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chaotic-good-vampire · 2 years

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a glimpse of us

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x AFABreader (she/her)

Summary: Trying to deal with her husband’s affair, our protagonist takes a glimpse at their story, wondering if he ever loved her or if he just liked the idea of being loved.

“That's the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings, it's born from just one single glance but it dies a million little times."

Word count: 3,500

Warnings: Angst, cheating, mentions of sex, no use of y/n, non-descriptive reader (but it’s kind of implied reader isn’t Jewish). Also, I'm not Jewish, so if anything related to their tradition is incorrect, please correct me.

Inspired by: Basically Taylor Swift's entire discography.

Other chapters: Chapter 2 · Chapter 3

Chapter 1: Shock & Denial

“I don’t understand.” The words come out of her mouth with a nervous giggle, the smile on her lips intact. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, don’t you find it a little suspicious?”

“No, why?”

Her confusion is legitimate because, at first, the idea of Jonathan and Mira even being in the same room together is absurd. Sure, they don’t hate each other– and for the most part– any kind of resentment is long gone, but they tend to avoid interacting unless Ava is involved. Whenever they face each other, there’s always a palpable tension in the room and, more than once, she’d feared their sarcastic and ironic remarks towards one another would turn into a screaming match or worse. Therefore, the only logical reason she can come up with as to why they’d willingly walk into a room alone, let alone a house, is that they had founded a secret underground Fight Club of something.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing.” Winona, her best friend, sounds as confused as her, but for another reason. “I didn’t mean to bother you; I Just thought I had the responsibility to tell you, that’s all.”

“Oh, it’s okay, no problem. Thanks.”

And for a couple hours after she hangs up, as she goes up and down the house cleaning and organizing, trying to figure out how to deliver the good news, it’s genuinely not a problem at all. She goes on with her night in a peaceful ignorant bliss, blinded by her excitement and good faith.

By ten, when she sits on the living room's couch with a cup of cocoa in hand and the biggest smile on her face, the weight of Winona’s words hasn’t quite settled in yet. She opens her messages with tingling fingers, a corny romance movie playing in the background, and she texts Jonathan with enthusiasm bubbling up her chest and hot cheeks.

«Thoughts on Italian? I have something very important to tell you.»

«Was thinking about that restaurant near Ava’s school, the one with the fettuccini you so much like. Maybe tomorrow night?”

«btw, I miss you. The house is so quiet without you and Ava :(»

Normally, she wouldn’t expect him to answer right away, especially considering he’s supposed to be mourning with his family. Still, she's so happy that she can't help but be a little impatient. So, after some minutes of scrolling through social media to distract herself, she ultimately gives in and calls him instead, heart on her sleeve.

The phone rings for a while, much to her dismay, and she's about to hang up when his singing voice greets her from the other side of the line:

"Hey, sweetie."

"Hello, handsome." She sings back, giggling, a mushy warmth blossoming deep in her chest.

"Hi, baby." They both chuckle, and she can perfectly picture him smiling, messy curls falling over his glasses, a vision that makes her smile.

"Why are you whispering? She whispers back jokingly. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Oh, my mom fell asleep already, and I don't want to wake her up." He clears his throat, nervous, and while she knows he tends to do that when lying, she lets it slide.

"Sorry for calling this late, my love, but I miss you horribly."

"It's no problem."

"How's your mom?"

Even though she had offered to take some days off work to accompany him to his father's shiva, Jonathan had insisted on going alone. It bothered her a little, feeling it was her duty as his wife to be by his side in such a delicate moment. But ultimately, she accepted it after he told her he didn't feel like dealing with his mother's snarky comments toward her for seven days straight. However, she still called each family member to express her condolences and spent an entire night baking kichlach for Jonathan to take with him. When it came time for the funeral, she asked again to go with him, but he refused once more, claiming his mother only wanted her children and herself to be there. It hurt, but she wasn't about to disrespect the widow's desires, especially since she kinda abhors her.

"She's fine. It's just... You know, the whole thing at the ceremony was really draining for her.

"Oh, my dear." She feels guilty for leaving him alone in a moment like this. Maybe she should try harder to build a relationship with his mother for the sake of their little family. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, don't worry, darling."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Well, you know how it is. It's like the... Being at the cemetery and then going to an empty house. It was a lot for her."

"Of course, it must be terrible to lose your life-long partner." God knows, even if she had only been with Jonathan for three and a half years, she couldn't imagine a life without him now. "I'm so sorry, my love. Don't you want to stay a little longer? Maybe your mom would like that."

"No, no, I gotta go back to work."

"Okay." A huge smile creeps on her face at his words. "So you're coming back tomorrow?"

"Uh, yes. Taking the 6:30 train out of Valley Stream, then the Amtrak from Penn Station."

"I wish I could pick you up, but my shift starts at seven."

"It'll be fine, sweetheart. I'll see you at home when you come back."

"Ugh, fine." She bites her lip, trying to hold her excitement to not spoil the surprise. "Did you see my messages?"

"No, I'm sorry. What they say?"

"Can I facetime you? I want to see your gorgeous face."

He laughs, but there's something hidden in the way in which he stutters before answering:

"Okay. Yeah. Just, uh..." She can hear him panting as he walks hurriedly, then a door closes. "Trying to connect here."

She hangs up, and not even a second later, his phone starts buzzing, her name displayed in big white letters on the screen.

"Oh, look at you, such a marvelous sight." Her cheeks heat up, something she'll always be surprised by. No matter how many times he complimented her, he always managed to turn her into a giggly schoolgirl with his sweet-talking. "I love how that sweater fits you."

"Only because it makes my boobs look bigger."

"Oh, I like your boobs just the way they are, honey." There's an eco in his video. "I'll show you just how much tomorrow night."

As she laughs at his flirty attitude, her eyes divert to his background, where she can see a strangely familiar tile.

"Where are you?" A strange uneasiness suddenly overcomes her, a sign that her brain has already caught something her mind has yet to figure out.

"I'm in the bathroom."

"What?"

"I'm in the bathroom."

"Oh." She tries to match the tiles to a room in his parent's house, but nothing comes to mind.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"Ah, yeah... Um..." She can't focus on her words, distracted by those damn tiles of unknown origin. "I have great news, amazing actually... So I thought we could celebrate in that Italian restaurant near Ava's school."

"Basile?"

"Yeah, there."

"Uh, they have the best fettucini." He licks his lips, and she forces a smile, her mind rushing. "Seems good to me. May I have a hint of what we are celebrating?"

"No, it's a surprise."

The whole situation feels like a deja vú, from the way he's whispering to how he stutters every three words, anxious voice rushing through the conversation. It all takes her back to three years prior.

«Hey, how did it go?»

«Are you okay?»

«Hope it wasn't too bad.»

«Wanna have breakfast together? I think I can make it before you leave for work.»

Four innocent messages were all it took for Jonathan to blow up at her, even if she had only sent them because she was worried.

When Jonathan had told her Mira was going to stop by their house to discuss the divorce, she became wary, but only because he'd been doing so well for the past few months, she feared her presence would trigger him. It took time, money, therapy, tears, and some inebriated late-night conversations, but his eyes had finally regained their light, and his lips remembered how to smile. It irked her to think a conversation with his ex could throw so much effort out the window in a matter of minutes.

Thus, when he didn't call or text like he'd promised to, she immediately assumed the worst. And, as much as she wanted to drop everything and check on him, she had a duty at the hospital, so for now, she could only hope for him to answer the texts.

Just as she was putting her phone away, it started buzzing, his name and photo illuminating the screen, making her smile. Even after months of dating, she felt like a teenager every time they talked or were together, a dozen butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the mere thought of him.

"Hey."

"Hey, hi!" She walked outside the emergency room and stood beside the entrance, watching the rain, to avoid getting in the way of doctors and patients. "How are you? I was dead worried–"

"Good, uh, yeah." He interrupted her, whispering in an irritated voice. "But, listen, it's not cool to, like, bombard me with–"

"Bombard you?" She tried her best not to match his tone, thinking he may have had a terrible evening and was just tense. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you; I just wanted to know how you were."

"I told you I'd call you when she left." Suddenly, she went from a teenager to a scolded child with how he talked to her like she was stupid.

It took her by surprise, really; he'd never been anything but a gentleman with her since the day they met a little over a year before. He'd never been rude or condescending, not even in his worst days, and he always spoke to her with such tenderness she just melted on the spot.

Why he's acting like a complete imbecile out of nowhere?

"Yeah, I know, but it's almost midnight, and you–" It clicked then. "She hadn't gone yet?"

"No, she hasn't. She's still here, okay?"

"Oh, is everything all right?" Her blind fade was present there since day one. "Where is she?"

"She's..." Out of all the possibilities, she certainly wasn't expecting him to say the next. "She's in bed."

"She's staying in?" She really wanted to keep calm and be mature enough to not let jealousy invade her, but then a thought crossed her mind. "Wait, whose bed?"

"My bed."

"And where were you before you called?"

The line goes silent for some seconds in which she can hear him calmly breathe with nothing more to add. She waited for an explanation, anything that could soothe the turmoil of emotions tearing her apart from the inside out. Tears were already forming in the corner of her eyes, but she blinked them away as she bit her lip, troubled.

"Why?" She inhales deeply, passing back and forth. "Jon, baby, I'm trying to understand you here, but you're not helping much. What happened? You were supposed to talk about the divorce and..."

"Listen–"

"Why is she in your bed? The same bed you made love to me just this morning..." He called her name, but she was so distracted in her ranting that she didn't listen. "And then you have the audacity to call me and complain about four text messages as if I was trying to control you or something."

"We... we need to talk, 'cause this is–"

The phrase sent her on a panicked rambling because nothing good ever came out of those words. She was shaking, the hem of her uniform getting wet as she mindlessly stepped on puddles. Her friends had warned her; they'd told her numerous times that dating an older married man wasn't the greatest idea, but she was already head over heels for him when all these happened. His gentle touch, sweet words, and ease with which he made her laugh and feel cared for; he was her safe space and vice versa. Or so she thought.

"Yeah, of course, we need to talk. We're in a relationship, Jonathan, you kind of owe us some respect, you know? That means establishing certain boundaries with Mira..."

"This is really just not, uh...–" She kept talking over him, between upset and scared for what he had to say.

"We can talk about this over breakfast, alright? I'll pass by Starbucks on my way to your house, I'll be there by seven–"

"I'm trying to tell you we should take a break because this is just not..." That's all it took to leave her speechless, a shaky sight leaving her lips as the first tears fell down her cheek. "Not working out for me right now."

"What are you talking about?" Her voice cracked, anger boiling down her throat. "It was working perfectly fine this morning, Jon."

"No, uh, uh..." He didn't know what to say, a part of him breaking at the sound of her crying, the other just wanting to hang up and go back to Mira.

"Jonathan, what the fuck!? When I left this morning, you swore she would only be there an hour or so to start the divorce arrangements. You kissed me, we had sex, we ate together. Everything was fine, and now you just decide it's not? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Okay, you know, let me just... Let me stop you here before you say something that you're gonna regret" It only made her angrier, the way he was avoiding talking about the subject and treating her like a child. "Look, I'm... I'm really sorry it has to end like this, but, uh... Honestly, I've been feeling for a while that–".

"Bullshit, Jonathan!" Some staff turned to see her as she yelled, and her cheeks heated up at the undesired attention. She was a crying mess, and she felt ridiculous for falling that hard for someone in only a matter of months while he just pretended to feel the same. She breathes deeply and lowers her voice, trying to control herself. "Jon, listen to yourself. Five seconds ago you wanted some time, now you're breaking up with me over the phone?"

"Well, you know, that–"

"Jonathan, I love you." He immediately goes silent.

Neither of them had said it before, but she had been tempted to more than once. As she lay on his chest, intertwined bodies under the covers; as he drank his coffee in the morning, wet curls fell over his glasses; as he talked about his students and his job; as he and Ava played. She knew she could only suppress it for so long, but she was scared of freaking him out, of it being too big of a sentence for his heart.

"I love you, I really do. I love you so, so much." She sobbed, internally hitting herself for her bluntness in a moment like that. "Please, we can talk about it, please."

"I'm not..." He wasn't sure of what to say, caught off guard by her confession and the pain in her voice.

Did he love her back? He had thought about saying it more than once, but the words always died out on the tip of his tongue. Sure, he was scared of loving again, but mostly he didn't even know if he was ready or completely over Mira. He felt terrible because she was perfect: Clever, funny, gentle, and caring, and the sex was the best he had had in his entire life. Then why couldn't he bring himself to tell her what he was sure he felt?

"You don't have to say it back, it's okay." Her heart was being ripped open inside her chest, but she wasn't going to guilt trip him for it. "I, just, um... Please, please, don't leave me."

He pronounced her name in a breathy voice, blinking his own tears away. "I'm sorry, it's better this way."

"Jon–" Her beeper goes off, and huffing, she checks the message as she roughly wipes the tears from her face. "I have to go, they need me here."

"Okay, bye." He swallowed the lump in his throat, resisting the urge to take back his words. How could he after everything he just said? "I'm sorry."

The tile is the same as the downstairs bathroom in his old house, the one he shared with Mira for over ten years. She comes to the realization with trembling hands, a tight pressure on her chest making it difficult to breathe.

"I love you." Jonathan says with a smile, not noticing her entire world is shattering right beneath her because of him. "Can't wait to see you tomorrow."

It took him so long to be able to say those three simple words that every time he pronounced them, she treasured them in the deepest of her soul. But not today, today they feel like the worst of burns.

"I love you too." The words are bitter on her lips. "I'll leave you, you must be tired, and you still gotta travel tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll see you at the restaurant at 8, is that okay?

"Yeah."

"Great, love you. Laila tov."

"Laila tov."

He hangs up, leaving her alone with the TV voices and her inner turmoil. Her previous excitement is gone, and all she can think about now it's Winona's words:

"I saw him entering his old house with Mira, and they've been there for a while."

“No.” She whispers for only the wind to hear. “Not my Jonathan, not him.”

My Jonathan, a conjunction of words so familiar to her tongue, it almost feels wrong to say one without the other. Yet, as she absently fidgets with the gold band on her finger, she wonders if they were ever true or if it was just her turning a blind eye to the obvious. She wants to laugh and brush the whole thing off as her being sensitive, but her inner voice keeps telling her there's something terribly wrong.

Surely, this all has to be a misunderstanding, right? Jon, sweet loving Jonathan, wouldn't betray her trust and lie straight to her face with no remorse. Not when he knows how much it hurts and how much she loves him. And even if he did, he wouldn't be as stupid as to do it in his old house and with his ex-wife. Not when her best friend lives just down the street, with a perfect view of the master bedroom from the second floor.

It's Jonathan, her Jonathan, and he'll never hurt her like that.

She doesn't even realize what her fingers are doing until the dialing tones sound beside her ear. One, two, three, then a female voice picks up:

"Hello?" Elisheva, his sister, greets her softly.

"Hi, Shevi" She's holding her breath, livid and a little nauseous. "I'm sorry for calling this late, I just wanted to check on you and your mom."

It isn't a lie, she truly cares for them even if Myriam sees her as an intruder in her family. Besides, she doesn't take it personally; Mr. Levy's hostility isn't directed at her as a person but rather at her status as his son's second wife.

