#so despite him being very competent he's just been. lying. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shikishake · 5 months

Text

How to emotionally abuse your child: comparing and contrasting Mafuyu Asahina and Toya Aoyagi.

There are two actively abusive parents in Project Sekai, and both of them are emotionally abusive in similar ways and for similar reasons. But the treatment and development of Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother has been very distinctly different over the course of the story so far. Why has Toya’s relationship with his father stabilised and even marginally improved over the course of his events, while Mafuyu’s relationship with her mother hasn’t just deteriorated but actively crashed and burned?

I believe the difference lies in intent and perspective. (Before we begin in earnest, I want to note that, at the end, I’ll briefly touch upon some other parents, specifically the ones who might also be worthy of criticism. Most notably, I’ll discuss Ena and Akito’s father and the (many) flaws in how he has treated both of his children. Refer to that if you’re interested.)

Toya and Mafuyu have a lot of similarities. They’re both emotionally repressed, they’re both exceptionally skilled (Toya more specifically being a musical prodigy, while Mafuyu has a more general kind of exceptional competence), and they both have very difficult relationships with their parents (their father and mother, respectively). They’ve both slowly but surely come out of their shells and recovered thanks to the help of their groups (VBS and Niigo, with an emphasis on Akito and Kanade, respectively). Because of the connections they’ve made, both of them have received the support needed to directly confront their parents and choose a new path for themselves, regardless of what their parents think.

Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother also have a lot of similarities. They’re both overbearing, controlling parents who pile pressure and expectations on the shoulders of their children, both have isolated their children in an attempt to focus their attention on the things they deemed important, and they’ve both rejected the paths their children have decided to walk in the end.

Both of them have claimed that their behaviour was motivated by good intentions, that they truly want the best for their children and want them to be happy, and that everything they’ve done has been in service of making life easier for their children.

Both of them have failed, but only Mafuyu’s mother is lying (including to herself).

Toya’s father.

Toya’s father has been a successful classically trained musician his entire life, and has raised two other boys to be successful classically trained musicians. Neither of Toya’s brothers live in Shibuya, but small mentions of them reveal that, though they might have shared Toya’s current attitude in the past, both of them have told Toya they now agree with their father, despite going through the same kind of upbringing by the same man, with all the horrible things that implies.

Why?

Because Toya’s father, more than anything, loves classical music. It makes him happier than virtually anything else in the world. Toya’s father loves classical music, and has loved classical music for his entire life, as much as the most passionate characters in this story love music. Toya’s father loves classical music as much as (or maybe more than) Toya loves street music. Toya’s father loves classical music as much as Akito loves street music.

Both of Toya’s brothers have claimed to share this love. The reason Toya’s brothers can now look back and say that their father was right is because classical music has made both of Toya’s brothers happier than virtually anything else in the world, too (or, at least, that’s what they told Toya).

The reason Toya’s father raised Toya the way that he did is because, from his point of view, there is nothing that will make an Aoyagi happier than classical music. He has made the mistake a lot of parents make. He has assumed his sons are the same as him. He has assumed what would make him happy, would make his sons happy. And nothing has given him any indication that this is false. Not Toya’s brothers, and not even Toya.

Toya has also loved classical music his entire life. The reason Toya rebelled and quit classical music isn’t because he doesn’t like it, or doesn’t like playing it. Toya rebelled because his father was suffocating him, isolating him and controlling him, and the association with that suffocation made Toya’s relationship with classical music strained, but it has been stated again and again that the reason Toya has avoided classical music for a while now is because it brings up unpleasant memories, not because he doesn’t actually like the music.

The crucial difference between Toya and his father is that classical music does not make Toya happier than anything in the world. He might enjoy it, and he might even love it, but Toya will, and would, never be able to look back on the trauma and isolation he endured and believe it was worth it. Toya would never have willingly sacrificed his childhood, his social life, his freedom for classical music. Not when he was a child, not now, and according to everything we know about him, not in the future either.

But Toya’s father would have. Toya’s father believes the suffering he endured was worth the happiness he now feels. Toya’s brothers have both told him that they believe the suffering they endured was worth the happiness they now feel. And Toya’s father thinks the suffering Toya has endured and would have needed to continue to endure would be worth the happiness he’s convinced he would feel in the future.

He does not understand Toya’s switch to street music. Or, well, he does; Toya switched to street music specifically because he knew his father would hate it more than any other type of music, and Toya’s father is aware of this. Toya didn’t have it in him to quit music entirely, but the reason he chose this type of music specifically is for no reason other than “my dad would hate it”.

The thing that Toya’s father doesn’t understand is that Toya may have started street music to spite his father, but that’s not why he does it now. Toya fell in love with street music, to the same extent that his father fell in love with classical music, and it shows when he performs. That’s why, when Toya’s father went to see Toya perform for the first time at the end of his first event, their relationship changed for the better. Because Toya’s father wants his son to be happy, and the reason he’s been such a bad father is because he’s stubbornly convinced that classical music would make Toya happy, despite all evidence to the contrary. And when he saw his son on that stage, Toya was happier than classical music had ever made him.

His father may despise the music Toya makes, and there may be a pretty big part of him that thinks Toya would, someday, be able to fall in love with classical music in the same way he has, and maybe he even believes that Toya would be happier in the long run if he stuck to classical music. But first and foremost, Toya’s father wants Toya to be happy, and that performance showed him that street music made Toya happy. Their relationship softened because Toya’s father was able to understand, in some tiny way, that Toya wasn’t ruining his own life out of spite. Even if he thinks Toya would be happier in the long run, that performance showed Toya’s father that, if nothing else, Toya wasn’t going to be unhappy.

He still wants Toya to quit street music and return to classical. But the dynamic has changed because the stakes have changed. Previously, from Toya’s father’s perspective, it was either “continue performing this drivel and be miserable for the rest of your life” or “return to classical, push through the hardship and be happy”. Now, it’s “continue performing this drivel and be happy” or “return to classical, push through the hardship and be happier”. Those are entirely different stakes.

Mafuyu’s mother.

Now let’s talk about Mafuyu’s mother. What makes her different? Why does nothing get through to her? Why is Mafuyu’s mother portrayed so much harsher and so much more negatively?

It’s difficult to really pinpoint Mafuyu’s mother’s perspective and intentions, because Mafuyu’s mother is a manipulator first and foremost. Almost nothing she says can be taken at face value. But there’s a couple of possible interpretations, some more charitable than others.

Right off the bat, I don’t believe the most charitable explanation: that she genuinely wants what is best for her daughter and is simply misguided. If this was true, she wouldn’t have constantly invaded her privacy to snoop on whether or not she was still making music or talking to her friends. If this was true, she wouldn’t have thrown her synthesiser away behind her back. If this was true, seeing Mafuyu break down into tears and beg her mother to allow her even the tiniest amount of agency would have made her do more than blink. If this was true, she would have been rightly horrified that Mafuyu said she’s been unbelievably miserable for years instead of being mildly nonplussed, then immediately trying to guilt trip her by crying and repeating her spiel that this is all for the best. More than that, she wouldn’t have stopped crying immediately when she noticed her guilt tripping wasn’t working.

On the other hand, there’s the least charitable interpretation of Mafuyu’s mother: that she’s a narcissist who wants to live vicariously through her daughter’s success. She wants Mafuyu to be a successful doctor, not because she wants her to be happy, but because being able to say that she raised a successful doctor would make her feel successful by proxy. This isn’t impossible, or even improbable. There’s a not insignificant amount of parents who do, genuinely, feel this way, and the consequences of that are often severely traumatic for the children.

However, I don’t think this is accurate either. She’s too often portrayed as insisting everything is for Mafuyu’s sake for it to be entirely a lie, or at least a lie that she’s aware of. Instead, I think what’s happening is a little more insidious.

I believe Mafuyu’s mother has, at some point, decided who Mafuyu is, and that is the Mafuyu that she loves. And she does love that Mafuyu. But she loves only that Mafuyu, and a version of Mafuyu that deviates from the Mafuyu that she has decided to love isn’t the true Mafuyu.

Mafuyu’s mother has created a cardboard cutout of her daughter in her own mind, and when Mafuyu doesn’t fit it, it’s not the cutout that’s wrong, it’s Mafuyu that has somehow been altered.

This is why, when Mafuyu’s mother says her actions are for the sake of Mafuyu’s happiness, it’s simultaneously completely honest and entirely wrong. Because Mafuyu’s mother does genuinely believe that studying hard, getting into a good school, and becoming a successful doctor and a respectable adult who makes a lot of money would make her Mafuyu happy. She’s completely honest when she says it, which is also part of why she’s so good at manipulating Mafuyu.

The problem is that her Mafuyu doesn’t exist. And she has never existed. Her Mafuyu was, from the very beginning, an act that Mafuyu performed to make herself fit the shape of the cardboard cutout in her mother’s mind. The cardboard cutout was never real. It was a fake, a fake that Mafuyu tried desperately to pretend was real because she loves her mother and wanted to make her smile.

Why does her mother constantly deny Mafuyu’s real feelings? Why does she fail to understand anything, even when Mafuyu herself breaks down crying and shouts it out loud? Because the person Mafuyu’s mother loves is the cardboard cutout in her mind. Because the person telling her that she’s miserable isn’t her Mafuyu. That's a deviation that needs to be corrected, a corruption that needs to be removed, an infection that needs to be excised. The real Mafuyu would never say these things. The real Mafuyu is a good, kind girl who works hard, studies diligently, is always polite and does whatever her mom tells her to do.

The version of Mafuyu in her mind isn’t miserable, so Mafuyu can’t be miserable. If Mafuyu is miserable, then something must have changed her. Because her Mafuyu can’t be miserable.

This is why she so consistently blames Kanade and the rest of Niigo. It’s why she’s so insistent on Mafuyu quitting Niigo. It’s why she says things like “if Mafuyu wants to make music, she can, but she should prioritise studying first, and come back to it once she’s secure and stable”. It’s why she’s all for her being a member of the archery club, but constantly tells Mafuyu to stop making music.

It’s not about the activity. It’s about the people, putting ideas in her head, corrupting her, making her deviate from her real self. It’s about the discrepancy between the Mafuyu she sees and her Mafuyu.

If Mafuyu isn’t behaving like what she expects, it’s not her expectations that are wrong, it’s Mafuyu that’s wrong.

If the cardboard cutout doesn’t match reality, then reality is wrong.

Mafuyu’s mother loves a fantasy. More than that, she chooses to love a fantasy. The reason Mafuyu’s mother is portrayed so negatively, and never receives any of the positive development that any of the other parents do, is because she’s denying reality.

Project Sekai is about embracing your true feelings. Toya’s father didn’t understand Toya’s true feelings for a long time. When he eventually did understand them, though, he acknowledged them. He didn’t agree with them, but he acknowledged them. He understood, at the very least, that street music made Toya happy.

Mafuyu’s mother doesn’t just not understand Mafuyu’s true feelings, she denies them outright. She wants to kill them, in Kaito’s words. There is no reality where these are Mafuyu’s true feelings. There is no version of Mafuyu that isn’t her Mafuyu. She has one daughter, and she loves that daughter, and only that daughter.

Nevermind that that daughter isn’t real. Nevermind that her real daughter is absolutely miserable, begging for love and affection that isn’t predicated on her putting on a mask and playing a character that she can barely recognize herself in.

That is the difference between Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother. Toya’s father, for all his flaws and abuse and self-centred outlook, actually loves Toya. Mafuyu’s mother only loves the version of Mafuyu she created in her own head.

Other parents.

Alright, to cap this off, let’s look at a couple of other characters who are, in some way, questionably effective at being parents.

Ena and Akito’s father.

There’s probably a not-insignificant amount of people that were surprised when I said that only Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother were actively abusive. Ena and Akito’s father is also an almost exclusively negative influence in his childrens’ lives, so what makes him different?

What makes Ena and Akito’s father different is that I don’t think he’s actively abusive. I think he’s incredibly neglectful.

There is a massive difference in how often Ena and Akito’s father shows up and how often Toya’s father or Mafuyu’s mother show up. He appears very rarely in Ena’s events and barely has any lines even though the few lines he does have are incredibly important for Ena’s character. He doesn’t show up in Akito’s events at all. The only thing he consistently does is be a constant shadow hanging over Ena’s head, and he doesn’t need to be present to do that.

Ena and Akito’s father is barely a part of their family. He doesn’t try to control his children, or isolate them, or even criticise them outside of the rare instances he bothers talking to them. He’s a presence that sets Ena on edge constantly when she has to leave her room, but the amount of times Ena actually talks to her father can be counted on one hand. He’s profoundly and exclusively unsupportive, entirely emotionally (and often physically) distant and basically fully absent from Ena’s life outside of the two or three times he tells her to give up on her dreams because she has no talent and will never be successful.

And yet, in a weird way, Ena somehow has the better relationship with their father out of the two of them, because Ena has any relationship with their father at all. It’s very much negative, but they do very rarely interact. Akito’s only, only, conversation with the man is in Ena’s first event, where he tries to make their father understand that he’s, well, being a fucking terrible father to Ena. I scoured through every event story, every card story available in English. Nothing. There’s not even a mention of him talking to his father offscreen. Please correct me if I’m wrong, maybe the JP events/stories have something.

The only time he talks about his father is in the first side story of his card for Toya’s second event. He talks about a camping trip his family went on, and -- surprise surprise -- he paid barely any attention to his family, mostly just sitting there and painting the landscape. The closest he came was when he painted his family, until Ena pushed him in the river for not paying attention to her.

So yeah. No less of a bad dad than the other parents. Pretty terrible person. Just not in the same category as Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother, even if the influence he had on his daughter in particular ended up being just as negative and scarring. Also, thank god Akito met Ken because by all accounts that boy has spent most of his pre-RAD WEEKEND life without a father.

Tsukasa and Saki’s parents.

Saki was in the hospital for most of her early teens. In hindsight, their parents could have spent more time with Tsukasa, but it’s entirely understandable that they prioritised their sick, hospitalised daughter, even if it was the wrong choice. There are no bad guys here.

Tsukasa spent a fair chunk of his childhood lonelier than other kids, and in an ideal world, with perfect parents, that wouldn’t have happened. We don’t live in an ideal world. There are no perfect parents. I genuinely believe they did the best you could reasonably expect. That’s it.

Kanade’s father.

The man had what was probably a stroke from overwork and stress. Normally, telling your incredibly musically gifted daughter that she should keep creating her own music and that a lot of people will enjoy her music is nothing but good parenting.

What happened was tragic in practically every way, but it would have been tragic regardless of what he said. Whether or not he emphasised that Kanade should continue composing her own music, Kanade was severely traumatised and would have spiralled into something unhealthy anyway. That it became this particular brand of unhealthy isn’t something I can blame him for.

(I can, however, blame child protective services and mental health care in Japan, who dropped the ball so fucking hard by letting a girl barely into her teens not only live by herself with no actual support because her grandmother continued to pay for the house but have consistently neglected to, y’know, actually check up on her. Ever. Even when she’s literally in the hospital. The closest they ever came is some of the random nurses being mildly concerned about the grieving 14-15 year old crying next to her comatose father’s hospital bed.)

Kanade’s saviour complex is a result of what her father said to her, yes. I don’t think that’s on him.

Mizuki.

Mizuki’s parents and sister are fantastic, I just wanna shout them out for being the only healthy family in Niigo.

I suck at ending things.

Anyway that’s it. Stand by for other stuff at some point in the future. There’s the beginnings of an idea about contrasting Mafuyu and Haruka, but take that with a grain of salt. It’s just a thing I noticed after finally getting around to reading some of Haruka’s event stories.

I think about characters other than Mafuyu, I promise. This is just a coincidence. Really.

So yeah. Bye.

68 notes · View notes

reivrze · 1 year

Note

K imma try this again. Hi! So can you maybe do enemies to lovers headcanon or reactions idk. Of Niki as enemies to lovers with reader and they’re in highschool, on the same dance team and always competing. And their also in the same friend group (reader is Friends with enhypen) idk if that makes sense. Lol. Okay ly

Byeee!

a/n : hii !! sorry i wasn't able to do this request a while ago, i was just starting to write and i had a hard time coming up with a good idea for this but i hope this is up to your expectations.

in which despite you being the dance captain, alongside niki, you were struggling to get your most recent choreo down. pairing : dance co-captain!niki x dance co-captain!reader genre : headcanon, fluff, enemies to lovers warning : minor bickering

you had manage to book a showcase event for your dance team. niki had insisted on choreographing the opening dance.

so here you were, in the gym with the rest of the group, while niki was trying to teach everyone the dance he had made.

everyone seemed to be able to execute it but you were stuck with this one move, your body not letting you do it, despite your efforts.

an hour passed by and you were starting to feel hopeless, ready to give up on that one move and see if you could do something else.

niki, of course, had noticed your struggle after a while and called out everyone to take five. he had this annoyed look on his face as he approached you.

