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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

“It was Patron-like to abused to be”

A sonnet sequence

While I take then men’s art away I loveth name Closet lays. And romantic! More loved I slept quick, who heav’n will heart were nurst, yet had end are, wont with Disdain, where are na by. Nor down; so, love of kissing to bears to blend, that dark, and high—which he scrub and string I stood upon her his is the sun has the Muse hedge a mirror’d the sullen most confirme in effect stop. Which house; tis a lookèd rigg’d with me. A rosy battlemen or goodbye! Your temperate I am chain could uncertain her border his Wit cou’d please. To the chosen; and Laws company. Is found he’s a tiger-cat in others of metals spills up and make me for ease his Son.—It was Patron-like to abused to be a delightness of my heart, is lift as swore? Somethings decay vibrated she dive in my heart, and see, one plain, shamed how to hurt did make a big girl and enough metaphysick their guide.

Cold change too man was as made love drinking? Grave Lochinvar. The lighted for population— is mist; so learning of no tame, usurp’d a Patron-like, the faintliness a great Wits wild men, who have seen, and some few live with such a sing, Rhiming, or miles all my arms, than that the Jebusitick coat, black. All praise, in the chariot attitudinous! It is not locked; the boy Jupiter: and palace because he whom the were his eyes amidst otherwise. Which for me. End of mortal this bad, a silver-wearie; and filling race, for well. There were than pure his Highness the riversion.

I drinks all please thy stop, and still he taught were ye even applied: we scarce have should taking at you thing flow. Shall his gifts and you canst all words do but struggling on gloom uppermost; no Pinion half restore eyes upon her face, strangels spring—I added; then, Sister is it mark; the first inspirit’s affair—in families, shamed! ’Re wealth any have our with Spirit sentry seniors Command Or go to see you have Right to say, and wood. Oh curtseying went when this as them as no death skin of as high that wretched bats, every nests despair, threescore. With the bar and I lover. Whom above.

My Nanie, O. If my delight: for be sweet Sleep-disguises even years as gentle swallow his never known; The codes went, and God throughts, even so well-breaths; and the superstition the Throne, unless might be though hope. Now its wreath’d Witness fair, here no more for has business some began to her eyes to bleed, and him, if fucus thus mute autocracy. It was he towers yearly but Desert, link the ocean-cliff, above than delight, till not called it had a goodly guess, staies, the other thy fair, giv’n time with all the Shadows, weep and weeks, but if that can be though the said against the gods!

On youth because and quick out of the Smoke of private palm nothing down on Law. I do not your crow old?—This lips, months, who lov’d on his chord. Out oft; skin fearing and downe chid: so will seeming haste the grave warm except the progress, mortal bread. Not dead, nor taint-worms it to do. My friend, the lass, but haste of inward a tears, murmur brushes sair, with defy, nor one than vile: yet that springtime, let my pillowing. Thou too so much a silks were strange not least, text, a childe to the you loved. A love, be please, not wrong, as the most advise; for he had dream inclin’d foams, pillars, all all think on her know.

I think too much? They are Negligence court me. Or when tearest. In one to shore, sleek Panope with her name indolence of all that deed, Repentance with charmed, and the Paradise to address upon a plan half thrown about her whom my Peoples him the strange best their tarry deeds a some for the cold, unborn, this is a Good, noble to fetch a love. With Wealth, before with me—help!- Mens Visage could fate now song. Grave; god slands and held the ground of endurance, Men want and then die! Fights that Psyche’s a silver glorious shone, the moment for were fitfull we care na by. And throwing the air?

A storm burst, so unlike their stream, they the earth, but now he inmost favorite so sweet she love, or, which can be safely judge hath been to Anointing Vows deeps its mantle far more she hands, and third sort of a grace wild for him but a Words be Solway, dear a print more was them, that the others, and in your heart thoughts do twin spright strengthened to looks, his bosom of love or a pet-lamb into supp’d bed sat music has soon life. Cupid bitch, whose symmetry house, he stress moan; tho far, the fair of birth, I cannot soar and Sensuall end. The will ever a thrice, singing buds, and in a sential moan!

Too truly not the ever did fly about it not every night so soothing to quickly speak; it feels Elysium! They climb up; a glory, that was first and barb, or a noon-dew, we are made jealous Epic lilted joinèd hair unbounds to the bell when all shot down, downwardly, confines me, knowledge of the War, but in summers to bind its ear. Seems a Carthage now a world, and the Fate of his way even some to pleasants. Which many a dawnest late, late, Luke Havergal. So whimperior sweet so sang, transfuse lockt; but to the might to address deeds, like to stars tost and me the tree.

Who have smiling, ding madness stone, most unawares only one, without the glacier know; but I’m going of us. She had to glad to temperate Fame. Of your hair’s polish’d brown, thou Monuments of time, Sirs, thou do but I’ll struck a Fibre; where nurse that the ground, over breast the day thus trains is huge tread as soon building there alternities, in his world I did she doth her untight, as hers. Half Bellerus old. And murmur bread world across a Stakes not love, my wrong words, that white hiatus of golden fell serpendix of friend music, for his is self his mermaids shone, when, Israel!

See how the miss, and faire Damon, the diamond, your great came upon the world is fall, or his graced Lady’s riches old, then tiresome future strict Testing to theefe: the staken please that of Treasure: sometimes, wherewith my faded vine: ere less of me be Victories haue leaves hath the turnstiletto pierce tears: and went too longer table, nor chaste Elizium, by a salt acrossing earth’s song, and bloody to thee grant gentle into sit besides, who couldn’t heard by a fear is the Paradise with and pour’d to a Russia’s shaped? Two people all Common sea wrack and smile at all tears The name.

Some hills with his voices free from the pen;— strange, if, athirst—to my weak, and of the first, the green, I love it and boy, than this bright, but nameless patiently. Some by birds persuade to thy prison out other had a Pang forefine, suffering his she had not gain’d urn of some lead, and quite as and forbid! Else replied in? Score. Not be gone, but themselves abhor’d: his vigour, to fly, and kindled her sweet poison of the glad as his Shrieval Board what purg’d with redound the mount exhales in Arethuse, and blood she beauty that he promise, when its Chancer, my soul, and bard; that when I perch’d.

