#my wings are one of my most dashing features don’t you think? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bokettochild · 3 years

Text

The Worries and Woes of Heroic Hair

Y'all were busting out hair headcannons before I left, so I saved a few and wrote a fic for them.

Featuring:

Pre-maturely grey Twilight

Curly haired Legend

Long haired Four

(As well as a reference to long hair Sky)

Warriors had gained the unfortunate title of ‘pretty boy’.

In a group of beautiful men and boys that literally sent women swooning, no matter what world they were in, he’d somehow been labeled the “pretty” one. Never mind he was more mature looking than half of their number. Never mind that Legend and Hyrule looked like a pair of porcelain dolls hand painted by a master artist. Never mind that Wild literally had half of his world falling heels over head for him. No matter how many women in the War of Ages had gushed about the adult Hero of Time (much to Mask’s annoyance). And sure, let’s just forget that Wars had heard not one, but two princess’s complimenting Twilight’s ass.

Yeah, okay, he was the pretty boy, sure.

Maybe that was because he was the only one in the group that actually had any understanding of a little thing called personal hygiene! Honestly! Had no one introduced the vet to a bathtub when he was younger? Or Wild to a hairbrush? And Hyrule... oh Hyrule...

Honestly, it was a pain, trying to not say something to his brothers that might be taken as rude or offensive. At least his own two boys were a bit better. During the war he’d pounded some sense into their heads after scrubbing their ears clean enough that they could actually hear him when he spoke, and Time and Wind both showed some (although not much more than the others) level of personal grooming, even if it was the basic wash and brush that Wars had required of all of his soldiers.

The others though? He had been beginning to think they might be hopeless, but then he’d had a chance to do something about it.

“Wars?”

“Hmm?” Bright blue darted up from the journal Warriors had been writing in, meeting Wind’s pout with a soft chuckle at his baby-faced brother. One day, Wind would be as grizzled and scruffy as his grandfather (would be his grandfather) but for now he would take him time teasing the kid for his baby-face. After all, it wasn’t like he’d be getting another chance to get revenge on the man who’d teased him up to his wedding day for his “lack of masculine charm”.

“My hair is knotted. In the back.” Wind didn’t even bother waiting for a signal, instead just plopping down in the captain's lap and dropping a brush by his knee. And really, with how the war had gone, Warriors should have expected that.

Any injury that impeded movement meant Wars was helping his two boys with whatever was needed during the war, and near the top of that list had been brushing hair. Broken arm or sprained wrist or whatever Hyrule had diagnosed it as (he’d been a bit too wrapped up in helping hold Wild still so he and Legend could treat the kid’s crushed hand to hear the healer’s final word), he was always happy to help the younger hero sort out his problems.

At least Wind let him help, instead of sending him scandalized looks and rude signs at the mere mention of a bath, like Legend did, or simply darting away like Hyrule.

“Wind,” Sky frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to disturb Wars, any of us would have been willing to help.”

The sailor cocked a brow, leaning back into his touch as he worked over the knot with nimble fingers well accustomed to working through tangled golden curls. “Says the Hero of Eternal Bedhead.”

Crystal blue eyes darted up to messy bangs. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.” Sailor and captain deadpanned together, matching grins on their faces as they stared at the Skyloftian.

“Oh feathers.” Sky huffed, running his hands through his hair and looking at the two expectantly. “Is that better?”

Wind snorted. “Sky, you need a hairbrush for your bird’s nest.”

“But,” Sky cocked his head like a confused puppy. “I don’t have a bird’s nest?”

“He means that your hair is a mess.” He chuckled, pausing in his work to pat the ground at his side. “Here, I’ll do you next, ‘kay?” And bless Sky for being a patient and reasonable person, because at the very least the Skyloftian just sauntered over easily and sat hot-cross-buns on the ground beside him, watching lazily as he worked at the sailor’s messy hair.

“It’s not that bad,” The Sailor huffed. “You can’t honestly be taking this long.” The kid wasn’t fooling him though, Wind was leaning into the touch, almost slumped against his chest in a boneless pile of teenager.

“You’re dry as a desert.” He scolded softly in response, rubbing some of the bristly hair between his fingers. “I’ve told you salt water dries your hair out, you need to take care of it or it’ll never grow out properly.”

Wind shifted awkwardly. “I didn’t have time. I did try, I mean it! It just... We’re always so busy and...”

His hands were already reaching for his pack. “You’re lucky mine dries out too. I’ll need to get more in the next town, but I think this oil can last us both long enough to get you some again.”

“Oil?” Sky frowned thoughtfully. “What for?”

“Split ends and dry hair.” Came the practiced answer as he rubbed the substance in question over his hands and began to card it through the sailor’s parched curls. “I suppose you could say it’s like with birds. They have to oil their feathers to stay healthy, right?”

“Oh! Okay, yeah, that makes sense.” The Skyloftian mulled over the concept for a moment. “We need to do that to our hair?”

Long fingers stopped mid stroke, royal blue blinking slowly in the clueless sky child’s direction. “Oh, you poor, clueless bird-boy you, your hair must be parched!”

Wind’s giggles shook them both, but Sky simply looked hurt. “I try. How was I supposed to know?”

Fingers slick with hair oil curled to point at the other hero. “I am massaging this stuff into your thirsty scalp right now. Wind, move.”

The sailor tumbled, giggling from Wars’ lap, leaving Sky to stare down at the captain’s crossed legs. “I’m- Warriors I am not sitting in your lap.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Brush in one hand and bottle of hair oil in the other, Warriors moved to stand behind the Skyloftain. “Just stay right there and let me work, and I swear if someone else tells me to my face that they’re not taking care of themselves- Sky! Look at this!”

The Skyloftian shifted, trying to look for only a moment before huffing. “Warriors, I can’t see the top of my own-”

“When’s the last time you trimmed this?” Brittle tips crinkled under his fingers as he stared at the mess that was Sky’s hair. “Your split ends are horrible!”

“Crimson usually trims it for me.” Came the softly mumbled response, and Wars had to hold back an affronted squawk at the words.

“You’re entrusting the care of your hair to a bird? Sky, my lovely, my dear friend, my brother, what the actual Ladies?”

“He does a good job!”

“If you call this rat’s nest a good job! Honestly, it’s no wonder Legend finally agreed to let you cuddle him, he must feel right at home with this mess!”

“Ouch.” Sky huffed, crossing his arms loosely and pouting.

“That aside,” He began working the first knot out, fluffing Sky’s hair lightly in his fingers. “It’s a good color, nice volume too. Have you ever considered growing it out? Without the split ends?”

“Huh?”

Caramel hair parted easily in his hands, springy and soft despite the brittle ends. “You’d look fetching with long hair, Chosen One. My, imagine what Sun would say if she saw you!” Sky stiffened as the soldier ducked down, voice lowering and eyes glinting with mischief as he whispered in his friend’s ear. “If she wasn’t already swooning at seeing you again, she’d be dizzy at the sheer beauty.”

“Wars!” Long ears twitched, tellingly red as the Skyloftian battled a fierce blush.

But the captain was already lost in his rant, taking pleasure in making Wind continue to giggle as Sky whined softly in protest at his teasing. “I can see it now! You arrive fresh out of battle, sword in hand and hair whipping in the wind, cape swirling like the wings of the goddess herself! She sees you. Your eyes meet. You shoot her one of your dashing smiles and she stumbles back, breathless, and you have to dart forwards to catch her before she swoons away altogether, so bedazzled she is by your handsome visage!” He flourished with a smile, letting oiled locks fall over Sky’s eyes with a laugh as the Skyloftian blushed brighter, not bothering to shift his bangs and instead hiding behind them, trying and failing to hide a pleased smile.

Wind didn’t stop giggling until Sky had had to punch the captain in the leg to make him finally cease the teasing.

“Smithy,” Twilight’s laughter rung through camp as he brushed long bangs out of the smithy’s eyes, the younger hero still smushed against the rancher's side sleepily, headband askew and half hanging in his eyes. The boy’s hair curtained his face, falling back into place the moment Twilight lifted his hand again, producing rumbling laughter form the farm-hand. “Four, you- when in Ordonia’s name did you last trim your hair?”

“’s not that long.” Came the murmured reply as Four pressed his face further into Twilight’s side, nestling closer with an irritable huff. “Leave ‘lone, Twi.”

The smithy might have denied it but... his hair really had grown out.

It wasn’t really that apparent with the headband keeping it back, and Four was decent enough at keeping his hair out of his face. But headbands, no matter how trusty, didn’t stay up forever, and when one was as active as a Hero of Courage, it wasn’t uncommon to find one’s self with their hair swinging loose in battle. Not that most of them minded, Wild kept his hair tied carefully and Legend tucked all of his under a hat, meanwhile the others all had shorter locks that, other than the swishing of their bangs, mostly stayed out of their faces.

Four on the other hand...

Four’s headband had fallen loose into a mud puddle, and until he was able to clean it the smithy had been walking around like a sheepdog, bangs fluffing into his eyes and making the shortest hero huff in an annoyed manner as he kept swiping his bangs aside. Unfortunately, they weren’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, only to hang in his face and send him stumbling over and into all sorts of things with sharp yelps and soft swears as the hero closest to him would have to offer a hand or scoop up the small smithy again.

Wars didn’t say anything, but when Four finally approached him one evening, eyes flickering icy blue as he dashed his bangs out of the way and tugged at the scarf draped around the captain’s neck (the others’ favorite way of getting his attention he had found).

“Hey there, smithy, what’s up?”

“Cut them.” Four huffed, pushing the loose hair back again only to have them drift back over his glinting eyes, and then, as if an afterthought, he tacked on ‘Please?’.

Royal blue darted up to Sky, who smiled on the edge of the campfire, a knowing look in his eyes. “Did Sky tell you I could help?”

“No. I figured that out myself. He just... pushed me.”

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Ah.”

“So, can you help? Or do I need to wander around looking like a Mogma?” Sky could be heard muttering across the camp at that, and Four’s ears twitched as he huffed, clearly having taken offense at whatever had been said.

He nodded, a bit unsure why Four glared across the fire at Sky, but willing to help. Oh goddesses, was he willing to help; Four’s hair bugged him nearly as much as Wild’s did, and he had been dying to fix it for the smithy. He wasn’t sure what Sky had said, but he was thankful for the other knight’s willingness to aid him in his battle against poor hygiene, and if he could turn another hero with the power of a good haircut, well! “Anything you have in mind? Just what you had before, or...?”

“Bangs.” Four dropped down hot-cross-buns, just like Sky had the other day, in front of him, arms crossed and expectant as he huffed at his long bangs.

“Right.” His brush and scissors were already sitting at the ready as he reached out to gently push the hair out of his friend’s eyes. “You good?”

“Annoyed.” Four sulked. “I can’t see anything and Twilight has been called me a sheep-dog.” Accurate. “I just want my hair short again, but the last time I cut it, it looked like I was attacked by a cat.” The smithy shivered, clutching at his sleeves as he shook his head, hair falling back into his eyes as he did so. “I just let it grow after that, but the bangs bother me if I can’t push them back.”

“Noted.”

Four’s hair was a bit silkier than the others’, but similarly brittle, although that was likely due to the heat of the forge rather than sea salt and extended time in the sky. He didn’t even bother asking about oiling the locks as he worked, brushing out all of Four’s hair with care and sectioning out the bangs with the same amount of agonizing detail Legend put into his paintings or Wild put into his cooking.

“Hair cut?” Twilight called from across camp.

“You could use one too,” Four huffed, unmoving save for his eyes darted to glance over his shoulder. “Your hair is beginning to look like wolf ears, rancher. Wolfie might take offense that you’re stealing his look and come maul you.”

Chuckles sounded around the camp, Legend wheezing lightly while Time and Wild shared a look. Wars didn’t know what that was about, but he smiled as he worked, humming lightly under his breath as he clipped a bit here and a touch there, releasing the hair to stare at it, adjusting it a bit, taking another section in hand and snipping it, and repeating the whole process.

Four was still as a statue the whole time, occasionally humming along to whatever tune happened to be on Warriors’ mind at the moment, but otherwise as poised and picturesque as a statue as the captain worked over the smithy’s blond locks.

This close up, Warriors was beginning to wonder why they never met any lovely admirers of the smithy, Four was certainly not lacking in the looks department, and had the kid lived in his time he’d find himself having to beat off girls with a stick. Honestly, how was he the pretty boy here?

“Nearly done?” Came the patient hum, and he snapped himself back to reality as he brushed Four’s bangs back into place, trimmed and tidy, along with the rest of his short hair.

“Yep.” The scissors finally came to rest in his lap as he whisked away the cloak that he’d used to catch the trimmed hairs. “My, my, smithy, you almost look as if you were going courting! Legend, lend a man your shield for a tick, would you? Four needs to see his new cut.”

The veteran rolled his eyes, but the shield was offered readily enough when Four trotted his way over, and while the smithy looked a bit surprised that Wars had bothered to braid most of his hair out of the way during the cut, he didn’t look at all displeased.

Wars counted that as a win.

He’d run out of oil a few days ago, and already his hair was beginning to frizz in this thrice-forsaken heat.

Being born with curly hair was nothing of the blessing his mother had made it out to be, no matter how she liked playing with her ‘baby boy’s’ hair. Of course, his beloved liked it too, but he was going to chalk that up to being a woman thing, curls were a pain if they weren’t on kids, especially if they were eon him.

Thank Hylia that Lilith had taught him to straighten it all out, he would have been driven half out of his mind if he hadn’t been able to control it on his way through basic, and the teasing would have been so much worse than it actually had been.

As was, the captain was only too happy when they next came to his Castletown, and after he’d made sure the others were settled in the castle with his cousin, he’d gracefully made his exit and headed out to the town. Getting through the streets was a pain, his armor and scarf giving him away as the hero and practically inviting the whole market to start competing for his attention, along with the hundreds of shoppers who surged close with questions and thanks and admiration. Not for the first time, Warriors found himself thankful that he handled crowds better than many of his fellow soldiers, and even if all the attention was a bit much, he wasn’t overwhelmed like poor Wild would have been.

Oh heavens, the day they finally figured out how to explain the portals and heroes nonsense to the public to excuse the sudden aging of the Hyrulian Hero’s child, Wild was likely going to have to start wearing a hood or something when they went into town.

The dye shop was a way into the market, and it had taken quite the bit of fancy footwork to avoid stepping on anyone as he’d answered questions and received thanks from the enthusiastic, if not slightly push, people of Hyrule. If he closed the door of the shop after him with a sigh of relief though, that was between him and Gyssel, the shopkeeper.

“Back again, Link? Same materials as the last time?”

“If you please.” He nodded with a smile. “Though I might have a bit of a glance around, I’ve a friend in need of a few things.”

The old woman nodded with a chuckle. “Right then. Oh, and if you see those two lovely gents who popped in here earlier, would you be willing to lend ‘em a hand? Poor dears looked lost as two minish in a fairy pond when they stumbled in here, but I’ve been batting a thousand with the customers all day and haven’t had a chance to pop over and offer help. You know the shop same as I do, so, if you have a moment, could you check in on them while I wrap your things?”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling his best as he moved towards the back wall.

The other voices in the shop were mostly those of tittering ladies and mischief making pranksters, all too young and too high to belong to the ‘lovely gents’ that Gyssel had been speaking of, and it wasn’t hard to trail the rumble of a man’s voice to the back of the store where the hair dyes were. He grinned as he rounded the corner, but froze when he found himself face to face with a startled, and maybe somewhat abashed rancher.

“Twilight?”

“Warriors?”

“Shit, Wars is here?”

Royal blue darted down to meet the snapping violet of the veteran. “Legend? What are the two of you doing in here of all places? Are you lost?”

“No.” Legend huffed, foot tapping agitatedly at the floor as he gnawed his bottom lip, a sure sign of awkwardness if one knew the vet.

“What are you doing- oh.” Twilight’s face faded from confusion to understanding. “You’re the city boy, of course you shop in joints like this.”

He cocked a brow, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stared down the two other heroes. “Says the guy who’s been wandering around looking for something long enough the owners worried. Honestly, what could the two of you even need?”

Midnight and violet glanced warily at each other, and to his surprise, twin flushed lighted his friend’s faces as Legend had crossed his arms and Twi had rubbed at his neck.

“Hair dye.” The rancher admitted softly.

“And shampoo.” Legend had tacked on.

Warriors let his eyes blow wide an overdramatic gasp sounding in the small corner of the shop as he rested a hand on his collar. “Why, vet, you don’t mean to tell me you’re planning on actually taking a bath, are you! My heavens, what next? Will Hyrule somehow produce a wedding cake in time for Time and Malon to announce they’re having a baby?”

“They’re what!?!” Twilight yelped, sounding, ridiculously, like a dog that has just been kicked.

“I’m teasing, rancher.” He chortled. “Trust me, if Time knew of such a thing, he wouldn’t have shut up about it. Miss Malon’s still trim and terrifying as last we saw her; I have little doubt.” At the rancher’s breath of relief, he shook his head. “Honestly though, soap? Vet, last I checked-”

“It’s hot.” Legend interrupted, avoiding meeting his gaze by rolling his eyes.

“And?”

“And in case you didn’t know, our resident vet is a-”

“Don’t say it!” Legend huffed, glaring at Twilight and tugging his blue cap tighter over his head.

Come to think of it, Legend hadn’t taken the baby-blue cap off in ages...

“Is a what?”

Twilight looked down warily at the seething veteran, face twisted up between a playful grin and a wary frown, as if he didn’t yet know whether he wanted to tease and face the vet’s wrath or hold his tongue and avoid making a scene.

“Look,” Warriors sighed, glancing between the two country boys with a sigh. “I won’t tease at all, alright? But the sooner you own up to whatever nonsense you did to yourself, the sooner we can find you what you need and get ourselves out of here.”

The flush on Legend’s face darkened, eyes darting down as the vet shuffled his feet, and Wars found himself being reminded that for all the vet’s snark and sass, he really was as much of a kid as Wild and Wind were, just more accustomed at having to act otherwise.

Thin fingers rubbed at the rings on the vet’s pale hands. “Well, you see- that is- augh!”

Something inside him blossomed with warmth, a smile stretching across his face. Golden Three, Legend really was just an awkward teenager, wasn’t he? He even stumbled over his words when he was embarrassed, just like Time used to. Of course, Time had been twelve and Legend was nineteen, but that was beside the point.

“So-” The vet was nearly pouting as he struggled with his words, fingers rubbing steadily at his rings as he avoided Wars’ gaze. “You know how Ravio has curly hair?”

“Yes.”

“And you know how Ravio and I are- uh, each other's- reflect-”

A laugh bubbled out of his throat unexpectedly as he reached out to ruffle what could be seen of the vet’s frizzy bangs. “You’re a curly top! Why didn’t you say sooner?” Legend glared at him with a huff, but violet didn’t shift to indigo, so he knew it was all just an act. “Wind and I are too, I was actually in here to get some things for the two of us, and Sky too. I can help you as well if you don’t mind, just let me-” He motioned to the blue cap that was pulled snig down to Legend’s ears.

The vet huffed, but reached up to finger the blue fabric. “You won’t laugh, right?” Stern eyes met his own.

“Of course.” He smiled reassuringly.

Legend’s gaze searched his face for a moment, wary, but open, and even if it made him uncomfortable (the odd glint of gold at the edges of the vet’s eyes was a bit unsettling) he withstood it until Legend nodded, seemingly to himself, and pulled off his cap.

Pink curls spilled down to the vet’s shoulders as a bright blush colored pale cheeks. Twilight didn’t make it any better by reaching over to ruffle the vet’s head, chuckling soft and warm and surprisingly fond as Legend hissed back at him.

“Can I- that is- do you mind if I touch? I can help you find what you want better if I know what you need.”

A stiff nod.

The pink hair was just like fairy-floss, but less sticky (still dirty though) and he had to remind himself what he was doing once he got his fingers in it. A quick check at the texture and ends of Legend’s hair, as long as a quick check of the scalp and roots told him all he needed.

“Whatever dye you used to do this messed you up, vet. Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking, but you’re dry as a mulduga’s arse. Did you bleach your hair before dying it or something?” There was a murmur in reply, but not anything he could really make out. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said that’s me natural color.” Legend huffed, tensing under his hands. “I bleached it blonde a few months back, but no, I didn’t dye this shit, it just happened.”

Twilight, very unhelpfully, giggled.

Warriors blinked. “You have pink hair?”

“Yes.”

He fought the chuckle that built up in his chest, but it did little good as he ruffles the frizzy curls and let Legend replace his hat. “Alright then! Well, I’d avoid bleaching again if I was you. The pinks out and it’s healthier if you give it a rest between dyes. I have to admit though,” He settled his hands on his hips and looked between the two other heroes with a smirk. “I never took either of you two as the sort to dye your hair.”

“Throws off the guards.” Legend huffed, tugging his cap back over his hair and making Warriors wince. Ah yes, Legend’s Hyrule’s guards.