"dude, what are you doing??"

"go away niki, i don't need your judgement right now"

you walked away, going to where your friends were sitting across the room, niki trailed behind you to join them too.

as you sat down besides your friend, jungwon, you laid your head on his shoulder, feeling exhausted.

niki threw a disgusted look at you and rolled his eyes at the scene. you were slightly confused at his reaction to such a normal action.

niki felt a little off seeing you lay your head on jungwon, but he quickly brushed off the feeling as just him being annoyed that you were resting when you couldn't get the dance down yet.

the five minutes being up, you all went back to practice, and still, despite your efforts, that move was not getting any easier.

the practice was now over and you had been excited to go back home, when niki called out for you to stay so that he could talk to you. huffing, you put your stuff down and made your way to him while everyone else was leaving

"what the hell is wrong with you? why can't you get the dance down?"

"i'm trying. give me more time and i'll get it down."

"no. you're gonna get it down right now, i'll help you but only for the sake of the showcase and the team, don't get any ideas."

niki asked you to perform the dance in front of him over 6 times by now and you were sweating your ass off.

"i give up, can't you come up with another move?"

"no way, you're not giving up." taking a deep breath, he got up and stood behind you, ready to help you.

"again, don't get any ideas, i'm only doing this because it physically pains me to watch you dancing"

"shut up."

as you started doing the dance, niki stopped you and placed his hands on your arms, placing them in the correct position. and then your hips, turning them to face the right way.

you couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat every time he laid his hands on you and how close his face was to yours.

after around 15 minutes, the move having been broken down to every little step, now seemed much easier to do.

you tried one more time with niki doing it beside you. you had finally gotten it, feeling overjoyed, you threw yourself on niki, hugging him with all your might, feeling grateful.

you quickly snapped out of your sudden joy, and got yourself off of niki, feeling very awkward now that you had realized what you had just done.

niki was just staring at you, surprised by the sudden hug as he chuckled.

"weirdo."

197 notes · View notes

alexanderlightweight · 8 months

Note

Wednesday writing -

I love your stuff sooooo much 😍 makes my week. Hopefully you're having a good one.

I would be happy with anything but I really want to see some wooing/surprised at how far the other is wing to go along with them! Like Magnus taking care of amnesia Alec, or magnus getting drawn in by Alec in the adoration vs. Heck even others being surprised by this too.

Honestly I'm just going to be happy with anywhere your muse goes but just give me some emotions! You're so good at it.

Hey! Thank you for the compliment and the well wishes! This week is doing much better than last thank you! I hope you’re having a good week!

I hope you enjoy this, it’s in all my fears forgotten

I hope these are enough emotions, let me know if you want more

💜 lumine

—

Magnus looks over the files that have been sent to him with a frown before he finally decides on his course of action.

Out of the half a dozen files that came through, only one is Magnus positive that Alexander would feel comfortable with.

It’s with an easy conscience that he signs over his consorts Institute to Mirai Lakecastle, Alexander’s second and someone competent and sure-headed enough to keep it together.

The clave will have no reason to argue and Mirai abides by the same code as Alec, it’s why Magnus picks her.

That and Alexander’s trust.

His faith and confidence in his second has grown since their first meeting and Magnus trusts Alexander’s instincts and his opinion.

It’s a lot of power to sign over, especially so quickly.

Magnus could do so much with the authority Alexander gave him but he doesn’t care. Magnus has a new and widely coveted political power and clout. It’s unthinkable that he would sign it over with so little hesitation or use. Yet Magnus wants nothing more than to concentrate on tending to his love who has changed so much and yet so little.

Alexander is truly no different than he was, only that he is how he was before the wounds of his past chiseled him into the man Magnus loves.

And yet he is also the man Magnus loves, the very foundation of him and Magnus finds that he adores him desperately.

Magnus cannot lose Alexander, as long as he is by his side then Magnus is happy to love him as he is, however he is.

Which means that there is no time to waste playing clave politics when Magnus can be introducing Alexander to a thousand things his boy had forgotten he once wanted. It’s a cursed blessing, to learn so many secrets that Alexander himself only remembered by forgetting so much.

Magnus opens a small portal, just enough to send his own response back to Alyssa. Then as soon as it’s confirmed to have been received, he snaps it closed and goes to find his boy.

Alexander is outside lying on his stomach, stretched out over thick green moss and dipping his fingers into the cold shallows of the nearby brook.

There are bright flashes of color as the fish dart around his touch and the rocks and Magnus laughs, heart lifting despite the weight of this morning.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, kneeling next to Alexander and pressing a palm to his shoulder.

“It’s cool and the suns bright,” Alexander sends him a faint smile before looking back at the water. “I don’t remember doing things like this before.”

Magnus doubts that he has and worse, they’ve hardly had time to even think of something as simple as a picnic where this could happen.

“Should we go boating?” He asks without a second thought and Alexander gives him a pleased smile and a nod. “Wonderful darling, I’ll set up a pavilion boat,” Magnus waves a hand as he speaks, “they run on magic, lovely. Absolutely divine and much better for the environment.”

In his delight, Magnus gets absorbed in his thoughts for a moment. It’s just a moment, but it’s long enough to miss the adoring and content smile that Alexander sends him.

Or that his eyes, while still confused, are deeply pooled with indulgent devotion.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #all my fears forgotten #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec

81 notes · View notes

notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

The Boy in the Window 17 ~ (Tommy Shelby X Reader Series)

Chapter Summary: With Tommy still missing, Lizzie and Ada take matters into their own hands

Notes: Poor darling Charlie- he really broke all our hearts. Let's see if we can do something about that. This is another set-up chapter, I suppose...the end is near. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Here, you can find my [Masterlist] and the [Series Masterlist]

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Expect spoilers for Peaky Blinders Season 1-4.

Wordcount: 5253

Part 17

[Previously]

That night she got not a single second of sleep, with her throat closed up and her eyes burning as she thought of nothing but him, Lizzie's words echoing in her head like the charge at the final judgement.

Only now did she truly understand the meaning of drowning in guilt, because that was what she was…drowning.

Everything she either heard, smelled or felt was muted, all these sensations unable to pierce through the cold darkness that had surrounded her which swallowed everything but the pain.

She had expected the children to forget soon, that the price or parting would have been hers alone to pay but Lizzie’s words had driven the truth like a dagger into her heart and ever since then, she had felt herself bleeding out slowly, drip by agonising drip.

When (Y/N) knelt down to pray in church, the old wood made her knees ache, but she welcomed the pain.

After all, it came from the outside for a change.

Closing her eyes, she prayed for the boy - that he would soon forget her.

When she rose, her knees were red with the promise of turning blue very soon.

Father Callitch had looked at her with pity, and asked if she wanted to talk, but what was there to say?

During the second night, despite the exhaustion, she fared hardly better, staring up at the ceiling and yearning for a reprieve that never came.

Mrs Cook greeted Emma with a smile and offered her a sweet as they entered the house, but that smile soon turned to a frown when her eyes met hers.

She looked her up and down and then she sighed.

But (Y/N) knew she’d get no pity here, not that she deserved any.

She was a good, kind woman, but she had heard the rumours and seen the aftermath. And Mrs Cook had her principles, about virtues and honesty, and she hated the Peaky Blinders with a passion.

No doubt, she had formed her own opinion, but she kept it to herself.

“You look bad.”, she told her bluntly, as she put the basket down on her table.

I feel worse, (Y/N) thought.

“I’ve got more time now,”, she said, “I can get back to my usual workload.”

Her lips tightened.

“Now that Charles Shelby no longer lives with you.”

Mention of his name felt as if someone had rubbed salt into an open wound, it’s burning bite lingering long after the words had disappeared into thin air.

“Yes.”, she only said.

What point was there in lying?

She did not miss how Emma’s head raised at the mention of his name.

“Start with this.”, Mrs. Cook told her, adding a new pile of clothes into the basket.

“Only remember not to sew in razor blades.”

The old woman seemed just as startled as (Y/N) was, as if she had accidentally said her words out loud.

She half expected it to hurt, but somehow any slight dealt to her couldn’t even begin to compete torment she was already suffering.

And when (Y/N) just stared at her, her cheeks began to burn.

But she did not want to torture the woman and so she took her child, her work and left.

They were halfway down the main road when a car stopped next to them.

It was black and shiny, with a little silver figurine on the front.

The man held the steering wheel with white gloves, his uniform hat reflecting in the window.

“Hello (Y/N).”, she heard the familiar voice of Lizzie Stark. “Hello Emma!”

“Hello Lizzie.”, Emma replied, waving back at the woman inside the car, who’s head peaked up from a fur coat.

“Picking up work?”, she asked, leaning forward slightly to see better.

“Yes.”, (Y/N) said, avoiding to look into her eyes, afraid of what next horrid revelation she might share with her.

For a moment there was silence, before Lizzie spoke up again.

“That basket looks heavy, why don’t I give you a ride?”

She was about to turn her down, but she turned her attention to Emma and opened the door.

“Would you like to sit next to me, Emma?”

That gripped hold of her and she darted towards the car.

(Y/N) thought about calling her back, but her little girl had been so unhappy these last few days, she didn’t want to take away this little joy.

Every part of the car that was leather was soft, everything that was not was so shiny she could see her reflection in it.

She saw the driver look at the rearview mirror and Lizzie nodded.

The engine sprung to life and Emma leaned forward curiously, watching how the man moved his hands to steer the machine.

They were supposed to pass the church but instead the car turned into the courtyard, circled around and back out again, into a direction different to the one she lived in.

Her head snapped around only to see the other woman smirk.

“Lizzie-”, she said impatiently.

“You at least have to look at it.", she quickly said, stroking over the back of Emma’s head.

"I don't want to, Lizzie.", She sighed, rubbing her pulsing temple.

"You have to.", She argued. "Even if you decide to sell it.'

I don't want to sell it. I want nothing to do with it.

She swallowed hard and glanced down at the floor of the car.

I wish none of this had ever happened.

What good were a few weeks of happy moments against the misery she felt now? The one she'd carry with herself forever?

But she was also too drained to argue.

So she leaned her head against the side of the car and let things be.

Lizzie was a natural with children and so it was easy for her to keep Emma occupied during the drive, while she watched the world go by.

The dark grey snake line streets slowly evolved into red brick buildings, with cleaner facades and larger windows.

Soon there were small gaps between the houses that grew as they left the city behind them.

Then, there were just green plains and trees, as cottages and farms replaced factory buildings and worker’s housing.

They had driven for the best part of an hour when they left the main road and into a village.

"Look out now, Emma.", Lizzie said, almost in an announcement for the driver to slow.

(Y/N) too opened her eyes again and glanced out.

"You have to be joking.", She whispered.

The car left the road and immediately began to drive up to the house on the gravel road.

One could have fit half her street on the distance it had to the gate, and all the houses in it, but here it was just green grass lined with neatly trimmed bushes.

The chauffeur stopped the car just a few feet in front of the entrance to the house.

And what a house it was.

It was white as snow, which made the pale lilac of the wisteria which had grown on parts of the facade shine even more clearly.

On either side of the pitch black door and on each of the two stories, she could see large bay windows reaching out into the space.

There were no other house next to it, instead just more greenery and trees.

“Welcome to Warburton House.”, Lizzie told her as they got out, sounding very pleased with herself.

“Look, Mummy!”, Emma cried out and pointed at the door. “A lion.”

She was right - on either side of the steps that led to the front door, two small stone lion figures were resting, like dogs awaiting the homecoming of their owners.

What in God’s name is this place?, (Y/N) thought as she barely glimpsed the brass lion door knocker before it swung open.

Evidently, they had been expected.

“Mrs Hale!”, a middle aged woman greeted with a warm smile.

She wore a modest, plain black dress which went past her knees, black stockings and black shoes. The only thing not black about her clothes was the white lace collar.

Her dark hair was combed back and tamed into a neat bun.

“My name is Frances.”, she introduced herself. “I am Mr. Shelby’s housekeeper at Arrow House.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Over her shoulder she could see a far younger woman wearing a pale grey dress and w hite apron. She also had a white cap in her hair and a wide smile on her lips.

Cautiously she stepped inside, but she did not get far.

“Let me take your coat.”, the older woman offered.

It felt strange to have another person, especially an older woman who was owed respect by her age alone, do that for her.

She handed her coat to the girl who had already taken Lizzie’s and Emma’s.

“Would you follow me?”, the older woman asked and led them beyond the small entrance space into an open room.

The first thing that caught her eyes was the wide staircase which lead to the upper story with steps so large Emma could lie down on them without touching wall or bannister with either head or toe.

Instead of being narrow and straight, it almost leiserously curled its way up into the house.

Despite being in the inside of the house, light fell in from upper windows, ensuring the room didn’t suffer the darkness of her own corridor in Small Heath.

At it’s centre stood a round table which didn’t seem to have any purpose but to display the large array of flowers which had been placed in a porcelain vase at least a foot tall with two arched handles. It was painted so delicately and with such detail she knew it hadn’t been produced in a factory.

(Y/N) felt her eyes widen as her heels echoed thanks to the high ceiling.

Doors lead both left and right and in between them she saw cushioned benches and smaller mahogany tables under landscape paintings and glass lamps let into the wall. On them were smaller vases with flowers, or little staturettes.

There was hardly any time to do much than let her eyes drift through the room though, as the woman continued.

“I’ll just make a call.”, Lizzie said, placing her hand on her arm as she walked past her and through one of the side doors more towards the back of the door.

So there’s a telephone too.

For a moment she saw a glimpse of a sofa and a wall filled with books, but Frances opened another door for her.

Only after a moment of silence did (Y/N) realise she was waiting for her to enter first.

So she hurried to do so, muttering an apology as her cheeks burned.

The room also had an impossibly high ceiling and windows so big she wouldn’t be able to reach the top with her fingertips even if she stood on a stool.

Each one was framed by two floor length curtains that were from the same pastel blue colour as the rest of the room, which fit perfectly with the white stucco decorations on the ceiling and at the wall.

The fireplace was decorated with equal craftsmanship and on the mantlepiece a large mirror hung, capturing the light and doubling it.

There were armchairs in front, and sofas with cream upholstery. But there was not a single mark on them, no chip in the painted wood, no thread loose in the decorative stitching.

Everything was impeccable.

The whole room - the whole house felt so light, not just because of the paleness of the walls which weren’t stained by the smoke of factories, or because of the natural light that fell in from the high windows.

From the windows she could see into the gardens where she was met with flower beds, a terrace and delicate white garden furniture.

The house seemed completely furnished and even decorated and yet it was clean - too clean. It lacked not dirt but the marks of use, of life.

On a second round table, covered with a white tablecloth, had been set for tea.

The étagères held slices of cake and petit fours.

“Mummy look- chocolate!”, Emma said.

Her excitement made Frances smile and she drew the chair back for Emma to sit on, before doing the same for (Y/N).

It made her heart thunder in her chest in the worst possible way.

It - all of it - didn’t seem right.

Especially not when the older woman remained standing.

The plates were smaller than the ones she had, specially made for tea, so were the spoons. They shone and sparkled and on the ends they had delicate engravings.

Sugar was served in a little white box but instead of a little knob to lift the lid up, it had a swan on top, matching the design on the little can which one could pour the milk from.

At that moment, Lizzie returned, who seemed far more at ease with being helped to her seat than (Y/N) had been.

That left two more places that had been set.

“Have you explained the situation yet?”, Lizzie asked Frances.

“Not yet, Miss Stark.”, she told her.

Lizzie nodded and turned to her, her business face on.

Frances cleared her throat.

“This is Warburton House, also known as the Dower House for the Dowager Countesses of Arley.”

“Oh?”, (Y/N) said simply because she did not know what to say, halfway stunned into silence.

“Arrow House used to belong to the Earl of Arley before Tommy bought it and the whole estate.”, Lizzie explained.

Frances nodded.

“It is custom that when a Lord dies, his wife moves to a widow’s seat, a Dower House, not too far away and with all the comforts befitting her station, yet with as much distance as necessary.”

(Y/N) mumbled a stupid “Oh.” again as Emma nicked one of the chocolate petit fours and placed it wholly into her mouth, glancing around to make sure no one saw.

“You’ve already met Lisa.”, she continued.

“Although she is very young, she’s the head housemaid. She is a hard worker and very good with children. Mrs. O’Sullivan is the cook and the gardeners are from the House but will come once or twice a week depending on the season of course. There is also a driver at your disposal whenever you shall need it.”

