The dragon that now felt much closer to him, much more real. Aethelfrid wore a gown of blue brocade, her flame orange curls artfully arranged in an elaborate style. The only constant was the red cords they wore around their wrists, and the way they smiled at one another.

But at that moment they knelt before a priest of Akatosh, his voice celebratory. "I will ask you both to take the vows of office.”

He looked to Martin first. “Will you swear today that, in taking the mantle of Emperor, that you will accept the duties and responsibilities that it represents? Will you govern the peoples of your territories fairly according to the laws and customs, and that you render judgements in accordance with said laws?”

“I do so swear.” Martin’s voice was as calm and even as ever, betraying no hint of any nervousness he might be feeling.

“Do you swear to uphold the will and the laws of the Nine Divines? That they may be given proper veneration in all things?”

“I will.”

“Then, in the sight of your people and in this Temple of the Great Akatosh, I confer upon you the Crown of Emperor, and all the duties and privileges that extend from that. May your reign be long and prosperous.” The priest held out a large crown, and with reverence, placed it on Martin’s head.

He then turned to Aethelfrid. “Will you swear today that, in taking the mantle of Empress, that you will accept the duties and responsibilities that it represents? Will you govern the peoples of your territories fairly and according to the laws and customs and that you render judgements in accordance with said laws?”

“I do swear.” Her voice came out strongly, more so than she’d expected. But now was the time to be strong, after all. The people needed that right now.

“Do you swear to uphold the will and the laws of the Nine Divines? That they may be given proper veneration in all things?”

“I will.” It was an odd question for Aethelfrid, as she didn’t exactly follow the Divines, but rather the Nordic gods. But she decided not to make an issue of it. As long as she could do her job according to the proper laws, did it really matter? She didn’t think so.

“Then, in the sight of your people and in this Temple of the Great Akatosh, I confer upon you the Crown of Empress, and all the duties and privileges that extend from that. May your reign be long and prosperous.”

Aethelfrid’s crown was smaller and more delicate than Martin’s, but still carried weight as it settled on her head. This was it. There was no going back now. But any nervousness was gone. Now that it was done, all she felt was a sense of purpose. There was so much to do, there was no time to be afraid. It was time to get things done. And they would. Their people would be safe and would thrive. They would make sure of that.

The priest held up his hands, now addressing both them and the crowd. “Rise now, and stand before your people. Rise, Emperor Martin Septim and Empress Aethelfrid Bright-Spear, both first of their names.”

Martin and Aethelfrid stood together, grasping each other’s hand. Sharing a smile, they turned, facing their people for the first time as rulers.

The crowd cheered with deafening joy, ushering in the Fourth Era.

The official portraits of Emperor Martin Septim and Empress Aethelfrid Bright-Spear. Descriptions in alt text. Made with Meiker character games.

-------------------------------

Shouts Martin uses:

Unrelenting Force

Whirlwind Sprint

Disarm

Frost Breath

Marked for Death

Dragon Aspect

Note: I have no idea what the Imperial vow of office would be. I based these off of the vow of office made by Queen Elizabeth II and altered them as needed.

#tesfest23 #tesfest23!#tes fest 23 #free day #last day #tes iv #tes iv oblivion #tes oblivion #oblivion au #au fic #martin septim #oc: aethelfrid bright-spear #martin septim x nord hok #no canon here #wishful thinking #long fic #long read

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clansayeed · 11 months

Text

WIP Wednesday ft. Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 11: [Untitled]

WORD COUNT: 174 RATING: Teen+ (this series is rated MATURE for graphic violence and adult content) FEAT: A Mystery Guest CONTENT WARNINGS: language, potential spoilers for book 5

NOTE: Small, and ominous, but hopefully better than the nothing you've had for over a year now~

*Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Check out the first 4 books in the Oblivion Bound series, linked below!

⥼ ABOUT OBLIVION BOUND ⥽ | ⥼ FIC MASTERLIST ⥽

Wallachia, October 1462

“TEPES!”

It is, by all accounts, a sturdy and well-maintained stronghold. With a multitude of vantage points for keen-eyed archers and terrain that requires training to learn; to master. It tests the mettle of the Voivode’s men even still. All the more advantage when untested feet scramble on a battlefield that fights them as fiercely as their enemies will.

