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snapnov4 · 7 months

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i was made for lovin' you, baby!

synopsis: jjk men falling in love with you

wc: 1.7k

a/n: vela returns from a victorious (not intended) year long hiatus and very solemnly offers you the headcanons she's been desperately cooking up for way too long, enjoy <3 don't forget to reblog!

✰ kento doesn't even realize he's in love with you until he's making the two of you dinner. you're sprawled out on his couch, talking about your recent mission. the two of you aren't even dating. you just end up together at the end of every day. it all feels so intimate. as he listens to you talk, he notices he’s picking out the parts you don't like, setting them to the side. he remembers when he was a kid, and his mother told him food was a labor of love. he recalls that bakery he used to frequent when he was still working a regular job, how the smell of the bread and sweets was comforting, and how the girl who worked at the counter always had a fresh loaf for him. as he's sitting across from you at his dinner table that’s only big enough for two, he feels like his world is shifting on his axis a bit.

kento’s always enjoyed listening to you talk; much to gojo’s dismay, you're the only person nanami could listen to for hours. you're talking so vibrantly, moving your hands to illustrate actions, and he feels terrible about the fact that he can't hear anything you're saying. instead, he's thinking of the lunches you bring for him, the way your pinky touches his ever so slightly, like some silly school kids. he thinks of how you rest your head on his shoulder when you're stuck on a long commute from a mission; he thinks of your shoes by his at the door, a spare coat on his rack, an extra cursed tool in his closet. he thinks of your easy smiles and lively laughs. he thinks of how you easily fall against him no matter how you feel, whether it be a fit of uncontrollable laughter or a collapse after a long day. you're not dating; no one even thinks you're dating, but nanami’s heart practically swells when you seek him out through the day, placing a hand over his paperwork and telling him to take a break. he thinks of how you always kiss him on the cheek when you leave and always remember to text him that you've gotten home safely. if you're not so tired that you're sprawled on his couch with a blanket he's saved for you. he thinks about how, if he stayed working that awful job, he'd never have this, never have you, in your own unique way. he wasn't sure why he kept being a sorcerer; he just presumed that he’d work until he died. however, sitting across from you, talking animatedly about some shenanigan yuuji has wrapped you into, he feels content. it's almost like this could mean something; maybe his life is truly just a cycle, all leading to an uneventful death, but with you by his side, he thinks, it feels worth it.

✰ toji is not in love with you, or at least that's what he says. however, he realizes he may be that fond of you on a quiet evening. toji never expected to find himself so soft and domestic. he'd liked you because of your take-no-shit attitude; when he met you in some dark bar some months ago, watching you turn down every suitor who came your way, he accepted the challenge. he'd find you at least once a week, always in the same spot, and he's the only guy you let buy you drinks, the only one allowed to sling an arm around your shoulders. you made him wait for it. but now, months later, you let him wrap his arms around you without a word, and you're so quiet and calm, completely and utterly relaxed, and it's so good. toji’s hands are far from clean, he's far from the kind of upstanding guy he thinks you truly deserve, but you lay in his arms so easily, as if you couldn't care less what he's done. you drag your finger across his scars. you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth without recoiling at the feeling of scar tissue. you're almost too good to be true. he thinks of all the times you've patched him up, brows knitted in careful concentration, telling him, “this might sting,” even though he'd walked in practically unaffected by the injury in the first place. the way you forced him to tell you what he did for a living, and even though he didn't spare the gritty details, you still seemed not to care, as long as he was coming back safe. he's come to expect you to be standing at the door, sitting at the table, or lying on the couch when he gets home. right now, you're lying in his arms, completely unaware of just how much he loves you and loves this. your hand is in his, silently twiddling with his fingers as your eyes focus on whatever movie or tv show you've taken an interest in now. he decides he’ll leave it all behind for you. all of it. when he finishes this next job, he’ll buy a ring. then he’ll get a regular job, and finally, he’ll be happy.

✰ satoru realizes he's in love with you on a seemingly ordinary day. he's finished work for the day, or rather, for the last two days. he hasn't slept in three, and his head is starting to kill him, even with his reversed cursed technique. right now, he only wants to get home, eat something sweet, and collapse in bed. when he walks into his usually quiet and organized apartment, he realizes quite a few things. there's a bag of that mochi from that place in sendai that he loves, and a note beside it reads, “the kids and i picked these up for you!” he recognizes your handwriting, messily scrawled as if you were in a hurry. next, he notices that every blanket (except for his, he silently hopes) is spread across the floor in the living room, nestled in what seems like the coziest pile ever is you and the kids. megumi is on your left, and tsumiki is on your right. the three of you are sleeping so soundly that he almost wants to kill every higher-up for pulling him away from you, from this, from his family. as he looks at you nestled between megumi and tsumiki, he realizes that's exactly where he wants you to be.

the three of you have been knocked out for a while; your limbs tangled and blankets moved. after showering quickly, he finds out that his blanket was not exempt from the fort, but he doesn't even mind as he makes his way back to the living room, scooting in next to a sleeping megumi, and he watches for a bit. studies the way your chest rises and falls, the way you so easily let the kids relax against you, the way your mouth hangs open so hilariously that he wishes he'd snapped a photo while he was still up. he feels his heart swell immensely when he finally does lay down, and megumi nestles his face into his shoulder, and you feeling the sudden movement, throw your arm across him. satoru never thought he could feel this soft. the privilege of meaning something to you, to these kids, is better than any sorcerer grade, any title, anything. when he settles down, his arm so long he can reach all the way over the three of you. he recognizes the sock you're wearing. it's black and probably way too expensive; if he squints a bit, he can almost see the custom embroidered “GS” on every piece of clothing he owns (clan habits die hard). he can't stop the soft smile that spreads across his face. of course, you love him; you're wearing one of his socks.

✰ suguru isn't the kind of guy to be surprised by his own feelings. at least before you, he wasn't. however, he finds you surprise him every day; every little habit of yours implants itself in his brain. he could spend hours just watching you do the most mundane tasks, but when he truly realizes he's in love with you, it’s early one morning. he's sitting on his bed, watching you get ready at the vanity he bought just for you, half of it your makeup and the other half various products he puts in his hair. he feels infatuated with you. your entire routine is done with so much care and attention that he can't help it. he's been watching you get ready every morning for the better part of two months. but what really gets him is the way you've changed your routine to involve him. a small kiss to his lips every morning, setting your alarm earlier so you really can stay in bed for “five more minutes,” drinking your coffee at home because he makes it the best. always asking him, which shirt looks better? what color should I wear? rattling off all your daily tasks, turning to see suguru holding your keys, or your wallet, or your umbrella right as you begin to ask where it is. and most recently, indulging him by picking a vanity, after you complained about being tired of doing your makeup standing up in his bathroom and how the drawer you've been keeping your products in was starting to overflow. geto’s obsessed with watching you do your makeup, sitting behind you on the bed, quietly admiring the way your hand moves in practiced steady strokes. he loves the way you silently curse if you mess up your wing, he loves the way you still suck your cheeks in to do your blush, he loves the way you sit in front of the mirror silently debating on wearing your hair up or down or maybe a mix of both. he loves how you apply lip gloss, the last step of your routine. always the last step, because the goodbye kiss at the front door leaves more of it on him than on you. he watches with a soft smile and sticky lips as you reapply your gloss in the mirror in the entryway, smiling when you catch his eye in the mirror. laughs at the way you roll your eyes but don't stop him from pulling you back in the doorway, kissing you again because he “already misses you,” so finally, you add reapplying your lip gloss in the car to your morning routine, while suguru adds loving you to his, but that was already there, wasn't it?

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stomach-bugg09 · 1 year

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hi omg i love your oldest sister fics!!!! Maybe another where she is one of the most feared warriors in the clan ? and when they leave rhe forest she meets someone (romantic) at the new clan ? the sully family is probably not accustom to seeing her be romantic and in love.;)

summary: [y/n] sully is in love, and everyone is scared.

a/n: I LOVE THIS IDEA. LIKE SO VERY MUCH. thank you so much anon for this beautiful experience, it was so fun to write. i actually am really proud of this, given it's pretty long ( 4.6k words, oml !! ) and i put a good ( insane ) amount of effort in. i also kept using this as a way to take a break from studying, so thanks for keeping me from burning out anon! feedback, reblogs, and reqs are always appreciated !!

tags: @pinkhotdogsfr @eywas-heir @historygeekqueen

warnings: literally none, maybe some language, a bit of angst at first ( just sad — i made myself very unhappy ), emotionally hurt + comfort, a sickening amount of fluff, really long, [y/n] x oc but this oc is actually such a sweetie pie i love him, [y/n] being the cutest little patootie of all time

change is scary

every omaticayan knew of [y/n] sully. they knew she was a fierce warrior, a strong warrior. they knew she took after her mother, the archery gene running strong through her veins right next to her urge to protect.

they all knew that, being the oldest child of their olo’eyktan, she was expected to fill the position of the tsahik one day in the far future, and her training reflected just that. not only was she deeply connected with eywa thanks to the teachings of both her mother and grandmother, but she was intelligent when it came to war. she sat in at every single war meeting with her father, silently taking note of everything that was exchanged.

after seventeen long years of listening and learning, [y/n] was considered one of the strongest warriors in their clan. she was well respected, more respected than even some of the elder warriors.

part of her soul felt pride. pride in herself, in her abilities. but, another part of her soul felt empty. almost like she’d missed a third of her childhood because she’d been busy shaking the hands of generals from other clans.

but now… now all of that, all of that time wasted as she straightened her shoulders and stood tall in front of clan leaders, time wasted as she stared at raid maps, time wasted as she trained with the most skilled warriors of the omaticaya… it was all going down the drain.

“we must leave. it is unsafe here.”

she fought tears, told herself she was far too mature for them. she swallowed screams, told herself she needed to set an example for her siblings. the only time she broke was the night before they left, leaving her on her knees before the tree of souls, begging eywa, “why? why must you do this to me? just when i was this close?”

[y/n] was not sad. no, she was angry. but she had nobody to be angry at. it wasn’t like her parents were wrong for wanting to keep her family safe.

maybe if i’d killed that avatar when i had the chance, she cursed herself, remembering when her arrow’d been pointed directly at the heart of quaritch, only being interrupted by the other avatar that shot at her. thanks to the will of eywa, he was a terrible shot and she came out unscathed.

she held a stoic look upon her face during the ceremony in which her father passed along the title of olo’eyktan to tarsem. it wasn’t that she had anything against tarsem and his mate—in fact, she thought they were considerably good choices. but that was supposed to be her. that was supposed to be her ceremony.

by the time they had to leave, [y/n] had nothing left, no energy left to try and hold it down. so, instead she remained silent, because if she decided to say a farewell to even one person… she knew herself well enough to not trust the floodgates.

as they flew, her butt growing sorer and sorer by the second, she remained distant. the air was calming, the breeze allowing her a moment to breath.

she was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she didn’t notice her family exchange glances, all silently deciding to leave [y/n] to work through it herself. they knew her, and they knew she would not let them help. i’m fine, she would say, and she would keep saying it until they finally gave up.

it was only when they reached their new home in the metkayina clan that she began to show herself again, but even that was the tiniest peek.

as ronal circled the group of foreigners, her hands trailing over them as to check out what features they offered, [y/n] immediately felt on alert. her ears perked, eyes narrowing at the tsahik, a growl growing at the back of her throat.

when she held up lo’ak’s hand for the entire clan to see, as if shaming him for his lineage—a lineage that he was born into without a choice, [y/n] stepped forward, teeth bared. immediately, neteyam pulled her backwards, just as jake did with neytiri.

her action pulled ronal’s attention, their eyes locking. the tsahik circled her, watching as [y/n]’s tail swished, lip curled in disgust.

ronal did not miss as her eyes flared for even a split second as she stopped in front of the girl, grabbing [y/n]’s face with one hand. the air immediately got tenser, tonowari and jake sharing very similar expressions of concern, the latter grabbing his mate before she could make any dumb decisions.

[y/n]’s tail fell to a pause, her air stuck in her chest as she stared directly into the metkayina woman’s eyes.

“if you are seeking refuge, i suggest that you don’t threaten anyone.”

[y/n] bared her teeth at that, fangs making a show just for her. “if you are seeking to make enemies with the toruk makto, then why don’t you just say that?”

now, in this moment, most members of the metkayina clan were justifiably upset. speaking to their tsahik like that? well, of course they would be angry. but, in the crowd of metkayina stood one boy, his eyes unable to leave that girl. that girl who was full of anger, of spite, of bitterness for the world. she was captivating.

as the rest of the crowd gasped at the seventeen year old’s words, he couldn’t help but laugh, immediately covering his mouth as his friends sent him a look and an elbow in the ribs.

the only other person to smile at her words was, shockingly, ronal. the tsahik felt the smallest grin rise to her lips, taking her hand off of the girl’s face and taking a step back. as soon as she was back with tonowari, it was like the look of amusement had never been there.

once she’d stepped back, silence seemed to settle in the air. it was heavy, weighing on [y/n]’s shoulders just as much as the look her father sent her. behave, remember? he seemed to be telling her.

her mother’s look of pride made her feel a bit better, though.

as a way to regain the attention of the crowd, tonowari cleared his throat. “toruk makto is a great war leader. all na’vi people know his story.” he then locked eyes with jake. “but we metkayina are not at war.” [y/n]’s eyes followed tuk, watching as the small girl walked over to her father, allowing for the father to pick her up and hold her in his arms. “we cannot let you bring your war here.”

jake nodded in agreement. “i’m done with war, okay. i just.. want to keep my family safe.” at that, they seemed to pull closer together, neytiri grabbing the hands of her two eldest daughters.

“uturu has been asked,” the mother added, her eyes meeting those of tonowari.

the silence was deadly. [y/n] could feel pins of anxiety, her breath getting shallower. and what if they send us away? where else would we go? just keep trying and trying to find someone to take us?

after what seemed like forever, tonowari turned away from them and towards the people. “toruk makto and his family will stay with us.” immediately, relief flooded her body, her head dropping in appreciation. “treat them as your brothers and sisters. they do not know the sea, so they will be like babies taking their first breath.” at that, [y/n] felt her mother cringe beside her. and, as a wonderful way to finish their introduction to the metkayina people, he added, “teach them our ways so they not suffer the shame of being useless.”

she felt neteyam’s grab her tail at that, tugging it to keep her from saying anything stupid.

“okay,” jake sighed, relieved. he turned to his family. “what do we say?”

“thank you,” they all mumbled except for tuk whose tone was very genuine.