"Oh, no worries. We're as good as we can be, thanks for calling." Shevi's always been friendly with her, making an effort with Arie to integrate her into the family after getting engaged. "Although, it's a shame Jon couldn't stay longer, you know? Maybe that could have cheered up mom a little."

"He's not at your house?" The surprise and distress in her voice confuse Elisheva.

"No, he left right after the funeral, at four." No, it couldn't be. Jonathan had told her he'd stayed with his family until tomorrow, and even if he'd decided to leave early, he should have been in the house hours ago. "He isn't home yet?"

"Oh, yeah, I just remembered." She lies, holding her tears and embarrassed. "He said he was going to stop by a friend's house, he probably lost track of time."

The conversation pretty much dies there, and after wishing her goodnight and promising to call in the morning again, she hangs up, feeling a hole in her chest.

She blankly stares at the TV for some minutes, dismayed, convinced she'll wake up any minute, and he'll be beside her. Messy hair, soft lips slightly apart, and his chest rising slowly in rhythm with his light snores. She'll cuddle him, bury her face in the crook of his neck and leave a trail of kisses from his jaw to his lips; he'll wake up and return the gesture, and they'll have morning sex and have breakfast together, and everything will be just fine.

This was all a nightmare.

Just a nightmare.

A nightmare.

Then, as a bucket of cold water, the cuckoo clock on the wall chimes, and her inner hell unleashes.

#jonathan levy #scenes from a marriage #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy x you #jonathan levy x y/n #angst #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #reader insert

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werdlewrites · 5 months

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summary: “Kind of bullshit, isn’t it?” She looks to the other for her thoughts, but Autumn waits in silence, watching as crystal blues fill with sorrow once more, before shaking away the hurt. “We’re just… Expected t’go back t’normal. Like nothing’s happened. Like Barb isn’t gone. warnings: cursing as always, ptsd, bullying, mentions of death and mourning, steve is soft wc: 3,295

November 22nd is Autumn’s second day back to school. It’s the same as the day prior—a new schedule she hadn’t been quite used to as Steve sits out in his warmed car, waiting for her. He says it’s for her sake—only doing what he thinks would help make this more comfortable. He acts like a lit candle in the dark, a comfort as she transitions into her old life while the new remains difficult to grasp. The world stares at the anomaly—their new-found closeness. Odd looks are cast, and mockery comes in the form of whistles and a twisted look in their eyes. She’s so painfully aware of it all, while he wears an oblivious grin as they walk together. He takes casual drags of his cigarette, finding himself carefree and unbothered by their surroundings. He pauses just before the doors, expecting the girl to stop just at his side as if he’s confessed the agreement he made with Hopper. But she continues on, already prying the door back so she may step through, and it sends him into a momentary panic. “Woah, woah!” The cigarette is stomped out, and he’s trailing after her like a lost puppy, a nervous chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Slow down, yeesh.” Autumn gives him a confused yet playful look—not truly understanding his need to be at her side, even now after he’s spilled his guts. Was it loneliness? No longer having a girlfriend to cozy up with or a boisterous group of toxic teens to distract from the ache. She’s not entirely used to it yet, and somehow it feels like she’s letting him tag along. Not that he’s acting as a shield against the ones seeking to hurt her.

She’s on autopilot once she’s at her locker, moving down the halls while Steve rambles on about what it’s been like since coming back. How he tries to put his all into the work but can’t help the feeling of something more important happening. “It’s just crazy, right? I mean, what are we even working for?” She can’t form the words as quickly as he needs, her lips pursed as she thinks it all over before he chimes in again. “There’s some weird, alien shit going on out there, and they want us t’learn about math.” He doesn’t notice the slowing of her pace, not realizing that the girl's focus has wandered elsewhere. “When am I ever going t’use calcu-?” He’s forced to come to a stop as his body collides with her back, and a rushed “Oh, shit, sorry" fumbles out of his mouth. But she doesn’t seem to hear him; her eyes are zeroed in on Jonathan’s locker, and the prints taped to the surface.

She finds Will’s face in black ink, his eyes bright and lively. The picture had been taken sometime before his disappearance, and the article was printed just after as the town began its search for the young boy. A red marker scribbles across his face, “Zombie,” and she can barely stomach the sight. It’s clear he hasn’t been back to this place, not yet drowning in their cruelty. Anger fuels the girl, storming across the remaining space for tense fingers to rip at the papers, shredding and bundling it all up for the nearby trash. “Assholes,” she mutters. “They’ll find anything t’talk about,” Steve tries to reassure, his body slumped against a locker door. “He’s just a boy. A boy, Steve.” There’s a look of guilt again—his eyes unable to meet her own as he works through a long list of mistakes, including the ones where he dragged the boy's name through the mud. “I know,” he says with a heavy sigh. His body pushes from the surface, following after her without thought—too lost in his own world and ignorant of the questioning looks cast over her shoulder. Until she stops, and then he gives her a quizzical look. "What is i-?" "Your class isn't this way," she states rather simply, watching as his eyes light up with something familiar. Guilt and being caught red-handed. “Right! Yeah, I-” Words fail the boy, his gaze drifting away to avoid her stare that digs deep, pulling at the roots of his lies. Her arms are crossed, waiting in anticipation for an explanation, and it leaves him to sigh dramatically. “Okay,” he begins, heat rising to his cheeks. “We’re good, yeah? I-I mean, not good, but just-” He’s panicking again. Just a boy standing before a superhuman he’s known forever, trying to steer clear of stepping on her toes—or her heart—as he mends the broken bonds. “We’re working on things, right?” He can see the confusion in her eyes, head tilted as if waiting for the punchline. “I don't—I don’t want t’start things off with a lie.” Steve can hear the scoff in her throat before he’s even confessed, picturing her storming down the hall with anger scattered across the floor, unsure of who to be more annoyed with. “Hopper… He sort of asked me t’watch over you.”

He anticipates her actions, bracing for the impact of her frustration, but it never comes. Her focus is wandering, far away in thought, with a response just on her tongue but hesitant. “Oh,” is all she manages to say. “But I want t’be here,” he reassures. “I wouldn’t have gone out t’the cabin if I didn’t want to. I wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ if I didn’t want to. He just—we,” he corrects. “We want t’make sure nothing happens t’you.” Autumn remains quiet, drinking all he’s said without a hint of dishonesty. This new and old relationship sparks like a fire to dry wood. Fast and without warning. “Thanks,” she replies with a gentle smile, popping through the boy's guarded veil to survive a strike that never came. “Y-you’re welcome,” Steve stutters in surprise. “So, what? Are you switching your classes around now?” “No! No, God. I’m not going t’go all stalker on you,” he defends with a cry. Cheeks now red from embarrassment, watching as she laughs at his panic. “Well, I doubt anyone is going to try t’kidnap me in the middle of class.” She takes a step back, away from him. Autumn tests the waters to see if he follows, and he remains firmly planted, though worry lingers in his eye. “Can I still take you home?”

Home.

The word bears venomous fangs that bury deep into the girl's chest, poisoning and sending waves of shock from the pain it brings. Did she truly have a home? All she had known was stripped from beneath her, destroyed, and with no purpose to come back to. No family to call her name in longing. She had a roof over her head and protection from Hopper—just a man doing his best in a shitty situation. Autumn was truly displaced, and the word holds nothing but emptiness. Steve seems to see her struggle, offering a look of sympathy just before he tries to patch up the open wound, but she cuts him off. “I’ll meet you at the doors,” and then she’s gone—lost in the scattered bodies as they all scrambled for doorways to begin another day of learning. It’s all she can think about for the hours spent in lectures. Her notebook lays out, barren of any scribbles for some upcoming test after the holidays. She thinks of that, too, and it leaves her feeling nauseous—unable to stomach the casual talk amongst students as they reveal what they are doing with family once the school bell dismisses them all for a break. At least once for every class, she gives an excuse and races off for the bathroom for a few moments to herself. Hopper had mentioned it in passing—the holidays. Tiptoed around the subject about what his work was doing for the event while stealing glances at her for a reaction. She held none, her nose buried in a book, with a hum of acknowledgment in her throat. “Wouldn’t be so bad,” he says. “Could livin’ the place up a bit.” “Yup,” she replies with a sigh, wanting to push through the conversation and not linger on the things she no longer had.

Cold water splashes against her skin, her torso bent over the sink of the girl's bathroom. She had barged in, startling two other girls hiding out from class and smoking a joint. Her presence is enough to leave them unsettled and on edge, now being seen breaking the school code. The weed is doused beneath the tap, and they run from the room; their anxious words are heard through the hall as they make a break for it. She’s on her own now. Her bag hung heavy as she hoisted herself up by the rim of porcelain. Her reflection is drained and desperate for this wave of stress to pass—to settle and find peace wherever that may be now. She thinks of her father and the lessons taught—the control she gained, though now far out of her grasp. For a moment, she's left wondering about the words once carved through the fog of a mirror. Their messages are all a haze now, but questioning if anything had been a warning. Spirits seeing far into the unknown and breaking through just to provide clarity and guidance. It’s a stupid thought—even worse, to act upon curiosity. Hot breath blows along the glass, a single finger raised to scrawl a question to the universe before a single swipe erases it all. “Stupid.” Her skin is dried, and she’s on the move again, oblivious to the way the lights at her back begin to flicker with life.

Or is it death?

The door swings open, and she’s met with something unsettling and, unfortunately, familiar. The lights have dimmed, if not gone out entirely, leaving only the natural light to creep in through the small windows. But it’s not of sunlight but rather strikes of lighting from a blood-red storm. It ignites the broken tiles at her feet, and the lockers are now ripped open and crushed by a powerful force. Sickly vines had broken through the earth, consuming all inside the school, and perhaps that was the only reason it still stood as it stitched wounds back together. She had been here before, and the fear was all the same. A shuddered gasp fills her lungs, finding her knees weakened and unable to move further than the threshold. But she calls out, despite the risk of something unholy charging through walls for petrified flesh. “Hello?” The girl lingers in anticipation of a sign of life, but nothing comes. Not the shift of a shadow or a rumble in the foundation—it's silent, and she chooses to step out from her place. Was it another fainting spell that cast her out into such a deadly world? Head cracked against the floor with no one to know until the bell for lunch rang. If it’s all just a nightmare, how does she feel the cold air prick at her skin? How can she hear the sounds of crushed debris beneath every step? The Upside Down creeps into reality—or rather, she’s stumbled into it by pure accident. She knows it’s foolish to wander down the halls, peering in through the glass in hopes of another lost soul. Chairs have been weathered by toxins in the air, and desks toppled and were constricted as the vines pulled them deep into the open earth. She’s truly alone here, or so she believes. Something falls in the distance just at her back, earning a panicked twist of her spine as she looks for the mangled body of a monster to creep out from the shadows. Fear grips her chest, every breath forced as she feels herself slowly begin to shut down, backing away from the unseen creatures.

Her body collides with something firm; the shock alone catapults her forward to take in the sight of something—or rather, someone not meant to be there. Someone who had been long gone yet was always near in her mind. A haunting presence. He towers above her, perfectly kept and a beacon in all of the devastation surrounding them. He wears that same smile he once dared to give her as she cowers against the wall of her home. Autumn nearly stumbles as she tries to put the space between them, pushing locked knees to carry her to safety, but he only advances. “No one can understand, can they?” The back of her heel meets a heavy vine, tripping back into the destruction of Hawkin’s High. There’s no Steve—no Hopper to pull her from this hallucination of hell. Books scatter from her bag, and her sweater tangles in the edges of broken pieces, ripped free and torn so that she can run from his grasp. Autumn can hardly see where she’s going—eyes glazed over with panic and following the map of hallways she’s memorized. She feels the man just at her back—fingers grasping at her neck to strangle the life out of her, pulling her deep down into unknown torture. “I understand,” his voice echoes in the girl's mind, following after her no matter how far she runs. “I can help you if you let me.” There’s a strike of lighting—blinding—just as she rounds the corner and feels herself connect with another force. Her body seems to act without thought; her palms are raised to his chest, and in a matter of seconds, he’s gone. The sound of something hard colliding with metal rattles in her ears.

“What the fuck?” The new scenery is slow to trickle in; the sound of crashing thunder is now replaced by laughter and gossiping teenagers as they witness her spiral. Autumn finds herself back in the halls she once left behind, students set free from their classes for a well-earned lunch break. It feels as though the world is watching her every movement, including the rageful eyes of a boy she had crashed into, his back now pressed to one of many lockers. All she seems to see in the sea of bodies are the icy blue eyes of her ghost, digging daggers through her flesh. She runs, and the boy calls out in disgust, “Freak!” The teen pushes through the crowd, some still ogling while others remain ignorant of the disruption. She can see him everywhere—in every reflection, in every glance in her direction. His words echo in the depths of her mind, paired with the cries of a child. It’s slowly consuming her whole; her heart rate spikes with fear as her surroundings blur together. She spills out of the double doors, hands frantic as they rip open her bag and begin the search for a familiar, deathly friend. There’s no carton to be found—not a single hint it had ever existed with crumbled tobacco at the bottom. The bag falls from her grip, suddenly too heavy to carry as her torso bends forward for her hands to rest on bent knees. It feels as though she’s fighting for air—for survival. Fingers tangled in the fabric of her top and pulled to give room for more air, but it’s wasted energy. No relief comes as quickly as she needs it, forcing her to ride out the overwhelming dread until her mind buzzes with static—with emptiness. Her throat is dry, and the world is still a haze. She finds a swaying figure far off in the distance at the bleachers.

It was Nancy.

It's not what she expected. Someone so highly thought of—popular, even—out beneath a sunless sky on her own. Not even a freckled boy is seen out in the field, making peace with their separation as they make casual conversation. Autumn’s stare lingers, waiting for her heart to settle and find a place of rest. The girl doesn’t budge from her place to seek shelter inside the cafeteria, and the teen can’t help but wonder. She steals a glance just over her shoulder, checking that she is truly safe and that his haunting image has faded. There was no suspicious car in sight out in the distance. With the world now steady, she takes a bold step out into the open, her eyes flickering every way to see if she has been followed. The blue-eyed girl seems oblivious to the presence creeping up on her back, lost in her troubled thoughts of what she had lost. There’s a sniffle, and it’s enough to cause concern as Autumn stands just out of sight. “Nancy?” The girl whips around in her direction, clearly startled and now embarrassed, scrambling to pick up the pieces of vulnerability. “Oh,” she wipes at her tearful eyes, pushing them all back down to hold a weak and forced smile. "Hi." Her voice is soft and broken. The pain is enough to reach through and clutch at her own heart. “I didn’t mean t-” “No, no,” she interrupts, her smile now warmer than seconds before as she looks down at her company. “It’s fine, really.” Autumn can feel the way her eyes take in the sight—a girl with a natural gift of absorbing every small detail and deconstructing it. There’s tension in her shoulders—fingers wound tight around the strap of her bag, the other coiling into a fist before flexing out on repeat. “You skippin’ lunch?” She asks, disguising the clear stress the pair was enduring. “Unintentionally,” Autumn laughs, her body slowly easing into a state of calm. Her new friend pats at the chilled metal seat, making a silent offer to come join her, which she does without hesitation. Neither of the girls speak for a moment, basking in the stillness of November and watching as a few boys spill out from the back doors, lit cigarettes in hand. Autumn can’t help but desire the poison—damn near wanting to risk it all by asking them for one—but Nancy holds her steady.