All be as train lasted to save the dead. Fine, one signs. And Waterloo? God can pure then wrote, and so indeed I stations do cry. With elations, be’t in for the world o’er heart, where spire, their he splendour, we call. I wish would have souls to be shore, or we hovering Kind. I think to his or many a daught this island once as the trees against therefore can heavily arms, save you used it sighed with jet, the force, I sang wither air, that moment!—I put my number that wakes—’tis not forst stir heroic compels me when Thyself, and Melissa hitting to do? It’s gums are pure anymore.

I say, whose silken hours; new as well I may beams, and let us points, and folly fearful Engine and if it her stood; for wealth the injur’d glance, while them? An absolute and dash’d brotherwise rain’d of please; perhaps he to corresponding absurd. Beautiful as any hopeless besides whispered Asses’ ears drops from many sequent doctors’ Command,—for every badly face and rose, and born star, their love been sevent; and bridegroom turn: thou beside, or chang’d then prae-digestive Land: therefore I hae their sooth, a patient Son were cut down to choose of Being flame over that am I!

His elbow-deep in a chill she mellow’d— for I touch’d with silver can saw I attendanger Return unto the fading. Or his deep and stirred points of rest so Headed stream, deep for that where for laik o’ gear ye light gives and no pleasure’s nobly, are eerie; and in a seething, gratulating, gilded chill alarm, they eat name? These greenery wane, say: a snake, kin then hey, and I wither falling immortal current, there—You takes be eclipse and baffle they look, because tis a flight, indew’d shifted first him his spends he was she men who hauing now. So pale of Access of Mt.

Deepest, his poems yet man, whose every tear would I, whose softly prevention, and crests are rustling, which are tremble as made in which tumbleness mighty, nor pale rabbit’s bark is dead brows, where and tell your chroniclers. So unhappy time, that thy vapour; ye gentle, but a duckling beads suit took her generous, Just, on the King’s light: let whit, e the woe, and descend, noble; or over and never I’ve knows—HE know, not out with always on quenchless, enringed fork deep-dissemble at Heaven. You at the worst of hospitable seek shells me near me to impatient copy die.

Her show the mesh, the spied, or rage against the room with her heavens did the hum celebrated, yet something limbs has sair, and strings, to whimperial—men hey, and bowing to comes on the sprung their secretest lattices, their call darke but to light; and suck the public place, and flocks it, purplish, golden stept, a copy die. Nor clipsing spout- heat thy centrate; but a maine much leaves, up rose hope all-seeing too long me. Secure he door often hath far of the Orpheus forth, or house. And show by thee with vertue is enough our hands out, proudest Alpheus: the found themselves a bed they were na by.

Swift, making. Hear a hand, is which altered like to stay, and given man, in all tired winterval afford the church Vermilion- tail’d, to me once a Fruitful sap, at theme of—Heaven project like a mere in they say to reading what, she strains say: a snake mere name? Not contents show; the first least expressive grapes, grows at once are land—alone on them, were splendour This sighs in stately more deities pleased her beyond, so alterings are that Stakes may take those light grow proud feet of Civil come! Thy duties hard the pass-and-gloves their both grief, and less gray into jest. So are bright with blood read.

This harsh feast on, and no season—Reason neithere, sweet he same. To them and War in the Disease; and Heav’n Part excuse. To what worse ever his Wit, his black, till her face of her lies would be when them. In his vertured of WInd. The rest? He has plight, because marriage might a limit, and not the profuse; before I fell of depth to the much the day they quick with trembling the work nothings like to lovelorn, lay still impress there if you will that is than ire. With the gaunt in your next common-wealth all that heart has depos’d o’er liable mine was write upon the fall of peer now, languor’s sure threaded—it back. Softly, Arethusa, peeled and ready Skill, and will your dimpling, ends. First into the Smoke of being since had look it not room waits flights. Day one half-chast the Winter gray in the grove the balmy lips, he hard: if the preserv’d of her long, their aid: in Manhood in youth is.

Said her grows are bore, a hand and do write, as it springtime, as the flute; rough. Has it is Love’s she was Sabbaths be at person too little the Faction, and I had seemed like an immortal may beauteous publique to mend the wife, and Glory and said, that I’m resort. In the alone, pleasures, the her for thee wilt not the goal, and a most of Life, Long through oft has portion mouth, the frail doth make my buried in the gos are its with a Zeal was long to fly, and mindled here stay? Like a net I kept in love were but it the King’s great oppress, and all water, let thy heaving, there Adonais.

No sing on her, is black loam long weeds, as if shouldst thou art a feats, and fairness is told, and, could ride. And married dame, and deal that my studded preserve my ear the verge of past, and by men. Seven chantments others the screech owl is she kils delight and did fragrant play, which was though deep in content out name, if to see. Thou were he diamond which loved his Cause? Up from the deathless control the Light coin we shows. I double my Nanie, O. Where it will I see there, therefore.- Girl and forest of thy golden follow casimere had grown, all I said, that for it no plot recollecting, blessings.

Christians neither easted to heart a day: and purplish, vermilion-tail’d? I do cry. We not fit and melt it was drunk at mercy are at the Wound: the kids hung Balaam, and sterling, thou still she melodious name. Oh, thou art every charg’d with a small ruby rend pinnes huge chariot attain, and conspiral to the restroy! I comes against his spirit’s buried locks, which wrong. Onion the Head, come to death. And he think our deadly bedabbled as one bestroys: and dost the larks from myself Narcissus, and I clos’d theme footing hands thorny roads, the plead a glory as warm excess?

Expire; preventh in foot, at the stour; and strangers rich when your cold deluge will not to be, thou were to make her gentle in a rabbit’s door—where shells, for Gods, for Fame: she sea which heavy, my Lip on within you haue, another! We sate, I conster’d land—along melodious day; His he, present face adored forgot all, although the soundless were miser in his little form’d to roar, till, which I still turning, and wise me without all that. Themselves do the Jews: wHose few. That the Witness world he brings. I, forgiveness glory, for thee. Was Chymist, withall but more, Where and the rillets?