“Fair enough. I can find you something to help with the drying out and dye damage. Twi though...” He frowned, stroking his chin in thought. “Why do you even need hair dye? Trying something new?”

Now it was the rancher’s turn to look embarrassed, rubbing at his neck and ruffling his hair. “No, actually. I jist need- rather- want? I guess? I-”

Legend huffed, patting the rancher’s arm in a rare show of compassion. “He’s been greying early and it’s making him self-conscious. I told him we could look for a dye to hide it, since he didn’t want to go about stealing Time’s position as the resident Old Man.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Right! Fair enough. So, you want your natural shade, yes?” At the rancher's nod he pressed on, clapping his hands as he listed what they needed. “So, hair oil, some dye, and shampoo for Legend, preferably meant for damaged and curly hair. Anything else?”

Even though the two shook their heads, they all walked out with a bit more than what Warriors had listed, but despite the fact that Legend complained about it all, no one seemed to mind too much when he pulled the three of them together after the others had gone to bed and helped show them had to use the various toiletries without making too very much of a mess. It cost a pretty penny to get them all sorted, but Legend was clean, Twilight was a brunette again (the silver streaks were rather fetching though, and he’d made sure to make sure Twilight knew that before they dyed it all away) and Wind and Sky had what they needed to prevent their hair drying out again.

And even if it made a sizable dent in his wallet, he’d refused to be paid back. It was worth it anyway, since now he and Legend both had straight hair again (and the vet had actually washed!).

He could see now why Wild and Hyrule liked playing with their respective mentors’ hair though, it was almost addictive.

Time took one look at the three youngest and groaned, and Warriors almost echoed the action.

“What were you three even doing?” His now-eldest huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh as he tried not to look at the three teens, all of which were covered in mud and grass stains, and only looking slightly remorseful, despite their horrid clothing and scraped faces.

Had it been anyone but Wild and Wind, Wars would have sat back and watched as karma paid her long overdue visit to the mischievous mask-loving hero, but since it was his kids that caught up in paying back the silver in his own hair, Wars had to stand with Time and try his very hardest not to chuckle at the sight before him.

It took no trouble at all to picture Mask sitting, unrepentant, amid the other youngsters, a challenging look on his face as he dared the captain to even try and ground him for running off again.

“We were exploring.” Hyrule grinned sheepishly, rubbing at the mud that had dried on the side of his neck. “We um-”

“We fell in a swamp.” Wild snorted, wrinkling his nose and shaking some gunk from his hands with a pout. “Even I think we stink.”

Time’s lips twitched, brows struggling to remain in a scowl as he answered, voice wavering with a hint of laughter that made Wars smile to himself. “Is that so, Cub?”

“We smell like boko guts.”

“Or boko crap!” Wind cackled, the only one not soaked in swamp goo but instead spattered with ordinary mud that came from likely tripping and falling in the dirt from laughing too hard.

“Bathe.” Time chuffed, shaking his head fondly. “All three of you. Rivers there and I’m sure Wars has soap aplenty to help.” Hang on, what? Time’s eye met his own, blinking- winking? with a bright and shit eating grin. “Have fun with you sons, dad.”

Oh Ladies, Karma messed up again, didn’t she?

“Mask, I swear-” He growled, glaring at his- was Time his eldest now? His middle child still? The youngest since he’d been the last to join the family?

“Don’t, you’ll set a bad example.” The overgrown forest gremlin chuckled, walking away with a condescending pat of the shoulder.

Some things really never changed, huh?

“Right then.” the captain turned to glare stillness back into the three youngsters, two of which were already trying to sneak away, and the third- of thank Hylia for Wind, the kid was standing at perfect attention with a smirk on his face that screamed ‘I’m the eldest and I’m about to watch my little brothers get scolded and I’m going to enjoy every second of it’, snotty little salt-bathed brat. “Jump in or I punt you.”

Hyrule and Wild exchanged a look, a sure sign of danger, and both sprinted in opposite directions.

He huffed a laugh. Amateurs. Mask and Wind had run him ragged during the war, but once you’ve fought to pre-teens on the daily, there's nothing a pair of teenagers can pull on you that will truly surprise you or throw you off. It was the work of moments to have Wild slung under one arm (wolf pups, honestly, Mask was the same way) and Hyrule by the back of his collar (Wind’s customary position).

“H-how?” Both boys stammered.

“Experience, mud moblins.”

“Do I weight anything to you?” Wild stammered, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

The grin on his face was easier than usual in situations like these, but then again both teens had given up fighting against him sooner than the last two had ever done. “Hardly. You’ve always been a lightweight.” And with those words he promptly administered a light kick to Hyrule’s lower back, knocking the kid floundering into the stream, and following up with a well-practiced toss that send Wild rocketing in after.

Wind, already stripped down to his shorts and standing waist deep in the water, raised his hands with a shit eating grin. “Six out of Ten, Wild.” The little sea monster called to a spluttering Wild as the kid surfaced, only his face peeking above the surface as he treaded water with a pout. “You need to work on your form, but otherwise- ack!”

A wave splashed up from Hyrule’s direction and Wild sent an appreciative grin the other boy’s way while Wind’s grin melted into a playful one, eyes glinting dangerously.

“Oh, that’s it! You’re just asking for trouble now! Never start a water battle with a pirate, you two, you won’t like how it ends!”

Another, mischief filled, glance was exchanged and both feral heroes descended on the young sailor. It was like watching cucco’s descend on a bokoblin, and Warriors watched with laughter bubbling in his chest as he stripped off his gunk-stained tunic, courtesy of the mud-covered boys he’d wisely decided to pick up, and moved on to his chainmail. The sound of the three youngest heroes' shrieking and shouting sweet music to his ears as Time and the other older heroes made camp just off of the riverbank, teasing each other and generally messing around.

“Wars, why are you- are you joining us?” Wild cocked his dripping head with a curious look as he watched him.

The undershirt slipped off easily as he waded into the stream’s center. “Of course, you two got me muddy too after all, and it’s not like I trust y’all to actually clean up by-” At the slowly spreading grins on the faces of the three, the captain realizes his mistake. “I don’t trust you all to clean up properly, so I’m-”

“Warriors said ‘y’all’!” Wind chortled, eyes glinting madly as a grin stretched over his face. “Oh boy! Just wait ‘till I-”

“Slip of the tongue.” He clipped back, hands settling on his hips as he stared down the three teens. “You tell Twilight about this and I will personally wash your mouth out with soap.”

“You’re the one who said it!” Hyrule pointed out.

“And whoever tells the rancher is committing a verbal atrocity that will only lead to far more in the future.” He huffed. “No one tells, you hear me?”

Wild looked between the others, brows furrowed and lips pursed as he took in Wind’s triumphant grin and Warriors’ scowl. “What’s wrong with saying ‘y’all’?”

The captain staggered back dramatically, hand on his chest and a horrified expression on his face as he stared at his son. “No! Never say that word! That word is an abomination!”

“What word?” Hyrule cocked his head, eyes glinting knowingly, but the captain failed to recognize it in time.

“’Y’all’!” He spat with contempt. “We do not say ‘y’all’ in this house! ‘Y’all’ is a cursed word and the next person who says it is-” - ‘Is on Mask watching duty’ was his go to consequence, but that wouldn’t exactly work right now; Time was a bit old to actually need a supervisor- “is on clothes washing duty with Legend.” He settled on at last, choosing the chore that everyone except, surprisingly, the veteran minded.

“Say the man who just said it four times in a row.” Wind teased, darting out of his grasp with a wide grin.

“Wind! I was trying to see how many times I could make him say it!” Hyrule huffed, pouting at his brother adorably.

“I still don’t get it.” Wild grumbled. “It’s a word? There’s nothing wrong with it as far as I know, ‘y’a-” The captain’s hand was clamped around the kid’s mouth before he could finish his sentence.

“Let's just not.” Warriors huffed; he was beginning to mourn Twilight’s mentor position at the moment. Fortunately, Wild was willing enough to still in is hands and not push the topic, unlike the other two who just egged each other on with ever widening grins. “Right.” He rolled his eyes. “First one with a clean face gets the strawberry scented soap; go.”

Silence fell as nothing save splashing rang over the stream as faces ducked beneath the water, all three boys falling for his favorite trick of all time. Heck, even the old man would probably still cave to the offer of strawberry soap, even now that he was an adult, and Wars couldn’t blame him at all; strawberry scented bubbles were the best bubbles and Twilight and his goat-milk soap could go sniff a skunk if they wanted to contest that.

It took hardly any time at all for all three to emerge, fresh faces and glowing, three sets of eyes al sparkling up at him as a warm chuckle blossomed in his throat. Naturally, he gave the promised soap to all three, citing the ‘I can’t tell who finished first so you all win’ excuse that Grandfather had taught him ages ago.

Wind dutifully set about scrubbing himself clean, and in the meantime, he guided the less experienced duo. “Take so much,” He dolloped a generous potion into Hyrule’s cupped hands. “And rub your hands together, yes, just like that, work it up to a nice lather and just scrub it all over. Take care you get the smelliest bits first so you don’t run out of soap before you get there, yeah?” Both forest children nodded, dutifully following his instructions as he moved to help scrub the traveler’s sopping curls.

It was an easy pattern to fall into, scrubbing the two heads with especial care to remove any sticks and twigs he found along the way. Hyrule was the easier of the two, but Wild held still better while he worked, almost melting under his fingers as he messaged suds into his son’s long locks, a light smile playing over both their faces as he worked, content to sit in the cooling water of the stream as the sun began to set, hands buried in his kid’s long hair as he worked out mud and filth and who knows what else.

Rinsing the sweet-scented bubbles started out innocently enough, but Wars was given a front row seat to watching an accidental splash descend into a full-on war on the water as he scrubbed his own hair clean, and well, if he joined in once he was finished, well, someone had to show Wind that he wasn’t the only hero with some experience on the water.

Wars sighed as he watched Time stirring quietly on his bedroll.

Honestly, his middle kid (he’d finally settled on letting Wind retain his position on oldest, since there was no way Time could be the eldest brother with his gremlin behavior) was something of an idiot. Oh, he loved all three of his boys dearly, but Time was an ass and everyone who knew him well knew it (except maybe Twilight, but that guy was an ass too).

Time hadn’t been sleeping recently, and it was easy to see in the dark bags around his eyes and the almost drifting expression on his face at nights. It was for lack of trying either, the kid- man? - the hero would settle down on his bedroll every night same as the others, but even with sharp eyes shut tight and blanket pulled to his ears, the ‘Old Man’ couldn’t lie still for more than thirty minutes, constantly shifting and fidgeting on his bedroll even as the other heroes steadily dropped off to sleep.

It was just the two of them now, the captain on watch and their leader trying to pretend he was asleep with a scowl on his face.

He was scratching again.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” war clapped his hands against his knees and pushed himself p, staling over to stand over the largest of the bedrolls and staring down at the lump within. “What’s up, Sprout? You normally snore like a hinox all night long, what’s eating you?”

A single blue eye stared up at him wearily. “If I knew, I would have killed it by now.”

Oof, bad night then. “Do you have any idea what it could be?” He was already settling down next to the group leader’s head, hands reaching to grasp Time’s own and bring them down from where he was, likely unconsciously, clawing at the sides of his face.

“No.” Came the frustrated huff.

“Missing Miss Malon?” He suggested, running his fingers through short blonde hair thoughtfully, mind miles away in a two-story house at castle town as he fell into the all too familiar trap of playing with one of his boys’ hair.

“I thought so at first, and while I do, it doesn’t usually stop me from sleeping.” Time grumbled, staring up at the night sky with pursed lips. “It’s not nightmares or visions either, if anything my dreams have been normal for once.”

“Anxiety perhaps? Are you worrying about the others? Twilight, maybe? Wild?” At the questioning glance he received he shrugged. “Kept me up enough nights, even if you two were there. A bad thing happens once and you're not likely to forget it.”

“Hmm.” Time hummed, leaning unconsciously into his hands and settling on his bed-roll, shoulders falling lax as his single good eyes fluttered softly. “Maybe.”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad enough that War’s fingers didn’t put it to rest, and time was asleep in mere minutes, soft snores rumbling over the camp as the captain continued his ministrations, eyes and ears sharp and alert for any disturbance near in within the camp, but body relaxed as he kept the steady rhythm of his fingers through short and silky hair.

When his watch was over though, and it was time to wake the veteran to take his, Wars found himself stuck. Time's fingers were curled tightly in his blue scarf, the man’s head resting easy against his thigh, and any motion small of subtle, would likely send majestic blue fluttering open again with an exhausted air.

Ah well, time to be creative.

Legend grumbled, as usual, at being woken by having his feet touched, and the captain echoed his discomfort as he wrings is sore and likely sprained hand. Time was still asleep though, so there was that at least. Now just to figure out how best to position himself so he could sleep.

Soldier’s experience won over logic, and Wars was asleep in seconds, leaving the camp under Legend’s watch and Time snoozing blissfully at his side.

#lu warriors #dad warriors #warriors is wild's dad #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu sky #lu four #lu twilight #lu legend #lu wild #lu hyrule #lu time #curly haired legend #silver twilight #linked universe headcanons #long haired sky #fluffics

112 notes · View notes

animatedminds · 3 years

Text

Star Wars: Visions - Episode 3: The Twins

Continuing the Visions responses. I love them for releasing all the episodes at once, but my poor weary fingers. I think I’ll only do about three of these for now and the rest later, though stay tuned in case I change my mind. For now, however:

Episode 3: The Twins Developed By: Trigger DIrected By: Hiroyuki Imaishi Whereas the previous two shorts were written to fit stories within the narrative of Star Wars, this one is very clearly more of a love letter to the franchise. Most of the most spectacular tropes we know and love are here. Loved ones separated by light and dark. Twins. Planet cracking superweapons. Giant space carriers - two of them (sort of). Swordfights. Amusing droids. Twin suns, and heroic resolve.

But this short doesn’t just use those - it amps them up. You want a lightsaber duel for the fate of the galaxy? Well, how about a duel in the vacuum of space where one side is using power armor and wielding eight lightsabers that double as whips against a massive big friggin’ beam saber POWERED BY THE HYPERDRIVE OF A SPACESHIP!?

It’s not exactly concerned with subtlety, is what I’m saying. It’s absolutely intended to be a visual celebration of all the epic aspects of Star Wars. Things are exaggerated to the maximum to make everything that much more spectacular, that much more huge. As a result, it feels like the kind of thing you might expect when you hear the words “Star Wars anime.” Something wild, explosive with characters that push past the boundaries of power with animation to match. This is Star Wars shounen, people. It gets pretty crazy. The plot concerns two twins in an indeterminate era after the Original Trilogy. They were both born to be agents of the dark side, but one made the choice to rebel - for reasons, unlike the previous review, I won’t spoil. Last time, what I had to say about the episode was wrapped up in how it chose to end itself, but not so much this time. One twin forces a confrontation, and the both undertake a massive duel that takes up the majority of the short film, which gets increasingly destructive as they reach levels of force destruction not seen since The Force Unleashed, taking apart the ship they’re fighting on as each pulls out bigger and bigger weapons. The visual of this one are thus, unsurprisingly, stellar. The thematic focus on twos is very strong touch that recurs throughout the short (the hero’s droid is even named R-DUO): there’s sequence towards the beginning following the antagonist where everything is symmetrical, from the ships to the hallways to the people within them, in a way that only changes once we are introduced to our second character - that is, our protagonist, who is both literally and thematically breaking out of that symmetry.

As I noted before, this short is something of a Star Wars kitchen sink. It’s got Vader outfits, R2 and C-3PO likenesses, an dashing hero dressed like Han with an X-Wing like Luke’s, and the whole battle takes place over a Khyber crystal. The dialogue is playfully and intentionally referential. It tries to pay homage to everything it can, and doesn’t have same hang-up that The Force Awakens had in trying to be a whole story reference while also trying to be something new within the universe: The Twins can commit wholeheartedly to its bombastic throwback intentions, and it shows. They do not hold back in this short. Watch the previous two for the narrative, watch this one for the purely epic display.

As a random note, with two episodes thus far featuring one, Visions is really starting to draw attention to how few major female villains there are in the current visual media. There’s Ventress and Aurra Sing, maybe, but they’ve always been more of a secondary villain. Meanwhile, we still haven’t even seen Rae Sloane in a film or tv show, only just now seeing her in Squadrons. I don’t entirely miss the Old EU, but there was a lot more to find in that sense there. But I digress. The short is good, but different from the ones that came before it. This one is all about collecting everything all at once. So, like the others, I’m going to look at it in terms of future canon potential. All of Visions is non-canon, but with enough support for individual characters and enough of a matching concept, some of them might might one day get the Harley Quinn treatment and become canon after all. But first, we have to see if they fit into the universe itself. And does The Twins fit into the universe? Oh My, No. It’s very clearly not trying to, either, which you could probably tell the moment you see the two Star Destroyers mashed together, let alone when they start breathing in space. What we have in The Twins is an extreme faced paced amalgamation of all things Star Wars with zero interest in fitting in anywhere: it’s a tribute, an ode. It doesn’t really work as an installment, and its not supposed to. It’s just supposed to be fun. A delight for the eyes, and the nerd inside.

#the twins #trigger studio #hiroyuki imaishi #karre #am #holy crap this episode #visual spectacle #star wars anime #shounen #homage #disney+#noncanon #great episode #not so great chances #Animated Minds for Animated Times #star wars: visions

70 notes · View notes

sergeantsporks · 2 years

Note

Writing Request: Hunter notices that he isn't quite normal, besides the lack of magic. He gets caught in the boiling rain but it doesn't hurt his skin. He tries to find palistrom trees with the help of some critter that is supposed to be drawn to them but it won't let go of his hair. Ect. He doesn't know what to think about this. (Maybe he finds a certain book that clears things up. Not that it helps)

You said "some critter," I heard "new pet" :D

xxx

“What is this. What is this thing. Why are you handing the leash to me.”

Kikimora thrust the rope at Hunter, a mop of fur attached to the end. As far as Hunter could tell, it had no face, no feet, and no purpose. “It’s a palistrom hunter. It can sense the trees, it makes its home in their branches. Due to the shortage of wood, they’re highly endangered. The emperor—” she grabbed Hunter’s hand and forcibly tied the rope around his wrist. “—wants you take it to where you lost the palisman and see if you can track them down.” She sniffed, brushing fur off of her robe. “A palistrom hunter. Perhaps you can name it Hunter.”

“Yeahhhhhhhhhh no. I’m not naming this thing. Thaaaaaanks, Kiki.”

“Thank the emperor. It’s your second chance.”

Hunter wrinkled his nose at her from behind the mask, and tugged at the creature’s leash. “C’mon.”

It happily flopped on his feet. This thing was going to be absolutely useless, wasn’t it. Hunter sighed, picking the thing up and tucking it under one arm. He grabbed his staff, warping his way back to where he’d last seen the palisman—where the human had flown off with them. He set the fluffy creature down, nudging it gently with one boot.

“I doubt you can sense them. They went up in the air. But, uh. Do your best.”

It sniffed around the area, and its little nose—the only discernable feature—went up in the air. Hunter held his breath. Had it actually caught a scent?!

It sniffed, walked a full circle, then tiny claws gripped Hunter’s pant leg, and the creature swarmed up his side. It settled down on his shoulder, sighing contentedly.

“Great,” Hunter grumbled, “Thank you very much. You’ve been a wonderful waste of my time.”

He warped his way back home, dropping the thing off at his room. It snuffled, and chased after him. Hunter hopped up on his bed, trying to avoid it, but it wouldn’t be deterred. Hunter spotted the staff that had appeared to him, and grabbed it, offering it up to the creature. The palistrom hunter curled up on it, and the bird flapped its wings, giving Hunter a dirty look.

“Don’t look at me like that, you chose to be here.”

Xxx

Hunter padded out softly onto the roof of the keep, his bare feet wiggling on the tile. Nights like these, when the stars were out, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, he couldn’t sleep. The sky called, a glimmering array of diamonds. Hunter traced the shapes of the stars in their lines and patterns.

There was a scuffling, snuffling noise, and something warm and furry sat down on Hunter’s feet. He bent down and picked up the palistrom hunter, holding it at arm’s length. The thing kept trying to sleep on top of him in the middle of the night. “You,” he told it, “are quite possibly the most annoying creature on the planet. And I work with Kikimora.”

It snuffled, and Hunter sighed, taking it back down to his room. The palisman fluttered out of reach before he could offer it as tribute to the fuzzy abomination.

“Maybe I’ll call you Kiki junior.”

It sneezed.

“You’re right. You’re not that mean. Just annoying. Hrm. How about Greg, you look like a Greg.”

Greg snuffled, scrambling up onto his lap. Hunter put it down, dashing out the door and closing it before Greg could catch up. It scratched at the door to be let out. “Nuh-uh, you need to stay in there. I’ll be back.”