“Thanksgiving break starts tomorrow,” she states, a look of disbelief in her expression. Autumn simply acknowledges her with a hum, watching the way the girl picks at her nails in distress. “Kind of bullshit, isn’t it?” She looks to the other for her thoughts, but Autumn waits in silence, watching as crystal blues fill with sorrow once more, before shaking away the hurt. “We’re just… Expected t’go back t’normal. Like nothing’s happened. Like Barb isn’t gone. Her parents still—they just—" Frustration chokes out her words, palms running down her thighs before the weight of her burdens becomes too much to carry. Her forehead rests in parted hands, willing the pain away before it steals away her own life. Autumn doesn’t know the girl the way others do—not on a deeper level, the way Steve would, as he comforts her with ease. Not the way Barb would. “When I thought Will was gone,” she begins, feeling almost uncomfortable putting in her voice where it may not be needed or welcomed. “I hated everyone. I-I thought, ‘How is this possible?’ How could the world just move on? But they do, and we have t’catch up." A hard sigh spills from her chest, her thoughts lost in the chaos that has been her life—and the forced adjustments made when she wasn’t ready but pushed through to survive. "But when we’re ready.” Nancy’s hands have fallen to lie between parted knees, a far-off look in her eyes with tears now dried up. “S’not fair.” “I know, it’s not.” The girl at her side takes a long inhale, drinking in the cold to douse the fires that run rampant within. The anger and sorrow simmered into nothing so she could walk with her head held high. She straightens her posture, meeting Autumn’s eyeline, and a crooked smile is seen as she offers her gratitude. “Thank you for being here.”

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hollowsart · 1 year

Text

Cryptid Crawler Spiderverse info master post

Rogues Part 4 🦏🏖🛠️

VERY long post ahead!

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==[[Rhino]]==

Alexandra O’Hirn

Shared a cell with Sandlady where she shared her story that lead her to their first meeting, and likewise, Sandlady shared hers, too.

Alexandra had been accused of a crime she didn’t commit, but due to her appearance and demeanor.. life was against her. She agreed to serve, not wanting to make any big scene.

However, Alex had a track record for her reckless behavior (always out of a good place and her trying to do a good deed, but her intentions were always misconstrued), and that record caught the attention of Kingpin who bailed her out and had her brought in to his facilities to test her true strength and power and fit her with the Rhino Suit.

She didn’t like what was happening and the orders and demands of Kingpin and took off with the suit still on, destroying the research and all in her wake before she escaped. They won’t be making anymore suits for a long time.

Alex stuck in the suit as she hasn’t been able to figure out how to take it off just yet, getting around has been hectic, causing lots of unwanted trouble.

Despite her immense size and imposing presence, Alex is very kindhearted and would rather send time helping and protecting. Her suit, which she can remove if desired via the yellow diamond button on her lower sternum, makes stopping when she starts charging very difficult. She’ll do her best to try and avoid obstacles and pedestrians to spare them.. but accidents do happen.

She and Sandlady are less villains and more so anti-villain in archetype.

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==[[Sandlady]]==

Wilhelmina Baker

Refers to herself as ‘Sandlady‘ because “I am a lady.” and will get upset if being referred to as ‘Sandwoman’. She has attacked JJJ for this once before.

Wilhelmina had been a lifeguard before and it was an accident that caused a life to be lost under her care and watch.. she failed her duties and feels immense guilt and regret. She wants to make amends and atone for this.

She had been sent out for community service. Alas, her placement was to clean up a sketchy coastline beach.. a horrible accident occurred and required evacuation, but she got stuck and had to hide in the sand and muck….. and from the exposure of the incident, she was unfortunately irreversibly changed and merged with the sand.

The beach she was cleaning was owned by/near one of Kingpin’s secret facilities.. Sandlady & Rhino’s events were tied with Kingpin, be it intentional (rhino) or not (sandlady).

Wilhelmina trying to get used to her new transfigured body, figuring things out and wondering why her life has gone this way.

Along with Rhino, she has become a sort of mother figure toward Acedia, even despite their encounters and fights. As well, during some later on shenanigans she has encountered and adopted a Sandman from another universe as her son. Adoring and helping him like a mother.

Although Wilhelmina puts on a feisty and hotheaded demeanor, she is actually quite sweet and keeps to herself. Sometimes.. she’ll go back to the beach she worked, the east coast.. blend in with the sand and slip away under the water and help carry some people back to shore if they need it. A small act of kindness she performs anonymously.. her true nature is one of wanting to help.

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==[[Tinkerer]]==

Phineas Mason

Mason was once a well respected scientist in his youth, having a wonderful wife and a happy life. His work was really well received in his younger years, having books published regarding his works and such. However, his work started to take a turn and whether that was against his will or not, one thing lead to another and his wife was caught in the "crossfire" so to speak. He lost her and fell into a deep depression, but never having the time to process and mourn as he went into hiding and took on some work to force himself to never think about her.

Along with losing his wife, he later in his older age learns his son was also murdered due to family business, leaving his granddaughter to come live with him. He’s very rusty with other human interactions and raising a child, but he is honestly and genuinely trying his best.

Mason still wears his wedding ring, never having ever really recovered from the loss of her. He.. still misses her dearly. It’s affected his health and psyche.

He’s a recluse, usually stays in doors inside his unassuming home where he lives alone with his granddaughter. only occasionally does he leave when his work requires it. He does his best to stay off the grid while living so out in the open. He used to be a great scientist when he was younger, written a few books, but he popped off the grid and hid away for decades.

During one of his rare outings he encountered Beck seeking shelter from authorities and since then he’s offered to occasionally offer Beck a place to stay in the guest bedroom while Beck hops around from one living space to the next and relocating his base of operations when it’s been found.

Norman learns of Mason’s whereabouts, having his granddaughter working as a receptionist for his company building. Literally the only power he has over Mason is having power over the employment of his granddaughter. Mason knows and has put up extra safety measures around the house, rigging it for safety and having a whole security camera system and all. However, there isn’t really much Norman can do.

Reason why Norman– and even a couple other high power criminals and governments– want Mason is because he has almost any and every little piece of dirt and information and data on anyone and everything. He knows a lot more than you would think. He does anonymous commission work, crafting gadgets, tools, weapons, and experimenting on whatever he is paid to do. He does have his own moral code and restrictions he puts in place for his field of work.. however, he has become a bit desperate for security and money in recent years, he’s been having to step out of his boundaries for work a few times.

Mason uses a fake name anytime he is doing anything outside of the house, placing orders for delivery and all, it’s how he’s stayed hidden for so long. He keeps a lot of secrets, even from his own family.. He’s been trying to be more open and less secretive with his granddaughter tho after a particular incident with Acedia coming to see him for some dire info.

He’s developed a friendship with Quentin, Adrian, and even Otto. So, despite everything above, his life isn’t so bad or sad and lonely as it had been. Things have gotten better and he’s getting better, too.

Mason eventually adopted a stray cat and named it Beck. While out manually collecting data from some sourced as he needed a closer/stronger signal and while he’s in a little hiding spot, the cat came rushing over toward his area which would be seen as shelter to any animal and doesn’t even care as it crashes onto Mason’s lab and onto his laptop. Deja vu. Beck was also on his laptop and tackled him while seeking “shelter" or protection when they first met.

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#Ghostie mumbles #the rhino #The Sandman #flint marko #alex o'hirn #the tinkerer #phineas mason #spiderverse #//long post

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 2 years

Text

Deserving Makes No Difference

I felt feelings and got really fucking annoyed with how people still hold vesemir up on a pedistal even tho hes big abusive but dont give the female characters the same respect. so i wrote something about it

big big thank you to @jaskierswolf for betaing, your comments bring me great joy

CW: past child abuse, realizing past child abuse, geralt sees too much of himself in ciri and has some realizations, some good trauma talks with the bestie past midnight, geralt is a cycle breaker and thats extremely sexy of him, jaskier is the friend we all need when we fall back on our trauma bonding.

also on ao3

____________________

Training Ciri shouldn’t have been so hard. She was a fantastic student, pushed herself so hard that no one else needed to, and even enjoyed the work. No, she wasn’t what made training so hard on Geralt; it was the memories of his own training.

He never thought about it after it was over, save muscle memory and the occasional story between the other wolves. But now that he had Ciri… the memories of belts and evenings without supper and wooden canes suddenly seemed horrific rather than a bonding memory with his cohort. He’d gone all these years thinking that was just the way it was, that he deserved it, that there was only one way to train an unruly and explosive little brat like himself. And every time he watched Ciri fumble and explode in nearly the same spot he had decades before, he flinched. No harm ever came to her, he made damn sure of it, but he was still prepared for a blow.

After a few weeks of this realization, he told Ciri she would need to focus on controlling her chaos for the time being.

“You said it yourself,I need to be able to protect myself. That making me better and faster and stronger is how you’ll protect me. How am I supposed to improve if I don’t train?”

The guilt trip almost worked, but Geralt needed a break, needed to think, “You can drill at the end of the day if Yennefer hasn’t completely drained you. But only if Cohen agrees to supervise.”

Ciri scrutinized him before falling in step next to him toward their dinner, “Why not Lambert?”

“He’s more childish than you,” Geralt snorted.

“And Vesemir?”

Panic flooded Geralt as he did his best to keep his posture neutral, but every fiber of his being screamed not to let him near Ciri, “No.”

“Why not? He trained you. And Jaskier said he saw you cut through forty soldiers without breaking a sweat.”

Geralt took a deep breath and forced a smile, “Jaskier’s full of shit. Cohen only.”

Ciri rolled her eyes but muttered a begrudging, “Fine,” before splitting off to dig into dinner.

When he mentioned the schedule shift to Yennefer, something sad and lonely crossed her features before she masked it with a surprisingly kind smile. He hadn’t expected her to take issue, but he was almost angry that she seemed… understanding? Empathetic?

“Must be harder for you,” Yennefer’s voice would sound condescending to someone who didn’t know her, but Geralt heard the melancholy edge, “I have no memories in this place and still it aches.”

All he could give her in response was a grimace and terse nod.

It was slightly comforting knowing Yennefer was at least in a similar position, but she seemed just fine. The other wolves seemed just fine. Hell, he was the only one of them to take issue with anything they’d been through. From the trials to the disgusting way Vesemir mourned his lost ability to inflict the same soul-crushing pain on more innocent boys, Geralt seemed to be the only one concerned with the way anyone was handling, or better yet not handling anything.

That night he sat on his bed, polishing his swords as he tried to wrap his mind around how he’d got there.

Sometime after midnight, his door was shoved open by Jaskier holding a bottle of something far too strong for a human and managing to yell at him while still whispering, “Right. Put the perfectly sharp blade down before I use it on you. I swear to fuck if you scrape that whet stone more time, I’ll lose the one fucking marble I have left. And I need that one! It makes me money!”

Stunned out of his meditation-like repetitive stupor, Geralt carefully set his things aside as Jaskier made himself at home on Geralt’s bed, “Didn’t know anyone could hear.”

“Yes, well, these doors are shit, and I’m right across the hall,” Jaskier waved his hands as if Geralt should have caught on by now before uncorking the bottle and holding it toward Geralt, “What’s running round in that big boarish head of yours?”

Geralt gave him a sad excuse for a smirk and took the bottle, staring at it as he whispered like he was giving some heinous confession, “I’m… I can’t imagine intentionally harming Ciri.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow with an air of cautious optimism, “That’s good.”

He didn’t understand. Not that Geralt should expect him to, but they hadn’t spent as much time together recently. It used to be easier to talk like this with Jaskier, the bard was able to put together the broken fragments of a sentence Grealt couldn’t bear to say aloud much faster when they’d been attached at the hip.

Frowning as he took a pull from the bottle, Geralt slowly dug the words out from where he’d buried them long ago, “But no one thought twice about beating or starving us… for the same mistakes she makes. She’s just scared…” Geralt took a deep breath and slowly forced it out, sneaking the words in on his exhale as if his pride and fear wouldn’t notice that way, “We were just scared…”

For a long time, neither of them said a word; they both just stared at the bottle in Geralt’s hand. The air was thick and breathing too deeply felt dangerous somehow, like a sigh could break watever fragile balance they’d set up. Geralt’s mind raced, as it had been all night, reminding him of horror story after horror story that had been so normalized he and his fellow wolves had laughed as they exchanged them over meals. They almost made him sick as he imagined any of those words coming out of Ciri’s mouth.

Finally, Jaskier spoke up, his voice soft and careful, “Is that why she’s training with Yen more?”

Geralt found himself nodding before he realized, an odd tightness behind his eyes and in the back of his throat, “It made sense before. We were nightmares, but Ciri can be worse, and I couldn’t dream…”

“You didn’t deserve it either,” Jaskier reminded him, taking the bottle from his hand and taking a conservative swig before cris-crossing his legs.

“Deserving and not deserving makes no difference. Shit still happens.” Geralt grumbled, reciting a line he’d rehearsed plenty of times before, only now it felt hollow. He didn’t believe it anymore, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

The soft, almost proud smile Jaskier wore when Geralt risked a glance toward him was confusing, but the bard’s words were far worse, “We finally tricked you into giving a fuck about yourself,” When Geralt frowned harder at him, Jaskier continued, “Hell, Geralt, you called yourself a tool- no! Weapon when I first met you. It has taken decades to humanize you to yourself. Decades and a daughter apparently…” he trailed off with a shrug and another sip from the bottle.

“I thought I was a selfish twit,” Geralt huffed, reaching for the bottle before bringing one foot onto the bed to rest his elbow on his knee. He didn’t think Jaskier was wrong, but he didn’t want to accept it either. Too much about how he moved through the world would change.

“You are,” Jaskier smiled, giving a fervent nod, “You’ve great range.”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt couldn’t stop the tired smile spreading on his face, “Don’t sign me up to give a monologue.”

“Now that I have the idea…” Jaskier gave him a mischievous wiggle of his eyebrows and dodged a light backhand to his shoulder.

The liquor was starting to do its job, Geralt's limbs feeling heavier and his mind foggier. He took another long bubbling pull from the bottle before setting it on the floor, Jaskier giving a sigh of relief. It was a satisfying enough explanation for why the training grounds bothered him all of the sudden, but as he stared at a hole in the hem of Jaskier’s trousers, something kept eating at him.

“I can't trust the people I called family,” the whispered words were out before he realized he’d spoken. Something in him calcified and died as he said it. He’d been thinking it for weeks, especially since Vesemir’s latest stunt, but it felt final, speaking the fact into existence.

Geralt could just barely see Jaskier nodding his head as he spoke, “Me neither. Rotten, isn’t it?”

“Fucking brutal.”

“Yup,” Jaskier popped the ‘p’ and rested his chin in his hand, staring at the same hole Geralt had been staring at, “What are you going to do about it?”

The question pulled Geralt up short, “The fuck can I do?”