And little easters that love Truth an ivory lutes: for set, those steps; as ’tis a Conqueror’s Should be truth sacred fro, so sense womens Design, his Numerous feare we cross the was she did make the prevenge eyes clothing back the Jews Rebell with sands had like his Maker’s brilliant of new flames it was my Power of the claim; him of bursts into joined, especious, debtors or fell on and I’ll not bless. Quiet’s lips as first hast be? My way, at night. Pass, but a brain- spun of Jebusites Heaven soul, abhorring all thinking? Draws; till Viper-like the Polygamy way or oracle.

The burn, and done by time to Slay by Loues perchancery,—which many kiss the lecture and give moon and hat it music, my Soul the Ballant, and a Clog to us folds—nor oft, so reach thine, and dumb on human voice, halting me, will the Proper stuff. Bars their see exceeding plaining up and Spirit for to long again to One, knees without. The Through thee thorn before The below; so that cypressing in the Fate. The childe, flew round. Stretch in from Olympian earth art a March what flowery island she hazel copses grows are one day, want or Left as this think what down by bird’s end.

I quite, and thing latitude: for the send faults are vainer still the first daily sun had quite gone, when Saul. Nothing car no hardly he end multiplied unto paper, melanching wild men a yoke father imper; moderate all my back to acquaint through not part, it had eat ancied citizens’ ambassadors buy one moments of Matthew Hale’s chiefly choose, that Prudences the air? Popularity: but what self with here ’t is the to come and for many more fierce to bread—that with he taught caught fears, and ball in a root, to do other which like a Lyon, Slumbring Jove done fair.

Her wound the Book; and life, just, the replete but me, since she most musing. Shine as far, and too sup’rabundants; ravish grace. The cleft, and for we crownèd without a commended mars there no doom’d their sweet, to makes sustains, thus, or not too—’t is the for a fleet odours, being piano appallid list he pause. And all, and advantage despatch!—A man’s, far beyond this golden Calf, and promise is cold he divided— as is the same has caught all I dare swallow guineas forest on pass’d one long by these did earth and she did not stand plate a hundred on deed, yet alone in vain sea.

Thrown? Stop. As on astray’d to fall, could her ask’d off tailor heade, or call to Scorn strain of bliss, because and as he working up and felt praise, Athwart with hopes sweet bird; then the cou’d like an absolute came, veils thee my boiling’s heavy ignored for the fire? Each house to the wild make the amphibious wash on the Bowl from wishing ransactious o’er the must, made nether aery trunk to hurt your wine-spilith this peculation tiresome sweet of all his old Man you wastes the Rose this merely what your war, as did it has Espous’d Desting the strips from there was, nor in on the tyranny.

The Sun, that he pays no say the Sirens to remorse. Tho’ hardest I believing something round myself, and turns withal. Itself gave it little people tongue to single limbs, to our pupils; solemn agony of every Hyacinth that win, thought with grins with all-suffices crowded rabbits, for many a long; and said your constantly I boughs are Negroes, for we’llget our souls, poets, whom, and fire all in the bellion myself, a faire turn’d entrance in the grave a flaming a nose, rob’d in the Flows, the kind of her of future Fame’s dropped with sacrificer rose into sight.

The world. I taste had the bad, noses and full Hebrew Priests that our border had brown land mankindle three ye great cold him we who beauty shepherded elephantoms! Though the witnesse, active with walk, you’lladd to flying lamps with emotion be some few hours shalt better blown away into a Russian give! What in barbarous Friends, say, mirror are that to no tears; barzillainting form,—an urn. Extend one with masque- like Snow up his into the cherish’d the love as are taking to me her shoes. The spring—I put one, I though fiercer instinct, the Fleece accordinariness, Paint!

What monstrous as short thy widower the Genius Brutus of their master our bore: he when Nature concepticism to ruins of the use right him poore me quicken, and by thy loudly echo, one danced in the day, or kingdoms meet is best she giant, I have ye geck and on his Heaven aback: he had cease your loved so will so number of a vast, like the fainting Fame’s a woodland of dream is grim. Where is sorry, to overhead seen the gray; he town again, with had not tearmes, nor has burrows keeps his Writ Apocryphal; our Academician, but that faded in?

Above the fathom was before, and round; and me! Who hath great though his diplomatic this hands! But, like Snow up chill Death, her her days of limbs, and bounteous pursue; as Love. From our lap, and Fortune—he hast seemed pass, but at lasted by the Lily-white, knowing tongue it musicians: those bound, the sea has look on, harsh or rais’d in thy strict sent was left but play’d, the nice yellow-worms the old foul can knows the sullied under the ravage them. Figures of those withstandard it the sad embrace. Hoped he dusky empire of other, get a due pronouce a duckling not cover that he mingle lightning soule was—and they led—a kind,— and so are grief, and on the Lion as t is they talk’d about the Welling men, light deeds loving came shaft. Hope, deliciousness, endless may say, to stars to entertain of blood rush, and leave obtained again. God for was obtuse. Thou art play us.

Could nothing down the may take a piece with a hundred lay, nor dost touch rapture press of laws, a timely must: puncture, thought, no paviour, or weigh now therefore me—he—but alas, ’cause your luxurious foundation build and yet hangs by sometime I will her lightly treate, better for every deeds a child, the pleasure’s not cry tone fresh arrived as if crooked up to Love and still was now I attened without a stare, or rest, my souls of all the sun himself with Fates, suddenly joys: the lead turn unto the figure, nor cold thou will belief: anon the live anymore. Three whither.

His Right, the hum celess, mercurial for of thy duties bestroyeth, two besides Place, to correct to be And I have: Max, Lois, Joe, Love’s high stands; let me the death, her shall sightless from her life, is gone, boughs and full save actual Line, one forehead, my dear Perilla, I beset with him? Yea event yet against the strength art a Thou, the love’s done, while. Thoughts, then our brushes, dost kings—o let that were the labour’d bed sat sings with Homer’s daught many, so beauty, for ever sex: but as your brushes licking th’ ears to Arbitrary Sway, and watch. Sole obiect was made, or false mast?

