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m0ther-of-p3arl · 1 year

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bad news on tv, black ink revives me

(robert aeor high au p2)

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hi and welcome to my mcyt high school au! if you haven't read part one, i highly suggest starting with that.

…Huh. That’s interesting. So there is a new student, and chances are, based on the chair seated ominously by his side, Scott has a class or two with him. He’s, annoyingly enough, slightly interested about this so-called “Timmy,” wonders what he looks like-

or Scott finds out there's a new kid at school, and can't stop thinking about who they might be.

TW: internalized homophobia, self hatred, anxiety, bullying

Robert Aeor High is an exceptional school, very upper-class, with most of the students living most of their lives in mansions, surrounded by everything they could ever need. Scott supposes he’s obliged to count himself in this number, though his friends, all mostly lower-class typical income people, say he’s nothing like them. But he has grown up in a mansion, and even his cold, sterile home is still a mansion.

Scott is by no means popular, in fact, quite the contrary. He tries as hard as he can to stay to the side of all the drama, to stay safe within his own little friend group, to stay hidden, to stay safe. Sometimes it’s hard to blend in, though, when someone’s singling you, specifically, out. Especially when that person is Xornoth.

Xornoth is that kid at school, the one everybody’s afraid of, the popular one, the one who has several henchmen that bend over to do zir bidding, the one who everyone seems to have a secret crush on. Ze’s a tiefling, like Owen, but where Owen is a prismatic tiefling, able to be born any color of the rainbow, from dusky blue to the pumpkin orange of Owen’s skin, Xornoth is a dark tiefling. Zir skin is a dark, almost glowing, purple, and zir massive, twisting goat horns at least three times bigger than the non threatening orange spikes that peek out from Owen’s hair.

Xornoth is one of the main reasons Scott’s begun to dread going to school almost as much as going home, especially now that their bullying’s extending to the level of legitimate harassment.

Xornoth seems to have a perverse obsession with touching Scott’s snakes.

A gorgon’s snakes are like an avian’s wings, or a tiefling’s horns, or a celestial’s tail: you simply don’t touch them. Xornoth’s way around this basic human decency, however, is that since Scott’s a hybrid, those rules just don’t apply to him. It’s never made much sense to Scott, as though he’s defective, he’s still a gorgon, still a person.

He has feelings, and that’s the one thing Xornoth seems to disregard the most.

“Scotty, come on, I just want to see how they feel,” ze purrs. Zir two henchmen, Joey and a boy who Scott only knows as “Sausage,” snicker under their breath, smirks ghosting across their faces.

“No, you can’t-” Scott begins, only to feel unwanted hands brushing roughly up against his snakes, the fingers calloused and groping. Scott shrinks away, disgusted. “What is wrong with you?! How would you like it if I touched your horns?”

“God, Major, what the hell? Why do they feel like ice?” Xornoth asks, completely disregarding Scott’s previous statement, reaching zir curious hand out towards his head again.

“One, my name is not Major. Two, you know why, you’ve known why since last year. Three, stop trying to touch my snakes. Now.” Scott’s slowly backing away, and he can feel himself beginning to shake. He hates unwanted touch, especially directed at his snakes, and he knows that if he doesn’t get away soon, he’ll have a full-on breakdown in the middle of the hallway. He’d never live it up then.

“Aww, he’s mad!” Xornoth snickers. “It’s just a question, Major. Be civil. Now, as much as I’d love to stay here and hang out with you all day-” Joey giggles under his breath, pushing his hand up to his mouth- “I’m afraid me and the boys have things to do. Arrivederci, Scotty Boy!” Xornoth waves cheekily, zir eyes cruel and calculating, knowing ze’s hit him in exactly the right spot.

Scott watches as ze sashays down the hall, one arm wrapped loosely around Joey’s shoulder as ze talks animatedly to Sausage, rude laughter cascading from the boy after Xornoth says something seemingly very funny, presumably about him.

He hates Xornoth almost as much as he hates himself.

Walking into his homeroom, Scott immediately notices that there’s an extra desk in the back row, right next to where he sits, alone, the furthest away from everyone he can get. He’s always chosen to sit in the far back corner whenever he can, because the less attention Scott gets, from students and teachers, the better it is for him. So the fact that now, there seems to be someone who’s sitting next to him? It doesn’t bode well.

What if whoever’s desk this happens to be another Xornoth, bent on tormenting Scott and making his life hell?

But as the students trickle into homeroom, the extra desk isn’t claimed, and Scott lets out a mental sigh of relief. Maybe it’s just a mistake, just a simple misunderstanding. Maybe it’s for a new person in a different class, someone who doesn’t share Scott’s homeroom, but instead has this class for math or something. That sounds plausible, and if Scott’s honest with himself, he’s slightly disappointed. There’s always a possibility that any given new person will be attractive, and Scott is in dire need of a boyfriend.

The thought slips out before he can stop himself, and immediately, he starts to spiral.

No. No, no, no, nonononono- he’s not supposed to think that, that isn’t allowed- Scott’s disgusting for even letting that thought breach his mind, he’s not gay, he can’t be gay, but he knows he is and that’s the worst part- Scott can feel the breakdown from before pressing even harder in the back of his skull, because from his dream father, his real life father, Xornoth being absolutely horrendous, and now a reminder of one of the many ways he’s utterly repulsive inside and out, it’s just too much for him to take.

Scott needs to talk to Shelby, the main therapist of their group, because though she doesn’t know that he’s gay (disgusting) she knows about the other things, like his father and Xornoth. Scott’s not ready to tell anyone other than Owen that he’s gay (revolting) yet, if ever. He’ll try as hard as he can to beat it out.

He whips out his phone and pulls up the group chat, making sure to prop up his textbook to hide the fact that he’s texting, as Mr Jau is very particular about that kind of thing. It doesn’t seem like anyone’s on right now, however, which is…not optimal for Scott.

And if he can’t talk to Shelby, he needs to find a distraction. But then he remembers he’ll see Shubble next period anyway, and even if he can’t find something else to focus on, he should be able to make it the ten minutes before homeroom’s over and the real school day begins.

He’s just scrolling through his notifs now, finding a few from his mutuals, rolling his eyes affectionately at the crazed reposts of fanart. Then he notices that in the absence of him and Owen while they were walking to school, Joel and Shelby (the bus riders of the group), have been talking about something. Scott knows it’s wrong to snoop, but like, they put whatever they were talking about on the group chat, so they must have meant him to see it, right?

And now that Scott knows there’s something to know, he absolutely has to do a bit of “detective work.”

He scrolls to his last sent message, a hasty gn love yall xx that he had typed out before his father had come into his room for his nightly inspection of Scott last night, and reads from there. Owen, Joel, and Shelby hadn’t stayed long after he’d gone, trickling away at about eleven, which leaves him with a slight pang of relief that he hasn’t missed anything. The conversation had resumed this morning, while he and Owen were walking to school.

He really doesn’t have much to do, and he’s secretly very curious what they were talking about, so he begins to scroll through the texts.

thesmallbeans: hey shelby you there

shubbleshrubble: heyo joel :)

thesmallbeans: did you see, there’s a new kid?

shubbleshrubble: wdym, i dont go on your bus ofc not you idiot

thesmallbeans: shut up your short you cant talk but yeah, there’s like a new guy, hes got wings so i think hes an avian

thesmallbeans: he’s sitting a few seats in front of me he got on the stop after mine

shubbleshrubble: huh we havent had a new student in a while much less an avian arent they rare? I think grians the only avian at school right?

thesmallbeans: FOR GOODNESS SAKES shubble YES theyre rare do you pay NO attention during species studies?!?!

shubbleshrubble: ummmmmm

shubbleshrubble: anywayyyy

thesmallbeans: also no hes not the only one you’ve forgotten about beks

shubbleshrubble: oh right beky but shes a year lower so why would i remember her

thesmallbeans: i remembered her and i have like the worst memory arent gnomes suppotsed to be all wise and remembering things?????

shubbleshrubble: shut up joel

shubbleshrubble: im super smart you dont know anything about me

shubbleshrubble: im a mystery ;)

thesmallbeans: uh huh. sure

shubbleshrubble: oh shush

shubbleshrubble: anyway what does this new kid look like??

thesmallbeans: hes blonde and his wings are like bright yellow, hes pretty tall for an avian, blue eyes and hes wearing the girls uniform

thesmallbeans: like the one with the skirt i mean

shubbleshrubble: huh

shubbleshrubble: do you konw his name

thesmallbeans: i think its timmy or something like that

thesmallbeans: oop bus pulling up gtg cya @ school

STOP IT, SCOTT. STOP. It’s the second time this morning and two more times than he can handle. He tries to convince himself the reason he’s so intrigued by this turn of events is because the new kid is a rarer species, because he’s supposedly tall for an avian, because he seems like an interesting person, choosing to wear the skirt uniform and all that. There are times when Scott wishes that he could wear it himself, but of course, his father would never condone such an unmanly outfit.

He slides his phone back into his pocket, closing the textbook and pushing it back into his desk as someone walks into the room, and Scott cranes his head forwards, because is it him, is it the new boy?

Scott flumps back into his seat, realizing it’s only Joel. He suppresses a sigh; he should have known not to get his hopes up, but an avian? They’re the least-common sentient species, having been hunted to extinction for their wings by other species, most noticeably the seafolk.

Their small stature and group nesting habits make them a predictable and easy to target people, and hundreds of avians are murdered each day, from the owls to the penguins to the canaries. It would be so interesting to meet a new avian, someone who seems to be neither an owl, like Beks, the one in the year below, or Grian, who’s a parrot.

Scott tries to convince himself this is the reason he’s interested.

But he realizes he’s been unfair, as Joel is never “only” Joel. He’s a celestial, and a sky celestial at that, so he’s almost inherently gorgeous, as well as extremely fucking tall. His light blue skin ripples with white cloud-like spots, his hair dark brown shot with a green streak that’s always reminded Scott of lighting, tied back into a short ponytail. A green laurel tattoo snakes down Joel’s right arm, his smooth, jewel-covered tail snaking along the floor behind him.

He stands at almost eleven feet, and he hasn’t stopped growing yet. Scott’s been friends with Joel for the longest time out of any of his closest companions, their friendship dating back to fourth grade, when Scott had nicked a few of Joel’s pencils during class. He’d thought he’d gotten off scot free (heh heh), but he’d been met at his locker by a glowering Joel, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

Joel had been eight feet tall even then, and had picked up Scott by the scruff of his neck and put him on top of the lockers “to teach him a lesson,” in the celestial’s own words. But he had come back not five minutes later and brought Scott down, offering a profuse apology and saying he was working on “not being a menace.” They’ve been friends ever since.

Joel saunters across the room, taking his spot in the corner behind Scott, as he’s too tall for any desk this school has to offer. “Hey, Scott,” he grins in that cocky Joel way of his, “What’s up?”

“Eh, not much, you?” Scott asks, smiling back at him.

“Oh, you know, just…stuff.” He waves his hands vaguely, and Scott has to duck to avoid being backhanded by the unchecked limbs. “Hey, by the way, have you seen Lizzie today?” Joel’s eyes begin to go misty thinking about his not-so-secret crush. Scott’s pretty sure she’s completely oblivious of Joel’s affections, and he doesn’t know how that’s possible, but seafolk are notably fuzzy-minded when kept away from the ocean for an extended amount of time, so that probably explains why.

But Joel’s crush is still so glaringly obvious that even with how much Lizzie’s brain must be muffled, Scott can’t imagine how she hasn’t noticed so far.

“No, I haven’t, why?” Scott decides it’s best to humor Joel, to let him go on and on about Lizzie and how her hair cascades off her head and how pink it is and how much she looks like an axolotl with those frills that surround her neck and how her skin is so blue but not sky blue like Joel’s, blue like the ocean deep and dark, blue like the ocean Lizzie calls home. All Scott has to do is offer a few “mhm”s and nods, and Joel will be happy. Scott’s learned long ago that this is the best way to deal with Joel, because when he has something to talk about, ye gods, he will talk.

“By the way, Joel,” Scott says, interrupting a detailed and decidedly very sappy description of how Lizzie’s eyes glitter in the sunlight, “Can you tell me more about that new kid who goes on your bus? I saw your texts.”

Joel looks slightly miffed that he’s been cut off, but diverts his attention to Scott nonetheless. That’s a first. “Uh, sure, what do you want to know?”

“For starters, you said he was an avian? What kind?” Scott leans forward, chin resting on his hands.

“Um, something with bright yellow wings? Like, almost solid yellow, no patterns.” Joel’s disinterested, staring off into the distance, almost certainly mooning over Lizzie, though silently this time (thank god).

“Joel,” Scott chastises admonishingly. “Now who doesn’t pay attention in species studies? The only avian types with solid yellow wings are canaries and some parrots- did the new kid have more upwards pointing or downwards pointing ear feathers?”

“Downwards pointing, I think,” Joel answers, “They were all fluffed out, though. His wing feathers too.”

“Okay, so he’s a canary,” Scott realizes, ripples running down his spine. “And the fluffed feathers means he was nervous. And understandably, starting a new school and all that? That’s a lot to take in at once. You said his name was Timmy?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Joel’s squinting, as if trying to find the answer off in the distance somewhere. “But I can’t be sure, he said his name kinda quietly when the bus driver asked what it was. Hey, why are you so interested in this new kid anyway?”

“Oh, no real reason,” Scott hastily reassures. “Avians are just so rare, though, and the canary bit is interesting too- they’re the least common avian type of all, and isn’t there a proverb about canaries being the harbingers of death?”

“Maybe,” Joel mutters, clearly not really engaging with the conversation. “I don’t really know- can I go back to talking about Lizzie now?”

Scott rolls his eyes and half-holds in an exasperated sigh. “Sure, Joel. Go straight ahead.” Scott’s still only half-listening, the rest of his mind wondering about the new kid; an avian, and a canary? That’s an interesting combination, Scott thinks, especially since, as he’s already stated, canaries in particular are one of the rarest avian types.

The more he thinks about it, the more interested he is in this new student, and before he knows it, the bell has rung and he’s off to math. Waving goodbye to Joel, who stays in homeroom for his next class, Scott weaves his way through the hallways crowded to the brim with students of all species. Friends are snickering and chatting animatedly in little groups of three about the newest gossip or newest episode of their favorite series or loudly bragging about how gay they are.

Scott smirks dryly at that last one, his secret still held close to his chest. He’s so caught up in his own mind that he doesn’t notice where he’s going, and someone collides directly into his chest, causing him to stagger back a couple steps.

Now, Scott is by no means tall, landing squarely at around five and a half feet, but whoever’s collided with him is a significant bit shorter, by at least four inches, given the feel of it. This weirdly short person mutters a stammered apology, ducking behind Scott before he can get a good look at them, and by the time he’s craned his head back to try to catch a glimpse of his mysterious offender, they’re gone.

Scott doesn’t even notice the feather laying right at his feet as he rolls his eyes and enters his science class, the bright yellow plume flying up, up, up to the ceiling under the scuff of his feet, landing on the rafters far above the crowded mass below.

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alarawriting · 4 years

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52 Project #24: The Princesses and the Peas

(Inspired by a post on Tumblr and if I can ever find it again I will link it here.)

(Not proofread, beta’ed, or even read through a second time because this is massively late and if I don’t post within the next hour it will officially be next week everywhere in the United States and I will have failed in my mission. I’ll try to re-read and proofread and edit next week. Also this note is highly unprofessional, but I learned my relationship to my audience through fanfic, so this is how I roll.)

***

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, almost but not entirely like this one, of the queen who sought the perfect wife for her son, the crown prince.

The queen had ruled the land alone since the death of her husband. She was praised for her wisdom and her benevolence toward her people. But she was no longer young, and it was time to make sure her son made a politically beneficial marriage, to strengthen his position when it came time for him to take the crown. Many in the land whispered that the young man would make a terrible king, and wanted him to abdicate in favor of his younger sister, who was beautiful and bright and smiling. Celia, the young sister, could look anyone in the eye and make them believe that in that moment, they were the most important person in her world. Arien, the prince… could not do that.

The prince had a talent for mathematics, and it had expressed itself very young. Some said he should be the chancellor of the exchequer rather than the king. But Queen Leyta knew her son would make a compassionate and wise ruler as well as a prudent one. He also had a gift for seeing the humanity behind the numbers he calculated, of being able to think of the impact they would have on the people he would one day rule.

Once, when he was a child of six, his nursemaid lost him. Leyta found him behind the kitchens, picking through the garbage bins to find table scraps. She would have punished the kitchen staff for allowing such a thing, but Arien insisted that she should not. “It’s not their fault, Mother. I ordered them to let me, and I’m the prince, so they had to obey me. I told them that if you became angry at them I would tell you that they were only obeying my orders. They can’t get in trouble for obeying their liege.”

Leyta sighed. She could punish them for obeying their liege, when their liege was 6 and the thing he wanted to do was eat garbage, but she wouldn’t, because she knew why they obeyed. When the prince was thwarted, he would ask why. And if he received an answer, he would argue with it and present his position. Sometimes, this debate would lead to him accepting the necessity, and calmly going about his business, seeming to forget all about what he’d asked. More often, if he didn’t get an answer to “why”, or he didn’t like the answer and thought it didn’t make sense, and he was still thwarted, he would start to scream and hide under tables, or scream and run around and break things, or scream and slam his head into the wall, and he wouldn’t stop even when offered the thing he wanted. It was very, very hard to calm him once he started shrieking. So instead of punishing the kitchen staff, she asked Arien, “Why were you eating garbage?”

“Our food is bought with the taxes we take from the people,” he said seriously. “If we wasted less food, we wouldn’t have to tax the people as sorely as we do, and they would have more money to buy things for themselves.”

So she took him aside and told him that the scraps were fed to the dogs, who helped the palace huntsmen bring down game, or the goats and fowl, who gave the palace milk, meat and eggs, or they were tilled into the ground to make the fields around the palace more fruitful. They did not, in fact, go to waste; food that wasn’t wholesome for humans to eat could still feed animals, who would turn it back into wholesome food.

Then she had a lengthy discussion with him about tax policy, and listened gravely to his suggestions as to how they could ease the burdens on the people, and told him what the problems with his ideas were. And when some of his ideas didn’t have significant problems, she told him so, and discussed them with him, and even implemented a few as policy.

Arien also had a great love for bugs. He spent much of his days wandering the grounds, sketching every insect he saw, capturing some to study them and figure out what they ate. When Leyta learned of this, she found a learned scholar of insects, and hired him to be Arien’s tutor in the matter of insects, only. The man was at first openly resentful of being required to work with a small child, assuming that Arien would be a spoiled princeling with no real interest in learning, but when he discovered Arien’s love for the tiny creatures, he embraced the boy wholeheartedly and tutored him as well as he could.

The prince had few friends. He was open and innocent, happy to make friends with any child close to his own age, but the honest children who truly wanted a playmate were put off by Arien’s tendency to talk about bugs and math almost constantly. The children who put up with Arien’s chatter were, to Leyta’s eyes, obviously coached by ambitious mothers, pretending to friendship with the strange young prince to improve their position at court. She arranged for most of these children to be sent away – either their mothers dismissed, or the family sent to one of the crown’s holdings with some duty to perform or another. Arien was saddened by the disappearance of his playmates, since he didn’t realize they saw him as mere stepping stones to power. Celia knew, and would comfort her brother as well as she could… but she didn’t have a lot of patience for math, tax policy, and insects either.

As he grew up, Arien continued to display a strange mixture of wisdom and childishness. He would run around the palace grounds, playing with children far younger than he was, and they were not old enough to try to manipulate him, so Queen Leyta left them alone. He enjoyed riding his horse and taking care of it, and was often found at the stables, for he believed his horse needed to cared for in just the exact way he did it, and he didn’t trust the stablehands to follow his instructions exactly. He would spend hours discussing the politics of the land and the problems facing various groups of his subjects with Leyta and her own advisors, and then he would scream and throw himself on the floor at dinner because a chef had put visible onions in his soup, and he would need to be put to bed with his favorite blanket and a knitted doll of a dog that he’d had when he was four.

People said that the boy was touched in the head, that he was slightly mad, and also, that a future king who threw temper tantrums over onions was not to be trusted. But they weren’t, exactly, tantrums, as Leyta saw them. They didn’t stop when the problem was solved, they usually didn’t include demands – in fact, usually it was hard to get the prince to explain what was wrong, because he seemed to lose much of his ability to speak when these fits came on him. And she could see in his eyes that he was terrified and overwhelmed, not angry and demanding. Arien needed the world to work a certain way, and when it did not, it left him adrift, frightened and lost in a world that seemed to make no sense to him anymore.