Hunter dashed off to the keep library, looking through the library cards for any reference of the palistrom hunter. One book.

Wild Magic: Flora and Fauna of the Savage Ages.

Hunter shuffled through the shelves, tracking down the call number and pulling out the book. He ran a finger down the table of contents, glancing around the library. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just trying to figure out how to care for a creature the emperor had entrusted to him. But still. Hunter flipped to the page listed for Palistrom Hunters.

Nests in palistrom trees.

If bonded to a witch, run.

That’s not a witch.

“Not a witch,” Hunter grumbled, “What’s that supposed to mean? Could you get any vaguer?” He flipped to the back, to the index, running his finger down until he found Palistrom Hunters again.

Page 397, the page I just looked at aaaaand… 125.

Hunter flipped to page 125—or where it was supposed to be.

The pages were ripped out.

Hunter frowned, flipping back to the table of contents.

125. Grimwalker. Okay, one more thing to try.

Hunter flipped to the index again, this time looking for “grimwalker.” Another page—just before the pages about the Palistrom Hunters. He flipped to the page—about palistrom trees. Of course. He skimmed it, squinting for any mention of the grimwalker.

One of the key ingredients in the creation of a grimwalker.

Hunter almost threw the book across the room. That! Didn’t! Help!

He wandered back to the index cards, this time looking for “grimwalker.”

Nothing.

A whole lot of nothing.

He tried the crystal ball.

Nothing.

It’s like they don’t exist.

Or… someone got rid of them?

Well… there was one set of books that no one would DARE touch…

Hunter took a deep breath, and made his way to the portal room. He poked his head in, checking both ways for his uncle before sliding in and closing the door.

It’s fine, it’s fine, you’re just trying to figure out how to stop this creature from hanging onto you. This whole grimwalker thing probably doesn’t even mean anything, or it’s just some—some slur for magic-less witches, which is why the thing likes you.

Hunter flipped through the journals near the portal, holding his breath.

Grimwalker.

Hunter ran a hand over the illustration of eyes.

Eerie, magenta eyes.

A chart, tracking growth—the growth of someone from birth to around sixteen.

A list of ingredients.

Hunter stumbled back from the journal, until his back hit a pillar. He covered his mouth with his hands to keep from yelling, breathing heavily.

What?

What is that?

What—there—I can’t—

He slid down the pillar, his legs too shaky to hold him up.

“Hrgh—” he whimpered through his shut mouth.

Something fuzzy brushed up against him, and Hunter nearly jumped out of his skin—is it my skin? Is it? Or is it scales?

Hunter scooped Greg up, holding it tightly to his chest as he tried to calm his breathing. The creature purred, content to be in his arms.

Content because I’m made of its home wood.

What other things could something like me be used for?

#toh #the owl house #toh fanfiction #writing requests #my writing #toh hunter #toh kikimora #the golden guard #toh lil rascal #asks

36 notes · View notes

writer-panda · 3 years

Text

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

Chapter 1 -|- Previous -|- Next

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

-----------

As she hanged up, Marinette rushed to the doors and let her mother in. The previous night she spent mostly on working with Kwamis to prepare. Most were in agreement that she needed to act and not leave her kitty’s fate to chance. Tikki protested for a bit, but in the end, she saw that there was no changing Marinette’s mind and joined in on scheming. Except she had no way of tracking Adrien. Not… until she received the call!

Except now her mother entered. Sabine greeted her daughter by giving her a bone-crushing hug.

“I was so worried! When the police called I couldn’t just sit there and wait!”

“Maman. It’s alright. I’m okay. See?” The girl did break away from the hug and smiled.

“I know. But I couldn’t help but worry.”

“Maman… Adrien’s been kidnapped.”

“I know.” Her mother’s expression didn’t reveal any emotions now.

“I… he’s been miserable ever since that wedding mess, and now this.”

“I know.” Again, nothing.

“He’s my friend.”

“Not the love of your life?” Sabine questioned with a bit of amusement in her voice.

“No. He doesn’t need another fangirl. He needs a friend. Someone who can support him. I… I wasn’t a good friend before this…” She didn’t reveal that she wasn’t a great partner either. Chat hid things well, but from time to time his shell cracked. She should’ve seen the signs. She could’ve done something. Or at least do something with Lila. She had connections and Lila deserved a lawsuit or five.

“Oh, sweety. You were a great friend. You are a great friend. I’m happy to see you’re not about to chase after some misguided love, but after friendship.”

“I know I’m only… wait, what?” Marinette.exe stopped working. If the problem keeps repeating itself, please contact customer service or the nearest Kwami.

“When I was fifteen, I dropped out of… school to explore the world on my own. It wasn’t until a few years later that I met your father.” Sabine said in a bit dreamy voice like she was reminiscing. “We had several adventures across Europe before finally settling down in Paris.”

“But… Papa’s a baker.” Marinette protested. “I thought he was always a baker, like his father.”

In response, her mother chuckled. “No. Your father had much more in common with your Nona than with his father. I met him when he was fighting in an underground cage-fighting club.”

“Whoa…” Marinette’s eyes widened. That was a story she never heard before. “So how did you two got together?”

“I will tell you some other time. The point is, I know that even if I took you to Paris with me, you would’ve run away to look for your friend.”

“Maman!” For a moment, the girl wanted to protest. But then she decided that there was no point. “Yes… you’re right. But I can’t just let it happen! If the police find him, he will end up back with his father!”

“I know. And what’ll you do about it?” Her mother had this mysterious smirk on her face.

“I guess… I need to be the one to find him. I will get him situated somewhere safe. Maybe stay with him for a bit. He’s smart. And a quick learner.” He mastered being a superhero faster than I did.

“Good. Then you have my blessing.”

“I can’t just abandon-” Marinette.exe stopped working again. Contacting the customer service might be in order. Technically, Sabine kept hinting about it. Practically, Marinette would miss a clue even if she was holding a gun to its head. “I have your what now?”

“You can go. Save him. Find yourself. And maybe kick some asses while you’re at it.”

“Most parents would be worried sick about their not-yet-adult children running off to an adventure.”

“You wanted to know how I met your father. The answer is I was the first to beat him in that cage.” Sabine’s smirk was replaced with a serious expression. “Of course I will worry, sweety. I’m your mother. But holding you back now will not help you. You’re a strong young woman and to be fair, I’m not sure how we could hold you down. You have steady access to the rooftop and two years of parkour training.”

“What now?”

“Did you honestly think we wouldn’t notice you sneaking off through the balcony?”

“And you didn’t even tell me?”

“It would be hypocritical of us.” Sabine defended. “And if the worse came to happen, I had several… souvenirs from our travel around the world.”

“Thank you, Maman. I promise I will come back; And call you often. Well, maybe not too often.” Marinette already dashed to start packing.

“Of course you will. And don’t get into too much trouble. I would hate to have to go and find you.” Sabine threatened with a bright smile on her face.

“I’ll try, Maman.” The girl was only half-listening now. She couldn’t waste any more time. She learned how to trace the call about one-and-a-half years ago when she was still a bit ‘stalker-ish’.

Sabine watched her daughter with amusement. So many memories returned to her now. Youth mostly well-spent if someone asked her. The ‘mostly’ part came to bite her just that moment as her phone pinged. She quickly checked the message and frowned.

“I’m sorry, my little cupcake, but I need to go check it. An old friend turns out to be in town.”

“I’ll call you later!” Marinette called from where she was furiously working on her laptop.

When Sabine left, the kwamis swarmed her immediately.

“Your mom is so cool!” one of them cooed.

“And she’s one bad-”

“Roaar!” Tikki scolded the tiger kwami.

“What’s the plan, pigtails?”

“Adrien’s call was made from within Gotham City. He’s still here for now. I also managed to track him to Burnley.”

“Didn’t that mercenary you called mention some Lawton?” Trixx offered.

“Yeah. I did try to search him up, but the only one with that name that I managed to find is Zoe Lawton. Wait. There is more!” She beamed up. “An old article in some Mexican newspaper.” She clicked on the link and read it aloud for her co-conspirators “Floyd Lawton, also known as Deadshot, was recently arrested after an assassination of a small group of smugglers. It is yet unknown if it was a hit or was it personal.” The article went on, but there was nothing more of interest.

“So the guy’s a mercenary too? That’s good. He’ll bring Adrien to you.”

“Not so fast. I remember hearing about him. Deadshot is one of the few mercenaries who try to keep some resemblance of a code. He’s also noted to be soft around children.”

“Isn’t Adrien almost an adult though?” Kaalki asked rather uncaring.

“Have you met the guy? He’s a literal ray of sunshine!” Plagg protested.

“So… he won’t deliver him and won’t return him.” Seeing that some Kwamis didn’t understand her logic, she clarified, “I don’t think that if he learns how Gabe treated his son he will be in any hurry to return him.”

“That makes sense.” The little being all nodded in agreement.

“So what’s the alternative?”

“He could adopt him,” Ziggy suggested.

“Please.” Marinette dismissed the idea. “He’s not Bruce Wayne.”

“He could smuggle him out of the country.”

“No. Everyone’s looking for him.” Roaar countered. “He would try to lay low somewhere.”

“Burley is large and full of potential safe houses.” Marinette started to think. “But there is also a large concentration of organized crime. Alone, we would have a hard time, but if we got them to help…”

“Is it wise to involve more criminals into your schemes Marinette?” Tikki asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry, sugarcube. To catch a bird you need wings. To catch a criminal you need crime.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“What’s the worse that could happen? I will go there as Seamstress. I won’t even appear in person. Right, Trixx?”

“You can count on it.” The fox kwami grinned.

“But… but…” Tikki wanted to scream her head off. Why did the previous guardian choose a juvenile criminal for her holder. Marinette used to be such a sweet girl. Where did Tikki go wrong?

---------

It was dark when an eerie mist filled one of the less-than-legal clubs in Burnley. From among the smoke, a figure entered. She was wearing a godet-type black dress with a side-cut that reached to her belt. The dress was overlayed with a very visible deep-blue corset that pronounced her blue eyes. It had some intricate laces on it. She also wore a puffy-sleeved blazer (also black, but with a dark blue finish) with large and very pronounced cuffs. Around her neck was a white double jabot fixed to a choker with a large black gem surrounded by diamonds. Her long deep-blue hair was let loose and hung over her shoulder. A simple black-and-white domino mask hid her features.

As she marched, one of her legs shifted the fabric to reveal she was wearing dark-blue socks reaching above her knee and black leather boots. A knife was strapped to the right one and several leather strips around her thigh and knee suggested she had more weapons on her.

One of the men whistled.

“Looks like the entertainment arrived, boys!” Several cheered at that shout. At least until the man who dared to say it ended pinned to a wall with a rather large needle holding his jacket in place. It was also uncomfortably close to his jugular.

“I’m not entertainment.” The Seamstress hissed.

“Then you’re not invited.” Several men got up, many were holding now-empty bottled which they turned into impromptu weapons.

“You will help me find what was taken from me.” She demanded.

“Yeah? Or?” One of the men laughed before charging at her.

What followed next was perhaps the strangest carnage Gotham City has seen in years. The Seamstress danced between the attacks with almost unnatural grace and agility while stabbing the attackers in various places with large needles. None of the hits were life-threatening and most would heal within hours. The wounds were meant to incapacitate with minimal long-term damage.

By the time she reached the far end of the bar, almost every man was laid out on the ground groaning in pain or scrambling in fear.

“I am not asking. You will be rewarded for your obedience.” She then disappeared into the back alley. One brave/foolish enough who still had some fight left rushed after her, only to find the place completely empty.

On the rooftop, Marinette let out her breath. She didn’t use any miraculous for that one, but she kept Plagg’s ring on. Chat Noir wasn’t seen in some time, so it would’ve been easier to explain that the ring was stolen by a criminal. She would really need to thank her mother for all the training she forced on her ever since the Akumas started to appear, as well as the lessons during her childhood. Those were all only the most basic grunts tonight, but she got their attention. One of them would run to their boss. There, she could actually do what she planned.

--------

Just like she predicted, some of the less injured guys left the bar in hurry and drove their bikes to another part of the district. They disappeared into a three-story building. The windows were boarded, but some light seeped through on the top floor, so that is where she climbed. Indeed, by hanging on the edge of the window sill, she was able to hear the panicked screams inside.

“...and then she just disappeared! It was like that damn Bat, only much more terrifying. She was so small, and yet there was this… this… aura of power.”

Thank you Chloe for being queen B. Marinette stifled a laugh. Mimicking Chloe was the right choice.

“Probably another one of his useless brats.” The boss dismissed them. Marinette decided that it would make the best impression if she contradicted him right now.

She wondered for a moment how to enter the armored building. She could rip the boards away and enter that way, but she was aiming for ethereal, not brute. In the end, she pulled a pair of glasses and put them over her mask.

“Kaalki. Would you please help me break into headquarters of a criminal organization to scare them into serving me?”

“How many sugar cubes is it worth?”

“Ten. No more, no less.” Marinette had a small window of opportunity.

“You’ve got a deal.”

“Kaalki! Full gallop!” The light enveloped Marinette. When it died down, she was still in her outfit, only now the blue accents were brown instead. The gem on her neck held the symbol of a horse miraculous. “I love magical clothes. So easy to maintain the image.” Marinette muttered before a blue portal opened before her and she entered.

Inside, the five men (two who came to report, the boss, and his two guards) watched as the blue portal opened before them. The mist started to pour through it as well as through the boarded window. A figure calmly stepped inside.

“I didn’t expect the Gotham criminal organizations to be so… cliche.” She commented. Two needles sailed through the air and pinned the guards to the wall. Her horseshoe weapon waited patiently on her back should she need to use it.

“Who… who’re you?”

“Me? Oh. I’m The Seamstress. I had business in Gotham, but a fool dared to double-cross me. I need to find him.”

“Why… W-why shou-should w-we help… help you?” One of the guys from the bar asked.

“Oh. I’m not asking. I’m telling you that you’ll help me.” She informed. “I’m about to make you an offer you shouldn’t refuse.”

The boss was now shaking. Damn city with its damn overpowered supervillains. They think they can simply run things as they want. First Red Hood took out most of the top brass of the underworld and then this? Working on his father’s farm was sounding more and more appealing. Then there was the shouldn’t. The reference to the classic movie was not lost, but she said shouldn’t. Not can’t. Once more he remembered how Red Hood took over. Submit, or die. This was the same. She clearly wouldn’t hesitate. He liked to think he could see those things.

“I’m waiting.” The lady growled. “I’m not used to waiting.” Channeling Chloe is actually fun here.

“Fine. You can have my seat. I’m going back to dad’s farm. Just let me go and you can have them.” The boss stood from his seat and motioned for her.

Marinette.exe is not responding. Do you want to execute the process? Not yet.

She managed to keep enough cool to smile and take the seat, although she didn’t even register what was that.

She would panic later. For now, tracking Adrien. “I need to find where Floyd Lawton, also called Deadshot, is hiding with my… asset.”

“It… I will see to it, Boss… lady.” One of the guys from the bar nodded very fast before rushing out of the room.

“I… will bring you the list of current assets.” One of the guards informed and walked somewhere. They were used to aggressive takeovers. This was their third. Boss change, guards remain. This was honestly the first time the previous boss managed to escape with his life.

Meanwhile, Marinette finally realized what just happened. She really wanted to hit her head on the desk, but she was too afraid to show any signs of weakness. Why did she end up in this mess again?

----------

Sabine Cheng was waiting for her plane back when an airport guard approached her.

“Lady Cheng?” Sabine’s blood froze for a moment, but she refused to show any outward reaction at her past codename. “There is a man who wishes to discuss some… past debts.”

Damn it. And here she thought that bald bastard would forget about her. He had several more suitable people. He knew the risks of angering her.

Then again, she knew not to anger him either.

“Lead the way.” Her face was stone cold as she stood up.

Inside a comfortable private lodge sat a blad man in a suit more expensive than the yearly revenue of her bakery.

“Ah… Lady Cheng. I’m so happy you could’ve joined us.”

Sabine looked around and noticed that there was another man there, standing slightly in the shadows. A man she came to despise just as much as Luthor. Standing there was Gabriel Agreste.

“I can’t return the pleasure, Luthor.” She snarled, not letting her gaze drop from Agreste.

“Figured you’d say that.” The billionaire laughed. “But it doesn’t change that you came.”

“Be quick. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“About that.” Lex smiled. “I’m afraid you won’t be on that plane. I need you to do something for me.”

“Sadly, my calendar is full for the foreseeable future.” She retorted coldly.

“Then you will clean it. Unless that is, you want me to tell my good friend the president about your little assignment for me twenty years ago. If I recall, your pardon didn’t cover that particular crime.” The man chuckled.

The only upside of this whole situation to Sabine was that Agreste finally realized exactly who she was. Or at least how dangerous she was. The deal she made ensured that Lady Cheng disappeared from everywhere but some people’s memory. To her dismay, Lex didn’t forget. And he still had that damning evidence.

She also knew exactly what was the job.

“I don’t do jobs involving kids, Luthor.” She seethed through gritted teeth. It wouldn’t matter, but she hoped it would at least give him a pause.

“Adrien Agreste was about to be married. I think that can calm your conscience. He was all but adult.” That despicable man dismissed her concern, as she predicted.

“I’m a little rusty. Don’t you have someone younger? Someone who would actually want to do this?” Sabine deadpanned. She kept true to the deal she made for her and her husband’s pardon and didn’t do any… extracurricular work.

“Alas, the fact you’re unwilling is why I need you. You see, the client, whoever they are, picked Agreste Jr. as a target in a… battle royale of sorts. It quickly stopped being about the ludicrous money reward. It’s now about proving who’s the best. And they won’t stop until they deliver him to that mysterious Seamstress.”

“So what do you want? I’m sure you could’ve bought some of them to drop the glory part.” She really didn’t want to do this.

“I offered to pay five times the price, but most of the competent ones want a shot at whatever that job is. A mysterious benefactor with no history, nonexistent in any database in the world, paying a small fortune for a simple job and offering further work? Doesn’t it sound familiar?” Lex reclined in his chair and smiled.

“One job only. I want everything you have on me. And ten times the bounty.” She noted his discomfort. “Don’t give me that look, Luthor. You can afford it. My daughter’s about to start a university.” Sabine turned to Gabriel. “I must thank you for the idea. Homeschooling really helps when one is gifted.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Lex grumbled. If he didn’t know the quality of her works, he would’ve laughed at the price. Except he foolishly revealed that he was desperate.

“Oh, I’m sure we can.” Sabine smiled. She was like a cat that just caught a mouse.

#maribat #miraculous #ladybug #miraculous ladybug #mlb #mlb x dc #dc #DC comics #dcu #batman #Hit on the groom

86 notes · View notes

mrslittletall · 3 years

Note

saw your whump post, honestly the "I'm fine" screams Hornet to me, so it'd be cool to see that! - dooblebugs

Title: The Idol Fandom: Hollow Knight Characters: Hornet & Little Ghost Word Count: 2.825 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30941981

Summary: After the Hollow Knight is freed from the temple, Hornet does her best to take care of the ones that are still left in Hallownest. Everything should be fine... until it isn't.

(Author's note: @dooblebugs

I thought about using canon verse with “Almost everyone lives AU” or your Mer AU. But ultimately, canon verse won, because I still miss some context for the Mer AU. I hope you enjoy.)

Hornet opened her eyes and jumped on her feet right away. Her day would always start with hunting and gathering food, preferably before Hollow woke up and tried to move, and it was a whole other problem trying to haul a bug their size back into bed, especially when they rigorously ignored their wounds.

While Hornet trusted Quirrel and Cloth enough to leave Hollow in their care for a while, she always felt better if she could look over them personally. However, the longer she hesitated with leaving, the longer she would need to come back, so Hornet left the house in Dirtmouth they had inhabited for Hollow's recovery and went towards the crossroads.

The little pitter-patter of tiny feet next to her prompted Hornet to look down. Ghost had decided to accompany her again. They always would. She could tell them a hundred times to stay behind, they would never listen. For a vessel meant to be void of mind, Ghost was one of the bugs with the strongest will that Hornet ever had seen.

“You will still come with me, even if I say no, right, little Ghost?”, Hornet said, shouldering her needle. Ghost didn't nod or sign at her, they simply stared, with their unblinking, never changing expression. It was enough for Hornet to know that they wouldn't leave.

“Alright, but don't get into my way.”, Hornet said. At this, Ghost swung their nail and jumped in front of Hornet in a pose that depicted a challenge, then their nail went down on the ground in a strike, the swing of it breaking through the calmness of the morning.

“I know! I know! You've beaten me twice, but... I have gone easy on you.”, Hornet half hissed. It was a blatant lie and she knew it. The first time she had simply underestimated them (or she simply had become tired of fighting) and the second time... she had given it her all and they still had remained victorious. In a sense, Ghost was the new king of Hallownest, but they didn't seem to put any mind on the title. They didn't even seem to be wanting to be celebrated for being the saviour of Hallownest. They simply joined Hornet every morning for hunting and went off on their own afterwards, always coming back to play with their friends in Dirtmouth.