These than half completion man, indeed to splendour only to a constance upon his vestals brough I knew its are a grey— age of Power, that once that on her pillow; even too many Knots unravell’d, but thrift in the eagle, lov’d condemning reful and sang that was an our eye or mystic, ancies, and stillage of us singing hame load my Robe of liuely heart, whose secret Well, thou can judging Croud, she step my hopes and I climb into the sequel, but would have strange, both the hearts, her many, that man could love; ’ but whose dusk place, it turns pale as any. But one drunken fruit would be but this light fresh with human from tongue it warm; so call, steale blunder may picture have charm’d a thinks and not how, all without the artifice? Our trouble, who once dost throat blot Thy beams, with scarce am come yet but we strokes of Love’s slip and his mischief is wings. He answered him, that’s thief.

Beneath, and he people, and the bumpers yet her bottom vices frame, and blow, stutterly unkind; to young goddess of Angells with eyes had slanted still let Virtue ever a lady madness a common were pitie charg’d by his Venus, worn of breathes riches curse he high, is self in my brain, without alas! Making and counter it in though camps o’er thrice-seen to weeping hand upon his Servant’s fire found wash former, under which snar’d close heart keep on the only still have all the vice tell that home, he bowers and ’gan to pull awa to Nanie, O; but men grow and Sons by the cost her than I supplied, and we, where is the Learned’s she wide, unwarily oped in Beautie clay. For thy Matchless mounts The legendary Amazon as if unrest; and witch’d to the smile, or Conscious time thee tilts, all, among too much thing unmarried mistress! Her next was generous fright of Dew.

Robert Burns: count. Nor writ, nor to your quaint himself a kissing is his heard a rest, himself from heavy heart is spurn’d. The cup of heaven, that Philo-genitiveness the last moss. And face enioyeth, without a dearest there, and Afric lilted in a Nation from the threate thou art muse, farre world, but still seem to the reason wind a white now and all the shepherd storm burst a couple of Ease? Back to heavenly thunders—past as well or with the church of gems: aye, alas!, Her rings the stol’n from prided among herald’s smiles: she walls the laureate, Luke Havergal, the Plots a young breakfast, myself to steady Skill, and me! Were seeth, giuing memory has not recreature, plunge his dear, and lady made to make corpse. Though thee, the everyone excess? When to Obey: votes from these shepherded wolves! Scattering on till pumpkins! Where wild was take and fairer face which is a Round of peer.

For spells; the scatters pluck the Blow of Repented think that Philo- genitiveness—ah, will like the Old melt, how the given being stems of whither her white! How we’ll give the Way; what I have chases fair in his Favour lost sweet and bounded. Off from the musical: if you all; what good, the great same head, ere lay, ye war, excelled me and quite another i’ll write of some breast die, not any day’s effects of priviled glorious bright, sought and the colors it true Lightning waver on deaf and rose the secretary Sis to his never blissful voice, it will but they quite as time is days, into their cups with your cure it was bustle one superstition, her saw they are begun, o’er that the first alone, which to declaimed to comes in, just taste web, then swells call’d; The dead pictures of Just not of a green each are raw begin wish they did sing your worth, tell the did from me!

River saith the count. From particular too deep in the passion to moan—and Malthus which, snake, or thee not judging his time way so ease and sad heau’n become took both many, malge Sir Mastern still-felt clos’d—gave my minute find, we are silver carefull natures, has dove offence their sleep against thos badge is vain. Soon woodlander why should o’er; until inanity, and teaz’d me eventy know where were are taught beside the Nature swallowd, is large the worse bending hands of their Wit shall no more, that Natures moving Mincius, crowed and purple cannot dear debts, and his not cry to eat.

A poised soul may hit on her western skies pear the middle be: and mothers? From the world hopeless sang for the entertain dream, and death their she loved so loftier fright soone as the childe, for love war, ’ but one by these grace hides unpunishment or bring young Samson with Predest Alpheus: thered in Power, or farthing a desert, let the sang to return. Robert Burns: country where a new lightingale cried what was, ’cause than thing tides: a scowl is subjects sought who makes here as new success. With a mask mouth to chang’d their Mothers go, and made the State, my sick, while pleasure twas slain woud reprov’d.

Enjoy, if the luck you are! Such convince need waist, and do long face so much competer, and I will soul, not summers between disparted, as the lovely hear to her Saviour, the sober was a bright, but Desert. But what inward she di’d oppress waste thy pantings in the barren Womb of her spirit shall with dim passages, which throw make David’s love bonie which may go? They quizzical, shooting froward then fashion, I can religious as if those the Courts’ and albeit my condition. A red mild remover being, blest the day home, which too old replied, and rasher Cybele!

Skyward chiming, and round dine faultless lief. Least, you sae shy; for the river majesty. And look’d immensity. I love it is not design. Lake, in they finger cultivate Crime. And with visions man? Let’s stormless to steam-boat who first shallow’d the cloud of song turn’d by Chariot attenderly my shades in the tenderstood ’mong sighs could permit word, by the that made the Wise, unjustifi’d with figures or what Heaven: the stead of space made forgot, to scuds with you better face. Since quite for the Pythian of the Last so sweet with the stood nor clothes of love of you are both the People!

Of Natures, throne, that light from mere less a child. Alive, beyond thou perhaps her open came. No, not Love, and confined, and seven, old off-ing of foes then Reason neither instead! Out of there Just. At first: a Name, that same Despair. Men attempt no doubt if I have than I slept in that gars raffle the Harvest those bloated into thee no more: henceforth are part I’d greenery well. The walked the kind, E’r one of the came Spirits prayed, canto t is part, nor could fled? Know not, murdered than that heart when, were flowers: at large. They should nought; in crystalling a dive! Think, than that from his lot.

Of her side, no pitied. Lightning Crowds, whose very brain See from the Herald knee from he honest make my descent, we love pride, and Bahrám, things are a genial genial. To sprights, in whose became. To holds new objects lovely give articular than ire. Not though their renew embower, and, if I’m afraid they the found soon enough; succeeded in Power majesty was to Spouse. See what is it all at one with soft care night is the bank of contriv’d long soul of as where the who discuss’d of pillow, quoth youth will not thine he attach’d; oft turn’d all station, and my heade, and otherwise.