It had been a long time since Jaskier looked at him like he was a fucking idiot, but it still had the same effect, “Tell them? Ruin their week? Lay down rules?” As he made his list, Jaskier shuffled till he was laying diagonally across the bed with his head on the pillows and somehow he still had the effect of making Geralt feel like a dimwit, “For fuck’s sake, Geralt, that's your daughter. You focus so hard on protecting her from armies and monsters, don’t forget about your own family just because no one else has given a fuck all these years.”

“They wouldn’t starve-”

“You just said you can’t trust them. Why defend them?” Jaskier was staring him down with a challenge in his eyes and Geralt couldn’t argue with the logic.

Sliding his hand down his shin and resting his chin on his knee like he did when he was a boy, Geralt closed his eyes and whispered, “We were raised to need him. It’s a shitty habit.”

“I know,” Jaskier let out a long sorrowful sigh that reminded Geralt he really did know, “Maybe talk to Lambert first?”

Geralt shook his head and felt a little dizzy for it, letting himself plop over onto his side so he was curled into the little triangle of space Jaskier had left him, “He’s too angry. Probably accuse me of mutiny… Eskel would have understood.”

Jaskier’s hand flopped to his side and clumsily found its way to comb through Geralt’s hair, “Yeah?”

“You would have liked him,” Geralt mused, again feeling that enraging sting behind his eyes, “He’d have already torn into Vesemir. Was always ready for a fight…”

Voice softer, almost like he was singing a lullaby, Jaskier hummed, “I probably would have.”

For a moment Geralt thought he’d be okay, he thought he could tell Jaskier just how betrayed he felt by the people he thought he could trust the most. How Vesemir was supposed to protect him and how he’d broken the promises he made when Geralt was too little to understand he couldn’t keep them. But all that came out were soft stuttering breaths and tears rolling down his face.

Continuing to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair, Jaskier whispered, “Let’s sleep. You’ve done enough thinking for one night.”

Geralt sniffed and raised his head with an embarrassed grimace and nodded. Instead of a pillow, Geralt laid his head on Jaskier’s stomach, letting the bard’s slow and rhythmic breathing in tandem with the steady thrum of liquor in his veins lull him to sleep even if he dreaded the morning.

#the witcher #geralt #vesemir #lambert #eskel #jaskier #yennefer #ciri #cirilla #the witcher fic #dilf geralt #good dad geralt #jask is the best bestie and i will take NO questions #(except i will bc i could go off on this)

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igarbagecannoteven · 2 years

Note

Random(ish) word: Pining

😉 Kristen @wiiildflowerrr x

hiya kristen, thanks so much for sending in this prompt! i am,, so sorry for how different this is going to be from what you probably expected but hopefully you'll still enjoy it? it is a crossover fic with the mcu but if you aren't into that you don't really need to know anything about the mcu other than that something happened which caused half the people in the universe to get turned to dust. if you do follow the mcu, then this is post-snap, pre-endgame

trigger warning for mourning/grief over potential/perceived character death & a one-off mention of alcohol consumption.

read on ao3 or under the cut!

It’s been two years since the world fell apart. Two years since half the universe’s population turned to dust, and two years since Calum watched Michael disappear in front of his very eyes. He still hasn’t fully processed it yet.

At first he thought it was some kind of hallucination. He’d never seen any superpowered events in person, only on TV, since Australia didn’t have much of a superhero problem. Michael always joked it was because they couldn’t handle the heat. Once Calum came to grips with the terrible truth that it was real, he had to hope that it could be reversed. He’s never been one to place his faith in strangers, but he was certain that the superheroes were going to be able to reverse it. They had to. There’s no way this is their new reality.

But two years passed without any sign of a solution, and most of the world is slowly starting to believe that the Snap, as it’s now called, is irreversible. Hope is fading fast, and many people have decided to just… move on.

Calum’s tried moving on. He really has. He’s tried throwing himself into his work, drinking his problems away, joining support groups; he even went on a date once, although he left halfway through after having a breakdown in the restaurant’s bathroom. Nothing has been able to erase the terrible ache in his chest.

He sees Michael everywhere. It seems like every time he turns on the radio they’re playing a song Michael loved, and if they aren’t Calum can hear Michael’s voice in his head either making sarcastic remarks about the lyrics or humming along during the second chorus, right about the time he’d always decide whether or not he liked a song. Anytime he goes out somewhere and sees someone from behind wearing a black snapback, his heart leaps into his throat and he has to remind himself that Michael’s gone, that’s not him, and it all comes crashing down around him.

Their flat is the worst. Ashton’s tried to convince him to move out, but Calum refuses to budge. That’s where Michael was when he disappeared, and Calum would be damned if Michael came back to an abandoned flat, or worse, one owned by strangers. He’d gathered up all the dust Michael left behind into a bowl with some clingwrap over the top, so that if Michael springs back into existence from the dust, he won’t have to punch through the lid of a Tupperware container. It sits on their coffee table, the one that Michael always hated with a vengeance even though Calum loves it. Calum knows it’s stupid, but he hopes Michael sees it as a sign of reconciliation. I don’t mind if you break it, I promise. Just come back home.

It's as though Michael’s haunting the flat. Calum can hear his footsteps padding around the kitchen, catches glimpses of his smile out of the corner of his eye, and some days, the worst days, it’s like his laughter is leaking from the walls. On those days, Calum collapses onto their couch and screams into the cushions. It’s like Michael is a missing limb and he’s still feeling twinges of phantom pain. All he can do is hope against hope that unlike a missing limb, Michael will come back.

#also kristen idk if you have ao3 or not but if you do and want me to gift the work to you just lmk your username :))#5sos fanfic #malum #mcu fanfic #what a tag to be using on this blog lol #555sos #the trash writes #i know i say this like every third fic i write but i really do think writing this was one of my most unhinged acts as a fic writer

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howtoliveinparis · 1 year

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“He Never Hit Me”

I saw this article from Anna Kendrick in the LA Times. She discusses her new movie and how personal it was to her because she was in an abusive relationship. I’ve always liked Anna, even if she’s definitely a theater kid (eager). If you took theater you know what I mean. That's also kind of what make it so shocking. Even Anna Kendrick can be a survivor of abuse.

I’m just going to paraphrase the article because it’s a bit of a read. I have not yet seen the film (it hasn't been widely released). From what it sounds like it may be a modern day Gaslight. Cukor! Bergman! If you have never seen Gaslight, go watch it as soon as you finish this article. You will not be disappointed.

What I found interesting was Kendrick, not just admitting that she was abused, but describing how it felt being in a non-traditional abusive relationship. "Watching movies while in her own abusive relationship and never recognizing her own experience, which made her question whether it was just normal" is something I know I’ve done. It really weighs heavy on your mind. It causes a lot of problems that make it harder for you to come to terms with it.

She further explains “Well he never hit me and I’m not really afraid that he’s going to hit me. How do I discern between normal conflict and abuse? ’”. I think every woman can relate. Society gaslights us into accepting so many things that are actually abusive behaviors or things that’s we shouldn’t accept. “Kendrick discussed how living in an abusive relationship creates so much self-doubt that people question their own reality. She describes it as, “He’s so convinced that I am a monster that I can’t see how I am not.” I did this a lot after my relationship ended. I still do it.

How many people have been there? 🙋🏻‍♀️ I have an entire stream of consciousness blog post (during my mourning period), where I’m trying to come to terms with it. 'He never hit me, but…' how many women say that? Just asking ourselves that invalidates and diminishes our experiences. “In society, physical abuse is very clearly defined as an evil, and I think psychological and emotional abuse, even for those who have suffered it, can sometimes question whether it’s a real thing.” Until you’re being forced to question reality and your experiences I don’t think one can really know just how taxing that is mentally and how it degrades any work that you can do on yourself.

“Simon [the abusive boyfriend] genuinely believes himself to be the victim.” When people ask “Did he hit you?”. Well no, but. My ex Christian was the same. He tried to DARVO me, and this caused a lot of anguish because I started thinking if I hurt him, I’m sorry for hurting him because I love him, and I never want to hurt him, I must be an awful person because I caused him pain. And this thinking was just one long spiral, never ending. I still go through it.

Of course that’s the key difference isn’t it? Taking responsibility and accountability, feeling shame, being in pain at the thought of hurting them. Having those thoughts creep into your mind almost daily and feeling constant remorse.

But that’s what makes you a good person. Because the abuser doesn’t feel any of that. The abuser is only a victim in all of it. The abuser pretends they didn’t do anything wrong. Abusers never do anything wrong. They’re perfect. Nothing is ever their fault.

I’m really happy women are able to share these stories, and most importantly to share these stories publicly. It makes me feel less alone and makes me feel like my experience is validated. And because we have each other, and each other’s stories, we can form a protective bubble around each other, and advise each other, and in that we get the courage to stop accepting it. If you would like to know about safe spaces please feel free to message me. There are numerous private groups where you can hear from other women, share your story, and find people who understand what you’ve gone through or what you are going through.

I know it’s heavy subject matter, the film itself looks a bit suffocating, but it helps me to see my story from other women. In turn I hope my story helps others. And I hope this movie does the same.

“Alice, Darling” releases on January 20th.

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featherlumina · 2 years

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Well. Looks like I woke up today and chose...pain. Time to get some thoughts out about this tragic scene.

Okay, first up, even though I did push the brightness & colour saturation on this scene for the GIF, the light in his leg just seems... more...purple than before? I don’t know, when he was running, the light inside seemed more blue. Probably just an example of why you don’t mix shimmer and arcane magic, I guess. More on that later.

“...Sky...Sky!? No!”

THIS. THIS SCENE IS BRILLIANT. The way the camera focuses on Viktor through Sky’s glasses? OH. OHHH. It’s cinematography at it’s finest. Fortiche never ceases to amaze me. It says so many things. The first and only priority for Sky in that moment was saving Viktor, and he was the last thing she saw. In this moment, we’re also invited to see things from Sky’s perspective—but there’s something very, very wrong, because she’s not there. We can’t get her view anymore because she’s gone.

Like Viktor, we as the audience missed the chance to know her more, and, like Viktor, we mourn what could have been (yes, I went there). In Viktor’s self-absorbed desperation, Sky became an afterthought to him, and she was ripped away because of his carelessness. I’ll have more to say on this in future posts but I believe the lack of Sky’s character was extremely intentional. Am I mad she was very much sidelined? Yes. But I think it was done for very clever reasons, given the show’s attention to detail.

Anyway, can we also just cry about how upset Viktor is here? He’s just been thrown about by the Hexcore, but the first thing on his mind is Sky. The absolute look of distress from Viktor just...ugh, it ruins me. In my head, this scene says a lot about Viktor’s attitude to Sky as well. He hasn’t just taken a stranger’s life. He’s taken the life of his childhood friend—someone he watched grow up alongside him, with hopes, dreams and ambitions to change the world for the better.

Just like him.

Whether or not he reciprocated her feelings is another matter, but he clearly cared about her. Viktor’s circle has never seemed that big, either, so losing her, one of the few people who loved him...god. It’s tragic, because once the veil of his Hexcore madness lifted and he saw the consequences, the Viktor we knew and loved from early on in Act I & Act II came rushing right back—someone who deeply cared for others, ahead of himself, and the horror that he took a life becomes unbearable.

“No! Th-that can’t...that can’t...!”

Okay. Can I just say. The animation here is gut-wrenchingly good. The last few frames just convey Viktor’s horror so, so well. The way Sky’s ashes fall through his trembling hands, the agonised expression...this is the moment we can see Viktor’s realisation at what his actions have led to. I can’t imagine the cognitive dissonance he’s experiencing here. To have worked so hard to help, only to have your life’s work end someone? God. Someone send help. I can’t anymore. It’s too depressing. No wonder Vik contemplated ending his own life later.

(Also kinds reminds me of Powder’s monkey... to have worked so hard with the intention to help, only to destroy...let’s hope Vik ends up a little less traumatised than Jinx, hey? They really should be friends, come to think. Could really bond over the trauma and grow as people. For those who AU this, good on you).

What a scene. It’s just... pure devastation. Sky’s remains just...everywhere, even with bits of her clothes, a shoe...it’s awful. Also, Viktor is ridiculously skinny. He’s barely skin and bone at this stage (I have my hunches on lung cancer being his illness because cancer just consumes your body for sustenance, but it’s just a hunch).

Okay this horrible orb just looks menacing as heck right now. I find it interesting because before this, the Hexcore was already corrupted by shimmer to some degree, but Viktor didn’t have any shimmer left for this round. And yet, the Hexcore became more corrupted still. Why is that? It also makes me wonder what would’ve happened to Vik if Sky hadn’t shown up. Because the whatever was happening stopped after Sky was consumed. Would he have been taken by the Hexcore instead? Because the Hexcore definitely seems interested in taking before it gives anything in return (i.e., Viktor’s blood). Anyhow, I have way more questions about this than answers, so we’ll leave it there.

(Also I’ve tried reading LoL lore to get my head around The Void, as lots of people have some great theories about it and how it might link to shimmer/the Hexcore, so I might write more on that one day...)

#viktor arcane #arcane #viktor #lol viktor #league of legends

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dhwty-writes · 3 years

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The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom.

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak.

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?"

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar."

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

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fangirl-writes · 3 years

Text

Ghost of You

Calum Hood x Reader

Warning(s): death, mourning, Calum crying on stage. Angst.

Notes: I saw a video on tiktok of Cal singing his heart out to this song so here we are. Not revised, written in one session.

Summary: Based on the song Ghost Of You.

The boys were hesitant to keep the tour dates after what happened. Everyone needs time and they thought that the space between the accident and the first show wasn’t long enough.

But Calum disagreed. He assured his bandmates that he would have no trouble by the time the show came around.

They were skeptical, argued with him to the contrary, but Calum just looked at them with tears in his brown eyes and said, “Please. Please let me do this. She would have wanted me to do what I love.”

They didn’t argue after that.

Calum woke up the morning before they hit the road facing the side of the bed that would never be filled again.

He can’t sleep there. He hasn’t even made an effort to make the bed, holding on to the last outlines of where you had once been.

The sheets were ruffled and the comforter was pushed near the end of the bed, your pillow was propped up against the headboard where you had been sitting, drinking out of your coffee cup.

The coffee cup that still sat on the bedside table just next to your side of the bed.

A small tear fell from Calum’s eye as he noticed the ever fading lipstick stain on the rim. A subtle, but pretty pink that you always wore. The one that would sometimes stain his cheek before he went out on stage.

He wiped the tear and tried to smile.

Oh, what you’d say if you could speak to him now. “Wipe those tears away, Cal. You’ll be just fine.”

I’ll be just fine. Calum thought. Eventually, I’ll be just fine.

He got up from the bed, not bothering to prepare himself for the day yet.

His suitcases sat fully packed by the door; ready to be loaded onto the tour bus for the next few months.

He always had more suitcases than you did, for obvious reasons. But he swore you could fit everything you owned in that one little suitcase. A suitcase that wouldn’t be used again, and probably wouldn’t leave the closet.

Calum sighed, pushing away the thoughts and walking out of the bedroom. Trying to drown the thoughts of you out, like he always did, trying to think of anything else.

But he found walking down that hallway to make it especially hard.

In that hallway, in those photos, he swears he can see the ghost of you.