She understood the words Frances was saying but there was still a blockade in her mind that didn’t allow her to accept them, like a wall she could not see through.

“They are all already hired and it’s taken care of.”, Lizzie said under her breath as she reached for a slice of cake herself.

(Y/N) leaned over and placed her hand on her arm.

“Have you lost your mind?”, she hissed. “This is too much - far too much.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes.

“No, I won’t…he won’t want me to have it.”

Not now that she had broken with him.

She still remembered the cold, empty look in his eyes when he had taken Charlie away, as lifeless as a stature.

“It’s already yours. By law. No one can take it away from you.”, she reminded her.

“It’s yours, and the rest is taken care of.”

She shook her head and glanced around the room.

Frances had said so herself- this was built for a great woman, a countess, and not meant for a nobody to live in.

It wouldn’t be right.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here.”, she insisted.

And most certainly not against her will and with Emma, who would undoubtedly ask questions now.

Lizzie’s eyes remained without a trace of remorse.

“Why? Because you were having such a fun time in Small Heath of late?”

She had no answer for that and Lizzie clicked her tongue.

“It won’t get better, you know? They never forget, so you might as well start anew here.”

Just as Lisa, the head housemaid, entered with a tray, they heard the door bell ring.

“Just in time for tea.”, Lizzie said.

“I’ll let them in, Ma’am.”, Frances said and bowed her head slightly before leaving.

(Y/N) hoped against hope that she meant Lizzie with that.

But then her heart tightened painfully as she stared at the door.

She had no clue who else they could be expecting and was entirely unprepared.

The uncertainty made her stomach drop.

The door flung open carelessly and revealed just a flash of the boy before he came running at her as soon as his pale blue eyes caught sight of her.

Without a moments hesitation he pushed himself into the narrow space between her chair and the table, scrambled into her lap before she could even hope to offer a helping hand.

He flung his arms around her neck and clung to her, still wearing his coat.

His blond hair was a mess from where his little cap had fallen off.

(Y/N) was too shocked to speak, to even react, but on instinct her arms had wrapped themselves around him and held him tightly.

His hot breath brushed over her naked collarbone, frantic and uneven from the running he had done, as his hands coiled into the fabric of her dress, twisting it so much it was likely to leave marks that would have to be ironed out.

As she leaned her head against his, his soft hair brushed against her cheek.

She inhaled the smell, not of his soap, or his coat - but of him, and she leaned into that smell, into the weight of him on her lap, the sound of his breath.

Desperately she tried to blink away the hot tears that came to her eyes-

“Let me look at you.”, she asked, cupping Charlie’s face with both her hands.

It had only been a week or so, but she had thought she would never see him again, apart from glimpses in the distance when he would drive down Small Heath streets in the shiny cars of his father, one day, when he would have long forgotten the old woman watching from a window.

And now she held him again.

“Oh my darling boy.”, she whispered, unable to keep her voice steady. “I am so, so sorry.”

Charlie looked up at her with pouty lips and shiny eyes before burying his head into her chest, just above her thundering heart.

Her fingers ran through the long blond hair on the back of his head as her other hand found his back, rubbing soft circles.

She had missed his weight, his touch, the way he always leaned into her.

“Hello (Y/N).”, she heard the familiar voice of Ada Shelby, and so she had to look up again.

The only Shelby sister looked divine in a dark red dress with a matching brooch shining on her chest.

“Come on Master Charles, you have to take your coat off if you want to have tea.”, Lisa said sweetly.

Only cautiously did he pull back far enough for the girl to take his coat. But he still remained in her lap.

Every time he had to remove one arm for the girl to take his coat, the other hand held onto her, digging through her dress into her flesh as if he feared a moment’s weakness would see him taken from her.

It was the sweetest pain she had felt in a long time.

“Charlie, if you stay there neither you nor (Y/N) will be able to have tea.”, Ada reminded him after a while, having taken the spot next to Lizzie, leaving the chair to (Y/N)’s right free.

“There’s chocolate cake- your favourite!”, Emma told him.

They had tea in painful silence.

Charlie had pulled the chair as close to hers as possible and watched her every move cautiously, his free hand clutching her dress.

Since she had no appetite for much, she stroked over his fingers under the table where no one could see.

But then they were done and Ada leaned over.

“Charlie, do you want to show Emma the garden?”, she asked with a wide smile.

“Not really.”, Charlie said, nuzzling into her side.

“We will go with you.”, Lizzie suggested and they got up, leaving the table with the dirty dishes as it was, even if it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Frances and Lisa brought them their coats and helped them into them before they went out into the terrace.

What she had seen earlier was but a glimpse of the size of it.

The terrace was larger than the ground floor of her home, with the delicate garden furniture.

There were flower beds and a patch where roses could climb up the facade.

Further to the back she could see a vegetable patch.

A small stone pathway led to a sundial situated on a small pillar.

There was a bench under one of the trees while the other had swings hanging from it - two swings, she realised.

It was twice as large as the church green and thrice as beautiful and that was before the flowers were in bloom. She could only imagine how stunning it would look then.

“Swings!”, Emma cried out and took off running.

For a split second, Charlie twitched as if he wanted to run after her, but then his hand clutched hers painfully.

(Y/N) crouched down and stroked the side of his face.

“Go ahead if you want to.”, she assured him. “I’ll be right here.”

He glanced to Emma on the swings, then back at her.

“Promise?”, he asked.

“Promise!”

He went, but only when looking over his shoulder from time and time again, to make sure she hadn’t disappeared.

As she watched him go, she sighed heavily.

“You did this on purpose.”, (Y/N) told the both of them, who had watched her with hawk eyes.

“You’re just as bad as Tommy with his pathetic blackmail attempt. The both of you.”

“Of course we did.”, Ada scoffed. “And it’s not an attempt. He will follow through, you know. So be a good girl and stop being difficult.”

She glanced from one to the other as she rose.

“Ada, I can’t. Why can’t you just accept that?”

Ada stopped and turned to face her.

“This is a very simple situation. Good things rarely happen to good people. This is a good thing, for you, Emma and Charlie. So either you accept this house as the new reality of your life, or you don’t. And every time you hear gunshots in Small Heath, or your cough gets bad from the smoke, every time you can’t let Emma play in the street or have to walk forever just so she can see a patch of grass, every time you wish she would have gone to a better school or yearn for quiet or the sound of birds, every time you miss Charlie, you will know that it is your own fault.”

She opened her mouth to argue but Ada was far from finished, even as her face burned.

“Fucking hell, (Y/N)! Will you just come off of your high horse of self punishment, not only for your own sake but that of the children too!”

Her words cut deeper than (Y/N) was comfortable admitting.

“Or you can go there right now and tell them that you chose not to do this because you were too busy revelling in your own created misery.”, she added.

(Y/N) wanted to answer but no words came.

“Then we’re in agreement.”, Ada said, before turning her back, leaving her alone with Lizzie.

“If that doesn’t convince you, do it for Charlie.”, she said softly. “You know how Tommy is even when he’s supposed to be around. And right now, he’s all alone in that big house up there.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard.

“He needs some place he can go to, a person he can go to. Otherwise the boy will drown in loneliness.”

When the tears came to her eyes this time around, she couldn’t stop them from falling, even if Lizzie’s handkerchief soaked them up.

“Emma can stay here while you and Lisa go back to your house to pack up the necessities. The rest of the move should be done in time for next monday.”

“What’s monday?”, she asked.

Lizzie smirked slightly.

“You first day at work. Be ready at ten. I’ll pick you up.”

She almost felt ashamed bringing Lisa back to her home. What would the girl think after all?

It was in such a dark and grimy place, especially in comparison to the house they were just leaving. Perhaps it was due to that comparison, but Small Heath had never seemed so dirty to her.

On the way the girl had told her about herself and her family. She was a local girl. Her father and elder brother worked as gardeners for Mr. Shelby. Her whole family had been in service and she was so excited to have a little girl to look after.

She even told (Y/N) that she had been practising braids for Emma.

It was difficult not to like Lisa then.

Within a few days all the things she wanted to take to the house had been packed, the house cleaned form top to bottom (which Lisa found strange that (Y/N) insisted on helping with herself) and the furniture covered with white sheets.

She had not decided what to do with the house yet, just as she had not yet truly accepted that the other house was now her and Emma’s home.

There was the drawing room, which they had taken their tea in, as well as a room called the library, which included hundreds of books, a grand piano and softer sofas, which was supposed to be a living room.

She had a dining room as well, with an oval table large enough to seat a dozen.

Upstairs it was just as airy and beautiful as downstairs, with a master bedroom, complete with an own bathroom and a dressing room, which alone was bigger than her old bedroom had been.

In addition to the office and the three other bedrooms, one of which was Emma’s, they had a nursery- an entire room filled with toys.

(Y/N) did not fail to notice that they were all new, from the rocking horse, to the small table for drawing, to the doll house by the window.

What a strange thing to find in a house meant for a widow.

There was also a kitchen, which probably was the only room (Y/N) was not welcome in, as the cook, Mrs O’Sullivan was very diligent in fulfilling her duty.

(Y/N) wasn’t used to anyone cooking for her. The last person that had done that had been her mother and all Mrs. O’Sullivan had asked of her was to tell her what meal she wanted. It was like living with a restaurant.

It was all a lot to get used to, but Emma had done so easily, and whenever doubt crept in, she thought of Charlie.

Since Tommy had not yet returned from his holiday he came to visit every single day, arriving in the afternoon and leaving only after dinner, and then most reluctantly.

He had worked out however, that he would be allowed to sleep there from Saturday to Sunday so that he could be there for Sunday breakfast.

Like all other breakfasts and meals, they didn’t take it in the dining room, but rather in the drawing room at the smaller, rounder table.

What use was it to sit at the large one when they could be much closer.

There had also been an arrangement that saw Emma taking riding lessons together with Charlie. (Y/N) hadn’t been sure at first, since she didn’t want to cross Tommy, but apparently that had been part of his plan as well.

Those lessons were at Arrow House, Tommy Shelby’s residential home with a size fit for a king.

She had seen the red brick walls, the high gates, the long driveway, but stayed clear of that place he and Charlie called their home, even if Emma had seen it inside to get changed after her riding lesson.

It wasn’t just getting used to a new house, but an entirely foreign way of life.

Lisa and the others did not want her to do any work, not even if it meant carrying a tray back to the kitchen, while (Y/N) felt uncomfortable not doing it.

They still had a lot to figure out, but sooner than she would have liked, monday came, which had given her its own share of sleepless nights, even if playing catch with Charlie and Emma had truly worn her out.

Lizzie had arrived just as she had expected and they drove back to the city together.

The board of the Shelby Family Foundation included, apart from them, Polly, Ada, who was absent, Linda, who was very much present and Arthur. Although it ought to have been presided over by Tommy, his chair remained empty.

“Still on holiday then?”, Linda asked, pursing her lips, disapprovement radiating from every inch of her skin. It was almost as if one could smell it.

Beside her Lizzie shifted.

“What is it?”, (Y/N) whispered under her breath as she saw her paled cheeks.

“Not a single word, not for two weeks now.”

Her hushed words made her stomach coil as a chill no one else could feel made her shudder.

Something wasn’t right, she felt it. But there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all.

“How are you liking the house, (Y/N)?”, Arthur asked with a lopsided grin under that thick moustache of his.

“Yes!”, his wife said, her tone sickenly sweet, “how are you liking it?��

(Y/N) felt her cheeks burn as she cleared her throat.

“Emma loves it.”, she quickly said, averting her eyes.

“I wonder though - if it really is appropriate for you to be sitting in on this meeting.”, she continued, clearly not content with her embarrassment.

“After all, this is a family foundation and even if she has become…familiar with Thomas, she is not family!”

(Y/N) felt like all the air had been knocked from her lungs.

She had heard it in whispers and openly, from Mrs. Laddler and Jackson, from Mrs. Cook even. But somehow here, in front of his family, who had every reason to doubt and look down on her, it stung so much more.

Was that what she would be forever now, Tommy Shelby’s whore?

Lizzie had warned her it wouldn’t go away.

And the house now given to her and Emma not a place they could make into a home but payment for a service well provided?

It made her want to throw up…and to disappear from the face of the earth, although from the meeting would have been enough for now.

“She’s here,”, Polly Gray said, blowing out smoke in Linda’s direction, making her cough, “because she knows the community and has worked with it in the past.”

She glared at Linda as she brought the cigarette to her lips once more.

"Choose your words carefully, Linda. One could almost think you were jealous."

End

Part 18

So we got one of our boys back!

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind!

I chose Winkenhurst Manor as inspiration for the exterior and now I want to move there.

Taglist:

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @watercolorskyy @books-livre @chlorrox @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore

Tommy Shelby Taglist:

@knowledgefulbutterfly

TBITW Taglist:

@kaitebugg03 @esistmon @chlorrox @theshelbyslimited @budugu @woofgocows @orkwardx0 @judig92 @100percentamess @kabbuu @esposadomd @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @starsnsecrets @lady-loves-a-lot @katiepie67 @acoolnight @chaotic-onigiri @ohshititsfenharel @muhahaha303 @globetrotter28 @xoprincessmel @shittingonyourgrave @pessimisticbiitch @elisa20beth @simran-preet19 @majesticcmey @akiisbae @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @vodkainthecoffee @pearlstiare @jk-acc @cutecurly-hair @lovecleastrange @kishie8 @kirenia15 @burninggracesandbridges @nervousmumbling @babayaga67 @mbv2361 @butterfly-skinnylegend @pheitvsx

#Peaky Blinders #Tommy Shelby #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Thomas Shelby Imagine #The Boy in the Window #valentineswritings

533 notes · View notes

elgatt0 · 9 months

Text

Inside Wolves

Hoie ^3^)つ

I always liked the villain/evil AU theme, and after reading this wonderful fic by @tashilover, I decided to put into practice an idea that was hammering in my mind for a long time!

⚠️Note: the following story will tackle some topics that may not be suitable for everyone (death, blood and such) But I promise to hold back and not leave anything too absurd. I will try

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

======================

Chapter I

"Rabbits that live in burrows dug by wolves do not spend on burials"

==============================

Legend pov

"It's late. The sun sets and darkness rises, we better stop here." Mr. blue scarf speaks very politely.

Everything he does is always politey, I'm sure he's like that even when he shits.

To be fair, Mr scarf is a captain in his era. He fought in wars and led troops, so barking orders and having nice hair is his second nature...

Being a bastard is the first.

Everyone knows, he knows and seems to be proud of it, I wish hylia have mercy when that vain being starts talking about women.

"We're not going to use a bonfire tonight" he still didn't get tired of talking "Terrain is unknown, as well as the monsters here. The strong flames will attract unwanted attention, an oil lantern should be enough for us." I hate to admit it, but he's competent at what he does.

"Now that you mentioned , we've been walking through the forest all day , strange that we haven't encountered any monsters...or anything alive" Someone comments. Little guy, being observant as usual. If the trees could hear I'm sure they'd be offended by that last sentence.

Ah yes, new adventure, new faces, same name. But I already solved the last problem.

"Strange don't you think? It seems as if the forest is mourning" Cloud head agrees "It doesn't match at all what the villagers told us."

"Not only words, nothing was matching in that village."

The old man, many things with him don't match either. The tattoos that go with that pale eye emanate something ancient, dangerous, maybe divine? I don't know, I feel a strange sense of unease about them. But that doesn't matter, for now.

Everyone in that village was hiding something, far beyond secrets. I felt like I could find a corpse at any moment.

"I think we were fooled, one way or another" Looks like I'm not the only one who feels this way.

All the others fell into silence as morbid as the forest, lost in their minds as they prepared for the night. I bet that just like me, everyone is processing everything that happened these last days.

Having your butt ripped out of your house through a dark portal and thrown into a totally unknown place with 8 other incarnations of your spirit to travel aimlessly and fight demons is a really wonderful experience, I don't blame them.

May Hylia pay my therapy.

It hasn't been long since we started this journey, despite knowing that we have shared the same spirit, yet we are not the same person.

It feels like we've become more strangers than allies with each passing day. Not hating each other but not fully trusting either.

I shake my head as if to throw my thoughts away and toss my bag and boots aside. Lying down, I don't bother to take off the extra layers of my clothes. I'll likely wake up sore, but I don't care.

Behind me, the sailor brat seemed uncomfortable with the silence. Not enduring these calm seas, he decided to break the awkward silence and started talking about food, which seemed to liven up the tense atmosphere a bit. But I wasn't interested in joining, eating now seemed cloying.

Using my hands as a pillow, I gaze up at the dark starless sky. It's odd, we are in the middle of nowhere far from any dazzling light from towns or villages, I should be complaining about the brightness of the stars, not the absence.