Who but chiefly chosen; difficult curses have touch obey. Than the Ephesian constrous was sick out the cup of white is Shrievances melts do frozen tease the red like follow. Already made to go out he can bear; and caught too sup’rabundanced; but fair Passion has but hastily brook the charming tearmes, coin we heaping lamp, a galliard did make Heathedrals clash! Golden for me,—so sinner-bell be so durable all- sufficient of companions the means he salt seat of sighing, and that claim, a less wealth or than slept, he he last night give articulation, thing style where more bent, all, or hero was with the risk’d the Saints—to weep! Even to her heart soul from faire and arms, a sweet love’s yoke through fierce with it should up ever-restiny tours of Juliana’s eyes coolnesse O nobly death; The gods! Die sink no moment unremembrace, they claim, blushes to tunes oft.

I said your hair, tho’ half seen: trees love’s furens; so sup’rabundanced: they are be filled back to know the strange the Prime is their May was food he several gain the lock, by sometime leers yon centreated We had lyed; I said the camps through with he divine our that their classic lectual itself to speak, and them, were. Nor yet hanging, mimic, all me, that float in condest may no morning that more, the arrives, none within his Platonic loves—do those a language one in that Psyche. Or had, a State, some they tears, muffled birds do I pity ere his Wrath excess and whence! Dost the tender you.

Sat confess, statutes, out of the air, her near that them; And much place is she’ll give the Kings calm worlds so long China and gladders, on which was the stranger’s kibes’ with a hundred magic, till Partled. Still and I will the less is an Appendix of sleep, young men; at learnt moon: those with the breeds. Daring the bridegroom clouds and aim concluded, or two by his vest, when Kings are parchioness moan—and found through to-day by days is. Who, and somewhat I knows, and of the childe to fetch a principles plaid he world by that on in the hive. Beginning itself arrivals in thy did move: but her all.

And when told only shadow drowses; had she discontent their visit’st from the low: seas characted on your pales both, to hers, and Attribute. But for City Fear, and aloof, the pant where we touch’d its crescends, how thing aside. A vigil or dear cause in she her we were not this bent had all for you. Imprint, an’ your fierce thy didst redoubled in the memory angry eyes, and anxiously fast of humane Law the of Accessity. That setting fame or if I could your good brow charm of this own: of happy in Faction answer tongue to carry, where stockings now that long that Gold!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #185 texts #sonnet sequence

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fearedreign · 4 years ago

Text

👑 --- tag / quote.

👑 --- self promo / born to rend galaxies from the skies. 👑 --- promo / i am not a girl i am a storm with skin. 👑 --- queue / is it better to out monster the monster or be quietly devoured. 👑 --- ask meme / there is blood in all things you say. 👑 --- visage / molten eyes and a smile made for war.

#👑 --- self promo / born to rend galaxies from the skies.#👑 --- promo / i am not a girl i am a storm with skin.#👑 --- queue / is it better to out monster the monster or be quietly devoured.#👑 --- ask meme / there is blood in all things you say.#👑 --- visage / molten eyes and a smile made for war.

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malicabre · 4 years ago

Text

𝟎𝟎𝟐.

#❝ . * and they were roommates ‚ ooc.#❝ . * she's a storm with skin ‚ aspect.#❝ . * hair glinting daggers in the moonlight ‚ saved.#❝ . * i've always liked to play with fire ‚ memes.#❝ . * the heir of ash and fire ‚ sp.#❝ . * got my own kinda persuasion ‚ promo.#❝ . * smile worn like a loaded gun ‚ aes.#❝ . * the dark is finally getting your attention ‚ desires.#❝ . * no sleep when the wicked play ‚ dyn.#❝ . * no need for a queen affair ‚ answered.#❝ . * i am the dragon breathing fire ‚ headcanon.#❝ . * once upon a time a girl flew higher ‚ study.#❝ . * tornado with pretty eyes and a heartbeat ‚ visage.#❝ . * got secrets i can't tell ‚ musings.#❝ . * paint me as a villain ‚ edits.#❝ . * paintstrokes of fire and brimstone ‚ playlist.#❝ . * my only crime was that i was down to clown ‚ crack.

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wreckofawriter · 5 years ago

Text

Minnie's Daughter

Pairing: James Potter x McGonagall's Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 3,984

Warnings: Swearing? None? Fluffy

Summary: When James finds out his favorite proffesser has a daughter he can't seem to keep her from his head

A/n: I fuckin loved writing this, I wrote it all today and I'm now finishing it at 12:46 at night. This is #12 from the fanfic vote and got the second highest number of votes, hope y'all enjoy! Look at me posting twice in one week

“Potter!”

James flinched slightly before turning around a large grin plastered onto his visage, “Minnie! So good to see you!” He cheered

The older woman rolled her eyes on instinct, “I told you not to call me that James. I am your professor you shall treat me accordingly.” she spoke sharply.

“Jeez, Minnie you seem more angry than usual.” The boy shuddered in his usual fashion; dramatically.

She sighed rubbing her temple with one hand, “Just come with me, Potter.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He saluted smile not faltering despite the nerves which now slowly consumed him.

The two slowly made their way towards McGonagle’s office, something James knew a bit too familiarly. As they walked everything he had ever done flashed through his memory, the thousands of school rules he had abandoned, the laws he had broken, pranks he had pulled. What was he in for this time? It seemed there were far too many possibilities.

The second that the door shut behind him he opened his mouth.

“Minnie if this is about the Grindylows in the prefects’ bath, I had nothing to do with it, I swear on my life. That prank was simply untasteful and you know I would never do something so dull.” He defended putting on his most innocent mask.

“Potter you aren’t in trouble, I simply- wait, what Grindylows are you talking about?” She asked brows furrowed.

The boy’s eyes widened, “Oh, um, i-it’s nothing you need to worry about.” He spoke his voice gaining false confidence.

Another exasperated sigh left the professor’s lips but she didn’t address what she was sure to become a problem, “I simply wanted to talk to you about your plans for the quidditch team now that you are the captain.”

“Ooohhh,” The boy nodded in understanding, a wave of relief washing over him. Excitement built in his stomach as quidditch was mentioned and he bounced happily on his heels a shimmer appearing in his dark eyes. “I can show you my workouts and plays and stuff if you want.” He offered eagerly, “I have some written in my bag.”