Some of these ways that the world needed to work involved food, and the importance of not being able to see onions, for an onion large enough to see was large enough to crunch in his mouth in a way that apparently was so disgusting it would make him lose his ability to eat all day. There were similar rules regarding peppers, and certain cream dishes. Other ways the world needed to work regarded his mother’s advisors treating him like their future king, not in terms of obsequious deference but in terms of actually listening to his ideas and explaining things to him – even when he was merely eight. And then there was the care of animals – his own animals needed to be cared for in an exact way, and if he saw anyone being cruel to an animal, he might actually become violent to that person. The same was true of stronger people being cruel to weaker ones. When he was fourteen, he heard a maid crying, and asked a kitchen maid to find out for him what had happened. And then, when he learned that a nobleman under his roof had ill used her and cast her aside, he went to his mother and demanded the man be whipped for his crimes. The political explanations she gave for why that couldn’t be done fell on deaf ears; he was a cruel man and he’d harmed someone he had power over, and that was all Arien cared about. Leyta only managed to satisfy him by sending the man on a probably futile sea expedition to try to find a cheaper source of rice.

This was the boy that Queen Leyta had to find a proper bride for.

Her mother-in-law, the Dowager Queen, had ideas, but it had been many years since the Dowager Queen had actually held any power; she was one of Leyta’s advisors now, nothing more. So the idea would have to be one that Leyta agreed with, herself.

A ball to introduce eligible young women with powerful families to the prince? No. The prince didn’t handle crowds or parties well, or meeting a lot of new people in one evening.

A series of daytime salons, where a small group of eligible women would converse over luncheon with the prince? No. That was still too many people and the prince was self-conscious about people watching him eat.

Individual visits from each eligible young lady and her chaperones, to the palace, to meet with Arien, and also to be approved by Leyta? Yes! An excellent idea. Leyta had her secretary write up the invitations, to all the young women whose parents had written to her or the Dowager to express an interest.

In the palace was a suite of rooms that had been Leyta’s, once, when she’d lived in this palace to learn its ways before marrying the then-prince. She had that suite cleaned and prepared for the guests. Sleeping quarters to either side for the princess’s guards. Ladies-in-waiting to sleep in the antechamber outside the princess’s bedroom. And inside the princess’s bedroom, a bed heaped with several thick eiderdown duvets and pillows, incredibly soft, with sheets made from the finest linens.

And under the second eiderdown duvet, dried peas.

Queen Leyta tested the peas. When she sat on the bed, she couldn’t feel them. If she laid in the bed, she could barely tell they were there. But when she had Arien try it, he said, “You’re going to take them out before the guests come, right? The peas make the bed much too uncomfortable.”

“The peas,” Leyta said, “are to test whether a girl is right for you or not. It’s magic.”

Arien looked at her skeptically, unsure whether he believed in magic or not. “How are dried peas supposed to find me the right wife?”

“Magic,” Leyta said. “I can’t tell you exactly how it works. But it’s very important that you not tell them about the peas, or the magic won’t work.”

“Mother, I’m sixteen. I’m not a child. This whole story sounds ridiculous.”

“All right,” Leyta admitted. “It’s not magic, but I won’t be able to explain it to you until after it’s proven that it works, or doesn’t. But it is very important that you not tell any of your guests about it.”

Arien looked like he wanted to argue some more about it. Leyta said, “Trust me,” and he sighed, plainly remembering the number of times his mother had stood up for him or had come up with some scheme to help him.

“All right, Mother, but I’ll want that explanation afterwards.”

The Dowager Queen had her own theories. “You want to see if they can tell the peas are there?”

“To a certain extent,” Leyta said.

“You know that old wives’ tale about princesses being true and refined if they’re extremely sensitive is just a myth. I wasn’t a fragile flower who’d lose petals if you looked at her hard, and neither were you. And neither will Celia be.”

“I know that, Mother,” Leyta said – it was custom to address your mother-in-law as Mother, and Leyta’s own mother had died shortly after her wedding. The Dowager Queen had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had the entire time she was Queen. “I’m not testing for extreme skin sensitivity. Trust me.”

“It’d be hard for him to get an heir on a princess that fragile, don’t you think?” The Dowager chortled.

Leyta sighed. “No need to be crude about it. I have my reasons, and I’ll explain them to you, eventually. Let’s see if it works, first.”

***

The first princess was from the west. She had long straight hair and delicate-looking eyes with folded lids that left them shaped like almonds, rather than the eggs that the people of this realm wore in their face. She had pale creamy skin with a golden undertone, and she was demure and very polite, her etiquette perfect. She sat with Arien for hours, smiling at him with a face that expressed great interest, as he explained to her the complexities of life in a beehive.

In the morning, Leyta asked her, “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, wonderfully,” the princess said. “The bed was perfect! So soft! Your hospitality is wonderful.” She bowed her head.

Leyta saw her and her entourage off. When she returned, she asked Arien, “What did you think of her?”

“She was nice,” Arien said. “She listened to me. I’ve only had a few friends who listened to me, and they all moved away.”

Privately, without Arien present, the Dowager asked, “So what’s your verdict?”

“Unless none of them pass the test, she’s a no.”

***

The second princess was from the land immediately to the north. Her skin was tree- brown but as smooth as a tranquil lake, her hair floating around her head in a soft, curly cloud. Arien talked to her about beetles. She made excuses of not feeling well about half an hour into the beetle discussion.

When Leyta asked her how she slept, she said, “Your rooms are very nice. And the food last night was excellent, I’m so sorry I had to cut the evening short. But I feel fully rejuvenated today.”

Arien said, “She seemed okay, but she kept looking around while I was talking to her, so much that I think she gave herself motion sickness. I think that’s why she got sick.”

Leyta said to the Dowager, “A definite no.”

***

The third princess was from the far south. She had beautiful straight golden hair, cut short and asymmetrically, where it was shorter in the back than front and where it was parted on one side rather than in the middle.

She complained about her soup being cold. She complained about her roast beef being too bloody. She complained that the dessert course had small portions and also that it was too sweet. She screamed at servants for not bringing her wet towels for wiping her hands quickly enough and for refilling her wine glass too quickly. She insisted on talking to the seneschal about the servants who had served her, demanding that they be banished from the castle for incompetence. When Arien tried to talk to her, her demeanor was sweet, but every time he tried to talk to her about something he liked, she insisted that he show her another part of the castle. She made plans for room redecoration as if she had already become Arien’s queen.

In the morning, she was sickly sweet with Leyta, saying it was only a minor thing, really, but surely more competent servants could be found to make the bed? It was extremely lumpy. Leyta found out that she’d woken the chambermaids at 1 in the morning to demand an additional five featherbeds piled on top of hers.

Arien didn’t look at his mother. “Um… I don’t want to be impolite, but… I didn’t like her very much.”

The Dowager Queen said, “Please don’t tell me you’re considering that young harridan just because she could tell there were peas in the bed.”

“Oh, no. Not even for a moment,” said Leyta, and drew her quill through the name “Princess Carinna” on the list.

***

The fourth princess was actually the daughter of a powerful merchant, not an actual princess at all. She had deeply tanned skin and thick black hair, and beautiful dark eyes. She and Arien talked for hours about tax policy and accounting techniques, and she seemed genuinely interested.

She said the bed had been wonderful, and there was nothing wrong with it. Arien liked her. But Queen Leyta marked her as a provisional choice, the first on the list if no one passed her test.

***

And so it went with princess after princess. Most of them showed at least some slight sign of impatience when Arien monopolized the conversation, but none of them admitted to it, and few even tried to change the topic. No others were as rude as Carinna. No others admitted to detecting the peas, either. Leyta was on the verge of contacting the merchant to make an offer for his daughter to wed Arien. And then Princess Inaya arrived.

Princess Inaya was from further north than the second princess had been, her skin darker and her hair in braids that lay directly against her head, with ribbons and beads woven into them at the bottom. She didn’t look Leyta in the eye – or anyone else, really, keeping her head bowed demurely. She picked at her food, more or less eating only the potatoes, and she barely spoke… until she met with Arien.

He offered, diffidently, to show her the garden, and she accepted. He started to point out interesting bugs that he saw in the garden… and she began to point out interesting rocks. They soon began an animated conversation that sounded to Leyta more like two separate threads, where Arien would say a sentence or two about insects, then yield to Inaya, who would say a sentence or two about rocks. Sometimes they had a genuine back-and-forth when they talked about the habitats of pillbugs, who lived under rocks, or other areas where rocks and insects somehow intersected. Arien showed Inaya the notebook where he drew bugs and made his observations, and Inaya seemed to be thrilled with his artistic skill. She showed him her own notebook, with no art at all, where she wrote down the properties of rocks she had discovered and outlined the tests she did on stones to see what they were made of. Arien was fascinated with the efforts she’d gone to and how thoroughly she’d documented her findings; he’d never thought of doing anything to research the insects aside from looking them up in his tutor’s books.

At no point did she ever look Arien in the eye. At no point did he seem to care. He relaxed enough with Inaya to flap his hands when he grew excited; Inaya had a chain of polished stones that, instead of wearing around her neck, she tossed in the air as she paced.

In the morning, when Leyta asked Inaya how she slept, she squirmed.

“I, um. The bed was mostly very nice. Very good linens, nice soft down. But, uh. It felt like maybe there were… tiny pebbles in there somewhere? I’m not sure, I didn’t want to be rude and strip down the bed to look, but, uh. It was kind of uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Leyta said.

She made arrangements to ask Arien his opinion before Inaya’s entourage left, this time. He spoke very simply. “I love her. Pick her, she’s the one.”

“I thought you would say that,” Leyta said, and she finished drafting the offer to Inaya’s parents, and signed it. “Take this to her lady-in-waiting before they leave, to give to Inaya’s parents.”

“I can’t!” Arien said, looking all around. “I can’t be the one to do it because I have to give her a parting gift if I see her and I don’t have any nice rocks!”

So Leyta gave him a bracelet with a large inset opal, and smaller jades all around it. “Take this to her and tell her which kinds of stones are in it, and tell her she can wear it as a bracelet if she wants, or take it apart for the stones, whichever she prefers.”

Later she heard that Inaya collapsed on the ground crying when he made the offer, but that her lady-in-waiting reassured Arien that this wasn’t abnormal – that she did this whenever her emotions were too strong to control, even if they were happy emotions. Inaya confirmed that she was crying from relief and joy, because she had always thought that no man would ever want to marry her and if one did, he would hate her rocks and want her to do normal womanly things like embroidery or something, which she wasn’t good at in the slightest because her coordination was bad and she was always poking the needle into the wrong place, and she had never imagined that she would ever find a man who understood her and didn’t demand that she look in his eyes and liked to listen to her talk about what she loved. Then Arien asked her very gravely if she liked hugs, because most of the time he didn’t like hugs, especially when they were a surprise, but if she would like a hug he really wanted to give her one. They hugged, and declared mutual love (“as far as I can define the feeling of love, anyway,” Inaya said, “because I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, so how can I know for sure that that’s what this is?” Arien had agreed with her, but said “I think that even if what we’re feeling isn’t the same kind of thing as other people feel when they’re in love, it’s close enough that we can use the same word, because who wants to have to make up a new word?” And then they spent several minutes amusing each other to the point of hysterical laughter in making up new words that sounded ridiculous, sometimes repeating them to each other ten or a dozen times.) When Inaya finally had to leave, Arien cried.

Leyta wasn’t there for any of that, but her spies were everywhere in the castle.

***

When the Dowager demanded that she explain her test, Leyta summoned Arien, who had washed his face so it looked more as if he had had a terrible runny nose and sneezes than that he’d been crying.

“You asked me about what it would prove, to put peas in the bed,” Leyta said, “and I was looking for two things, but one was more important than the other.”

“What were you looking for?” Arien asked.

“Arien… you know that you’re a special young man, and different in some ways than other people your age. I’ve consulted with many scholars. Children like you are often strangely sensitive to things that other people don’t notice… often to the point where it’s unpleasant. Such as your feelings about onions.”

He shuddered. “Please do not remind me of the existence of those devil vegetables.”

Leyta laughed. The Dowager scowled. Leyta knew she preferred that a king, or a crown prince who’d just been betrothed, have a serious demeanor. She also knew that Arien would be who he was, no matter what anyone asked him to be.

“So I thought, the peas might be noticeable to some of the girls, but they would be especially notable to a girl who was like Arien. More importantly, if a girl noticed it but claimed she didn’t… Arien, I know you are often taken off guard by lies, and you’re a very honest man yourself. I know you would prefer a wife who will tell you when something makes her unhappy, rather than her trying to guess how you feel about it and then telling you what she thinks you want to hear.”

Arien nodded. “Nobody can see inside someone else’s mind, so why would anyone even do that?”

“I wanted a girl who would be honest about something she found unpleasant, even if she had to offend her host to admit it. But, obviously, kindness and compassion and a lack of malice about it were necessary as well… we don’t want a Carinna anywhere near the rulership of the kingdom.”

“You can say that again,” Arien said. Leyta suspected he was setting her up so she could tell a joke.

“But I won’t, because I know you heard it the first time,” she said, smiling.

The Dowager frowned. “So you picked a girl who has the same kinds of problems as Arien? Was that wise? The kingdom may need rulers who understand the idea of telling lies when they must, who can be charming and adept with politics. I thought you’d pick a girl who would cover Arien’s weaknesses, not one with the same issues.”

“Your son understood me,” Leyta said simply. “It was an arranged marriage, but we quickly grew to love each other, because we respected and we understood each other. I don’t want the kingdom to have a queen who resents her husband because she thinks he’s strange… who may play politics behind the scenes to have him killed so she can take power. Or who takes lovers, so we don’t know if the royal blood is even in the heirs. It’s more important to me that Arien’s wife respects him and understands him, and that he understands and respects her, than to have rulers who can detect all the subterranean undercurrents of a conversation. That’s what spymasters are for… and Dowager mothers and grandmothers, and perhaps even younger sisters.”

“Mother,” Arien said, “thank you. I know the people think I’m strange, and maybe I am, but you’ve always watched out for me. I didn’t even know I needed to find a wife who wouldn’t lie to protect my feelings until you pointed it out, and now it’s obvious.” He looked at the Dowager. “And Grandmother, Inaya does complement me. I understand mathematics, and finance, and things like that. She was trained by her parents to understand logistics, so she could run the castle, but she went deeper with it; she understands things about what kind of weather will do things to the crops and what will happen to the farmers when that occurs, things I never even thought about asking. Together I think she and I can make our country one of the most prosperous and happy nations in the world.”

***

And so it came to be. Prince Arien and Princess Inaya were wed in a lovely ceremony that they immediately fled to go on their honeymoon as soon as the marriage vows were taken. They understood the economics of the nation, and other nations, as few kings and queens ever did, and when they needed someone to tell them that someone else was lying, they had the Dowager Leyta and Princess Celia. The country prospered as it never had before, with no beggars on the streets of the cities, because the King and Queen gave homes to those who had none, and living expenses to those too sick or weak or lacking in some ability so that they couldn’t work.

It would be a lie to say they lived happily ever after, because no human can be happy all the time, and they had arguments and problems in their relationship from time to time. But even Arien the Honest and his Queen would agree that we can say they lived mostly happily for the rest of their lives.

#52 project #i'm late! i'm late!#fairy tales #autism #altered tales #the writer is autistic

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imaginethatneathuh · 3 years

Text

The Chariot: Technical Boy - American Gods

Technical Boy x partner!reader, romantic

Technical Boy loves you and needs to hear your voice. You think you've lost him when he doesn't come home for months.

Part of @dragon430’s Tarot Troop.

TW/CW: Perceived death, fear, loss.

Word count: 1.7+ K

•

The young god sat on the steps of Xie Comm. His phone turnt on, displaying your number in his contact list. He hovered over the call button.

It had been a week since you had talked to each other. He’d been ignoring you and when you brought it up, he snapped. He'll admit, he shouldn't have, but World had been pressuring him and the war was just fucking everything up. Before Wednesday decided on war, the tech god already had a strained relationship with World. After, it only got worse and that did nothing to help your relationship.

Technical Boy pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear. He needed to hear your voice, even if you were still rightly upset.

It rang. Once, twice, thrice. You didn't pick up.

At home, you were playing music on the telly and cooking. The phone rang in the living room, but you didn't hear it.

"If it isn't important, go away. If you're T or an employer, leave a voicemail."

He chuckled.

It wasn't you, just a recording, but it was enough to give him a little morale boost.

"Y/N, hey. It's me, um, T. I wanted to say I'm sorry for snapping at you and ignoring you. It was a dick move. I love you, baby. A lot. I, uh, I need you to know that. If I'm still around by the end of this, I'm gonna come home to you. I'll bring you your favourites and we can do whatever you want. If I'm not there by 9, tonight, I'm sorry. I love you. *chuckles* I haven't said that enough but I really do. You're my heart. You keep me sane and I love you for that. I'm confident I'll see you tonight and when I do, I'll apologize properly."

He hung up, breathing heavily.

He would see you tonight. He would apologize. He would tell you to your face how much he loved you.

Putting his phone away, Technical Boy looked at the infinity symbol-shaped behind him and sighed.

He would come back to you.

•

Panting heavily, the god took a moment to catch his breath. His back was pressed against the cold wall, eyes closed. The soft buzzing of his phone in his pocket pulled him out of his head. Quietly, he prayed it wasn't New Media calling to taunt him about his failure.

When he pulled it out, he stared.

It was you. You were calling him back.

He answered and listened for you.

"Hey, T? Are you there?" You asked.

After he regained his composure, he smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

"Love, are you okay? You sound out of breath. And your voicemail- It scared me. Is everything okay?"

"I love you." It's all he could think to say. He needed you to know that more than anything else.

"I know, love. You made that pretty clear in your voicemail," you said, picking at your lips. "I love you, too. But, are you okay?"

"I don't know if I'm going to make it home to you. I’m sorry," he mumbled. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A flash of New Media. "I've got to go, baby. I love you so much. No matter what happens, I always will."

"I love you, too. But-"

Not allowing you to finish, he hung up and started running again.

He had to get away from World and New Media. He had to get away from this building. And, most importantly, he had to get home to you.

But, as soon as he saw that box next to the stairs, he knew he wasn't going to make it back.

His last conscious thought was of you. It was of knowing you would be up late, waiting for him, terrified for him. It was of your tears and mourning. It was of you, eventually, knowing he wasn’t coming back and that you lost him and he lost you.

•

You stayed quiet, your phone still pressed to your ear.

He hung up on you. If you weren't so worried about him, you'd be mad.

Over the several years you'd been together, he only hung up when it was important or he was pissed. The fear in his voice, the heavy breathing, the way he spoke and what he spoke about. Whatever World had done was bad. Or maybe it was what he was going to do. Either way, you couldn't help but feel dread, knowing that if -- no -- when Technical Boy came back, something would be wrong. Maybe he would be injured or afraid. Maybe he'd even be half-dead.

Quietly, you tucked your phone away and walked to the living room.

It was quiet now. You'd shut the music off so you could talk with your partner but that didn't take as long as you thought it would. It felt eerily silent like a phone line going dead. That dull, constant buzzing in your ear but instead of that, there was simply nothing. The silence was somehow worse.

The window that faced the street let light in and the heater was on, but it felt darker and colder than it should. You sat on the sofa under that window, staring out. You'd wait as long as you had to to see him again. He'd come home eventually. He had to.

•

Months after he was supposed to be back, you still waited for him. Always to 9, like clockwork. Sometimes, you'd wait longer. Hoping, praying, for your lost love to return. You didn't let it interfere with daily life, but the thought of him never left you.

Now, you laid on the sofa, the one under the window. It was almost 9. Almost time to go to bed. Almost another day without him. Something told you to stay a little longer tonight. That something had pestered you before, but now, it screamed.

Pushing up to sit, you laid your arms on the top of the sofa and laid your head on top of those.

The soft, orange lights of the lamp posts flickered before shutting off. Which was strange since it was almost nine at night without a sliver of the sun to be found.

You straightened, head tilting to the side.

Technical Boy crossed your mind. But you pushed the hope aside. It had been months of silence. If he was okay, he would have shown up far sooner. It was probably just a technical malfunction or something. Still, your mind wandered to him, to his smile and laugh, to his silly hair and eccentric clothes, to the way he held you and the way he'd snuggle up to you when he needed to, to the way you'd bicker about silliest things but always talk about the big ones.

The thoughts of your love hurt, crushing your heart as you remembered all the good, the bad, and the ugly of being with the tech god.

You hadn't noticed the tears streaming down your face until they fell almost all the way down. You wiped them away, sighing.

He was gone, likely for good, and you were finally weeping for him and what you had lost. After months, you'd realized he wasn't coming back to you. That he couldn't. That he was gone for now and forever.

•

Shutting the curtains, you wiped more tears away. The soft cloth of the sofa enticed you to stay. You didn't have the will to say no so you pulled the blanket from the top and wrapped it around yourself. In a way, it was like you were still waiting for him to come home.

Just as you'd gotten comfortable, a knock came to your door.

Your first thought was to ignore it. Whoever it was was probably a creep. Come on, who starts knocking at doors at 9 at night? Serial killers, that's who.

But, the person was insistent so much so that you tore away your blanket and got off the sofa.

"I'm fucking coming, alright. Jeez," you said, storming to your front door.

You threw it open, ready to give whoever it was a good, stern talking to. But, maybe you shouldn't have if it was a murderer.

All your anger dissipated at the sight of the knocker.

It was him. It was your Technical Boy.

•

You gawked before covering your mouth.

He smiled, pained. "Hey," he said.

You stepped out, not believing your eyes.