[y/n], however, remained silent. at a sharp look from her father, she swallowed. “thank you,” she added, exhaling a deep breath.

beside tonowari stood two kids, a boy and a girl. “my son ao’nung and my daughter tsireya will show your children what do,” he informed the family. [y/n] stifled a chuckle as the boy, ao’nung, tried to argue his way out of it. “it has been decided,” tonowari shut him down.

tsireya, however, looked more than happy to do it, and based on the way her baby brother was staring at the metkayina girl, lo’ak didn’t seem to mind either. “come, i will show you our village.”

if there was one thing that shocked [y/n] during her time in awa’atluI, it was that she horridly terrible. terrible at everything. from riding an ilu to being a quick swimmer. it was awful. and maybe the whole brink of the problem was the fact that she could barely hold her breath for a time, making it nearly impossible to learn to do anything else.

it’d been a few weeks of relearning the ways of life, and it felt as if she was making absolutely no progress. the simple things, such as food and even dancing, came easy to her. but learning to make food and dance was not going to make her a successful warrior, and even tonowari knew they needed to train her to fight with them based on the stories that her father told of her. ( he also recognized her the moment that ronal faced her off—how could tonowari forget the face of one of most mature eight year olds that he’d ever met way back in the day when he visited the omaticaya for a war meeting. )

but, for the love of eywa, [y/n] was useless. completely and utterly! and the fact of it made her sick to her stomach.

ao’nung was her first teacher, and he was a complete imbecile. tsireya was patient with her, but her optimism made me feel even guiltier by the day. eventually, one day out of the blue, the two children of ronal and tonowari brought forth a male.

this male was around [y/n]’s age. he was tall, muscular, and based on his tattoos, he was an announced warrior of the metkayina. tsireya introduced him as fali.

it turned out, based on further conversation between [y/n] and tsireya, that fali had grown up with the two kids. he was the son of respected warrior, a warrior that was considered ronal’s best friend. in a way, fali was like their big brother.

at that, [y/n] thought that… maybe they could be friends. maybe they had more in common!

she was wrong, and after a days of knowing him, she came to the conclusion that their older sibling roles happened to be the only thing in common.

while [y/n] was smart, responsible, respectful… fali was stupid, annoying, and careless. it was driving [y/n] up the wall! if he was the “older sibling,” why did he egg ao’nung on? if he was the “older sibling,” why did he dare the younger boys to go beyond the reef? if he was the “older sibling,” why was he so… reckless?

so, to say that [y/n] was exhausted with both him and the entirety of trying to rewire her brain, well… that would be a major understatement.

but, alas, she was still expected to learn. unfortunately for her, she took the role as the older sibling quite seriously, and she tried to set a good example out of herself!

now she treaded water in the middle of the reef, the sun beaming down on her face and shoulders. in front of her floated fali, the boy drifting stomach up with his hands rested behind his head.

[y/n] did not look amused, as unfortunate as fali found it. he was letting the sun practically burn his face off, and she wouldn’t even smile!

after an excruciating amount of time, fali let out a yelp of surprise when he felt her hand grab his tail, yanking him downwards. when he resurfaced, she had the faintest shadow of a grin. she nearly drowns me and she still can’t smile fully. what is wrong with her?

while [y/n] thought fali to be reckless and far too carefree, fali found her to be way too uptight. i mean, sure, old habits die hard after being raised as the future tsahik, but couldn’t she let loose once in a while?

“can we please start?” the girl asked, tone exasperated.

he rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “well, i apologize. i didn’t realize you were so eager to learn. i mean, you usually just complain.”

[y/n] sighed, sending him a look of annoyance. he does not shut up, does he? but, he wasn’t wrong… however, she didn’t let him know that her heart dropped once he decided to actually start teaching her for the day.

it was an unusually long lesson, but it was filled with the same issues as every other day. fali telling her what to do, [y/n] being unable to do it, [y/n] getting mad at herself, fali trying to help her fix it, [y/n] telling him that she’s fine, fali stepping back and watching her battle herself… it was always a pleasant time.

this time, however, things just seemed to be a little more on edge. she seemed to be a little more annoyed. at him, at herself. she was a balloon ready to burst, and fali was bracing himself for the moment that she did.

it was after the sixth time in which she failed to breath correctly that he knew it was going down. he watched her face flush, eyes narrowing as she continued to try and fix it.

“no, [y/n],” he offered, voice soft. she always made him feel guilty, guilty of ever getting annoyed. he knew that she was trying her best. “just… breathe from here. pretend as if there’s a flame within your belly, offering your lungs support and warmth.”

“i’m trying!” she snapped, eyes brimming with tears before she quickly turned away, eyes avoiding his eyes.

the two faded to silence, simply sitting on a rock in the middle of the reef, staring at the setting sun ahead of them. the horizon was gorgeous, a beautiful orange contrasting the blue of the sea.

they sat there, in silence, until just before eclipse.

as they neared curfew, [y/n] inhaled deeply, preparing herself to get up and leave. but, a gentle hand on her knee stopped her. she turned to fali.

“do you know what i think?” he began, voice gentle. “i think that you are more than capable to do this.”

[y/n] scoffed. “if that were true, i would be out there, not stuck with… with you!”

at that, he huffed a laugh, running his fangs over his bottom lip. “i’m going to ignore that comment and continue getting to my point,” he jokes, his eyes widening at the smallest flicker of a smile on her lips. “i believe that something, whether you realize it or not, is keeping you from being successful—my guess being that it’s subconscious—but i digress. i believe that you are scared, [y/n]. scared of doing it right, scared of becoming one of the metkayina because once you are one of our people, you feel like you are betraying your home.”

the girl beside him shook her head in disbelief. “you believe? or you know? because you sure said that—that soliloquy—as if you know me.” [y/n] stood up, taking a few steps backwards. “i have known you for seven days, fali. seven days! and suddenly you decide that you can analyze me?”

fali laughed at that. “seven days is enough for you to decide that you hate me!” he pointed out, a disbelieving smile playing on his lips.

“well, you wear everything on the outside. every bit of stupidity, recklessness, carelessness.” she grit her teeth. “you are an open book, and i am closed. that is the truth.”

“i wear what i want to wear,” fali argued, standing up to face her, the two getting closer by the second. they got closer by the insult thrown. “you think i am dumb, but i am not. i am smart enough to make it so that people like you—people who do not care to look past their own bubble—cannot see my vulnerabilities.”

[y/n] bared her teeth. “you think me ignorant? blind, even? i have seen more of the world than you, i have fought dream-walkers, watched as my baby siblings had death looming above their heads. you are clueless to what is beyond awa’atlu.” a growl built in the back of her throat, their faces extremely close together. “i build my—my ‘bubble,’ as you called it—because i know what is beyond your dimwitted understanding!”

the two were silent, the tension electric between them. behind them the sun was set beyond the horizon, eclipse having already passed. waves lapped at the rock, the incoming high tide making it so their feet were splashed with the salty water.

as they stared at each other, a sense of understanding seemed to bless both of them. fali’s eyes never left those of [y/n]... her ( beautiful ) narrowed eyes. and [y/n] didn’t miss the way that the moons reflected on fali’s aquamarine skin, his bioluminescent freckles splattering the sides of his face.

[y/n] could have sworn she felt herself lean in, towards him, until the familiar call of her mother brought her back to reality.

“[y/n]?” neytiri called from their marui.

the girl swallowed, stepping back quickly. she cleared her throat before yelling back, “coming!” and with one last look at fali, she dove into the waters.

the next few days were odd, to put it simply. suddenly, there was no aggravation towards each other, but it was much more tense in an… awkward way.

a part of [y/n] was filled with spite, and by the time they got to working again, she was doing better than she had been for weeks. she was actually making progress! and it was all to shove it in fali’s face.

unfortunately for her, fali was much more hesitant when it came to helping her. he refused to touch her stomach as to help her breathing, his movements stiff and scared, resembling that of a baby hexapede.

but, [y/n] didn’t need him…? the others found it extremely peculiar. one day, she’s out past curfew, and right after she suddenly fixed nearly all her mistakes. very odd indeed…

it did not take long for her first free dive. her breathing improved astoundingly, her swimming technique also getting better from watching tsireya when she showed kiri and tuk around the reef.

“do you see this shell?” fali held it up, the sunlight reflecting off of its shiny exterior.

she rolled her eyes. “yes, i see the shell.”

“that’s good.” he blinked, eyes shifting away from her’s with a sheepish grin. “uh, anyway,” he continued, clearing his throat. “i assume you understand the drill? i drop it, you find it.”

“yes, fali,” she sighed. “i am fully aware of how this works. now, i would rather get it done with soon so i don’t have to live in anxiety anymore.” [y/n] locked eyes with fali. “please just drop the shell.”

and he did. she swallowed as she watched it float down, the depths looking much more abyssal-like than they normally did.

“remember,” fali’s soft tone grabbed her attention, “there is nothing to fear. you are stronger than you know, and if you begin to doubt yourself… think of you returning with the shell and rubbing it in my face.” at that, [y/n]’s face flushed, embarrassed. he smiled at her expression. “yes, i know that’s the only reason you’ve suddenly been trying, but… if it works, it works.”

and for once, she smiled. actually smiled. and fali felt himself burst with pride. somehow, it felt better that it wasn’t one of his stupid jokes, or his silly slip-ups. no, he made her smile just by talking to her. by being fali.

stunned, fali only remembered that he was supposed to be helpful when she stared at him expectantly with those bright [e/c] eyes of her’s. he lifted his hands, miming lungs filling with air as he reminded, “deep breath. this is all yours. nothing to fear, only to look forward to.”

with that, the girl dove in.

underneath the surface, she felt at peace. for the first time ever, [y/n] wasn’t freaking out while submerged in the salty water. instead, her jaw seemed to gape in awe at the scenery around her.

the deeper she went, the more starstruck that she was. there were layers to this reef that she hadn’t even been aware of. layers that she’d only heard from tales of her siblings, not truly understanding how magical they actually were.

as she kicked her feet towards the ocean floor, she heard fali’s voice in her head. “the way of water has no beginning and end.” she caught sight of the shell. “the sea is around you and in you. the sea is your home, before your birth and after your death.” she stifled a cry of joy as a school of fish swam around her, tickling her sides with their soft touches. “our hearts beat in the womb of the world. our breath burns in the shadows of the deep.” she was nearly there, her hand outstretched to grab the small artifact. “the sea gives and the sea takes.” she got it! oh, eywa, she got it! it was in her hand! oh, how proud fali will be! “water connects all things.” she began to swim up, a smile stuck on her face. “life to death,” she resurfaced, “darkness to light.”

“fali!” she cried, spinning around in a circle to catch the eyes of the boy. “fali, look!” she held it up, her expression beaming with pride.

and fali couldn’t help it either, his own smile taking over his features. “[y/n]!” he exclaimed, jumping off of the rock and swimming to her. “you did it! oh, eywa, you actually did it!” he stared at the shell as they tread water. “oh, how proud i am!”

her silence caused him to turn, staring her in the eyes. “[y/n]?”

she swallowed, her eyes locked on the shell in her hands. “fali,” she began, voice quiet. “i have a wallowing fear that you were right.”

at those words, fali gaped silently. instead of answering right away, he began to tug her towards the rock, allowing for them to get out of the water so her could properly comfort her.

once she was settled on the rock, she carefully placed the shell down, pulling her knees close to her chest. she felt like a child again, helpless against her emotions. “i was scared. not of the ocean, not of swimming, not of drowning.” she looked up, locking eyes with fali. “i was scared of abandoning my people.”

a tear dropped from her eye, and fali immediately had her hands resting on [y/n]’s biceps. “hey,” he called softly, forcing her to look him in the eyes again. “you are not abandoning them. you are… learning. you are learning how to adapt, how to survive. in fact, i think that is more in touch with your culture and ancestors! you are just like them, trying to adapt and survive in a world that is trying to kill you.” she smiled a little at that. maybe he wasn’t so stupid. “you are not weak for fearing change… you are normal. it is okay to be normal every once in a while, as much as you enjoy being the big sister that is oh-so mature and oh-so strong.” his finger lifted her chin up, a soft smile on his lips. “because people who love you do not mind how mature, or strong, or stupid, or careless, or responsible, or up-tight you are. because you, [y/n], are what you are.”

once he was finished, he noticed that [y/n]’s tears were dried, a smile on her face. a look in her eyes had him floored… oh, she was so beautiful, wasn’t she?

luckily for fali, she seemed to think the same of him, raising her arm, grabbing the back of his head, and bringing his smiling lips against her’s.

the sully family knew and loved [y/n]. of course they did! she was their’s, afterall. but, they also knew that she was never this easy-going or even this happy.

both jake and neytiri knew they’d seared little moments of trauma into the brain of their eldest daughter, and they hated knowing that, but parenting is never easy. especially when she was expected to become the tsahik way back when.

but, ever since a few weeks ago, ever since she finally overcame her own issues regarding leaving the omaticaya, ever since she finally found someone that she loved as much as she loved her family ( and he seemed to love her even more ), she was a new person. a better person. a person who actually seemed to enjoy life.

neteyam and lo’ak were the first to become skeptical. ever since her successful free-dive, she’d been so.. giddy. it was not their big sister.

kiri started to catch on when she noticed [y/n] disappearing four hours at a time, and when she came back, she was ten times happier.

neytiri and jake were so wrapped up in the fact that their eldest was finally living a happy life, they didn’t once question, “hm, why could that be?”

it was only when [y/n] returned home a little late one night after the rest of the family, minus tuk since she was still quite young, had a busy day full of duties. she blamed it on finishing an errand with her new best friend, fali, but neytiri scanned her daughter’s body for any sign of injury. neytiri was just that type of mama bear!

“[y/n],” she began, eyes narrowed at her neck. “did you get bitten today? are the bugs bad on that side of the island?”

[y/n]’s face flushed almost immediately. she swallowed, grabbing her hair to cover her neck. “yeah—” she attempted, before tuk interrupted. [y/n] immediately cursed herself, remembering the stupid excuse that fali and her’d made up to cover-up their “hang-out” when tuk had walked in unexpectedly.

“uh, no, mom,” the youngest said matter-of-factly. “she was playing shark with fali. obviously.”

immediately, the sully family burst into confusion.