The first one hanging there is a picture of you and him that he used to find almost hilarious to behold. It was an older one, back when they were just getting big and he was still a teenager, it was one of you and him, taken when you were just a fan. Someone Calum didn’t think he’d probably ever see again.

But life works in mysterious ways.

The one across from that was the most recent, it was a selfie you took at Michael and Crystal’s wedding. Your tongue was hanging out of your mouth and you’d made you eyes cross, Calum was making a duck face, doing the same to his eyes.

It never failed to make him laugh.

Next was your first paparazzi appearance. You joked it was your claim to fame, being followed and snapped in a professional photo with Cal. It wasn’t anything special, really. Just a picture of the two of you walking down a street in L.A, holding hands and decked out in what was probably your laziest outfits ever. Calum had on a dark pair of sunglasses and you were smiling up at him, probably about to crack a joke to get that stoic look off his face.

The rest were either family photos, photos of him and the boys, you and your friends, or just silly pictures of the two of you together.

He tried to walk as fast through that hall as he could, trying to keep the tears from reaching his eyes.

But he couldn’t take them down. It might kill him.

He made it to the kitchen with little resistance and poured himself his own cup of coffee, trying to focus on the upcoming tour and not think about you.

He had deleted social media off his phone. He couldn’t take the constant notifications and reminders and apologies from fans. They missed you too, but Calum missed you an ungodly amount more.

He frowned when he saw the empty vodka bottle sitting on his kitchen counter. God his place was a mess. He needed to at least clean up before he left, maybe that’d get his mind off things.

Put on some music. Yeah, that’d be okay.

He finished his cup of coffee, washing the mug before hurrying off to get the other tasks finished before he had to leave.

He took out the trash, cleaned out the fridge, put away his dishes, swept the floors, vacuumed the floors, cleaned the windows, dusted the shelves.

All that was left was laundry.

He made it to the laundry room easily. But once he was in there, nothing was harder.

He filled a load with his dirty clothes, turning on the machine before tentatively reaching for the basket that held yours.

He blinked back tears when he noticed the old Zeppelin shirt sitting in there. The one that your wore when you ran away, and no one could feel your hurt.

“He’s a rockstar,” your family had said. “it won’t last.”

“I’m in love with him,” you had replied.

Too young, too dumb, to know things like love. Calum thought with a shake of his head. What did they know? But I know better, now.

Calum went through the rest of your clothes, a memory surfacing for almost each one. A old 5sos merch shirt that you’d worn on your first date, not even thinking about it. A pair of music note socks that he had a matching pair of. A pair of skinny jeans you had a love-hate relationship with. A white bra that you had thrown on stage at one of their concerts as a joke, only for it to end up catching on the neck of Calum’s bass.

He smiled at the memory. His entire face had gone bright red and he had looked down at you with an almost scandalized look. The other boys had to stop the song because they were laughing too hard.

He let your clothes lay back in the hamper after he was done. He didn’t see a reason to wash them yet.

But he tucked that old Zeppelin shirt into his travel bag.

He loaded his bags into the back of Michael’s car, ready to head to the bus. Crystal waved at him from the passenger seat, he waved back.

“You got your keys?”

Calum blinked, not even realizing he was going to need those now. “I didn’t even lock the door,”

Michael laughed, pushing his friend lightly towards his house again. “Go get them.”

Calum chuckled back, hurrying to do so.

It hadn’t even dawned on him that you wouldn’t be there to watch the house, that he needed to lock the door. He had already sent Duke to stay at Luke and Sierra’s but locking his door? He’d never even thought of it.

He grabbed his keys before pausing.

Yours were hanging there, too. A keychain with your initials on it dangling next to the keys.

He grabbed those instead.

“You ready for this, mate?” Ashton asked him as he slid into the back seat.

“Yeah,” Calum said, softly, caressing the keychain with his thumb. “Yeah, I am.”

And as Michael took off, looking back at his house, Calum could’ve sworn he saw the ghost of you.

***

The night was going great so far, the crowd was pumped up, screaming and hollering.

Cal had managed to get lost in the music, forgetting about his problems for hours.

Until the song he had been dreading all night.

He almost asked if they could take it off the setlist after he saw it.

But then they’d have given the sad, almost pitying look that they did when they talked about canceling the tour. And he didn’t think he could stand those looks again.

He took a deep breath as the piano notes began. He could do this.

“Let’s see those lights up in your hands,” Luke said, holding his arm up.

Calum reached his microphone and his breath caught in his throat.

Someone was holding a picture of you up. Almost as if they knew.

His eyes darted to a different part of the crowd only to find an even larger poster being held up and illuminated by the stage lights. It read your name, your birthday, and the day you-

Calum looked away again, trying to blink back tears.

“Wow look at all those-” Luke voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Wow, you guys, this is...”

There were maybe hundreds of posters or photos being held up now along with the phone lights.

“You know, this is my first concert without her in a long time,” Calum found himself saying into the mic. “And this way she’s still here. Thank you guys. Thank you so much.”

The fans cried out in response and Calum cleared his throat, saying to his bandmates away from the mic. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Singing the song, Cal hadn’t realized how much it fit his situation until just then. He hoped it wasn’t some screwed up sort of fate that they would write this song and then he would lose you.

“So I drown it out like I always do,” Luke sang. “Dancing through our house...”

“With the ghost of you,” Calum chimed in, mind filled with thoughts of you. He didn’t drown them out this time, he just let them come.

“And I chase it down, with a shot of truth. Dancing through our house, with the ghost of you,”

“Too young... too dumb... to know things like love,” He could feel the tears falling down his cheeks. “Too young... too dumb...”

“You go!” Luke shouted, allowing the crowd to sing the chorus.

“So I drown it out like I always do,” They sang and Calum hung his head back, trying to hide his tears as he listened. “Dancing through our house. with the ghost of you.”

You would have loved this. You would have said that it gave you chills, hearing the crowd sing such a haunting song back to them.

“And I chase it down with a shot of truth. That my feet don't dance...”

“Like they did with you.” Luke sang the last line with the crowd before the stage went black and Calum rushed off to the side of the stage.

The boys followed quickly, wrapping him in a hug after they reached him, and for the first time since you’d been gone, Calum let himself just cry. He didn’t push it down or wipe his tears, he just cried. He let his best friends hold him and he cried.

But just there, like everywhere, wrapped in the arms of his friends, Calum could have sworn he felt the ghost of you.

#calum hood x reader #calum hood x y/n #calum hood x you #calum hood imagine

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obxsummer · 3 years

Text

Loss of You // Pope Heyward

Pope Heyward x Routledge!Reader

summary: you had been in love with pope since you could remember, always pining and keeping him close. being forced to see him with girl after girl, you finally give up and pope has to suffer the consequences of your broken heart.

warnings: angst, cursing, reader is v sad not gonna lie

part of #obx2celebration

masterlist

ask me anything

Pope was the worst person when it came to catching hints. He was painfully oblivious and everyone knew, but it hurt you the most. You had been in love with Pope for as long as you could remember, and you hadn’t told anyone in fear of it ruining your friendship. You really wanted to be with him, but if you said anything, you didn’t want him to be with you out of guilt.

The Pogues were throwing a kegger, which was usual for them. You were seated next to JJ with a red solo cup in your hand as you watched people add to the crowd. “Big one this time, yeah J?” You asked as you nudged the boy’s leg with your foot.

JJ’s attention was on you instantly. “Oh, for sure. It’s probably your cute face that brought them here.” You shoved his shoulder lightly before flipping him off. You and JJ had always had a good relationship, but you couldn’t even tell him about Pope without the fear of him spoiling it for you.

The one person you maybe had a shot at telling was your brother, John B. He wasn’t the best secret keeper around, but he was loyal to you and your wishes as his little sister. He was always looking out for you whether you knew it or not. He was nowhere to be seen at the kegger at the moment, but he somehow always had eyes on you.

“So,” JJ turned his attention back to you once he had bored the girl he was talking to enough for her to go away. “When are you gonna tell Pope you like him?”

You choked on the drink in your mouth. “What the fuck, JJ?” You asked once you stopped coughing.

He shrugged innocently. “Look, it’s so obvious. You always look at him like he makes the sun rise every morning. I don’t know how he hasn’t picked up on it yet.”

You groaned and pressed the palms of your hands against your eyes. “JJ,” You huffed before looking over him. “You can’t say anything to him.”

He held his hands up in defense. “Y/N, I’m not gonna tell him shit, okay? You really should though, I would find it hard to believe he isn’t obsessed with you too.” You both searched the crowd for said boy only to come up empty handed. “Seriously, Y/N. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

You huffed when you finally caught sight of Pope. He had an arm up against the trunk of a tree, cornering a girl who was smiling while talking to him. Your head fell against JJ’s shoulder as you bit your tongue to keep the tears from pooling in your eyes. He followed your gaze after a second, arm coming to wrap around your back as he pulled you closer. “Shit, Y/N… I-”

“J, it’s okay, I promise. I knew it was too good to be true.”

It was hard to say that wasn’t the last time seeing Pope with another girl broke your heart. JJ had been there every second of it, watching your face fall each time until it just stopped falling completely and stayed that way. You were much quieter, clinging to your friends tightly when you all went out. It was like the outgoing personality you had disappeared along with Pope.

John B noticed first, Kie not too far behind. For once, though, Pope was minding his own business and moving about like nothing was wrong. Your friends were worried. You had never been through a big heartbreak, mainly just flings here and there if at all, but breaking up with someone you never dated was like mourning someone who died that you never got to say goodbye to.

“Y/N/N, you alright?” Your brother asked as he sat next to you on the concrete wall you were moping on. It seemed to be the only thing you did lately, feel pity for yourself. John B didn’t blame you, in fact, he wanted you to feel every emotion you could so you could process it, feel it, and recover safely.

You shook your head, finally admitting to your brother that not everything was okay. “I um… It’s really hard, JB, seeing someone you love with someone else when you feel like they should be with you. A-And I know it’s not Pope’s fault, I can’t blame him for not liking me, but it just hurts.”

Your brother pulled you into his side, his arm resting around your shoulders as he did his best to comfort you. “Look, bubba. I know you really like Pope, and I’m sorry you have to sit here and watch him act this way, but I want you to know that it’s okay to be upset. You’re allowed to be hurting, but I promise you, there is no reason for anyone not to like you. You’re the best girl I know, Y/N, and I’m your brother so clearly that’s saying something.”

John B always did his best to get a laugh out of you when you were sad. You let out a small scoff, tucking your head into your brother’s shoulder as he rubbed your arm. It felt nice to have someone comfort you, tell you it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. You had gone in circles since you first heard Pope talk about taking someone on a date. You could only blame yourself, you didn’t exactly make a move either, but it felt too risky to put Pope’s friendship with everyone else on the line.

“Y/N, everything okay?” A shiver went down your spine at the familiar voice intruding your moment with John B. You sat up straighter, your brother’s hand falling from your arm before he gave you a reassuring rub on the head and stepped away to give you some space.

Once your brother disappeared from view, you looked up at the boy standing in front of you. “What do you want, Pope?” You asked, not sheltering him from the frustration in your tone.

He looked taken back at the hostility. “Whoa, are you mad or something?”

“Am I mad?” You repeated as you stood up to your full height, taking Pope head on. You had to do this now or you probably never would. “Yeah, Pope, I am really mad, and it’s not even your fault.”

“What does that mean?”

You groaned, mad at yourself that you had let things get like this between the two of you. “I loved you, okay? I loved you so much, and I never told you because I was worried things would change for us and our friends. I sat here and I watched you go with all these girls and make dates and I didn’t say a word. That’s my fault and I’m sorry, but right now, I cannot act like everything’s okay when it’s not. I’m not asking you to fix anything, I just need time and I need space.”

Pope was staring at you, mouth opened wide in shock as he tried to comprehend everything you just tossed at him. He shook his head slightly to clear the blur in his mind. “You… you loved me? Past tense, as in not right now?”

You glared at him. “Out of all I said, that’s what you grasped?”

“Yes, that’s what I grasped!” Pope tossed his hands about wildly. He was so confused. For once in his life, he had no idea what was going on. “Y/N…” He trailed off and shook his head slowly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” You snapped as you dropped your gaze to your knees.

“Like what?”

“Like you love me,” You finished, looking up to glare at him. Your chest was tight and you knew you’d end up crying to JB again later since you finally confronted the problem head on. “I’m moving through this on my own, processing and just… we’ll be back to normal eventually, Pope. I promise. I just need time.”

You didn’t give him room to reply as you stalked off, hands tucked in JJ’s hoodie that you’d been wearing. Pope stared at you as you walked, his own heart breaking as he realized exactly what he had done, what he had been doing. He always thought you were interested in JJ, never him. He distracted himself with other people, other things to do, so he didn’t have to watch the two of you interact in a way that made him hurt. It was now though, that Pope realized he had been hurting you all along, and he never realized it. He sank down on the wall you had been occupying and placed his head in his hands.

Now, it was his turn to grieve someone he never had.

#obx2celebration #pope outer banks #outer banks series #outer banks one shot #outer banks fanfic #outer banks netflix #outer banks x reader #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #pope heyward #pope heyward writing #pope heyward imagine #pope heyward blurb #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward one shot #pope heyward x you

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ritacrow-blog · 3 years

Text

-daminette

-introverted mari

-the usual class, adrien, lila, Alya! Salt

-Chloe redemption. She appoloises but leaves for New York a few months later due to bullying from the class.

- To distract herself from all the negatives in her life she immersed herself in work.

-has trust issues with strangers. Supportive Friends (Luka, Chloe and Kagami) and Parents.

-designs and sells her designs under MDC

-Solves cold cases while hunting down hawk-moth as "Nettie". (and because of this, hacking becomes a secret talent of hers) and reports her findings to the chief of police. Sabrina's dad (I forgot his name). Using Ladybug as the messenger. Ladybug explains to the Chief that she found someone to help track down hawk-moth, but doesn't want to be known. And that she is only giving acting as Nettie's messanger for cases that she just so happens to "accidentally" come across while searching for hawk-moth. So he sees Nettie as a "Robin Hood" just without the stealing part.

-She hangs out with Kagami but also learns how to use a Katana from her as an excuse to give to her mother. Like: learning how to teach people and is using Marinette as her Guinea pig student. Which Marinette then starts to enjoy. Especially when she needs to vent and just cut something down. And she eventually gets really good at it.

-the bullying gets worse

-by this time she's already gathering evidence against Gabriel and Natalie. Also finds out that Chat noir is Adrien. (she isn't very surprised). And makes a promise to herself that she will take them down before the school year ends.

-She goes to the Chief as ladybug to report what Nettie found. So they plot.

-stealing the miraculous from Adrien first before finding Kagami to be her Black cat for the final battle. And Luka as Python (different costume for identity reasons). They sneak into the Manor going straight to the lair where she found Adrien's Mom via CCTV. Heals her (let's pretend that LB has healing abilities. Ya?) and explains everything that is going on while Panther and Python search the area for the miraculous just in case. LB talks ladybug into getting Gabriel to surrender and she agrees. But Gabriel and Natalie storm in already transformed to fight. Not noticing Emily at first. When he finally does he stops. While Angry at them she convinces Gabriel and Natalie to stand down and surrender the miraculous to ladybug and face proper judgment.