Was it really him? Was he here now? Was this really your Technical Boy?

He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it took me this long to get back to you. I didn't mean--"

You cut him off with a tight hug, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

He froze in shock.

The god had expected many things. Yelling, hitting, you slamming the door in his face. But, he hadn't expected this. When he calculated the probability of various reactions, hugging was very low. A 0.82% chance, to be exact. It was higher than a kiss but still incredibly low.

Finally, he settled his arms around you, holding you as tight as he could. It was like he was afraid you'd slip from his grasp.

You breathed his scent in, a mix of his cologne and vape. Over the last while, you'd forgotten it. You'd forgotten a lot. Like how big he was, how soft his skin was, and how warm he was against you. You never wanted to forget any of that ever again.

Your own heart thudded in your chest.

This was real. He was real. But you had to make sure. Maybe you had fallen asleep and this was just a dream. A cruel, cruel dream.

You pulled away, tears falling.

"Hey," he whispered, brushing away your tears. "Please, don't do that. If you cry, I'm going to start crying."

You laughed and smiled at him.

It couldn't be a dream. Dreams never made sense. They were never accurate for you. But this, he was. Maybe his hair was shorter and his clothes screaming a little less, but it was him. It was your Technical Boy.

You reached for him, cupping his cheek. "T?" It came out like a sob.

His hand held yours as he nuzzled into it, kissing your palm. "It's me. I promise."

Overwhelmed with joy, you kissed him, placing your other hand on his other cheek. It's forcefulness left your lover stunned but he quickly reciprocated, bringing you closer.

You panted hard as you broke away, pressing your forehead against his.

"I love you," you said.

He grinned. "I love you, too."

#american gods #american gods fanfiction #tarot troop #technical boy #technical boy x reader

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theeasternempress · 3 years

Text

Sugar, Spice, and Everything (Not So) Nice

Summary - Omega wishes she could apologize to the Bad Batch for causing trouble so when Cut suggests that she makes them something as a gift, she knows exactly what to do.

Word count - 2.6k

AO3

Omega had never felt more ashamed in her life. She had thought she was doing the right thing by getting the ball for Jek and Shaeeah but once Hunter had yelled at her, she knew it was wrong. She heard Wrecker say something to her, but didn’t register what he said as Cut picked her up and began to carry her to the Havoc Marauder.

She could hear Cut speaking in a soft, comforting voice, but Omega missed what he was saying as she was putting all of her focus into not crying. All she could hear was Hunter’s words repeating over and over in her head, each time bringing more tears to her eyes until they began dripping down her cheeks as they finally entered the ship.

Even though she did her best to hide her sobs, Cut noticed the crying girl against his shoulder and slightly adjusted his hold on her in order to run a comforting hand up and down her back.

“It’s alright, Omega,” Cut spoke softly, “You’re safe and didn’t get hurt. Everything is fine.”

“It’s not, though,” she replied in a muffled, tear-strained voice, “Hunter is mad at me and he’s going to bring me back to Kamino. I don’t want to go back there, I want to stay with them.”

Cut set Omega down in the pilot’s seat and spoke, “I promise you that Hunter was only upset because he was worried about you. He didn’t want you to get hurt, and that’s why he yelled at you. He’s not going to bring you back to Kamino, okay?”

Cut wiped Omega’s tears away as he let her catch her breath in order to respond.

“I still want to say sorry to Hunter, though. To all of the Bad Batch. Do you think if I say sorry that they’ll forgive me?” Omega asked, voice still shaky.

With a smile, Cut responded, “Of course they’ll forgive you. You know, when Shaeeah and Jek misbehave and want to say sorry, sometimes they’ll make something for Suu and I as an apology. Maybe you should try that too.”

Omega perked up at Cut’s words, the perfect idea popping in her head. She remembered once reading on her datapad that as a gift, adults would sometimes cook something for their friends to show their appreciation for them. Omega had never cooked anything before, but she figured now would be the perfect time to start.

Omega surged forward and wrapped her arms around Cut, mumbling a muffled, “Thank you,” into his chest. Cut hugged her back, running a hand through her hair, and replied, “No problem, kiddo. I’ll leave you to make your gift, alright? Come back to the house if you need anything.”

Cut left the ship and Omega immediately began scurrying around the ship for everything edible she could find into the cockpit to begin working on her dish. She was disappointed to find mostly liquid things on the ship, but she figured a drink would be just as special as a meal.

She started by dumping a bottle of water into the electric kettle she saw Echo use yesterday to heat some water for his tea. He told her that he drank tea to calm his nerves, but Omega had a feeling that wasn’t the whole truth.

Once the water was boiling, she poured it into the biggest metal bowl she could find, only splashing a little bit onto the floor. Her next step was to crumble in a ration bar. Hunter had said that they were allowed to have three rations a day and since she hadn’t had hers yet, she figured it was fine to mix one in. The ration dissolved almost as soon as it touched the boiling water, turning the water a dirty brown color.

Since this was a gift for the group, Omega figured that Hunter wouldn’t mind if she added another ration bar into the mix. The second bar dissolved slower than the first, but it dissolved faster when Omega stirred it around with a metal spoon she had found, enjoying watching the mixture spin around. Omega felt a big smile growing on her face, knowing that her gift was coming along perfectly.

Omega had found something called “beef jerky” stored in one of the cabinets and although she didn’t like the little piece of it she had tried, she figured the rest of the group would. Even though she struggled to tear it up, Omega eventually had a good-sized pile to dump into the bowl.

The final two ingredients were what Omega was most excited about: a bottle of blue milk she took from the cooler and an oddly shaped bottle of an orange liquid that she found stored under Crosshair’s bunk.

Blue milk was one of her favorite treats, but it was something that Nala Se only gave to her when she had been extremely well-behaved, which wasn’t too often. Omega was tempted to take a sip, but decided against it. After all, this was a gift for her new friends and she had to make sure it was perfect.

The blue milk only turned the bowl’s contents a darker brown, but Omega knew that the Bad Batch wouldn’t care about the color. She stirred it around with the spoon again and smiled to herself.

Crosshair’s bottle was the only thing she didn’t recognize and was most curious about. She swirled the liquid around in the bottle and tipped it around, contently watching the liquid move around in the glass bottle. After a minute or so, she stopped playing with the liquid and focused back on her task. Still curious, Omega twisted the top off of the bottle and smelled it. She instantly recoiled at the smell and gagged. The scent was strong and lingered in her nostrils. She has never smelled anything quite like it, but it smelled faintly like the disinfectants used in the medical wing on Kamino.

Even though Omega didn’t like the smell of the liquid, she figured that the Bad Batch must have liked it if they allowed Crosshair to keep a bottle of it under his bed. Still, she decided she would only add a little bit just in case they shared the same opinion as her.

She began to tip the liquid in and as soon as the orange liquid touched the surface, it began to bubble up and turn the brightest pink Omega had ever seen. Omega gasped and stopped pouring in order to admire the concoction she had created. Omega stirred it but as she did so, the color faded and it returned to the dirty brown that it had been previously.

Omega sighed, disappointed to see the pretty color disappear. Once she had the idea that if she just added more of the orange liquid and didn’t stir it that the color would stay the same, she giddily dumped in more of the bottle’s contents. The pink color returned and Omega’s smile grew, happy with her gift. Now all that was left was giving her present to the Bad Batch.

Wrecker had to admit it; he was bored without Crosshair or Omega with him. Crosshair was the only one of his brothers who could put up with his antics while Omega was the one who joined him in said antics. Still, he understood that she had gotten scared and wanted to stay on the ship. Crosshair was a whole different story, but now wasn’t the time to think of his lost brother.

Just as he was about to get up to help Suu and the kids in the garden, Omega came through the open front door with her arms wrapped around a giant bowl. She was clearly walking with careful, calculated steps as to not spill whatever was in the bowl.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Wrecker spoke in a cheerful voice, “What have you been up to?”

Wrecker carefully took the bowl from Omega’s outstretched arms and placed it on the table he was sitting at, not bothering to look at the contents and instead focusing his attention on the girl in front of him.

“I made you all an apology gift to say that I’m sorry for going after the ball earlier. Cut said I should make you something to apologize, so that’s what I did!” Omega exclaimed, a happy tone to her voice.

Wrecker smiled and ruffled her hair, “Aw, you didn’t have to do that for us, kiddo. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Omega smiled back at him before turning around to start looking for four serving glasses. While Omega had her back turned, Wrecker took the chance to take a look at what Omega had made for them. The bright pink liquid seemed inviting, but he patiently waited for Omega to return before he tried it.

Omega hurried back over with four glasses precariously stacked on top of each other and asked, “Where is everyone else?”

Wrecker helped Omega set the glasses on the table and replied, “Hunter went into town with Cut, but I don’t know where Tech and Echo are. Probably aren’t too far, though.”

Omega simply nodded and dipped a glass into the bowl to fill it before handing it off to Wrecker.

“Try it!” she exclaimed, clearly excited for him to take a sip.

“Try it, kid? Watch this!” Wrecker replied with a loud laugh. He emptied the contents of the glass into his mouth and tried to swallow it all in one gulp, but the flavor of the drink hit him before he could. He didn’t expect the drink to taste bad at all, but he found himself almost unable to swallow it due to the horrible flavor. It was like the saltiest alcohol he had ever had, but with chunks of something in there as well. He urged himself to swallow and managed to do so, but the taste lingered in his mouth.

“Well, what did you think?” Omega asked, clearly excited to hear his answer.

Wrecker smiled weakly and replied, “You’re something else, kiddo. You’ve gotta get the other three to try this stuff.”

A sweet smile grew across Omega’s face as she rushed out the door, calling for Echo and Tech. It may have been cruel to subject his brothers to the same thing he had, but if it would make Omega happy, then he was sure they would follow through with it.

Once Wrecker was sure Omega was out of hearing range, he rushed over to the sink to fill his glass with water. Wrecker had to down three glasses before the taste was gone from his mouth.

He managed to return to his seat just as Omega was dragging Tech and Echo through the door, standing in the middle of them and holding each brother by the hand.

“-and Wrecker liked it, so I’m sure you both will too!” Omega exclaimed, dropping their hands and filling up two glasses for them.

“Thanks for this, kid,” Echo said before taking a sip. Echo’s face puckered and even though he tried to hide his dislike for the drink from Omega, Wrecker could see it clearly.

“Omega,” Tech began in his usual questioning tone, “What exactly is in this drink?”

“Water, two ration bars, something called beef jerky, blue milk, and an orange liquid I found under Crosshair’s bed,” she listed off.

Tech’s eyes widened behind his goggles but upon seeing how Omega was staring up at him, he took a hesitant sip. A moment later, his face was puckered exactly the same as Echo’s.

Hearing her laugh and smile at both of them, Echo and Tech both took another sip of the vile drink and tried to hide their disgust with fake smiles.

Echo set his glass down and kneeled in front of Omega, “Listen, we’re all very grateful that you made this for us, but the drink that you took from under Crosshair’s bed is something that isn’t meant for children. Did you drink any of it?”

Omega shook her head profusely and replied, “I didn’t like how it smelled, but I thought it was something adults like, so that’s why I used it. Was I wrong to use it?”

“No, it wasn’t wrong, but you shouldn’t use it again, okay?” Echo told her.

“Hey, the kid’s allowed to let us drink Crosshair’s alcohol whenever she wants. He never would share with us, anyway,” Wrecker replied.

“Yes, that’s because your drunk self somehow manages to cause more chaos than a stampeding herd of Banthas, Wrecker. We learned not to let you get drunk very quickly,” Tech said, staring at the drink in his hand and swirling it in circles.

The three of them managed to entertain Omega for another hour, Echo and Tech both occasionally taking sips of their drink when Omega was looking at them, before Hunter walked in the door.

Hunter tensed up for a moment at the sight of Omega, but then took a deep breath. He had been brewing in inner turmoil since he had yelled at her a few hours ago but judging by the smile spread across her face at the sight of him, he figured that his words were long forgotten. Still, he needed to apologize.

Omega ran over to him, mouth open as if to say something before Hunter interrupted, “Hey kid, I gotta tell you something. It was wrong of me to yell at you earlier today, I’m sorry I did that. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Omega smiled at him and grabbed his hand, “It’s okay Hunter, I’m sorry too. But I made you all an apology gift as a way to say sorry!”

Omega began pulling Hunter to the table where his three brothers were sitting. Hunter gave a confused look to Echo, who only motioned to the bowl in the middle of the table. Omega dipped a glass into whatever was in the bowl and handed it over to him.

“Here, try it! Everyone else has liked it, but Wrecker liked it the best,” Omega told him, watching him excitedly. Hunter looked to his brothers, but all of them refused to make eye contact with him. He could tell Wrecker was trying to suppress a smile, but Echo and Tech hid their expressions from him.

Hunter raised the suspiciously pink liquid to his mouth and could immediately smell that something was off with it, but he took a small sip to appease Omega. Despite taking as small a sip as possible, the horrid flavor of the drink still flooded Hunter’s mouth. He was close to gagging, but the hopeful look on Omega’s face instantly suppressed the urge.

Hunter coughed into his hand and smacked his chest with his fist a few times before plastering a smile on his face and saying, “Apology gift accepted, kid.”

Omega smiled up at him and laughed happily, “I’m so glad you all enjoyed it! I’m gonna go tell Cut that his idea worked!”

The moment Omega was out of sight, Hunter turned to his brothers and asked, “What did she put in that?”

Tech adjusted his goggles, “Water, two ration bars, beef jerky, blue milk, and some of the alcohol Crosshair got on Julca. I suggest we dispose of the remaining liquid before anyone else gets into it.”

The four brothers eventually decided to add a little bit to the bottom of the glasses to make it look like they drank all of Omega’s concoction before dumping the rest down the sink.

While no words were spoken between the four brothers during this act, they had all silently come to the same conclusion: Omega definitely fit in with the Bad Batch.

#The Bad Batch #tbb #Omega #Hunter #Echo #Tech #Wrecker #Omega is embracing her weird little girl side and I love her for it #tbb omega #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #my writing

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

Disney villains as Yanderes

These are yandere headcanons for Genderbent! Cruella de Ville, Genderbent! Ursula, Genderbent! Maleficent, Shan Yu, Hades, Humann!Scar and Human! Shere Khan. Also, try to imagine them the way they look in fanart rather than the Disney movies I find that helps a lot

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Cruella de Ville

Cruella is just the most sadistic yandere you'll ever meet, his treatment of his darling is only slightly better than his treatment of those poor pups. He keeps her chained up in his room, forcing her to wear the most decorative monochrome collar with the heaviest iron leash, limiting the poor darling's movement.

But his tournament is just beginning. For some sick, demented reason Cruella just loves to humiliate his "little puppy". He'll make you eat and drink from a bowl on the ground, make you sit at his feet begging to his attention if you want something. It's disgracing, soul-crushing even, but for him it's power! It shows that he controls all aspects of your meaningless life. It's the ultimate proof that YOU BELONG TO HIM.

"Little puppy what is it that you want?..."

There are days -few and scattered- where the wicked man can be almost called nice. He won't start treating you like a human being but more like the favorite pet instead of some runt. On these sacred days, he'll have you sit on his lap as he sketches out a new design, sometimes even drawing a cute dress or skirt for you to wear. On days where he's feeling generous, days where you've proved that you are indeed his sweet little pet. Cruella will take you to the outside world, a place your memory can just barely recall. The two of you will spend the day shopping through the luxury boutiques. The black and white-haired man will make you try on everything that catches his eye, he may be cruel but he's not unreasonable he always wants his cute puppy to look their best.

"...You better be ready to beg for it."

Ursula

Ursula is so so manipulative to the point where talking to him becomes an exhausting task. He's so good with words, twisted every single word until it better serves him. At the end of any conversation, you're left bewildered, trying to retrace your words to find just how you got here.

The sea witch had no need to kidnap his beloved darling all he had to do was speak. Through radiating words, he promises you all that your heart desires. He promises a straight forward easy contract but instead, you're given nothing but misery, locked away forever in his somber cave.

"You poor unfortunate soul tell me...."

Even if you do try and escape, Urusal will just send his lackeys to retrieve you, they are even given the pleasure of "toying" with you a bit. Leaving little nibble marks along your arms, drawing a bit of blood along the way but never anything too devastating no that pleasure is left for Urusal and Urusal alone.

The Cecelia's punishments are harsh, they aren't exactly painful...it's more the gut wrenching feeling of guilt and fear that Urusal is able to install in you that makes them particularly fearsome. No matter what you are being punished for, the end is always the same. Somehow cruel heartless Urusal is always the innocent victims while you are the ungrateful, conniving leech that is never satisfied. Poor Urusal just gives and gives wishing only a loving companion in return but what do you do? You run away! Throw a tantrum breaking some of his rare potions just because he was looking out for your safety and wouldn't let you go out. He should chop off your tail! Leave you on land to shrivel up and die!... Oh but he just can't bear losing his little lover! Maybe just for once, he'll just lock you up in a cage made from megalodon teeth, a tiny punishment for your huge crime!

"...Tell me what it is your heart desires?"

Maleficent

The dark fae is a rather caring protective, who is very lucid about the predicament of his relationship with his darling. He knows that they don't love him, he knows that he stole them away from their old life, he knows. But he's just so good at justifying his actions! He took you from the company of those humans because they are all corrupt! They hurt all that is pure in this world! It's just better if he keeps you locked up in his castle far away from those monsters!

Now unlike the majority of the Disney Villian, Maleficent isn't cruel or sadistic. The only reason he kidnapped his darling is to keep them safe! Why would he do anything that could jeopardize their happiness and safety! No, no Maleficent would never find amusement in your pain, never lay a hand on you cause you latched out. If ever the need arises where he had to punish you, then he'll lock you up in the dungeons. A couple of days alone in darkness will have you behaving like the sweet innocent lover that he wants!

"I love you (y/n)..."

At some point, after a great deal of time has passed from your kidnapping, Maleficent will grant you the freedom to roam around the castle. There is still the lingering rule for his darling to never step foot outside even when Maleficent is with them. But that -along with most things- is just a countermeasure to keep them safe!

".....No power on earth can change that!"

All in all, Maleficent is one of the better yandere to have, he's caring to the point where he seals every door and windows so nothing dangerous can get in, he's overprotective to the point of following you around everywhere, he's loving to the point where he's willing to submerge you in endless darkness just so you see his perspective! Yes! All so very loving! And very soon you will see it that way too.

Hades

The god of the underworld is a very bizarre mix, he's possessive, so very possessive that he probably killed you himself! Just so you could never leave him! But at the same time, he's very delusional, seeing your murder as less of a crime and more of a romantic gesture akin to marriage.

Hades' love for his darling is so sick and twisted that some may not even call it love! It's just pure mania! One minute the fiery god is cooing at you, complimenting how gorgeous you look in the black toga he got you. The next he's screaming, hair burning a staking red as he yells about how quiet and cold you're being! How you don't love him as much as he loves! Truth is Hades' doesn't want your love exactly, better yet he doesn't know what love is. He just wants you to be as obsessed with him as he is with you!

"Look (y/n) this whole relationship this is easy!...."

Hades' punishments are also very fierce. The lord of the dead gets offended quickly! The slightest offense can drive him into a mad rage!

He'll do practically anything to teach his darling a lesson, from burning them to disembodying them and then stitching them back together. The idea of inflicting pain is just so enjoyable to him! The thought that he has full control over how you feel! Oh, how he loves "playing" with you controlling your every move.

Eventually, Hades' darling will get so used to his temperamental moods and sadistic behavior that they just end up not caring. He's going to burn your right arm until it's limb? Okay, cool is that before or after your date to Skopelos? Oh, he's threatening to feed you to Cerberus? That's fine just don't forget I want Tomatokeftedes for dinner. Not much really fazes you at this point.

"You just got to make me the center of your world and ba-bing ba-boom we're an official couple!"

Scar

it's always blood and guts with him

always screams of agony and frustration

always his word above all else

always him

Scar is one of the worst yanderes, cause he can make pain feel like nostalgic, welcoming even. With only a few sugar-laced words he can turn your own mind against you. He's cruel and calculating never permitting you to do the smallest thing for yourself. If you want something you have bat your eyes and beg real nicely so he'll consider ordering someone to do it for you. It's such a rare, practically precious accurate if Scar ever decides to do anything even remotely nice for you. If ever he fetches you your or dress you or even toss you a gift. You will have to treasure those moments.

" Be prepared (y/n)..."

Everything is a quid pro quo with him, the black-haired man never does anything out of the kindness of his heart. He makes you thank him for the simplest of things like letting you eat, or giving you a bed to sleep in.

Despite how horribly Scar treats his darling he still expects them to love him unconditionally. He wants to be the only thing his darling thinks. In a rather twisted way, he really does try to prove that he loves you, even if it's though scratch marks that are just a little too deep to be considered "scratched" or love bites that draw too much blood. He does love you, you know he does!...or maybe it's all just a mind game.

"....For I shall always remain your king!"