“[y/n]!” neytiri scolded, although her eldest daughter didn’t miss the amused smile that played on her lips.

kiri burst into laughter. “that’s why you’ve been so happy? because a guy? who even are you?” she teased.

lo’ak was absolutely losing his mind, face flushed from the laughter he was overcome by at the reality of it all. his big sister, little-miss-uptight, getting her first kiss before him and neteyam? unbelievable!

neteyam was absolutely shocked, face frozen in disbelief. “you? fali?”

jake, of course, was on immediate protective dad mode. “fali? the son of vi’ieo and fpai?” he questioned, eyes squinted at [y/n].

all [y/n] could do was sit there, a hand covering her mouth. of all people, tuk had to expose her. it’s always the ones you least expect.

but, despite the surprise of it all, the sully family was extremely happy. [y/n], the one who entered the metkayina by trying to one-up the tsahik and also deal with her own absolute soul-crushing homesickness, was making a life here in awa’atlu. and they couldn’t be more proud.

someone was suckered into a part ii

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petriwriting · 5 months

Text

Memories - Sirius Black X Reader

Summary: Harry finds an old notebook that belonged to Sirius during his Hogwarts days. In his scruffy handwriting, in an old dusty journal found in Sirius's bedroom is the story of Sirius' first real love.

A/N: Fluff, nostalgia, a little bit of angst if you look too hard. The reader is feminine, using she/her pronouns. Oneshot - blurb is very short but very sweet.

I made a friend today on the train to Hogwarts. She is very sweet and seems very nice. She had a ribbon in her hair, I thought that she looked nice. we talked and she said that she liked my hair too. I also made some new friends. I got sorted into Gryffindor house, it's crazy since my family is all from Slytherin house. I'm sure Mother will be so upset. She is always upset about something.

Harry read aloud to his curious friends, Hermione leaned over his shoulder curiously to look at the small dark grey journal, it was tatted beaten-down bound with leather, covered in dust, but well used.

"Keep reading, Harry," Hermione said gently, knowing that he wasn't reading it with malicious intent, but instead in an attempt to feel closer to his godfather. he turned a few pages until a page caught his eye, and began reading once more.

Reg and I got into a quarrel over some things that didn't really matter. he says I should be more concerned with our family. Reg and I used to be close, but after my third year, he became cold. I love my brother, but I hate to see him hanging around those gits. Malfoy in particular, but I know he is happy now as he has joined the Slytherin team. he's their seeker, but he's no match for Gryffindor this year.

This entry made Harry smile slightly, and chuckle. he continued to flip pages, it was heartwarming. He turned the pages, looking through some messy potions class notes and annotations, and an entry about the marauders map, and how he saw Peter Pettigrew (Wormtail.) sneaking out every night to sneak food from the kitchens. One page, in particular, caught his eye.

I Love Her.

I have loved her every day I've known her. She is brilliant, her eyes sparkle when she speaks, her smile is so bright it lights up the room as if you'd cast Lumos. She's incredibly intelligent, but kind. She's always been gentle with me. I've never met another like her.

I wish that I could make this all go away. All the secrets, the war, the hatred. I wish we could start a family one day, live in a little cottage, and raise children far away from here. We'd visit James and Lily every Christmas, and Remus on halloween. I could give her my mother's ring. I doubt Regulus would mind. We could be so happy. I remember the first day we met. I think i knew then that she was special. She has been unconditionally devoted to me. The night my mother burned my name off our family tree she held me in her arms as i cried and i finally felt what home is supposed to feel like. I wrote her a letter, expressing my yearning for her. I plan to give it to her very soon, along with a locket I picked out. Lily insisted on the dainty silver chain with a locket of our picture from our first year together, she even helped me enchant to image to capture y/n's smile as she sat next to me. she say's it's sentimental, and that girls like this sort of thing.

I never had a home, truly. just four walls surrounding me. My own mother disgraced my name, Regulus has been absent in my life. I'm thankful for my friends but my love for y/n is like no other. i just wish want her to feel the way i do, i hope she does. With everything, she can not get involved it's too dangerous. But I will love her anyway. The kind of love that could break the most heinous curse.

Harry stood for a moment, looking over his godfather's handwriting. it was sentimental. "I wonder if we could find her," Harry offered hopefully. "There's no mention of a last name." Ron pointed out. "I'm sure we could ask someone, if she knew the black family she can't be too terribly hard to find," Hermione said, offering a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "I think Sirius would love that."

#my writing #reader insert #hp x reader #x reader #slytherin x reader #hp #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius and regulus #sirius orion black #sirius being sirius #padfoot #james potter #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius x remus

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lxmelle · 28 days

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Geto was loved even in death.

Wouldn’t it be nice if he were judged by his intentions in the afterlife - wherever that was? He had suffered living with the love he had. We see through the eyes of those left behind, that the ill deeds didn’t define him, as strange as that may be to us as readers in the real human world we live in. Geto’s influence and loving nature were far reaching; Gege certainly made him so treasured by many even after his death. If Gojo was touched by his caring influence, this was also Geto’s will he passed onto his students.

NOT spoiler-free as I’ll be referring to the recent chapter, 255.

I wrote this the other day:

And honestly it’s long enough; here’s part 2.

Is it obvious I’m suffering from brainrot? All my drafts from jjk brainrot are rivalling my thesis/dissertation from way back (lol)

Here is more under the cut:

I’m really moved by the reasons for why Miguel and Larue have decided to join in the risky fight against Sukuna.

It’s very obvious that Miguel is reluctant at first. He says he he’d rather terrible curses arrive at his shores than to fight with Sukuna, adding that he doesn’t see himself having any ties with Japan any longer.

We can deduce that this was part of Gojo’s plan for the possibility that he dies/loses, and I had a post about this saved in my drafts - but I guess I never got around to finishing it. Basically, in sum, he will achieve giving Geto a cremation (avenging him) and gets to show off to his students (which he does enjoy) by going all out (soo satisfying), and in the worst case scenario, he loses but gets to go all out, weakens Sukuna (for the rest to handle), and idk if he really is that romantic (so it’s really stsg headcanon fantasising) he will die on the same day as Geto.

The Opening theme is rather beautiful in that it interprets Gojo having the words, “we’ll meet again” stuck in his throat, which he doesn’t say. But I’m a bit weird and tend to separate anime from manga. But it’s worth noting that here.

I digress. Back to Miguel and Larue who have moved to speak privately without Yuta.

In a previous post I wondered aloud about what Yuta knew about Geto from others aside from being villainous and I guess this implies he doesn’t know much, since he wasn’t close to Miguel enough to sit around to chat with them. It makes sense.

Miguel and Larue both agree they followed Geto in jjk 0 because they wanted to see him become King. What does this even mean, really? Gege, you’re missing stuff out again!

Nevertheless, we understand how reluctant Miguel was. He enquires that Larue intends to do, clarifying: is it for revenge or to take Geto’s body back?

And it seems like their main motivation for putting their lives on the line... is to honour Geto’s memory. Like a traditional ritual one makes for the dead (customary in Japan on death anniversaries - not limited to the year, but also number of days).

It’s incredibly moving how much they love him. This is actually what led Miguel to reconsider. We see him go silent as he thinks “...” before he reaches a moment of clarity/a decision.

Tbh I have issues with interpreting his statement in between the two panels (re: hell) in Japanese - it doesn’t directly indicate if he is referring to the former part of the conversation (whether he thinks Geto is in hell), or the latter (he thinks the battle will be hell). The phrasing goes like this: “no matter how I think about it: it’s hell.” - I’m not a native speaker so it’s difficult for me to be certain which is right. But the consensus is as translated above. Larue thinks Geto is in heaven, Miguel thinks it’s hell, and we see the airport scene where presumably Haibara and Riko with Kuroi have been there for over a decade. lol. Who knows!

So the bottom line is… regardless of where they think Geto ends up in the afterlife, Miguel is willing to give Geto a send off that’ll even reach hell. Or, despite it going to be hellish, he will do it. It also seems so heartwarming how they still emphasise family and friendship in wanting to fight together - perhaps things we can surmise had meant something to Geto.

They will fight Sukuna because it is for Geto. Geto was so loved that they would risk themselves - not for a title, not for revenge, but out of … love. Again. That’s pretty damn loving. Can we imagine what Geto did and was to them, for them to experience such loyalty and reverence?

Sadly, it goes without saying that Geto’s body being used as a vessel and puppet by Kenjaku has possibly evoked an emotional response by those who cared for him - namely Mimiko and Nanako, and also Gojo. Arguably, even if it were a death without his body being hijacked, Gojo did refuse to cremate his body or have it processed “by the book” of jjk high through Shoko. If that’s not out of a form of love (or “consideration” as Kenjaku put it), I don’t know what is.

The twins went against what Geto wanted for them (to carry out his will) to fight against immensely power beings in hopes they could bring him home. Those were their reasons to fight. Gojo scheduled 24th December - this was after he teleported to Kenjaku immediately upon unsealing so he could bury Geto. We saw Larue and Miguel’s. Toshihisa is alleged to be quite weak, and despite potentially being considered a son to Geto (if his life situation did mimic that of the twins’ - source: jjk character book), he opts to follow the inherited will as prescribed by Geto.

It’s all love. Geto was loved, I’m telling you. I want to shout if off the rooftops because that man just looked so darned sad and deranged after he lost it.

So. Continuing where I left off: Everyone thus far has had a reason to go into battle with Sukuna. I wonder what / who will actually reach him? I hope it’s Yuji ... and that Megumi will react again at some point. They have their own themes relating to love and purpose. I’ll leave them to someone else more familiar with their characters to write about!

And now I’m going offside quite a bit, but it’s still of relevance to Geto and the theme of love that seems to surround him. Way back to jjk 0 and Hidden inventory.

I wanted to just bring this into the picture as well now that I’m already writing a post on that topic, but please feel free to stop if you’re bored now.

So. Jjk 0!

There were direct parallels with Yuta & Rika and Gojo & Geto. This was also confirmed by the director when discussing their vision for the movie. The light novel also drew a link between Geto and Yuta where they were described as being too sincere for this world.

There is a direct theme of love - the type, is open to interpretation.

Kenjaku also makes reference to this in the Shibuya arc. So to me, it remains relevant. Love in its many forms is somewhere in what Gege wishes to convey thematically.

Within jjk 0, Geto seemed to pursue power but this was also a symbolism where power = love. It is twisted. In light of recent events, we know that the pursuit of power leads to the dilution and even absence of love. Love that gives birth to power becomes cursed. So it seems.

As we know, Yuta bound his lover to himself to gain power.

If only he had Rika (metaphor for love: Gojo) he probably wouldn’t have had to skulk around the shadows consuming curses which he hated doing. Geto was lamenting on the past in the above panels. He probably was determined to carry on, as he vouched to give it all he got (Haibara’s last words to him echoing here).

A flashback to the past:

Geto doesn’t do things in half-measures. To avoid hypocrisy, and I headcanon that it was a merciful killing to protect them from him, he kills his parents. To die by his hands than to be used as a pawn to get to him. For them to see the horrors their son could be capable of. It is so very wrong, and we can see the twisted nature of his love in this interpretation.

And Gojo delivers the ultimate blow that leads to Geto reflecting - depicted by the mysterious ellipses “…..” (gege really likes the reader to work hard huh) - insinuating it is impossible for Geto, so don’t even bother trying. The blossoming possibility of discourse was nipped, as the strength differential was implied - you’re the strongest now, whereas it used to be “we”. There was no more place for Geto; it was probably a misunderstanding. Gojo was protecting everyone in his own way, and the only way he knew how.

For power, Gojo was a source - but Geto couldn’t do that in Shinjuku, nor earlier in the arc, when Gojo himself was on the brink of insanity and deferred to Geto about annihilating humans as he held Riko’s dead body. Geto in the scene above acknowledges their different paths they needed to take - Gojo had a place as part of the elite at the school - Geto was already facing an execution order.

And after hearing Gojo’s condescending tone in an emotionally-fuelled attempt to reach out to him. He turns away to protect his friend from himself, and himself from his friend. Anyway, I touched on this in my previous post. Geto feels they had fought and didn’t deserve a place next to Gojo. But deep inside, even his body remembers the sound of Gojo’s voice, reacting to it when called despite his soul no longer being there.

sigh. Moving on... back to jjk 0:

After witnessing the bonds through willingness to sacrifice and the love between these students, Geto was really moved. Gojo trusted Geto retained his sense of humanity / love / idealism - even if it would lead to him sacrificing himself.

He was finding it difficult anyway:

He could always empathise with love. I suspect he tried his best, but the binding vow for Yuta’s life was also just the cherry on top to make Rika super saiyan.

Kenjaku knew Geto probably could’ve won though, had he been more selfish.

Geto conceded without a fight with Gojo. Maybe it was a matter of trust in that they both knew his living on borrowed time. As the light novel insinuated, this was the only way it could ever end. And Gojo would have to carry the curse that was Geto. This seems... so cruel.

He did his best. He perhaps always wanted the love but set it free.

He did so many things for others in spite of himself, in sacrificing himself, in staining himself with blood drenched hands.

Avenging Riko by killing Sonoda. Note how manipulative “humans” are by using Jujutsu rules against them.

He embraces a life of smoke and daggers. Living in lies and half truths in order to live, survive, and find justice in a wicked world.

Watch me closely, I’ll protect you, I’ll avenge you, this is how you protect yourself.

This is the path I’ve chosen.

I’m not saying he was right or justifiable. His character is just tragic. The system had set him and others to fail.

The worm foreshadows Geto’s maternal nature. Calling him “okaasan”. I mean, this very worm had a binding vow with Toji. And now it calls for a new owner? I’m not sure if Gege had anything else in mind with this... is the womb protrusion domain Geto’s? But that’s tied to a sorcerer’s soul…. Anyway, I digress again. (Sorry). Geto did have a martyr complex and was written captivatingly well by Gege. The extra touches where how he has been perceived by others and the effect he has (and continues to have) on those we see.

And I just want to leave this heartbreaking thing here:

Source from twitter/now X:

Wouldn’t it be so sweet for Geto to get one (love declaration) at the end of his life, regardless of the way you perceive Gojo and Geto’s relationship?

Wouldn’t it be nice for him if he could know that his family who he instructed to flee had all loved him, adored him, and would honour his sacrifice in differing ways...

Instead, a form of love meant his body was desecrated and used by Kenjaku. His girls were killed, and his full potential was not quite realised at all.

If only things were different.

Gojo should have kept him in his basement!

But at least, I think, Gege is giving Geto some love even after his death.

For that I’m thankful.

And thanks for reading if you made it this far with my rambling!

If you want something more light hearted I have a fluffy fic up on AO3 (it isn’t great but i enjoyed writing it to fantasise about what happens at the airport) and if you want more angst and pain, please browse my tags (lol).

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pinchofhoney · 7 months

Note

Sorry I'm invading your inbox again but I wanna see what you do with this song. Can be with any character. I just wanna see what amazing thing you come up with (when you have the time of course)

the broken self

carlisle cullen x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

warning: esme simply does not exist in this one, mention of the tough past, our reader is not a vampire and i don't think she's aware of what carlisle is

summary: If I could start again, I would find a way. Now, you've been given the chance, so what's your next move?

a/n: hey, hello!!<33 thank you so much for your request, as always! in case you don't like what i have prepared, i'm sorry. in my defence, i didn't know from the very beginning which way it was going to go and i've always been pretty terrible at interpreting things (me writing for twilight was not on my bingo list for this year, but the autumn weather outside the window has made me do so. happy hua hua hua hua huooooaaa season!!)