As the both of them jumped down the well, Hornet couldn't help but think about that there wasn't much to rule anymore. This kingdom was in shambles. It had been two weeks and the dried off infection still crusted the crossroads, too little bugs alive to care much about cleaning the place up. It was becoming more and more difficult to get food, because so many of the infected had simply been reanimated husks, without any meat left in them.

They surely would have to wander to Greenpath again, hopefully finding a few vengeflies and mosscreeps to bring home.

Hornet was used being alone. She had been alone for a very long time. She had managed. She never was lonely... well, maybe a little lonely and now there was a bunch of strangers up in Dirtmouth who relied on her. Hornet never wanted for anyone to rely on her. She had seen what happened when bugs relied on someone and... there wasn't a solution.

She looked down on Ghost again, they had their nail on the ready and stared vigilantly in front of them. They must have crossed this crossroads a dozen times on their journey, still expecting to be attacked by the infected every given minute. Hornet could understand that it was hard for them to let go of old habits.

She was the same. She never let go of her needle as well. Even with the infection never being able to come back, she had to remain vigilant. She would protect her siblings, no matter what. She wouldn't, no she couldn't, let anyone down.

“We are nearing Greenpath.”, she said, only to cut through the silence between them. She knew it wasn't Ghost's fault that they didn't have a voice, but after years of not being able to talk to anyone, Hornet barely could stand the silence, when there was someone she could talk to. “Remember, when we hunt the mosscreeps, take their leaves as well, for the herbivores.”

While Hornet was able to eat plant matter as well, it never had been satisfying to her. She was the daughter of a spider and a wyrm, both predators, and therefore she usually would hunt for food. She was unsure about what kind of diet Ghost and Hollow needed, but they seemed to be content with the prey she brought back, so she wouldn't change anything about it.

“And remember, we can't hunt too much. The population needs a chance to recover.”, she said as well. The infection had done a number on the whole of Hallownest... it wasn't a surprise that there was such a food shortage. In fact, Hornet had cut her own food intake in favour of her siblings and anyone who couldn't hunt or still needed to recover. That bug, Tiso, came to mind. Had a far too big stomach for having been utterly destroyed by the colloseum of fools. Why Ghost had dragged him back to Dirthmouth, she would never understand.

Ghost showed that they understood with a little nod of their head and the both of them entered Greenpath. It was a MUCH nicer place without the infection, but they still had to pay attention, the fool eater plants were easy to overlook (not that Hornet had ever overlooked them, but Ghost tended to forget...) and there were some predators still around, though they were no match for her needle. The problem was to avoid them to not hunt too much. Like she had said to Ghost, they needed to give the population time to recover, if they wouldn't want all to starve beforehand.

“We get only enough for everyone back in Dirtmouth.”, Hornet said again. “Then we leave again. Let's search for some mosscreeps first.”

The both of them jumped and slashed their way through the vegetation of Greenpath. While Hornet preferred to use her needle, Ghost had found a lot of new ways to move around since the first time they fought and they dashed (literally leaving their shell behind and somehow phasing through time and space) and jumped with wings that reminded Hornet of her father... and she got a bad feeling in her guts every time she saw them.

After a bit of time, they had managed to hunt two vengeflies to bring back, Hornet keeping them cocooned up for transportation and were now searching through the vegetation for some mosscreeps. Finally, Hornet found one and struck it down with her needle, preparing a cocoon for it again, when Ghost picked something up from the grass.

“Ghost, what do you have there?”, Hornet asked. The item was too small to be prey and they tended to hoard stuff they found. It probably was just something that was completely worthless nowadays, only generating Geo when given to this historian in the City of Tears. She still wanted to know.

Ghost came over and laid the thing they had picked up in her outstretched hand. When she looked down on it, she froze.

It was a King's Idol, the item that the citizens of Hallownest had crafted to worship her reclusive father. Each of them looked different, but they all shared the general shape and depicted his most salient feature: The horns that resembled a crown.

Staring down at it, something in Hornet broke. It might have been the stress she felt since Ghost had arrived. Or the fact that Hollow recovered from years of abuse from both the gods of Hallownest. Or that she was running on an empty stomach most of the time. But once she saw that thing, all her frustration crashed down on her at once.

You!”, she hissed. “It was all your fault! You knew that the plan wouldn't work! You knew that they would suffer and you still have let it happen! The teacher, the watcher, my mother, all sacrificed for nothing! And then, in the moment you were needed the most, you vanished, you damn coward! We needed you! I needed you! I hate you. I hate you and I can't even say it to your face anymore!”

Hornet threw the king's idol on the ground with so much force that it skipped on the ground and then fell on her knees, slowly getting aware of the tears on her face and the presence of little ice cold hands patting her arm.

“I am fine.”, she said, wiping the tears away. Just a moment of weakness, nothing else. Even though she could feel the judgemental stare of Ghost, she was fine. She had to be. “Seriously, I am fine.”, she continued once more. “Let's continue hunting.”

As Hornet was putting her composure back together, she didn't notice how Ghost continued to stare at her, picking up the idol from the ground, and only starting to move again once she called out for them.

The hunt had been more or less successful. At least they had found enough prey that nobody should go terribly hungry (at least when Hornet halved her own portion again). As usual, hunting had taken the better part of the day. Hornet would have liked to go hunt at some different locations, but the Old Stag from the stag ways wasn't around lately, apparently he was taking care of some personal business. With him not being around, it was just too far to walk to the Fungal Wastes or Deepnest, at least not when she wanted to come back the same day.

Currently Hornet took in her meal in Hollow's room with Ghost present as well. She was busy thinking about if there was another route that would make sure she could hunt elsewhere but Greenpath for once, when she felt a nudge. When she looked down, she saw how Ghost offered them a half of their mosscreep, holding the prey up in their little hands, seemingly eagerly awaiting for her to take it.

“I can't take this, Ghost.”, Hornet said. “You need all the food you can get, you are still growing.”

Ghost cocked their head and for once their eternal deadpan expression was on point. Hornet knew how ridiculous her argument was. Ghost had been born before her. They hadn't grown in years. Their body had been unable to grow because they didn't had access to void. “You know what I mean.”, she defended herself. There was the possibility that Ghost would start to grow as long as they stayed in Hallownest.

Ghost offered their meal a little while longer and then gave up with a little frustrated stomp of their foot. It was then when Hornet felt another nudge... this time it was Hollow, who had simply watched the scene unfold in front of them, offering their part of their meal.

“Oh no, not you too, Hollow.”, Hornet sighed. “You need the food much more than me, you are still recovering. I won't accept anything from you.”

The both vessels shared a look and once again Hornet asked herself if they could talk to each with some kind of void telepathy, before both of them looked at the ground in defeat.

“I am fine.”, Hornet repeated herself, she knew that. “Really, I am fine...”

Hornet awoke the next morning... not because her stomach cramped and she had trouble sleeping because of it, but because someone nudged her. She cracked one eye open and murmured: “It's barely morning...” She just craved to go back to sleep, to forget about the day in front of her for a few minutes longer, but the nudging got more and more intense, until she shouted: “Fine! I am getting up! Stop bothering me!”

It was Ghost in front of her and immediately Hornet stopped being annoyed. What if something had happened? “Is something the matter with Hollow? Or is a threat approaching the village?”, she asked, already fumbling for her needle, once again forgetting that Ghost was more than capable of defending the village themselves. They just looked too much like a little, defenseless child, even though Hornet had experienced otherwise.

Gladly, Ghost shook their head, though this put Hornet right back into annoyance. “Then why have you woken me up?”, she said, falling back down in her pillows, ignoring the urge to close her eyes and looking at Ghost again, making sure to give them a judgemental stare.

Ghost did grip something under their cloak (wings? Hornet never knew what this thing around the vessels was) and after a bit of struggling, they produced a jar... a jar filled with honey. The smell actually made Hornet's mouth water. Honey was one of the few things she liked to eat that wasn't meat, mostly because she had trained in the Hive in her youth.

Though, as lucky as she felt about having more food, she couldn't help but scold Ghost. “Ghost, did you get this on your own? The Hive is dangerous, even without the infection! What if the Hive Knight would have found you?”

Ghost shook their head and then outstretched their hand, showing Hornet a shiny little charm. A charm she remembered. The charm of the Hive. “Wait, you have been there and challenged him already?” Hornet wanted to be surprised, but Ghost couldn't really surprise her anymore. When they could surprise her somehow, then it was that they were full of surprises.

“Anyway... I guess I have to thank you, though I don't approve that you sneak out at night into the Hive.”, Hornet murmured. “At least we have more food for the group now..”

Ghost rigorously shook their head and pressed the jar in her hands. “For me?”, Hornet asked and Ghost nodded.

“But... Ghost, I appreciate it, but I don't need.. the others need the food much more than...”

Another shook of their head and a stomp of their foot along with crossed arms and a slight turn around. Hornet suddenly felt very small, she had never seen them that upset.

“Alright, alright...”, she said. “Maybe I have eaten insufficient lately...”

Ghost nodded again and gave the jar of honey another press, so that she had to hold it firmly in her hands.

“Alright alright...”, Hornet finally gave in. “I will take your offer, Ghost.”

As she opened the jar, her hunger became more and more apparent and soon she dug in and had finished the whole jar in what felt like no time and finally, for once, she didn't feel overly hungry. Satisfied even.

She then saw Ghost holding up something. A little rock with a few letters written on it. Lately Cornifer had given them writing lessons, though it still was a work in progress.

“Fine?”

That was the word they had painted on the rock (where did they even have the colours from?).

“I am fine.”, Hornet said. “This time for real. I am sorry, Ghost, I shouldn't have lied to you. I just feel so... responsible for everyone. I can't show weakness in front of anyone.”

Ghost shook their head again and then got something out. Hornet recognized it as the King's Idol they had found in Greenpath. They tossed it at the ground, just as she had done and then hit it with their nail, leaving a notable crack in it.

“You as well don't have the best memories of him, right?”, Hornet said. Both of them had been left behind, though in a different kind of way. Ghost had been discarded and Hornet had been left with responsibility far too huge for her age.

Ghost nodded again and gave the King's Idol another smack, so that it landed in front of her. Hornet took it into her hands and stared at it. She did miss him, that she had to admit to herself, but she also knew that her anger and her disappointment were real and there was no reason to hide it in front of Ghost.

She squeezed the Idol until it cracked into two pieces and just watched as they fell down. “Thank you, Ghost.”, she said. “But make sure to not tell Hollow about this.”

The way Hollow idealized their father... it would break their heart seeing his image being defiled like that.

Another quick nod and then Ghost actually got another one out, their face clearly saying: “Wanna break another?”

A grin crept over Hornet's face. She would never get her mother back or escape her responsibilities, but at least she could vent out her frustrations, even though it took her sibling for her to realize.

“Oh you bet I want.” (Author's note: Little Ghost is kinda fun to write. I think they are a character mostly showing what they feel through body language and it was fun to come up with how they would act. I also like to think that they can stare very judgemental, even though their expression never changes, a stare of them can make anyone falter. Hornet's relationship to PK is... complicated. He hasn't actually been a bad father to her, but as the infection came back and depression took over, he left her alone more and more and she got angry about it... especially when he decided to just vanish. She felt utterly betrayed by it and it is a huge source of her frustration and anger. I put in some little references to the game in there, try to find them if you please.)

#hollow knight #fanfiction #hornet #little ghost #march of the whumps #request fill #hornet has issues #whump #emotional whump #ask answered #thx for the ask #littlewritesstuff #Anonymous

81 notes · View notes

caregivingchrysalises · 2 days

Note

🥺

Uppies....?

of course little dove you may have uppies~ would you like buba to wrap zer wings around you hun? there we go sweet thing, how’s that love? let’s see, where does my angel want us to fly off to hm? a wonderful choice sprout,, you’re so adorable baby, thank you for letting me look after you starlight.

{the size of the emoji made me laugh for a good few minutes~ thanks for flying in}

#atala answers #thanks for the ask!#atala when ze actually remember to reply to zer asks instead of leaving them in zer drafts for eons on ends #i will be flying to the other asks soon !!#agere caregiver #sfw caregiver #royal caregiver #sfw agere #uppies #agere asks #my wings are one of my most dashing features don’t you think?#yes i will be finding a way to sneak my wings into as many wing-needed blurbs as possible #the size of the emoji had me laughing (maybe it’s just bc it’s late)#asks open

3 notes · View notes

who-is-page · 3 years

Text

Our Thoughts on and Experiences with Cameo Shifts & Fictionflickers

Author: Page Type: Essay Words: 1,327 Summary: Some of the cameo shifts and fictionflickers we've experienced and our thoughts on these phenomena.

[Part of the Sol System's Alterhuman Writing Project for NaNoWriMo 2021. If you don't want to see these posts, block the tag #inkedpaws]

Cameo shifts and fictionflickers are a rarity in our system, something that adds to the spice of life but almost never ever really happens—in our system, only myself and Noel seem to ever experience them, with Drago, Dash, and Wyvern having yet to get to enjoy one.

Noel’s tend to be cameo shifts of draconic features, like a shift in how the tips of her wings are formed or her horns, and usually seem to be connected to other people in the system. In some ways it seems like her cameo shifts are affected by co-fronting and co-consciousness, and the rare mismatched phantom body experiences are spurred by how our bodies and features exist and would theoretically meld with hers. She doesn’t particularly enjoy these experiences and thinks they are, in her own words, “annoying.”

For me, I tend to have deathclaw phantom body cameo shifts. I’ve never played any of the Fallout games, so it’s unsure why I do and where these come from—I get the big bulking physique, the horns, the claws, and the tail most typically. I physically feel bigger and broader which throw me more off-balance than not, as my natural phantom body is either that of a fairly thin and long Eastern dragon or of a facultative bipedal canine. I don’t get mental cameo shifts or anything similar in regards to this identity—I’m still a dog/dragon in my brain, just one that’s confused and a little amused by the situation. I also haven’t found out exactly what triggers these shifts, as they don’t seem to happen in specific environments nor situations: they’ve happened alone, with people, outside, in restaurants, relaxing, while at work, and I just can’t pinpoint what, if anything, sparks them.

My fictionflickers also seem to have no real rhyme or reason, albeit they are also rarer and thus harder to document. My most recent one happened just today and was of a Tobi-Kadachi from Monster Hunter World, resulting in phantom shifts focused on their notable back mane, spikes, and of their flat tail, but’s been such a long time since I last fictionflickered that I can’t even recall what the one before this was! I think maybe Mightyena, but that’s less of a fictionflicker and more adjacent to my clado-fictherian-esque Pokemon identity/feelings.

The Tobi-Kadachi fictionflicker today is what sparked this writing in particular: I wish I had some inkling of what made my brain spur on phantom limbs of one creature I enjoy and hyperfixate on, but not others.

I’m always an Eastern dragon and a canine psychopomp which is well and good, but it’s absolutely fascinating getting to experience shifts for things that I’m not. It’s a wholly unique thing, like trying on a friend’s glasses and getting to squint at the world around me from an entirely new perspective: it’s definitely not something I want to engage in for long periods of time, but being able to do it at all is an eye-opening experience.

And imagine getting to initiate it for specific species and identities—I’ve always been a bit affectionately jealous of the shapeshifters out there who can mold their forms as they please, truth be told. What a gift to have and what limitless potential!

I’m someone who thrives off of the hunt for knowledge, not just in the way of searching through library stacks, but also in how I want to throw myself into every experience possible, to touch everything, know everything, understand everything that I possibly can on a deep, intrinsic level. Just talking about it gets my heart racing! If I can, I have to know. And what is cameo shifting and fictionflickering if not the beginning steps to knowing something new through the experience of being?

I wish cameo shifting and fictionflickers (or, truly, any other type of flicker) got more focus and mentions in essays and writings largely for this reason. I love hearing about people’s everyday in their nonhumanity, because how couldn’t I? Even two people with the same kintype are going to experience the same situation in different ways and have different regular experiences regarding shifts and similar, but how often do we get to hear about being an animal from a separate animal’s perspective—such as a wolf (therian) who one day wakes up cameo shifted with a phantom seagull body, for instance. Suddenly, wings! Potentially confusing on a whole different level than the standard dysphoria that might come from being physically human, and something I’d absolutely love to read about.

Sometimes I worry that there’s an underlying idea that cameo shifts or ‘flicker experiences aren’t worth talking about because they’re not permanent and therefore don’t “count” or something like that. I’ve definitely seen those kinds of attitudes in community spaces, especially alongside hierarchies of identity, where people prioritize therian, otherkin, and fictionkin experiences and identities and writings over otherhearted, copinglink, and more general alterhuman content and understandings. And I’d just like to say that that’s, frankly, some totally bull.

All experiences are temporary experiences in the maw of time, first off, and shouldn’t be used as a metric for what is or isn’t worth talking about. I’m of the opinion that every alterhuman experience is worth writing or talking about to some extent, no matter how small they may seem. First because they’re amazing to read about and there always exists at least one person out there who will be thrilled to hear about them, and second because it helps to get rid of the pervasive attitude in some places that there’s only singular, predefined ways to be alterhuman or certain kinds of alterhuman.

The hierarchy of identities is also something that we slowly (ever so slowly) see dissolving away in larger spaces as the years go on, but I’d give any amount of money if we could just throw the idea wholly away already. Someone who’s a dog therian with 40 years’ experience of wanting to sniff butts isn’t better than someone who’s cameo shifted into a dog for the first time ever and is experiencing the joy of wagging for the first time in their life. There is no “better” in this scenario at all, it’s just two different sets of experiences, each with their unique importance to the individual in question, and thus why they’re so important and fascinating to share.

I wish I had ‘flickers and cameo shifts more often just so that I could write about them and nudge others to write more about theirs, too. The best way to do away with shift attitudes surrounding an identity or experience is to be vocal in your own spaces about it, after all. But my cameo shifts and fictionflickers are always there and gone within the span of a few minutes, like smoke on the breeze, and so rare that it makes it difficult to compile anything worth talking about. It might be worth looking into a more long-term project, keeping small entries on them every time they reappear with dates, time, environment, and potential triggers—that could end up as something very cool if I worked on it over the course of several years. I wonder what patterns I might end up finding, if any.

And if you yourself experience ‘flickers or cameo shifts and have been putting off talking about them because “they’re not important, it’s not like it’s kintype-related or ‘hearted-related or attached to any copinglinks” or anything like that, then I’m of the opinion that you should definitely talk more about them. These experiences are important; anything someone experiences and finds interesting enough to share with others and talk about has inherent value that exists outside of any specifically attached identity labels. If you don’t want to write about them then don’t feel pressured to, but if you’ve been putting it on the backburner or haven’t even considered it until now, consider this a sign!

#inkedpaws #fictionflicker #otherkin #cameo shift #alterhuman

14 notes · View notes

queenxxxsupreme · 3 years

Note

Hi babe 🥰

Happy Valentine’s Day! 💕

Si, i gotta ask. How do you think Dettlaff would celebrate Valentine’s Day with his SO/reader?

A/N: I saw my chance to answer another ask so I took it!

***

You gently tugged at the blankets that covered Dettlaff’s sleeping form.

“Dettlaff.” You sing-songed his name, a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The Higher Vampire groaned, readjusting the pillows that he had stuffed beneath his head, and tucked his nose into their warmth.

You pulled away three different blankets from him, pulling them down to expose his bare shoulders to the cold air of the room. You moved from the foot of the bed to his side, your fingers trailing like feathers along his spine.

“Come on, darling. You’ve been sleeping for three hours.”

He shivered beneath your touch, your warm fingers a stark contrast to his chilly skin.

“Lay down with me for just a moment, my love.” His words were muffled by the pillows but you could understand him just fine.

“Now you know that isn’t a good idea.” You propped one knee up on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss the space behind his ear. “Then we’d never get out of bed.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“No, but everyone will be here shortly for dinner.”

Finally understanding that he couldn’t stay in bed with you for the rest of the night, Dettlaff let out a heavy sigh and rolled over onto his back. He looked up at you for a few moments, icy blue eyes inspecting your features.

“How many of them are coming? Just Regis and Orianna, I hope.”

“Well, they are coming. But so is Geralt and Yennefer, and Lambert and Aiden. Eskel is bringing someone too, though I haven’t met them yet.”

“You know, I think it would’ve been lovely if we had just made plans for ourselves and no one else.” His hand came up to cup your face.

“We can make plans for ourselves any other night of the year. Tonight, we can spend time with friends.” You leaned down to kiss his chest just above his heart.

“We can make plans for friends any other night of the year.” He muttered. His hand trailed around to the back of your head, long and slender fingers carding through your hair.

“Dettlaff.” You sighed softly. “You were excited about it when we put the plans together two weeks ago.”

“That was two weeks ago.”

“I should know better by now. My lovely introvert.” You teased as you leaned forward once more to kiss him.