Shan Yu

Shan Yu borders somewhere between protective and obsessive. he knows his darling can protect herself, they're strong, capable, but the truth of the matter is he doesn't want them to! He wants you to depend on him, to make him feel wanted. It's very likely that his darling is a soldier in his army (from what I've heard women from the Hun tribes could join the army) which permits him to start a "casual affair with them. It's nothing at first, a passe time between fleeting moments of peace. But it turns dark quickly when he notices them "flirting" with some other soldiers, touching them, smiling at them, things she should only be doing with him!

He doesn't so much kidnap his darling as "claim" them either through a straightforward declaration to his tropes or through "love marks" that he leaves over their body. It's a sudden kind of thing, one moment is preparing for battle-ready to strike down anyone that stands in their way the next they are being dragged to Shan Yu's tent and being told they aren't permitted to fight anymore!

"I tire of your arrogance, (y/n)..."

Shan Yu isn't exactly cruel per se...he's just a tad bit aggressive. He takes every tiny disobedience as a sign of rebellion! And he's more than willing to strangle the resistance out of you. He hates to punish you, hates to see you in any form of pain but how else is he going to get you to be his trusty loving darling?!

At some point, he'll let his darling on the battlefield, only for battles he knows for certain that his team will win. Shan Yu adores the way his darling gracefully swings their blade at anything in sight! Cutting enemies with practiced elegance and wearing their blood like a dress made from the finest silk.

"....You belong to me why can't you just accept that?"

Shere Khan

(Fun fact his name translates to "Lion King" in Persian. Shere being the direct translation of lion and Khan being a prefix (such as majesty) to a king or ruler. )

Shere Khan is a complex yandere and can't really be nailed to a specific "type" he's protective of his darling, willing to kill anyone that so much as looks at them wrong. On the other hand, he himself adores tormenting his darling. Sometimes it's just flirting, making them flustered, other times it's raking his claw-like nails over every inch of their body until they're a bloody mess. Then there's just how obsessed he is with his darling, how they infiltrate his mind every second of every day. Even when the poor man is asleep all they can think of his lover.

The important thing to remember about Shere Khan is that he doesn't mean any malice, he doesn't do what he does out of spite or hatred but rather for both love and "fun", he's a bit like a puppy that doesn't understand that biting his harmful and instead sees it as a game. "hurting" his lover is just claiming them, heck Khan will be thrilled if his darling left their own marks on his body.

"No matter how fast you run..."

Khan is a rather cold lover, never really showing you much of his emotions, he's secretive, quiet. But he makes up for that with the gift that he buys his darling. Khan insists that his darling always dresses in the most lavish, flowing dresses. They must always look their best, after all, he deserves only the best.

There are times when he'll be nicer towards his darling taking them out for walks or maybe even cuddling with them. He does love the feeling of warmth that his darling radiates. His favorite thing to do his lay down in the sun with his arms wrapped tightly around his lover and just drift off to sleep.

"..I Will always find you!"

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imagine-that · 4 years

Text

You silently pull yourself through the open window one foot after the other, just barely grazing the windowsill with your bare ankle.

Just as you think you’ve not only managed to get in but also managed to do so with grace, the cuff of your jeans snags on a screw by the window. You tug on your ankle desperately until somehow you pull with too much force and go tumbling to the floor.

“Damn it.” You curse under your breath as you quickly get back up to your feet.

You take a quick look around you, checking your surroundings. When all you see is pristine, perfect organization and no other people, you quickly make your way across the floor and grab the door handle carefully, opening it and slipping into the hall, shutting it back to its initial position as best you can.

You take a brisk walk down the hallway and open up another door and breath a sigh of relief when you see a massive wall filled with dozens of hats. You slip through the doorway and let your fingertips feel the brim of one, admiring the craftsmanship.

Too mesmerized, hypnotized even, you pick it up and place it on your head, though you aren’t fully certain what possessed you to do so.

“Well well. What have we here?” A voice says and you freeze in place, unsure what else you could do.

“Quite the collection you have here.” You comment, nodding to the numerous hats and trying to keep your cool.

He merely moves closer in response. “I believe this is what some would call breaking and entering. I should tell you, I know the local sheriff.” He warns, taking another slow and calculated step towards you.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” You scoff, still making no efforts to face the mystery man. “Everyone knows everyone in Storybrook, it’s kind of hard not to.” You add, smiling to yourself at the thought of not knowing basically everyone in town.

“Ah well I have a feeling she would particularly remember the man who tried to kidnap her.” He says with ease.

You whip around in alarm, the hat still perched on top of your mess of y/h/c hair and your smile fallen and find yourself being backed into a wall.

“I believe that belongs to me.” He says in a low, seductive voice with a lazy grin of his own. “Though it does appear to look much better on you.” He adds smoothly, looking you up and down with the same grin still on his face.

He moves in even closer and you back away, your back hitting the wall as his arm reaches out and he delicately plucks the hat off, settling it back onto his own head.

He slowly moves his hand back towards your face, pushing whisps of your hair behind your ear lightly, his fingertips gently grazing your jawline as he does so. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look right at him.

“Now, I’d like to know what kind of a person breaks into this place when I have had people who nearly died trying to get out.” He says, looking you up and down slowly with a quizzical look.

“The fact that you kidnap people doesn’t scare me psycho.” You inform him stubbornly, yanking your face away from his grasp.

He goes into a low and dark laugh, sounding even more unhinged, something you didn’t realize was possible. “I am not crazy, alright darling?” He insists, a new sharpness to his voice.

“But of course you are.” You say, crossing your arms and keeping your distance.

He jumps up in anger, grabbing a pair of scissors off the table and rushing at you, shoving you against the wall.

“I. Am not. Crazy.” He tells you, his teeth grinding together in fury.

“Alright. Maybe you’re just mad then.” You say, shrugging, you current position of extremely close proximity of no bother to you.

He looks at you in shock, taken aback. He nearly drops the shining silver scissors to the ground.

“What’d you say?” He asks quietly, a suddenly more soft expression replacing the angry one.

“I said mad. Am I right about that Hatter?” You ask with a grin of your own.

“How- what- who are you?” He demands, clearly confused.

“I’d tell you but I kind of like to introduce myself when I’m not pinned against a wall.” You respond, raising a challenging eyebrow with a smile.

He hesitantly backs away but keeps the scissors tightly in hand.

“Why thank you.” You say, taking his hat off his head and bowing with a flourish and tip of the hat before standing straight and placing it back on your own head. “Y/n’s the name.” You tell him.

“Truly a wonderful name for a wonderful person I suppose.” He says with a devilish smirk.

“Do you do that often? Change from mad to charming? It’s intriguing, truly.” You remark, leaning back against his work desk.

“Nevermind that. My name is Jefferson. Now, explain why you’re in my home?” He asks, toying with one of the unfinished hats on the table.

“Alright I suppose I could. Long story short, I’m from wonderland. I was trapped there for a long, long time. My sister wasn’t. She was off by the sea or something. Then, this curse or whatever it is happens and I end up here in Storybrook, basically knowing exactly who I am when it seems no one else does.” You explain with a tired sigh.

You’d gone over the story in your head over and over and over but you felt it seemed more crazy everytime. You feared no one but Henry would ever believe you but here you were.

“It would seem we’re in a similar situation.” He says with a small, bitter laugh. When he notices your intrigued expression, he sighs. “My daughter.... Grace... she was in the enchanted forest waiting for me to return. the evil queen fooled me and left me there for the queen of hearts to deal with.” He elaborates. You nod a bit.

“I know the queen of hearts well. She’s a certain kind of evil.” You tell him, shuddering a bit at the name.

“Don’t I know it.” He mutters. You raise an eyebrow and he pulls down the collar of his shirt without hesitation, refusing to meet your gaze. “Off with his head.” He laughs to himself as he makes his impression of the wicked queen of hearts.

You let your eyes trail the scar going all around his neck and scoff in somewhat disbelief. “She did that to you?” You ask and when he nods sullenly you feel yourself fill with all kinds of rage. “She is a cruel and heartless woman. That I definitely remember.” You growl, sneering at the mere thought of her.

“Yes true but it’s alright I lived. And besides, now I’m here and this seems much worse than having my head chopped off so at least there’s a bright side!” He says with another crazy laugh.

You feel yourself giggling a bit too, unable to help the grin spreading across your face.

“You definitely live up to the name, I’ll tell you that much.” You say with a shake of your head.

He takes a playful bow, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’m glad. But if you’re from wonderland, who are you? In the... stories I mean.” He asks, gritting his teeth at the word stories.

“I’m surprised you can’t tell from the smile.” You quip with a smirk.

“Ah. The Cheshire Cat then, I presume?” He asks, smirking right back as you nod.

“Didn’t you say you had a sister? Is she also a cat in the fairytale world then?” He asks curiously.

“No she isn’t. Just me. I’m almost like Ruby is in that world. She can change into a wolf involuntarily but I change into a cat whenever I want. It can be quite useful.” You explain with a small shrug.

“Ruby?” He questions and you smile in disbelief.

“Do you not leave this place ever? Never met anyone else?” You ask, fully interested in learning more about the mystery of a man in front of you.

“No, I’d rather not deal with Regina or with seeing my daughter with another family.” He informs you, looking out the window thoughtfully.

“Jefferson, it’s understandable but at some point, you have to leave to be able to get your daughter back.” You inform him and you take quick notice to the smile on his face when you say his name.

“At some point, maybe. But not now. Sorry darling.” He responds with a sad smile. “Now, why exactly did you decide to come and crawl through a second story window in my house kitten?” He asks with another grin.

You feel yourself blushing heavily at the nicknames.

“I came for a hat to get home but clearly if you had it you wouldn’t be here.” You say with a sigh.

“That is correct. I have yet to find my way home, sadly, though I suppose some may call me lucky to have a prison such as this one.” He says with another smirk as he gestures around the room for emphasis.

“Regina is a cruel, cruel woman. I do hope you’re returned to your daughter soon.” You murmur as you stand up, pulling the beautifully crafted tophat off your head.

He looks at you in a mix of surprise, confusion and sadness.

He pushes himself off the wall and saunters over to you, still watching your every movement longingly.

“And where exactly are you going? Not giving up, I hope.” He asks with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m going home.” You tell him, placing the hat into his hands. “It’s been a long day.” You add with grin.

You turn to walk away but he jumps in front of you.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He says nervously. You watch him, amused. He carefully places the hat back on your head and tips it off to the side a bit. “Much better. As I said, it suits you. And as you said, I have plenty.” He remarks as he steps back slightly, admiring the view.

You let out a laugh. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I’ll wear it as often as possible.” You promise as you stand on your toes, placing a quick, delicate kiss on his cheek.

At first, he looks absolutely stunned. Then thrilled. Then he looks hungry for more. And he is, so you learn when he leans in and pushes his lips onto yours, desperately deepening the kiss. You follow his movements, melting into him.

He’s the first to pull away, proving to you once again that he’s unpredictable and full of tricks up his sleeves.

“To think I nearly killed you thief.” He says with a small smirk.

You feel a grin bigger than you’d ever had, even as the Cheshire Cat, spreading across your face.

“That would’ve been an absolute shame. For both of us. Especially considering I didn’t technically steal anything. Except maybe your heart of course.” You respond teasingly and he chuckles a bit.

You turn on your heel, walk towards the door and stop abruptly in the doorway.

“Oh and Jefferson?” You say, looking back at him.

“Yes y/n?” He asks, clearly a little hopeful that you’ll stay, which you find absolutely adorable.

“I’ll be back.” You promise. And then you smirk. “We have a home to get back to.” You add, blowing a kiss to him.

He grins and you grin back, tip your hat to him with a dramatic flair as you know he probably would in this situation and walk out the door.

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marchioness-caprina · 3 years

Text

Swapped

{ Part 3 }

Read ; {Part 1} , { Part 2}

Pairings : Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Warnings : Cussing

Writing style : 3rd Person

Word Count 1843

3rd Person's POV

" I thought we were going out to patrol again" Uraraka muttered and a majority of the class nodded in agreement.

They were supposedly going to the agencies they were training under to do their daily rounds of patrol but a sudden shift of their schedule got all of them gathered in Ground Beta for another suprise Physical Test Exercise.

" You were supposed to but unfortunately; a Villain attack happened near the train station and it caused damage on the tracks. It won't be fixed until Tomorrow. Meaning you're all stuck here doing 'Kiddy stuff' " Aizawa replied in his usual bored tone; hands buried inside his pockets as his shoulders sagged. The dark circle under his eyes were clear indication that he didn't get any sleep last night.

" Aww But sens--"

" Stop complaining. If you wanna be a Hero then you got to take it slow, Don't rush things. Plus... You don't see me complaining when I have to put up with all of you... " Aizawa Cut Sato off as he rubbed his temples " And dealing with all of you is not an easy job" He grumbled the last part and everyone picked up on his mood and just shut up.

" So... What exercise are we supposed to be doing today? " Momo questioned and everyone seemed to be interested in what their te aver had in store for them.

They were up for anything. As long as the penalty isn't an expulsion, the fear of their first day with their teacher still struck everyone with fear knowing how ruthless he could be.

" It's simple... Android Bots " Aizawa called out and from the entrance; loud stomping noises were heard, the stomping wasn't from just one but an army of Robots came marching out of ye entrance, stomping their metallic foot with in perfect harmony.

" Woah! "

Gasps of awe were heard from a few students as they stared at the bots with wonder.

" Let me guess... We're gonna be facing those junks here? " Y/n stated in a matter of fact. Katsuki who was right behind the female with arms wrapped around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder just gave off a satisfied humm when y/n placed her hand ontop of Katsuki's own.

Aizawa who was too tired to give a sassy remark to his student's comment just nodded; and he won't even point out Bakugou's Clingyness seeing how the boy had reacted yesterday when he told him to minimize his Skinship with y/n. It didn't end well.

" This ain't cutting shit. Knowing you... There's a twist to this crappy test right? " Y/n countered and with a sigh Aizawa began to explain ;

" You're right Miss smarty pants. There's a twist. You guys will be judged individually, these bots can't do much damage but the bombs inside them are the ones you need to watch out for, if you destroy a Bot directly without dismantling the bombs first then... Of course you go Kaboom " Everyone flinched at Their Teacher's explanation especially with how nonchalantly he is as he did so.

" Ehhh!? B-but sensei... Isn't it a little bit too.... Cruel? " Mina interjected and aizawa shook his head.

" As a hero. You must always be prepared of every possible scenarios and surprises. Such as this, of course there are subtle indications whether a bot has a bomb or not.... So you gotta put your observational skills to good use and put that brain of yours to work. Spot the difference, dismantle the bomb and you're free to destroy it... Simple as that " Aizawa yawned as he waved off his student's shocked and terrified expression.

Everyone knew their team her isn't going to give them any more clues.

" He just wants to see us suffer.... " Jiro dead panned and everyone couldn't help but agree.

" You said we'll be graded individually.... So you're saying that we have to take out loud portions of those robots ourselves?" Y/n raised a brow when her sensei gave her a spine chilling smile.

" Yes, that's also part of the lesson. It's not everyday you'd get lucky to have another Hero to he paired with you... Sometimes you gotta work alone and most of the time The villain's you're gonna be facing won't be alone. So multi-tasking is the key... And since you're my 'favorite' student... You'll go first " Aizawa pointed at her lazily and she shot him a gentle smile.

A smile that seemed too gentle for this y/n to pull off. Something wasn't right with the way she smiled and everyone knew it.

" But... She might get hurt... I'll stay with her" Katsuki murmured tightening his hold around the girl.

" What? You think I can't handle myself? Get off me already loser. I need to release some stress and you're getting in the way. " Y/n without thinking much of how bad her words had affected Katsuki grinned as she pushed him off her roughly.

Katsuki tumbled back and he looked at her with a pained expression.

" Y-you think I'm a--"

" Get him outta here. He's fucking up my mood. " Y/n snapped as she jogged away from the group.

Katsuki who was fast to try and run up to her was pulled back by aizawa's scarf like fabric.

" Let her go Bakugou. "

" No! I Need Her! Y/n! " Bakugou whined and he had to be knocked out because he was starting to get aggressive.

"Everyone. To the Control room" Aizawa groaned and his students followed his command but go course they felt sorry for their classmate who was passed out cold.

_____________________

" Fucking Die! Hahahaha "

Everyone was silent as they stared at the screen; gawking at how monstrous their classmate could be. Was that even y/n? Because that screaming creature murdering those innocent robots while crushing them to pieces reducing them to junk was scarier than any villain they have ever seen.

" ..... Remind me to never piss y/n....ever" Kirishima gulped when 10 robots were sent flying off the ground with the girl wildly swinging a metal pole like a mad man continued her assault.

" S-she's doing a very accurate job at controlling that new quirk of hers though " Kaminari mumbled as he began thinking.

" But... That is not the opposite of her quirk... Unless.... Oh could it be? The quirk she has is a combined and mixture of mine and Bakugou's quirk ... I underestimated that villain's quirk " Kaminari began to mumble his thoughts out loud and it didn't go unnoticed.

" Well... What do we even call that quirk? "

Kaminari paused and gave a nod towards Uraraka " I suggest Electrical Combustion would fit the spunk" .

" She's doing a tad too good don't you think? "

" She's y/n. So it's no wonder "

___________________

Y/n slammed both of her hands on the ground creating an electrical current as well as a loud eruption of explosion to ensue underground sending the both flying before being completely engulfed and destroyed by either the flying debris, the roasting electricity or the destructive explosion.

With fluid like movement she shot out explosive electric bombs out of her palm that violently detonated when it came in contact with the robots.

She didn't have to worry about the exploding bombs inside the boys because she herself was more explosive than all of those bombs combined.

Her movements were accurate, powerful and spontaneous but her eyes showed how calculated and focused she was if people would ignore that sadistic grin spread out on her face.

She was merciless and with one final punch of the ground that sent a combined jolt of electricity and explosion that caused a mass breakage the fight was over. With no bots left standing at all.

The area was crumbling with ruined buildings and flying rocks and debris mixed with chunks of broken metal.

" Ahh... That hit the fucking spot " She grinned stretching her limbs after her little 'workout'

Meanwhile ------

Everyone was speechless at the display of power of their classmate. She was far too ruthless and she looked more like a villain---no monster from the screen.

And if you squint really hard earlier the students could see how the bots were running away from her instead of actually attacking her.

Y/n gained both the respect and fear of everyone after that bit of course they admired her for her brilliant performance meaning they didn't have to do the test because she destroyed all the bots in a blink of an eye.

" That..... Was so Manly! " Kirishima cheered and his cheer was joined by everyone else.

" Man! Who knew she knows some pretty sweet moves like that! I should ask her to teach me a few of those moves! " Sero commented punching the air.

" Well if you ask me that was rather terrifying.... The continuous onslaught of those poor robots was enough to petrify me for eternity. Not to mention she left us with nothing at all! " Iida sighed as he pushed his glasses up.

" Jeez, loosen up. She did all of us a favor " Jiro replied placing her hand on the slightly disappointed Iida.

Izuku on the side was vigorously writing down on his notebook with such intensity it made everyone pause for a moment to look at him; no doubt about it. He was taking notes about y/n.

Everyone was happy and Aizawa looked more like a proud father than an angry teacher.

But the same couldn't be said for Katsuki. He was sulking in the corner. Eyes dull and fists balled.

The little demon called jealousy was beginning to creep up again. He remembered the other day about Y/n wanting to be partners with Deku or Half and Half. And now that everyone saw how amazing his Girlfriend is, it made him sink deeper as his own insecurities began to swallow him whole.

" .... Do I even... Deserve her? " He mumbled to himself. Tears were already rolling down his cheeks while he pitifully sniffled.

His classmates were gazing at him. They looked inside of what they should do. They still couldn't get used to this new Katsuki.

Kirishima was about to approach and comfort his friend when suddenly Katsuki's body jolted from his spot before collapsing on the ground.

" Bakugou! " Kirishima exclaimed but another gasp was heard from the back.

" It's Y/n-san and Kaminari-san! " Izuku pointed out. Jiro was holding onto an unconscious Kaminari with the help of Tsuyu and on the screen it was pretty clear that y/n had also experienced the same thing and was now sprawled down on the ground.

Unmoving .

........ To be Continued.

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha imagine #y/n #xreader #bakugou x reader #Bakugou Imagine #Katsuki Bakugou #Swapped Part 3

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Text

Chalk Lines || Alec Volturi x Reader ||

Summary: Alec has met his mate, but he isn’t quite sure he wants one. With a few revelations from Marcus and the discovery of a hidden talent, Alec finds that having a mate isn’t actually all that bad.

Warnings: Implied homelessness, a brief mention of your standard Volturi violence

Words: 3427

The witch twins had quite the reputation and none of the adjectives used to describe them were necessarily pretty.

Deadly.

Cruel.

Sadistic.

Terrifying.

It was a useful reputation given their occupation, but it wasn’t necessarily a true reflection of either twin’s character. Though she may have been hot-headed and quick to torture her adversaries, Jane became far less terrifying when one knew about her penchant for collecting coins; she’d sworn both Demetri and Felix to secrecy when the pair had stumbled across the tiered briefcases in her room, specially designed to hold centuries worth of different coins in varying types and shapes. Alec on the other hand was considered less likely to explode with rage but seen as the quiet and calculating type, yet if anyone saw him squirreled away in Volterra’s library, nose glued to the pages of a book as it so often was, the jagged edges of his cold silence suddenly became a lot softer and he looked far less threatening.