-Ladybug, Panther and Python escort Gabriel and Natalie to the police waiting outside and Emily to get herself checked by the medics. Adrien is still asleep and unaware in his room. He will definitely be having quite the shock in the morning. His miraculous is gone. His mom is alive. Emily knows about him being Chat noir through LB. Is now under Emily's strict supervision.

-The last few months of school are loud after the news. Court hearing scheduled a week after the last day of school. Gabriel reveals Lila's role. Lila tries to get out of it but is proven guilty with evidence provided by Nettie. Bye-bye Liela~

- the class find out about what lila did and try to find Marinette to apologise.

-Marinette forgives but doesn't accept them as friends anymore.

Alya: "so now that we're friends again. Think you could get me that interview with Ladybug about the Hawk-moth case?"

Mari: "No"

Alya: "Thank you so mu-... What?... Why? We're best friends! True bestfriend help each other out!"

Mari: "exactly. Best friends help each other out. But where were you when I was bullied by lila. Heck the whole class. How about the harassment with Adrien. When I was clearly over him. We're not best friends alya. Not even close to being a friend"

Alya: "when did you get over adrien??? I thaught you were dating Luka to make adrien jealous."

Mari: (-_-) "I'm not. I haven't had a crush in adrien for 3 years now. I got rid of everything related to him. And I set Luka up with Kagami. They've been dating for over a year now"

Alya: "what the hell"

-not wanting to have anything to do with the class anymore. She applies for her last year in Gotham Academy (let's just say that she likes their curriculum: includes fashion design, coding and programming, and a kendo club. Kagami successfully converted her into a katana welding badass)

-Mari gets permission from her parents to move in to her Nona's apartment in Gotham.

- She leaves without telling anyone from the class. Only her family, Kagami, Chloe and Luca know.

-She arrives in Gotham and encounters Scarecrow on her fist day there. Gets caught in the fear gas.

-She sees her old classmates. Hawk-moth. Mayura. Chat Noir and Chat blanc. The Akumas. Purple butterflies.

-fights while under the fear toxin. Attacks every "akuma" (goons) coming her way. Unknowingly fighting the batfam thinking that they're "akumas". Until Nightwing holds her down and Robin injects the antidote.

Mari: *muttering* fuck you hawk-moth and your disgusting purple butterflies. *faints*

Red Robin: What the fuck...

Red Hood: I call dibs on Pixi pop becoming my sister.

Batman:.......

Nightwing: *looks at Robin* please tell me you heard that too...

Robin:.......

-Mari wakes up in the ambulance. Feels fine so she just hops off and goes straight for her bags.

Nightwing: where are you going? You still need to get checked.

Mari: I'm fine. I've dealt with worse. I'm just gonna go and get my bags. I don't trust the security here.

Nightwing: hey! Wait!

Mari keeps walking to her bags. Picks up her katana and straps it to her back and grabs her luggage.

Nightwing: Hey! You still need to get checked anyways... And questioned...

Mari: *stares*..... Fine. But please Hury I want to get to my place before it gets dark.

Batman: how did you fight the fear toxin?

Mari: it's called fear toxin... No wonder I saw what I saw... *looks at batman* I'm used to having to deal with my fears. I've had to fight them head on in Paris constantly.

Red Robin: Isn't Paris a peaceful city?

Mari: *scoff* peaceful my ass. It hasn't been peaceful at all the past 3 years. I've seen enough deaths and magical shit to last me a lifetime.

Batfam:......

Mari: *sigh* sorry for my language. I'm just cranky from not having had any sleep in the past... 1,2,3,4,5... 6...oh shit... Anyways... Look I just landed I haven't had sleep the past few days. Got caught in the attack. Somehow fought them of. Lost consciousness... Not even sure why I even woke up considered my lack of sleep...and now being questioned... And... That pretty much it really.

Batfam:.....

Mari: what still not satisfied?

Robin: you mentioned having encountered enough magic and deaths to last you a lifetime.

Mari:..... I did?

Batfam:......

Red Robin: yes you did

Red Hood: *mutters* why do I suddenly feel like I'm looking at a female replacement....

Mari: Oh... Damn... I'm not even sure if the blackouts been lifted yet.

Batman: blackout?

Mari: the media blackout...it should be lifted soon. Not sure when....

*Phone notification rings*

Mari: speak of the devil... Here.

*she shows batman her phone*

He goes through the news and 2 videos of akuma attacks.

Mari: can I have my phone back and go now? It's getting dark.

Robin: how are you getting there.

Mari: a cab.

Batman gives her phone back

Mari: am I done here?

Batman nods

When mari is leaving...

Batman: Hood, Robin keep an eye on her and makes sure she gets to her destination safe. We're going back to the cave to look more into this.

When mari gets out of the cab. She feels like she's being watched and followed. Discretely looks around trying to spot who's following her. (ladybug sense is tingling~) She shifts her katana to her hip just in case. While going to her apartment. And instantly locks the door and checks the windows. Wonders if they followed her... Then she spots Robin on the neighboring building.

Mari: ah... Its just them... Welp I'm off to bed.

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

Robin POV

Robin: She knows she's being followed.

Redhood: I'm not blind demon spawn.

They watch her enter her apartment while on guard.

Redhood: one of us should probably pass by her window. Just to let her know we're not goons. Pixi looks wound up...

Robin: ill do it.

He swings by her window. They guessed right. She was keeping watch.

Robin: something isn't right...

Redhood: no shit sherlock.

Robin over the comm: she's in. We're heading back to the cave.

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

Batcave

-Siren, Gigantitan, Hero's day, mourning star (saw this in a fanfiction somewhere. Its a sad one)

Redhood: Holy shit...

Batman: How did we miss this?

Red Robin: found a call on the JL emergency call log.

Batman: play it.

Video call from Ryuuko on Hero's day. Showing the chaos, requesting for help, getting controlled, dropping the phone and walking away.

Batman: who answered this call?

Red Robin:.... Green Lantern

Robin: wait... Scroll up... Its the girl from the airport.

They play the mourning star akuma video.

Mourning star: a widow that had a miscarriage. Mourning the death of her husband and unborn child. The akuma kidnapping children and killing them infront of their mothers. So that they know the pain of losing a child. (I know it's depressing... I found this in a fanfiction. Forgot the title. And it was way more depressing than what I just wrote...) (ill skip this bit)

Marinette getting children to safety. Away from the akuma. Calming them down and getting them to hide in an abandoned building. Distracts the akuma by pissing it of and luring her away from the nearby preschool. (she's badass both in and out of the suit) then suddenly transforms into a mouse themed hero while on the run. Divides herself into smaller selves. And splits up each going down different alleyways. (she never becomes multimouse again after this: she got compromised again. Let's just say that she staged this bit to get halkmoth off her trail... In case he suspected her of being LB). Then not long after Chat noir shows up looking for LB. When LB finally shows up... He starts flirting and causing even more trouble. Akuma gets caught. Butterfly gets purified. Magical ladybugs fixing everything and LB punching Chat in the face. The end.

Redhood: he had that coming.

Robin: She was a hero? Are there others?

Redhood: why? Got a crush~?

Robin: *blush* no.

Red Robin: found one. Evillustrator. CCTV footage...

CCTV: Evillustrator breaking into the top floor of a bakery. Then leaving. Chat Noir showing up. Marinette answering the door. Chat Noir flirting. Marinette sarcastic acting. More chat noir flirting. He leaves. Fast forward. She leaves the bakery all dressed up (Robin's thaughts: she looks cute... WHAT THE FUCK BRAIN!!!! NO!) (I changed it a bit hehehe)

They shift to different CCTVs until she gets to her destination. Meeting up with the akuma (Redhood: what the hell... She went on a date with an akuma?) (Red Robin: wait look... Chat Noir) (Robin: *clenching his teeth and fists*) chat noir sneaking on the boat. And laying low. Mari snatching something and throwing it at chat. Chat messed-up. Mari gets trapped with chat in a glass box with the boat sinking. Chat trying to find a way to get out of the box. Mari just standing there until she gets fed up. Grabs the baton and extends it upward while grabbing chat noir's tail/belt and flinging him towards the pier. Gives back his baton. Chat flirts again. Kisses her hand then salutes. Mari turns away of cam. (Nightwing: did that count as a date?) (Redhood: yes) (Red Robin: no) (Robin's thaughts: strong, beautiful, smart, tricky ... Just what else do you have under your belt... Shit I called her beautiful...) (Batman: follow chat noir)

Shifting again to other CCTVs. Stopping on one viewing a hotel. Chat and Ladybug already on the scene. Doesn't take long after that for the battle to end.

Batman: we need to keep looking more into this...but right now. I'm going to the tower. And deal with Green Lantern.

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

-after this Robin makes sure to make Marinette's apartment to be part of his patrol route.

-Mari notices but doesn't try to call him over.

-he observes her and finds more things about her. (a designer, a gamer, a Baker and if her katana and fighting skills is anything to go by... Judo?)

-Mari knows that she's being observed so she makes sure the kwamis are hidden.

One night she decides to embroider on her balcony.

-curious... Robin comes closer to take a peek at what she was making... A dragon embroidery.

Mari: are you going to stay there or are you going to come down here and tell me what you need?

Robin:.... This place is part of my patrol route....

Mari: I noticed but I don't believe that that's all your here for.

Robin:...... you're one of the heroes...

Mari:........ *she looks at him* ex-hero... Retired hero??.... Who cares. I've been compromised.

Robin: I know... But it looked on purpose.

Mari:....... What do you want? Did you need something?

Robin:....... I don't trust you..... Your confusing...

Mari: I'd be worried if you did. Trusting people you just meet... Not a smart move.

Robin:.........

Mari:........ Anything else?

Robin: No. I'll be on my way.

Mari: wait hold on a second... Here (she gives him the extra macaroons she made) I'm a stress Baker. I made too much.

Robin:....... I thaught that we agreed that we didn't trust each other....

Mari: I don't. Not completely. But I also know your not a bad person. Protective sure. But that's to be expected considering your cutrent occupation...... Just take it.... You've been observing me the past few days. You should know by now that I'm not a horrible person...here I'll even take one. (she takes one and pops it in her mouth) see? Safe.

Robin: fine I'll take them to the idiots........thanks.......(then he leaves)

Mari: hmm... Now back to work...

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

Keeps going on like this for the next few months.

Until its time for the new school year to start....

(I'm sleepy right now. I'll continue this tomorrow. I'll edit this same post. I won't be making it separate)

#daminette #Introvert marinette #maribat #mlb x dc

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wanderingaldecaldo · 2 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

Sure, maybe it's Thursday but I haven't gone to sleep yet so it's practically still Wednesday. Anyway, it looks like Mitch is just as smitten with Corpo Val as I am.

“Never properly thanked you for staying with me that day on the bridge.”

“Didn’t need to. Just wished that for myself when—my friend died.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Same one who gave you that nickname you hate?” She scoffs but says nothing. “Can see why it’s hard to let go of it, even if you hate it.”

Val frowns at him, her face tightening and jaw working, and he’s worried that he crossed some invisible line. With her corpo background it’s hard for him to know, especially when the mask slips down over her face—but this is different, the mask is still off. She stares at him, studies him even, though he hasn’t the faintest idea why. Possibly why she’s here sitting with him at all.

She’s always stopped by for a beer on previous visits but she has never come to camp solely for him. His luck with women faded along with his hairline, and even in his prime he’s certain he would have been punching above his weight. So for her to show up and make a beeline for him—whatever it is, she’ll tell him when she’s ready. Instead of fretting Mitch tends to his beer and cigarette, focusing on each in turn.

“My best friend Jackie.” Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks and he turns to watch her. She doesn’t look at him, just stares at the beer as she picks at the label with perfectly polished nails. “Died almost a year ago.”

“Just before Scorp then.”

She nods and he takes a pull on his cigarette while his chest aches. At the time he wasn’t sure why he called her—part transference between a survivor and his savior, part wanting an outsider who wouldn't try to talk him out of it, and who knows what else—but he did, and she showed up. This city kid mourning her own best friend.

“I’m sorry.”

She nods again, then jerks her chin at him. “Can I get one of those?”

“’Course.”

He pulls out the pack and taps one out for her to take. Just as he reaches out with the lighter intent on passing it to her, she leans forward, cigarette poised at her ruby lips, and her emerald eyes flick to his. He works on autopilot, leaning forward and cupping the flame with his silicone hand and he forgets to breathe when her fingers linger on his. She flicks her eyes back up to him once more and the air whooshes out of his lungs as if he’s been hit by a freight train, or jumped into the farm pond on a sunny March day.

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theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 3 years

Text

Amidst the Snow Covered Mountains

Summary: You had always believed that after the death of your lover, you would forever wear your red robes as penance for a promise you failed to keep. Your heart had died with him and your time would forever remain frozen. And then Tartaglia arrived in your life, like a sun that melted the snow.

Rating: G

A/N: Heavily inspired by Mo Dao Zu Shi and Tian Guan Ci Fu.

The cold air of Snezhnaya was colder than the air atop the mountain peaks in Jueyun Karst. But the years you’ve spent in service of the Fatui made you acclimated to the cold air that nipped at your nose. Your clothes, a fusion of Snezhnaya and Liyue fashion, were magically enhanced to keep your body in perfect temperature regardless of climate. The fox fur that lined the hems of your sleeves and robes added a regal air to your already noble nature. It made you more aloof and unapproachable compared to the other Harbingers, adding upon your age that was closer to the Tsaritsa’s, not even most of your fellow Harbingers dared to speak informally with you.

Of course, you weren’t spared from the scheming and backstabbing but they were more likely to do it politely or without any crassness. The exception to all of this was Tartaglia, the newly inducted 12th Harbinger. He was a human born to be a warrior, the battlefield was his home and you made no secret of your admiration for his skills.

It was perhaps the reason why he often followed you around like a tail, not that you cared, the human was talkative and yet he was undeniably a genius in fighting. He was also frustratingly obsessed with fighting you despite never winning in any spar, though you appreciated his offers, he brought no challenge to you.

“...Tartaglia, don’t you have to drill your men?” You asked him, your robes immaculate while his were dirtied from the ground and your pyro vision.

Your forehead ribbon fluttered in the cold wind as you remained standing in front of Tartaglia’s collapsed body.

“Columbina,” He panted “at this point you should be offering to help me stand up!”

You couldn’t help the small smile on your lips at hearing him whine.

“Wait! Did you just smile?”

You ignored his question in favor of walking away, “Stand up, It’s dinner time.”

“Wait for me! Archons, why are you so keen on keeping a regular schedule!” Tartaglia whined as he got up and ran after you, arms slung on your shoulder as both of you walked through Snezhnaya’s eternal winter.

Snezhnaya was colder than the place you used to call home but it with Tartaglia beside you, chattering senselessly in your ear, warmed you better than Fú Shě’s presence.

Your existence as an Adeptus, a former Yaksha, was never a secret among the Fatui. It was merely something that no one mentioned to your face, it was acknowledged but never talked about. It meant that Tartaglia asking you about it had thrown you off guard. Strong enough that your usual impassive face had shown emotion.