“You really should. You’d think you’d learn your lesson after spending half a decade with me.”

You were glad to see he was in a good mood. Hopefully that meant this evening would go over smoothly.

“Come on.” You patted his chest and slipped out of the bed. “We’re going to go for a little walk before anyone gets here just so we can have some time to ourselves. I’ll be leaving a note on the table should anyone arrive early.”

“Regis.” Dettlaff grumbled as he sat up.

“He does like being punctual.”

***

The moon hung high in the sky, shining down through the thick tree canopies.

Dettlaff walked alongside you, your arms woven together as you leaned into him.

“I think it will be fun.” You thought out loud.

“What will?” He turned his head to look at you.

“Spending the night with friends. Well, they’re practically family, aren’t they?”

“You could say that.” Dettlaff nodded. “Though I think it would’ve been wiser to spend Valentine’s night with you alone in our home than crowded around a table with a bunch of loud dogs.”

“Hindsight is 20/20.” You giggled. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll have plenty of time after they leave to spend alone with me.”

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath.

“I do appreciate you agreeing to this, Dettlaff.” You came to a stop and turned to face him. “I know crowds aren’t your favorite and you aren’t one for socializing. It means a lot to me that you suggested we do something like this tonight.”

His blue eyes stayed on you as his hand came up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“I know how much you enjoy their company. And I’m willing to sacrifice my sanity for a few hours to see you happy.”

You smiled.

“But that isn’t my only gift for you. I do have something else.” He dug his hand into the pocket of his coat. “Can I see your wrist please?”

“Which one?”

“Either one.”

You gave him your left, watching as he clasped a silver bracelet around your wrist. Before letting you go, he brought your wrist to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss to the veins on the underside of your wrist.

“It isn’t much, but it made me think of you when I saw it.” He explained, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, not exactly you. I-I thought that it would remind you of me. I know I’m not always around. Sometimes I’m gone with Regis and other times I’m just…. So I wanted you to have something that reminded you of me.”

You turned your wrist around, examining the piece of jewelry. There was a little bat charm on it that made you smile.

“Dettlaff, it’s beautiful.”

“You like it?”

“I do.” You nodded, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and squeezing him tightly. “Thank you.”

He hugged you back, tucking his nose into your shoulder.

“I have something for you too.” You pulled away, keeping one hand on his shoulder. “But it’s back home.”

“Let’s finish our walk and we can go back.”

***

You led the way down the hall towards your shared bedroom with Dettlaff.

He listened to the way your heart picked up pace, the way it changed from that of the flap of a butterflies wings to something more akin to a hummingbird. You were excited.

You guided him over to the bed and gestured for him to sit.

“Stay here and close your eyes. I’ll go grab it. It’s in my study.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes following you as you left the room.

“Are your eyes shut, Dettlaff?”

“Of course, my heart.” He answered, closing his eyes.

“Will you keep them shut?”

“Do you not trust me?” He teased.

“Don’t use any of your vampiric magic either.”

He grinned a little. Though his eyes were shut, he could still tell exactly where you were in the house. You were in the closet in your study, moving things around. You cursed a little and muttered under your breath about how cluttered things were. After a few moments, however, you were making your way back towards the bedroom.

Dettlaff couldn’t figure out what it was that you were gifting him. It had no smell, no taste that tainted the air. It emitted no sound. He listened more carefully, but was dumbfounded. All the ideas that had been forming in his head were disappearing.

“Darling, can I open-,”

“No.” You answered quickly, your voice sounding strained. “Keep them shut just-just a moment longer.”

It took all of the Higher Vampire’s self control to not open his eyes and see what it was that you had. But he didn’t want to upset you. He didn’t want to ruin your surprise.

You grunted a little and there was a deep thunk.

“Damn.” You cursed quietly.

“Is all well, my love?”

“Yes, yes. Just fine. You can open your eyes now.”

Dettlaff opened his eyes and instantly found you standing in front of him with a wide smile on your lips. Your hands were clasped together in front of you and you were messing with your fingers.

“I know how frustrated you get when you can’t find a mirror that works for you.” Your voice was quiet and timid. You stepped aside to reveal a large square mirror leaning against the dresser behind you. “The ones I have here, they are made with silver. So I had one specially made for you.”

Dettlaff’s lips parted as he looked at the mirror, seeing his own reflection in the surface. He couldn’t find the words to express what was going through his head.

Being that you weren’t sure how to take his silence, you continued to talk, your nervous ramblings getting the best of you.

“I know you like to get ready in the mornings with me and it puts quite a damper on the mood when you can’t see yourself. And-And you do take pride in your looks. You’re a dashing man-,”

“My heart?”

“Yes?”

“Come here.” He held his hand out for you.

You moved towards him, settling between his parted knees with your hands in his.

“Thank you.” He kissed your knuckles. “That was very kind of you. And very expensive, I presume.”

“That doesn’t matter.” You shook your head, reaching one hand around to place it on the back of Dettlaff’s head. You pulled his head into your chest and kissed his hair. “I wanted to do something for you.”

“And all I got you was a little bracelet.”

“It isn’t a competition of who gave the most expensive gift, Dettlaff.” You reminded him, pulling away so you could get a better look at him. “I’ve been planning this for a while, and it just happened that I had the means for now.”

His eyes lingered on you, a little smile on his lips.

“I am the luckiest creature alive, you know that right?”

“Oh, perhaps.” You grinned, giving him a chaste kiss. “I should go start dinner. I’m surprised Regis and Orianna-,”

A knock from the other room cut you off.

“You spoke too soon.” Dettlaff sighed. “It’s only Regis and Orianna. Hopefully the wolves are late.”

“Knowing them, they probably will be.” You moved towards the bedroom door. But at the last minute, you turned to look back at him. “I love you, Dettlaff.”

“I love you more, my heart.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @ameliasmistake @winterwolf @caraqas @bluscryn

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#dettlaff x reader #dettlaff van der eretein fic #Dettlaff van der eretein x reader #Dettlaff fluff #Dettlaff #the witcher #the witcher 3 #the wild hunt #tw3 #queenxxxsupreme

131 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: iii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 4

word count: 4.2k

a cheeky drink and some mutual sabotage.

warnings: oh no, they say s*x, fluff, pining, the usual, and a wittle angst on the side, reader smokes cigs bc its a salem trademarked fic thing

enjoy folks ;^) the whole of this piece is gonna be about? ten chapters. so. hold on tight!!!

beta read by @keiqos, heart EYES

||||||||||||||||||||||||

“Let that sit for a second or you’ll burn yourself—”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, angel. I know the drill.” Hawks replied with a wink.

You weren’t ever going to get tired of that.

You really expected Hawks to disappear out of your life. You really, truly expected him to run off for good. How many bigger, better, and more important things did he have to do? Even if you managed to speak to him and regard him like any other customer (or, perhaps acquaintance, and more recently, friend — ), your mind swam with insecurities that only seemed to get worse over time.

You were waiting for the metaphorical thread to snap.

You waited for the day Hawks simply would stop texting you flirty bullshit on a somewhat regular basis.

But, holy fuck, the dude didn’t.

You couldn’t think of why. You weren’t complaining about the attention, but you also were terrified of getting too used to it. Hawks was a part... bird (?) right? He was flighty by nature.

Despite this, Hawks continued to not only text you but also stopped by the shop fairly frequently for his special, quirk-fueled beverage fix. Politely, he’d text you the day before he planned to make an appearance to check and see if you were working, and then show up the next day like it was nothing.

He usually wouldn’t stay for long; the hero was ungodly busy and always on the move. But, he always took the time to flirt and get a full description of his drink before dashing out to save the world once more.

Most days he visited were his ‘hero work’ days. He’d appear in his costume, done up and dashing for a sip and a quick talk before disappearing once more into the skies. Every once in a while, Hawks had an ‘office’ day where he’d be confined to his agency to catch up on his insane backlog of paperwork. On these occasions, Hawks would talk (stall) at the tea shop for as long as possible. You talked and joked with him as long as he would let you. Sure, it put you behind on work, but no one at the shop was going to tell you off for fraternizing with the number two hero (whose repeated presence was drawing more customers anyways). You both reveled in each other's attention, drinking in the other’s slowly softening smiles and quick wit.

On this day, Keigo’s wings were the shittiest they had been in a while. Plucked and almost barren with how much he’d been working lately. Total exhaustion seemed like it was constantly on the horizon, tugging as his eyelids and weighing down his chest each morning.

It was easier to get out of bed when he got to think about seeing you.

Sure, your drinks were a perk. Very much so. He was getting so used to the artisan beverages you crafted that the taste of his normal canned coffee was starting to bother him.

But, what his real thrill in visiting the tea shop was that he got to see you, and that made his heart pound.

He sat across from you, looking down into your newest drink. It swirled between dark and milky, a heady, rich aroma billowing up with the steam it produced. He had requested something ‘surprising, new, and horribly caffeinated’ as deep fatigue was the worst villain he’d likely see that day. You had just nodded, cheekily starting to prepare his drink with a bounce in your step, pupils going wide.

“I feel like you’re gonna start running out of ideas one of these days,” Keigo laughed, adjusting himself on his stool, gloves and jacket removed. He almost looked like a normal patron.

You grinned to yourself, idly cleaning around you as you often did, “I dunno, I’ve got a lot.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow, “Tell me about them.”

“Nope, top-secret,” You shook your head, digging into your apron to flash him the small notepad you carried on you.

Scrawled in nasty handwriting, you carried your many ‘feeling’ ideas around with you. Different concepts and abstractions all scribbled down, a nice long list to look back on whenever Hawks would make his appearances and his own vague requests. Your backlog of ideas made it easy to find something more than suitable to make for him.

When Hawks saw your notepad his eyes widened, tilting his head and a devious smirk coming to his lips.

Your expression fell, and you stuffed the papers back into your pocket, hiding your hot face by idly cleaning some more.

You left yourself very open for teasing, it seemed.

(Not that you or Keigo minded.)

“You keep a little list of all of your ideas! I’m beyond flattered,” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, flashing a cocky smile for you.

“I have to stay prepared, can’t be disappointing my celebrity sugar daddy,” You winked as Hawks’s eyes went wide, half-hearing a choke get caught in his throat. (You loved it when you were able to get him visibly flustered. What a treat.) You nodded down to the drink, “Should be good to try now.”

Keigo really liked spending time with you. He knew it was always fleeting and short and consistently he wanted to find reasons to stay with you at the tea shop counter for longer and longer. Your quips and chides continued to get quicker and more clever and he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his cool around you. Most of the time he smoothed himself easily, not showing a trace other than that which he neurologically couldn’t control.

But sometimes, you were bold enough and ballsy enough to get him to gag on his literal words and he was positive that you were the only person to ever have him break composure in such a way.

He covered his weakened poise by sipping the new drink, mindfully letting the taste wash over his tongue.

Increasingly, you’d been changing up the so-called ‘vibe’ of your beverages. It seemed like each time Keigo dropped in, you had something new and vibrant to show him.

This drink was particularly different.

The taste was rich, dark, and smooth, rolling into the back of his throat and down his spine. It coated his insides with a warm, low heat. Peeking through were sweet, light accents, warm but almost... teasing?

His dick twitched.

Hawks’s mouth dropped open, any and all professional veneers dropped as you just beamed so fucking smugly at him.

“What do you think?” You leaned a bit forward, bouncing on your toes with excitement.

“Is... Is this supposed to taste like sex?” Hawks asked, taking another mouthful to confirm. Based on the way his eyes briefly shut and some of the tension rolled from his shoulders, he thoroughly confirmed it.

“Technically, it’s crafted based on like... a late-night rendezvous. I left it fairly up to interpretation beyond that. The rest is on you.” You shrugged, still bouncing as Hawks took another chug.

“What the fuck, (Y/N),” Pleasant shock colored his features, but clear amusement stretched across his lips as he continued to drink.

“You wanted something surprising and horribly caffeinated. That’s a dark chocolate mocha with two extra shots, our in-house raspberry and rhubarb syrup, a bit of white chocolate syrup, and a few of my add-ins as well. It’s pretty different from what I’ve made you before,” You blinked at him, stomach twisting as his expression remained unguarded. “I... I probably should’ve asked before giving you a drink that definitely could’ve been taken as sex. That’s my bad. I can remake you something else if you’d like?”

Keigo shook himself from his stupor, shaking his head and quickly regaining his composure. He took another sip to emphasize his words, “No, nope. It’s okay. Definitely okay. The drink is really good. I’m just now wondering something.”

“And, what’s that?” You asked, reaching behind the counter to grab your own iced beverage.

“Can your quirk be used to manifest bad feelings and concepts, just like good ones?” Keigo asked. Normally, he’d add more nuance, but he was getting impatient and sloppy around you. He’d have to keep that in check.

Especially with the way your shoulders drew up and tensed. You turned a bit away from him, any and all potential for eye contact torn away.

He hit a nerve.

“The type of abstract feeling doesn’t matter, I can emulate it,” You replied, pulling at your nails. Keigo had long picked up that it was one of your habits when your anxiety spiked.

He dropped it, but didn’t forget. There were public files on quirks. Maybe he’d look into it. Maybe. It felt a bit invasive, but considering plenty of that data was freely accessible, it hardly was an invasion of privacy, right?

(Except for the fact that it obviously made you very uncomfortable to discuss the more unsavory potentials of your quirk.)

(He just wouldn’t tell you.)

Keigo switched topics, easily rolling away from the topic, “Any particular... event that inspired this one?”

You pressed your hands into the counter, leaning over it to glare at him, “Are you referring to something with that comment, Hawks?”

He shuddered when you said his name, but you don’t notice.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Keigo shrugged easily, going for another sip.

The drink was inspired by the several day cinematic, wine-bender you went on a week or two prior. An entire weekend with just you, your cats, three entire bottles of wine, and a backlog of movies to catch up on. You tried to consume lots of different types of media, but what had been catching your eye lately had been anything with gushy romance for fairly obvious reasons.

(There was an embarrassing amount of ideas for drinks that were a bit too romantic to properly indulge with your quirk. You’d never tested the limits of how certain feelings could manifest, and you weren’t quite ready to face the reality where you could make people nut from caffeinated milk.)

“It is good though, the drink,” Hawks smacked his lips together as if it would make his coming analysis more credible. “It definitely does taste like sex, but more so complicated. Darker.”

“Deeper.” You smiled. “Your palette is getting more refined. I’m proud.”

“Are you saying it was bad to begin with?” Hawks pouted, flashing you falsely weepy eyes and a puffed out lip.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, you yourself have admitted this. You drink canned coffee still, so I can’t even call your taste good.”

Hawks gasped, putting a hand to his chest, “I’m hurt, truly wounded.”

“I’m sure you are, tailfeathers.”

“I really thought I had reliably moved up to ‘birdboy’, angel.”

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand, “Just goes to show how quickly the tables turn, tailfeathers.”

Hawks’s pager suddenly chimed, a familiar sign. He took a quick look at it and sighed, moving to re-robe. You were surprised by the speed at which he did so, and the way he became tense so quickly.

It made you realize that he was always tense.

(Unless he was talking to you.)

“I thought today was an office day?” You asked, a bit of a disappointment clouding your voice.

Hawks just gave a small smile, fully plastering back on his heroic facade, “Duty calls. Lots happening lately.”

He flicked his visor back over his eyes, slid you your normalized wad of cash, and whisked himself out the door, immediately taking to the skies from the streets.

He’s in a bit of a hurry.

He... didn’t even say goodbye.

Wonder what’s happening?

Truthfully, Keigo was a bit startled by the notice on his pager. The whole reason he’d started patrolling the particular neighborhood the tea shop was in was because there was word of a villain syndicate working nearby. It hardly seemed right for the neighborhood, but Keigo knew that villains hid anywhere. Whatever they were planning was still relatively shrouded, but it was clear that it needed to be treated delicately. That particular neighborhood was rife with pedestrians, businesses, and homes and any sort of villainous activity had the possibility of reaping a heavy amount of collateral damage. Keigo and the Commission had been on their guards about it, but things had been steadily becoming more intense over the past few weeks.

Plopping himself on a rooftop, Keigo took up residence to stake out his newest lead, watching figures and silhouettes in a nearby office building.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Funnily enough, the rest of your week went horribly. Just downright shitty. You figured at some point, things would let up, brighten, but they didn’t. Each day brought some new, personal calamity.

The first was a trip to the emergency vet with one of your cats after she swallowed a hair tie. An expensive vet bill later, she was perfectly healthy, but you remained wracked with anxiety.

Another day, the owner of the tea shop paid a visit to chew you out for your newest tea blends not fulfilling his picky seasonal requests. You were relieved it had nothing to do with how Hawks monopolized your time. Still, getting yelled at easily within earshot of both coworkers and customers made your insides twists.

The final small disaster was when a particularly asshole-ish customer chucked a hot drink all over you and your cute white sweater. One of the younger openers had been dealing with a difficult patron and an incorrect order, nothing out of the ordinary. When you tried to step in and de-escalate the situation, the man ripped the lid from his cup and splashed you with the burning liquid. You held back any sounds of pain even as your skin stung like hell when you offered to remake his drink.

One of your managers luckily allowed you to go home early. Thank god.

By the end of your shitty week, you fell into your apartment and just cried. White sweater stained and day feeling fairly ruined, you let yourself have a good, solid sobbing session to just release how terrible things had been.

It would pass, you knew. But it sucked at the moment.

It also didn’t help that Hawks had been particularly absent after running out the last time he came around. He’d still managed to shoot you a funny text or two, but mostly, it was silence from him. You rationalized it by reminding yourself of how quickly he flew off at the end of his last visit, hero business forever more pertinent than you and the shop.

You reminded yourself to keep yourself grounded in Hawks obvious impermanence, even if you were starting to get used to (and really like) having the hero around.

You decided that your Friday evening would be good. You treated yourself to a hot shower, noting with a hiss the pink scalded skin that covered your chest from your collar bones to just below your breasts. You threw on a facemask and uncorked a bottle of wine you had been saving for a rainy day.

You clicked on one of your favorite shows, an older cartoon that brought you consistent comfort in times like those. Curled up with a knit throw blanket and your healthy cats, it did help soothe the burns, mental and physical.

That is until you got a bit too drunk on red wine and it turned into sad drunk.

So, you made your way to the roof.

You weren’t fucked up beyond belief, despite the fact that you were towing an open bottle of red in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the left. The cold would sober you up, along with the nicotine. You hoped it would force you out of your head.

Upon throwing open the door to your apartment complex’s rooftop, you were made very aware of its wintertime disuse. The gardens that grew during the summer were snowcovered. The chairs and tables for lounging were in a similar state. You didn’t mind.

The view was still nice.

You set down your bottle and zipped up your coat. Quickly, you brushed off the flurries from a rickety lawn chair and plopped yourself down. You threw on some music from your phone, playing some sweet, old songs that made your chest ache when you needed it to.

The city stretched in front of you, beyond the rooftop. You didn’t live in a particularly wealthy district, but there was no shortage of dazzling neon and bright street lights dotting the ground below. You watched how the rest of the city stretched far beyond your little pocket, still gleaming with multi-hued lighting and dazzling in the wash of the crescent moon.

You took a swig, fishing for your self-dubbed ‘sad cigarettes’ and lit up. With your exhale, you watched as smoke lazily swirled away, carried by the soft winter wind. If you were any less drunk, you’d be freezing.

A shadow, winged, fell across the snow.

“You know, I get nervous when I see pretty girls on rooftops with bottles in their hands,” You jumped at the voice, whipping your head to the source.

Hawks stood, scarlet wings fanned outwards, on the lip of the rooftop.

Your eyes widened.

You took another sip.

He gave an affectionate laugh, jumping down into the area where you were seated.

Keigo had just been out on his normal, nightly patrol. The leak had been correct and he’d been stealthily tracking the villains while completing the rest of his hero duties. He was able to laugh off his exhaustion, but it was starting to eat him. Several cans of coffee a day was hardly doing it for him. He hid his sleepiness and aches well, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. All the same, his typical roles had to be fulfilled.

He was surprised to see you, all alone on a rooftop with a lit cigarette between your fingers. Keigo let himself be surprised before noting that ‘ yes, you definitely probably live in this apartment building and you’re just outside to smoke’, but the sudden jolt of panic he felt was crushingly unbearable.

Mostly because it was personally protective and not heroically instinctual and he couldn’t start acknowledging that aspect of his feelings for you. Not yet.

Keigo walked towards you, asking, watching you blink blearily at him “You doing alright?”

Eyes downcast, you shrugged, “We all feel shitty sometimes. Just depends on how you cope, ‘ya know?”

“And how do you cope, (Y/N)?” Keigo asked, pausing before brushing off a chair. “Mind if I join you for a bit? I could use a second to rest my wings.”

You nodded, almost offering him the bottle, but quickly pulling it back to your chest before taking another inhale. Offering a pro hero alcohol while he was pretty obviously working seemed like a bad move, even in your tipsy state.