Sadly, people rarely looked beyond the surface in this modern world. It was for that very reason that Alec had not seen his mate in the two weeks since you’d been brought to Volterra. It had been pure coincidence that as they tracked the abnormally large nomadic coven, they’d stumbled right through the alleyway the young human was huddled in. Alec had been locked in place the moment he set eyes on you, your tear stained cheeks turning his muscles rigid until the others had been forced to stop with him. You were about the same age as he had been when he was turned he thought, which only made it all the stranger that the young human would be alone in a filthy alleyway so late at night. He couldn’t just leave you, not when he could smell the oncoming storm and all you had was a flimsy looking jacket and a leather-bound book to your name. Of course, they also couldn’t have just left the hunt, not when those nomads had drawn too much attention already.

The human hadn’t particularly appreciated being forcibly removed from their alleyway to witness the execution of five vampires, or maybe it was the fact said vampires tried to kill you as Alec and the others flitted about tearing them limb from limb? Either way the violent spectacle had not been the best introduction to the supernatural world, and the fear in your eyes whenever you saw Alec, Demetri, Felix or Jane ever since that moment was something that irked Alec more than he let on. He didn’t even necessarily want a mate, so the instinctual upset he felt at your obvious distress had only made his irritation worse the longer the situation dragged on for. Caius was getting impatient to, insisting the little human be turned and the threat to their secrecy you represented eliminated. Aro was of a different opinion, wanting you to have some time to adjust to your new life in Italy and to start feeling comfortable amongst the Coven members, lest you be thrown into a heightened state of anxiety and terror when you were turned.

Alec hadn’t even seen the damn human he had being trying to avoid and track down in equal measure. If Caius’s ranting hadn’t been enough to drive him mad Jane had been giving him an earful about making himself miserable by ignoring you. He knew he was being a little petulant, but the truth was he was forever frozen at 13 (maybe 14, he wasn’t too sure since the date wasn’t kept as religiously in the medieval era and his human memory was blotchy at best) and didn’t want to be eternally bound to a lover. It was in the library, his eyes rereading the same page he’d been stuck on for the last twenty minutes, that Marcus found him. He greeted his master with a gentle inclination of his head, mildly surprised when the older man glided to the opposite end of the sofa he sat on and sank down into the leather.

“Haven’t you read that one before?” Marcus asked. His voice was no more than a breath of air, a sigh carried on a gentle breeze. He was not known for being loud or brash. Alec glanced at him, not surprised to find his master staring straight ahead with the same mournful expression he always held. Well, it was Didyme’s portrait that hung above the fireplace after all, she had loved reading to.

“I have read everything in here at least five times over.” Alec pointed out, bringing the ghost of a smile to Marcus’s lips. It wasn’t necessarily unusual for Marcus to join him in the library, though it was far more common for their evenings to spent in silence since he wasn’t the best conversationalist. That was okay though, since Alec wasn’t particular keen on conversation either, preferring the quiet and the calm it brought. The last moments of his life were spent full of screaming and shouting and he found himself rather adverse to loud noise now.

“I wonder, has your mate seen this library?” he mused. Alec frowned slightly, the familiar irritation bubbling within him at the mention of his mate. Maybe he didn’t want to share something with someone who clearly wasn’t keen on sharing even a sliver of their time with him, had no one though of that?

“I would not know.” He replied, though he couldn’t quite keep his voice even. Marcus hummed slightly under his breath, his eyes never once leaving the painting across from him. Alec felt the usual sympathy that bubbled within him when Marcus looked like this, when it was clear his coven and his duty were all he had left but all he wanted was to be ash on the wind, finally free. Marcus called his name softly, forcing Alec to turn his attention from his book (that he was no further through than he had been when he started reading almost two hours ago) and look back at the ancient one.

“I do not think they want a mate either.” He said, surprising him. Alec thought he had hidden it rather well, but he should have known that Marcus would see. He read relationships, he saw the bonds that formed between people and no doubt had acknowledge how weak the one Alec shared with his so called mate must have been. Hell, he was surprised it hadn’t withered and died yet.

“They…don’t?” he questioned. Marcus shook his head.

“Relationships look different, for everyone. Romantic threads tend to be a different colour, yours…yours resembles something more akin to friendship.” He informed him. Alec’s brows tugged down into a frown.

“Mates don’t have to be romantically involved?” he questioned. Marcus chuckled.

“No, platonic relationships between mates are more common than you think. Perhaps there ought to be another name for these kinds of mates, but I believe, what yours would like more than anything else, is a friend.” His voice was calming to the turbulent thoughts in his head, and Alec found himself nodding along as if part of him had known that all along. The problem was, Alec wasn’t exactly sure how to go about making friends either. He didn’t have all that many, and he supposed that you didn’t have all that many either given the state he’d found you in. Looking back on it, he couldn’t honestly say he found that he was as curious as a mate should be. The mates he knew were all romantically involved and completely devoted to everything about their other half, yet he’d never really felt that intense sort of pull towards them. There was a pull there for sure but…it wasn’t strong.

“I’m not sure how to be a good friend.” He admitted quietly, setting his book aside.

“Sometimes souls are joined together not because they are the missing other half, but simply because the halves that already exist compliment each other so well.” Marcus said, his eyes turning back towards Didyme’s portrait. Alec followed his gaze briefly, finding himself a lot calmer somehow when he thought of his mate as something other than a life partner. Now he wasn’t caught up in the worry of expectations, he felt guilt start to creep in. His mate had been left alone in an unfamiliar castle after a terrifying experience, and he had done little to soothe them since their arrival. He sighed quietly, pushed to his feet, and bid his master a quiet farewell before heading to Demetri’s room. What was he even supposed to do when he found you? What was he supposed to say? What could make up for a fortnight of ignorance on his part?

“Alec, are you planning on knocking or will you continue to dwindle away the evening hours by standing like an idiot at my door?” Demetri wondered, opening it just enough to lean his shoulder against the wooden frame. His face was smug, like he knew already what he was here for. Alec didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Do not waste my time and less of it shall dwindle away, then.” He retorted, face unchanging. Demetri cocked his head, his smirk widening slightly as the silence settled between them. For those who knew Demetri well, it was easy to tell when he was using his gift. It was practically instinctual for him at this point but Alec saw the brief lapse of his attention, his eyes shifting from sharp and keen to vacant as he reached for your tenor, not seeing the hallway anymore but a variety of what he had described as colourful cords once.

“Same place they’ve been the past few weeks.” He said finally, his smile falling slightly, “One floor up right at the end of the corridor above us.” Alec frowned slightly. That corridor was abandoned, what was his mate doing there? With a slight nod of appreciation to Demetri, Alec turned on his heel and moved swiftly down the corridor towards the stairs leading upward. A lot of the upper floor had been destroyed in Marcus’s rage after he had lost Didyme. He had torn through most of the castle in his rage, rumour had it, but some of it had simply never been restored. Alec slowed his pace, eyes cutting through the gloom. The ripped tapestries and the leaves and dust that had blown in from broken windows left the whole place feeling rather eerie. He wondered briefly how his fragile mate could stand to be in such a place. Didn’t humans prefer lighter, warmer places? Then again, you had been left in an alleyway for some bizarre reason and Alec had know idea how long you’d been there.

A faint glow came from the room at the end of the corridor, the soft yellow light of a lamp he realised, as he moved closer. He could hear a gentle humming to, the melody building to the lyrics of a song he didn’t recognise drifting through the quiet toward him. He paused in the doorway, taking a moment to stare in awe. Unbeknownst to them, you had turned this abandoned room into your own personal haven, away from the vampires and the rest of the world. The floors were swept clean, the ivy that was creeping through a few other windows stripped away and cut back. The tapestries were removed from the walls and artfully ripped to create overlapping, mismatched pieces for an abstract, faded carpet in one corner. The shelves had been cleaned and polished, Alec recognising some of the books as those that had been provided in your room by them, but there was also a myriad of art supplies he knew hadn’t been. Currently, some of the tapestry was being used to soften the stone beneath your knees as you continued to add to a small, colourful piece in the corner of the curved wall.

It took him a moment to realise you were holding chalks, blending the light and dark to make varying shades for grass. One half of the large expanse of wall opposite the window was dark, in shades of grey and black and white. The one thing that did stand out was vibrant red of a figures eyes, and as Alec looked closer he realised that the blended figures were cloaked, depicting exactly what his mate had seen the night they met. The other half was still taking shape but was clearly supposed to be a brighter image.

“You have incredible talent.” He complimented. You jumped at the sound of his voice, heart jolting and speeding up in your chest as you dropped the chalk. With wide eyes, you stared back at Alec before scrambling to your feet, wiping chalky hands on the cloth protruding from the pocket of your jeans. Swallowing nervously, you glance back at your artwork before dropping your eyes to the floor, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the tapestry carpet. Alec thought you looked quite small like that, like you were embarrassed almost or expecting him to berate you, to laugh, or worse.

“Thanks.” You mumbled. Alec hadn’t heard your voice sound like this before, the soft tones soothing and mellow, much different to the harsh sounds of screaming the night you’d met.

“May I come in?” he asked. He felt like he was intruding. You had set up plenty of lamps about and cushions on the carpet to make a small seating area, this was their space, not his. Slowly, his mate nodded, and Alec looked back at the chalk art on the wall once more.

“I…can rub it away.” You said, sounding uncertain. Alec immediately shook his head.

“Please don’t. I meant what I said, you have talent.” He lifted his hand without thinking, placing his index finger on a section of white and rubbing softly. Running his thumb over his finger, he marvelled at the slippery feel of the chalk dust between his fingers. “All of this is chalk?” he asked, the surprise in his voice obvious. He had never used chalk before as a medium. You nodded your head, pointing to the bucket of chalks at your feet, they were small and worked to stubs in some cases, but you clearly had made do.

“Did you never draw on the pavement with chalk as a kid?” you asked him. Alec’s lips twitched upward, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes.

“When I was child, we barely had roads.” He answered. He heard your heartbeat falter a little in your chest, the shock registering on your face. Now he took the time to look you over, he realised you looked quite calm here in your little space. You clearly felt at ease here, your (Y/E/C) eyes soft and open for him to read. Despite that, you were clearly still a little wary of him to, unsure of what to say, what his intentions were in coming here. “How long have you been drawing?” he asked, hating the way the silence grew so easily between you both. You shrugged a shoulder, moving towards your little cushion area and settling yourself cross-legged on the floor, looking up at him curiously. Alec folded his arms, remaining standing. Truthfully, he’d be no more comfortable on the floor than he would be standing, but he also didn’t want to invade your space when you were quite obviously sizing him up.

It was odd to feel like he was intruding in his own home.

“A while, my Mom taught me.” You answered. It was no more and no less than he had asked for. Alec nodded along, uncertain what to say next. How did people make friends? Drawing your knees up to your chest, you dropped your chin on top of your legs, looking up at him. Come to think of it, you hadn’t taken your eyes off of him yet. Alec let his eyes wander once more, taking in the books and supplies scattered about.

“You need some new chalk.” He noted. Maybe he could do something about your passion to try and gain your trust a bit?

“I can make do.” You answered immediately. Alec frowned.

“You’ve barely any left.” He retorted stubbornly. You shrugged at him again, like you didn’t really care much either way. “Well, we can go out tomorrow and get more maybe…or some new books for your shelf, if you like.” He offered. You tilted your head, regarding him like you were watching an interesting experiment through a microscope.

“You don’t have to.” You murmured, looking mildly bewildered by him. Alec got the impression not many people offered to do nice things for you.

“You’ve yet to see the city. I think that should change.” He said, and with a time to pick you up at your room tomorrow he left you be. He wasn’t even half-way down the corridor when he heard the scraping of chalk on the stone once more. Alec wasn’t honestly prepared for just how much time it took. He had thought you had been quite calm and comfortable with him that night he first went to you, but it was weeks before you held a fluent conversation with him, letting him freely know your thoughts without being prompted by questions, some of which you wouldn’t answer. You were clearly not used to trusting others, but over the weeks Alec spent learning to draw from you, reading with you, helping you further decorate your nook of the castle, he couldn’t deny you had developed a strong friendship. He felt complete, calm, happy even. Marcus had been right. Fate had drawn the two of you together not because you were meant to be his missing piece, but rather you were meant to smooth over the cracks and heal one another so that when the person who was meant to fill the gap came along, they got something a little less broken than before.

“Alec? I don’t think I ever said thank you, did I?” you asked, four centuries later while overlooking the Parisian skyline. You were on a mission to eradicate an idiotic nomad with a terrible habit of torturing humans, something Felix was very upset he was missing out on. Alec looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Thank you for what?” he questioned. You grinned at him.

“For choosing this little sewer rat to be your best friend.” You poked and prodded his side as you spoke, making him squirm slightly as he tried to bat your hands away. His serious expression faltered, melting into a carefree smile before he laughed and snatched you up, threatening to drop you over the edge. It would have been a lot less terrifying if you weren’t on one of the highest beams the Eiffel Tower had to offer.

“You want to keep trying your luck? Well? Do you?” he demanded, grinning wildly as you squealed, fingers curled tight into his arms. Alec reeled you back in, settling you on the beam beside him so you could go back to swinging your legs back and forth. For a moment the sound of your laughter fading into the night was allowed to settle, drifting away on the breeze as the silence grew between you. It was then Alec spoke. “You don’t have to thank me. I think I did it as much for me as I did for you.” He confessed. He could feel your eyes burning holes in the side of his face and risked a glance sideways, seeing your understanding expression. You knew all of his past, the same way he knew yours. You had both healed each other from a considerable amount of trauma.

“Well then…here’s to us.” You declared, standing to grip the metal beam behind you and you leaned out, chin up high and free hand on your hip in a ridiculous, ostentatious pose. You looked oddly like you were trying to model for a statue pose. Alec snorted.

“I am not doing that.” He said.

“What? No! Come on! You can’t leave me hanging like this!” you protested. Alec stood, shaking his head and starting to climb down.

“Watch me.”

“No!”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Best friends don’t let each other do stupid things alone!”

“You are never alone, I just prefer to watch your stupidity from the side-lines so I can be as affiliated with it as little as possible.”

“I’ll race you then!”

“Y/N don’t you dare jump off of the top of the Eiffel tower! Even we’re not that indestructible.”

“You ruin all my fun.”

#the volturi #alec volturi #alec volturi fanfiction #alec volturi imagine #x reader #alec volturi x reader #twilight #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #volturi fanfiction

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justnerdthings · 3 years

Text

Never Again Ch.2

Female OC x Raiden/Shang Tsung (it's gonna be both)

Okay. Not much interest in the first chapter, but whatever. I like it. Shang comes in in this chapter.

“What do you mean she has been released?” Fujin asked his brother with narrowed eyes.

“She escaped the catacombs. Someone or something had destroyed them,” Raiden explained. He then sighed. “I thought she had perished, but she visited me last night.”

“She was here?” Fujin couldn’t believe what Raiden was telling him. Helena was free? This was grave news. “Have you checked in with everyone?”

Raiden nodded. “Everyone is accounted for.”

Fujin breathed a sigh of relief.

“She may not know their identities as of yet,” Raiden hoped.

“And when she does?”

Raiden took a deep breath. “Helena will use them to get what she wants.”

Fujin lifted a brow as he watched Raiden’s stoic expression. “She wants you, brother.”

Raiden’s eyes shifted to Fujin’s. He exhaled and nodded. This was a disaster. And it would only end in disaster.

“She will kill them all if it means you will give her all of eternity.” Fujin said as he stepped away and looked over the Sky Temple garden. “She threw the tournament away four-hundred years ago just to buy herself four-hundred years of you. She killed Kung Lao to make sure of it.”

Raiden’s jaw hardened. What Fujin said was true. Helena had been driven to madness with her jealousy. He just wished he’d acted sooner. Maybe it would have all been avoided. Maybe he would not have had to lock her away. But, he had needed her for the tournament. She was his second best fighter. Helena was his response to Shang Tsung. Sorcerer verses Sorceress. She evened the odds, even tilted them slightly in earthrealm’s favor. But he had forgotten what she was first…

Raiden rubbed his face as that knot of guilt twisted in his stomach again. He’d spent so much time helping Kung Lao train for his fight with Goro that he’d inadvertently neglected his love. This was all his fault. He should have never brought her into Mortal Kombat.

“We need to find her,” Raiden sighed. “Before she finds them.”

Fujin nodded. A cyclone swallowed him up as he left the garden. A crack of lightning, and Raiden had left as well.

————

Shang Tsung stood on his island, overlooking his palace. It hadn’t been used in decades. Utterly overgrown. And he... now an old man. With Shao Khan dead, he had no master to answer to and little hope of ever taking over the realms. Kotal Khan had no interest in employing the sorcerer. A shame, really. None of the realms did.

A purple glow lit up his palace’s court yard. He lifted a brow. No one was on this island except for him. Who could have caused that? Who would come here? Who could come here? Had his barrier fallen? With a snap of his armored fingers, he was transported to his court yard.

Not a soul in sight. Had he been seeing things in his old age? How annoying. He turned and walked into the palace. The place had been reclaimed by the island. It was a mess. But, nothing a little flick of his wrist couldn’t handle. The wild vines and flora slowly receded, clearing a path for him. It wasn’t long until he found himself in his own throne room. His old eyes tried to focus through the darkness.

He was being watched. Holding out a hand, a green flame lit his way as he walked towards the presence. Shang stopped in the middle of the room as he noticed the faint outline of someone sitting… on his throne. His eyes narrowed at the shadowed figure. “Who is there?” he called over, demanding an answer. “Who sits on my throne?”

A low, feminine, elegant chuckle echoed off the walls.

Shang took another step closer. The green flame in his hand grew to light up the room more. His face glew in the green flame, showing his angered annoyance, enhanced by the shadows.

“Shang Tsung…” The voice called over. “Oh, has time been cruel to you.”

The voice awakened something in Shang. The voice was familiar… but who? Enough games. He tossed his flame up. It broke apart and the smaller flames flew to several large lanterns. The room had illuminated, showing just how much plant life had moved in, and the woman in his throne.

Shang Tsung stiffened at the sight of her, but he quickly regained himself. He couldn’t show her the tension now building in his shoulders. He straightened and held his hands behind him as he made his way to her. “My dear, Helena… Has Raiden decided to let you out of your cage already?”

Her dark lips pulled into a devilish smirk. “He was just as surprised to see me as you are.”

“Oh, I doubt such a thing,” he answered, shoving his nerves deeper down, as he climbed the steps to his throne. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“This is the last place I was before being locked away… It seems only right to pick up where I left off.” She leaned back, letting her hands rest on the arms of the throne.

Shang watched her, then bowed his head slowly. She seemed quite at home on his island--on his throne. But there was no reason to fight her… yet.

“Tell me Shang Tsung,” She began, “How long has it been?”

He lifted a brow to her. “Since we last saw each other? Eight Tournaments have passed.”

“Four hundred years,” Helena calculated.

“Indeed.”

“And the current champion?”

Shang inhaled sharply, reminded of his most recent loss. “Liu Kang. One of your beloved Raiden’s fighters.”

Helena’s nails scratched along the throne’s arms, scraping off gold. Shang Tsung watched as the jagged gold ribbons fell to the floor. His eyes shifted back up to her irritated face. “Trouble in paradise, my dear?”

Her eyes cut to him. “Where can I find this Liu Kang?”

Shang’s brows rose. This was not expected. As far as he knew, Helena was still Raiden’s ally… Raiden’s answer to Shang Tsung himself. How curious. “Should you not ask your lover?”

“Raiden… My beloved… My traitorous lover…” Helena relaxed slowly. “He will not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because he knows I will kill him just as I did with Kung Lao…”

It took Shang Tsung a moment to realize she was talking about the Great Kung Lao. “I recall Goro killing him, my dear. I think your mind has gone awry in that tomb of yours.”

“Goro may have ripped his heart out, but it was I who made it possible,” Helena corrected him. Shang’s brows knotted at her. “I poisoned Kung Lao before the fight. The man loved his wuyi tea…” She said as she leaned on her elbow, hand supporting her chin.

Shang Tsung held back his surprise. So he owed his victory that day to Helena. But why? He stepped closer, non-threatening in his demeanor, and rested an old hand on the arm of his throne to lean against it. “Your actions caused Earthrealm to lose the tournament,” he pointed out.

“Yes. Raiden and I could have had four hundred years together before having to worry about winning the tournament.”

“And how did that work out for you, my dear?” He pressed. Her eyes shot back at him with his slight against her. As sharp as her eyes were, he did not seem phased by them. He just stared at her, expecting an answer.

Helena let out a defeated sigh as she looked away from him again. “I did not count on him reacting as he did.”

“Chaining you to a wall decorated with the dead?” He asked. Her eyes flinched ever so slightly. Shang nodded. He was getting under her skin. “How did you survive down there?”

“Barely,” she answered with a frown. “I fed off the life forces of the resident rats and roaches.”