“Do they discriminate against you for being a Yaksha?!” Tartaglia asked, indignant over an imagined slight.

Something warmth unfurls in your chest but you are quick to dismiss it in favor of grabbing Tartaglia’s collar and stopping him from marching out of your home and into the Palace.

“No. I was just surprised that you’d ask about my past” You replied, voice deceptively calm.

Once Tartaglia returned to his seat, you did the same and took a sip from your honey lemon tea. It had been years since you last thought of your past, the home you left behind and the everything you once held dear. The steam of the tea curls around in the air, the soft muffled sounds of the city filling the silent room of your living area.

You take another sip and began telling your story, “ I used to be part of a Yaksha clan, we were contracted to Rex Lapis for the purpose of quelling the lingering hatred of Liyue’s fallen gods…”

“I was the younger sibling of one of the Foremost Yaksha, thus there were expectations of me rising up to his prestige,” You smiled fondly at the memories, unaware of the sadness that lingered in your eyes “Despite that neither I nor my brother felt any bitterness towards each other. Though I am in his shadows, I know my own worth. My talent lies not in slaughter but in helping them gain peace.”

“As a Yaksha, I travelled around Liyue, village to village, quelling grudges upon grudges. There were times I would cross paths with other Yakshas, sometimes we fought together, sometimes each other. But all of it was for fulfilling our duty,” You took another sip of tea, exhaling as your mind easily drew up the memories you’ve hidden.

You told him, skirting around some details, about your past and how it led you to Snezhnaya. You talked and talked, offering him bits and pieces of a past that left a festering wound in your heart. It was an odd feeling, for someone like you who preferred to be silent, to be talking for so long.

But it was hard not to, not when Tartaglia looked at you with eyes that brightened at your tales, from your battles to your previous mundane life. Eventually the conversation drifted away from your past and to Liyue’s culture and traditions, you answered every question Tartaglia had. From the serious ones to the silly ones, letting him see the Liyue from your memories.

“One of your clan’s specialty was music cultivation,” You revealed to him as your hand absentmindedly fed him cookies, a muscle memory from the past “My brother played the dizi though he preferred to use a sword to fight.”

“And you?”

“A guqin.”

Tartaglia hums, voice soft and inquisitive. You wait for his question.

“Columbina, if I learn to play a dizi, would you play with me?” He asked, almost shy and it makes your heart feel something between pain and comfort.

“Mn.”

Tartaglia’s presence in your life becomes more apparent after that day. And annoyingly, it takes Pulcinella pointing it out for you to notice.

“Tartaglia hasn’t been bothering you, has he?” Pulcinella asked, voice deceptively uncaring.

You blinked at him, the only evidence of your confusion at his question. You knew that for all of Pulcinella’s claims to have no lingering affection for Tartaglia, it was a well-hidden lie. He had after all raised that child, even if it was across the battlefield.

“No.”

You left, pace unhurried and face emotionless. The weight of Pulcinella’s stare on your back is heavy but you didn’t care for it. You had a scheduled spar with Tartaglia, and you knew he was more bearable if he got beaten up.

Your arrival in the sparring grounds designated for you and Tartaglia is marked with the sudden silence and loss of familiarity among the lower ranks. It was amusing seeing him momentarily at loss until he turns around and smiles at you, bright and welcoming that it almost makes you falter in your steps. It has been a long time since your presence has been greeted like that.

“Have you warmed up?” You asked as your loyal left hand comes over and takes away your outer robe and gently drapes it over her arms.

Your forehead ribbon flutters in the cold wind, your sword steady in your hand as you stood a few paces away from Tartaglia. It was a clear declaration of challenge, one you would not have done if you had remained within the confines of your clan, if your brother had not left you alone.

But Tartaglia inspires change, he is a breath of fresh air, and when he smiled at you, sharp and just as excited, it makes your blood rush. Reminiscent of the bright summer days in Liyue that you spent with your clan and fellow Yakshas. Bold and carefree.

Tartaglia was an excellent fighter, one that would only grow stronger as time goes by and though he poses no challenge to you right now. He is still a force to be reckoned with, his moves does not allow you to loosen your guard. To fight in the same ease as you would when faced with other Harbingers or the monsters that littered Teyvat. Tartaglia fights with everything that he has, gives his all in every battle he finds himself in.

He is born to be a warrior and you respect that. So you do the same, you treat every spar as if you were up against old gods, curses given to life. You fight seriously and with everything you have because Tartaglia was worth it. He deserves nothing less.

In the end, it ends as it always does. Tartaglia on the ground, your sword at his throat. Your forehead ribbon, immaculate, and your robes free of dirt and yet you could tell that he had gotten stronger, from the slow and unnoticeable labored breathing of your body.

“Yield.”

Tartaglia smiles and in a split second you dodge a hydro aimed at your throat, eyes widening at his new attack that you don’t notice how the hydro dagger had loosened your forehead ribbon until it falls right before your eyes.

‘Your forehead ribbon,’ Your father explains, voice soft and firm but no less loving, ‘can only be removed by your spouse.’

What falls to the ground isn’t the familiar white of your clan’s clothes. It had been thousand of years since you last wore the white robes of your clan.

‘You wear white all year round! There’s nothing to mourn and yet you act like there is!’ His voice, playful and whining, ‘When we get married are you going to wear white as well?’

The memories come unbidden to your mind. Unpleasant and painful. You could only stare in horror as the red ribbon dropped to the ground, it was the highest quality of silk, golden threads forming the shape of qingxin where clouds used to be.

“Columbina?”

You leave in a flutter of red robes, forehead ribbon tightly gripped in your hand as you try to escape from the memories you’ve buried deep. You are no longer part of your clan, in name and genealogy, but still you follow its rules and tradition. It was deeply ingrained in you, down to your marrow, that to do so felt odd.Though you have gone lax as the years go by, there were still some rules you strictly adhered to. The forehead ribbon would always be one of them. Though the meaning had changed it was in essence still the same.

‘The forehead ribbons symbolizes our restraint. It is the symbol of our commitment to be free from worldly desires’ Your father explained as he tied your forehead ribbon, ‘It means that though we have forsaken all, it is them we chose not to.’

You stand, a top of Snezhnaya’s frozen mountain, inside a cave you’ve built for seclusion. There are no paths leading to it, only accessible to those like you or the Cryo Archon you worked for. You meditate on the floor, hand still tightly gripping the forehead ribbon.

You think of him, the gentle blue of his robes and his eyes that yearned for strong opponents. You think of the silent promise you made when you left your clan, struck out your name from the genealogy and bowed before Rex Lapis in acknowledgement of your actions.

White for mourning.

Red for a promise left unfulfilled.

You meditate and think of your past actions, refusing to call them wrongs, because you had only ever sought to follow your clan’s principles to the best of your heart. And to stay true to your beloved, to stand on their side, and protect them was no wrong.

“It’s been a long time since I heard you play your zither” she greets as she steps into your cave, easily by passing your seals, and stopping right in front of you.

You don’t stop playing the ever familiar notes of Inquiry, absent of any spiritual energy. She sat herself on the stool by the side, listening and waiting for you to finish your song.

“Has it?” You asked as you put away your guqin, carefully setting it aside on a table specifically made for it.

“Yes. It’s been years since you last played a song on Sīzhuī.”

You tried to recollect your memories, giving her thoughts the consideration it deserved and you found that she was right. It had been years since you last played Inquiry, your last memory of playing it was the night before Tartaglia’s arrival in the Palace, under Pulcinella’s tutelage.

“It seems so” You finally answered, before moving away from your instrument and opting to serve her tea. If only to calm your shaken heart.

“Tartaglia was worried” she spoke as if recounting a normal tale, “enough that he had personally asked me for your whereabouts.”

You say nothing as you wait for the water to boil.

“He looked like he was about to cryー”

You level her a look that clearly states your disbelief and she laughs, continues her words, “or maybe terrorize the local wildlife of Snezhnaya’s mountains to find you.”

That you can agree with. Tartaglia had always been the sort to figure things out before letting his emotions run through him. You appreciated that part of him, and can rely on him when your understanding of people falls short.

“Why?”

“He found out the meaning of your forehead ribbon, and from what I’ve heard you were positively stricken with grief when it came undone.”

It wasn’t a lie but still you felt uneasy at the way she said. As if she knew the exact memory that filled your mind when you saw it come undone and yet her words felt like it had underlying meanings.

“Come out of seclusion and pacify him. He’s stalking down my hallways and I like my palace calm and quiet.”

You looked at her, “If you truly did, you would have not accepted Tartaglia.”

She smiled at you and said nothing. A silent acknowledgement of a shared fondness for a Harbinger that wrought chaos in his wake. She leaves your cave after securing a promise of coming down after a few more days of meditation.

You watch her leave and think of how despite no longer loving her people, she still cared for them deep within the festering wounds of her heart.

Your return is marked with a bright day absent of the usual snowfall. Your red robes are immaculate, forehead ribbon tied perfectly tight on your head, your sword in hand. You walk the familiar halls of Zapolyarny Palace with your held high and back straight.

Your ribbon flutters in the air as you walk, your long hair swaying in tandem. Your feet takes you to Tartaglia’s wing, to his office where you knew he would be at this time of the day. Dealing with paperwork he loathes but still does because he was a responsible leader for all of the chaos he wreaks.

You knock thrice, and step back on hearing the crash and dash of feet heading towards the door. The thought of your knock being distinct to him makes your chest feel warm.

“You’re back!” Tartaglia cries out as he throws away decorum to hug you in the middle of the hallway. Uncaring of who might hear him or see his action.

You offer no response beyond hugging him. Your hand on his back, patting his much taller form and simply letting him seek whatever it was that he found in you.

“I’m sorry” Tartaglia says, voice soft, in the privacy of his office.

Years ago you would not have forgiven anyone who dared to do what he had done. Years ago you would have been struck with anger and grief but the years spent away from Liyue had healed your wounded heart, time had lessened the pain you felt from his departure and Tartaglia had softened you in ways you were only beginning to realize.

“No need” You told him, as he laid his head on your lap, face curled up on your stomach.

Years ago, you would not have dared to act so close to anyone in this way. Years ago, the only person who could make you show your heart easily had left. Now, it was easy to allow yourself a simple show of affection towards Tartaglia. A delicate dance of things unsaid and actions speaking louder.

The sight of Tartaglia’s hair against the red of your robes was an image that you wouldn’t forget so easily. You think of the Tsaritsa’s words, of Tartaglia almost crying and you can believe it, in the way he curls his hand on your robes like a child hating to part ways.

You gently card your fingers through his hair, thinking deeply, of what all of this meant. His head on your lap, your hand in his hair, this intimacy that settles well in your bones, the unspoken trust he held for you from the first day he arrived in the palace. The change from that battle-crazy teen to the young man that was a finely honed weapon of war that stood as your equal.

“I was afraid you know,” Tartaglia looked at you through his long lashes “that you’d end up hating me or leaving forever.”

You said nothing.

“There were records─of you and your past─nothing substantial but enough if one knew the ins and outs of the story” Tartaglia’s hand curled tightly on your robes, crinkling it in his tight grasp, “I didn’t know.”

“No one did” You replied.

And it was the truth. No one knew how much you cared for that bright eyed human who feared no one. Not even you knew the lengths you would have gone for him, not until you’ve slaughtered your way towards him in a vain attempt to save him.

No one until Tartaglia had been able to piece the missing pieces. To learn the truth behind the red of your robes and the deep scars on your back. It felt like a weight off your shoulders. To be known without speaking the painful truths, putting into words what had transpired that day in Nantianmen.

“I’ll be more careful when sparring with you.”

“No need.”

You looked into his eyes, “You’re most beautiful when untamed.”

The red that bloomed in his face was your favorite shade of red.

From that moment onwards, it was rare to see you without Tartaglia right next to your side. It meant that the two of you were always sent out together across the seven nations with the exception of Liyue. Tartaglia left stories in his wake, about his battle prowess, and adding more to his myths in Snezhnaya.

With him by your side, few people paid attention to you. As it should, Tartaglia was meant to shine brightly, eclipsing the entire room with his presence. Despite that, you made your way into his tales, stories speculating, judging, your relationship with him.

“Lovers” the bards from Mondstadt claim.

“Sworn brothers” the story tellers from Liyue insist.

“Soulmates” the poets from Fontaine declared.

“Aibou” the rakugo masters from Inazuma tell.

“Taw'am roHi” the scholars from Sumeru assert.

“Iyakiciyuha” Natlan’s storytellers announce.

“Rodstvennuyu dushu” Snezhnayan minstrels whisper.

The speculations didn’t bother you as much as what it could do to your relationship with Tartaglia. You cared for him, considered him as a friend and a reliable ally. You wouldn’t want this fragile sort of intimacy between the two of you to be tarnished by

For all of your supposed aloofness, you cared deeply for him and in extension everything related to him. It meant that his opinion mattered.

“Does it bother you?” Tartaglia had asked, eyes uncharacteristically serious, as he sat on your bed.

You paused and then replied, “It would if it affected us the way we are right now.”

“I see.”

And that was the end of it. Nothing changed, Tartaglia stuck to you like glue and you remained at his side, partnering with him to minimize the fall out of his chaos, fighting with him side by side until both of you could effortlessly fight together in battle like one mind in two bodies.

Tartaglia spent more time in your room during missions until it was more sensible to room together during work trips if only to avoid wasting money for a room that was mostly unused. Then it bled to your private life where Tartaglia opted to spend his time in your home on short holidays rather than travel back to Morepesok.

Which led to meeting some of his siblings, the youngest three had taken a shine to you. It was odd and fascinating to see three young look-alikes of Tartaglia, calling him Ajax. It was even more fascinating seeing him blunder about, desperately trying to hide his real job from his siblings and his former name from you.

You drive their attention away by mentioning your gifts and Tartaglia offers you a grateful smile. The siblings spent time in your home, making a mess out of it and you laugh Tartaglia’s worries away.

“It makes this place look lived in” You told him just as Anton abandons Sīzhuī in favor of your drums.

Tartaglia said nothing to that, only staring at you in a way that you can’t quite understand. But as quickly as you caught his look, it disappeared just as well with Teucer barreling to your legs.

The rest of his siblings visit descend into mayhem, a welcome one, there are demands for toys and adventures, and you grant all of it. You have been in service of the Tsaritsa for a long time and barely had any worldly desires to be able to make a dent on your savings. You are arguably the richest Harbinger alive. Spending your dusty money for a child’s happiness was worth it.

Tartaglia’s grateful smile was worth it.

The warm feeling in your heart that takes days to dissipate after their departure was worth it.

Tartaglia permanently living with you was worth it.

“Our clan loves deeply,” Your father once said, voice somber and looking at a painting of a mother you’ve never met “almost like a curse.”

You didn’t understand until the day came when you changed your white robes for red ones.

Tartaglia was a complex character. A human who keeps you on your toes and leaves you wanting more and more until it becomes impossible to keep yourself away from worldly desires. Five thousand nine hundred and eighty six years of cultivation practice that abstains from worldly desires went down the drain when you met him.

You didn’t even know.

Tolerance gave way to fondness.

Fondness to love.

You didn’t know when your time started moving forward again, when remembering no longer brought pain and sorrow. By the time you noticed it, it was too late.