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

also, my requests are open!

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

The Cullen house was bathed in the soft, fading light of the setting sun, casting long, amber shadows that stretched across the polished wooden floors. It was a striking contrast to the usual vitality that filled the grand halls and spacious rooms, typically bustling with the presence of the vampire family. But on this particular evening, the house felt still and serene, as if time had momentarily paused.

With each step down the wooden stairs, you could feel the texture of the handrail beneath your fingertips. You ran your hand gently along its length, a small ritual to dispel the dust that had managed to settle on it in the absence of bustling activity. The house seemed to sigh in response, as if it too welcomed your presence in the calmness.

As you made your way through the dimly lit corridors, you reached the doorway of Carlisle's study. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated the room, casting a warm and inviting aura within. There, in the center of the study, sat Carlisle, his slender frame framed by the golden light.

Carlisle looked up from the book he had been leafing through. He welcomed you with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but held the warmth of familiarity.

As you stood in the entrance of the room, bathed in the warm, inviting glow, your mind churned with thoughts that had plagued you for far too long. You couldn't help but contrast the serenity of this moment with the turmoil that had defined your past. In this peaceful space, it was easy to forget the chaos you once reveled in, the empire of dirt you had built brick by brick.

Your eyes met Carlisle's, his gaze always so kind and understanding, yet you couldn't escape the unease gnawing at your heart. You had come so far since those dark days of your past, but the shadows of your former self still clung to you like an unshakable curse. You'd worked hard to change, to become someone unrecognizable even to yourself, but the weight of your past sins still weighed heavily on your conscience.

As you gazed into Carlisle's warm eyes, you couldn't help but remember who you used to be. A master of deception, a manipulator of hearts, you had once reveled in the power you held over others. Lies had flowed from your lips like sweet poison, carefully crafted to serve your own desires. You had toyed with people's emotions, played with their feelings as if they were nothing more than pawns in your game.

The memories of your past self weighed on you like an anchor, threatening to drag you back into the abyss you had fought so hard to escape. You had come to Carlisle seeking redemption, seeking a chance to be better, but a gnawing fear lingered in the depths of your soul. What if you were incapable of truly loving someone? What if your capacity to hurt ran deeper than you dared to admit?

These doubts, these insecurities, they clawed at your heart, and you couldn't help but wonder if Carlisle would eventually become another casualty of your brokenness. In his presence, you felt a warmth you had never known before, a genuine kindness that seemed to radiate from his very being. It was a stark contrast to the false facades you had once worn so effortlessly, a reminder of the person you aspired to become.

“Y/N?” the sound of your name suddenly pierced the cocoon of your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. You blinked a few times, returning your focus to Carlisle, who had been regarding you all along with his gentle, unwavering gaze. “Is everything all right?” he inquired, genuine concern evident in his voice. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, underscoring the authenticity of his worry.

You quickly composed yourself, as if slipping into a familiar role. “Oh, yes,” you responded swiftly, putting on a mask of laughter. With a gentle smile, you began to make your way toward Carlisle's desk. “I just got lost in my thoughts,” you added, your tone light and carefree.

The last thing you wanted was for Carlisle to glimpse the chaos within you, to see the shards of your past self that still clung to your soul. The fear that he might stop caring about you if he knew who you used to be was a heavy burden to bear.

As you continued your charade of nonchalance, a wave of hypocrisy washed over you. It was absurd, really, that you, who had always been the one to leave others when you grew bored, now found yourself terrified of abandonment.

“What are you reading?” you asked, your voice casual and genuinely curious as you circled Carlisle's desk and stood behind him, placing your hands gently on his cold shoulders. You were truly interested in the lecture he had been engrossed in, hoping to engage him in conversation and keep him from delving too deeply into your own thoughts.

Carlisle looked up from the pages of the book, a warm smile gracing his lips. “Just some recent research on rare genetic disorders,” he replied, his voice tinged with enthusiasm. “It's fascinating how people's understanding of these conditions continues to evolve.”

You smiled in response to Carlisle's passion. His love for his work was one of the many things that drew you to him, a stark contrast to your past life where you had feigned interest for the sake of appearances.

“That does sound fascinating,” you said genuinely, your hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. “You always manage to make the things I don’t even understand intriguing," you laughed softly.

Carlisle's smile widened at your compliment, and he leaned back slightly in his chair, allowing your hands to linger on his shoulders. “Thank you,” he replied warmly.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the weight of unspoken words and fears still present but momentarily pushed aside by the connection you shared. There was this strange, unexplainable attraction to this man, an irresistible force that dragged you closer to him, just like when a magnet pulls things together.

After a moment, you broke the silence, your tone casual. “You know,” you began, “if you're not too busy, maybe we could go for a walk later. It’s already dark outside, but I think the weather is lovely, and it's been a while since we had some quality time together.”

Carlisle's eyes brightened at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” he agreed. “I'd love to.”

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frodo-with-glasses · 7 months

Text

Frodo with Glasses timeline

(A revised version of this post, now made to be more book-accurate)

For as long as anyone can remember, there’s always been a tendency for poor eyesight in the Baggins line.

By the time he adopts Frodo, Bilbo has been wearing eyeglasses for years, and it doesn't look like he'll stop needing them anytime soon. The family curse—or rather hereditary inconvenience—actually skips a generation with Drogo, and Frodo is lucky enough to inherit his father's improved eyesight.

Unfortunately, he doesn't protect the gift very well. Though he doesn't need glasses at his coming-of-age birthday at 33, a decade or so of studying and reading by candlelight turns him soundly nearsighted. He denies it until he can't deny it anymore, and then ignores it until he can't ignore it anymore, and after much teasing and cajoling from his friends (especially Merry Brandybuck) he finally capitulates and purchases his first pair of eyeglasses at age 45.

It's at age 50 that his world is turned upside down.

The cross-country trek to Crickhollow is haunted by Black Riders—and, one hot and humid morning, by rain. Rainwater turns Frodo’s glasses all wet and fogged and streaky, and he valiantly tries to keep them clean with his handkerchief, but with a stumble over a hidden root and a slip of the hand he drops his handkerchief in the wet leaves and ruins it. It's not even midday. Frodo, being a BabyTM, thinks to himself, “This is terrible. I can’t see. I’m walking blind in the rain and the forest, I’m hot, I'm wet, I’m tired, it can’t possibly get any worse than this.”

It does.

Frodo falls face-down, with his sword underneath him, at Weathertop, and his glasses receive a hairline fracture. Sam becomes their keeper, tucking them safely into his pocket, as Glorfindel hoists Frodo onto a horse and rushes him to Rivendell. When Frodo makes his stand at the Ford, his vision is blurred; not only by the nearsightedness, but by the Wraith-Sight turning the living world to shades of shadow. He collapses on the bank.

An hour or so later finds him in bed, pale and deathly still, tended under the careful watch of Elrond. Sam slips his glasses onto the bedside table.

By the day of the Council, the elves have replaced the broken lens. They have no need of corrective eyewear themselves, but they are master craftsmen at any trade when they put their minds to it; and the construction and maintenance of eyeglasses is actually a necessity now that Bilbo lives in Rivendell.

But on October 24th, when Frodo first wakes up, his glasses haven't yet been repaired. His health came first, of course; and there was little sense in fixing the little trinket when their owner might not survive to use them.

But he is awake, and he is alive. Frodo steps out of bed and looks at himself in the mirror, surprised to see how much weight he's lost and how much thinner and wiser he looks in the elves' green clothes. And then he turns, catching sight of his spectacles on the nightstand…and seeing that small crack, split right through the lens, makes his shoulder feel ice-cold and crackle with pain, and he shudders.

His glasses are broken far more severely in the fight in Moria. Knocked off his face and trampled underfoot, probably, or got under him somehow when the "hammer and anvil" skewered him. Either way, after Gandalf falls, Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship barely escape with their lives.

Just out of bowshot of the Gate, standing in the midst of the Dimril Dale, they stop to recover and to mourn. Frodo stands upon a ledge with the wind in his face, clutching to his chest his broken spectacles: one lens is crushed, and the nose-bridge is snapped in half.

Gimli repairs them for him during their stay in Lothlorien. Dwarves are known for their skill in masonry, of course, but someone as learned as Gimli is also skilled in glass-blowing, and after a little trial and error, he replicates the prescription right down to the smallest margin of error. It’s not quite the same—maybe it never will be—but it works well enough to keep going.

Still, Frodo wonders if he hadn’t lost half of himself, too, like the shards of glass lying somewhere in the dark of Moria.

In the shadow of Amon Hen, the Fellowship breaks. Sam is his only companion now. Somewhere in the maze of the Emyn Muil, one of the hinge screws begins to get loose. They’re stopped for their midday meal—and Sam is busy cobbling together their little lunch of lembas and a few wrinkled berries that he foraged from the banks of the River—when Frodo attempts to twist the screw back in with his fingernails and teeth. He fumbles it, and the screw drops right out and disappears into the gravel and the thin grass. He sighs, lamenting that he forgot to bring his repair kit from home in Bag End.

“Repair kit?” says Sam. “Well, bless me, Mr. Frodo, I’d almost forgotten!” He throws open his pack and buries his entire arm into it, all the way up to his shoulder and almost to his neck, rummaging around until he cries “ah-ha!” and drags himself to the surface.

In his hand, held high over his head, is a little brown case. It was one of the various small belongings of his master's that he'd packed in Rivendell, to bring them out in triumph when they were called for, in a moment just like this.

Frodo—overwhelmed with equal parts delight, relief, and annoyance—cries, “My dear Sam! You might have mentioned that earlier!”

“Slipped my mind, sir, begging your pardon,” Sam answers as Frodo takes it from him. “But we also had the help of elves and dwarves and other such folk who’d repair ‘em better than the both of us.” He has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, but still peacocking with pride on his foresight saving the day.

Frodo has opened the case on his knee and pulled out one of the little screwdrivers, but he looks up, and seeing the look on Sam’s face—desperately hoping for praise, but too polite to ask for it—he smiles.

“What would I ever do without you, Sam?”

Sam puffs up like a pleased rooster, and his smile widens until it nearly overtakes his face. Frodo can hardly hold himself back from laughing.

“Help me find that missing screw, won’t you? It fell into the grass somewhere around here.”

That instance ends happily, but their good luck doesn’t last forever. Frodo loses his handkerchief in the putrid bog of the Dead Marshes, and cannot wash the fingerprints of mud and filth off his lenses. Mordor grows—a distant, shapeless, black-grey blob on the edge of his vision, lit by fire.

It’s in Cirith Ungol that he loses his glasses for good. Somehow, they manage to stay on him in Shelob’s lair, though the hobbits scramble through the bones and filth and web-laced crevasses in the rock; but Sam is held up by Gollum, and Shelob poisons Frodo, and when the orcs find and strip him they take the glasses as a prize.

Far away, at the Black Gate, though he doesn’t know it until later, the Mouth of Sauron will present his trophies: a cloak, a staff, a mithril shirt, and a broken pair of glasses.

When Sam arrives to rescue Frodo from the Tower of Cirith Ungol, he doesn’t have his spectacles.

Only the Ring.

Frodo shambles through Mordor, basically blind, tripping over loose rocks and shale. The visions that swim before his eyes, taunting and just out of reach, are perhaps the effect of this cursed land, perhaps the illusion of his own failing vision…perhaps the trick of the Enemy in his mind.

All is a blur of exhaustion and starvation and acrid, furnace-dry, throat-burn air, until the bitter end.

The Ring is destroyed.

Frodo wakes up in Ithilien, his hand heavily bandaged. Within time, from the artisans of Gondor, he receives a new pair of glasses.

Those are the same he carries with him until the end of his life, when he boards the ship in the Grey Havens.

#frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #fig tree au #the semi-almost-canon au where it’s not explicitly stated that frodo has glasses but he COULD #spectacles as a metaphor for frodo’s mental state #written with the help of my best friend who wears glasses

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lucciolaraven · 6 months

Text

Don’t let me drown

(Reiner Braun x Reader x Bertholdt Hoover)

Prologue (Masterlist)

Word count: 1,635

AN: ok so most of this chapter is kinda supposed to be a flash back in a sense sorry if it’s kinda confusing this is my first story lol

Slight AU (Bertholdt lives)

Tw: blood, vomit, character death, panic attack, cursing, Vomit

Year 844

“What is it?” You asked looking closely at the small shiny metal. Armin smiled slightly face bright red “it’s a necklace..” he answered shyly pausing a little before continuing “I got it for you , I’m sorry if you don’t like it..” Armin said looking away as he noticed you were just staring at the necklace with an unreadable look on your face.

“Oh Armin i love it!” Your threw your arms around his neck, frowning slightly though as you pulled away “but why did you get me it?” You asked you were very great full but honestly slightly confused today was nothing special that you knew of so why? Armins face now looked more nervous “well I know you want to marry the commander of the scouts when we’re older but I was hoping maybe if that didn’t work out you’d maybe choose me.. so the necklace would be a promise that one day me might get married..?”

You thought it over while marrying Armin didn’t sound like a terrible idea your small 9 year old brain believed commander Ewrin Smith was the love of your life even if you’ve only had one conversation and you were far to young for him. “hm sure Armin” you’d said smiling before Armin could thank you a voice cut through the warm summer air “hey guys!” Your smile doubled now “hey Eren!” Eren came running up the grassy hill Mikasa not far behind.

Year 845

Ringing that’s only thing you could hear there was so much of it your eyes were blurring with tears the ringing was so loud you stomach turned you felt sick head throbbing.The ringing died down slightly and a new noise joined it a loud desperate scream cut through the air. You can’t rember where you were honestly you couldn’t rember anything your brain felt fuzzy till it all came back the wall had been breached. Armin where was Armin or Mikasa and Eren your feet moved on there own you had to find them you had to find him “Armin!” You screamed at the top of your lungs no response you rounded a corner but you feet stopped in there tracks.

It was so tall how could something be that big it was one of them you never thought you’d actually ever see one it was a Titan. You’d never seen one only heard of them it’s eyes were empty as if it had no coherent thoughts, and the dumb look on its face that was terrifying. it just started at you as it peeped of over the house you couldn’t move frozen in your place. You finally found at where that scream was coming from a girl maybe a year or two older then you it was between the titans teeth it didn’t bite down fully just nibbled ever so slightly on her as if it was savoring the moment you wanted to throw up yet there was nothing left in your stomach.