“You seem to have eaten well,” he commented, then gestured with a clawed hand to herself--her body, still young and taught in all the right places. He wouldn’t lie, she had been a beauty four hundred years ago, and she looked the same now as she sat in front of him.

She turned her eyes back to him slowly. That devilish smirk of hers returned. “That silver tongue of yours still works, I see.”

He smiled and lifted his chin in a small show of pride. “Of course.” He’d noticed the slight shifting of her eyes as she searched his withered face. Yes, it was true. Shang Tsung was now an old man, soon to meet his own tomb. “Not the face you remember, my dear?” He asked.

“No,” she answered softly and reached out to let her fingers graze his wrinkled cheek. His eyes showed surprise for only a second at the gesture. Was she not afraid of him? Did she not fear his power, even in his weakened state? No. Of course she wasn’t. She could match him in any fight… Or could have as it were. Spending so long in that crypt, she may not have had the ability to continue training. She must have been rusty, surely. Living off rats and roaches certainly would not have given her enough strength. Rodents and insects would not support such strength--such beauty. There was something she hadn’t admitted. “Has your well ran dry, Shang Tsung?” she spoke, voice reaching into his very core.

His shoulders slumped just barely, but enough for Helena to notice. She grinned to him.

#Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 11 #Raiden #Lord Raiden #x oc #oc x #raiden x oc #oc x raiden #fanfic #mortal kombat fanfiction #fic #fanfictions #shang tsung #oc x shang tsung #shang tsung x oc #never again

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carrera-ffxiv · 3 years

Text

Drowning Sun (8.2)

Knock. Knock.

Hadriel paused at the door, expecting to hear some movement; expecting to hear something.

Knock ...Knock.

An eerie silence followed. A sigh escaped his lips; he adjusted the package at his side and leaned in to listen against the door.

Again, nothing.

A singular thud sounded, more muffled than the rest. Hadriel pushed open the door and released the broken handle; he removed his handkerchief from it and tucked it away in his vest before gently guiding the door shut. It remained slightly ajar from the damage he inflicted.

The apartment was dark. Fitting for a blind woman, but he felt something was off. “Dawn?” he called to her. “I just wanted to check up on you…”

His pricey leather shoes made dull clacks against the flooring. His gloved hand traced along his face and hair, catching his eyepatch; he removed it with a single smooth movement and tucked it into his pocket. A bright eye scanned the room.

Dawn sat slumped against the wall, her ears plugged with a white stethoscope, the golden chest-piece against her bosom. She was convinced she could hear it; between the beats of her heart she could hear it slither in her chest. Feel it. Dawn’s hand raked through her hair and clutched a handful. Anxiety was the only thing that tethered her fraying sanity to that moment in reality. She thought she could hear dull thuds in the background but the thought quickly faded along a torrent of stressors that drowned her consciousness. She felt like she was losing parts of herself faster than she could retain- as if sand slipping through her fingers.

There she was, in between oddly shaped pillows and piles of books, holding something close to her chest. “Dawn…?” he called to her again. Her hair was frazzled and she seemed dazed, afraid even. Waiting for something.

Her heart beat a hundred malms a minute.

His gaze pierced deeper and confirmed what he knew, a bitter grimace fleetingly wearing on his features. This was his fault, wasn’t it? He had sent her on the mission that took her sight. He had given her that soul crystal which corrupted her aether. He had unintentionally forced her into this position. While moving pieces on the chess board he had forgotten about a single pawn ...and now this was the result: An unnecessary sacrifice.

“Hadriel…” she seethed in a brief moment of clarity. Did she recognize his voice? Or perhaps it was something else within her that recognized him. Either way, it didn’t matter. Carrera’s words lasted with her- ‘As for whose plan… who gave you the stone?’ Was her current predicament: her unraveling, the result of this man’s intent? She felt her skin burn as the soulstone along her chest brightened. She plucked the stethoscope from her ears and placed it carefully on top of a book before darting forward to strike him.

A wild but oddly accurate blow. Hadriel stepped to one side to avoid it. She adjusted and adapted to his movement- was she hearing his subtle steps? Strike after strike, he would adjust his shoulder to move out of the way, then tilt his head. He turned and ducked underneath before returning to his full height again. He could read her movement like an open book as he saw the aether shift between her arms and legs. He would smoothly guide her forearm away from his persons with a gentle touch, causing her to miss.

Her breath grew more desperate and ragged as she kept at it. Still, he would either step aside or swat at her attempts with a hand. Her movement was practiced and intentional, not that of a novice. Strangely enough, it felt easier to counter since he could predict the movements as opposed to the wild flailings of an amateur. Still, it was odd that she moved the way she did before it dawned on him. She was fighting much like Adala did without her greatsword- with practiced movement and intuition. Countless times he had watched her spar with Rina. Fast, experienced, and predictably unpredictable.

She grew tired of his evasiveness; bladed edges of light sparked from her fists as she redoubled her efforts.

A quick and hard jab found Dawn’s diaphragm, knocking the wind from her lungs. She fell to her knees and coughed, but there was no air to let loose. She choked and struggled to try to breathe in air but her throat would not take any in.

“This isn’t you Dawn… breathe. Focus. Find yourself. Don’t lose track of who you are. I believe in you.”

He often told people what he thought they needed, not what he had calculated in his mind. His left hand grasped the hilt of his blade tightly. Mira had asked him to help her, and he had done what he thought was best.

She retched. Then she heaved. She did her best to inflate her lungs again as tears continued to stream down her face. Dawn tried to focus but his voice seemed so far away. All she could feel was an unbridled fury held within the core of her being. She felt a gentle guiding hand along her chin, lifting her face. A dull ache struck her left eye as she could feel it being pried from her skull. The sound of metal humming sharply followed by immeasurable pain deep in her head.

Anguish swelled in her lungs and fled from her dry throat. Agony gripped her like a vice, with each cruel beat of her throbbing heart sending wave upon wave of madness into the void that was once her eye; she moved to shield her injury long after it was too late. As blood dripped from her shaking fingers, Dawn yielded to the torment as her body contorted and convulsed along the floor; Her head felt like it was about to burst like a cracked egg. Just a few paces away Hadriel tore into the small package he kept tucked beneath his arm and twisted the top of the revealed jar open. The contents sloshed as he lifted her replacement within his grasp; the dull, lifeless, salvaged eye of his friend, Adala. With a twist of his wrist the jar and the gelatin liquid within went scattering across the floor, and with one swift motion Hadriel grabbed the panicking woman by the wrist and hoisted her onto her feet.

She felt a foreign object- wet, soft, and cold where her eye should be. She collapsed into a sitting slump as he released her, the pain still assaulting every sense she had.

His dry voice only continued to boil her blood as she tried to focus on what was happening, “You want to get better. It’s up to you. Remember the people who care about you. Your friends. Your family. Heal your eye. I’ve severed the nerve, if you don’t use your magic you’ll remain broken.”

None of it made sense to her. Why would he mutilate her further? Over months he had helped her to learn to live again, but now, why was he so cruel? She could only ponder these things as she desperately lit up her wound with a bright light. She felt the broken and torn tethers from her optic nerve melding into the lingering strings from the eye. They connected as the nerve endings mended and snapped together. Each connection sparked an indescribable sensation. Her right hand fell forward to catch herself from collapsing, her left cradled her face as beads of sweat rolled down her visage. She looked up to Hadriel, the glowing blue eye staring directly at him between her fingers.

“W-what is this? This...”

She saw millions of tiny, shimmering blue lights forming shapes before her. One such shape was the man in front of her. In the periphery of her vision she could see the plants and potions lit up, and even the lightest glow came from static objects around her. Books and even the floor maintained the residue of aether bleeding from the two of them. She was breathless again, but not from blunt force trauma this time. She witnessed brilliant lights forming his frame, the largest concentration of which rested in his heart. It made a sort of sense, it was the engine to his being and kept him alive. But one oddity failed to escape her notice; a comparable amount of aether was gathered within his left eye.

She continued to speak, “This… this is… I know whose eye this is.”

He shook his head, “I promised Mira I would help you.” his voice was quiet and forced.

“But,” she whined, “...Am I even myself anymore?” Her hands ran through her hair and intertwined behind her head. “I’m losing a piece of myself ...every. Day.”

“You’re not that same girl who walked in through our doors. You’re something else now. Whether you want to find out what that is, or stay here in the dark crying- that’s up to you. Life is never what we expect. And it hasn’t been fair to you, more than most. But, life ...is rarely ever fair.”

“It’s consuming me, who I am, what am I supposed to do when there’s nothing left?”

“Give up. Let go. Or, or you could hold onto the things that make you, you. Dawn, only you know who you truly are. Get up, wipe your tears, live your life. Find out who you are through all this. One step forward at a time. You don’t really have a choice. If you give up, then it all ends; I’ve already told you this before. You didn’t give up when you lost your sight, don’t give up now because you have to fight for your survival. Win, overcome, and stay with us.”

She looked over to her side. She could see her own residual aether on the stethoscope she placed.

“Fight to control. That’s all this is. That amulet is aether. That thing inside your chest is composed of aether. You have the finest aether manipulation I’ve ever seen, you can do this, if you let yourself. If you stop being afraid of what could be, afraid of what you might lose.” he kneeled down to her level. “Think instead of what you might gain.”

She grabbed for the scope and clutched at it against her bosom. “I’ll, ...I’ll try… I’m trying.”

“Don’t give up. Mira’s been worried about you. That’s all I can ask.” he sighed a bit, “Take a potion and get some rest. You’ll need it.”

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smearsyd · 3 years

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Safe in Your Arms | PCY | Part One

Lee Seoyun had scars.

Perhaps she had been saved from physical scars, but they were visible enough to her. Thick reminders stood out in her mind that made words like worthless, not good enough, not grateful enough, unloveable, feel like a second skin. She didn’t think she was capable of healing— her parents had told her that she would always be broken, and weren’t your parents the ones who were supposed to know you the best?

So years ago, when Seoyun tragically spilled her hot chocolate all over the front of poor Park Chanyeol’s winter sweater, she was expecting severe backlash— not a forgiving smile and definitely not a new friend. Muchless, Seoyun never in a million years would have imagined that Park Chanyeol would soon be falling in love with someone like her. To be the person who made her, for the first time, feel safe in his arms.

This is Seoyun healed, despite her scars.

characters:

+ park chanyeol (exo), you as lee seoyun (because names are important)

what to expect:

+ christmas + boyfriend!au + fluff and romance

length:

+ 3 parts, bonus drabbles + 25kish in total

warnings:

+ sensitive topics + mentions of traumatic past + smut on part two

read it here: (updating… stay tuned)

+ part one + part two + part three + bonus + masterlist

author’s note:

+ this chapter always makes me smile, i hope you enjoy it ❄️

if you want to be tagged, please reply to this post!

@bbhmystar @itsmesa

A Week Before Christmas Day

Seoyun despises the mere act of a ‘good-bye.’ To her, it means walking away from what she has come to love— even if she knows she will eventually say ‘hello’ again. It’s simply the thought of the in-between that drives her nearly mad.

Despite that though, she finds a chuckle escaping her lips and a final wave coming from her raised hand to bid her best friend (who was currently leaning half-way out of her red Toyota to blow her an airy kiss and yell out a heartfelt call me tomorrow!) one of those good-bye’s. She watches her pull away from her driveway and waits for the resonating pang of loneliness to strike in her chest— she always seems to experience this when the two separate. Yet, Seoyun is shocked still when the ingrained claws of anxiety in fact never come. Some feelings are hard to stop remembering, she thinks, taking a grounding breath.

It feels silly, pathetic almost, that she could somehow be caught by the immense sensation of what the past once was, and yet, not by the past itself. The process of healing and the passage of time are ironic twins, you can struggle and struggle to do things your way, but nothing erases quite as well as time. Though, being around her best friend is like tripping the electrical switch of suppressed memories, forcing her right back to when they spent most of their time together— she can still feel the echoes of panicked ‘good-byes’ and reluctant glances. It was a time that left Seoyun achy from overthinking and bruised from words that never should have left the mouths of those she thought she could trust.

Seoyun once was made to recite that the wise believe that forgiving does not mean forgetting, but she doesn’t want to hold on anymore,forgiving and not forgetting is a cruel expression and she would give anything at this point to forget. Of course, though, that therapist also believed in sunbathing for depression relief and taking a nap when faced with anxiety. If she could sunbath to rid herself of degrading thoughts, Seoyun thinks she would be “cured” years ago. Either way, she’s learned to move on, because unlike then, when she was living in the pain of her memory, she has a future now and it happens to be one barren of good-bye’s.

She slips out a sigh in mild defeat of the uphill she still has to climb, but lets a secret smile find home on her face because regardless, she's been climbing for a while and that in itself is enough for her. She takes in the view of her forever home: the painted mailbox dripping with snow, the messy strings of lights basking the windows in the perfect kind of home-y warmth, his collection of mismatched bird houses hanging delicately from the trees— she decides to fill her mind with memories of this instead. It wasn't the biggest home in the world, nor was it magazine fancy, but it was comfortable in the best way and maybe more importantly, Seoyun didn't have to share it alone— mentally or physically.

A small window sits amongst the bricked wall, giving a beautiful view of the fading sun to the inside inhabitants, and to her, a view she imagines she’ll never tire of. He seemed to be looking for something, his hands perched on his wide hips and his head tilted into a slightly confused grimace. She thought he looked the best like this, unworried and unknowing of her watching eyes. He ran a hand through his thick silver hair, making the tendrils stick up in a mop-like configuration that had her hands tingling to fix it. His gaze moved through the kitchen and languidly out the window, finally coming to land on her.

Seoyun watched with a content beat to her heart as his eyes lit up in surprise, his hand falling from his hair and his mouth ajarring just enough for her to want to tease him. After a moment, his lips began to tug up into a brilliant smile— the one that seemed contagious and would soon transfer to her own lips if she wasn’t careful, which she never was with him.

He beckoned her towards the house, but Seoyun stood for a few more moments. She has a list of lessons to mind that she and Chanyeol came up with in the years they have been together. Admire the little and big things. This seemed like a big thing.

Seoyun made her way towards the house after she was satisfied, finding the door handle already unlocked for her. She unraveled her thick wool scarf (actually it was his that she stole from his side of the closet this morning) and hung her jacket onto the rack beside the door. She thought the house smelled divine, like sweet vanilla and rich milk chocolate.

“Seo…” His voice echoed through the kitchen and bounced around in her mind. His voice always reminded her of the crackling of a fire, or a warmth that was uniquely his. Her feet made the decision to follow this warmth without first checking in with her— not that she would have denied such a request. “Do you know where I last put the key to the shed? I’m pretty sure the decorations are in there, but I can’t seem to remember where we placed it last.”

Seoyun could hear the casual pout in his voice before she even turned the corner and took in his furrowed eyebrows as he rummaged the junk drawers next to the sink. The kitchen was a mess, storage baskets littered amongst the counter and random keys set out as if he had tried them all without success. She successfully hid her increasingly amused chuckle behind the soft material of her sweater, remembering their latest bickering about how he loses everything and him retorting that he only puts them in a safe spot, a too safe spot.

He turned in question, his eyes turning to silvers at finding her infamous I told you so face fully on display for him to bake in. Seoyun thinks their relationship is framed around him getting into some kind of predicament and her having to come in and save the day, but then again, she also feels that he is the best at saving her. Once, there might have been a time she would not dare laugh at his downfalls— big or small, serious or joking— but there’s this certain kind of safety he radiates around her, even when he’s angry and frustrated with her, that she understands is his special way of saying that he cares. She thinks that no one else wears the look of comfort better than him.

“What?” He asked, an air of playfulness alighting in his eyes as he gradually let go of his irritation. He slowly reached out and pushed the drawer closed, a hand perching on his hip. “Ohh,” he dragged out in her silence, “you think this is funny, huh? Clumsy boyfriend, always losing everything.”

She nodded her head easily, and as his tongue poked through the soft side of his cheek, she knew she was about to get it. This didn’t stop her from egging him on however. “Clumsy boyfriend, not good for anything.”

He shook his head and her eyes grew as she followed his calculated footsteps towards her. She sucked in her breath as his large grip rounded her waist and ever so delicately backed her into the front of the refrigerator. His other hands came up to cup her cheek, the back of his thumb rubbing a soothing pattern on her velvety skin.

She could feel through his touch how patient he was, how each finger held an infinite amount of love for her. He liked to show himself like that, she knew. He liked to wrap her in his affection and tuck her away into the better things of life. Maybe it was this that made her give in so easily to him; he wanted her love almost as badly as she needed it— even if she didn’t know that at first.

“I’m good for this, aren’t I?” He teased, his eyes flickering down to her already parted lips with an endearing gaze.

Something bubbled up in need at his statement, need for him to be closer, need for her to keep him by her side, but she also wanted to savor this moment. “I told you that you’d forget where the keys are,” she said in an effort to ignore his previous statement. Though, his lips were beginning to distract her as they tugged up on the corners, coming impossibly close in collision to her own.

A deep chuckle emerged from his chest that she could feel radiating through him and into her, his laugh was simply like that. “What am I going to do about you always calling me out?” He mumbled more to himself than her, his eyes flickering down like baby candles to her already slightly parted lips. Seoyun simply hummed in defeat, giving in to her wants to tease him. She felt as her head tilted up in response towards him, her heels beginning to slowly inch so the two of them may finally meet— like two stars shooting together.

She held her breath as his lips finally molded against hers, and although it had only been a few hours since they last shared an embrace as such, it felt as if she had waited centuries. Chanyeol too, must have felt the same longing as her, his head turning down to deepen the kiss and his tongue jotting out to run effortlessly against her own.

They leaned in together, savoring one another in a manner she thought was only unique to them. He tasted of sweetened candy and a raw type of enticement that she has come to associate as purely Chanyeol. He let out a restrained noise of approval as her hands traced up his firm back and latched onto his neck, her roaming fingers tugging softly on the ends of his tangled locks.

She’s realized that no matter how many times she’s kissed him, or how long ago it’s been, each time is like a new shock of surprise, sending tingles of warmth through her body and reminding her how much she longs for him when away from his gentle, lingering touches. To her, Chanyeol was a sweet addiction, one she was sure boosted her health like that of a vitamin; once she had her first taste of what it felt like to be wanted, trusted, loved, she made sure to take her daily dose.

He pulled back from the kiss, his now swollen lips hovering in the almost non-existent space between hers, his breath fanning lightly against her nose. She gulped and leaned forward to brush another lasting peck on his lips, not yet willing to let him free. Seoyun felt him smile into the kiss at her actions, still not use to how much bolder she has gotten through the years. The mouse haven grown into the cat.

"I missed you," he whispers after she broke away, his nose rubbing against hers in a loving manner. "You were gone for so long today."

She internally snorted at his clinginess, pushing him lightly back despite her fluttering heart wanting him near, just so she could give him a pointed look. He didn’t approve of her friend, she parties too much Seoyun, hangs out with the wrong people, and it was showing in his voice and eyes. She’s the only consistent friend Seoyun’s ever had though, she’s family more than anything.

“You’re going to have to get over missing me every once in a while,” she retorted.

“Never.”

“And when you go on day trips with the boys? What do I do then?”

He stopped short, his head tilting lightly, “You tell us to have a good time.”

“Exactly.”

“Ah babe,” he quickly said as he fell deeper into her trap, “it’s different with the boys, though.”

“You keep saying that and find out what happens.”

He huffed, throwing her his scrunched nose I should be winning this look. She loved that look. “Regardless, it was a long time. I didn’t even see you this morning. I wanted to make pancakes.”

“And?”

“And?” He mimicked in a ‘girly voice’ that he has deemed to sound exactly like hers.

Seoyun let out a disbelieving laugh at his no-nonsense face, showing that he really doesn't care how long she was gone, it was always going to be too long. Although she would never give him the pleasure of admitting his affect on her, she felt the same way about him after barely being apart for the five years they have been dating. To Seoyun, Chanyeol is home, somewhere she didn't have to act like anyone else or smile just out of forced habit. Chanyeol took her heart for his and made it feel welcomed and safe.

She reached out and pinched him before he could say anymore, deciding to ignore his indignant yelp and instead, reach for the key that was so perfectly resting behind her. Seoyun turned around in Chanyeol's loose embrace and stretched her fingers over the top of the refrigerator until they closed on a small and cold object. Lowering her hand, she presented the key to Chanyeol with a teasing smile playing on her curling lips. He lets a loud groan out from the sight, his large hand clasping around her smaller one as his shoulders deflated from her playful giggles.

"I would have eventually found it..." He defends, purposely giving Seoyun that pouty look he knows will melt her insides.

"Uh, huh" She crinkles her nose at his antics for what feels like the tenth time this night, bumping her hip with his as the two of them walked from the kitchen, hand in hand.

Seoyun helped Chanyeol bring the Christmas decorations in, the four tubs lining the living room next to the big tree they bought yesterday evening at the city's Christmas Celebration. They’d been coming ever since they met six years ago, as a nod to whatever forces were smiling down on them that day. The past was present and fleshy to her then— Chanyeol, though, never seemed to mind her anxious actions. He was good like that, pushing her in the right direction with just enough pressure to make her realize her own potential. She feels that the tree and this time in general, helps her keep that in mind.