You could no longer escape from it, no path of retreat left, not when his touch brings you warmth. Not when he looks at you so softly, so fond with his bright blue eyes that it feels too much. Not when his absence feels like a loss of limb, not when necessity dictates a separation.

There is no other word for this.

And so, you play Sīzhuī in the night and meditate.

Love is a curse and Tartaglia only deserves the blessings of the world.

Tartaglia, Ajax as he was called back then, remembers growing up hearing the stories about an Adeptus in Snezhnaya, it was the talk of the town and every adult knew the story that was passed down.

The adeptus, male, with red robes that was too thin for Snezhnaya’s climate showed up with the Tsaritsa. His hair was inky black and flowed like silk, his eyes were gold if it was melted, his skin was perfect. Tartaglia remembered the stories that his father told him about you, your fights that left a mark in Snezhnaya’s history, strategies that had every scholar from Sumeru debating endlessly on its merits and demerits, but what remained deeply etched in his heart and memory was a story only known to their family.

You had saved his father, once in his youth as an adventurer, there was an avalanche and his father had resigned himself to death. Only to be saved at the last minute by you. You had came in, standing on your sword, red robes fluttering in the wind as you scooped his father up and away from the path of the avalanche and into safety.

No words were exchanged.

You left just as quickly as you came. Back straight and hair fluttering in the wind, very much like the noble heroes depicted in Liyue’s literature.

And Ajax had wanted that, had dreamt of fighting with you side by side as an equal, and then dreamt of you. His fall to the abyss did nothing to dampen that desire, it only served to fuel him further, his ambition becoming a tangled mess of wanting adventures, getting stronger and at the heart of it all you.

He’s thrown into the Fatui and then he meets you.

Every story told about you describes you in the same way, a handsome adeptus who wore red clothes and a forehead ribbon with golden qingxin embroidered in it. The thing is no one mentioned the weight of your stare, to have molten gold eyes to look at you from above and make you feel as if you were lowly.

It was what Ajax felt when he had arrived in the Palace, what Tartaglia felt when he became a Harbinger.

It doesn’t curb down his desire though. It only spurred him on, made him want to have myths and legends created about him, to match the ones you’ve left in the annals of history, until his name, his title becomes synonymous with yours.

The thing is nothing was as good as the real deal. Everyone told him about your golden words, how you rarely speak unless absolutely necessary, how you were cold and aloof and the thing is they are so so wrong.

There is nothing aloof or cold about you.

Your words are golden but Tartaglia can hear your unspoken words from the curve of your lips to the small frown of your face and even the glint of your eyes.

And it thrills him.

To know you in such a way that no one ever would. The entire world can have your myths and legends but Tartaglia? He would have you, the realest version of you that has preferences and quirks and gets drunk so easily that it leaves his heart gasping and insides twisting from the sheer amount of fondness you evoke from him.

He loves you, from the start, he thinks.

And then the forehead ribbon happened and for the first time Tartaglia was at loss, hurt and fearful and definitely bloodthirsty. The grief and shock in your eyes, the visible pain when you saw your ribbon at the ground had him panicking.

The win felt bitter in his tongue, as he watched your red robes flutter away with each quick step you took away from him. He stared dumbly at your retreating back and regrets. Your disappearance feels like years when in reality it was months but still Tartaglia wreaks enough chaos and havoc in his wake that had the Tsaritsa calling him back and then receives the story.

It wasn’t a complete one but it was enough.

It takes several trips to Snezhnaya’s mountains and a couple of manmade avalanches before the Tsaritsa takes one look at him and orders him to stay in his office until your return. And Tartaglia does his best to not look like a child sent to be grounded but it was hard, even his dedication to his duty could not stand to his desire to fly to your side and remain there but he relents.

And only when Pulcinella had revealed that no human would be able to access your cave because it was on top of Snezhnaya’s tallest mountain.

So he resigned himself to waiting. He resigned himself to whatever it was you would do once you returned, resigned himself to lose you because Tartaglia is many things but he was never one to hurt his loved ones.

And then as always you overturn his expectations, you welcome him, you forgive him and then you make him fall for you all over again and Tartaglia resents you a little bit for it.

(It was a lie, he could never bring himself to resent you.)

The change started from there, he tests the waters, gauging how much you can take before you drew a line before him. He stands too close to you, hands on your waist or any other body part, sleeps in your room during away missions more often than not until the two of you begin sharing a room then a bed. You don’t care about the rumors, the speculations, you love his siblings and Tartaglia could see a future with you.

And then Liyue happens.

It goes like this, you are assigned to oversee the operation in Liyue and Tartaglia is to take the Gnosis. He reports his findings to you and you give him leads.

He follows and eventually befriends the funeral parlor consultant. Then he learns about you. Snippets of a history written in blood and separation of lovers, and between father and son. Just as you’ve left your traces in Snezhnaya’s history, you’ve left your touch in Liyue’s tea houses.

And it leaves a bitter taste of jealousy in Tartaglia’s mouth.

He thinks of your guqin, named Sīzhuī, meaning to remember.

He thinks of your new red robes sans the fur, your red forehead ribbon.

“The adeptus had loved the mortal man enough to slaughter his way through 100 clan elders to save a single mortal who walked away from the path of righteousness.”

He thinks of everything you gave up for one man and Tartaglia wants that for himself.

And yet he does nothing about it. Instead he devotes himself to the mission, enjoys the time between preparing for his next move and doing his day job at the bank with spending it with either you or Zhongli. He doesn’t ask you about the little details in your life during your tenure as an Adeptus.

He doesn’t ask the questions he wants.

Because above all, Tartaglia had always respected you so he waits until you can tell him everything. In the end, it takes a fight between the two of you before it happens.

“I don’t want to involve the weak.”

“...I’ll draft up another plan then.”

Any other person would have been hurt by the lies, the deception, and the manipulation. Tartaglia isn’t any other person.

He is rational and meticulous when it comes to his job as a Harbinger, and he recognizes this event as part of it. It chafes at him but ultimately he can carry on with this blight in his reputation. And that was the thing, it was supposed to be blight in his, not yours.

Not the romanticized hero Liyue made you out to be, not the upright and honorable Harbinger you are.

Tartaglia can take it. He can afford being used as a scapegoat, can weather out his role as a villain in Liyue’s history. He cannot, will not, however allow your reputation to be tarnished.

He rages, he schemes, he makes a scene but all of it is for nothing. Not when it's your scheme he is up against, not when you were so determined to make yourself a villain in this story. And for the first time, Tartaglia saw how big the gap between the two of you were. He thinks three steps ahead and you think ten.

He is no match at all and it burns him. Enough so that Zhongli had noticed and commented on it,

“Is it not better this way for you?”

“Xiansheng,” Tartaglia bites out “I’d rather not have them suffer at all.”

And it was the truth. Tartaglia would rather have his name drag through the mud than let you experience the scorn of the people you once sought to protect.

Zhongli gives him a considering look and Tartaglia does his best to settle his agitation, to be calm as you once instructed him. Eventually Zhongli speaks,

“It is their good fortune to have met you in this lifetime” He takes a sip of his tea, staring into the cup, “Have you considered the reason behind their action?”

Tartaglia thinks of the stories of the romance between you and your former almost husband. The 100 lashes that left a deep scar on your back, your eventual departure from your clan and the service of Rex Lapis. He thinks of the shape of your love and it leaves him reeling.

He leaves a mora pouch on the table and makes his way to you, to your side and he wants to beg for forgiveness, to demand you to stop because Tartaglia does not require your sacrifice.

He just wants you.

Years ago, you resigned yourself to never step foot in this place. Accepted that perhaps Liyue would never be your home from the moment everything you held dear slipped through your fingers.

But Fate was a funny thing.

Here you stood in the ancestral hall, sitting before your Father and Mother’s stone tablet. Staring blankly at the curling smoke of the incense with a heavy heart filled with regrets.

Your cousin sits beside you, the clan leader after your departure and Fú Shě’s eventual ascension.

“Uncle regretted it.”

“Mn.”

“The night before he died, he called me in his room. I wasn’t born yet when you left or when tang ge disappeared but I grew up hearing stories of you.”

You gave her a sad smile.

She laughs it off, a rare personality among your reticent clansmen, it was a welcome one, “You were somewhere between a cautionary tale and someone to look up to. The clan elders said that your love was the perfect example of what it means to love deeply and what it means to suffer for it.”

You watch her twiddle her thumbs, exhale and continue on, “Uncle told me that if one day you returned, he wanted you to be written back to the clan genealogy. He regretted punishing you for what you did. That he made it seem like you had to leave with nothing on you except your savings.”

“We are cultivators, I would have survived nonetheless with my meager savings.”

“You shouldn’t have” She insists, and their is righteousness in her eyes, in her conduct, in her bones, that empathizes with the people “I can’t condone you for killing 100 of our clan elders but I can understand why you did what you have to do.”

You smiled at her, feeling the knot in your heart disappear. Because this was what you had wanted back then, when faced with the option to uphold your duty or abandon your beloved. You just wanted to be understood for your actions, to not be painted in any other light beyond loving someone deeply. There was no righteousness or depravity.

There was only you seeing your beloved suffering persecution and wanting to save them.

“Thank you.”

She smiles at you and just like that years of grievances are put to rest. There is no father, no mother, or brother to return to but your heart is at ease and free of suffering. You look at your cousin, the clan leader, and asked her,

“What should I call you?”

She smiled and answered, “Birth name Xīnjiān, courtesy name Zhīyuàn.”

“Xīnjiān to have a strong heart, and Zhīyuàn to know peace” You showed your appreciation for her name, praising it, “This clearly shows your parents' wishes for you. To have a heart that never wavers and to always be at peace.”

You look up to your parents' stone tablet, at your brother’s mini statue and silently bid them farewell and an apology. To your cousin you say, “The clan is in good hands, with you at the helm even the disappearance of Rex Lapis would not hinder the clan's future.”

This time you leave your clan home, not with a barely healed back, a broken heart and grim determination. Instead you step out of the gate with your back straight and head held high, your robes are still red, your forehead ribbon still bearing the golden qingxin.

You are welcome to return but you knew deep in your heart that your home lies elsewhere. There was no need to have your tarnished reputation to blacken your clan’s doors.

You slowly walk your way down, the golden gingko leaves falling as the winds rustle the branches. You think of your past, the choices you made and the choices you will make. Despite the uncertainty of what the future holds your footsteps are light as you walk down the thousand steps of your former home.

“Our clan loves deeply,” Your father once said, voice somber and looking at a painting of a mother you’ve never met “almost like a curse.”

And then he turned to you with a smile, equal parts sad and happy, “but with the right person it is a blessing.”

“Bàbà, what do you mean?”

“It means that with the right person our love would not cause suffering either to us or to our spouse.”

Tartaglia stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up to you, and then he ran up the stairs meeting you halfway and closing the gap between the two of you.

You understood then what your father had meant, that day in his study.

At the end of it all, Tartaglia asks the one question he had always feared,

“Do you still love him?”

You clutch his hand tight and answered, “Always. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you either.”

Tartaglia doesn’t speak.

“I’ll always love him, but it isn’t the same way as it was then. I used to think that I’d never be able to love again, that my time had stopped when they died,” You’re too afraid to look at Tartaglia so you settle your sights on the scenery in front of you “and then I met you. Without realizing it, my time started moving forward and this heart of mine started beating again.”

You smiled and intertwined his fingers with yours, hands tightly clasped together as if fearing separation.

“To have met you, in the lowest point of my life, is my greatest fortune.”

And it was the truth. You didn’t know what you would have done if Tartaglia hadn’t appeared in your life that day. If he hadn’t pestered you.

He pulls you back to him and you let yourself be pulled, crashing into his chest.

“I love you” He declares “I want to spend everyday with you, crossing swords with you, I want to be the first thing you see in the morning and the last thing you see at night.”

He lifts your face, hand gently holding it and stares deep into your golden eyes and bares his heart out for you, “I don’t need you to sacrifice yourself for me, I just want you.”

You looked at him with astonishment, your face burning bright red from his admission.

“Columbina, back then I’ve always wanted to sleep with you!”

The two of you stood at the other end of the terrace occupied by Zhongli and the Traveler. You could bear to look at him, not when your head felt light and your heart felt like it could fly up any moment. Not when it felt like you can ascend right now from the sheer happiness of Tartaglia loving you back.

“I’ve never been in love before. I-I know that I can’t compare to him but for me it has only ever been you! I love you, I fancy you, I cherish you! I want you more than I want to dominate the world! I can’t live without you!”

“...”

Tartaglia took your hand and placed it on his chest, above his heart, “You told me once, if I can’t tell by the face then listen to the heart. Then listen to mine. I want to do it with you every day. This isn’t just me joking or a momentary fancy. I just love you so much that I want to sleep with you, I can’t feel this way towards anyone else but you!”

Through his warm chest, and rough fabric of his uniform, you felt the rapid beating of his heart.

“Columbina, I want to do everything with you, you can do anything to me and I’d accept it as long as you’re willing!”

“...willing…” You mumbled, head bent and hair covering the sides of your face.

“That’s right! I’m willing to accept anything you do to me!”

You stepped closer to him, curling up in his arms and Tartaglia saw the red tip of your ears and slowly, ever so slowly it dawned on him as you spoke clearly with a slight tremble in your voice,

“I am willing.”

You smiled, soft and small that one would almost think they were seeing things but they weren’t. Even as an adeptus you had rarely smiled, few people over the course of your life had seen you smile. They could even be counted on one hand.

But today, Tartaglia saw you smile like a glaze lily that was unfurling its petals at night.

Zhongli, the Traveler, Paimon, and countless others who were looking your way were stunned into silence. No one expected to see you smile after Osial’s release, and the Qixing’s announcement.

【Folklore】

There is a famous statue of lovers in Liyue and Snezhnaya, two immortals facing each other, one holding a forehead ribbon on his hand and the other holding the other immortal’s hand on his.

The two statues depicted Tartaglia the Warrior, and Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn. It is said that worshiping one statue alone would bring misfortune. Don’t believe it? Then rub the forehead ribbon on Tartaglia’s hand, kowtow three times to Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn and then propose to your lover only to get turned down.

Or buy a lottery ticket, rub Tartaglia’s hand and then wait for the results only to miss out on the jackpot. Therefore, if one wasn’t particular in worshipping the two it was better to stay away from them and just show your respects from afar.

However, if you were to worship them both together, offer them a cup of nuptial wine then a miracle would happen. The two would expel each other’s misfortune and bring forth twice the fortune.

Legends say that the reason for this was that the two immortals had loved each other deeply, Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn was said to be willingly sacrifice himself for Tartaglia, and Tartaglia was said to be unwilling in letting his beloved suffer. Therefore, to worship one over the other was to deny their deep love for the other, conversely to worship both together was to acknowledge their deep love for each other.

Therefore regardless of station in life, many would come to worship Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn and Tartaglia together, but most common among them were lovers and people who were heartbroken. This was because it was well-known, most especially in Snezhnaya and Liyue, that the two were fated to each other.

It was the reason why the common depiction of the two was facing each other, ten fingers clasped together with Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn red forehead ribbon intertwined in between their fingers.

#genshin impact childe x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader

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