“Y/n!” A voice you made at through the girls cry’s and screams it was Armin he was so close yet to far to reach your head now turned to Armin completely forgot about Titan and the girl “run.” It was simple he said it so clear a simple thing yet why couldn’t you move?

You turned away from Armin eyes now back to the Titan it still just stared. Armin didn’t waste any more time and took off toward you as he finally reached you he grabbed your wrist “y/n we have to go! well die if we stay!” As if a trance broke as your eyes met armins you nodded and you both ran hand in hand. You turned back a final to stare as the monster instead eyes meeting with girls as she begged for help but the Titan finally bit down her head fell to the ground as blood flew through the sky’s like a rain storm droplet splashed onto your face it was a sick warm feeling.

After that moment everything else felt unreal like you were just merely spectating not truly there. Once you both you found Armins grandpa and bordered the boat Armin seemed fairly unbothered he must’ve not seen to much. The ringing never went away just stayed humming in the back of your mind along with the feeling of the dried blood on your face it was all you could focus on even as people cried desperately and yelled you felt numb almost. “Armin you must have a seat.” Armins grandfather said you looked up from the floor now focusing on Armin after finding his grandfather he hasent said a word to you your slightly relieved you don’t know what you’d say forming words felt to hard right now.

“I will just keeping an eye out for my friends- there they are!” Armin paused as he was about to call out to them but he saw something you couldn’t “Eren..” Armin murmured Armins grandfather spoke up again but you returned you gaze back to floor. The image of that girl never left you don’t remember ever seeing her before she had sandy blonde hair and dark brown eyes- her eyes they looked so scared you felt that churning in your stomach again you left her there to die she died as you ran away.. to safety

“-god only know what they just saw..” Armin looked away from his grandpa as he stared at you now your face mirrored Eren you looked far away. A loud crash broke through the chaos you looked up heart stopping for a second. What the hell was that thing it mad so much bigger then the titans you’d seen before. The boat was now moving but that thing looked like it was charging up? As it began to run the houses and ground shook you couldn’t take your eyes off it even as it trampled people even as it broke the wall your eyes never left it.. they never left that.. that Devil.

Year 850

Eyes slowly opening it was hard to fully open them it felt as if weights kept them down. The first thing you noticed was the pounding you felt in your head it was unbearable. Next you felt as though every thing had been ripped out of your body and replaced with moultin hot lava groaning you leans over across the.. bed?

Tears forming in your eyes where are you? Where is everyone? Why did it feel like the room was swaying? What happened the last thing you remember was- memories crashed through your brain at an alarming and overwhelming rate please no- where’s Armin? Eren? Or Mikasa? Did the blast take them out did they escape in time or where they.. no no they couldn’t be.

The air began to feel warm and hard to breathe in why was it so hard to breathe now? you were breathing to fast everything felt like it was swaying, why did everything feel like you where swaying. pushing yourself from the bed you attempt to stand but the world spins as you land hard on the ground your vison blurry as thick tears slide down your face.

“Armin..” you weakly call out coughing as your try to take in more air “anyone!” Your throating to begin to feel tight heart racing where was everyone.. coughing some more as your stomach clenches and your throating begins to tighten so hard you feel your self gag and the bile rising in your throat no longer able to breathe. A hand raising to your lips to stop what ever was going to happen a closing you eyes as attempt to wake from whatever night mare this was as you cloaked on the warm fluid that filled your mouth then it spilled out with a cough splatting against the cold floor. Attempting crawl away from the mess your arms gave out and you face pressed against the all to cold floor.

Gasping for air you clawed weakly at your throat at the feeling of bile rising for a second time. Turning to your side it spilled passed your lips not able to move you felt the warm liquid press against your face. Your breathing steadied slightly as you began to cry again you felt disgusting and tired so very tired. The ground was still swaying as you attempt you push your self up you felt the warm liquid from stick to your hand you gagged disgusted.

You felt weak like you couldn’t move at all muscles stiff breathing still felt hard. you tried the best you could to call down the tears but it felt as the more you tried to stop it the worse it got. Sobs rack your body as you give up any control you had left and sunk to the floor once again pathetically.

What ever room or place you where I was dead silent you where alone all you could hear was the pounding of your heart trying to break free from you chest. Everything felt like to much you barely could get air in now. The deafening silence was cut by a voice that made everything stop all again his voice concluded what you thought earlier they were all dead.

“Y/n..?”

It was Bertholdt

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taizi · 10 months

Text

soft ground, claiming moon

out-monster the monster

@natsumeweek 2023 day 1; sun/moon read on ao3

(next)

The worst part about all of this is that Shuuichi found out by accident.

Natsume was uncharacteristically energetic on the phone. Not so much excited as anxious, and not overly so by any normal person’s standards, but Shuuichi knew him just well enough to tell.

It wasn’t his place to pry. But Shuuichi spent a good chunk of his time worrying about that boy, small and overshadowed and terribly lonely, so maybe he was entitled to prying just a little.

“Any big plans this weekend?” he said conversationally.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know if you’d call them ‘big,’” Natsume replied, with the slightest trip in his tone that would have been a huff of laughter if Shuuichi was talking to anyone else. “All of us are staying at the temple. Tanuma’s place, I mean. Even Ogata and Shibata are going to be there.”

“So it’s a party,” Shuuichi teased, something in his heart going soft the way it always does when he’s reminded that Natsume has a big group of chaotic, good-natured friends who are happy to go out of their way to spend time with him. “I didn’t know you had it in you! Especially since you fight tooth and nail to avoid going to all the ones I invite you to.”

This time, Natsume really did breathe out a laugh. It was a big personal win for Shuuichi.

“Definitely not a party,” the kid said dryly. “At least, not by your standards.”

“Well, it’s at least partly a party if the whole gang’s getting together. What’s the occasion?”

“The full moon rises on Saturday,” Natsume explained, as if that was a very normal thing that normal people were both aware of and planned events around.

“If you tell me Taki has finally turned you into a witch, I’ll be very disappointed,” Shuuichi said, only half-joking.

“I don’t want to be a witch or an exorcist, thanks. I have enough on my plate as it is, don’t you think?”

Considering one half of his bloodline’s very storied history, and the gift—or curse—his heritage granted him, Shuuichi has to admit that Natsume makes a compelling argument. It’s a mark of how far they’ve come that they’re able to joke about it with each other on the phone.

“Satchan’s probably going to be too tired to do much of anything,” Natsume was saying. “I think we’ll mostly wind up napping and watching movies.”

Ah, the small-town mountain life, Shuuichi thought to himself, not unkindly. He would have gone insane with boredom if he was stuck in Hitoyoshi at fourteen, but Natsume, who has lived in a dozen different places in half as many years, genuinely seems to love it. At least there’s relatively less trouble for him to find out there.

At least he’s well-protected from people like Shuuichi out there—people who made a career out of hunting down people like Natsume.

Shaking away the grimmer thoughts, Shuuichi asked, “Do I know Satchan?”

He was familiar with the names of Natsume’s friends, given how often Natsume talked about them, but that one wasn’t ringing a bell.

“Oh, uh, I meant Nishimura,” Natsume said quickly. He sounded embarrassed. “That’s—Kitamoto calls him that.”

Saving the cutesy nickname as mockery material for another day—they would definitely be revisiting that—Shuuichi said, “Ah, your friend with the excellent taste in movies! Is he not well?”

“He’s fine.” Natsume’s tone took an oddly defensive turn. “We’re taking care of him.”

Something about that pinged in Shuuichi’s brain as very weird, but a lot of conversations with Natsume did that. If he stopped and wondered about every strange thing his young friend said, he’d never get anything done.

It’s not until much, much later, when Shuuichi is juggling emails from his agent about his role in an upcoming period piece and exorcist correspondence regarding a grudge in Osaka, that it occurs to him what weirdness, exactly, the back of his mind had picked up.

A few weeks ago, there was an animal attack out in the forest that all the children frequented. Shuuichi found out through Touko, who called him to explain why Natsume would not be making the trip to Tokyo to visit him on set after all. Satoru was in the hospital, she told him. Natsume hadn’t gone to school in days, camping in the boy’s hospital room with their friends. They could hardly be budged.

It was so strange, Touko had said tearfully, because no one in town had a dog anywhere near big enough to do that kind of damage. And there certainly weren’t any wolves left in Japan.

He had reached out to Natsume the next day, sending him a paper man that delivered the question, Do you need my expertise?

He was a monster hunter, and it was a simple, unacknowledged way to ask if there were monsters at large in Kyushu. Natsume’s reply came within the hour, the talisman paper turned brittle with the powerful signature of his magic. It was ozone and static electricity, the wildness of nature. The touch of it contained the barest hint of a threat.

No, it read. We’re taking care of him.

“Fuck,” Shuuichi says out loud, to Sasago and Hiiragi’s disdain and Urihime’s delight. He’s up and moving a second later, barking over his shoulder for the familiars to begin sealing the doors and windows, setting up the barrier, preparing the house for an extended absence. One never knew how long a job might take.

Shuuichi yanks open a cabinet door in his workshop. A neat row of silver tools glint with promise beneath the warm lamp light.

There is at least one wolf left in Japan.

#natsumeweek #natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #natsume takashi #natori shuuichi #my writing #natsuyuu fic #im a day behind :')#soft ground claiming moon

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i-did-not-mean-to · 5 months

Text

Fairytale

I feel like this might be another suggestion by MoonLord, hmmm...

Either way, have Fingon as Snow White (stealing his sister's epithet) and a subversion of a handful of fairytale tropes!

Characters: Fingon x Maedhros, Maglor, and the other punks

Words: 2 125

Warnings: diffuse sense of dread, a curse, fairytale elements...

Fingon had run for so long that he was now barely strong enough to keep walking—however, something dark and dangerous had taken over his kingdom and home, and he had thought it necessary to flee in search of assistance and council.

Of course, he felt considerably guilty about his younger siblings whom he had left at the mercy of whatever terrible power had encroached upon their realm, but he simply had not seen any other solution.

When he was ready to succumb to the paralysing weariness that had crept into his very bones and lie down, ultimately and irrevocably vanquished by the threateningly looming peril, he glimpsed a thin column of smoke in the distance.

Pushing through the ever-shifting, distinctly unnatural forest that seemed to watch his every tortured step, he strove towards that flimsy promise of sanctuary and salvation stubbornly; at last, he felt an echo of long-lost hope surge within him, and he was determined not to lose his way again.

After everything he had lived through, it was probably naïve to expect whoever had started the fire at the source of the hearteningly dense cloud of smoke to be a friend rather than a foe, but he could not let himself be discouraged now.

Everything had changed since his father, the King, had been overcome by a strange confusion that had fatally addled his mind and dampened his prodigious intellectual acuity as well as his physical strength.

As his son and heir, Fingon had to act—he couldn’t simply stand by as his land and people fell under the spell of the ruinous devastation that was assailing them with relentless fervour.

All but falling down a steep ravine, marbled with gnarled roots and poisonous plants, he finally found himself in front of a small cottage.

“Hello?” he called, casting caution to the wind, as he struggled to his feet slowly. He was tired and sore, his every muscle ached, and his heart clenched painfully at the thought of those he had deserted so callously.

Muted whispers resounded from behind the intricately carven door—the tone and speed of the unintelligible words told Fingon two things: first, there was more than one inhabitant, and second, they were just as surprised to have a visitor as he was to have stumbled upon such a beautiful building in the very heart of an enchanted wood.

Dread replaced the soothing sensation of relief that had assuaged Fingon’s many-layered suffering. Surely, he now considered, creatures who had to retreat so far from all vestiges of civilisation and company had something to hide.

Mayhap, they were monsters or worse who fed on exhausted travellers and lost wanderers—after all, if anyone got sucked into the compelling, merciless magic of the surrounding landscape as deeply as he had, it was highly improbable that they’d ever find their way out again.

Instinctively, his hand flew to his hip to draw the short dagger, dangling from his belt, that his father had given him for his name day a few years prior—he loved and cherished the weapon, and he trusted that he would be able to summon enough strength to take at least one or two of the unseen strangers along with him to the beyond if they were to attack him.

“You go,” someone hissed, and then a shutter was pushed open just a smidgen.

Fingon could make out a pair of flashing eyes, then another one, and another one, and his stomach dropped.

“He’s drawn a knife and all,” another voice, rough and impatient, resounded. “Maybe we should go out armed too?”

“You stay there! I shall go.” The finality in the melodious but stern voice made Fingon cock his head in visceral curiosity—his visions of horrifying ogres melted into images of alluring sirens, and he stepped back into the rapidly dwindling pool of fading light flooding the small clearing he had just crossed.

Shifting into a defensive stance, he raised his blade and waited.

When the door opened, he could not hold back the gasp of astonishment that burst from his throat like a sudden rain shower. No matter what vague ideas he had entertained in the torturous moments of ignorance, he would never have been able to foresee the blinding beauty of the being in front of him.

“You have travelled far; you must be weary.” Lifting lily-white hands, the man—for superficially, there was no indication of any kind of monstrosity or perversion—spoke in that self-same calm tone that had soothed and baffled Fingon previously. “My name is Maedhros.”

Fingon smiled graciously at that lie—he had been the King’s son for too long not to be intimately familiar with that minute shift in inflexion and stature that invariably betrayed a half-truth. He did not doubt that the name given was one that was used by the mysterious entity in front of him—shining like gilded marble in the warm evening light—but he was also certain that it was not the one he used for himself, inside his mind.

“Fingon,” he said, bowing low. If Maedhros was not willing to divulge his true identity and purpose, he did not see any reason to introduce himself with his official name and title either. “I must have gotten turned around somewhere.”

“Where did you want to go?” Gentle mockery lay in Maedhros’s voice now—he evidently was supremely aware of the pitfalls and elusive threats of his forest and had no qualms about letting Fingon know that he doubted the veracity of his words.

“Nowhere,” Fingon chuckled wryly. “I wanted to get away from…It doesn’t matter. You do not happen to know where I could find a sage or a witch perchance?”

Cocking his head slowly, Maedhros let his long hair cascade across his shoulder like a curtain of dancing fire as he pondered the question.

“No,” he finally admitted. “My brothers and I have lived in these woods, guarded by ruthless guardians of stone and bark, for many a sweltering summer and blistering winter, but we have yet to encounter someone fitting that description.”

His bright grey eyes gleamed with sympathy and something darker that reminded Fingon of bone-deep sadness. “I am afraid we cannot help you,” Maedhros went on, his feet already shuffling against the soft grass to turn back to the cottage. “You’ve found the wrong people if it is assistance and succour you seek.”