But the key to a stronghold worth taking for one’s own is something more than strategy. Something far more subtle. Something that cannot be falsified or replicated.

A conqueror’s stronghold must be old. It must stand against time itself and emerge the victor; even across the battlefield of symbolism.

There is nothing symbolic about the very real, very physical manifestation of time’s arrogant wrath where his voice echoes cavernous through the castle’s old stone walls.

Old though they may be, he is always older.

“TEPES! You vile, pompous, hubristic pile of filth! I demand you show your simpering weaselly face before I tear your walls down stone by crumbling stone!”

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #wip wednesday #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii

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puniyo · 2 years

Text

VegasPete and the Hedgehog Dilemma (Part 3)

Part 1 here, Part 2 here

*Spoilers for episode 13*

*Disclaimer: This is a rant from what is left of a sobbing mess on the floor. Someone pick me up*

This episode *takes a deep breath and wipe tears* really delivered everything: oil to fuel the dilemma and angst for the remaining century. We had three brief Vegaspete moments in the latest episode, but each of them was so powerful and meaningful, so let’s check one by one. Before that, let me just bow down to Bible and Build, especially Build, for their stellar performances. If someone deserves more screen time, that would be them. Now onto our favorite hedgehogs.

Scene 1: Physically intimate, but not yet there.

V: At first, I thought I was a freak. Until now.

P: You just have to accept and be true to who you are.

V: Like you?

P: I just live in the present. What I’m feeling, that’s all I think of.

V: How can you live in this filthy world?

P: Why? Are you going to say that I’m a good guy?

V: No, you’re just a fool.

So we start with the aftermath of another (assumed) sex session between them. Pete is not wearing his bandages so some time must have passed between the chains and rope and now back to cuffs. They are both naked, aligned but opposite. Physically, they have torn down this barrier – they know which spots and corners feel good, where to push to earn a scream and where to touch for desire to bring them to oblivion. They both had time to explore their bodies now that they have both handed the reigns of physical intimacy to each other – Pete submitting willingly and Vegas honoring that control and worshipping Pete. However, does that mean that they have also opened the doors to their emotional intimacy? *waves hands* No, no, no. See the dialogue above. Vegas makes an admission that he sees himself as a freak. Pete gives him a piece of advice – be true to yourself – but Pete is the one who is not fully honest here. Is he a good guy or a bad guy? He is none. He is simply human. He cannot echo Vegas’ sentiments here and also make a confession of his. He gives advice, but does he follow it? The answer – no. They are intimate yes, just not yet there.

The next scene, we see Vegas cooking for Pete. That is our hedgehog truly shedding his spines and showing his true self – a caring human who genuinely smiles and is looking forward to please the person he cares about. It’s so rare to see this Vegas, his features so soft and looking so young. He might be the heir of the second family but he is so young, boyish, unsullied by this filthy world as he says. Until Gun comes into the picture. *I swear to the heavens that if no one puts a bullet on that man, I will personally do so. Ahem.* So Vegas’ father comes in, realizes the son is playing housekeeping and spending his time loitering around (which is ironic because it was Gun who put Vegas on house arrest in the first place), sees a plate of spicy food – which Vegas doesn’t eat – and does what his amazing parenting mindset tells him – throw the food away – the food Vegas had cooked for Pete. This was an escalation of violence, one that we see Vegas being submitted to all the time: 1. Have the things he likes being thrown away 2. “You don’t deserve to be my son” 3. Physical violence.

What message does this show to Vegas? 1. He does not have the right to like anything. He is to follow orders and follow them without complaints. 2. He will always be inferior to his father. 3. Showing your true self will only lead to pain. Vegas has no other option to turn to his self-defense mode, barriers up, spines back as his armor in full force. And Vegas copes with this emotional pain in two ways: physical pain (slapping himself, hitting his hand on the counter), and projecting it onto others (torture, sadism).

If you are still sane after this part, here’s a cookie for you because I am not *sobs*.

Scene 2: To be honest is to hurt.

P: I don’t like it. Then why didn’t I say no?