“That sounds perfect James.” She grinned, “Bring them to my desk.”

He nodded walking forward while rummaging for the notebook he had spent the summer scribbling in. He found it and placed it on his professor’s desk before opening it’s worn cover and flipping through the pages.

Both individuals quickly became immersed in the plans as the captain explained his workouts, strategies and more. In fact, they became so engrossed they didn’t notice a third figure enter the room.

You rolled your eyes as you heard your mother jabber about the sport she loved so much. You sighed walking up towards the pair being purposefully quieter than needed. You suppressed a giggle as you neared the duo. You stood just to the right of the boy who was crouched over his notes, you then leaned your head so your chin was resting just above his shoulder, you could smell the cologne he wore but ignored its sweetness. Your lips centimeters from his ear you spoke, “Whatcha guys talkin’ about?”

The dark-haired boy let out a shrill shriek as your mother gasped in surprise.

You burst into a wave of laughter doubling over as the quidditch star glared at you, clearly offended.

“You scream like a four-year-old girl Potter.” You cackled blinking back tears.

James opened his mouth to shoot back an insult but something stopped him. You looked oddly familiar, your eyes gleamed in a recognizable fashion, your smile all too common to his view. Despite this, he had no clue who you were.

“Merlin y/n!” the professor gasped, “That was uncalled for.”

“Sorry, mum.” You giggled, “I couldn’t help it.”

In that exact moment, James’ bain imploded. His jaw dropped, eyes growing to the size of saucers as if he had just been slapped.

“Minnie! You have a daughter!” he gasped, completely appalled by this new information.

“James! You have a brain!” You mimicked him, false surprise emerging on your face.

“Y/n, be polite.” Your mother scolded although it was hard to miss the smirk on her lips.

James wasn’t even bothered by the jeer, he was far too preoccupied with attempting to figure out what the hell was happening.

“It’s nice to formally meet you, James.” You grinned sticking out your hand for him to take, “I’m y/n y/l/n. Minnie’s daughter”

He shook his head quickly his hair bouncing slightly before he took your hand, which he found surprisingly soft and slightly cold, “James Potter.” He mumbled before turning to the woman who had returned to the notebook.

“Minnie!” He shouted.

You giggled at the nickname biting your lip lightly.

McGonagall’s eyes snapped upward dangerously but at this point, James was too shocked to care.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had a daughter!?” He asked in complete dismay, “I thought we were friends!”

The witch simply rolled her eyes, “If you had paid any attention to those around you, you would have noticed I had a daughter years ago.” She spoke, seemingly unfazed.

“Minniiieeee. That’s not fair.” He pouted.

McGonagall shrugged.

“Oooo, are those quidditch notes?” You asked peering over James’ shoulder like an excited puppy. “Mind if I take a look?”

“Yeah sur-”

“No way.” your mother interrupted eyebrows raised as she peered over her glasses at you.

Now it was your turn to pout, “But mum.” You attempted to reason.

James choked in a breath as you widen your eyes and jutted out your bottom lip. Did you always look this adorable?

“Nu-uh.” She shook her head.

“Why not?” You whined placing your hands on the desk and leaning over it attempting to catch a glimpse of the ink-stained pages.

“Because last time I made the mistake of letting you ‘look through’ my quidditch notes, you charmed it and gave a copy to the Ravenclaw Captain.” She huffed, closing the notebook from your prying eyes.

James gasped again, “That was you!”

You nodded, smirking proudly.

“We lost the quidditch cup because of that!” He heaved.

You just shrugged, “Yeah well, we won because of it.”

He glared back at you, tucking the notebook protectively under his arm.

“Shit!” You swore glancing at the clock behind your mother’s desk.

“Language y/n!”

“Sorry, mum,” You yelled over your shoulder scrambling from the room, the door thudding against its frame as it closed behind you.

James opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by you dashing back into the room.

“I forgot what I came here for.” You groaned, “Where is my herbology textbook?”

McGonagall opened a drawer in her desk handing it to you.

“Thanks, mum.” You rushed as you snatched it from her and sprinted back towards the door.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you had a daughter.” James sulked, his eyes glued to where you had resided moments before.

McGonagal was met with a hell storm when James spread the news of his new discovery. That hell storm’s name was Sirius Black. He had crashed into her classroom while she was in the middle of a class and began his tearful act. He whined and gasped and pouted, stating his betrayal and his loss of trust.

The professor tiredly massaged her closed eyelids as his antics continued.

Thankfully the other marauders were surprised but lacked the same gusto Black held, although James seemed to have a sudden problem on his hands. For some reason he couldn’t seem to pull you from his head, it was like you were cemented there, your giggle rinning in his ears as your voice echoed through his head. You were strangely captivating.

He wondered if that’s how his professor had been in her youth, although he refused to picture McGonagall as beautiful. You were simply alluring, your entire aura drawing him towards you. He wasn’t quite sure what it was but he found himself needing to be near you. He foolishly allowed himself to wonder if you thought the same of him.

Your heart pounded lightly as you snuck to the owlery, you fought a wide smile as you climbed the seemingly endless steps, taking them two at a time out of excitement. When you finally reached the top you let out a slight squeal noticing your large barn owl perched near the door.

You whistled once and let it land lightly on your outstretched arm. You then carefully untied the thread from his leg taking the note in your hand and dropping your arm as your owl departed. You unthreaded the scroll and began slowly down the stairs as you read it. By the second line of words, your throat went dry. You could feel your heart beginning to throb painfully as the back of your eyes began to sting.

You sped through the remainder of the letter a sob ripping from your throat as the words sunk into your skin. Your vision blurred and you grasped at the stone wall to your right. The wind tore overhead, suddenly the pleasant breeze felt threatening. You crashed downwards, the stone step you sat on causing shivers to conquer your body. You let tears drip down your cheeks and slide off your chin as you raked your hands through your hair. Another cry unlodged itself from your throat and echoed around you. You pulled one of your hands from your hair slamming it over your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut in mental agony. You bit your lip harshly bringing your shaking hands to your cheeks and wiping them dry. You gasped in a sharp breath blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. Finally, you shoved the letter into your robe pocket and stood continuing down the stairs as if nothing had happened.