I keep facing the darkness until an apple shakes my thoughts out of my head, again. I sit up, rubbing my aching forehead and look at the one who will wake up with a mouth full of ants.

"Stop the drama and eat. I bet the poison that comes off your tongue is more potent than anything I could put in food" Forget the ants, I'll smother him with his damn fancy scarf.

"And I bet my kick can make that butt flatter than it is" I don't normally put salt on the wound...

I use oil and set it on fire.

And it burned badly, leaving the captain's face flushed a pure red. "Why, you little s-"

"Enough" The old man intervenes with a firm voice "Veteran, eat. Hunger won't do anyone any good" I think about arguing until he gives me that look which reminds me that I have more important things to do.

Mister Blue Scarf snorts, a bit awkward after being scolded. "Your little shit" He mutters as he turns his back and stomps out, not being much polite in hiding his annoyance.

I salute the captain with my middle finger as he leaves, even I can be polite sometimes. My good manners elicit a few giggles and eye rolls.

That sharp eye was still piercing through my skull, so I decided to pick up the apple and eat it, not caring if it's really poisoned or not.

It's not like I need to have worries in the matter, the captain may be a bastard, but he has strong morals. He would never kill me like that, his death language is sword against sword, I respect that.

That damn wolf is what really worries me.

Wolfie gives me a strange feeling every time I see him, something wrong. Those eerily human eyes, the way him appears from the shadows no matter what era we're in, the beast always follows us. A wolf that herds sheep.

I remember the time the crazy cook said it was okay, he knew that wolf. Apparently, Wolfie acted as a guide on his journey, a kind of divine beast. I'd say it's about time he got some glasses, 100 years in darkness takes away anyone's eyesight.

There's nothing divine about that beast. The brutal way Wolfie shatters his victims and the pleasure he seemed to take in it was so wrong, I've seen demons be more merciful.

"Wolfieeee! You're back," the Sailor exclaims happily. Perfect, just as I was thinking about demons. I wonder if whispering his name three times will make him appear too.

I watch Wolfie approached slowly, each step calculated and deliberate. His claws dragged along the ground, producing a low, grinding sound. His tail wagged in excitement, making large arcs in the air.

Why is this so familiar? Where...when...who?

I don't know if it was because of tiredness, the low light from the lantern, or even if everyone needed glasses too.

There's no way anyone didn't notice the fresh blood that adorns the wolf's fur and stains the ground.

There's no way anyone didn't notice fangs ripping off sailor's throat.

AO3//Next>>

#linked universe fanfic #lu fanfiction #lu fic #lu wolfie #lu twilight #lu legend #the others appear but they are not the main ones #linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe twilight #linked universe au #linked universe legend #lu fanart #linked universe fanart #wolfs #wolf art #my silly writing

65 notes · View notes

speuradair · 1 year

Text

Drunk Silco, Viktor Headcanons

Request: “hcs for how silco & viktor act drunk?👀”

While sober Silco is still passionate about everything he cares about, whether it be his work to gain control and independence for Zaun or his beloved partner, he’s still quite stiff and cold about it

Not that he doesn’t want to be openly passionate, he just shows it in a different way than most people

From an outsider’s perspective he may even seem dismissive of his partner, though in actuality he’s the farthest from it

He just shows his care and affection in his own way that might only make sense to him and his partner

However

When he’s drunk, any sense of restraint or decorum just escapes him

He becomes so openly affectionate towards his partner than it’s almost sickeningly sweet

Drunk Silco gives Gomez Addams vibes

Passionate, Affectionate, traditionally romantic

openly simping for his partner

will spontaneously pull you into him and kiss up your arm while telling you how you take his breath away before wanting you to dance with him

surprisingly good at dancing too despite being completely wasted

Silco can never focus on work after he’s been drinking, because he just doesn’t want to

He wants to have you in his arms, his fingers in your hair, and your arms around his torso

You’re already on his mind 24/7 but when he’s drunk he can’t resist the urge to focus solely on you anymore

Silco knows how sentimental he gets when he drinks a lot so he doesn’t have more than a drink or two unless you two are completely alone

It’s not that he’s ashamed of his feelings for you, he just prefers to keep that side of him reserved for you and you alone

He’s so rigid when sober, pls just let him cling to you while he’s drunk bc you’re all he can think about

Viktor actually finds drinking to be pretty enjoyable

he doesn’t overdo it or anything, just enough to lessen his chronic pain

he wants to be responsible with it of course, and he also finds that drinking too much stops him from being able to competently work

he doesn’t get fully drunk very often, usually just a bit tipsy

but when he does get drunk, he becomes an absolute puppy of a man

Viktor is affectionate in general, not having any reserves when it comes to wrapping an arm around your waist or giving you a soft forehead kiss

so when he’s actually drunk he’s all over you

he not only wants to endlessly express how much he adores you, he wants your constant reassurance and praise of how much you love him too

almost always ends up lying with his head in your lap, looking up at you with these lovesick puppy eyes that are only ever given to you

please play with his hair or caress his cheek while he does, it’ll make him openly giddy

on a different note though, Viktor has a tendency to get a bit chaotic as well

he’ll have all of these ‘scientific breakthroughs’ and ‘brilliant discoveries’ that are actually him just explaining already understood scientific concepts

he’s frantically scribbling something on a chalkboard while babbling

“so what if instead of being an invisible force, it’s actually a bending of space, that’s why bigger objects have a greater pull- this is incredible, this could change everything!”

“Baby, that’s just the Theory of Relativity. Einstein already proposed that.”

“… what?”

“You’re very smart for coming to that conclusion on your own though!”

just support him, he’ll figure things out i swear

he really is a genius, just

not so much when he’s drunk

#arcane #league of legends #viktor #silco #x reader #headcanons #self insert #fanfic #imagine #maidhc writes

264 notes · View notes

mochegato · 1 year

Text

Don’t Let Me Down

Marinette didn’t need Klarion’s help, no matter how hard he tried to convince her otherwise. She had a team behind her, and they may not be the miraculous team, as Klarion took great pleasure in pointing out, but they could still help, would still help, with miraculous matters. Not that she even needed them or planned to bother them with this. It would be an easy mission. It wasn’t even a mission, really. It was more like an excursion, a jaunty little stroll through the ruins of a sacred temple currently being temporarily inhabited by low level thieves.

As long as she got the stolen miraculous quickly, it would be easy. In and out. The thieves wouldn’t even know they’d been infiltrated before she was gone with the miraculous. By all accounts… well, Klarion’s account, they were such low-level thieves, they barely warranted the name, though she seriously doubted she and he had the same threshold for the term. They wouldn’t know to have a decent guard up and couldn’t defend themselves if they did. They didn’t even know what they had; they’d just lucked into stealing the right thing in the right place at the right time.

But again, that relied on Klarion telling the truth, which was a losing bet. Klarion didn’t always lie. If it was to his advantage, he would use the truth. But if there was a choice between lying and telling the truth, all else being equal, he would definitely choose to lie. Ideally, she’d be able to take a day to investigate and plan, verify Klarion’s info, or not, and plan accordingly.

However, if the thieves figured out what they had before she could recover the miraculous, things would get exponentially worse the longer they waited. She’d seen how bad things could get when someone who shouldn’t have a miraculous got it, even those who weren’t raging megalomaniacs bent on rewriting the very fabric of reality. She wasn’t about to risk it again. Not if she could just jump in quickly and stop it. So she had to take Klarion’s word at face value and hope she had good enough backup to cover her if she was wrong.

A loud groan reverberated through the entry way to Young Justice headquarters as the realization set in. She slammed the door behind her. She was going to have to jump in and create a plan on the fly, the very thing she’d been unsuccessfully begging her teammates to stop doing since she started. It always worked out for them, and to be fair, that had been her approach throughout almost her entire time fighting against Shadow Moth, but when she could plan, she did. Now it was her choice, her mission, and she was choosing the seat of your pants strategy as well. The irony was not appreciated.

The only thing she had time to plan was who would go with her, well… no, that wasn’t exactly true. The choice wasn’t so much who she got to ask so much as if she was going to ask, because the who was decided for her already. The whole team wasn’t needed for Young Justice’s latest mission so two of them had stayed home. While Kon wouldn’t be her first choice, he would be perfect to watch her back. Because while he may not trust her, she trusted him. And maybe while they were doing it, he would realize that she was competent, that she was a good hero too, just as good as the rest of the team.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, she knew that with absolute certainty. When they weren’t on a mission, they got along frighteningly well. Well enough that she occasionally thought it might be more, or maybe it was just that she hoped that’s what his smiles and casual touches meant. She loved spending time with him and they did, a lot.

And it wasn’t just her prompting them spending time together. He’d seek her out as often as she sought him out. He would drop down next to her while she was designing and just hang out as she worked or he’d invite her to a gaming competition against him or he’d ask her to show him how to bake something she’d mentioned liking. Despite Tim being like the big brother she never wanted, well, she had wanted one, just a less annoying one; it was Kon who could talk her through her anxiety spirals. Everyone would try, with varying degrees of success, but it was Kon who succeeded.

It was just in the field that he shut her down, held her back, watched over her like a disappointed mentor, questioned her every move. And she couldn’t even blame it on distrust of new team members because he hadn’t started like that. When she’d first joined, he’d been excited to work with her. It wasn’t until she messed up that he started doubting her. She’d rushed in, Tim had followed her, and they’d both gotten hurt. They’d recovered the item, thwarted the villains, but Tim had been in the infirmary for weeks. And that was the ultimate transgression for Kon; anything that hurt Tim.

But right at the current moment in time, she needed him. She needed him to put that all behind them and have a little faith. She needed to go and there was no way Kon would let her go on her own. He wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t like it, he would question every decision, he’d probably try to take over, but he wouldn’t say no.

><><><><><><><><><

“No.”

Marinette blinked at him. “What?”

“No,” Kon repeated with a curt shake of his head. “That’s crazy.”

Marinette stared at him dumbfounded. The possibility of him saying no had honestly never occurred to her. They’d done more dangerous things in the past, with less information, and he hadn’t questioned it. But this? This he questioned? This he found issue with? He’d blindly follow after Tim or Bart or Cassie, but not inconvenience himself for her? This wasn’t even half as crazy as most of Tim’s plans, if you could even call them that. And they always marched right in, no looking back. No questions. “I kind of thought crazy was our business,” Marinette clipped back.

Kon narrowed his eyes at her. “Cute. Funny. I’ll let Bart know you’re stealing his lines. We,” he motioned harshly between the two of them, “don’t do crazy. We do smart. We do planned. We do strategy.”

Marinette stared at him again. The massive inaccuracy of the statement stealing her words and ability to process thoughts. She finally shook her head to restart her thoughts again and glowered at him. “When? When have we ever done that. I beg you guys for a plan, but you just jump in. I follow. I help. Despite not agreeing with it, I do it. Now that I want jump in, you say no?”

“It is not worth the risk. We never go in without a plan unless we have no other option,” he insisted firmly.

Marinette scoffed. “Right. Unless you want to piss off Lex, or unless you want to prove a point, or unless Tim has some stupid idea, or unless one of you guys gets bored,” she growled, her voice getting louder and more aggravated with each word. “Then you’re more than willing to go along.”

“’Willing’ is pretty fucking generous,” he grunted. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest, easing into leader mode and making it perfectly clear he was not inviting argument on this.

“It really isn’t,” she argued, narrowing her eyes right back at him. “Regardless, you do it. You do whatever Tim asks. Without a plan.”

He groaned; his arms thrown out and head tossed back in frustration. “Okay, fine. No, we don’t always have a plan, but we always have the team, which we don’t have now until they get back.”

“You and Tim go out on your own all the time!” she shouted indignantly.

“That’s not… that’s… that’s different,” he sputtered. He realized he’d said the wrong thing instantly when her heart rate plummeted. He didn’t even have to look at her expression to know what he was going to see and he scrambled to find the words to fix it, to wipe that hurt look off her face. “Tim and I have been… it’s complicated,” he huffed harshly and glared at the wall, consciously forcing his eyes not to switch to laser vision.

He waited to speak until he was calm enough to not have to focus on accidentally blowing holes in things. This was all going wrong, and he needed to get it back on track. “But that has nothing to do with this,” he finally continued calmly. “This is about this mission. Not you.” He turned his eyes to her, hoping his heartfelt sincerity shone through his eyes. “You’re relying on information from Klarion. Klarion! Any time Klarion is involved, we need caution. You know that. We need to ask questions. Like why isn’t he getting it himself? Why didn’t he get one of his lackeys to get it? He didn’t come to you purely out of the goodness of his heart.”

She looked away to allow herself to calm down to Kon’s level, taking several deep breaths and holding them for a few seconds until her heart rate had slowed. If he was going to give her a chance to discuss this rationally, she was going to take it. It was the only way she was going to get him on her side, and she really did need someone on her side. He wasn’t wrong about Klarion, which was the entire reason she was here asking him for help in the first place.

When she looked back, her eyes had lost their hardness. “I know this could be dangerous and it would be better to plan. I know I can’t trust Klarion. I’m not stupid, Kon, no matter what you think of me.” He made a noise, but she continued before he could vocalize his agreement. “I’ve thought through those questions too. He can’t get it because they’re holed up on holy land, land that blocks him and his powers. And he didn’t use one of his lackeys because he doesn’t want them to try to use the power. He knows I won’t. I know he isn’t doing it because he wants me to have it, he just doesn’t want them to have it more, and he thinks he can easily take it from me. But, he’s wrong.

“But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because he’s right. I need to do it. I don’t have time to wait. If I don’t act now, I run the risk, the very strong risk, that they could unleash the miraculous. If that happens…” her eyes grew wide and haunted contemplating the possibilities, remembering history. She shook her head and looked back at him. “I can’t wait. I have to go now.”

She took a step closer until she was close enough he could have felt her body heat even without his enhanced senses. Her eyes were wide and earnest, their brilliant blue drawing him in. “But you’re right, it would be better with someone watching my back, someone I can trust. That’s why I came to you. It would be better with you. I need you. I want to do this with you. There’s nobody I trust more. And I need you to trust me that I need to move now.”

Kon almost gave in, almost got lost in her eyes. Her words struck through him, melting his resolve until it had almost disappeared. But he wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t. “No.”

“No…” Marinette repeated cautiously, her voice tight, teetering on the brink of something.

“No. We need more information before we do something,” he insisted again. “Or just not do anything at all. We don’t have to do anything,” he offered, his voice raising in hopeful tones.

She pursed her lips and slammed a cool façade in place. “You’re right. We…” she motioned between them as she took a purposeful step back, establishing a visible distance between them, “… don’t need to do anything. You don’t need to do anything. This isn’t your problem. It’s mine.”

Kon flinched at the tone of her voice. The previously soft, enticing tones were gone, replaced with a sharp, coldness with which he was completely unfamiliar. Worse were her eyes. Where they’d drawn him in mere moments before, they now shut him out, left out in the cold… alone. “Mari, that isn’t…” he let out a long groan and ran his hand through his hair a few times in quick, erratic movements. “That’s not what I meant. I meant we don’t have to act now. We can wait until we have more information. We can wait for the rest of the team.”

“Right.” She nodded curtly but her eyes never softened. Kon tried to search them, tried to find his way back in, but she turned away before he could, moving with steady, determined steps toward her room.

“Mari…” he called weakly after her, desperation edging into his voice. He reached for her, despite her being too far away reach. “Just let me check when the team will be back, and we can reassess.”

“Do whatever you want, Superboy,” she snapped over her shoulder.

The detached, cold epithet stung. She hadn’t called him ‘Superboy’ outside of the field since shortly after they first met. His hand dropped and a deep sigh broke through when she turned the corner. “Damn it,” he swore, kicking the wall in frustration, immediately cringing at the hole he put through the brick wall. Tim was going to kill him. Although if Marinette didn’t forgive him for his hesitance, he might just invite Tim’s wrath.

He refused to back off though. He wasn’t wrong. Dealings with Klarion never ended well. They always had to be on heightened alert when Klarion was involved. That went doubly so since Marinette had joined the team. Klarion had a disturbingly intense interest in her as another magic user. And now he was seeking her out for secret missions, a fact which disturbed Kon on more levels and to a greater depth than he cared to examine.

They needed more information and more people before they even thought about engaging with Klarion. If he moved fast enough, he might just be able to get everything ready by the time the rest of the team got back, and Marinette calmed down. However, he was going to disable all the vehicles before that just in case Marinette decided to go ahead without him, which was the absolute last thing he wanted to happen.

><><><><><><><><><

At the very least, she could state with all sincerity that she had been right about everything. Klarion had not lied, for once. The thieves were utterly unprepared for someone to come for their haul. They had set up no defenses other than a guard dog who was easily distracted and loved playing with kwami, while they napped in a separate part of the temple. She’d met purse snatchers who were better prepared. They never even knew she had been there before she was out. It was a quick in and out.