On the other side, Pete is now starting to question about his own honesty. If he really truly hated what he and Vegas has been doing so far, why hasn’t he put a stop to it. Why hasn’t he resisted? There is definitely one more question in his head – Why didn’t I escape? Pete is starting to come with terms with his own true feelings about this. And this is very difficult for him. It is probably one of the toughest things he has ever done (more about this very soon).

His introspective moment is cut short when Vegas come in. Pete realizes the handprint on Vegas’ face and the reason for it. Now, because they are physically intimate, Pete uses this to reach out for the other man – only to be met with a wall of quills.

P: Is this the way you’re supposed to be living?

This wall is so thick and the spines so pointy and sharp that he, coped with his uncertainty just now, leads to this answer:

P: It’s up to you Vegas. It’s your choice.

Red flag! Vegas is in no state to make a choice. Even if he makes one, it’s going to be the wrong choice. His anger and self-loathing are so blinding at this point that he cannot help but hurt others because he himself is in too much pain. What he didn’t expect was that, because of “shutting down” himself, he finally brought Pete to completely reach his most honest point:

V: Don’t think that acting weak and I’ll…

P: C’mon Vegas, kill me. I got nothing left. Not even my humanity. Right now, I feel useless. No. I’ve always been useless. I never exist. I have no feelings. I don’t have anything left within me, I can’t take myself anymore, Vegas.

*hands in award for one of the best lines in the whole series* Pete finally lets Vegas, and us, know what is behind that smiling façade of his – Pete’s self-loathing is the same, if not even more serious, than Vegas’. He has made to feel useless his whole life even when he has a grandma that loves him. He couldn’t find solace in that love. Pete never existed for himself – he was his father’s punchbag, his grandma’s responsibility, the main family’s bodyguard, Tankhun’s head bodyguard, Porsche’s friend, Kinn’s spy, Vegas’ pet – everything but just Pete. And here we have the core concept of the hedgehog dilemma: by being completely intimate, Pete and Vegas are mutually hurting, whether it is physical (bleeding) or emotional (tears).

V: I give up, Pete. Don’t leave me, I’m begging you.

P: I’m a human, Vegas. (I cannot not feel.)

V: I need you, Pete.

P: Need me? For emotional projection like a pet with no feelings?

Now, mutually hurting is the core of the dilemma. How both of our hedgehogs react to it, it is what matters. Pete chooses the extreme of self-harm – the idea of suicide, while Vegas realizes that he doesn’t want to lose Pete. Vegas realizes that, even though they hurt, he wants to overcome that pain. And we see that Pete understands it and Pete wants to also accept it, that they both will be able to maneuver through the agony and misery.

Now, now, humans use experience as reinforcement. This is when Pete lashes out about being a “pet” used for Vegas to project his emotions. He wants to accept Vegas but he simply cannot. And the only way to avoid them mutually destroying each other is to run away.

An aside to another of my favorite scenes in this episode:

Pete (to Porsche): Could you fix me up?

No, he cannot Pete. No one can fix you. Not Porsche. Not even Vegas. Because the only person who can fix something is oneself. Pete needs to be able to accept himself, his feelings for Vegas, and his willingness to find a way to come out alive with the inevitable hurt. The sweet promise is – just not visible at the moment.

Which leads to the delicious mutual hurting moment of eating noodles.

Scene 3: I want to be honest with you.

V: Are you going to shoot me? Are you? Why don’t you shoot? Don’t you want me to disappear? Shoot me already. SHOOT ME! I don’t think you can. And you know why.

Pete slides down the wall.

V: I’m sorry.

Pete touches Vegas’ face.

Lastly, we finally see the tables reversed here. On their encounters so far, Pete is the one to be the patient one, to give advice, to reach out a non-judgmental but all accepting hand. Now, Pete points his gun at Vegas. Pete headbutts him. Pete fights back. Pete is resisting the urge to let his quills down. Vegas, on the other hand, is completely (metaphorically) naked. He begs Pete. He is ready to be his true self with Pete.

#kinnporsche spoilers #kinnporsche #kinnporshe the series #vegaspete #vegas theerapanyakul #pete phongsakorn #hedgehog dilemma #build jakapan #bible wichapas #vegaspete has me on chokehold #love them so much #spin-off series for them #still crying

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