“Most of the time, I watch nice stuff and distract myself, like most people, ya’ know?” You exhaled as you smoked, relishing the nicotine buzz. “Sometimes, though, I just feel extra shitty and need to extra cope.”

Hawks hummed in agreement, sitting back in the chair. His wings were folded up and over its back, the longest feathers trailing in the small snowdrift behind him.

“Do you get cold, being in the sky all the time?” You asked, eyes going cloudy as you stared up at the lights of the city and higher into the sky.

“Most of the time,” Hawks chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head, “I’ve told you this, angel. It was one of our first conversations.”

Your eyes widened at the realization, mouth open with a hearty laugh.

It made Keigo’s eyes water a little. He blamed it on the wind.

“I’m silly, I can’t believe I forgot,” You nestled back into your chair, tracing the lines between constellations. “It’s the whole reason you came to the teashop in the first place.”

Your voice resonated, focus foggy. Somewhere else, old memories played in your mind, recounting your first few meetings with Hawks.

A warm, small smile stretched across your face as you traced the stars.

Keigo watched, enraptured. You were cute, especially like this. All bundled up in your winter coat, half-zipped. There was a lot less stress in your shoulders than he normally saw at the shop, especially as your thoughts were so far away.

He wanted nothing more than to commit the contours and shadows of your face in the white moonlight to memory, never forgotten in the blissful cold.

You interrupted his thoughts so beautifully.

“Thanks for talking to me.” You took a sip from your bottle just after speaking, half-drowning your words, but Keigo caught each one. “I appreciate you.”

“P-pardon?” Keigo couldn’t tell if you caught his stutter, but even if you did, you didn’t show it. The comment felt like a jab to his jaw, half-knocking the wind of him and turning him into a filthy masochist. He’d take any whiplash if it meant you saying such kindnesses to him.

How could you just say shit like that?

What exactly did you mean by that?

Why did your attention make his legs tremble?

You turned your attention from the night sky to Hawks, something like uncertainty bubbling in your chest, “I appreciate you, ya’ know? Coming by the tea shop still, teasing each other and shit, you humoring me—”

Hawks interrupted you, feathers tensing at his back.

“I’m not humoring you.” Hawks deadpanned, staring at you oddly seriously. The yolks of his eyes seemed even more intense in the neon and night light.

“You’re... not?”

There was utter disbelief in your voice, accented by the way your jaw was half-opened.

Hawks shook his head, standing in emphasis, feathers fluttering as he did, “ No, angel. Not at all. I visit because...”

I like you.

“Because I like your drinks.”

Because you make me feel good in a way I’ve never felt.

“You’re fun to talk to, too. Added perk.”

Because I want to hear your voice when I breathe and when I die.

“I enjoy it, you know? You're fun.”

Some feeling in your chest, something full of hope, crushed itself and compacted to the point of pain. You sniffled at his admission, blaming it on the cold. In a fucked up, sad way, part of you was so relieved.

He likes the shop. He likes your drinks.

He’s around because he wants to be.

But not because you’re special to him.

His words reminded you of your insignificance in Hawks’s life. No matter how much you craved his attention and words, and more recently found yourself staring at the plumpness of his lips and the curve of his cupids bow and daydreaming about how much you wanted to lean over the tea shop's counter and kiss the constant, teasing smile off his face—

But.

You don’t matter that much to him.

Sure, he likes you, but he’ll never feel the same way about you.

You made the decision then to make the most out of Hawk’s affections and sweet words. You’d take what you could get, even if it was fleeting and probably eventually heartbreaking. It seemed smart, to refuse to get your hopes up for someone so unattainable.

You let out a shaking sigh, “Thank you, Hawks. I appreciate you coming around. You really light up my day.”

Keigo saw the fall of your face and bottled himself up. Shoved down everything. Fuck his feeling, fuck how he felt about you, this was all fucking terrifying. It was getting to be too much and he had to try and control himself.

Just like he’d been taught so well.

He was just so happy to be around you. He could squash his feelings, even if they were fairly obviously somewhat mutual. God knows that he didn’t know how to handle anything like that.

On the gods, his pager beeped.

“Duty calls?” You said, standing up yourself and brushing off the stray snowflakes.

“Seems so.” Hawks sighed, nodding, “Thanks for letting me rest here. It was good to see you, (Y/N). I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You waved goodbye as Hawks disappeared as quickly as he came, launching himself from the roof with the heavy sound of wing beats.

Soaring away, Keigo risked a final look at you. He swore he saw tears in your eyes.

He forcibly repressed his feelings, reminding himself that your company, words, and quirk-made beverages were more than enough. The flutter in his chest when he thought of you wouldn’t rest, but he could learn to ignore it.

On the roof of your apartment, you felt fatigue in your bones and wetness on your cheeks. You ignored both in favor of smoking another cigarette, soft, melancholy music being your only constant, reliable companion.

You reminded yourself that he, Hawks, was a temporary fixture, more flighty than most and liked you just enough and for surface-level reasons. You could take that. You’d do anything to be around him more, even if it never amounted to anything.

You, just as Keigo did, pressed down any larger feelings.

(The thing about feelings, though, that neither of you was very good at remembering, was that they don’t go away. Sure, you can let them go, but that takes time or a practiced mind!)

(When you take feelings, big, aching, soaking feelings and shove them down into the deepest parts of you, they just tend to make you bleed. The ‘hidden’ feelings color your blood as it spills, even if you don’t notice when it falls and its change in hue.)

(One can only hope that both Keigo and you listened instead of lied.)

Both of your hearts ached, and neither of you fully understood why.

#salem writes #hawks x reader #mha hawks #bnha hawks #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #reader insert #mha x reader #keigo x reader #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x y/n #lavender latte #bnha x reader

610 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

Old-Timer

Chapter 2 - A new friend

It must be testament to how vulnerable you're feeling that your first instinct is to try and scramble backwards and away from the maker as he carefully lowers himself down onto one knee, his eyes drinking in each little movement you make, as though he's convinced that if he glances away, you might disappear into thin air.

“Well now,” he muses, watching you back yourself up into the base of a gnarled tree trunk, “What manner of wee beastie are you?”

Your body turns as rigid as the wood pressed to your spine when he shuffles closer to get a better look at you, blocking your view of the trees beyond his impressive girth. He must notice the trepidation on your face because he suddenly hesitates, his once eager expression growing soft. Somehow, despite the sense of powerlessness you feel now that you're face to face with a maker who stands at least three heads taller than Thane, you find yourself easily disarmed by the dashing smile he throws at you, and when he speaks, his voice is as low and gentle as the rumble of a faraway thunderclap.

“You're a comely sight to see in these old woods,” he utters gently, his knuckles resting on the soft grass near your shoes, “What's a pretty, little thing like you doing in a place like this, ey?”

Thrown, you're almost inclined to protest to his observation. Covered in streaks of mud from where you'd rolled across the ground, leaves and twigs sticking out of your hair, red-eyed and wounded... You feel about as far from 'pretty' as it gets and even open your mouth to say as much, but the maker opens his first, a curious frown tugging at his sleek, golden eyebrows. “Don't reckon I've seen anything like you before...”

One of his enormous hands lifts to his beard and he gives it a few, thoughtful strokes. “Hmm. You're no demon. N'you're too small to be an angel. Well, that, and -” He pauses, gesturing at you vaguely. “- No wings.”

In contrast to the maker's pensive expression, you adopt a look of bafflement. Either he's been living under a rock and doesn't know a human when he sees one, or -

...Oh.

A chill runs down the length of your spine and you swallow thickly as it occurs to you that you might have travelled further back in time than you'd previously thought.

Wetting your lips, you suck down a lungful of the cool, evening air, not missing how the maker's ears instantly perk up in anticipation. “I-I'm a human,” you manage to croak.

All of a sudden, you find yourself jumping out of your skin when the giant bodily recoils and his eyes burst open, wide as saucers. “Maker's beard!” he exclaims, an enraptured grin pushing at the bristles of his moustache, “You speak Common!?”

“Uh...” Falteringly, you place a hand over your racing heart and raise one, cautious eyebrow at him. “I suppose? I mean, i-if that's what we're speaking right now, then... yeah?”

Huffing out a soft chuckle, the maker tips his head to one side and mutters, “Well, blow me down...”

For several moments, he regards you in silence until the corner of his lips begin to quirk into a coy grin. “S'pose that means you understand me when I say you're about the bonniest little creature I've ever laid eyes on?”

Now it's your turn to bark out a quick laugh. “Ha! You're charming,” you tell him honestly, noting that his very broad, very bare chest puffs out at the praise, “But while the flattery is appreciated, I'm afraid I'm a bit... um...”

'Preoccupied' is probably the most appropriate word for it, but in lieu of a better explanation, you reach forwards and brush your fingertips delicately over the cuts in your leg, hissing through your teeth when even that barest of touches elicits a blinding flare of white-hot agony.

You've never seen an expression shift from warm and amused to sober and serious so quickly before.

“He hurt you?” the maker growls dangerously, shelving any intrigue he holds for his enigmatic discovery, at least for the time being. You find it rather touching that he looks so perturbed on your behalf.

'Huh. Makers,' you muse fondly. Even here in the past, it seems that they're a protective bunch.

Bracing your hands on the ground, you try to push yourself up onto your boots, but the wounds make such a feat more painful than you'd expected and you let out a grunt as you thud back down onto your rear, huffing in frustration before you start to try again.

However, you don't manage to get far.

Movement catches your eye and you glance up, surprised to find yourself presented with the maker's titanic hand, held with the palm pointed to the tree tops and his index finger extended out towards you.

Rolling your gaze up the length of his vast, muscular arm, you meet his eyes...

...and very nearly have the breath knocked out of you by the earnest glow radiating from them. Long, golden lashes sweep gracefully up and down as he blinks at you, and softly, almost in a whisper, he asks, “Need a hand?”

You're so taken aback by the hypnotic pull of his blue stare that you can only nod wordlessly and lift an arm, slowly extending your hand towards him until you can rest your palm on the pad of his forefinger.

The moment your skin connects, the maker seems to buckle and he drops his mouth open, letting a shuddering breath roll out from behind his tusks. You realise that he's moved his gaze down and adhered it to the sight of your hand sitting daintily on his fingertip, looking woefully lost amongst the expanse of rough-hewn skin.

For some time, the maker doesn't utter a sound, nor does he move until eventually, you have to clear your throat, and with a jolt, he gives his head a brief shake, roving his eyes up to meet yours once more. “You're... so small,” he says incredulously, as though he's only just noticed.

One of your brows slants upwards and you level him with a cool smirk. “Yes, well... I'd say that you're so big, if I didn't think you were the type of maker who would let it go to his head.”

He appears appropriately startled by the quip and for a second, you have to wonder if you've perhaps stepped over some invisible boundary by falling back on humour as a defensive tactic, but then, the maker's fluffy moustache quirks up around a grin and he says, “Oh, I think I'm startin' to like you, little one.”

For good measure, he makes sure to flash you a wink that has you ducking your head to hide your face. Still sporting that dashing smile, he raises his hand and tugs you carefully onto your feet. Well. Foot. You make the mistake of trying to place weight on your bad leg and it immediately tries to collapse out from underneath you.

“Wheyup! Easy there.” A thumb and forefinger promptly catch you around the midriff and prevent you from falling onto your backside again. The pads of hot, calloused fingers press into your torso with just the barest hint of pressure, as though the maker is afraid that you'll break if he squeezes any harder.

“I'm okay, I'm good,” you try to reassure him, “Just... need to get my balance, is all”

He looks far from convinced and furrows his brow, giving you a skeptical hum as he begins to turn you around.

At first, you try to resist, perhaps due to some long-buried instinct telling you that having your back exposed to a complete stranger is a terrible idea.

You can practically hear the frown in his tone when he murmurs, “Stop squirming, let me see.”

Swallowing past an enormous lump, you force yourself to keep still whilst the maker drops his face closer to inspect your injury.

All is silent for a few minutes, and you're about to go and ask if it looks as bad as it feels when he suddenly blows a long, drawn-out whistle from his lips. “Shouldn'ta let that demon sod off so lightly,” he grumbles to himself, curling his free hand into a fist and then raising his voice to tell you, “Bad news is, you're still bleedin'. It's slow, but we'll need to stop it, soon.”

“Shit,” you mutter, “What's the good news?”

The maker's warm breath hits the base of your neck as he sighs softly. “Good news is, now we match.” He loosens his grip, prompting you to twist yourself around and raise a curious glance at him as he wordlessly lifts a hand and taps his left shoulder, drawing your attention to a trio of long, pale pink scars that start at the front of his clavicle and sweep over the bulging bicep before disappearing somewhere behind it.

“Ouch,” you grimace sympathetically, “How in the world did that happen?”

Eyes dropping shut, he looks about as proud as a peacock, sticking out his chest until it's almost obnoxiously swollen and replies, “Same way as yours did! Stalker got the jump on me 'bout two thousand years ago. He left his mark, but don't you worry – I left plenty of my own.”

“Glad to hear it.”

With a wistful sigh, the maker's chest deflates and his eyes blink open and return to your leg, a scowl immediately darkening his chiseled features. “Course, that was the day I learned never to give 'em the opportunity to get close..” As he speaks, you notice a few wisps of blue magic trailing off his fingertips like smoke, which he promptly flicks away with a grunt.

“Yeah, well. Believe me,” you huff, gesturing to the back of your leg, “If I could use magic too, I wouldn't have let it get close enough to do... this.”

“Wait. You can't use magic?”

You shake your head.

“None at all?” he urges.

“Unless you count that one card trick I know, then... Nuh uh.”

“Well, I'll be darned...” His blue eyes sparkle with boundless curiosity and his jaw falls open, ready to start bombarding you with an array of questions, but at that moment, a gasp gets stuck in your throat and your face is warped by a sudden grimace, despite your valiant efforts to hide it, and just like that, the maker's jaw snaps shut.

Finding out who and what you are will have to wait, it seems. Right now, no matter the depths of his intrigue, the most pressing matter is that there's somebody who needs his help. And Stonefather strike him down if he isn't a maker with a damn sense of gallantry. Pressing his lips together, he studies you for a few more seconds before suddenly giving a decisive nod. “Right. I've wasted enough time yapping. Before anything else, we need to get those wounds seen to. I haven't had much practice with healing spells myself,” he admits reluctantly, “But we have a shaman back in the village who's better at them than most.”

Wait... Your heart does a strange little buzz. Did he just say a shaman?

Could he be talking about Muria? You have to admit, you could really do with seeing her calm, familiar face right about now – even if she won't recall you. And besides, if she's here, then... perhaps Eideard might be too. You hardly dare hope.

The maker must have misconstrued your anxious expression for fear, because his fingers close around you a fraction more tightly, no doubt to discourage you from trying to flee. “Now, don't you start fretting,” he says in a rush, “You'll be sticking close to me, I won't let nothing and nobody hurt you, understand?”

His conviction is inarguable and for added measure, he thumps a fist against his broad chest, a clear demonstration of the promise he intends to keep. You find it easy to believe him. Death would probably scold you for being so trusting, but then... Death isn't exactly here.

And besides, for even the smallest chance at seeing Eideard again, you're willing to take a risk in trusting this herculean maker.

Speaking of whom... He's fixed you with what you assume is meant to be a stern frown, but the severity of the line between his brows is superseded by an underlying desperation that bleeds into his voice and his eyes, as though he really doesn't want you to say no.

“Listen, m'not leavin' you out in these woods, not like this... I don't want to have to force you but... I'll not be takin' no for an answer.”

As if he really thinks you'd rather take your chances out here alone than go with him to Tri Stone.

Gritting your teeth through another, sudden wave of prickling heat that shoots up your leg, you heave a dramatic sigh. “Well, I guess if I really don't have any say in the matter...”

“'Fraid not,” the maker replies, drawing solace from the slight tilt of your lips, so much like the smile of a fellow maker.

With a final shrug, you take a step back and gesture to the west. “All right then. Lead the way, I'll follow on behind you.”

All at once, the maker's brows furrow so heavily that his luminous, blue eyes almost disappear beneath them.

“...What?” you ask after a few seconds of being frowned at. Again.

In response, he scoffs in such a way that you feel you must have personally offended him somehow. “You're not walking,” he declares, his hand reaching for you.

Caught off guard, you stammer, “Oh, I – I really don't mind,” retreating backwards until the titanic appendage inevitably catches up with you and he proceeds to wrap his thick, immovable fingers around your body, lifting you effortlessly off your bad leg and into the air.

Once he's holding you however, he seems to falter, his expression evening out as he peers down to where you're dangling, small and injured between his fingertips. The moment doesn't last long though, for he soon shakes his head and states, “If you think I'm letting you walk all the way back to my village on that duff leg, you've got another thing coming.”

“But I-”

“-Ah! No,” he cuts you off sharply, bringing you up to his eye-level as he cups a palm beneath your legs, lowering you onto it with a gentleness that shines right through the facade of his gruff tone, “You keep standing on that leg and you'll only hurt yourself more.”

Frankly, you're too weary to argue with him, and you can't say you mind that you're no longer standing on a leg that feels as if it could buckle out from underneath you at any second. Perhaps you should just be grateful that you're being spared a painful walk. Embarrassed to be so helpless, yet resigned to the fact, you expel a defeated huff and allow him to settle you down into his cupped hand, sliding the other one underneath it to keep you steady in a manner that reminds you of how you might carry a butterfly, mindful that every twitch of your fingers might cause it to get scared and fly away. He remains like for some time, hunched over himself with you caught in the hollow created by his palms and the breeze playing through his golden tresses. It suddenly becomes very difficult to keep your eyes from wandering down to his pronounced collar bones, so it comes as somewhat of a relief when he finally gets to his feet.

With slow, measured steps, he strides through the copse of trees and on towards the trail leading through Baneswood, but rather than lift you up onto his shoulder as you expect him to, he instead lowers you to press you flush against his bare chest.

The breath leaves your lungs in a tiny wheeze.

A veritable blanket of soft, silken chest hair instantly begins to tickle at the your face and you become painfully aware that directly in front of you is a half-naked giant, adorned in nothing but a pair of leather trousers and steel-capped boots, a fact that makes it very difficult for you to concentrate on the question he abruptly poses to you.

“So, what species did you say you were?”

You wonder if he has any idea that you can hear and feel every beat of his powerful heart as it thumps away just above your head. “Huh? What? Oh, uh, I – I'm a human,” you fumble, easing yourself backwards so that a tuft of his chest hair stops fluttering across your bottom lip.

“A... a hoo – man?” he echoes uncertainly, oblivious to the warmth blossoming across your cheeks, “Never heard of 'em.”

That, at least, is enough to distract you from the strangely intimate situation. “Huh? Wait, really?” With a grunt, you manage to stretch your injured leg out across his palm and peer up at the underside of his beard. “You've never heard of humans? Humanity? Er, homo-sapiens?”

The maker simply shakes his head once and replies, “Nope.”

Slowly, you draw in a faltering breath and venture one step further. “...Not even E-Earth?”

The anticipation of seeing him lift his eyes to the treetops in contemplation is unbearable.

Mouth hanging open enough for you to get a glimpse of his tusks, he utters a pensive, “Uuuuh,” and then lowers his gaze once again, lips pressed together into a grim line, “Sorry, haven't the foggiest.”

“I... oh...” You fall silent, peering down at your hands. “Okay.” So... Once again, you may well be the only human in existence.... You aren't sure why that fact turns the hole in your stomach into a bottomless pit - it isn't as though this would be the first time you've existed in a universe without humanity in it, after all.

You're too busy staring blankly at the gold-draped chest in front of you to notice that the maker's mouth is flapping open and closed repeatedly as he tries to find a word that won't cause the frown on your face to turn any deeper. Clearly, he must have said the wrong thing, and now the pretty stranger sitting in his palm is... sad? He guesses you're sad, or something of the like, provided your expressions and emotions match up in the same way that his fellow makers' do. Perhaps he's somehow offended you by claiming to have never heard of your species. 'Fix this,' a small voice at the back of his mind insists whilst he stares down at the crestfallen hunch of your shoulders.

“That being said, I, err...” He tries, glancing to the side when you look up at him expectantly, finding that he's incapable of meeting your gaze whilst you're looking so despondent. “Could just be I've never heard of you. I'm not... precisely what you'd call a worldly maker. Hardly been far out of Tri-Stone, 'cept on a few occasions. And, heh, well. I think I'd remember meeting someone who looked like you.”

“Ha.” Though you offer him a polite smile, your mind only half on the maker's soothing timbre. The other half is busy puzzling over how in the world you're ever going to get back to your own time. Even if you didn't have your fellow humans, you at least had Death and the friends you've made on your journey across the universe. At least there, you were closer to home. Here, separated by countless eons, you can't help but feel more lost than you've ever felt before.

Meanwhile, the maker watches your chest rise and fall with a deep sigh.