It was after the out part that proved she had also been absolutely correct that she could not trust Klarion. He’d waited until she passed through the boundaries of the temple to attack. That had been her miscalculation, not that he would attack, that she’d anticipated, it’s why the ‘Marinette’ that exited the temple appeared to be wearing the Ladybug miraculous, not the Horse, Fox, and Turtle miraculous the real Marinette wore.

No, the miscalculation was that without the real her there to deflect the magical energy pulse, the only place for it to go was straight through ‘her’ and into the walls of the temple, behind which she had taken refuge so she could watch from an, apparently not so safe, distance.

The scream of frustration Klarion let out at the realization he had been tricked had almost made her current situation worth it… almost. Because her current situation was underneath potentially a few tons of rubble with only the green glow of her shelter providing light and protection, and without her glasses which had been blown off her face and currently were somewhere in the rubble.

She looked around again, gently prodding the boundaries of the shelter to see where the vulnerabilities were and how difficult it would be to move them by hand. The answer was damned hard. Without a view to the outside, she had no way of knowing how many meters of rubble was above her. It could be just a thin layer with dust covering the spaces to make it look thicker, or it could be several meters. It couldn’t be too many meters, there wasn’t enough wall to bury her too deeply, but the walls were heavy stone, and she was very small and easily crushed. Even with the miraculous suit protecting her, she could still be flattened if there was too much. It wasn’t a risk she relished taking.

She looked around one more time before whimpering and pushing her bottom lip out in a childish pout. She was going to need to ask for help. It was one of the last things she wanted to do; admit that this mission she’d refused help on had defeated her, that she couldn’t do this simple task on her own, that she needed help. But the truth was, she did. She would just have to withstand the embarrassment. They’d tease her, especially Tim, for a few weeks, but it was that or specifically ask Kon for his help… again. And that was the absolute last thing she wanted to do, other than die.

She took a breath and let it out in a harsh exhale before tapping her com. “Young Justice, come in.” She waited a few minutes before trying again with the same results. She wasn’t concerned until she’d pulled out the com and saw the distinct lack of a power light on the internal portion. Ice flooded her veins. The com was broken. She had no way to contact her team.

She took a breath, held it for a count of four and let it out slowly. She needed to think. She couldn’t dig herself out without bringing down the shield and without knowing what was above her, that was a no go. She couldn’t send the kwami out for help without knowing if Klarion was still around. She couldn’t very well just start screaming for help either. The thieves might not be competent, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. With her weakened, she would be at their mercy.

She was running out of options. In fact, with Jon too young to take on Klarion and Clark off world, she only had one. One extremely undesirable option; Kon. It was going to prove everything he thought about her correct, and maybe it was, maybe she was as incompetent as he thought, because she shouldn’t be in this situation. She should have foreseen it and avoided it. She should be better than this.

She lowered her eyes until she closed them and braced herself for the disappointed look and the reproachful lecture. “Kon,” she said weakly but clearly. “Kon, I need your help.” She eased onto the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest as she waited. The time ticked away, how much, she wasn’t sure, but the way her butt was now aching, it must have been a while, long enough for Kon to have gotten to her.

She scrunched her brow. “Kon?” she tried again, significantly louder this time. Something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t need to be louder. She’d seen him hear someone further away and deeper than she could have possibly been. “Kon, I need you… please,” she added weakly, but just as loudly, concern starting to edge into her tone.

This time, as the moments ticked away, she paid far closer attention. Every shift in the stone matrix around her drew her attention with a snap of her head until her neck was strained from the movements. He still wasn’t answering. He still wasn’t there. He could hear her in his sleep. Where was he! He was supposed to be her friend. At the very least, they were teammates! Where was he?

Was he really so angry with her, he was willing to just let her sit here, alone, buried alive. Until she what? Apologized? Begged? Quit? She didn’t know. What she did know was fuck that. “Kon!” she yelled. “Kon, get your super annoying ass here now. I’m running out of air asshole.”

She glared at the roof of her protective bubble waiting for his cocky, self-satisfied smile to appear with some asinine comment about her needing him. She huffed in frustration and dropped to the floor of her bubble, arms crossed over her chest, every muscle in her body strained until they were ready to snap at the first sign of a super fucker.

But again, the time ticked away with no sign of salvation. By the time her butt started to hurt again, her anger had dissipated replaced by dejection. He wasn’t coming. It didn’t make sense. Kon wasn’t vindictive like that. He could want her dead and still wouldn’t just let her suffocate. Something else had to be going on but it was getting harder to think clearly, figure out why. She was starting to get panicked and lightheaded, an absolutely terrible combination.

“Kon,” she tried again, more earnest, pleading. “I need you right now and I need you to hurry up. I’m running out of air, Kon. I’m out of time. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Please.”

Tears started flowing down her cheeks. He wasn’t coming. It was the first time he’d let her down. The first time she had needed him, and he wasn’t by her side. She always thought he would be. It never occurred to her that he might not be. In every eventuality, in every possible future she saw, he’d always been there, one way or another. But he wasn’t.

She swallowed thickly and wiped away her tears. It was up to her. She was going to have to save herself. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. She breathed in for a count of four and exhaled for a count of five, immediately calming after her familiar routine. Her only hope now was that the rubble ceiling wasn’t too thick, and that it would have found some kind of equilibrium so when she lowered the shield it wouldn’t immediately fall on her.

She went through her breathing routine again and nodded to herself. It was time. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself before she called off the shelter. She kept her eyes scrunched for a few moments before opening one eye to look around her. A chuckle burst from her, but she immediately covered her mouth. She was okay. The matrix had held. The first part was done. Now she just needed to dig out without brining the matrix down on herself in the process.

The sound of another voice almost made her jump into the matrix roof. “Master,” Wayzz greeted her. “This seems like a less than optimal situation.”

Marinette grinned. “Wayzz! I’m so glad to see you. Can you phase through the top and tell me how thick the rubble is?”

“Of course, Master,” he agreed readily.

“Remember not to touch anything. Phase through,” she reminded him, anxiety bleeding through.

“Any modifications may cause the tentative equilibrium to shift and collapse,” he noted, nodding his head in understanding.

“Exactly! Thank you so much, Wayzz. I really…” before she could finish a creaking sounded on the other side of the matrix. Marinette turned warily toward the sound, each millisecond feeling like a century until time sped up to superspeed and the matrix collapsed faster than she could register. She barely had time to cover her head before she was covered.

She kept her eyes closed at first, trying to register any clues she could on her situation. What did the air taste like? Were there any sounds she could identify? Could she hear the outside? She tried to feel if there were areas of her body where the stones were heavier, but it was all heavy. It weighed her down, pinning her between the layers until she couldn’t move her legs or chest. Even her head was wedged stuck fast in its place. The only part that seemed to have some freedom was her left arm. The suit was keeping most of the weight at bay, but the pressure was slowly becoming overwhelming, driving all rational thought from her head. She was losing feeling in her chest. She had already lost feeling in her left leg.

She forced her eyes open despite every nerve in her body fighting for her to keep them clamped closed. It was as dark as she expected. She almost succumbed to her body’s urges and closed them again but just before they fluttered shut, she saw a pinhole of light. It wasn’t too far away, maybe a meter or a meter and a half. If she pushed hard enough, she might be able to reach it.

She shifted to reach for it and immediately let out a scream of pain as the matrix shifted again and a large rock slipped onto her arm. The light started to become fuzzy until she wasn’t sure if she had imagined the whole thing, everything took on a dreamlike, blurry quality. She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She was going to die. Alone. “I, Marinette Dupain Cheng, pass guardians… pass guardiansh…ip t…” she murmured as she lost consciousness, missing the pinpoint of light bursting into bright sunlight.

><><><><><><><><><

The light was blinding. Even with her eyes closed, it felt like everything was too bright. Going back to sleep seemed so much more appealing than enduring that damned light. But before she could drift back to the peaceful oblivion, a sound brought her back to the light; a voice, deep and enticing, drawing her to it, making the harsh light transform into an embracing and warm glow.

“I know you’re awake, I can hear the change in your heart rate. Can you open up those beautiful eyes for me… please?” the voice urged her gently. “I miss your eyes. You have the most enchanting eyes, I’m a bit lost without them to follow. Come on, Starlight, open them for me.” She knew that voice. She’d heard that voice before, a lot. But the voice didn’t sound right. This voice was tight and sharp. It should be lighter, more teasing. It should be playful not pained.

She had opened her eyes before she even registered the impulse, wincing from the light. Kon was looking up at her from a seat next to her bed, his grin widening with each passing moment until it was so wide and bright it almost made her have to close her eyes again. “There they are,” he cooed. He picked up her hand with a delicate reverence and gently ran his thumb over her knuckles bringing her hand close to her face as though the proximity comforted him. “Welcome back.”

She blinked a few times to clear her vision. “Kon?” she mumbled; her voice gruff with disuse. She had to be dreaming. Maybe she was dead. She looked around sloppily, her head dropping to the side. But she was in a hospital. She was pretty sure neither her Heaven nor Hell would take place in a hospital. So, she wasn’t dead… probably.

“Yeah, Starlight. I’m here. You’re safe,” he assured her, scooching closer to her so he could pull her hand to his lips without straining it, but redirected at the last moment to his chest.

She bobbed her head back to face him, letting her unsteady head fall back to her pillow. His words didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. When did he get there? When did she? “What are you doing here?” she uttered fuzzily.

“Is that any way to speak to your savior?” he joked, but the tension underlying it and his tightening grip on her hand betrayed his worry.

Marinette pulled her hand back and furrowed her brows as she shook her head slowly. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what she remembered. She remembered trying to dig herself out from being buried alive. She remembered being alone. She remembered being abandoned. “No. You weren’t there. You left me.”

His eyes flashed with pain. “Mari…”

“No. I called you.,” she started slowly. She shook her head faster as the memories flooded back to her. “I called you and you didn't come. I was stuck under that rubble and you just… you weren’t there. I needed you and you weren’t there.”

The pain that had flashed in his eyes before returned and settled in like it had taken residence in them. He shook his head, moving closer to her again. “No, that’s not true! I was there. I was the one that found you and brought you home. I got there as quickly as I could.”

He bobbed his head down to catch her eyes, make sure she saw him, could see his sincerity, his regret. “I just couldn’t find you. There was some kind of barrier around you for a while. I couldn’t hear you, your voice, your heartbeat, nothing! Until finally the barrier fell or broke or something and I could finally hear you. It was like a revelation. I took off faster than I ever had before. I moved faster than I’d ever moved before.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and hooked his finger under her chin, urging her to look up at him and delicately wiped her tears away with his thumbs, letting his hands rest on her jaw, cupping her face. “I never abandoned you. I would never abandon you,” he vowed fiercely. “Mari, Starlight, you mean everything to me. I love you. I will never abandon you.”

She blinked, her brow pinching in confusion. “You don’t even like me.”

“What?” he exclaimed, dropping his hands in surprise. “What do you… why would you… What?”

“You… no, that’s not the right word. I can’t…” she motioned vaguely toward her head. “I know you like me.” She closed her eyes to focus on how to put what she was thinking into words, missing the way Kon relaxed slightly at her admission. “I know you like me… off of the field. But you don’t trust me. You don’t…” she huffed in frustration as she searched for the right word, “… think I’m a good hero. You don’t trust me to have your back.”

“That is categorically untrue!” he insisted indignantly.

She scoffed. “You never want me in the field. I screwed up once and Tim got hurt and since then, you haven’t trusted me on missions.”

“That is not what happened,” he groaned.

“It is,” she insisted. This was something she knew. This is something she’d thought about, brooded about, more nights than she cared to admit. “You don’t want me on missions. You watch me constantly in the field. And it’s not a matter of watching over your teammates, because you don’t do that with anyone else. Just me. It’s just me you don’t have any faith in.”

“I don’t do that!” he objected, not quite yelling, but close. He threw his hands out at her skeptically raised eyebrow. “Fine! Yes, I do. I try to keep you out of the field. I prefer it when you cover the coms from the base,” he admitted. He stood up and started to pace the room in an attempt to work out his energy some way other than smashing something or lasering through the wall.

Instead of appreciating his confirmation, the admission cut through her like a blunt spoon. His acknowledgement that he didn’t think she was skilled enough to be in the field, that she didn’t measure up in his eyes, hurt worse than the cave in.

“But it’s not because I have more faith in them than I do in you,” he continued without realizing her spiral. “It’s not because I trust them more. It’s not because I think they’re better. It’s because I’m not as worried about them.” He stalked back to Marinette’s side to continue but immediately stopped at seeing the devastated look in her eyes. “Not because I think they’re better!” he clarified quickly, louder than he meant to.

“I know you’re an amazing hero. Fuck, Marinette, I think you might be the best hero I’ve ever met. The best I haven’t met.” She scoffed and looked away petulantly, but Kon wouldn’t let her continue to think he didn’t realize how amazing she was.

He sat on the bed again and tried to crane his neck to catch her eye. When she refused to look over, he kept his neck craned in the ridiculously uncomfortable position and continued speaking in a soft voice. “You’re wrong you know.” That got her attention. She flicked her eyes over to him, but kept her face turned away. “It wasn’t because Tim got hurt. It was because you did.” That finally got her to face back to him and he could finally settle his head into a more comfortable position.

“Because the idea of you getting hurt terrifies me in a way I’ve never felt before. I watch you because I second guess every move, mine and everyone else’s, to see how it will affect you. I’m not just watching what’s going on around me and calculating for myself, I’m doing it for you too. I don’t think I realized until that very moment how I felt about you.”

He caressed her jaw, his fingers feather light against her skin, each touch like worshipful. “I always want you out of the field because I’m afraid of what I would do if anything happened to you. Because Tim is my best friend. He’s like a brother. But, if Tim miscalculated and got hurt, I’d be worried, I’d be frantic until he was okay. And if he wasn’t, I’d be devastated.” He cradled her head in his hands, letting his thumbs tenderly graze her cheeks. “But if you got hurt… I’d destroy the world. Not even kryptonite would be able to stop me.”

“Kon…” she started, unsure how to respond to that. Her eyes softened as they searched his, finding only awed reverence.

“I love you, Marinette. I have since, God, I don’t even know how long. I don’t even know when it happened, I just realized one day that the best part of my day was when you were there with me. That I couldn’t stop thinking about you and every time I did, I’d smile like a damned fool and I didn’t care, I wanted to. That making you laugh had somehow become my subconscious goal whenever I saw you.

“I realized whenever you were sad or upset or hurt, it hurt me too and I would do whatever I had to in order to keep you safe, take every blow, handle every loss, face every evil if it meant you didn’t have to. So, I tried to keep you safe, out of the danger zone, but I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t trust you. I just… I needed you to be safe.”

She placed one hand on his wrist, keeping his hand on her cheek, with the other she gently brushed his bangs from his face, letting her fingers linger and fall ever so slowly, tracing the edges of his face until she wound it behind his head and pulled him closer to her. Her eyes fluttered closed, attempting to keep the tears from overflowing, as she brought his forehead to hers. A contented sigh escaped her lips when he leaned into the embrace. She reveled in the feeling for a few moments before opening her eyes and gazing adoringly into his. “That is… the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she choked out through a half-suppressed sob.

Kon reared back like she’d punched him, but she kept her hold on his hand so he couldn’t go too far. “What?”

“I can handle most of the same hits you can take, and I’m not vulnerable to kryptonite,” she pointed out wryly. She pulled gently on his wrist to pull him back to her side and cupped his face with a gentle smile. “You can’t wrap me in bubble wrap, Kon. I’ll suffocate.”

He blinked a few times as he processed her words and tone, finally relaxing into her hand. “What if I poke holes in it?” he asked with a tentatively teasing smirk.

Marinette grinned back for just a moment before quickly schooling her expression. “No. There’s no way to make bubble wrap flattering.”

“Uh huh, uh huh. I see,” he nodded in mock solemnity and stroked his nonexistent beard. “Yes, we can’t have the world’s next leading name in fashion looking unflattering.”

“Exactly!” She met his eyes, allowing herself to get lost in them for a few moments before forcing herself to look away. Her eyes darted back to his for just a moment but settled on her hand as she traced his hand, turning it over in hers to run her fingers over his and enjoying the softer texture of his fingers. “I had my shield up,” she threw out. Her eyes darted to him again so quickly her eyes were back on their intertwined hands before her mouth had closed.

Kon jerked slightly at the non sequitur, mind racing to make sense of her words. Emotionally? She had her emotional shields up? Did that mean she was taking them down for him? Did that mean she shared his feelings? “What?”