Flinching as his vague quest was summed up so simply by another, Fingon took a step towards the tall, handsome stranger and—in a moment of utter folly—took that long-fingered, cool hand into his own to keep him from retreating.

“Why are you here then? It is evident that you have divined my motives with disturbing ease, but you’ve also said that you and yours have been confined to this prison of isolation and regret for quite some time. Why don’t you leave?”

“Because we are cursed,” another voice resounded, and Fingon’s head snapped back to the cottage. In the impenetrable shadow of the gloomy hall beyond the open door, he could only barely make out the outline of another being—shorter but just as shapely as far as he could tell—and turned to Maedhros in alarm.

“How many of you are there?”

“Seven, me included,” Maedhros sighed and tried to withdraw his hand; when Fingon would not release it, he soon stopped struggling. “Do not let Maglor’s artful lamentations fool you—we have committed grievous misdeeds. It was to protect others from our reckless folly that we’ve been banished…”

His gaze was pleading now as he shifted as if to shield Fingon from the piercing eyes that flashed like gemstones in the darkness within the picturesque but vaguely unsettling home. “Save yourself…”

They had been banished, Fingon thought, but he had fled like a thief in the night, not even risking the hopeless, crazed fight against an unknown, menacing fate.

“Will you always stay here? Is there nothing you can do?” he asked instead. He and the man whose hand he was still cradling in his own broad palm were almost dancing now—Fingon tried to get a good view of the inside of the house while Maedhros seemed intent on denying him just that.

“There are stipulations,” someone called from behind, “but Nelyo refuses to let us even try to fulfil the conditions.”

Before Fingon could make the gorgeous ginger explain further, a shadow coalesced into the solid form of a man and floated towards them, an affable smile on his sensual, full lips.

“No matter how you feel about the terms,” the newcomer purred, and Fingon was struck dumb by how curiously full and rich his voice was, “this man is tired and hungry. Let him come in and rest—what harm could even we do him with a bowl of fresh stew? We are not monsters—at least, you are not—and we shall obey your words.”

A flash of pain and regret rippled across the pale, freckled face of his reluctant potential host while Fingon tried to suppress the desperate yearning that the flippant suggestion of warm food and a place to sit down in peace had awoken in his chest.

“Maglor, at your service,” the soft-faced siren spoke charmingly. “I promise that Curvo is a better cook than an entertainer, and yes, Moryo is always that morose—it’s not because he doesn’t like you.”

“Stop,” Maedhros groaned, but Maglor had already pulled Fingon away from him and towards the house. “Let me introduce you to the brood. You’ve already met Nelyo—he’s the oldest, and he was literally named for his beauty.”

Fingon had the strange sensation that he was being lulled by the potent spell of the charming words pouring from Maglor’s lips like sweet water, but—in his weakened state—he could not even resist the mellow, unceasing draw of the open door from whence a mouth-wateringly delicious smell now billowed into the quickly cooling air.

“Káno, I beg you,” Maedhros called. “He is…You don’t know what you’re doing…” He hastened after the retreating pair to wrench the clueless victim of the vindictive forest from his brother’s perfectly manicured claws.

Just beyond the threshold though, he was halted by two pairs of hands clamping down on his arms.

“Prince Findekáno,” one of the twins, the youngest and least fatalistically pessimistic of the brood, hissed.

“He could be the answer to our prayers!”

“No, he could not. Let him go!” Maedhros groaned, tearing himself free, and nearly lunged into the small kitchen to save Fingon from the terrible turn in his destiny that would inexorably occur as soon as he got himself entangled with these accursed exiles.

To his visible dismay, Fingon had been offered the best seat in the house and was already nursing a mug full of warm tea while eyeing a platter of cookies covetously—Maedhros knew that his brothers would have bitten one another for taking even a single crumb more than was allotted to any one of them, but they all seemed happy to let their unexpected guest eat his fill.

The scene—calm, domestic, deceivingly joyous—made Maedhros’s skin break out in goosebumps; he knew just how seductively charming all of them could be, and he was tragically aware of how lethal that magnetic charisma usually turned out to be for innocent bystanders.

“Fingon,” he called warningly. “Do not believe them—this is not safe!” He was condemning himself to a lifetime of solitude and misery, he knew, but he preferred to stew in his culpability until either his sorrow or his siblings ate him alive rather than add to the pile of ashes their indomitable fire had already amassed.

“No,” Fingon laughed and took another deep swig of his tea. “I don’t think I will—I think I’ve found exactly what I needed.” He knew not why he had said that, but—in his heart of hearts—he was sure that he had spoken true. Somehow, the unfathomable and quite possibly wicked magic of the forest had led him straight to this house, and he simply could not ignore such an intervention by superior powers.

“What are the terms?” he then asked quietly—the whole room seemed to petrify into a stasis of shock and solicitude.

“The usual,” Maedhros laughed mirthlessly. “True love, true selflessness, true sacrifice—basically, we have to overcome our wicked nature to help someone else without expecting or accepting any form of gratitude or payment. You do not know who we are, but…it’s as likely as to ask a pear tree to bear apples in winter.”

“Oh,” Fingon grinned sharply, “but I do know. We have been looking for you—where exactly is Fëanor now?”

Thank you so much for reading <3

-> Masterlist for November (by @cilil)

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #November #Nanowrimo2023 #Russingon #Maedhros x Fingon #Maedhros #Fingon #Fairytale #Fëanorians #curses #dread #possible redemption

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highqueenofelfhame · 1 year

Photo

idk if this is good i just wrote it and didn’t edit it IDK MAN IDK WHAT THIS IS i hope you enjoy it tho xo

rowaelin // 1820 words

It wasn’t the first time Aelin had cursed her socialite lifestyle, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last, but she really hated that a full camera crew was filming every second of Aedion and Lysandra’s wedding tonight.

Not because she didn’t want the event well documented. This footage would immortalize their love for each other in a beautiful way and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she would never be able to watch it back and not shed a healthy amount of tears. If anything, she was grateful for that aspect of how chaotic their lives tended to be. What she wasn’t looking forward to seeing was Rowan Whitethorn’s face sneaking in and out of frame while he enjoyed the party.

Aelin could deal with everything this night threw at her, but she hated that she kept catching glimpses of the top of his silver head over everyone else’s, or that he looked unfairly delicious in a dark, forest green tuxedo that fit his frame perfectly. She hated the feeling of his gaze on her when she wasn’t looking, and she especially hated when they made eye contact from opposite sides of the dance floor.

The option to disappear completely wasn’t on the table. As maid of honor, she had duties to fulfill and knew there would be a million and one rumors about her having a falling out with Lys or Aedion. Though they laughed about all that outrageously ridiculous gossip, she refused to have that trump the day that was solely about them.

So instead of trying to make herself blend into the background or hiding in the bathroom, she had taken to being keenly aware of where Rowan was at all times so that she could easily avoid bumping into him and having to talk to him at all. So far, through the ceremony and the first leg of the reception, it was a success. Her shitty relationship drama wasn’t going to muddy up the wedding, especially when Rowan and Aedion had only recently began to speak after two years of radio silence on Aedion’s part.

Their breakup had been very public. More than one episode of the reality show that followed the scandalous lives of Orynth’s elite had featured her crying over everything she and Rowan had lost. Though she never watched the show unless she was feeling sentimental, she especially avoided the clips from that part of her life. It was a chapter she had slammed shut, and she refused to look back on any of it. Not yet, anyway.

Truthfully, Aelin didn’t like thinking about it because she always tried to look back on it with rose colored lenses. There were many nights that she lay awake, watching her ceiling fan spin in spirals while trying to avoid a mental one of her own.

It wasn’t that anything truly terrible had been the reason for their breakup. Rowan’s career simply took off and, in the process of a blooming music career, their relationship had taken the backseat. He got too busy, long distance was hard, and they had grown apart.

Except she didn’t feel like she was the one that drifted away. Even with oceans between them, she made her best efforts to show up when it mattered to him, to talk to him as much as she could despite a busy schedule of her own. And then one night while they lay in bed on a rare weekend he had free to visit her in Orynth, she’d whispered the words that shattered her heart and crushed her soul: I can’t do this anymore.

It was all too hard, too much. It felt as though they had gone from being madly in love and bordering on obsessed with each other to struggling to hold a conversation. Rowan was often exhausted from long days of travel, rehearsals, or shows. Aelin worked hard, long days between filming the show and working on her designs for the next season.

Rowan had tried to fight her on the breakup, insisting that things would get better, but neither of them could figure out the when and the how. He had begged, made promises that she knew he couldn’t keep, and swore up and down, left and right, that he would be better and more present. But after months of drifting, she couldn’t see the shore anymore. By the time she said it out loud, there was nothing he could say or do that would fix it. Aelin had made up her mind and waited until she couldn’t handle it anymore. And then she just… shut down.

It had caused a big falling out with their friend group. A few had been on his side, a few on hers. Aedion was blindly loyal to Aelin and cut ties with Rowan almost immediately after watching her slowly crumble from heartbreak. It had only been three months ago when he’d tentatively asked her how she would feel if Rowan was at the wedding.

“Aedion, it’s not about me. You used to be best friends. If you want him there, then he should be there,” she told him, squeezing his hands as she spoke. Aelin had even told him early on he should invite Rowan, something he had shot down at the time. But as time went on Aelin could see it was bothering him. That getting married without his best friend since he could walk at least in the room would leave a single piece of happiness missing on the best day of his life. Of course she had insisted he be invited. It wasn’t about her, that was the truth.

But seeing him had been more painful than she had anticipated, even five years later, and she was tired of knowing where he was in the room at any given millisecond. As she had the thought, their eyes locked across the dancefloor and she quickly turned to find anything else to do than be caught in a staring contest with the love of her life. Instead of walking away, though, she slammed into the hard body of her cousin.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” He teased, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. Aelin conjured up one of her infamous mischievous smirks as she gestured toward the open bar.

“Where else?”

“The dance floor. You owe me a dance.” At those words, her heart softened and she patted his cheek, taking his arm and allowing him to pull her into the center of their dancing friends. A slow song that sounded vaguely familiar drifted through the speakers as they fell into a relaxed carriage, Aedion leading them in slow circles.

“Our mothers are probably weeping over this,” she joked, eyes scanning the crowd once more to where Evalin and Aerin stood arm and arm with their husbands. The matriarchs had their phones already pointed to the cousins and deep laughter rumbled from Aedion’s chest. Aelin stuck her tongue out toward the two women, her mother shooting her a flat look over the top of her phone before she let herself be swept back into the moment with the man who was so much like a brother to her. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“I think you’re going to take that back in about ten seconds.” As Aelin’s brows wrinkled in confusion, Aedion spun her around and– let go of her hand that was quickly caught by someone else.

The easy, relaxed posture she had with Aedion disappeared almost immediately as she scowled at him over her shoulder. He mouthed an apology, one that she mentally flushed down the toilet, and turned around to stare at the bowtie tied around Rowan’s neck.

There was no need to look up to know it was him. Aelin knew the callouses that scarred his fingers and palms, knew his warm smell of pine and snow. Her entire body was rigid while he led her in a slow dance as the song played on. Everyone around them had definitely clocked the encounter, and Aelin caught Lys smacking Aedion’s shoulder while he held his hands up defensively.

The worst part about the entire thing was how badly she wanted to relax into his body, his touch. She wanted the hand that rested on her side to slip to her exposed lower back and hold her closer. It made her want to cry, but she exhaled slowly and willed her emotions to simmer instead of breaking the dam she had so carefully built around anything that had to do with Rowan.

“I’m sorry for ambushing you,” he finally said, his thumb soothingly stroking soft circles over the bare skin of her ribs.

“I doubt that,” she replied, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. Rowan’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. Aelin frowned.

“I’m a little sorry,” he amended, eyes sparkling in the low, twinkling lights that surrounded them. Aelin didn’t say anything, shifting her eyes to the dark green fabric of his suit instead of the piercing green of his eyes. It maybe made her a shitty dance partner, but she couldn’t get her body to relax. Every muscle was stiff, even her fingers where they rest on his arm. Her nails were pressed into the skin of his hand where he held it, but it didn’t seem enough to push him away. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Maybe you should have told me that more often before,” she quipped, unable to keep her mouth shut. Typical.

“I should have.” Surprise must have flashed on her face, because he nodded, letting out a sigh. “I should have done a lot of things that I didn’t do, that I stopped doing. I should have tried harder.”

“I don’t want to rehash our old bullshit at Aedion’s wedding,” she said tightly, jaw clenching over every word he said. “Time and place, Rowan. I know you were never good at that, but–”

“I’m sorry.” Aelin stilled at his words, something about hearing them now threatening to break down every wall she had built where he was concerned. “For all of it, Fireheart. You deserved better than what I gave you that last year. You deserve more than that. I was young and stupid, and I’m sorry. I never meant–”

“It’s a little late for all of that, Rowan.” Aelin pulled her hand from his and stumbled out of his arms, catching the bicep of a college friend of her cousin’s to steady herself. She wouldn’t fall, not with the way Rowan had immediately caught her hips to keep that from happening.

“Ace–” He started, but she shoved his hands off of her and held up her hand to stop him.

Without another glance over her shoulder, Aelin gathered the bottom of her gown in her fist and disappeared from the dance floor with a burning hole in her heart.

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localicecreambiter · 3 months

Text

Writing Warm-up: 7th times the Charm

I haven't written anything substantial in a long while so I decided to crank out a little thing for some practice. I didn't proof read so forgive the mistakes and terrible writing flow

my first actual loz piece

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"What can I do to help?"

It was always the same question. The same tone. The longer he knew the other, the more sure he grew that Link wasn't even aware it was something he did. The Hylian was just helpful by nature; a heart pure and true is what Ravio always said. Too nice for his own good.

So when a group of self proclaimed heros knocked on his dear friend's door, asking for Link to help on another quest, Ravio couldn't say he was surprised.

Lorule was a land buzzing with magic, despite the (previously) lack of triforce. It was a kingdom filled with strange monsters, items, and people. So to say the Lolian was magically inclined would be an understatement. Identifying Hyrule's magic had been challenging initially. Despite the similarities, there was a distinct difference in magical presence that threw the merchant off at points. Just as their lands mirrored not exactly the same, the magic reflected in kind. While he tended to get confused, there was no denying the glaringly obvious: these heros held the exact same magic Link harbored.

It was something unexplainable, not through words, at the very least. Call it a gut feeling, but he just knew.

Wisdom had always been drawn to courage anyhow.

The small cottage atop a hill in central Hyrule had never felt so empty as Link saddled his adventuring bag. His excitement betrayed the cool persona he attempted to keep, fidgety digits readjusting his bag strap every few seconds. They would make eye contact every so often as the party trotted along the pebbled road, greenery edging his vision. That was the toughest part about being friends with a hero: the guy had responsibilities set upon him by the goddess. No matter how much Link grumbled and complained, cursed and forsaken, he always did his duty at the end of the day.