Damn. Still a frown. No matter, he can be nothing if not persistent. Not many have been able to resist his charm, and there's still a way to go before he reaches the edge of the Stonefather's Vale. He keeps trying. “You know what? I'm betting our elder will have heard of you.”

“Elder?” Like a flipped switch, you bolt upright in his palm, ignoring the spear of agony that tears at your wounds because you dared to move too quickly.

The maker raises an eyebrow at your sudden exclamation, perplexed by the jarring and unexpected shift in your demeanour. “Uh... Aye?”

Noting his bewildered expression, you make a conscious effort to reel yourself back, but deep down inside, your heart is jumping apprehensively. So far, he's mentioned a shaman and now an elder, and there's only one elder maker you know of.

“Eideard,” you breathe, too softly for him to catch.

Tilting his head to the side, he twitches his ears forwards and asks, “What was that?”

You very nearly open your mouth to say your old friend's name a little louder, but something gives you pause and you slowly let your jaw click shut once again, uncertainty creeping in to settle over your brain. How prudent would it really be to let on that you've technically already met this elder and shaman? Do the rules of time travel apply outside of science fiction novels and theoretical physics? How will the knowledge that you're from a different era affect the flow of time? How will it alter the universe, if it does so at all? What if you change something now that has a drastic effect on the future?

Just trying to make sense of it all is starting to give you a headache, so you decide upon the option that won't raise too many questions that you, quite frankly, don't have the energy to answer right now.

Besides, better to be safe than sorry. Offering the maker a casual shrug, you finally say, “Nothing.”

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

Night has almost entirely fallen by the time you emerge from the gorge that leads from Baneswood into the Stonefather's Vale. It's just dark enough now that you've begun to see tiny pinpricks of stars sweeping across the vast horizon and as your gaze rolls over the valley, you suddenly come to a pause when it lands upon a hill to the north, just poking out above the cliffs that form a hem around the vale. At first, you're puzzled, tilting your head and squinting through the dim light. 'Where is Stonefather's Peak?'

The towering mountain that once cast its shadow across the entire village is... gone? But how? You could have sworn it used to be standing right where that hill is.

“Oh. My. God,” you whisper, letting your mouth drop open as the realisation hits you.

'That hill is Stonefather's Peak!'

“You must be a long way from... wherever home is, eh?”

Tearing your gaze off the distant, juvenile mountain range, you card a hand through your hair and chuckle dryly, “Oh, buddy. You have no idea.”

“Buddy?” he echoes, tipping his head sideways so that his hair falls smoothly over one, bulbous shoulder.

“Buddy? Oh, it means, uh, like a pal, or a friend.”

“Friend?” he asks hopefully as a small smile begins to emerge from underneath his moustache.

Exhaling in amusement, you wave your hand dismissively and sigh, “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

The maker raises his chin high into the air, sporting a proud grin and picking up his gait.

#darksiders #old timer #reader x maker #ha uh oh #Eideard #fluff #whump #oh boy

62 notes · View notes

jonathananubian · 3 years

Text

Aliit Ori'shya eyn Eyayah be Ruyot [Star Wars/Mandalorian Fanfic]

Aliit Ori'shya eyn Eyayah be Ruyot: Family is more than an echo of the past.

Summary: When a Jedi artifact sends Din somewhere else the poor man is disoriented and confused. He has no idea what’s going on or why the lights were suddenly so bright. He plans on keeping a low profile and scouting out this new place until he hears the sound of a young voice crying out in pain. Harsh words that should never be spoken to a child follow the sound of another blow and Din can’t help but to intervene.

Characters: Din Djarin, CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567, Dred Priest, Jango Fett, Mij Gilamar, Kal Skirata.

Tags: Force Shenanigans, Protective Din, BAMF Din, Clone Cadets, Cuy’val Dar Dred Priest, Time travel, Not beta-read. (Now a chapter fic.)

Warnings: Child abuse, violence, cursing.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32481793

Spots danced across his vision as Din let out a low groan. His entire body felt as if it had fallen asleep, the pins and needles making him twitch and wince behind his helmet. Lifting his head he quickly glanced around for any signs of life before letting out a relieved sigh too low for the helmet speaker to pick up. Slowly sitting up he stared at the unfamiliar white walls around him and frowned in confusion.

This was not the damp old cave he’d found himself in earlier that cycle.

The last thing he remembered was stumbling and falling through a wall that should have been solid, but wasn’t. The walls changed from a damp old cave tunnel to a stagnant aired cavern with carved pillars. It looked exactly like the kind of thing Luke had asked him to look out for on his jobs so he’d cautiously made his way up the steps to the small altar at the top.

As he strode forward lights burst into life around him, startling him into reaching for his weapons. When nothing happened he relaxed his death grip on his spear and let out a small sigh of relief.

Resting in an indent in the elaborately carved stone was an orb that was smaller than his palm. It seemed opaque at first but the longer he stared at it, wondering if he should touch it or not, the clearer it became. Inside were dancing flecks of color that swirled together like an infinitesimal galaxy, almost hypnotic in the way they reflected the light.

Warily he reached for the orb, knowing that there was an inherent danger in anything touched or made by Jedi magic. Picking it up he tensed for something strange to happen, though Luke had told him most artifacts didn’t react to someone who was both force null and encased in beskar. When nothing happened he gripped the orb more firmly and carefully made his way back the way he’d come.

Of course it was just his luck that nothing ever went quite the way he expected.

There was a loud rumble as everything began to shake around him. He could hear the cracking of stone and looked up as sharp stalactites fell from the ceiling toward him. Diving out of the way he hissed in alarm as his grip on the orb proved weak.

The orb clattered to the ground and he sucked in a sharp breath as it rolled a few feet away from his outstretched hand. Scrambling to his feet he darted forward to grab it- but was too late.

Another chunk of rock detached from the ceiling and he watched it fall as if in slow motion.

The sound of the orb shattering was loud in the sudden silence that followed.

Then Din saw white.

Now here he was, stalking the white halls of the strange facility as he tried to figure out what in the Ka’ra had happened. Oh, he knew it was force osik. Din just didn’t know what kind of force osik. Luke had never been the best at explaining it in terms he understood and after the many long lectures he’d kind of started to tune it all out.

Checking around another bland corner into another junction that looked exactly like every other one he’d passed Din was about to dash across the open space when a sound was picked up by his helmet.

It froze him in his tracks, entire body stiff and ears straining just in case he’d misheard.

“Pathetic! Absolutely useless! Quit that bitching or I will twist off your head and shit down your neck!” The voice was rough, masculine, and yelling at a volume that was near impossible to miss.

But that wasn’t what Din was focused on.

The sound of a child trying and failing to muffle their cries of pain made his heart race in his chest and his blood boil in his veins.

Without a single thought to the consequences he pushed himself away from the wall and stalked down the hall the noise had come from, hands clenched at his sides.

“Did I say you could step out of line CC-2224? Get back in line before I put my boot so far up your ass you can spit shine it!” The more Din heard the faster he walked until he was practically belting down the long hallway.

“And you! You have the coordination of a one winged mynock tripping on spice! A defect like you wouldn’t know how to-" Slamming his hand down on the pad the door slid open to a large training room.

Din’s chest heaved as he took in the small forms standing around a circle in matching uniforms, not one of them taller than his waist. Near the center of the group was an armored man with one large hand around the neck of a blonde child, pinning them against the mats as they scrabbled to escape. There were recent bruises on the child’s face and blood running from their nose.

Din saw red.

“Demagolka!” He snarled, spear already in his hands as he stalked forward like the deadly hunter he was.

“Who the fu-” The man never got a chance to finish his sentence before Din was on him.

The guy put up a fight, Din would give him that, but he clearly hadn’t kept up with whatever training he’d been raised with.

Din on the other hand? He’d been training since his buir saved him during the Clone Wars. Had fought on the front lines during the Purge, and killed a Greater Krayt Dragon.

In the end the demagolka was dead with Din’s spear shoved up into his ribcage through a gap in his armor.

The children stared at him, looking too scared to move, as Din stood over their former tormentor. Pulling his spear out of the quickly cooling corpse he set it onto the ground and turned to regard the small blonde child.

Some time during the fight one of the older children had rushed forward and pulled the injured child away, cradling the blonde to their chest. As Din came closer the two of them flinched, holding fast to one another and trying desperately not to cry. Din stopped a few feet away and crouched so he wasn’t towering over them.

“Hey there. I’m not here to hurt you, I swear.” The children stiffened, their faces scrunching up slightly in confusion.

Din looked between them and frowned. The ade were very similar in appearance and he was fairly certain they were brothers. Not twins, one of them was at least a year or two younger, but definitely related.

But where had he seen a face like that before…

Din pushed the thought away. It was irrelevant to the situation at hand. Reaching into the pouches on his belt he slowly pulled out a small medical pack and showed it to the children. “It’s just some alcohol wipes and bacta spray. I want to make sure they’re okay. Will you let me?” He motioned toward the blonde who in turn looked up at their potentially elder sibling.

The child watched him for a moment, amber eyes intelligent and sharp, before they flicked over to the body of the fake Mandalorian. After a moment or two of silence the child turned back to him and nodded curtly.

Din’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled. “Thank you.” Getting closer he knelt in front of the children and opened the package in front of them. Taking out the alcohol wipe he gently ran it over the boy’s face, making a low noise of reassurance when the child flinched and let out a hiss of pain. “Hey, you’re doing good kid.” He soothed quietly as he checked the rest of their bruises. He had to hold back another flash of anger at the sight of a handprint that almost completely encircled the slender neck.

He should have inflicted a lot more pain on the demagolka.

“There you go, kid, feeling a bit better?” The child blinked dark brown eyes up at him and hesitantly nodded. Din reached over and ruffled their short cropped hair. “Mandokarla.” He said warmly.

The child let out a surprised squeak and ducked further into the arms of their ori’vod, who frowned up at him in confusion. Din got to his feet and looked around at the other children, looking for any further injuries, and paused as the strangeness of their appearance finally registered.

Every single one of them shared the same features.

It wasn’t exact, he was observant enough to notice small differences, but they were all so similar it was unsettling.

Then it clicked.

Clones.

Just like Boba.

The very thought made Din’s mind race. Had the last remnants of the Empire somehow gotten hold of Boba’s dna and re-started their clone army? Din thought they’d moved on to the damned droid troopers and attempting to use Grogu’s blood to give them access to Jedi magic. Did they bring back the clones because Moff Gideon had failed?

As the children continued to watch him warily one of them finally stepped forward. “Sir?” They said, voice shaking slightly.

Din snapped out of his thoughts and turned toward the child. “Yes?” He said softly. Clones or not they were just children. Injured, scared, children.

“What are your Orders, Sir? A-are you our new Sergeant now?” The child stood stiffly, arms at his sides even as his bottom lip trembled with nerves.

Din melted at the sight.

“No orders.” He said quietly, still worried he might spook the lot of them. “And I’m no one’s sergeant. I’m a Beroya.” He wasn’t sure if the kids knew what that was but he didn’t feel like explaining further. “But I don’t think we should stay here.” He glanced back at the corpse and swallowed the curses that tried to force themselves out of his mouth. “If they have friends then they’ll probably realize they’re dead soon.”

The kids stared up at him in confusion, looking so lost it hurt his soul. “Hey, I’m not going to let someone like that hurt you again. Okay?” He could feel their eyes on him and straightened further. “I swear. I will protect each and every one of you with my last breath.”

“Why?” The child holding onto the blonde asked, tone heated. “We’re just clones.”

Din thought carefully about what to say for a moment before he decided it was best to just tell the truth. “One of my ori’vode, my… elder brothers, is a clone. He’s known as one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy.” Din stared right at the child as he spoke. “He is a person, just like you, and all of you have worth.”

There was a sense of something holding its breath, of tense anticipation, before the child’s eyes began to shine and he gave Din a watery smile. He opened his mouth to speak when the sound of a door opening behind them alerted Din to uninvited guests.

“What the fuck is going on in here!” An enraged voice that sounded oddly familiar barked behind him.

In an instant Din turned, dove for his spear, and sprang to his feet; placing his body between the unknown voice and the children.

“Stay behind me!” He ordered the children calmly through the speaker of his helmet.

Standing just inside the doorway were three sentients dressed in beskar’gam. Din growled, watching their every move.

Wearing beskar’gam used to mean that someone was an ally. But with all he’d seen in the last few months there was no guarantee that these three were not also demagolkase.

“Who the hell are you? What are you- is that fucking Priest?” The one in the sandy-yellow of vengeance asked in Mando’a, sounding shocked and incredulous.

“Cadets, get away from them! They’re an intruder!” The second one in gold beskar’gam barked at the children, although his voice was filled more with concern than anything else.

Behind him the children shifted anxiously on their feet but didn’t move.

“Leave the ade alone. Your quarrel is with me.” Din growled, gripping the spear tighter.

“Why are you protecting them?” The one in blue and unpainted beskar asked.

“Children are the future.” He stated firmly. “This is the Way.”

There was a long moment of silence before the one in silver and blue reached up to take off his helmet. “Then we are not your enemy.” Without the interference of the speaker Din stiffened as he finally placed the voice. “My name is Jango Fett, House Mereel.”

Dank ferrik, was that Boba’s buir? What the kark kind of Jedi magic was this?

"I think we need to sit down and have a little talk." Boba's buir said, intelligent eyes straying to the nearby corpse of the demagolka. "At the very least I have to thank you for taking out that trash."

Oh. Well... there really wasn't much else he could do, was there?

"Fine." He said lowering his spear. "But I want a medic to check on the ade. Some of them are injured."

Jango Fett's face split into a grin that set off all of Din's danger senses.

"That can be arranged."

#din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars clone wars #time travel #force shenanigans #somebody dies and it is entirely deserved #star wars fanfiction #cc-2224 #ct-7567 #jango fett

26 notes · View notes

unofficial-cactus · 3 years

Text

The Canonicty of Fanon in the world of the Dream SMP

In fandoms like this I think fanon plays a special role in a way that doesn’t happen in traditional media fandoms. I’ve mentioned the concept of schrödingers canon a couple of times before - the concept that any content is considered both canon and noncanon until and unless otherwise specified. Considering that so much canon information is unknown or retconned, and as a patchjob measure for the fact that these are a large group of creators with human imperfections in communication and planning, canon on the smp is more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, canony-wamony stuff. That is to say highly malleable and somewhat incomporeal: canon is depicted both by unreliable narrators and an unreliable word of god.

That alongside the tenuous fourth wall between lore and the cc’s going about streaming in a non-lore sense means that fanon can and does play an especially important role in dictating how we experience the story. The 3 canon lives system originating from a fan’s reddit comment is a leading example of this. Fanart depictions of characters being absorbed into official canon such as Philza’s wings and Tubbo’s horns are another prime example of this. However the absorption of fanon ideas into official word of god canon is not the core of what I’d like to discuss today.

What I’d like to discuss is: in fandoms such as that of the Dream SMP, the fandom body has a non-negligable degree of control over canon.

That means that mainstream fanon interpretations (and even possibly to a degree non-mainstream ones) significantly incluence our understanding and appreciation of canon.

My first pillar to this idea begins with the question: how many of you have watched the more popular fandom animatics? I think that especially for newer fans, these animatics are an important introduction to what is canon as they are easily digestible summaries of important canon events. Not only when they are people’s introductions to canon, but also when supplementary, these animatics have a notable impact on the fandom zeitgeist. How the characters in these animatics are framed, what scenes and lines the animatic creators choose to include, and the visual depictions of characters influence how we percieve those characters. When artists draw smp!dream and writers descript smp!dream, how many of them draw on SAD-ist’s depiction, or depictions influenced by that? Dream’s own smp!Dream cosplay was specifically based upon SAD-ist’s design. That these is an example of fanon becomming quasi-canonised (though I think dream’s humanistic depiction still sits somewhere in that schrödinger’s canon space as “officially” he’s just a green blob with a white face. However I think here how these fanon depictions of Dream have been absorbed into the fandom’s collective conscious is more imporant than that quasi-canonisation.

My second pillar is the plethora of analysis that circles the fandom. I’m not sure how influential that is on twitter as I myself am not really present there, but for tumblr I can certainly say that analysis posts and discussions about canonical events pass along my dash a fair bit. The most notable feature to these analysis and discussions is that they are highly opiniated and subjective. Due to the unreliability and incompleteness of narration, alongside the fact that there are just so many perspectives and stories being told within the same space and time, means that these discussions and analysis fill in the gaps and flesh out canon events in distinct ways. Althought the authors are very much still here and the story is actively in the process of being written, fandom space for the Dream SMP really takes to the concept of Death of the Author. An example of this is Tubbo’s reaction to c!Tommy’s death. cc!Tubbo was very clearly unprepared for and not wanting to settling into c!Tubbo to appropriately react to this piece of lore, yet his underwhelming lack of grief at his best friend’s death is what we got. And that stream exists in that very schrödinger’s canon space. Where the role of fandom and specifically fanon comes in is how sections of the fandom have already decided to take that response in as canon and justify cc!tubbo’s unprepared response as c!tubbo being very deep in the denial stage of grief. Right now even as Tubbo stream’s his ‘5 stages of grief’ smp stream that’s meant to respond to Tommy’s death, I and other fandom participants have been discussing how this whole depiction of Tubbo speedrunning the stages of grief is him still deeply in denial even though cc!tubbo tells us trhough the voice of c!Tubbo of how Tubbo is sad and angry.

Here fandom is currently in the process of building that fanon element of the story. Most importantly, these discussions and interpretentions that are being disseminated across the various fandom communities influence our understanding of, appreciation of, and entire experience of the Dream SMP canon. While the Dream SMP canon is enjoyable on its own, These widely accepted fanon additions add a layer of depth and enjoyment that I think really drives many of ours involvement in and enjoyment of the content and fandom space. Furthermore, given the collective power of fanon compined with the malleability and inconsistency of canon means that I think it’s right to say that we as fandom are collectively developing our own canon for the Dream SMP. And there isn’t all too much that gives word of god canon more authority than collective fanon, especially when some fanon interpretations are so wide-spread. If tubbo were to turn around and say ‘no I don’t have horns’ I highly doubt the fandom would collectively stop depicting him with horns, keep imagining him with horns, keep experiencing canon with the understanding that he does have horns.

That is the non-negligable degree of control over canon that fanon has. We have a signifcant power as a communal body to decide what is and isn’t ‘real’ within the Dream SMP story, and I suspect that might be a part of why it has so many of us hooked.

#sunset rambles #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #fandom meta

62 notes · View notes

sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 years

Text

Every time I hear a disco song from the late 70's/early 80's, especially by the Bee Gees or from Saturday Night Fever , I actually ache to get back to my WIP, Shadow Dancing. Starring this guy...

Art by @ravencatart and used by permission

Chapter Six of Shadow Dancing - featuring DiscoStrange X Reader

You felt only a moment of disorientation as Strange released your hand, trusting in the solidity of the floor beneath your feet as you trusted instinctively in him. You knew you hadn’t traveled very far, for the magic he used was generally short range—so that you guessed you were still some place in the Sanctum.

“It’s our biggest training hall,” he told you, resolving that riddle before you had even asked, “Subbasement level three.”

That makes sense, you thought, it’s a perfect space if he really means for us to…dance. Looking around, you saw a small round table—sized generously enough for two—where sat your unfinished drinks and a lit candle in a holder embellished with a mosaic of colored reflective tiles. The ambient light was gradually dimming, while the final strains of You Should Be Dancing played out from a jukebox on the far side of the room.

Strange looked up at the center of the ceiling, and your eyes followed in turn; he pointed at the mirrored ball hanging there, and twirled his hand several times, his languid grace in each movement making you sigh inside—and easily setting the ball to slowly spin. Next, he stretched his hand towards the jukebox, and you heard the record hit the turntable just before The Fifth of Beethoven began to play.

“And now--the finishing touch,” he proclaimed, sounding very cheeky and thoroughly pleased with your astonishment. Strange brushed the back of his right hand on his left shoulder and diagonally across his chest, and you watched in amazement as his clothes transformed into the perfect outfit for the setting—an open-collared, light gray, satin shirt, with sleeves just full enough at the wrist to promise an artful billow as he spun across the dancefloor, and a pair of snug, black polyester pants so flattering that you felt yourself blush again. No wonder mom was such a fan of disco, you mused, forcing your eyes to modestly focus on the amulet he wore--realizing with delight that it was a kitschy version of The Eye. “Wow,” you grinned, “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

“On the rare occasion,” he winked, “But let’s just keep that little secret between us, okay?”

You nodded, completely charmed by the dashing figure he cut, fully appreciative of his strong, broad shoulders, and long, lean limbs and torso. You were already imagining dancing close, how it would be to feel one of his clever hands on the center of your back as he guided you through the dance, and the way he might look down at you while he swept you across the floor. Thoughts far more intoxicating than the margaritas you’d imbibed.