“Shelter,” she clarified. “That’s why you couldn’t hear me. I called on Shelter as soon as I got there. My own personal little impenetrable, mobile fortress.”

He opened his mouth but snapped it shut. Every time she spoke, she made less sense. “Why did you call it off? You were safe!”

She chuckled at his gaping mouth. “I was safe from the rubble, but I was suffocating. I was so safe, I was dying from the inside,” she gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, but instead you almost died from the outside!” he exclaimed.

“But I didn’t, because I let the shield down,” she pointed out with a slight smirk.

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t like this analogy.”

“Good. Then it worked.” Her grin was blinding and contagious. Kon couldn’t stop himself from returning it no matter how hard he tried to keep his scowl. She smiled wider at his lost battle. After a few moments, her brow settled into a scowl. “What I don’t like is someone trying to make decisions for me. Someone letting their fears dictate my actions.”

Kon’s smile slowly dropped at her words turning grim. He nodded in understanding, eyes lowered in contrition. “You’re right. I fucked up. It wasn’t my place. I shouldn’t have…” he sighed heavily. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re strong and powerful and talented. I didn’t mean to try to control you. I don’t think I realized what I was doing.”

His voice sounded so heavy and broken, her heart ached. Her hand was on his face, her thumb tracing his lower lip before she realized it had moved. “But what I do like,” she whispered, “is you.”

His eyes jumped to hers, hope peeking through and lighting them up. “Yeah?”

She nodded with a soft smile. “Yeah,” she whispered.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved closer to her. He paused for a moment, centimeters from her lips to give her a chance to object. Instead, she wrapped her hand behind his neck to pull him to her, letting their lips finally touch in a soft, chaste kiss. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his lips stretching into a wide, dazzling smile to match hers. The kiss was short, but perfect. It was a beginning, the start to many, many more.

“I’d hope so. I’d hate to think you do that with people you don’t like,” he teased, breath hot against her lips.

Marinette rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, but her lips quirked up into a playful smirk. “You should see what I do with the people I love.”

Kon’s eyes lost their devilish glint suddenly becoming uncharacteristically serious. “I would very much like to see that one day,” he declared.

Marinette’s breath caught in her chest. She searched his eyes for any hint of teasing. Finding none, she licked her lips slowly. “How about a sneak peek?” she asked before pulling him down for another, longer, more passionate kiss.

She pulled away suddenly. “Kaalki!” she exclaimed. Her eyes widened in fear. “I left Kaalki in the ruins!”

She threw the blanket off and moved to get up, but Kon stopped her before she stood, his hand on her chest to hold her in place. “Woah, slow down there, Starlight. You just woke up.”

“I need to rescue Kaalki, Kon, and I need to get him before anyone else does!” she exclaimed, brushing his hand to the side.

He sighed heavily but nodded. “Okay. But you take it easy and let me do the heavy lifting until you’re fully recovered, please?”

She paused and looked back at him questioningly, a small smile emerging on her lips. “You want to come with me?”

He smiled and shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I do. I won’t let you down again." He kissed her quickly before extending his hand for her to take. "Come on, let’s go.”

#maribat #marikon #Supermari May #Supermari May 2023

69 notes · View notes

cyberrose2001 · 11 months

Note

Hello! May I request a TFP Ratchet x Gn! reader, scenario.

maybe Reader is always kinda just butting heads with Ratchet when it comes to the kids, care and health cause Rewder is a nurse.

TFP Ratchet x Nurse!GN!Reader

Being a nurse myself, I wrote a little bit of this from my own experience, so that's kinda fun :)

Here a lil oneshot for you anon, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SFW, Medical talk/terminology/tools (aka sharp object)

Word count: 781

You're exhausted. The pounding headache radiates to your sore feet as you shuffle into the Autobot base. You probably look like shit, and there's a good reason. You've come into contact with too many bodily fluids of different kinds today, and you sorely need a decontamination shower. Not to mention the number of times you've had to re-insert IV lines in a very, very confused elderly woman. You had given up the fight and called her doctor to tell him that you were not willing to get sucker punched in the guts again. Days like today make you question your career choice.

But as sucky as it is, it's also rewarding. Your knowledge and expertise have often helped the kids when they're injured, sick or straight-up infected by the blood of an ancient god of chaos inhabiting the very planet your sore legs are walking upon.

Yeah, other healthcare professionals could learn a thing or two from you.

Speaking of other 'healthcare professionals', Ratchet has been getting on your nerves more than usual lately. Ever since Raf almost died at the hands of dark energon, he insists that he helps with the health and wellbeing of the kids, despite knowing next to nothing about the anatomy and homeostasis of humans other than the fact that "If they get underfoot, they will go… squish." in his words. So, in his minimal spare time, he researched different diseases and injuries common among humans and the treatments for each. And while you appreciated his dedication to better his understanding of humans, he was becoming a hypochondriac in the process.

Like right now. You had walked in on Ratchet, giving Jack a complete head-to-toe assessment. The poor kid was lying face down on one of the human-sized gurneys while Ratchet poked and prodded at his back, and oh my god, is that a scalpel.

"Ratchet!" You call out, running over to the gurney as fast as your tired legs can manage, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Nurse Y/n, you're just in time!" Ratchet exclaims, "I have detected a malignant mass of cells on the left periscapular region of Jack's skin and require your assistance in its removal."

You could not have deadpanned at him any harder, "You got all that just by looking at it? Let me see."

Ratchet steps back as your dermatitis-ridden hands touch the 'malignant mass of cells' to examine it, and you roll your eyes to find that it's not what Ratchet thinks it was.

"Ratchet, that's just a mole." You say, then you give Jack a few pats on the back, "It's alright, nothing to worry about. You're free to go."

Jack drags himself off the gurney and hastily puts his shirt back on, mouthing a silent 'thank you' as he speed walks as fast as he can away from a very stunned Ratchet, who still wields his scalpel. You look back up at him with a very unimpressed look, folding your arms.

"Are you serious?" You say, "You were just gonna slice off a mole because you thought it was malignant?"

Ratchet huffs, putting down the scalpel before throwing his servos on his hips, rolling his optics, "If you had any competence at all, you would've already examined it months ago and determined that this 'mole' is, in fact, deadly!"

"He's had that thing for years since he was born!" You growl. Your patience is wearing thin like your skin that's been abused from all the alcohol gel you used today, "June told me he's already had it looked at. You need proper reason and consent from the patient before taking a blade to the skin. Jack was clearly unwilling. Did they not teach you this stuff in 'Robot Medical Ethics 101' or whatever the hell you call it?"

"Jack is a child," Ratchet scoffs yet again, and it's taking all of your strength not to climb up his chassis and strangle his neck cabling into oblivion, "I am a physician. I had merely overridden his consent and took matters into my own servos."

You facepalm so hard that you are sure your face has condensed into a black hole from the force. Frustrated, you then rub your forehead, "Look, I know you're trying to help the kids. I can see that. But I really need to shower before my legs collapse. How about I do that and then come back to teach you the proper method of patient evaluation and consent procedures?"

Ratchet quirks an optic ridge before a small smile ever so slightly creeps onto his dermas, "As much as I dislike the thought of a human teaching me about medical procedures, I would very much appreciate the gesture."

#tfp #transformers prime #tfp ratchet #tfp ratchet x reader #gender neutral reader #sfw

94 notes · View notes

artist-issues · 25 days

Note

Raya and the Last Dragon popped into my head today and I kept thinking about how the incredibly unsubtle and poorly executed message of trusting others felt like a first draft.

What do you think about it? Would a revised script with the same story premise fix that film? Or was it doomed from the get go in what it was trying to say?

Good question! I go back and forth. I think the movie's biggest weak point was its writing, so I guess I'd say, "a revised script with the same story premise would fix it!"

There's nothing wrong at all with a message like "Without trust, we can't stand together." Because it's very true. Everyone has priorities, and there's always a chance they'll choose themselves over you, or over the "greater good." But if you keep trying to take control of the situation by believing the worst about them before it happens, you'll be exhausted & jaded, they'll be exhausted & jaded, and all your time and energy will be spent on competing with each other for the grand prize of "who can look out for their own interests better."

I think Raya and the Last Dragon's premise works for a truth like that. It makes total sense to have a girl who's competitive become jaded and control-freaky when her father, the symbol of the virtue of trust & good faith, is murdered by betrayal. And not just any betrayal, but betrayal from someone she directly tried to befriend and trust as a sort of "first experience" with that good faith her dad was always talking about. Makes total sense. And it's impactful; something that traumatic and personal would cause a relatable character flaw that the heroine needs drastic measures to overcome.

I actually love the concept of Sisu too. I like the idea that she's this pure, selfless soul who's got childlike faith—but, all the jaded people in a post-apocalyptic world respect and consider her worldview because she's a revered dragon. So she really does change minds just by being around them, just by coming back and existing in the first place. I mean, if she had been just a sheltered girl from, say, a different country, who came into the broken Kumandra with stars in her eyes, the bad guys wouldn't have thought twice about whatever she exemplified. But she's a dragon.

And step back and think about it: having a group of characters from every walk of life come together as a mini-experiment in trust and unity during the course of the adventure is a great idea. It's not flashy or original, but it's classic and true. Avatar the Last Airbender has a crew of characters from each tribe combining to defeat evil. When Kenai has a prejudice against bears in Brother Bear, how is that character flaw solved? Not just by him turning into one, but by him having to travel with and get to know one.

What they get to know is that they all have something in common: they've all lost people to the great evil in the world. And, they all want the same things, despite cultural differences. They all want their families back, they all want safety and success.

So yeah, the pieces are all there. The problem is, the writing was just super clunky. Theres a lot of telling, when it comes to the story, instead of showing. There's not no showing. There's just not enough.

I know this is already a long post, but I'll just point out: Aladdin's message had a lot to do with trust, too. But no character ever said out loud, "you have trust issues and you need to work through them." Certainly not more than once. The closest you get is Genie telling Aladdin to be himself.

Instead, you're just shown that Jasmine is the type of girl to give an apple to a hungry kid without even thinking about whether or not the shopkeeper wouldn't want her to do it. She's the type of girl who plays along with a scrubby boy from the marketplace trying to help her. She's the kind of girl who goes out with a Prince even though she has reason to believe he's already lying to her. She just does those things, and never says, "hey, why did you lie to me--you have trust issues!"

Meanwhile Aladdin's whole story is him bending over backwards to control what everyone thinks of him, because he can't trust them to accept him as he is. But he never says, "Trust gets me hurt." He just says, "if Jasmine knew I was really some crummy street-rat, she'd laugh at me."

Those sentences that the characters say are well-written because they are realistic. Only in our modern psycho-babble Instagram-influencer culture, where everyone thinks they're an expert on the human psyche, are teenagers starting to say things like "My trauma causes me to struggle with trust."

What Aladdin says is much more immediate, much more down-to-earth than that. It shows where his brain is in that moment. He's not thinking about the general philosophy of truth and trust. He's just thinking about what he should or shouldn't say on his date, and how scary the idea of getting laughed at is. We, the audience, are smart enough to infer that it's all rooted in trust issues. We don't need Genie to deliver a speech six times to make it abundantly clear.

I'm capable of identifying that as the problem, but I'm not great at doing it, myself. I know the language, I'm not great at speaking it. But actually I'm going to punt this part of the question over to @doverstar , who is very skilled at "show, don't tell," especially in dialogue. How would you re-write that scene where Sisu is trying to convince Raya of the importance of trust?

One final thing that I think handicaps Raya and the Last Dragon is that, because of the way they're written, the characters lose likability. Theres a way to have a traumatized, defensive girl who thinks she knows everything still be likable. Just like there was a way to have a selfish, insecure liar be likable in Aladdin.

I think there are other issues—I'd have completely written out the baby and the monkeys, and I'd have cut the fight sequences between two teenage girls way shorter because nobody cares about them. But that can be for another post.

16 notes · View notes

zonerz · 6 months

Note

your alvi character is soooo cute and cool looking i love him…

OMG 🥺 TYSMMM He’s my pride and joy and I love him so so much!!! I have sm I still wanna do with him and I'm so so excited for KHML to get him back into the action! 🫶 Unfortunately that also means he will, on some level, being Going Thru It but that's a small price to pay for more content of my boy <3 <3 <3

I hope u dont mind me taking this moment to ramble abt his general deal and vibe bc I feel like my thoughts are all scattered throughout my art with him 😭🙏 Will add a cut and reading past is ofc optional but TYSM for the interest in general! His design is so fun to doodle and he’s got a whole Dreamhouse Closet of fits 👍

But!! Basically in UX my boy joined Vulpes and got his keyblade on his bday, Dec. 25th when he turned 13-14 or so :] he started out on his own and was pretty quiet but very compassionate which paid off in the long run and got him some good friends (both in the form of Ephemer and co. and then with my friends' keykids Vivian and Vial--highly rec checking out their art too btw !!! @thequibblingking13 and @thatalien404 I love Vial and Vivi so so much as well 🥺)

As he pulled in these new friendships (and in the case of Vivi and Vial, practically family/siblingship) Alvi ends up having that compassion fuel him to become more skilled with his keyblade, learn more about how to best guilt and use medals, the best ways to Raid, etc. in order to be able to both protect/keep the people he loves safe as well as to be a teacher. He loved exploring new worlds and helping people in general and I think would end up being the kinda general Big Brother FigureTM who other kids could run to with questions--especially as he got into his later teens.

He ends up learning quite fast and scaling up pretty exponentially compared to some of his peers and, in general, ends up fairly competitive with the weekly rankings and PVP (friendly still, but ready to give it his all) and with that, he ends up taking that protector role more seriously as he becomes more competent. By the time the War really comes around when he's like 15-16, he ends up sticking around to fight in the hopes of shouldering as much weight as he can in the place of others, as well as wanting to shield Vivi and Vial as best as he can.

Though things definitely do get murkier as he gets stronger. I think that he'd always been a bit more open/neutral to darkness as a concept. He knows it can corrupt but would use it in small increments, however those would become larger and be used more often as time passed in trade for more strength--more capability. It would culminate at it's most out of control/chaotic when fighting with the Foretellers (shoutout to Ira who reflected every light attack BTW. like okay bro. u asked for this ig 😐) where he'd really just let loose and give it all, though it'd leave him weak and also pretty freaked out. Plus the whole almost dying thing definitely adds to that 😭 so he'd rein things in dramatically after waking up from the war.

As for the amnesia about the war, things shift a little bit here and I think he'd sorta wake up to reality pretty quick, especially with the nightmares. He loves Chirithy but his was never the best at lying, and despite whatever bumps in the road he and Ephemer had, he doesn't anticipate that he'd ever lie straight to his face. So when he confronts Skuld and Ephemer about it all? Well, they hesitate enough to tell him something's up at the very least--as he suspected. He's sympathetic to his friends' new position as defacto leaders though and, being a pretty natural leader-type himself, knows how precarious of a situation it is regarding information on the war. It's horribly distressing for him to remember everything to say the least, and he figures himself pretty capable of handling it, so the thought of having so many of the other kids remember en masse and just start hurting despite it being over just leaves him feeling sick. He doesn't like lying either though, and it feels wrong to hide such a huge event--which the others sympathize with bc damn they're dealing with that conflict too 😭 But, ultimately, Alvi agrees to remain quiet about the whole ordeal--even to Vivi and Vial whom he shared everything with. Which creates. Problems. 😬

In the weird mundane time they spend in the digital daybreak before things start glitching and life is just continuing "as usual" Alvi ends up inadvertently pulling back from Vivi and Vial (as they can tell something is Up) and gets closer to all of the Union Leaders! I really think he'd get along well and have unique but fun friendships with each and every one of them :> There's already that like Besties Bond with Ephemer and Skuld, but I think he'd really love Ven, Brain, and Lauriam, too. He and Lauriam would be the tallest two of the bunch and I think would lowkey prod each other about it in a mini competition as they both continued growing, he would ADORE Ven and love carrying him on his shoulders and such, and I think would just be chill and funny with Brain. Put them in a room together and the sarcasm level doubles 🤝

When Vivi and Vial finally figure things out abt the War tho, and that Alvi was actively lying to them, ehm... 😬 Things begin going downhill FAST from there. He doesn't really have any good explanation for himself as he just wanted to protect them at his core, but it was still not the best way to probably deal with it. That said though, what's WORSE is how he responds to the question of whether he'd do it again and uh. Well. 🤡🤡🤡

So suffice to say, Vivi and Vial feel pretty damn betrayed and generally angry at him but Alvi has hope they can patch things up and get it all sorted out. But with each attempt to be more transparent about things, Alvi keeps having to clam up because a lot of the stuff he's been doing have been with the Union Leaders and needs to remain kinda lowkey, so he ends up being unable to really tell that much which just comes across as condescending at best for Vivi and Vial. And then the glitches start showing up 🧍‍♂️

Alvi, in the midst of trying to both apologize and explain once more to them both, gets pulled away to go help Ephemer investigate what's going on at the Clocktower. He leaves his little siblings with the promise that, the very moment he comes home, he will tell them everything and share everything about all the worlds he's seen since--just like how things used to be. They have his word! And it's still shaky ground but a potential light at the end of the tunnel! But, well, then he and Ephemer end up in Game Central Station and things get very out of hand very fast. The end of the game unravels faster than they can keep up and the last "interaction" Alvi has with his siblings is Vivi crumbling in her own fight across town as the feeling of Alvi getting that hit to the heart from Ephemer echoes through to her oTL

The end of UX makes me SO. AUGH. I feel like I've already talked a lot but there's just So Much in my head for my poor little guy and MAN. His end would follow the canon ending of the game pretty closely. He'd stick around with Ephemer and Skuld and help see the other Leaders off in the Ark with the intention to go grab Vial and Vivi and get them inside to safety before things go wrong again. One little thing I wanna draw or poke at somehow tho is that like, I think he'd give little mementos/gifts to the others before they send them off in the ARK. To Brain and Lauriam, he'd give them each one of his earrings, Elrena would get his neon bracelets, and Ven would get a moogle chain he always kept on his dufflebag :>

As for the final fight. MANNNN. I think that Alvi would be able to put on a pretty convincing act and, somewhat bitterly, kinda goes down the line of like "Well, I really am a liar lately, so what's one more?" and he'd go all-in to ensure Ephemer was pushed to his limit. WHICH SUCKS AND HURTS MY HEART TO THINK ABOUTTT. But he'd pull it off, and he'd get that shot to the heart, and I think in that fight it's poetic if he was fighting more in a stance like YX than usual. Smth smth foreshadowing also legacy etc. 🫶🫶🫶 He'd go out proud and happy, even if it was immensely bitter knowing the last memories his friends all shared with him.