She stood with her hands on her hips, catching her breath as she looked up at the massive height of this tree. Seoyun felt Chanyeol come back to her side, his hand trailing to wrap around her small waist. "I can't believe you talked me into getting this tree..." She mumbled into his shoulder. "How are we even going to get the star on the top?"

Chanyeol's deep chuckle rumbled through her side. "Well, obviously you are too short to do it, but I, on the other hand, can easily reach the top." She turned out of his embrace at hearing his sly tone, taking notice of the few feet difference between Chanyeol's height compared to the tallness of the tree.

His in character sarcasm was bleeding through his loose grin and also per-normal, she had no response but to shake her head. She was, however, getting better at his game.

"Okay, Mr. Giant," she teased. "The star is all your job then— make it perfect or suffer the consequences!"

Chanyeol gave her a mock salute as she moved away, "Yes Ma'am!"

She moved to grab the box of decorations, eyeballing the variations of ornaments the two of them have collected together with a starry gaze. There was the shiny, store bought trinkets, ranging from glass cylinders to mini characters from the movie Zootopia (Chanyeol's pick, not hers). Then there were more special ones, like the one his mom sent them on their first anniversary, a snowflake with their names on it. Or the handmade heart displaying a picture of Chanyeol's best friend, Baekhyun, given by Baekhyun to them last Christmas— Seoyun could only describe him as a special person. Her favorite ornament, though, was the one Chanyeol and her made two Christmas years ago at her work's annual holiday party. It was a simple clear ball, but the two of them had taken turns writing their favorite memory with one another on opposite sides.

Chanyeol had written something incredibly cheesy like every moment with you is my favorite moment and she still smiles now when she sees it. Seoyun never stopped being amazed at all the small devotions of their relationship that they had managed to collect from their years together. He spoiled her with things her parents told her she wasn't worth enough to have. It was a stark reminder to her most of the time, but now, it just made her content and thankful to have someone who didn't mind reassuring her that words only hold meaning if you let them.

Chanyeol and her began hanging the decorations on the tree and around the house diligently, Chanyeol wrapping the lights and Seoyun setting out the countdown calendar like usual. By the time two hours had passed, the house was fully decked out in holiday gear. The wreath had been placed, the elves were on the shelves, candy canes littered the bowls on every table, cinnamon sticks and scented pine cones were filling the air with their holiday smell, and the tree was fully decorated— well, all except for the star.

Chanyeol fumbled with the brass star in his palms, looking between it and the tree with a scornful look. She busied herself with tidying up his work on the tree (he always seems to place all of his favorite ornaments on one side of the tree so he could easily see them, totally not caring how much this messes up the aesthetic balance she strives to create.)

"Ah ha!" Chanyeol exclaimed, making Seoyun jump in her spot. Before she could ask anything though, he was grabbing her by the hand while bouncing up and down on his heels.

"Okay so here is how we are going to do this," he starts, giving her a super serious look that she could only meet with furrowed eyebrows as she took in the large star.

“The plan goes as follows: first we are going to—”

She cut him off, placing her hand against his lips. “We?” She raised her eyebrows to further her point, to which he mirrored with what she could only describe as a mockingly annoyed look. “I thought I was too short to help with the star.”

Chanyeol's eyes faded to a sheepish smile around her fingers before she slowly dropped them. He pleads her name softly under his breath, so she would have to lean in to hear him. "You know I didn't mean it." He whispers, his lips coming together to form a cute pout and his eyes turning into that big puppy dog stare. "Please help out your poor Channie, please." He bats his eyelashes for extra support.

She pretended to fake gag, though really she knew she couldn’t hold out against that look and feared her insides turning to mush. “You’re gross.” She settled on saying, letting a drawn-out sigh escape her lips. Chanyeol beamed, bouncing down on his toes to scoop her up into a too tight hug. His lips left a trail of mushy kisses against her cheek that made her fidget in his grip, an 18+ warning leaving her tongue and causing him to promptly set her down.

"Okay, okay," Chanyeol started again, pulling her over to the Christmas tree. "You hop on my shoulders and I'll keep you steady as you put the star on top."

"What!?" Seoyun half yells, giving Chanyeol a look that screams that he must be out of his mind.

"What?" He repeats, seeing nothing wrong with the situation. "I won't let you fall, I promise." He quickly adds at seeing her unrelenting face. "You know I would never let you fall— unless it's for me, then fall all you want."

She hit Chanyeol in the chest as he let out a loud laugh, rubbing the place she hit him with a wince like she actually hurt him, even though they both know she didn't. He gives her an endearing look as she begins to contemplate his plan. She did trust Chanyeol not to let her fall and the only other option was to climb a chair which seemed like even more of a risk. Seoyun felt her eyebrows begin to come together in the middle as she sighed in defeat— hoping that her choice would come out to be the lesser of two evils.

"Fine," she jabbed a finger in his chest, which he caught between his and brought up to land a quick kiss on. "But you'll pay if you drop me."

Chanyeol easily agreed to her terms and before she could even think about changing her mind, he was hoisting her up like a weightless doll onto his shoulders, his hands coming to rest comfortingly around her thighs. She straightened out, gaining her wobbly balance before reaching out towards the tree with the star. Seoyun easily placed it on top with a smile, admiring the tree from the tall view. It was ever so slightly lopsided and despite her rearranging, the ornaments were a little all over the place. But that was okay, because it was cute and homey. Mostly, though, she and Chanyeol had made it together, so that alone made it worth it.

"Okay," She seemed to whisper, her hands going down to brush through the messy mop of hair on his forehead. "I am ready to be put down now Channie." Seoyun claimed, looking down at him underneath her.

"I don't know," he muttered with a distant look in his eyes, one she almost could recognize as trouble. "I think I am starting to get used to this view." Chanyeol swiftly turned his head and buried his face on the inside of her bare thigh, making Seoyun's eyes shoot open.

"Park Chanyeol!"

thank you for reading

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bananaofswifts · 4 years

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This summer, Taylor Swift was meant to headline Glastonbury. In fact, she was meant to be playing a whole host of festivals and shows on an international tour as well as hosting her own two-part ‘Lover Fest’ in America, all in celebration of her sixth studio album ‘Lover’, which was released last August). The global pandemic, of course, meant these plans were scrapped, leaving Swift with bountiful spare time. No longer locked into rehearsals or jetting around the globe performing to tens of thousands, she used these hours to write.

The results of these unforeseen quarantine writing sessions have come together on Swift’s new, eighth studio album, ‘Folklore’. She’s uncharacteristically ‘done a Beyoncé‘, announcing the album less than 24 hours before it drops, a stark change to the very deliberate, calculated release schedules we’ve seen from Swift in the past. In a simple statement posted to social media, she acknowledged that she’d usually wait and release the album at the “perfect” time, but said the global situation acted as a reminder to her that “nothing is guaranteed”. These shock release tactics go hand-in-hand with a change in musical direction for Swift; ‘Folklore’ is something totally unexpected from one of the world’s biggest pop stars.

Over the course of seven albums, we’ve seen Swift evolve from a fresh-faced, teenage country crossover hopeful to sleek synth-pop chart-juggernaut. Each record has brought with it gradual changes – 2010’s ‘Speak Now’ was rockier and 2012’s ‘Red’ saw more pop-leaning production, and by the time we got to 2014’s ‘1989’ she’d cast the cowboy hat aside entirely for pure pop bangers. On album eight, Swift dives headfirst into the world of folk, alternative rock and indie.

It was written in isolation; she remotely teamed up with a handful of her musical heroes – and indie legends – including The National‘s Aaron Dessner (who worked on 11 of the 16 songs), Bon Iver‘s Justin Vernon (he makes the record’s only guest appearance on ‘Exile’) and long-time collaborator Jack Antonoff. In her pre-release statement, she claims to have worked with another ‘hero’, the mysterious William Bowery – though no known details exist about him elsewhere and fans have speculated that this is a pseudonym for her brother or boyfriend, the actor Joe Alwyn.Whoever Bowery is, the results are unexpected, and sometimes astonishing – ‘Folklore’ feels like Swift has travelled to a metaphorical cabin in the woods – albeit one with a very strong WiFI connection – and concocted a gorgeous, relaxed record filled with modern folk songs.Dessner’s fingerprints permeate most of ‘Folklore’. The trickling piano on ‘The 1’ and ‘Mad Woman’ are reminiscent of last year’s The National album ‘I Am Easy to Find’ and ‘The Last Great American Dynasty’ evokes the glitchy production heard on the band’s 2017 album ‘Sleep Well Beast’. These brooding instrumentals are always complemented by Swift’s distinctive vocals and ear-worm hooks, though, a reminder that this is the artist behind some of the biggest songs of the past decade. Meanwhile Bon Iver collaboration ‘Exile’ is a melancholy duet, a slow-burner that eventually erupts into a climax of glittering euphoria filled with chorused vocals and soaring strings reminiscent of Vernon’s fourth Bon Iver album, last year’s ‘i, i’.

Despite the bold new direction, there are moments of nostalgia for Swift albums gone by, too. ‘Betty’, a sweet tune about high school romance written by Swift and the enigmatic Bowery, fuses this new folk-rock sound with moments of country we’ve not heard for several albums. ‘My Tears Ricochet’ feels like a sister to the Imogen Heap co-written ‘Clean’ from ‘1989’, only this time a megawatt pop song is encased in layered vocals and twinkling music box instrumentals.

True: at 16 songs (17, if you count bonus track ‘The Lakes’) ‘Folklore’ can sometimes drag slightly. ‘Mirrorball’, a saccharine declaration of romance, lacks the bite of the rest of the album, while ‘Epiphany’ feels slightly sluggish. Yet for the most part, the elegant melodies, glittering production and, crucially, Swift’s songwriting and lyricism pull it back from the brink.

In fact, it’s Swift’s vivid storytelling that makes ‘Folklore’ such an impressive album. This facet has always been a keystone in her music, but her discography twinkles with gems in which it’s heightened (the gut-punch couplet of “you call me up again just to break me like a promise / So casually cruel in the name of being honest” on ‘Red”s ‘All Too Well’; the rich description of a gaudy wedding in the title track to ‘Speak Now’).

‘Folklore’ is infused with this sort of storytelling. Take ‘The Last Great American Dynasty’, which is a contender for the best Taylor Swift song ever written. Describing one woman’s life crumbling around her, the descriptive lyrics evoke those of ’80s singer-songwriter Mary Chapin Carpenter, or the complex tales Bob Dylan spins in his lengthy, winding verses. ‘Invisible String’, filled with an unusual turn of phrase – “Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to LA” – is a candid glimpse inside Swift’s current relationship. And, of course, there are plenty of pithy kiss-offs perfect for your next Instagram caption, the greatest arriving when Swift whispers “And if I’m dead to you why are you at the wake?” on ‘My Tears Ricochet’.

‘Folklore’ feels fresh, forward-thinking and, most of all, honest. The glossy production she’s lent on for the past half-decade is cast aside for simpler, softer melodies and wistful instrumentation. It’s the sound of an artist who’s bored of calculated releases and wanted to try something different. Swift disappeared into the metaphorical woods while writing ‘Folklore’, and she’s emerged stronger than ever.

#taylor swift #folklore #review

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Summary: Ki-Adi-Mundi was sent to Tatooine to bring back Sharad Hett. Instead, he brings back his son and, following the pleas of a tired recently knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi, frees Shmi Skywalker.

Read on AO3

A’Sharad Hett didn’t have anything but his lightsabers, his mask and the Force when he followed his new teacher into Mos Espa. The port was busy with people of all species hurrying through the streets, but he still couldn’t shake the looks they were giving him. It didn’t bother him, they were right to wary. A’Sharad was strong and had fought many battles for his clan to protect their hunting grounds from all these outlanders who thought they could push his clan to the dead sands where cowards went to die.

“There is a ship here that will take us back to Coruscant,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said. “I have to run another errand before that though. If you want, I can take you to the ship first and you can wait there for me.”

His new teacher was a strong, wise and kind man. He assumed A’Sharad needed time to recover from the pain of the last days, and he undoubtedly would, but now was not the time to mourn. Tatooine was a harsh world where its very air and sunlight were your enemy and A’Sharad understood all too well that he couldn’t grieve here.

And, perhaps if he allowed himself to think of the honest cool and cutting truth of the moonlight, A’Sharad could admit that he didn’t want to be alone. He wasn’t used to it. Even if one’s fight was their own, a Tusken was never truly lonely.

“I’d like to go with you, Master,” A’Sharad answered.

Mundi smiled at him. “I am glad to hear that Padawan. Perhaps your presence might help make my venture a little easier.”

“What are we doing?”

Mundi guided them through the streets into the poorer districts of the city until eventually, they reached the slave quarters proper. A’Sharad’s clan never had any troubles with the slaves or Tatooine. Their people were hurting just as much as the Tuskens and when they crossed paths in the desert, they gladly invited them to stay a night. It took great strength to run away and take your freedom when you came from nothing. The slaves didn’t know to trust them, but that was no surprise. Their owners, rich businessmen, and moisture farmers alike claimed people and land with no regard to another’s autonomy or belongings.

They were all skaterkst, bad.

“About three months ago another Jedi was stranded here on Tatooine, Qui-Gon Jinn was his name. I mentioned him before.”

A’Sharad recalled that name. Mundi had talked about him with his father. Sharad Hett had held him in high regard. A’Sharad nodded and sighed for Mundi to continue.

“Qui-Gon found a boy here, Anakin. He is very strong in the Force, but was wholly untrained. He freed Anakin in a rather spectacular manner if the boy’s account is to be believed. However, his mother is still a slave. Anakin’s teacher asked me to take a slight detour on this mission to free his mother. We can hardly expect the boy to let go of his attachments if his mother’s torment looms over him like a cord.”

“You are kind,” A’Sharad said.

He had been taught to let go when the storms had claimed his mother when he’d been a young child still. He was an adult now, a warrior. He had slain a krayt dragon and he would become a Jedi of the Order and not think about parents left behind in the desert.

“I’m a Jedi,” Mundi replied, though his answer almost felt more like a correction. “I do what is necessary.”

Mundi then stopped when he saw a group of women talking. A group of children was playing around them, a game of catch or something similar, A’Sharad wasn’t sure. There appeared to be some rules the children followed, but the pattern made no sense to him. Mundi only smiled at the display, then walked over to the women.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I seek a woman by the name of Shmi Skywalker. I am Ki-Adi-Mundi of the Jedi Order and this is my Padawan A’Sharad Hett. We’re here on behalf of her son, Anakin.”

One of the women stepped forward. Out of the three of them, she was the brightest. A’Sharad was used to utilizing the Force as his compass when the storms got so bad, you couldn’t even see your bantha. This woman was so full of light, A’Sharad could be blind and he would still find her.

“Anakin? My Anakin?” The woman repeated.

“You are Shmi Skywalker then?”

“Yes,” Shmi said. A’Sharad couldn’t sense a lie. She was speaking the truth and she was telling it with so much hope, it was startling.

“I’m very glad to hear that. Lady Skywalker, I apologize that it took us so long, but we are here to free you.”

The children that had been playing around them stopped and all of them, with no exception, stared at them with big eyes. The two women with Shmi looked torn between suspicion and disbelief, but the same couldn’t be said about Shmi. She looked at them in relief and wonder. Her arms hung slack at her side and while she didn’t say a word, didn’t ask them a question, A’Sharad could feel it all in the Force. It must be similar for his new teacher who studied her in curiosity before producing a small pouch and giving it to Shmi. She opened it and slowly counted the money, piece after piece before she closed the bag again and closed her eyes for just one moment to take a deep breath. When she was finished, Mundi continued.

Then, in the same voice he had used to ask A’Sharad if he wanted to stay behind, he spoke to Shmi.

“Originally, I was just going to give you the needed peggats as a Jedi cannot be seen dealing in slavery. The political upheaval it would cause is unimaginable. Fortunately, my young Padawan has not been inducted into the Order proper yet and his actions before his introductions will not reflect back on the Order at large.”

Mundi’s eyes shone almost mischievously as he turned to A’Sharad. “A’Sharad, would you take ensuring the freedom of this woman as your first mission as my Padawan?”

Shmi Skywalker with her burning hope looked at him like he was the younger Sky Brother, ready to snap her iron chains and break her out of the cruel enslavement. He could do this, he had to do it. The Force was with him and had guided him on this path and his new circle of life started here on Tatooine with Shmi Skywalker’s name. He wondered if she knew what her name meant to his clan, that it marked her as a great warrior.

“I will guide you, Shmi Skywalker,” A’Sharad promised.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice just as strong as his.

She hesitated at first, but then gave the pouch to A’Sharad.

They bid Shmi’s friends goodbye as they made their way to the Builder that owned her. They didn’t speak a word for the entire journey, only when they arrived at a junkshop did A’Sharad saw it fit to talk again. Tuskens didn’t waste words. Their masks enabled them to speak, but it wasn’t pleasant in any form. Hence most of their stories being relayed through their sign language.

“I will free you,” A’Sharad said.

Shmi looked at him and nodded only slightly, then the two of them stepped through the entrance of the shop. Master Ki-Adi-Mundi stayed outside as not to attract attention of any kind. Inside the store, a Toydorian was flying around, counting his possessions. A’Sharad was glad that Shmi wouldn’t be a part of his calculations much longer. When he saw Shmi, his face twisted into an ugly snarl and A’Sharad knew that if he weren’t standing right beside her, the Toydorian would have said something as harsh a krayt’s claws.

Now, instead, he froze. He was undoubtedly aware of the danger he was in now. A’Sharad felt a grim satisfaction, the Builder deserved it.

“I want to buy your slave,” A’Sharad said.

“What?”

“I will not repeat myself. You will sell her to me.”

A’Sharad didn’t attempt to influence his mind, it wouldn’t work, but he could certainly outstubborn the Toydorian and let his reputation do the rest.

The Builder’s wings twitched nervously. “What do you want with her?”

“It does not matter.”

“It’s just that Shmi here is very dear to me… The price has to fit, I mean.”

A’Sharad wanted to take out his lightsaber and separate the Toydorian’s head from his torse. That too would be justice, but not the kind he could seek now. The way the Builder talked about Shmi was unacceptable, as if she weren’t there at all.

“I can pay,” A’Sharad replied merely. “So do business with me.”

Like all Builders, the Toydorian was a greedy creature, cruel and vicious. But A’Sharad had seen death and survived, haggling with such a bastard was nothing. After a discussion that felt much too long and too short at the same time, A’Sharad walked out of the store with a free woman.

“It is done?” Mundi asked when he spotted them.

A’Sharad wondered whether he had stood out in the sunlight waiting the whole time instead of searching for some shade.

“Yes,” A’Sharad replied. “She is freed and I have some money still over.”

“Well done, Padawan,” Mundi praised him. He gently put his hand on A’Sharad’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. The gesture reminded A’Sharad too much of his father so that for just one moment he resented it before accepting it as the support it was meant to be.

“Are you alright, Lady Skywalker?”

Shmi was still staring at the small black remote in her hand as if she couldn’t believe it. There was no telling how long she had been a slave for, but even just a minute in chains was a minute too long.

“Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I’m fine. I am… free.”

She began smile, happy, wide and mad like a spirit. Before A’Sharad could react, she pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” She whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. When she pulled away from him again, she wiped away the one lone tear that had rolled over her cheeks. With the very same thumb, she gently traced his right cheek. A’Sharad didn’t know the gesture, but he knew better than to disrupt it.

“I will not forget what you did for me,” Shmi said. “Jedi Mundi, I know I’m asking for a lot, but could you tell about my son? And give him a message from me?”

To A’Sharad it didn’t seem like Shmi was asking for much, but they had just freed her. She now had a whole galaxy to observe and travel if she so desired. It would take her time to figure out what her new limits were.

“Of course, Lady Skywalker,” Mundi assured her. “Nothing would please me more.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi was an honorable man. If A’Sharad followed his footsteps, he would certainly make his clan proud. And as Shmi Skywalker took her first steps into a world unbound, A’Sharad Hett set his compass anew and followed suit.

#star wars #ki adi mundi #a'sharad hett #shmi skywalker #fanfic

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offaeandcreation · 3 years

Text

The Mounds of Spider Lilies

Summary: Twelve years after the Siege, Spider Lilies bloomed in vast amounts all over the Burial Mounds. Thousands of scarlet flowers, scent so sweet, covered the cursed mountains. The stalks were jet black, tainted by the resent that steeped within the very soil the flowers took root in, yet it only made the red of the petals, oh so delicate, stand out even more. Then came the rumors. The villagers in Yiling whispered among each other of a figure, dressed in a haunting black, walking about the Spider Lilies. No one dared to approach. Was it the Yiling Patriarch? Had he returned with Spider Lilies trailing after him?

AO3

Often appearing almost magically overnight, Spider Lilies bloom in cemeteries. It is said that they guide the dead to the afterlife.

Twelve years after the Siege, Spider Lilies bloomed in vast amounts all over the Burial Mounds. Thousands of scarlet flowers, scent so sweet, covered the cursed mountains. The stalks were jet black, tainted by the resent that steeped within the very soil the flowers took root in, yet it only made the red of the petals, oh so delicate, stand out even more.