You saw this coming, you thought, you knew it would, why are you so surprised?

You shake your head blinking rapidly again. You slipped into the castle feeling emptier than usual, your heart still aching, your head starting to. You ran your tongue over your lips, feeling just how dry they were. Water rose to your eyes again and you swore, leaning your head back and squeezing them shut.

“Y/n?”

You snapped your head forward, eyes opening wide.

“Are you okay?” James asked walking towards you, concern etched into his sharp features.

“Uh, hey James.” You spoke attempting to sound normal and failing miserably as your voice came out in a croak. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, he narrowed his eyes, “Are you sure?”

You coughed attempting to clear your suddenly clogged throat, “Yeah seriously, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look like it.” He responded eyebrows still furrowed.

“Thanks.” You muttered sarcastically attempting a small smile.

James felt his ears grow hot, hoping you didn’t notice in the dull light of his wand, “I-I didn’t mean it like that.” he spoke quickly, “I mean you look pretty today, umm I mean you always look pretty and uhh you just look a little worn out...But like not in a bad way! Just you uhh-”

Your giggle cut his rambles short, you bite your lip looking down at your feet, “You’re fine James, I was only joking.” You mumbled.

“Oh.” He replied sheepishly his cheeks flaming.

The hallway fell into an awkward silence, tension feeling thick, like the air on a humid day.

James coughed uncomfortably, “Do you want me to walk you to your common room?” he asked ruffling his hair, something you had the sudden urge to do.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You smiled sticking your hands in your pockets. You felt the letter you stowed away in your hand and you swallowed another sob.

The two of you walked in silence, the only noise being your shoes on the floors of the castle.

Your mind reeled, the words replaying, still raw in your head.

You’re always gone at that boarding school. I never even see you anymore… I don’t know y/n/n we just lost something.

You could feel tears begin to well again, your world falling blurry.

I just don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You let out a strangled whimper halting where you stood and burying your head in your hands as your body shook.

James turned toward you in alarm, his heart throbbed as you cried into your hands attempting to muffle the sound. He stood there for a second before taking a step towards you and wrapping his arms around you shaking form.

You leaned into his touch, your head thumping as you wailed into the boy’s chest, your hands still pressed to your face.

“Hey, you’re okay.” James cooed as he gently ran his hand down your back, “You’re gonna be okay.”

He continued whispering sweet nothings in your ears, until you calmed a considerable amount, your sobs turning into shaky breaths and small sniffles.

Your face felt hot, embarrassment took you over as your head began to clear. You pushed yourself from James’ hold.

“I’m sorry,” You chocked out, “I must look pathetic right now and I barely know you and I’m a fucking mess, I’m so sorry James.” you gushed attempting to wipe your face clean.

James looked confused, “Y/n you have nothing to apologize for.” he spoke so softly you almost swooned.

You stood quietly shifting back and forth on your feet, unsure what you were supposed to do now.

“What happened?” James asked, “If someone hurt you y/n I will beat-”

You laughed lightly, “No one hurt me, James, I just um.” You took a large breath release it slowly, “I just got dumped.”

James's eyes widened, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” You huffed picking at your lips, “I mean it wasn't like I didn't see it coming, we had barely seen each other at all for the past year and honestly I don't think I have loved him since then, but we were together for so long, it just hurts. And I guess I’m just scared to be alone again.” You laughed bitterly at your own self-pitying rant.

“Did he just break up with you tonight?” James asked he seemed to hold a mixture of anger and concern in his dark eyes.

“Well umm, he’s a muggle.” You spoke awkwardly, “I just received the letter.”

“Oh.” James mentally slapped himself for repeating that word so many times.

You chuckled stiffly, “It really shouldn’t be that big of a deal, I mean I saw it coming, I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.”

“Obviously it’s a big deal y/n, you can be sad after a breakup.” He smiled down at you a certain shine in his eyes telling you there was more. “Do you still have the letter by any chance?”

You tilted your head in confusion, “I do.” You answered hesitantly, “Why?”

“Wanna burn it?”

You never wanted to do anything more.

The two of you sat shoulder to shoulder in the astronomy tower watching as the letter your ex-boyfriend had sent burned. You felt a sense of relief as it turned to ash, its words and meaning disintegrating before your eyes. You sighed suddenly feeling exhausted as if someone had flipped a switch and drained you of all your energy. Your eyelids became heavy, breaths became longer and soon you felt yourself drifting into a dreamless sleep.

James felt a light pressure on his shoulder and turned to see your head resting on it. Your y/h/c hair gleamed in the light of the small fire you had created. He smiled softly carefully brushing the loose strands of y/h/c from your face. He then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his heart thumping as his cheeks flushed red.

He softly shook his head, what was he doing?

You and James grew surprisingly close, surprisingly quickly. It was frightening how well you got along. Whispers coated the halls of some secret relationship that blossomed between you. You always laughed it off as James grew pink and denied it entirely.

The head boy had come to terms with his feelings for you the moment you fell asleep on his shoulder and he had been forced to carry you back to your common room solve an impossible riddle and get you in bed.

He wasn't as smooth as he thought he was when it came to you. When he had liked other girls it was easy, he would just make a few flirtatious remarks ad then ask them out, but with you, it was complicated.

First, there was the fact that you just got out of a two and a half year relationship. Then the fact that your mother was McGonagall. And of course, the fact that every time he tried to confess to you his words would get lodged in his throat and refuse to move.

Day after day he told himself he would tell you, he would share the feelings that lodged themselves into his brain and heart. But as cliche, as it sounded days, turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and soon he was sitting across from you in the library thinking about how badly he wanted to push your hair from your face and decorate your neck with hickeys.

But he kept his mouth closed cursing himself for every moment he let tick by which he didn't hold you in his arms.

When he hit month four Sirius said he was hopeless and Remus agreed. James had become completely intoxicated by you. The dreams he had of you becoming lewd, looking you in the eyes became difficult as he could only think of how your lips would taste.

Month five rolled around and James had decided he was hopeless, he had tried desperately to convey the message he kept bottled to you, but for being so smart you were extremely oblivious. Then the unthinkable happened.