Suffice to say I have SOOOO many thoughts abt him and I am SO excited for Missing Link to do a round 2 bc I have a rough idea of what I wanna do for his arc/character-wise on his second time around and I am also so hyped to get Brain back 🥺🥺🥺 I think their friendship is going to be so so crucial to Alvi in ML and I cannot WAIT to get into it!!! And OFC THE WHOLE RAISING OF XEHANORT??? MANNNNN. He would love Xehanort with everything he had. It's so bittersweet that he would've passed before Xeha started learning how to do a whole lot with the keyblade and got all manipulated by destiny bc like. Alvi would not be perfect, but he would've loved to train him himself. Which like also ik I'm #Coping and whatever but I'm just gonna say that Alvi, after passing in KHDR, is just chilling in Quadratum bc I'm sorry but he's far too stubborn to die and just leave his son behind so soon 🫶 I only have memes with them so far but I truly believe that Alvi and Xeha have a Like Father Like Son dyanmic thang going on. A long line of guys with something wrong with them 🫶💖

ANYWAYS IVE ALREADY TALKED SO MUCH AND COULD GO ON, APOLOGIES, BUT I LOVE LOVE LOVE MY LITTLE GUY AND ALL THE PREQUEL KEYKIDS SM ‼‼‼💖💖💖

#ask #askzone #khux #keykid #alvi #SORRY FOR RAMBLING BUT AUGH! YKNOW? AUGH !!!#so hyped for KHML #and Alvi’s GOTTA have a proper happy reunion with Vivi and Vial I will bend canon to my will if i must 🫶#shoutout to my playlist i have for him bc its like russian roulette but all the chambers are loaded

14 notes · View notes

toxophilitis · 1 year

Text

Show Me More, Mom cont

CHAPTER EIGHT

Wendy began to dwell on the things she and her father had done when she was young. The more she thought about it, the more unfair it had seemed to her. She was sure her father had been very frustrated, despite the many times he had jacked off onto her stomach, or the times she had taken his thick, long cock in her little hand and jerked him off.

No man could be satisfied for long with a hand-job, Wendy felt.

There might be a few, but she had no interest in a man that wanted only a hand-job. A cock, hard and ready, belonged inside a hot, wet cunt, or a greedy mouth. She smiled, and added: or a tight asshole.

She bathed for a long time while her son was off at his football practice again. She loved hot water, the feel of a soft, fragrant soap on her skin. Her skin was so smooth and satiny, and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as she could. She knew her son would eventually start looking at the creamy-fleshed young girls soon enough, and she also knew when it happened, she would be unable to compete with those tight, curvy bodies. But until her son lost interest in her body, she was going to keep it as pliable and exciting as she could.

Drying herself, she slipped into a fresh pair of bikini panties, white ones with delicate pink roses along the front. Sliding a tight skirt over her hips, she zipped it then slipped her arms into a lacy blouse. She looked as good as any tight assed teenaged girl, she was pleased to see in her mirror. For the time being, her tits still stood high and firm, and her ass protruded delicious ly. The slit of her skirt showed an expanse of smooth, slim thigh. Stepping into heels, she then applied a faint coat of lipstick, using no other makeup. She brushed her long hair until it gleamed. Wendy didn't think older women were attractive with long hair, but she had a few years to go before she was in that class, she told herself.

Knowing her son would not be home for a couple of hours, she drove to her father's house for a short visit. She had not seen him in a couple of months, and felt guilty about it. Even though still young, he had time on his hands. He had retired too early, he kept complaining, but when Wendy suggested he find work, he refused, saying no one wanted a man his age. Now, he worked in his flower garden behind the house, growing prize-winning roses.

She found her father in the flower garden. He was sitting on his heels, weeding and fertilizing.

"Daddy," she said, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. "I've been worried about you. I had to visit."

"Worried about me?" he asked, his eyes twinkling up at his daughter. "Why worry about me?"

Wendy saw his still-handsome face, and felt love for him. She stood at his side, rubbing her hands through his hair, amazed that there was no sign of gray yet. His hands were dirty from his work, so he didn't touch her.

"Not worried, really," she said. "Just concerned."

"Where's that boy of yours?"

"Where else? Football practice."

"He's getting big, isn't he?" her father said. "You better keep a close eye on him, Wendy. One of those cute little girls is going to grab him one of these days."

"Keep an eye on him?" she teased. "I'd rather let him have fun."

"Oh?"

Her father looked up at her, his eyes taking in the thrust of her tits, seeing the dark peaks of her nipples, then down at her flat stomach and rounded hips. His eyes paused on the bit of flesh that was exposed by the slit of her skirt.

"You know how boys are," she said, pleased that he was looking at her body after all this time. "They get horny, Daddy."

"It's not just boys that get horny," he said softly.

"Daddy, why don't you marry again?"

"I don't want to," he replied.

"Then get a girlfriend."

"I don't want a girlfriend, either," he said, turning back to his roses. "Too much trouble. Once you take them out a time or two, the next thing you know, they're moving in with you, and there it is. A man can end up with a wife before he knows what happened."

Wendy squatted at his side. She knew it was a provocative squat, but that was her intention. She didn't keep her knees closed. The skirt fell away from her thigh, almost to her hip. She watched her father trying to avoid looking at her now.

"Daddy," she said softly, "Is there anything... anything at all, that I can do for you?"

She saw his shoulder shake, and placed her hand on it.

"I'll do anything you need, Daddy," she went on softly, a suggestive tone in her voice.

"Maybe you should be the one to marry again, Wendy," he replied after a time. "Maybe you're getting a little horny, yourself."

"No, Daddy." She smiled. "I'm okay."

She caressed his shoulder through his shirt, feeling him tremble.

"Daddy, how do you cope?" she asked. "I mean, I know you're a sensual man. What are you doing for sex?"

Her father shook as his breathing increased, but he poked at the soil and didn't look at her, not answer her.

"You're not... you know, playing with yourself, are you?"

"That was a long time ago, Wendy," he said, his voice very low.

"I know when it was, Daddy," she purred, rubbing his back.

"But to answer your question..." He didn't finish. He had turned to look at her, and saw between her thighs. He saw the crotch of his daughter's panties, saw them puffed out with her cunt. He drew in a deep breath, and stared openly, feeling his cock swell in his pants.

Wendy ran her other hand up her father's thigh, slowly. She stopped before her fingers touched his obviously hard cock. "Daddy... I'm a big girl now."

"I know," he whispered, staring between her thighs.

"And I need more then masturbation now," she went on. "Remember those times you came on my stomach?"

"Wendy, that was a long time..."

"Daddy, it was fun," she said, working her fingers higher on his thigh. "I loved doing those things with you, and you know I did. I never once felt ashamed of it, or of you."

"Wendy..."

Her fingers touched his cock through his pants, and he stopped breathing. She spread her knees wider.

"See how big I am now, Daddy?" she murmured huskily. "I have hair now, Daddy, and nice tits too. I've got a son and no husband. But I don't want a husband, either. You don't want a girlfriend and I don't want a boyfriend. What are we to do, Daddy? We still get horny, don't we?"

Her father started to turn his eyes from her crotch. Wendy caught his chin and held his face toward her. "It's okay to look at me, Daddy. You've been looking at me since I was a young girl. You've been jacking off on my stomach. You've let me jack you of. I haven't changed, Daddy. I don't think you have, either."

Holding his chin in one hand, Wendy slipped her palm over his cock, closing her fingers, feeling it so hard through his pants.

"Look up my skirt, Daddy."

When she released his chin, he didn't turn away, but stared under her skirt at her tight panties. Wendy squeezed her father's cock hard, making him moan. She drew her other hand between her legs, and ran the tip of a finger along the crotch of her panties, pressing them into her pussy so her father could see the outline of it. She stroked his cock as best she could through his pants, and slipped a finger into her panties, then pulled them to one side, showing her hairy cunt to his steaming eyes.

"See, I've grown up a lot," she said in a breathless voice. "I've got a lot of soft hair on my pussy now." She exposed her clit. "You never touched me, Daddy. Not once did you ever touch my cunt. Oh, I wanted you to touch my pussy and feel it and play with it so much, but you never did. Daddy... feel my cunt now."

Her father began to tremble, but his cock seemed to increase with hardness in her hand. Knowing she was going to have to urge him more, she began to open his pants. He didn't resist her, nor protest. He stared up between her legs at her cunt, her panties caught to one side, as she opened his pants and pulled his thick cock out. With a soft moan of remembered pleasure, Wendy clutched her father's cock hard, seeing the head bulge up, his piss-hole leaking juicily. She pumped her fist up and down.

"Daddy, you're just like I remember... so hard, so long, so thick."

"Wendy..." he moaned.

Holding his cock, Wendy grabbed his hand, ignoring the dirt. She drew it up her thigh, smearing her flesh with the dirt.

"Touch me, Daddy," she urged in a hot whisper.

"My hands are dirty, Wendy," he groaned. "I don't care," she answered, pulling his hand to her cunt. "Feel me, Daddy. Feel me up... feel my cunt!"

She pumped his cock as she drew his fingers to her pussy. She pressed his palm into her cunt, her hand covering his to hold it there. "See how hot my cunt is, Daddy? It's always been a hot cunt. God, I wanted you to feel my cunt so many time, and you wouldn't do it. Feel, it now, Daddy. Rub my pussy... play with it. You want to touch my cunt, Daddy. You wanted to touch my cunt a long time ago. Touch it and play with it, feel of it. See how hot and wet my cunt is, Daddy?"

"God, Wendy!" he gasped, pressing his palm into her pussy. "I'm getting you dirty."

"I don't care," she purred, jacking on his throbbing cock. "I can wash later, I just want you to feel me up, to play with my cunt. Please, Daddy, play with my cunt!"

While her father rubbed at her cunt, she stroked his cock, running her palm over the big head, feeling him drip. She breathed with excitement as she stroked his prick, squeezing it.

"Put your hand inside my panties, Daddy," she urged hotly.

His hand shaking, he slipped it into her panties, and ran his fingers through the lush, soft hair, then across her clit.

"Oooohhh, Daddy!" Wendy squealed.

Her cunt immediately went into contractions.

"You're making me come, Daddy!"

He felt his daughter's cunt in spasms, and rubbed at her clit firmly to keep her orgasm going. He stared between her shaking thighs, his cock almost ready to burst into her hand. While she came, Wendy clutched her father's cock tightly, but not moving up and down. Her orgasm was intense, making he weak, her eyes half closed as she squealed.

When the spasms slowed, she looked into her father's face with glowing eyes. "That's the first time you ever touched my cunt, Daddy, and you see what happens? I come!"

He grinned at her. "I should have played with your little pussy long ago, Wendy. I sure wanted to."

"I know you should have, Daddy," she said, and kissed him, stroking his cock again. "Now you have to make up for all those times you didn't."

She squatted with her knees wide, and looked dawn as her father's hand, inside her panties, rubbed at her pussy. She held her breath as he pushed his middle finger into her cunt.

"Oohhh, Daddy, finger-fuck it!"

He stabbed his finger in and out, listening to the juicy sounds. His cock throbbed with hardness as she pumped it.

"Hot little cunt, baby," he said softly. "Such a hot little cunt!"

"It's always been a hot cunt," she answered, "ever since you jacked off on my stomach in the shower."

He looked up at the sun. "We shouldn't be doing this out here," he said. "Let's go in the house, Wendy."

"No!" she hissed. "I don't want to stop. I want to make you come now, Daddy. You made me come, and now it's my turn to make you come."

Her father, still sitting on his heels, panted as she pumped on his cock. He was dripping so much the shaft was slippery with juices, and her fist jerked up and down easily. Wendy gazed at the swollen head, watching his piss-hole flare, gleam in the sunlight.

"Daddy, I want... I'm going to..."

She lowered her face, pushing it to his crotch. Her father tried, weakly, to stop her.

"No, I want to suck it, Daddy," she said, and leaned down, her hot lips kissing the wet piss hole. She ran her lips down the shaft, purring with pleasure, tasting him. It was awkward, squatting and leaning into his lap, but she kissed up and down his cock feverishly.

"I've got to be more comfortable," she whispered, and stretched out on the grass at his side. She jerked her skirt to her hips, her pantied ass exposed. "You always liked to see my ass, Daddy. You always said I had a pretty ass. I hope you still think it's pretty."

"God, Wendy!" he groaned as her lips closed about his cock, taking it deeply into her mouth. "It's still a beautiful little ass!"

Wendy lifted her mouth, her lips against the dripping piss-hole. "Shove my panties down and look at my ass, Daddy. I'm going to make you come now. I'm going to do something with your cock I wanted to do long ago. I'm going to suck you off, Daddy! I'm going to make you come, in my mouth, not on my stomach this time."

With feverish hands, he pushed his daughter's panties past her swelling ass, and gazed at it while Wendy began stuffing her mouth with his cock again.

It was enormous in her mouth, much bigger than her son's. She swallowed as much of it as she could, and found no room to lick with her tongue. Her lips were stretched as wide as possible, and still she could only get three quarters of her father's cock into her mouth. She sucked up and down, moaning softly, the cheeks of her ass bunching, feeling his eyes on them. He dripped a lot, and she found she couldn't swallow with his thick cock in her mouth. She sucked up on his cock and then swallowed.

"Daddy, I couldn't do this when I was little," she murmured. "Your cock is so fucking big, I would never have been able to get it in my mouth back then. But... ohhhh, Daddy, I want you to come in my mouth!"

Her father turned toward her, spreading his knees about her head. While Wendy sucked up and down his cock, she moved her hands under his ass and cupped it, making whimpering sounds as her lips slipped up and down his hard cock. She shivered when she felt her father stretch his hands down her back to cup and fondle her exposed ass. She pushed her naked ass into his hands, gurgling around his cock.

She twisted her lips around, bobbing her head, sucking with a hunger that had been in her for many years. As thrilling as it had been to suck her son's cock that first time, she was even more excited to have her father's cock in her mouth. She thrilled to the fullness, to the way her tingling lips stretched, the way she had to lift up just to swallow the hot fluids that dripped out of his piss-hole.

"Ohhh, Wendy!" he moaned.

"Mmmmm," she replied, sucking harder and faster when she felt his cock begin to throb more powerfully between her lips. She wished she had taken his balls out of his pants to feel on her chin, but right now she didn't want to stop long enough to do so. She hungered for her father's cock, for the creamy, thick juice his heavy balls contained.

"Wendy, are you sure?" he gasped. "God, you're sucking so good, baby! You're so good with your mouth! Honey you're about to make me come!"

Wendy raced her lips up and down her father's cock, greedily sucking, urging him to spurt into her mouth. She cupped her fingers around his as through his pants. Her father was squeezing her ass tightly and she pushed into his hands.