It was one of the numerous things that set them so far apart.

He shook his head, vowing he had let go of that insecurity years ago. He wasn't 14 anymore, he wasn't the failed hero of Lorule. He was a merchant, and a friend of the hero of Hyrule. He wanted nothing more, nothing less. So when Link swung around to offer one last goodbye, pride swelled inside the cowardly rabbit.

"Try and make it back in one piece, pal." He tried for a smile, lip quivering with emotion. "Sheerow and I will always be rooting for you back home, so don't let us down buddy."

Link only shook his head, smirk doing nothing to hide the fondness on his face. "Yeah yeah, no promises. Make sure my house doesn't burn down… And don't pawn off my stuff." The pointed look was playful, they both knew he would never dream of it.

They could stand there and banter all day, but Ravio knew Link had more important places to be.

"I'll see you later." Not a question, nor an offer, but a fact. The merchant could do nothing but nod for fear he'd lose his composure. There was always some uncertainty when leaving for an adventure, but if Link was anything, it was reliable.

He always made it home without fail.

And as the portal closed, he was reminded of how fast things can change in a single moment.

There was always a constant, and as he turned to make the trek back to the empty feeling cottage on a hill in central Hyrule, he hoped silently Link would be that constant.

The odds were six to nothing. A reassuring ratio.

The Lolian smiled, he could live with those odds.

Link would be home before he knew it.

@kaite--s i figured you'd wanna see this since we've been discussing (but seeing as you lurk in the ravio tags as much as I do im sure you would have found it eventually)

#loz #ravio #albw ravio #could be read as linked universe #albw #is this gonna be canon to what i plan on writing?#who knows? not me #needless to say i think im readily warmed up #ready to get crackin!!

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morganofthewildfire · 2 years

Text

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A Secret Bloom - chapter 4

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~3k words

masterlist

I'm very excited for this one 😁

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Orynth, 1919

The storm raged all through the day and through the night, finally petering off in the early hours of the morning, a faint bit of the sunrise piercing through the dark sky. Rowan had been restless all night, turning back and forth in his sheets, his sleep shirt stuck to his sweaty skin.

He’d never done well with storms at night, when the sky was so dark he couldn’t tell where the noises were coming from. The thunder sounded suspiciously close to gunfire, and the sharp flashes of lightning sent him back too far into the dredges of war. It’d been a horrible few years, right in the middle of battle, never sleeping soundly, never knowing when he’d next have to look someone in the eye as he ended their life.

He did well most of the time at putting those memories out of his mind, but sometimes it all came back in a rush, leaving him irritable for at least the next twenty four hours.

It was looking to be one of those days, especially as he got dressed in the morning, shoving open the cabin door and seeing the destruction the storm had caused overnight.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, as he got closer to the garden, seeing fallen tree branches on the ground, crushed flower beds, dirtied fountains, and generally just everything in utter chaos. It looked terrible.

He had a long day of work ahead of him if he was going to even make a dent in cleaning this up today.

He didn’t even bother properly tying up his apron, or throwing his hat on, soon running dirt-covered hands through his hair, darkening the light strands. Soon enough, the rest of him was covered in dirt too, as he started cleaning the garden in a nightmare ridden rush, hiding his shaking hands by throwing himself into work.

“Whitethorn!” Lorcan’s voice called out, and Rowan stood up, uselessly trying to wipe his hands on his apron as he tossed the loose branches he’d been collecting into the canvas sack he was currently using as a trash bag.

“What?” He asked a little impatiently, though he couldn’t be too mad at the other man. He’d been out since dawn just like he’d been today, attempting to clear up the garden as efficiently as possible.

“Apparently the Galathynius’ are expecting a very important guest,” Lorcan said, irritation clear. “And had Darrow, in no uncertain terms, threaten to fire us both if we don’t get this cleared up by tomorrow evening when he arrives.”

“Arrives here?” Rowan asked, wiping sweat away from his forehead. “Are the Galathynius’ coming back?” He wondered what Aelin would think, if she was excited to see her parents or not. He always thought it sad how they seemed to enjoy forgetting they had a daughter, though he’d never understood why they did. Just like he never understood why she wasn’t in town with them, fetching a nice suitor.

Nausea struck him as he realized that this important guest could very well be a suitor. Rowan had no right to claim her, but the thought of her being with someone else made him sick.

“It doesn’t sound like it,” Lorcan answered, “Darrow gave the impression that Miss Galathynius is to receive the guest alone.”

That all but sealed the deal.

“I see,” Rowan huffed, trying to hide the real reason he was bothered with the one Lorcan was expecting him to have. “That’ll be a pain, but I suppose we don’t have much of a choice.”

“Not if we want to keep our jobs,” the brunette man said, and Rowan sighed, nodding.

“Better get to work then.”

------

Aelin’s eyes were glued to the letter, reading her mother’s beautifully practiced calligraphy over and over again, until the sight of it was seared in her mind.

We’re expecting you to be civil, Aelin. This is a big opportunity, for all of us.

The rest of the letter had been shallow pleasantries, until those last two lines at the bottom of the page. And Aelin had no idea what her mother was referring to. Expecting her to be civil when? What opportunity?

She didn’t understand, and it made her wonder if she’d missed something somewhere. Realization poured through her finally when she remembered the last letter that she’d tossed to the side. Was there pertinent information in there that she’d ignored?

Whatever it was, it had her stomach sinking as her current maid did her hair, twisting the blonde strands up into intricate braids. It hadn’t been a pleasant morning already, but that cryptic note made it worse.

Maybe Darrow would know something, though she hadn’t talked to the man in days. He lived on the opposite side of the house, and was occupied all during the day with his various duties, while she did nothing but sit around. He likely even spoke more to her parents than he did to her, and certainly more than she did to them.

Isolation had crept in like a fog long ago, and she hadn’t properly seen the sun since.

Aelin was sure Rowan was having as poor of a day as she was, if a glance out the window said anything at all. The storm had caused more damage than anyone had anticipated, and she was sure he would be pressured to get it back into shape quicker than likely possible. Maybe she should bring him a gift, just like he’d gotten the journal for her to make her feel better.

What did she have to offer him though? Nothing worthwhile. Nothing that would be interesting to him. And she couldn’t go out into the village to get him something; even if Philippa would take, she wouldn’t be allowed to, simply for the spectacle of it.

“You’re all set to go, Miss Galathynius,” the maid said, stepping back, and Aelin looked forward at herself in the mirror. She had no idea why she bothered to have her hair so done every day, to dress in her best dresses.

Maybe it was a way to pretend like everything was still the same, like it had been before the incident, when she would prance around town with her friends, giggling about suitors and enjoying all the sights and the stares.

She hadn’t seen those friends in years.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, shooting the young woman a small smile. “It looks beautiful.”

The maid soon departed, and Aelin grabbed her journal from the vanity table, tucking the letter inside for further examination before setting it on her lap as she wheeled herself toward the door. Her vanity stool had been replaced with her wheelchair, just to make things easier for her.

But Philippa was waiting outside to take her down to the garden, where she would help her onto the bench and then take away the wheelchair and leave her in peace, like she requested. Maybe it wasn’t smart to be alone when she couldn’t properly move herself, but Aelin liked to have some pretend normalcy. For at least a few hours a day.

On their journey down to the garden, which always consisted of being awkwardly rolled down the hallways, and helped down the makeshift ramp servants had had to construct for her to be able to get up and down between the floors.

Stairs were no longer sufficient.

The air was still damp outside, hitting her face in a humid wave as they left the safety of the estate. The garden was as wrecked as it’d looked from inside, and she could practically hear Rowan cursing under his breath at the sight.

A small smile curled on her lips.

He pretended to be annoyed at the job she knew he wouldn’t have ever pictured himself in, but she also knew that he secretly loved it. Though she would try to have a talk with her father, or at least Darrow, about his wages. Even if it prompted a conversation about why she cared so much.

But she pushed that aside as Philippa wheeled her to her little grotto, helping her move to the bench. Luckily, she never encountered Rowan on her journey out here, though she did try to time it for when she knew he was working in the back side of the garden.

“Do you want me to come back in a couple of hours?” Philippa asked, once Aelin was adjusted.

“Yes, please,” Aelin confirmed, smiling genuinely at the woman. “Thank you for humoring me.”

“I want you to live as normal a life as possible,” Philippa answered, taking the little joke seriously. “Whatever I can do to assist you, let me know.”

Tears pricked Aelin’s eyes, and all she could do was nod, emotion piercing her chest as the older woman left.

But to her detriment, neither of them noticed what was right above her head.

------

Rowan was completely exhausted by the time he finally made it over to where Aelin was perched, her journal in her lap. But instead of scrawling in it like she had yesterday, she was instead holding what looked to be a letter, her golden brows furrowed as she read the words on the page.

“What are you reading?” He asked casually, acting like he hadn’t been sitting on that bench next to her the day before, their lips almost touching. His cheeks, already red from exertion, seemed to flush more at the memory.

But Aelin’s mind seemed to be elsewhere as she looked up at him, her face pinched. “Do you happen to know anything about this?” She asked him, gesturing for him to come see the letter, and he carefully stepped closer, taking it from her when she offered it. “We’re expecting you to be civil, Aelin. This is a big opportunity, for all of us,” she read, and he raised a brow, not sure what to make of it.

“This is from your mother?” He asked, and she nodded, picking at a loose strand of her dress.

“I’m not sure what she’s referring to,” she scowled, “you’re more knowledgeable of what goes on at the house than I am, do you know of anything going on?”

He blinked in shock at the words, wondering the truth of them. Did he really know more? How was that possible?

“Well,” he said, handing the letter back to her. Aelin took it and folded it aggressively, shoving it back into her journal. “I do know there’s a guest coming tomorrow evening, according to Darrow. Could this have anything to do with that?”

In fact, as much as he wanted to stay and talk, he probably needed to get going.

He told her as much, and she nodded absently, though her face had darkened at the word guest. Like she had the same suspicion he did.

It was certainly a bucket of ice water over the tension that had sparked yesterday. He didn’t know if that was good or not.

------

Guest. A guest.

It didn’t take long for Aelin to know what that meant.

Her parents had finally found someone willing to take a cripple as their wife. The only question was if her new husband would be fine with the world knowing, or if she’d be expected to hide just like she had for the last three years?

If so, could she live like this much longer?

It was such a predicament, she barely heard the cracking over the noise in her head. But it became loud enough that it pierced the swirling thoughts, and she looked up, seeing the source of the sound.

It was a thinner branch from one of the large oak trees nearby, a weaker one no doubt damaged by the storm. And clearly, it was finally giving out, if the cracking was any indication.

Shit.

It was right over her head. If it fell, she’d be directly in its path, with no way to move. Sure she could scoot over a little bit, but short of throwing herself onto the ground and attempting to crawl out of its way, she had no real way to move.

And Philippa wouldn’t be back for at least another hour.

Her heart started racing, and she kept her eyes on the branch, watching as it started to dangle more and more.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, “okay, Aelin. You’ve got this. What can you do?”

Was there anything nearby she could use to help herself move? Not really, at least nothing within reach. Was there anyone nearby that could help?

Technically yes, Rowan. He was likely within calling distance. Though she didn’t know where.

But that would require him finding out why exactly she couldn’t just stand up and move out of the way. Aelin had thought about the moment he’d find out long and hard, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t treat her any differently, but she was still scared.

Instinctively, how could she not be? Based on the reactions of everyone else.

But it didn’t seem like she had any other choice.

So she sucked in a shaky breath, and called out his name.

-----

Rowan was shoveling out a flower bed too far destroyed to be saved when he heard someone faintly call his name.

His brows furrowed, and he stopped shoveling, pausing and waiting to hear it again.

“Rowan?”

There it was, a bit louder this time, and Rowan shoved the shovel into the packed dirt, leaving it behind as he went to go find the source.

“Rowan?!”

The voice was more frantic this time, and when he recognized it as Aelin’s, he hurried his steps, nearly running as she called it again. What was wrong?

“Aelin?” He called back, panting as he neared her spot, seeing her still sitting on her bench, with her head turned up. “What’s wrong?”

Crack.

He looked up too, his face draining as he saw the source of her worry. There was a tree branch, about two inches from breaking off and falling right onto where she was sitting.

Why hadn’t she moved? Was she too scared to?

“Okay,” he said carefully, “you need to move. It’s going to fall any second.” He gestured his way, trying to appear calm and reassuring. But her face was pale and clammy, and he took a step toward her, jolting forward as a strong gust of wind rushed through, breaking it a little bit more.

“Aelin,” he said, barely registering it was the first time he’d ever said her name out loud to her. She realized though, apparently, as she looked at him, an unrecognizable emotion on her face.

She still wasn’t moving.

“You’re scaring me, Aelin,” he said, too worried to check the concern in his voice. “It’s going to fall, you need to move.”

But she, for no apparent reason, just shook her head, her voice shaky as she said, “Rowan, I ca-”

Crack.

Rowan lurched forward, roughly pulling Aelin to the ground with him just as the tree branch fell, dropping heavily and crushing the stone bench she’d been on moments before.

“Gods!” He cursed, panting heavily, adrenaline racing through his veins. Aelin was in his arms, laying on the dirt with him, feet away from the tree branch that had nearly just killed her. She was shaking immensely, and he unconsciously tightened his arms around her, trying to comfort her.

But at the same time -

“Why didn’t you move?” He asked, too aggressively. But he couldn’t help it. She’d nearly died. His eyes were wide with fear as he looked at her, letting go and sitting up.

She was just shaking her head back and forth, tears in her gorgeous eyes.

It was only then he noticed the slightly awkward angle at which her legs were laying, the way they didn’t move as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, the way she was looking at him, her face pale and frightened, like she was scared of him finding something out.

Rowan looked back and forth between her face and her legs, trying to piece together what he was missing.

“Aelin!” A feminine voice called out, and he turned to see an older woman rushing toward them, a wheelchair in tow. A wheelchair. “Are you okay?!”

Aelin wiped at her face quickly, before nodding as she turned to face the woman too. “Yes,” she said, “just a scare with a rogue tree.” She tried to laugh it off, but the lingering fear in her voice was unmistakable.

“Aelin…” Rowan said, trailing off, but she didn’t look at him as the other woman helped Aelin up and into the chair. All he could was watch with wide eyes, he couldn’t even move.

But the other woman eyed him carefully, a question in her eyes.

“He saved me,” Aelin answered, still not looking at him.

“Well, then,” the woman said, “thank you for your help.” All Rowan could do was grimace, watching as the pair left, undoubtedly heading back to the house, leaving him lying there in the dirt.