Then came the rumors. The villagers in Yiling whispered among each other of a figure, dressed in a haunting black, walking about the Spider Lilies. No one dared to approach. Was it the Yiling Patriarch? Had he returned with Spider Lilies trailing after him?

Multiple sects rushed to the Burial Mounds, crushing red lilies underfoot, never mind how hard they worked to bloom in a long since dead earth.

No matter the summoning ritual, no matter the luring, no matter the hunting where every nook and cranny was searched with uttermost scrutiny, no figure in black was found. Even as Sect Leader Jiang marched into the field, lilies crushed into nothing with every step he took, purple lightning of Zidian crackling around him, yelling “Wei Wuxian!” at the top of his lungs, demanding he come and face him, no one appeared. No figure in black.

And the very next day, crushed flowers, stomped into the charred dirt, returned fully rejuvenated, as if no one had stomped across the field the day before. Cultivators returned to their sects, perplexed by the strange events. Sect Leader Jiang remained in Yiling for several weeks, yet soon he was forced to leave as well.

Lan Wangji found himself at the entrance of the Burial Mounds. When the rumors first reached his ears, he couldn’t help himself but come. Could it be Wei Ying? Even as everyone else failed, perhaps if he tried? Perhaps…?

Lan Wangji cautiously entered the Burial Mounds. The sea of spider lilies greeted him.

Carefully, Lan Wangji sidestepped each flower, careful of their charcoal leaves and scarlet petals. Finding an empty rock that was yet to be overtaken by the lilies, Lan Wangji set down his guqin, the dark engravings reflecting the midday sun, and he plucked the first notes of Inquiry. Spirits danced in front of him, replying “no” to every question.

They have not seen Wei Ying.

There are no demonic cultivators here.

They do not know who planted the scarlet flowers of death.

Lan Wangji furrowed his brows. The Burial Mounds were tamed by the Yiling Patriarch: the fierce corpses and the resentful energy, thick as black smoke, obeyed only him. Only appearing if summoned. But with their ring leader gone, again corpses and resent wandered about, no longer leashed.

Yet in the sea of scarlet lilies, the air tasted sweet with only an aftertaste of rot and blood, fierce corpses nowhere to be seen, and only wisps of resentful energy danced in the breeze.

So why?

“You are the only one who has not stepped on the lilies.” A voice, soft and sad spoke from behind.

Lan Wangji looked up from his guqin, eyes slightly widening in surprise. A figure in black approached, scarlet flame motifs sewn into the helm of their sleeves and collar. Their hair was black, but features far too strong, brows far too sharp – he was no Wei Ying.

Then Lan Wangji noticed how the stranger’s eyes matched the scarlet of the Spider Lilies.

The man furrowed a brow at him, realizing he noticed, waiting for his reaction. His hand was resting on the hilt of a golden sword. The man gazed at him. Still waiting.

He looked no older than 20, yet-

“You are immortal.” Lan Wangji said.

The man smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

They were silent for a moment. Lan Wangji saluted him, “Apologies for trespassing.” He said.

The man returned the salute. “There is no issue nor harm done. I do appreciate that you did not step on the flowers.”

Lan Wangji nodded. His expression unreadable.

“You are looking for someone.” The man said. All mirth disappeared from his expression.

Perhaps…

“Do you know where Wei Wuxian is?” Lan Wangji asked.

The man furrowed his brows in confusion.

“He died here.”

The man’s expression evened. He was quiet for a long moment before replying,

“The Yiling Patriarch?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

The man sighed, fatigue weighing down on his shoulders, “you have been looking for him for a long time.”

Lan Wangji said nothing. The expression the man made said he did not need to.

“Have you considered he may not want to be found?” The man finally replied.

Lan Wangji took a deep breath, no words came to him.

“You are mourning as well.”

The man perked up, gaze connecting with Lan Wangji’s own. His eyes were indeed scarlet. Like-

“You are Wen Mao.”

The Wen Patriarch’s face fell, “I was. I am. I don’t know if I will be.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Wen Mao descended only a year ago. He hid himself among the common folk – a rogue cultivator with scarlet eyes. But questions plagued him when in every night hunt, the pale and scarlet robes of the Wen Sect were missing.

He asked.

The answer was not pleasant.

His family became tyrants. Taking, killing, hurting. Pushing and pushing until everyone simply had enough.

Wen Mao couldn’t blame them, in their place, he would have also declared war .

But then, the surviving Wen were taken to the Burial Mounds by the Yiling Patriarch, raising an army until they were subsequently crushed in the Siege meant for them and their leader.

Something about the story did not make sense. Something felt wrong. Something missing.

So Wen Mao went to investigate.

Dilapidated houses littered the Burial Mounds, tilled fields stood empty with the occasional hardy radish. The tools that lay abandoned and broken, if not yet crushed underfoot by the siege, spoke only of gardening and building.

At most, Wen Mao calculated, there were 50 people living here. 50 people tried to cultivate the land. Tried to simply live. What warriors? What army?

Lies. The Great sects led a siege to simply end his family line, because of the actions of the long since dead Sect. Wen Mao feared that rage would burn him into a husk.

There was more to the story. The Yiling Patriarch killed so many. Of course a Siege would commence. A demon with the Stygerian Seal that killed countless in the Nightless City after murdering the heir of the Lanling Jin Sect.

It sounded too horrible. But if they were clearly trying to live, why commit such crimes?

Wen Mao walked among the Burial Mounds, thoughts in conflict. There was not enough information to come to any conclusions.

He ventured to the Nightless city: abandoned and reeked of death. He walked among the broken columns and torn down walls. Voices echoed of past memories: children running, disciples training, windows open to allow in the sunlight.

All gone. Replaced by the shadows of a legacy burned to the ground.

Rage burned through him, yet there was nothing left to do.

It was too late. They were gone.

If only he descended earlier than maybe.

Maybe he could have put an end to this madness without so much death. So much loss.

But there was no maybe. His family was dead. His blood line gone. His people, whom he yearned and prayed to survive and find greatness, shot down for their arrogance.

An arrogance he explicitly spoke against.

There was nothing to be done.

He was too late.

Wen Mao collapsed to his knees in front of the ancestral hall…or what was left of it.

“I’m so sorry.” He croaked between sobs, “I failed to protect you.”

He returned to the Burial Mounds and slowly began to cultivate the land, planting seeds of grasses and peonies, so something would grow in the final burial place of his people. Yet the seeds refused to grow. The soil refused to mother life. Many times Wen Mao wished to give up, yet he remembered the desolate city, abandoned and shunted aside in a fit of rage.

No, not just a fit of rage. Justice that had gone too far.

He prayed. Days he prayed to whatever deities existed.

One day, when he awoke, legs aching from kneeling for so long, the valley before him was covered in Spider Lilies. Sweet lilies. He could not think of a better flower for the dead.

However…

He did not plant them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lan Wangji waited until Wen Mao finished his tale. He added several details:

Wei Wuxian was not a cruel man. Jin Zixuan’s death was most probably an accident.

He did not believe that he would kill the husband of his beloved Shijie in cold blood.

He refused to.

The remaining Wen were living peacefully up here, the majority of them frail from age.

Wen Mao sighed. His features all the more crestfallen.

“Part of me seethes in cold rage.” He said, “Part of me wants to strangle the other sects until they beg.”

The fists he made with his hands, knuckles white, relaxed.

“I won’t.” He said finally, under Lan Wangji’s scrutinizing gaze, “I won’t let rage blind me as it had done to so many others.”

What was there to do? It was too late. The past cannot be rewritten for its ink is already cracked and dry.

“You intend to die here.” Lan Wangji said all the sudden. His voice tinged with worry.

Wen Mao laughed bitterly. “The thoughts do come occasionally. But, I have dear friends who would not take such news very well.” He sighed. He looked so much older in that moment. Not a youthful cultivator but an immortal of 400 years.

“I simply do not know what to do with my life now. I achieved immortality. Left my sect as to not be corrupted by the seat of power, promising myself I would come to their aide if it is ever needed but-” He burst into raucous and bitter laughter.

“You saw how that went. What is the point of being an immortal if you cannot protect what you hold dear?”

Lan Wangji stared at his hands. The old wounds on his back throbbed, as if in agreement.

Wen Mao slumped against the rock, the evening sun already dipped into the horizon.

“They aren’t all dead.” Lan Wangji finally said.

Wen Mao’s sharp eyes were on him, wide in surprise.

“My adoptive son, Lan Sizhui. He doesn’t remember but his name was Wen Yuan.”

Wen Mao’s jaw dropped. Tears welled up in his eyes. His mouth moved to speak but nothing came out.

“I changed his name to protect him.” Lan Wangji added, “very few know.”

Before Lan Wangji could stop him, Wen Mao kneeled before him.

“Thank you. Thank you.” His voice was muffled by scarlet petals and charcoal leaves.

Lan Wangji climbed down the rock beside the kneeling immortal, uncertain of what to do. A beat of silence passed between them as the Immortal trembled.

Finally, Wen Mao looked up, eyes rimmed red. But there was a smile, full fledged, alive, dancing on his lips, “It is best he doesn’t know. At least for now. But I would love to meet him, when he is ready.”

Lan Wangji nodded. Eyes softening.

Wen Mao wiped his eyes with a handkerchief “You love him…Wei Wuxian I mean.”

A deep intake of breath was enough of an answer to him.

“From what you told me, his life had been painful.” Wen Mao began, voice soft and gentle, “it will take time for his soul to heal. I cannot say how long however.”

Lan Wangji nodded, understanding clear in his demeanor.

“What do you intend to do?” He finally asked the Immortal.

Wen Mao gazed into the night sky, clouds obscured the stars, “You have become Hanguang-Jun, helping those in need even in the face of heartbreak.”

Lan Wangji’s features remained impassive, but his eyes glimmered.

Wen Mao met his eyes again, “In the wake of rage and despair, I will respond with kindness.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows furrowed, “You mentioned you do not know if you will be ‘Wen Mao…’”

“To the people, I will not. Not yet.”

Lan Wangji left the Burial Mounds that night with a promise to meet again. Perhaps, in a few years or so, dear Lan Sizhui will be ready.

His brother awaited him at the entrance of the Cloud Recesses. His question clear in his eyes. Lan Wangji shook his head and said nothing else.

#lan wangji #background wangxian #lan zhan #wen mao #mo dao zu shi #my writing #mourning #poetry #flower imagery

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oswildin · 4 years

Text

Figment of the Mind ~ Dhawan!Master x Reader

Request: I've a request. An Oc artist who recently came out of the asylum because she heard since childhood voices/screaming/singing and who meet/ or Tavel with the master!dhawan. Both of them care about eachother (without saying it directly), and the of is ginger. (There's never enough gingers) 😁🦊 ( @alviazeginger )

Warnings: Mental Illness, Maybe some triggers for people.

Mad they called you. Crazy. Psychotic. Eventually their words broke you down, leaving you numb and helpless. Why were people so cruel? You never asked for any of this. You never asked to be dosed up on medication, or asked for the voices to take over your mind... But that was reality. Harsh. Cruel.

It started in school, as you began to hear the echoes of voices in your mind. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you could hear them nonetheless. You had a wild imagination everyone told you. You sometimes could see people around you who you didn’t know weren’t actually there. Of course, that didn’t bode well with the other students. They labelled you as the weird one.

Through your teenage years, you managed to keep it hidden. After transferring schools, you tried to start fresh. But it was hard. It was hard to try and silence the noise in your head. It was plaguing your childhood.

Now as a young adult, you were being released from an asylum. You were dosed up on medications they’d forced you to take, and told you to keep going with them to help you drown out the voices. It helped. You admitted. But after having most of your life experiencing the voices, it felt almost empty without them.

You returned to your flat, dumping your little belonging onto the floor as you entered. You were exhausted. You felt weird being out in the world again. But inside your flat, you felt safe, like you could be yourself. You wondered into the kitchen as you began to watch the kettle boil. Suddenly, you were brought back to reality as you heard a strange noise coming from outside. You furrowed your brows, peering out the window to try and find the source of the noise.

Just as you peered out, you saw... A house appear? Out of no where... You felt panic rise, beginning to worry about whether you had remembered to take your pills. You continued to watch in confusion as a man appeared out of the house. You took in his appearance. You didn’t recognise him. Not one bit. He definitely wasn’t one of the people in your head. Was he?

The Master took in his surroundings as he glared. Earth. His TARDIS seemed to love messing with him. Perhaps he deserved it. He wasn’t the nicest to her. He felt a sensation of being watched as he tried to home in on it, feeling eyes watching from afar. He followed his senses, finally coming across a building of flats. He peered upwards, looking in each window before his eyes settled upon you.

You gasped, jumping back from the window, closing the blinds as you stepped away. You quickly rushed for your bag, rummaging through it as you searched for your tablets. Finally you found the packet, revealing you had in fact taken them. Was he real? No. Don’t be stupid. He couldn’t be. The house came out of thin air... Right? Thinking of it, you didn’t remember a house ever being there...

Suddenly, a knock was heard at the door. You jumped, dropping your tablets as you looked at the door in fear. Were the tablets not working? Was leaving the asylum wrong? You slowly stood up straight, hearing the knock again. Four knocks. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you walked towards the door, your hand shaking as it gripped the handle. You slowly pulled it down, as you awaited what was on the other side of the door.

Upon opening the door, it revealed the same man you had seen minutes ago. He stood with a smug look on his face as he held onto the lapels of his jacket.

“Liked what you saw did you?” He almost purred as you felt your breath hitch, trying to find words, but your mouth stayed agape. “Speechless? I know. I am devilishly handsome, I admit.” He seemed to smirk, before taking a step forwards as you backed up. “Well?” He waited for anything. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re not real.” You told him, shaking your head. “You’re in my head.” You narrowed your eyes. The Master looked lost as you spoke.

“What are you wittering on about?” He asked exasperated, folding his arms as he raised a brow.

“You! You’re a figment of my imagination! Not even that, cause I definitely am not trying to imagine you.” You rambled, moving a hand to your forehead. “They told me the meds would work.” You muttered, turning away from him as you frantically searched for your pills once more. The Master pulled a face before furrowing his brows.

“You’ve lost me. And it’s not often I say that.” He admitted as he watched your panicked state. “What are you doing now?!” He asked, annoyed.

“Shut up!” You exclaimed, going to cover your ears. The Master seemed taken back by your sudden outburst. “Shut up! Go away!” He knelt down beside you, staring at you, calculating... Analysing you.

“I’m only here cause you looked at me through your window.” He commented. “Why do you think I’m not real?” He inquired, genuinely curious.

“Because I know my mind, and I know how it likes to play tricks.” You told him sternly. “No matter what I do. The voices always come back.” You said sadly, defeated. He finally seemed to understand what you were talking about as he looked down beside him, seeing the tablet packet on the floor. He picked it up, examining it, before offering it out to you.

“If it’s any consolation, I know how you feel.” He said quietly. You furrowed your brows, seeing the packet in his hand as you looked over at him. “Come on, Mad Mary.” He slowly stood up, straightening his jacket as he towered over you. “I’ve got something to show you.”

You didn’t know why you followed him. You didn’t even try to stop yourself. It was like you were entranced. He guided you to the house you saw him appear from, as he opened the front door, stepping aside.

“Go on.” He almost ordered as you peered at him in confusion.

“Why would I go into a house with a stranger?” You asked, scoffing slightly. “A house that definitely wasn’t there before.” He rolled his eyes.

“Because you’re curious.” He told you as a matter of fact. “You want to know if this is real... Well... What better way than to see something remarkable for yourself?” You paused, thinking it over. You bit your lip, knowing you would probably instantly regret your decision. Glancing at him once more, you stepped into the house, through the small porch as you came across another door. You glanced back at him, as he stayed outside the house, nodding his head at you to continue. You sighed, bracing yourself, before opening the new door. What you were about to see, was something you could never have imagined...

In front of you was a red-lit room. At first glance, it appeared like a normal living area, but upon closer inspection, there was a different element to the room. There was almost a small control deck in the centre of it. You furrowed your brows, stepping inside.

“It’s called a TARDIS.” You jumped at the sound of the Master’s voice behind you. “It’s a space ship. It travels in space and time...” He told you, pushing past you as he walked up towards the console. “And yes. It’s alien.”

“What? How? How is this possible?” You questioned, looking at the room.

“It just is!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Now do you believe me? I am real.” You walked towards him, as you looked him up and down. You swallowed the lump in your throat before hesitantly reaching out a hand. He stayed still, face emotionless. You slowly placed your hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat... No wait... Hearts beat? You flinched, pulling your hand away. None of your visions had ever been touchable before, let alone have a heart beat. Or two.

“You are real.” You breathed out, your voice wavering slightly. “Oh my god.” You stepped back.

“Not quite.” He teased, winking at you as he twirled around dramatically to face the console. “Now! It’s rare that I do this. In fact! It never happens!” He exclaimed, a slight smile on his lips. “But... I think you and me... Are almost alike. And I say that very loosely, as of course, you are human.” He almost said with a distaste. “How do you fancy a trip?” You looked confused, stuttering before speaking.

“A trip? Where?” You asked.

“Anywhere! The universe is the limit!” He had his arms behind his back.

“Why?” You raised a brow. “Why me?”

“I just told you.” He said irritated. “Plus, I’ve always wondered what it was like to have a companion.”

“A companion?!” You exclaimed, looking taken back. “I am not going to be your companion! Is that why you brought me in here? Ugh, men! All the same!” You pulled a disgusted face as he sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He told you. “Honestly. Humans. Not everything is about that.” He paused. “Now, coming or not, Red?”

And so it began. Your one trip turned into several. Of course, you had to return home to get your belongings and medication. You couldn’t go without that. You couldn’t let him see you that way. Over time, you began to enjoy each others madness. The Master was unhinged, unpredictable... Exciting. You couldn’t help but fall straight into the swing of things. The lifestyle was almost perfect. It kept your mind busy. You even began to harbour feelings towards the alien. Little did you know, he was fond of you also. As annoying and human you were, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by you.

However, your hectic lifestyle often led to not knowing what day it was, or time even. You hadn’t noticed it had been almost 2 days, before you began to feel slightly unwell. You just put it down to exhaustion. However, soon you heard a familiar voice you hadn’t heard in a long time. You didn’t tell the Master, keeping it to yourself. You quickly went to take your meds, but realised you had no more left. Had it really been a whole month?

You felt panic begin to rise. So you did the only thing you knew how to do. Lock yourself away. You stayed in your room, not going outside as you didn’t want the Master to see you like this. You tried to ignore the voice, but it didn’t like that. You covered your ears, tried to sleep through it all, but nothing worked.

The Master noticed something was wrong. You hadn’t come out of your room for a whole day. He wondered if he had done something to upset you. He knocked on your door.

“(Y/N)?” He called, before hearing muffled whispers from inside. He narrowed his eyes, trying to listen in as he heard you mumble ‘stop’ over and over. Then he realised. Your meds. He bit his lip before opening the door slowly, not waiting for your permission. What he saw broke his hearts.

You were curled up on your bed, hands over your ears as he saw tear tracks on your cheeks. He quickly made his way to your side, bringing your hands away from your ears as you looked at him, shaking your head.

“Go away!” You cried. “I don’t want you here!” You told him. He sighed, ignoring your pleas as you sat up, staring at him with wide eyes. He could see the exhaustion on your face. “Shut up!” You exclaimed, feeling the pressure in your mind building. The Master had seen enough, wanting your hurting to stop. He carefully reached out, gently placing his fingers on your temple as you closed your eyes, passing out. He quickly caught you, holding you for a moment before laying you back down on the bed, allowing you the rest you desperately needed.

You opened your eyes, not knowing how long you had been asleep as you saw your bedside table in front of you. You furrowed your brows as you saw a glass of water and your tablets on the side. Didn’t you run out? What happened? You didn’t hesitate as you ensured you took the pills, feeling relief fill your body as you knew soon the voices would stop.

A few hours later, you finally came out of your room, the door creaking as you poked your head out, seeing the Master sat in his armchair, reading a book as he glanced up, giving you a look.

“I was gonna send a search party.” He told you. “Thought you’d gone AWOL. Fallen into a supernova.” He muttered as he flipped a page. You furrowed your brows, folding your arms over your chest as you slowly walked towards him.

“I remember, you know.” You told him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to see that.” You said quietly, ashamed. He looked up from his book once again.

“Don’t apologise.” He told you sternly. “Don’t ever apologise for that.” He closed the book, standing up from his seat. “Shame you... That’s one thing I will never do.” He told you gently, as you felt your heart skip a beat at his words. No one had ever been so kind. How could a man, full of rage, hatred and bitterness say such kind things? Although, it shouldn’t surprise you. Everyone had their reasons for being the way they were. You of all people knew that. You didn’t know what to say as you stayed silent.

“Now you’re all rested up! How about a trip?” He said, his mood changing as he rushed towards the console. “You can choose. Where do you want to go, Red?” You smiled slightly at the nickname he had given you.

At that moment, you didn’t feel ashamed, or guilty or alone.

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