“But this is never gonna do, Y/N,” he told you, indicating your well-worn hoodie and yoga pants, “You need to dress the part too.” He widened his eyes, shooting you a smirk that dared you to follow his lead.

“Oh,” you muttered, disappointed to think you might be disappointing him, “I don’t know that bit of magic…I’m…I’m not sure that I can manage it…”

He moved closer, wearing that slightly crooked smile, the one you knew was his most spontaneous and genuine; a little bit wider on the left side, filled with honest joy, setting your heart to beat like a butterfly’s wings. “It’s easier than you think, Y/N” But you must have looked skeptical because he winked again and added, “I promise.”

You shrugged and nodded, willing to give it a try. “It’s a really simple magic--far easier than you can imagine,” he explained. Strange’s voice was low, filled with patience and warmth, easily melting your skepticism. “First, close your eyes and focus, drawing energy from your usual source…”

Obediently, you followed his instructions, while praying with all your heart that you wouldn’t fail him.

“That’s good,” he encouraged you, “Now you need to fully picture the transformation—the more details you see in your mind, the more real you make it, the easier it will be to make it happen.”

You drew a deep breath and slowly released it, searching for the exact image from your memory. You were thinking of your mother’s old photo albums, pictures of her with her friends. There was one outfit she wore which—even as a kid--you’d always thought had shown her at her prettiest. She was at a party, laughing, a red solo party cup in hand, her dark hair piled up in a messy bun, with wispy tendrils laying softly against her neck. She wore a dark wine colored spaghetti strap leotard with a matching wrap around skirt, a sterling silver chain with a floating heart hanging below the hollow of her throat, and a collection of silver bangles on her wrists. And though they weren’t visible in the photograph, you knew well enough that she wore silver colored sandals with modest heels. That’s what I want, you vowed; I’m gonna knock his socks off and be a 70’s looking Disco Queen!

And more swiftly than Cinderella transformed at the behest of her Fairy Godmother, that’s just what you became. Even before you opened your eyes, you felt a wave of confidence in your skills and in yourself. I’ve got this…and it’s awesome!

Stephen responded to your magic with a hardy wolf whistle, then bit his lip and nodded his approval. You batted your eyes at him, hand on hip, and tossed your head insouciantly, “Well now…are we gonna dance—or what?”

“You bet your sweet bippy, sweetheart!” He produced a silver coin out of thin air and tossed it your way. “The next five plays are yours,” he told you, “Choose wisely if you wanna boogie like a dancing queen.”

The coin was warm in your palm, as warm as the encouragement in his blue eyes (darker in this light than usual, but as mesmerizing as ever). You noted that the half-dollar sized coin bore the Gibb brothers—Barry, Robin, and Maurice—in profile on one side, and you flipped it over to discover the phrase ‘In Disco We Trust’ on the other. You hummed happily at Strange’s humor, and headed towards the jukebox to pick your plays.

You turned around after making your choices, to find him at the center of the dance floor, beneath the slowly rotating disco ball. With a dramatic flourish Stephen extended his right hand and beckoned you to him; you shimmied your shoulders a wee bit, and in perfect time with your first selection sashayed in his direction, swirling enough to raise your skirt in a soft billow around you as you ended right before him.

To begin the dance, he took both of your hands, and as he led you through an initial series of steps, you realized that he actually knew what he was doing. Is there nothing the man can’t do? Of course not! When you hesitated or were unsure, he guided and encouraged you patiently, so that pretty soon you were dancing with as much confidence in yourself as in his lead, smoothly gliding through moves from The Hustle to the Bump and to the Bus Stop like it hadn’t been a decade or more since you had danced in any way at all.

Through the Bee Gee’s Night Fever and ABBA’s Dancing Queen, Stephen moved with a remarkable, effortless grace, a man in his true physical prime, fully belying the white hair at his temples. Why he wasn’t even winded, even when you felt moments when you couldn’t catch your breath! But, of course, it wasn’t necessarily the vigor of the dance stealing the air from your lungs; ‘twas the improbable yet pure enchantment of him twirling you about, sending you spinning the length of his arms away, only to reel you back in. Thank the Vishanti for all those hard months of physical training back in Kamar-Taj, you reflected; I’d never be in shape enough to keep up with him otherwise.

What small talk you managed kept to the subject of music—in which he demonstrated far-ranging and remarkable knowledge--was punctuated with his typical, self-deprecating humor, and laughter at the occasional missteps either one of you took.

In the pause between the end of Boogie Shoes and the start of Super Trouper, you waved your right hand like a fan, trying to cool your flushed face, while dabbing the moisture from your brow with your other hand. Stephen swiped his hand across his forehead, pushing his dampened hair back. “Thirsty,” he panted softly, nodding towards the table, “Drinks?”

You beamed him a grateful yes, and followed him over, where like a true gentleman, he pulled out your chair, moving to his only after you were seated. Two glasses of ice water materialized at the wave of his hand, while your margarita was topped off, it’s rim of salt instantly refreshed.

You went right for your cocktail glass, while he tilted his head back to take a deep swallow of his beer, closing his eyes as he clearly relished the cool liquid--and you found the refrain ‘wish I was the bottle’ playing on repeat through your brain. His complexion was ruddy from the dancing, delectably complimenting the normally pale freckling of his flesh, and making your lips smart with wanting to lightly tease their way across the surface of his skin and to breathe patient, gentle kisses along his cheek on the way to his mouth. To his too beautiful mouth; to his perfect, full lips that you just knew would be heaven in the kissing.

You had to lower your eyes at that thought, to focus on your drink, hoping that when he looked at you again, he would see the heated blush in your cheeks as merely a result of your spirited dancing—and not the fruitless desire which blazed through your veins, ignited well beyond any that you’d felt for him before. For any man in years, in fact. You quickly downed half your margarita, seeking to calm that forbidden ache—or for the liquid courage to show him his true effect upon you.

“Ready for more?” Stephen’s query drew your eyes back to his. He wore an enigmatic smile, and you wondered if he meant that question to sound so open-ended, so like an invitation to more than just dancing.

“Last dance, last chance for love…yes it’s my last chance for romance, tonight…” Donna Summer sang, as you took his hand once more, letting him lead you back onto the dance floor. Stephen kept you nearer to him than he had earlier, never fully releasing you through the spins, his hand always finding its place again on the bare skin of your upper back when he pulled you in. You grew hyper aware of every contact of his skin on yours, and each time you dared to gaze up into his eyes, the steady smolder in their iridescent depths left you dazzled and unbelieving—for how could he possibly be looking at you that way? Especially with these very telling lyrics as the backdrop,

…Oh, I need you, by me, Beside me, to guide, To hold me, to scold me, 'Cause when I'm bad I'm so, so bad.

So let's dance, the last dance Let's dance, the last dance Let's dance, this last dance…tonight…

You gave a surprised and breathless ‘ooompf’ when he pulled you flush against his chest, and then held you there, entranced, while the final notes of Last Dance faded away. He shook his head, nearly imperceptibly, murmuring, “Well, we can’t let that be the last dance tonight—can we?”

You shrugged agreement mutely, not wanting to stir from his arms, regretting that he had to release you so he could set the jukebox for another round of plays, and feeling like it was forever until he returned to you.

Stephen’s choices seemed to reflect what you were feeling, and the gradual change that had come to the dynamic between you two; Rock With You, Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel, Lay All Your Love On Me. Softer, slower selections that felt like the perfect excuse for him to hold you close. The circle of your dance had narrowed, leaving you to linger beneath the glitter of the mirrored ball. Leaving you awash in the delightful sensation that you were no longer just Master and Adept, but man and woman. It surpassed any fantasy you had ever indulged in, leaving you to wonder if you had somehow lost yourself in some magical illusion—and if so, wishing it could be your new reality.

Shamelessly pressed against the firm muscles of his chest, breathing in time with him, you finally slid both arms around his neck as Andy Gibb’s voice sang out from across the room. Up close this way, you watched, fascinated by the dark, full silk of his lashes and how Stephen’s eyes dropped to track your lips. Surely he must feel my heart pounding against him, your mind exclaimed; and, what…what must I do to have him just kiss me now?

But he didn’t, not yet. Instead he smiled softly and began to mouth the words of the song that you both swayed to,

…How can I hold you when you ain't even mine Only you can see me through I leave it up to you.

Do it light, taking me through the night Shadow dancing, baby you do it right Give me more, drag me across the floor Shadow dancing, all this and nothing more…

Now you were certain that it was only the strength of his embrace that kept you from melting into a puddle at his feet. Overwhelmed, you closed your eyes and laid your head against his chest before you too foolishly exposed your heart, feeling the truth of the lyrics as your very own,

…I need that sweet sensation of living in your love I can't breathe when you're away, it pulls me down You are the question and the answer am I Only you can see me through I leave it up to you…

You gasped quietly when Stephen laid a lingering kiss on the top of your head, nuzzling your hair and murmuring, “This is nice…really nice…but I swear, Y/N…I swear I didn’t plan it this way…”

“I know,” you whispered back, afraid he meant to break the most magical spell you’d ever experienced, “I know you wouldn’t…” The song continued to play, but you and Stephen were barely swaying now. You slipped one hand along his collar and rested it on his chest, raising your face towards his again, “But here we are, all the same.”

You read his intent in the moment before he acted; in the small smile that softened his beautiful mouth, in the way his lids began to close as he tilted your chin up to bring your mouth close to his. His lips were more tender than you’d been imagining, and they tasted of cinnamon laced with a caramel sweetness, from the ale he’d been drinking. As he had been with you in every moment in his presence, in every moment when he could have scolded you for your failures and foolishness, Stephen’s kiss was patient. Patient and enduring, and not seeking anything you might not be ready for. The sort of kiss you might wait half a lifetime to experience, and then spend the rest of that lifetime cherishing as the sweetest of your life. Like a flower opening to the sunshine that nourished it, you happily parted your lips at his prompting, your heart ready to swoon that he wished to taste you so thoroughly.

In all your starry-eyed imaginings, you had expected his whiskers to be a bit rough, but they were as soft as his kiss, and tickled your skin lightly. He cupped one hand against your cheek, and soon followed with the other, his large palms cocooning your face as he traced his fingertips along the shell of your ear, sending a shiver of warmth down your spine.

Inevitably, Stephen released you from his kiss (god knows, you were so enrapt in his spell, you would never break away of your own volition) and you heard yourself purr softly, in the back of your throat, before opening your eyes to find him watching you, his pupils blown large and leaving only rims of his irises extraordinary color. He laughed a little wickedly, enjoying his effect on you, and then leaned his forehead against yours, “I have to admit—that was a long time coming.” His voice was the intimate velvet of your best dreams of him, “But very…very…worth the wait.”

Stunned at his first admission—and not quite processing the latter—you asked him, “You…you’ve thought about it? About kissing…me?”

Stephen drew a deep breath and smiled in that endearingly crooked way. “A time or two, yes,” he nodded, “I’ve noticed the way that you look at me, the way you light up when we speak together. It’s very flattering, Y/N. Damn hard to resist, in fact—but I had to be sure it wasn’t just hero worship.”

��And you’re satisfied now that…” You took a halting breath, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. “Satisfied now that it’s more than that?”

“Oh, honey…I’d like to think we’re just beginning to be satisfied…” He fell silent, preferring to let actions speak instead, taking your lips again with his, and sending your heart to soar. You wanted to give yourself over, to completely drown in the glorious depth of his kiss, but a small part of your mind needed to know; why me, why now?

You felt him smile before he paused again from kissing you, so that you wondered if he had read your mind. “I can tell there's more to your story than what you've already shared with me, Y/N---though I already guessed that some sort of pain or desperation brought you to Kamar-Taj for answers and for healing. It's that way for so many of us, and easy to recognize if one has been through the same. But I do know that we’ll have the time and the space to share both our stories—if that’s something that you want.” His voice was a silken caress that made you weak with longing. “And even now there’s just…something…in your eyes. An understanding of what it means to be lonely, to be solitary. To stand apart in the midst of many. I know that feeling too—I live it every day…”

Your eyes welled with tears, to know he understood that about you--and that you’d seen the same in him from the very first. It dawned on you now that was why you’d been drawn to him with such a quiet, undeniable longing to ease his loneliness. And that was why it had hurt so badly when you believed you had failed him.

You knew you were trembling—from his astounding revelations, from the power of pure physical attraction, and from the rush of emotions you no longer needed to conceal—but you knew that he would take your trembling as confirmation of your feelings, and as compliment to his effect on you. You laid a trembling hand upon his cheek, marveling as he closed his eyes and sank into your touch in much the same way as you did for him; you stroked you thumb along his cheekbone, after so many months of longing to do so, and then lightly ran your fingertips against his jawline. What a heaven this was, to see your impact upon him! To finally trace the perfect bow of his upper lip and the plump invitation of the lower one with your thumb, so that he moaned for you, and then simply had to recapture your lips with his.

Stephen’s last selection carried on in the background, but it may as well have been playing in some nightclub uptown for the attention that you were able to pay it. He was a man of taut control and discipline; he had to be in order to carry and the awesome responsibilities he bore. Cool, calm, collected, nary a hair out of place, even amid fierce battle—you were sure witness to that. But beneath it all, you had always sensed a banked fire, and more than a few nights you had fallen asleep wondering what a woman might do to set him ablaze. The passion, the fervor of these kisses, was all the answer you could have desired.

Now you had the lapel of his shirt bunched tight in your fist, the other hand raking through his hair; he had you caught firm, steadying you with his hand on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in the soft wisps of your hair that had fallen from place in the zeal of your dancing. You gasped hard for air when his lips relented, and then gasped and ‘aaaahed’ when Stephen brushed his mouth across your cheek, and thence to the hollow of your throat, his eyelashes feathering the skin of your neck enough to make you moan his name with the pleasure of it. You felt more alive in this moment than you had in too many years to number.

Still, there was one thing you needed—before you lost all reason and gave in to whatever he willed—a single but important question that nagged enough to make you give it voice. Even as you murmured it, you wished that he would contradict you. “Is this alright for us…within our Order…with you as my…as my superior?” The warmth of his breath against your skin appeared to be his only answer, so that you asked again, “Stephen, please—are we even allowed?”

He pulled away, looking so soft for you, looking like that thought had not occurred to him at all. He quirked you that wee, familiar smile, then kissed your eyelids, making you smile despite the concern you had voiced. “Those strictures are voluntary,” he assured you huskily, “But if you want me to stop, I will.”

Wide-eyed, persuaded of his sincerity by the truth you saw in his eyes, you shook you head solemnly, and soon he was nuzzling your ear, and whispering your name several times against your skin, as you sank your fingers in the streak of white at his temple, and in that way keeping him as close as you both desired. “I won’t tell a soul,” he promised, “Just tell me what you want, honey—and I will make it so.”

#my writing #Shadow Dancing #romance #dancing #Stephen Strange #Doctor Strange #first kisses #disco dancing #and the Man has got the moves #Stephen Strange x Reader #Doctor Strange x Reader #Strangebatch #My Eternal Muse #first kisses have a magic all their own

15 notes · View notes

pop-punklouis · 4 years

Note

top five HL fanfic!!!!

biiiiitch you all know how hard it is for me to choose only 5. but sigh FINE here’s my all-time favorite list that isn’t 5 sorry i can’t choose 😔:

• Here in the Afterglow (89k)

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.” 1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

• Coax the Cold (86k)

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

• Wild and Unruly (124k)

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

• This Wicked Game (70k)

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

• Love is a Rebellious Bird (135k)

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

• Fixated On One Star (53k)

Louis is just a boy with the world on his shoulders, and Harry's just a boy from the wrong side of the galaxy. A little thing like love doesn't stand a chance against a thousand years of war, at least until the right two come along to break the mold.

Or: space Romeo and Juliet AU

• Finding Lou (60k)

Louis is the nomadic stranger who wanders into Harry’s bookstore. Harry is the skeptic who falls for him.

• California Sold

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

• Empty Skies (134k)

For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream -- making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.

Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He's still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

• And Then a Bit (159k)

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts. (aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

• Dream Awake (31k)

The sun leaks through the tent wall behind him the way it leaks through eyelids, bathing the boy in an ethereal half-light as he croons. The crowd is mesmerized. Louis is mesmerized. This is the most important person in the world, he thinks wildly, and then can't figure out how to take it back.

On a hazy day in August, Louis sees Harry perform at a music festival as an unsigned act and convinces him to spend the rest of the weekend in his company. Harry gets signed; life changes. They never really wake up from the dream.

• Say You’ll Remember (93.5k)

au. louis and harry are best mates that are only half aware that they're also soulmates. alternatively, louis goes to university and harry travels the world, and they always manage to find their way back to each other.

takes place over nine years, in which they love and hurt, make mistakes and learn, and above all, grow.

• Outwit, Outplay, Outlast (61k)

Survivor All-Stars AU in which Harry and Louis are just in this game to win the million dollars, but they end up with something better.

Featuring Harry's yellow swim shorts, Louis in snapbacks, and OT5 shenanigans.

• Nothing Else But Us Right Here (35k)

Louis sighs and gives himself a mental pep talk as he smooths his jumper down over his hips. He can do this. He can resist the draw of Harry Styles, because he is a responsible, mature adult, and as much as he wants to tangle his fingers in that mess of hair and map those ridiculous tattoos with his tongue, he does not want to get his daughter’s favorite teacher fired.

• Wings to Break Your Fall (103k)

strip club AU. Harry’s work and family are keeping him busy. He really isn’t looking for a relationship, doesn’t want one. He just wants Louis. Problem is, Louis has other plans.

• Leave it to the Breeze (81k)

Louis couldn’t be prouder of his bake, but there’s something—there’s something. Something about Harry Styles and the earnest way he measures, pours, mixes, scrapes. Something about the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he knocks the air out of his batter.

or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people's business. also featuring liam as louis's best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur.

• You Come Beating Like Moth’s Wings (81k)

Harry smiles. He's only known Louis for about two hours, knows nothing about him past his first name, but he's nice and sarcastic and helpful and so, so pretty. And Harry's still got a few days left in Barcelona, and he thinks he wouldn't mind spending them with Louis.

Also known as, Harry takes the summer before uni to travel Europe and meets Louis in Barcelona, and they end up traveling together.

• Hold Me Closer (36.5k)

Louis Tomlinson is one of the most promising dancers of the English National Ballet, on track to become the youngest principal dancer in the company's history. That is, until forces conspire to significantly complicate his life, including: a surprise ballet, an unfairly attractive guest choreographer, and being pushed into a rivalry with his best mate. Featuring lots of wine, dancing, pining, and a happy ending.

• In Vogue (121k)

Fashion AU. Louis is the editor in chief of Vogue magazine, and Harry's running British GQ. Featuring Zayn as the crazy creative director and Louis' confidant, Liam as the sports writer that gets to sit front row at fashion week and DJ Neil as the only sane person in the whole story. (There are no skinny jeans in this fic)

• These Things Will Never Change for Us at All (1.5k)

The room falls silent as they stay wrapped up in each other. Harry can feel Louis’ soft breaths on his neck, and he almost thinks Louis’ fallen asleep until he says softly, “How did you know you were in love with me?”

Or, Harry and Louis look back on five years.

• A Runaway American Dream (15k)

AU. they take route 66 with only each other and their secrets.

• Things Have Gotten Closer to the Sun (49k)

it’s strange, making the choice to face his past—it almost feels like he’s heading for the sun straight on, like he’s screaming come on and burn me, i deserve it.

when a solar flare is announced to end the world in twelve days, harry reunites with the people that he used to know better than the back of his own hand.

• Here (in your arms) (60k)

the one where Louis is a successful real estate agent and Harry works at a retirement home. They’ve never had a real home. Up until now.

(Starring Liam Payne as a fitness trainer, Zayn as an artist, and Niall, who busks.)

• These Inconvenient Fireworks (190k)

Future AU in which nobody tries out for X Factor but the boys end up finding one other eventually anyway. Louis is a jaded bastard who owns a cat named Duchess and teaches drama to teenagers, Harry is an idealistic aspiring photographer/part-time footy coach, Zayn teaches English lit and wears leather jackets, Liam saves people from burning buildings, and Niall is Niall.

• In Dreams (23k)

AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

• My Heart is Breathing for this Moment in Time (160k)

When Louis first saw Harry at the 2010 X Factor Auditions, he thought he was watching a peculiarly special stranger. But Harry has known Louis ever since he was five years old. Because Louis has a rare genetic disorder that causes him to Time Travel to important moments in his past and in his future - and to Harry, always to Harry. When they’re put into a band together, it seems like everything Harry has been waiting and wishing for has finally come true. Except for the small fact that Louis doesn’t know that Harry is in love with him- that Harry’s always been in love with him. Fate, it would seem, is just getting started.

A story about growing up and growing together, and the impossible love that makes it all worthwhile.

• Paint the Sky with Stars (63k)

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom. Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform. By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help. Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

• Through Eerie Chaos (102k)

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

#whew!#favorite fics #grey

171 notes · View notes