----

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#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass au #throne of glass fanfiction #a secret bloom

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ode-to-spring · 2 years

Text

♡⋆.ೃ࿔* AN IMMORTALS BURDEN ~

should the day ever come that you are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in his memories . . .

ੈ♡˳ zhongli x reader (romantic) ੈ♡˳ category :: angst, implied breakup, reader has a new s/o ੈ♡˳ warnings :: mentions of death, spoilers for the first liyue archon quest (?), oh no zhongli sad ੈ♡˳ a/n :: have i mentioned that i love the concept of immortality and how it affects those who have it

the wise know that immortality was never once a blessing, but more of a curse— that will, quite literally, forever remain. there are those that were so ill fated that they were born simply to see everyone around them die, to watch from a distance as time stripped every friend they held dear from their fingertips. the hurt of despair, of loneliness, of heartache, it'd accompany them as they walk through the never ending cycle of loving and losing again, and again, and again.

and who else would understand that dreary phenomenon better than he who's walked on teyvat the longest? most people won't be able to guess that the kind funeral parlor consultant they see every day has witnessed countless events throughout his terribly long lifetime. and yet, he still remains. he creates, treasures, and preserves his relationships with people to this day-- despite the fact that he knows he'll still be there when they're already long gone.

to this, you are no exception. when you walked into his life and changed it in ways he didn't even think possible for himself, he swore his own personal contract. one to cherish you and your existence until he can do so no longer, so that at least he'll have the fondest of memories with you to accompany him for the next few millennia.

and for a while he did, he really did. he loved you so, so much, and he wouldn't trade you for every piece of mora he'd ever made throughout his years. he wanted to live in those moments with you forever, he truly cherished every second he was able to stand by your side. but what the calculative intellectual zhongli hadn't foretold, however, was that you'd leave him far, far before he'd expect. and to rub salt into the wound, that you'd so quickly learn to love someone else after him. of course, he found this much better than outliving you while you were still in his arms, but seeing you in someone else's was far more painful than he'd ever imagined.

so now, whenever he'd see you at the wharf of harbor he brought up with his own two hands, he can't help but look away for his own good. he didn't think he could bear to watch you treat your new lover the way he wanted to do you. it's as if he never even existed to you, despite the fact that your very comparatively short presence in his life would leave an unforgettable impression on him for years to come. he fully entrusts you to this new lover of yours, may they treat you the way he could never have, ensure that the life you live would be filled with the joy he wishes he could've shared with you. he hopes more than anything that you're happy. your presence may be gone now like all the rest, but you'll never truly stop shining like gold in his memories.

#yes i also wrote this during the old. old ebg games for @/xiaophobic #i love you atlas #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #genshin zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin zhongli x you angst #genshin impact zhongli x you angst #`「❁」 flower.arrangements ❞#`「❁」 arrangement.bouquets ❞

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lowlights · 2 years

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Beyond the Trees - Love, Intertwined Prequel

Series summary: Once upon a time…no, that’s not how your fairy tale goes. Din might have saved you that fateful day, but he was no knight in shining beskar armor. But the universe has a funny way of pushing people apart and bringing them back together again.

Chapter summary: The origin story- how Din rescued you from a terrible life. But he's not the usual kind of savior.

Din Djarin x f!reader ; 2.5k words

Warnings: Din and reader are younger here, mid-20s. Star Wars cursing, violence (Din gets into it), a bar fight. Reader does NOT have a kind or easy existence. Many mentions of her sad backstory and also threats against her. She does not experience violence in this story. Please read on to I See You and I See Us for the happy ending, because I promise everyone deserves it.

Series Masterlist

Mando’s world was very black and white. He dealt in absolutes, in rights and wrongs, in Creeds and secrets and oaths. He kept his head down and made his way through the unforgiving galaxy, leaving anything behind that didn’t concern him.

Until you.

“Girl, get back in here. You’ve swept those steps long enough, come finish the rest of your karking chores!” Aldrick bellows from inside the poor excuse for a cantina, the only one for kilometers in any direction. You stare at the deep green trees that sway in the distance, thinking for the thousandth time how you wish you could run. Run through the trees and beyond, to anywhere that wasn’t here.

But you know you wouldn’t survive a day out there without supplies or weapons, and the cruel cantina owner made sure that you didn’t have access to any of that. Aldrick had “taken you in” when you were just a child in exchange for the relief of some old debt that your parents had accrued with the local spice runners. Everything on your tiny planet involved spice in some way. People were either running it, running to it, or running away from it. The world around you was chaotic and unsafe, and it forced you to grow up far too quickly.

You did your best to keep your head down and stay invisible, behavior that likely had kept you alive these twenty-some years. You were smart, a characteristic you tried to keep hidden for fear of being recruited, and you preferred to keep busy working at the cantina. At least Aldrick was unlikely to barter you off; you were too useful and obedient.

The devil you know, right?

Taking one last wistful glance at the trees, you step back into the shadows of the cantina and busy yourself running drinks to regulars who have never bothered to learn your name. Aldrick only called you “girl” (or something worse if he was in a particularly bad mood) and some days you think you’ve forgotten the pretty name your parents gave you.

After dropping off yet another ale of spotchka to a young spice runner who had taken up residence in the corner booth, you feel a chill creep up your spine as the cantina falls silent. You turn and look out of the corner of your eye, just enough to see a broad man in metal armor standing at the entrance. The light from outside silhouettes his form and casts a long shadow that almost touches your feet.

“No one here for you, Mandalorian,” Aldrick declares, tossing the dirty washcloth off of his shoulder as he steps out from behind the bar. You don’t know what a Mandalorian is but it doesn’t escape you how everyone in the cantina is slowly reaching for their weapons.

“Wrong,” the Mandalorian says with a slight tilt of his helmet. He drags his gaze across the room and you think he stops briefly on you before his visor settles on the young man in the corner. “Preeze Hatrusk, you’re coming with me.”

The young man stands up, a bit unsteady from the steady stream of spotchka, and hooks his thumbs in his belt. “Not a chance, Mandalorian. I got business that everyone in this here cantina benefits from, and they ain’t about to lose the source of their credits. You’d be well-advised to turn around and leave. While you still got all your limbs attached.”

The metal man says nothing, only pulling out a blinking disc that when pressed shows a spinning hologram of Hatrusk. A bounty puck.

Preeze smiles, a toothy grin under menacing dark eyes. “Well, how much am I worth, hm? I promise you, it ain’t worth the trouble you’re about to get into.” His hand inches towards the blaster in his belt, a little inelegantly given his intoxicated state.

The world around you freezes, every breath held as you all wait to see who breaks first. You’re exposed, far too close to Preeze for your own liking, but you’re afraid to move. You wonder if everyone else can hear how loud your heart is beating, or if it’s just you.

“Last chance.” The Mandalorian’s low voice makes you shiver.

“Eat druk, Mando.”

All hell breaks loose.

There’s shouting. Chairs fly. Someone knocks you to the ground. The Mandalorian struggles with Preeze who is reaching for his blaster that fell on the floor. Aldrick, who joined the fray, charges up to them with a chair lifted over his head.

“Mando, behind you!” you cry out. You hug your arms to your body and try to scoot out of the way as the Mandalorian kicks Aldrick’s legs out from under him. He crashes to the floor, cursing as Preeze elbows Mando in the neck before he and the rest of his gang scurry out of the cantina.

Mando, cursing himself in a language you don’t recognize, stands up slowly. Aldrick sees you huddled by a bar chair. “Girl, what in the karking hell is wrong with you? I’m going to beat you into next week, c’mere!” He lunges toward you and you brace for his impact.

The Mandalorian surges up out of nowhere, headbutting Aldrick and knocking him out before he hits the floor. You stare, open-mouthed, at his crumpled body next to you.

“Go home,” Mando commands, gathering up Preeze’s discarded blaster as well as some credits from an abandoned table.

You clear your throat, struggling to make words form. “This…this is home.”

Mando freezes. “He’s your father?” Your eyes are still on Aldrick, who is starting to stir.

Panic settles deep in your bones, and not for the first time. Aldrick is going to make you pay for all of this. “He’s my…he owns me. Please, he’s going to hurt me when he wakes up. Help me, please,” you beg, look at him where you think his eyes must be.

The man in the metal armor looks at Aldrick, then back to you. Your heart is pounding and tears are pouring down your face, silent and hot.

He considers you, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly. “Fine. Get your things and let’s go.”

“I don’t have any things,” you explain. You eye Aldrick who is starting to moan and shift on the ground.

“Great. Grab whatever credits he has and come with me.”

There’s no time to think, no time to process the consequences. You know where Aldrick keeps all of the credits, and you quickly steal the keycard from his pocket before hurrying back to the safe. You toss all of the credits - there are a lot of them - into a sack and run back out to the main room, where Mando is standing over Aldrick’s unmoving body.

“Wh-what? What happened?” you stutter, freezing in your tracks.

Mando holsters his blaster and reaches for your hand. “You’re right, he was going to hurt you. Time to go.”

You take his hand and leave your world behind.

The next few weeks are a blur.

The Mandalorian - who said to call him Mando when you gave him your name - found a safe planet with a tiny cottage and an owner looking to get off-world. Your half of the credits more than covered the expense, along with necessities like clothing and supplies, with plenty left over. Mando needed to make repairs on his aging ship, which he did in between the supply runs.

It was mostly quiet, and you didn’t mind it in the slightest. You weren’t used to freedom or the feeling of safety, and to say it was an adjustment was an understatement. Mando never made you feel unsafe, but he learned quickly not to make any sudden moves around you. You don’t know it, but his heart flinched every time he startled you.

Eventually, though, things calmed down. You got into a rhythm. Wake up, make breakfast, and leave a tray for Mando while you go out and work on the garden and tend to the seedlings that he had brought back for you. An old, wild Tooka-cat named Shankari that the owner said liked to hang around decided to adopt you, so you sit with her for a bit. The rest of the day is spent doing chores alongside Mando, who you are growing increasingly comfortable around.

Mando, in turn, becomes much more comfortable with you as well. You learn all about his culture and how he became a bounty hunter. He was still relatively new, just a handful of standard years in, and liked to tell you stories of his most stubborn bounties and how he bested them. This went on for weeks and weeks, and you start to wonder if there would be a time without your Mandalorian.

He always calls you by the pretty name your parents gave you.

One day, the clouds cover the usual sunshine and pour on you for weeks- this planet has a monsoon season. You’re stuck inside with Mando and swiftly run out of things to sweep or organize or clean. He watches you, helmet trained on your every move, but it never feels stifling. It’s a comfort to know someone is looking out for you, for once.

“You should rest,” he tells you one day as you knead yet another ball of dough that will soon be a loaf of bread.

“Rest?” you ask with a cocked eyebrow.

He nods. “Take advantage of the downtime. Rest. Conserve your energy. Never know what’s coming next. I’m leaving to get the last of the supplies that we need, I’ll be back in three days.”

You set the dough aside to rise, pack him a bundle of food, and try to take Mando’s advice.

It’s been five days since he left.

You rested for two days, enjoying the quiet rains and the books that the previous owner had left. On the third day, you got ready for Mando’s return. You turned down his bed, cooked up some soup, and waited.

And waited, and waited.

You had fallen asleep in the living room on day six, having taken up permanent residence by the window that looks out to the open field where Mando always lands his ship. Finally, that night when the moon rose high overhead, you hear the familiar metal screeches and whines and barely glance out the window before you’re throwing open the door and running at full speed to him. He’s hobbling down the ramp when you reach him.

“Oh my stars, Mando, what happened?” you demand to know, voice trembling and slightly too loud. Your question pierces the still night. You wrap your arms around him and he sinks into you as you help him hobble back to the house.

‘“Preeze Hatrusk and h-his men…they found me at a market the next planet over. I got out and I don’t think they followed me. But I need to g-get away from here. Just need to load up my supplies.” He barely got out the words as you helped him to the chair in the kitchen.

You immediately gather the medkit from the cupboard while Mando starts peeling off his armor and torn shirt. When you return back to him, he’s bare from the waist up (save for the helmet, of course) and you can see angry bruises forming around several mean-looking gashes.

Injuries were nothing new to you, having grown up in a cantina full of spice runners, and you set to work cleaning and bandaging. Mando doesn’t say much, instead just watching you quickly work on closing the deep gashes and applying a healing bacta cream with the lightest of touches. The bruises will remain for weeks still, but at least you can tell that he can breathe deeply again. You let your hand ghost over his chest, just to feel his heart beating steadily for a moment.

“Will they come looking for you here? For me?” you ask him in a quiet voice, hands thoughtfully tidying up the medkit.

“They don’t care about you, they don’t know that you took the credits. They think I did. They probably barely even remember you.”

A benefit of making yourself invisible, you think.

“Well, you can just hide out here, we don’t need supplies for a long time. They’ll forget about you, and the whole ordeal. We can just keep a low profile, that was the plan. Right?” you ask, settling into the chair next to him.

He says nothing, and by doing so says everything.

“No. No, please. I’m not…I can’t take care of myself,” you plead. An unseen weight blankets your body and you feel like you’re the one who can’t take a deep breath now.

Mando reaches out and rests his hand on yours. “Yes, you can. You’ve been taking care of us both since we got here. You’ll be alright. Safe.” He punctuates that last with a squeeze of his hand before removing it and standing up. You ache to feel his warm skin on yours for just a moment more.

He spends the next hour packing his things and loading up the ship. You want to help but he won’t let you, so you do the only thing you know to do: pack him some food. When you hand it over to him, he mutters a thank you and he pauses like he wants to say more, but instead turns around and boards the ship. He stops at the top of the loading plank and looks at you, hand hovering over the button to close the entrance.

“Mando?” you call out, “Will I see you again?”

He pauses for a long moment. “I hope so. When it’s safer.”

He gives you a nod and you nod back with a small smile. You hope it hides your heartbreak.

From the window you watch the ship finally take off, and look around the small cottage, your eyes settling on a bag in the middle of the table. You open it to find a massive pile of credits, and it occurs to you that this is what remains of Mando’s half of what you took from Aldrick.

“What in the kark is he thinking?” you ask aloud. You feel a brush of fur on your leg and hear a loud meow in response from Shankari.

Your heart is heavy and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified to be here alone, but it’s much better than where you were. Mando saved you from a terrible existence, and he didn’t have to. You owed him your life, and you hope you get to pay the debt to him one day. Somehow.

At least you’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.

You can do this.

A/N: Don't hate me. But Din has a LOT of growing to do.

#love intertwined #din djarin #young din #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x f!reader #prequel #it's angsty y'all #but it will be ok #the other parts are already up

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