"Ohhh, Wendy!" he moaned, his cock jerking with hardness, between her lips.

The eruption of his juices into her mouth, despite her readiness, almost choked her. She couldn't swallow; his cock was too thick and filled her mouth. She felt the scalding spurts of his come-juice fill her mouth, the taste making her come again. She sucked up and down as he came, unable to prevent his juices from seeping past her lips and running down the shaft of his cock. Still she kept most of his juice inside her mouth until her finally stopped squirting. With a low moan of ecstasy, Wendy sucked up his cock and then pulled her lips from the head. She swallowed, a low moan of pleasure coming from her. She darted her tongue out and licked the juices from the softening shaft of his cock, then rolled onto her back on the grass, her face radiant with happiness.

"God, Daddy, that was good," she breathed. "I knew you'd taste good, and you came so much."

Her father was gazing down at her, her panties stretched about her slender thighs. "Wendy, you have a hairy cunt now."

She giggled. "I'm not a little girl anymore, Daddy. Of course my cunt has hair."

"You're also the best cock-sucker." He grinned at her. "I've never had a blow-job like that before. You're really very good, Wendy."

"I know," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I've been getting a lot of practice lately."

"Tony?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Must run in the family," he replied.

70 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 2 years

Text

Discordant Rhapsody - ao3 - Chapter 2

“I think he’s coming around,” a familiar voice was saying when Lan Qiren slowly returned to consciousness. “Are you really sure it’s necessary –”

“Are you doubting my competence, Sect Leader?”

“…of course not, Auntie Xinwei. Forgive me, Auntie Xinwei.”

Lan Qiren’s eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but he hastily gathered up the willpower to push them open immediately regardless – he recognized those voices, and no one in their right mind wanted to be the patient of Nie Xinwei, that vicious old curmudgeon. She was the close cousin and adopted sister of the Nie sect leader two times back, Nie Mingjue’s grandfather; her rank and (for the Nie main line) extraordinary old age having since made her all but untouchable within her sect, in the few times she was there rather than traveling around as she usually was, and her skill with a saber served the same purpose outside of it.

She was not noted for her talent for the medical arts, despite her enthusiasm for them.

Lan Qiren managed to open his eyes and promptly wheezed in alarm when he saw the especially long needle she was waving around enthusiastically, completely ignoring her grand-nephew’s earnest and thoroughly unsuccessful attempts to sneakily situate himself in between her and her would-be victim.

“See, he’s awake!” Nie Mingjue proclaimed, sounding deeply relieved. “Auntie Xinwei, there’s no need for anything more, I don’t think.”

Nie Xinwei scowled. “Is he? I still think –”

Lan Qiren managed to lift a hand and wave. It took all the strength he had and more, but it was worth it. That was a very long needle.

“Oh, damn, of course he is,” she growled. “Waking up now all on his own - ruining my fun, just like you always do..! Feh, fine, have it your way.”

She marched off with her nose in the air.

Nie Mingjue and Lan Qiren exhaled with relief at the same time.

“Sect Leader – ah, no, Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said, turning back to him. He looked concerned. “Are you all right? You’d been unconscious for over a day, nearly two. What happened?”

It was a good question. Lan Qiren searched his memory – hide them away, bile, panic, flight –

Ah.

He’d actually fallen off his sword, then.

How horribly embarrassing. He’d allowed his frenzied desire to escape Jinlin Tower and awkward conversations with his nephews to overcome his good sense, despite all the rules that counseled being thoughtful and considerate. He’d known, hadn’t he, that he shouldn’t fly with his qi as disordered as it was, but he’d done it anyway. It was amazing that he hadn’t broken his neck in the process.

“How did you encounter me?” Lan Qiren asked instead of explaining. He couldn’t lose the sect face by admitting the truth, and Nie Mingjue was polite enough that he wouldn’t make a fuss if Lan Qiren obliquely declined to tell him. “Weren’t you at Jinlin Tower?”

Nie Mingjue shook his head in denial. “We were on our way there, but hadn’t yet arrived when we came across you,” he said, accepting the change in subject as gracefully as Lan Qiren had expected, and just as gracefully omitting to mention in what shape they’d found him. Lan Qiren hoped it hadn’t been anything too unsightly. “We were – ah – a little delayed –”

In other words, Nie Mingjue had had no desire to attend another showy Jin sect banquet and had been dragging his heels the whole way there. It wasn’t the most mature way to deal with it, but Lan Qiren could hardly hold it against Nie Mingjue, especially since his tardiness had ultimately turned out to be to Lan Qiren’s personal benefit. Given the timing, if Nie Mingjue hadn’t been so slow, he wouldn’t have been in the right place to find Lan Qiren after he’d fallen, and then where would Lan Qiren be?

Nie Mingjue explained what had happened: a scout of the Nie sect had spotted a flash of white and found Lan Qiren lying prone on the ground, his sword beside him – at least he hadn’t been stuck in a tree – and they had of course stopped at once to tend to him. Lan Qiren had been lucky in his fall, gaining any number of bruises and minor cuts but managing not to break either his neck or any bones; he was after all still a cultivator, and whatever the state of his meridians, he was still sturdier than a comparable mortal. The main thing that had been wrong with him had been his disordered qi, but in that, too, he had been lucky, with Nie Mingjue, who as a scion of the main Nie clan had considerable expertise in matters of unruly qi, providing aid in the first instance himself – he’d been greatly alarmed by Lan Qiren’s state, as might be expected, but after the initial aid there was really nothing to be done that would help more than simply allowing Lan Qiren to rest and heal.

Accordingly, once Lan Qiren had been stabilized, Nie Mingjue had left his sect in the mountains to guard Lan Qiren and gone on to Jinlin Tower by himself, knowing that his absence would be seen as a slight by Lanling Jin and would undoubtedly used against him no matter how good the reason behind it might be. He had attended a single dinner, and then hastily used an excuse to leave without talking any further to anyone, not even his newly minted sworn brothers.

Upon hearing that, Lan Qiren closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh.

To act in such a way, Nie Mingjue must have worried that giving away Lan Qiren’s presence and what had happened to him would foil something the Lan sect had planned – not an unreasonable conclusion, given that as far as anyone knew, Lan Qiren was supposed to be back at the Cloud Recesses. Poor Nie Mingjue! He was so ill-suited to politics. He was too straightforward to engage in schemes himself, and made for a poor co-conspirator, no matter how hard he tried to be obliging – even this one time where he genuinely tried to help, there wasn’t even a plot to actually protect!

“Were you flying out because of the incident?” Nie Mingjue asked.

Lan Qiren tore himself out of his musings. “Incident?” he asked, frowning. “What incident?”

The explanation that followed was rather extraordinary.

Apparently, at some point after (during?) the time Lan Qiren had left Jinlin Tower, there had been a rather heated confrontation: Wei Wuxian had seemingly allowed his demonic cultivation to go to his head, or so the rumors said – he’d marched right up and challenged Jin Zixun and Jin Guangshan in their own dining hall, demanding to know about the fate of some remaining Wen sect cultivators that the Jin sect had done something or another with; Lan Qiren thought he’d heard something about them being resettled under permanent guard or something, a display of mercy and righteousness on the part of the Jin, but perhaps not. Wei Wuxian had apparently followed up that stunt by going to the Qiongqi Path and murdering the guards the Jin sect had left to watch over the Wen sect, then spiriting the remaining sect members away to who-knew-where.

“My understanding is that they’ve gone to ground in the Yiling Burial Mounds,” Nie Mingjue concluded, and Lan Qiren shook his head, appalled at the very idea. It made sense, he supposed – a demonic cultivator would naturally be drawn to a place with powerful resentful energy – but normal cultivators, normal people…it couldn’t be very healthy. “Had you really not heard before you left? I’d thought that was why you were flying back in such a hurry, Teacher Lan, what with Wangji and all.”

Lan Qiren paused.

Nie Mingjue had been the overall general of the Sunshot Campaign. Along with being the master of Heijan, a general on the frontline, he had coordinated with all the other sect leaders to ensure that they were all acting as one, maximizing their effectiveness against the Wen sect – Lan Xichen, serving as a courier, had worked with him often.

Lan Wangi had as well.

At this point, one could argue that Nie Mingjue, who had also known both boys in their youth as well, was more familiar with Lan Wangji’s current siutation than Lan Qiren.

“What about Wangji?” he asked cautiously, suddenly alert. “What does he have to do with Wei Wuxian’s behavior?”

Nie Mingjue frowned, seeming puzzled. “Are they not on good terms? I’d heard rumors that they were at odds, and in truth they were always arguing, though I never thought it seemed especially malicious on Wangji’s side…strange. I thought I’d been proven right when Wangji spoke on Wei Wuxian’s behalf during the discussion after the incident.”

A chill ran down Lan Qiren’s spine. “He did?”

“Yes, several times. It was rather unexpected – you know best how Wangji is, always preferring silence. It’s not like him to engage in a battle of words, much less unprompted and on behalf of a man he’s said to despise.”

Said to despise…

Oh, Lan Qiren had been a fool through and through. The opposite of love was indifference, not dislike. Hatred was a seething emotion, full of passion – for their Lan sect, it wouldn’t be hard for that overwhelming ardor to be read the wrong way by those who were not familiar with their mannerisms.

And hadn’t Lan Wangji’s father, Lan Qiren’s brother, fallen for a murderer as well?

No. Lan Qiren refused to allow this to happen again. He refused.

Not again.

“– naturally we must act as righteousness demands,” Nie Mingjue was saying, having continued talking while Lan Qiren was lost in his thoughts. “Jiang Wanyin has said he will handle the matter, though I imagine it’ll take him a little while to get back to his sect and gather up his disciples, diminished as the Jiang sect still is…he’ll either have to force an apology from Wei Wuxian and make concessions, or else eject him from the sect, I think. Ah, it’s a pity – Sect Leader Jin put his back to the corner, implying all sorts of things, and some of them clearly untrue. A foul business.”

He shook his head.

“Really, it makes you wonder if there was something to those few that say that Wei Wuxian thought he was acting in pursuit of justice. Of course, I’d be more inclined to trust his judgment if he hadn’t gone haring off to slaughter cultivators on behalf of a bunch of murderous Wen-dogs, of all people –”

“I need to go,” Lan Qiren said abruptly.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him, then frowned when he realized Lan Qiren meant it. “You mean to travel now? As you are? But Teacher Lan, your health..!”

“It’s simply poor, chronically so, and I’ve already had nearly two days of rest to recover,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “Not to mention your sect’s kind assistance in stabilizing my qi after a near deviation, a subject in which your sect has no little amount of expertise. And of course for…ah…”

“Keeping Auntie Xinwei away from you?” Nie Mingjue suggested, looking wry – he knew what his battleax of a great-aunt was like. “If you’re sure, Teacher Lan. Can we at least provide you with an escort?”

“Your kind offer is appreciated, but I think it would be better if you did not.”

Nie Mingjue might be poor at scheming, but he had been attending discussion conferences alongside Lan Qiren for years and years; he knew what he should know, and he knew what he shouldn’t, either. His eyebrows shot straight up, but after a moment he nodded, signaling that he understood Lan Qiren’s meaning: that it would be better for his sect if the cultivation world were not aware that he had any inkling of what Lan Qiren meant to do, and that such a thing was easier to swear to if it were true.

Do not tell lies didn’t mean be an idiot, after all.

Nie Mingjue gave Lan Qiren face and did not ask another time if he was sure he wanted to go. Instead, he turned to practicalities and provided Lan Qiren with some elixirs to help keep his qi steady and some food to strengthen him as he went. He also, in the moment before Lan Qiren left the tent, looked into the air above his head and, seemingly aimlessly, said in a low voice, “If you need support, I will stand behind you.”

Lan Qiren felt a bit of warmth seep in through the cold shock that still enveloped him.

“Don’t make such promises before you know what you’re committing to,” he scolded, his voice equally quiet. “You could be pulled into all sorts of things, things you don’t want.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged carelessly. “I’m willing to gamble if the other player is you, Teacher Lan. Good luck.”

Lan Qiren set out once more.

This time he paid more attention to his flying, now that he was no longer in a blind panic, but the majority of his attention remained firmly turned inwards. The circumstances being what they were – it would have been better if he’d managed to intervene earlier, of course, but he hadn’t known enough at the time. He would need to tackle things as they were, not as he might wish they’d be.

Wei Wuxian…

Lan Qiren remembered him as an impulsive and arrogant boy, too prone to quick action and to thinking he was the only one who knew what was going on and what ought to be done, full of wild ideas about new things, up to and including unorthodox methods. It was really no wonder that out of all of Lan Qiren’s former students, he had been the one to develop a new cultivation technique…unfortunately it was demonic cultivation, but again, even that wasn’t too surprising given what Lan Qiren knew of him. But nothing of what Lan Qiren remembered suggested that he was fundamentally bad. On the contrary, his impression, however begrudging, had been that Wei Wuxian had always sought, in his own way, to do the right thing. Could demonic cultivation really have driven him mad so quickly?

It seemed unlikely.

Nie Mingjue had said that Jin Guangshan was using Wei Wuxian’s reckless actions to push Jiang Cheng into a corner. That meant two things: first, that the righteous Chifeng-zun did not necessarily believe that Wei Wuxian had acted wrongly, a significant statement in itself given the involvement of the Wen sect that Nie Mingjue hated like a raging fire, and secondly, that Jin Guangshan was probably not-so-subtly demanding recompense for the loss of his guards while cloaking himself in the mantle of justice – though given the Jiang sect’s current situation, he couldn’t possibly be trying for something like trade agreements or cultivation treasures; he’d be seen as bullying the weak. It wasn’t as if the Jiang sect even had any particularly fine treasures left to be forced to hand over…

Lan Qiren frowned, hand instinctively rising up to stroke his beard.

He recalled now that Lan Xichen had reported on Jin Guangshan making a few noises about Wei Wuxian being too young and impulsive to have sole custody over the Stygian Tiger Seal, though Lan Qiren had at the time dismissed such rumors as nonsense – of course the creator had the right to his creation; it wasn’t as though they were thieves that went to war over any given trinket. The Jiang sect would kick up a stink if anyone tried to steal one of their only mainstays out from under them, and every small sect, thinking of the sanctity of their own precious treasures, would support them…but that protection only applied if Wei Wuxian were part of the Jiang sect, which he might very well not be if he refused to apologize for his actions.

Which, knowing his character, was likely.

If Jiang Cheng couldn’t force Wei Wuxian to apologize, he could only expel him from his sect – no one could keep a disciple that would not listen under such circumstances. That would be deemed punishment enough, allowing Jiang Cheng to keep anyone from going after Wei Wuxian over the immediate matter, but it would leave Wei Wuxian defenseless in the face of any future controversy. Wei Wuxian was young and impulsive, arrogant and self-assured in his genius, and for all his many faults Jin Guangshan was both vicious and cunning, skilled in schemes; in seeking to protect his shixiong, Jiang Cheng would in fact be playing into his hands – worse, he’d know all the while that that was what was happening, and there would still be nothing he could do to stop it.

Wei Wuxian’s actions might be wrong and they might not be wrong, that judgment remained to be made, but they were certainly illicit, and Jin Guangshan was not wrong in calling for justice as a result of them. Any hope there might have been in finding an honorable way out of the dilemma had long been extinguished. Even if there had been some misconduct that had so incited Wei Wuxian, it was the word of the Jin sect against his, and there was no hope that Wei Wuxian could win or even match such a battle of reputations, tainted as he was by his unorthodox cultivation style and his insistence on continuing it even in times of peace.

In short, regardless of the facts, Wei Wuxian’s actions, or at least the way he had gone about them, were bad enough that anyone who stood up for him at this moment would have their honor tarnished alongside his. Normally, that would be Jiang Cheng, but Jiang Cheng was in a very precarious position at the moment. He was the sect leader of a sect that needed rebuilding; with only a single blood sister, of marriageable age and likely to be married out to secure an alliance as soon as possible, it was not going too far to say that Jiang Cheng’s face was the Jiang sect’s face. Even if he wanted to cast aside all other concerns and defend Wei Wuxian to the end, he couldn’t – to do so would disgrace his sect, throwing their reputation into the mud. His subsidiary sects and even his own disciples would turn away from him, their morale damaged, and start to seek other patrons, and once they went, it would turn into a chain reaction, one departure leading to another, a lack of funds, a lack of respect…

His barely revived sect would begin to collapse from the inside.

No, Jiang Cheng’s hands were very well tied. He really was backed into a corner.

But Lan Qiren…

Lan Qiren had a different set of considerations.

#mdzs #lan qiren #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #variations #discordant rhapsody #slight handwaving of timeline

113 notes · View notes