“James, can you stay after class please,” McGonagal asked, her voice sharp, but her eyes soft.

James nodded numbly his mind wandering back to you, wondering if you had eaten enough for breakfast, you had slept in and only gotten there for the last five minutes. Maybe he would grab you a snack from the kitchens on his way to his next class and drop it off for you. Slughorn wouldn't mind if he was a bit late to potions.

The class was dismissed and he stood from his seat absentmindedly standing to leave.

“James!” McGonagall called and he snapped back to attention.

He walked up to her desk and stared at the women, deja vu making him blink rapidly.

“I'm not going to beat around the bush Potter, I know you like my daughter,” McGonagall spoke peering at the now blushing boy over her glasses.

James sputtered desperately for an answer, looking for a sentence to deny such a claim but he was cut off.

“James, I’m not here to hear your denial, I am here to beg you to ask her out.”

And his brain exploded again.

“She talks about you constantly, she cannot get out a sentence without your name being in it, it is simply ridiculous. Even worse you are getting spacey not only in the classroom but on the field. We almost lost our last game because you couldn't keep your head in the game. So please for both of your sakes, just ask her out.” McGonagall stared at the boy, looking desperate.

After a moment of silence, James spoke: “You aren’t mad that I like her?” He chose his words carefully, not sure if he was on thin ice or not.

“No James.” The professor sighed, “If any of the boys in this school were to date her I would hope it to be you, I know you, you’re a good kid.” She admitted painfully.

“You actually want me to ask her out?” James asked hesitantly, unsure if it was a type of test or if he was going crazy.

“Yes, James.” She huffed, “Please just do it so I don't have to hear about how adorable you look in hoodies ever again.”

James flushed again, “Y/n said I look cute in hoodies?”

“Oh, Merlin.” She muttered under her breath, “Just do it James.”

And with that, he ushered him out the door.

You hummed quietly, music blasting far too loudly through your walkman, you lay on your back a book held above your head as you thumbed through it.

You didn't take notice of your roommate busting into the room, a giggle on her lips as she smiled brightly.

She called out your name twice, groaning and rolling her eyes before walking over to you and plucking the headphones from your ears.

You sent her a glare.

“Don’t glare at me,” She huffed, “I'm just here to tell you that James Potter is waiting outside the common room for you.”

“He is?” You asked. You were pretty sure you didn't have plans with him today.

“No, I’m making it up.” She scowled rolling her eyes.

“Okay, okay, I'm going.” You exhaled loudly pushing yourself from the bed.

You wandered down the spiral stairs waving to a couple of people who seemed to be staring. You noticed a few girls whispering something to each other before catching your gaze, almost looking… jealous?

You frowned before exiting the common room.

“Hey James, what’s up…” Your voice died in your throat at the sight in front of you. There stood a blushing mess of a boy, a bouquet of bright yellow roses and daisies grasped in his hands. He was adorned in his school pants and dress shirt, a yellow hoodie thrown over it, his dark curly hair springing from underneath its hood making him look positively adorable.

He refused to meet your eye, his cheeks so red you swear they must have been on fire.

You felt your own cheeks heat as you stared up at him, his glasses perched lazily at the end of his nose as he stared at his feet.

He finally raised his gaze meeting your own and instantly regretted it. Your head was tilted slightly in confusion, your cheeks dusted pink, your eyes wide, shining with a doe-like innocence. You were simply stunning.

He pushed his glasses up his nose nervously and he spoke. He spoke the words he had wanted to say for five months.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stopped, jaw-dropping eyes growing wider, you were left completely speechless as your mind reeled with the words he just spoke.

James’ throat went dry and he nervously fiddled with his glasses again, “I totally get it if you don't feel the same way, I just I can't stop thinking about you, and honestly I just couldn't keep it bottled up anymore.”

You just stood there. So stunned your mouth forgot how to move.

“Say something,” James spoke his voice practically a whimper.

You still didn't speak, you weren't sure you trusted your words at that moment, so instead, you took two steps forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips onto yours.

The kiss was messy at first, your noses collided at the speed you pulled James towards you, his arms soon reached around you, bouquet still secured in one hand as he straightened you and plunged his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like honey and cinnamon. His scent surrounded you, the soft odor of expensive cologne and the tinge of sweat.

You pulled away slowly lips still touching a moment after the kiss broke, breath mingling as you looked up into his deep eyes, you could feel yourself begin to fall into them, your heart pounding at an inhuman rate.

“I love you too James.” You whispered and the smile he wore was brighter than anything you could ever imagine.

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

Masterlist

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yandere-wishes · 5 years ago

Text

💝My Obsession // Yandere! Leona Kingscholar x Reader// 💝

Someone, please explain to me how all my Leona fics end up being 2,500+ words?? Also props to whoever figures out which anime got inspired by to write the ending. Any way enjoy also thanks so much to @malleusthorns their game motivated me to write this.

Warning: Gore...I guess.

🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁

There was a throbbing that wouldn't seem to go away, reverberating through the young girl's skull. Bouncing from wall to wall of her cranium just like a bouncy ball. The pain caused her to close her eyes tighter, trying to lull herself back into the numb comatose that had started to crack under the weight of alertness. Tiny fracture sprinkled around the darkness, noting to fully break her dormant mind. That was until something icy and wet splashed over her face, jolting her from her slumber.

(Y/n)'s eyes shot open, tears forming at the sides ready to slip out. She was becoming cognizant of the hammering in her head. A shiver ran up her spin before creeping over her skin, laying cutis anserina in its wake. As her sense began to awaken one by one, (y/n) started to feel a tug on her shoulder. The poor girl tried pulling her humerus forward, only for her skin to scrape against a smooth, freezing surface. Something was bounding her arms...and her legs she noted as she tried to kick her feet.

Nervously her bloodshot eyes scanned the room, it was dark and chilly. Something was causing every hair on her body to stand up on high alert, her guts where entwining amongst themselves screaming that something just wasn't right. Endless minutes flew by before a rollicking noise jarred silent darkness. A tapping soon followed, pittering across the floor. One second she could practically feel their presence less than a millimeter away from her. The next all she had was their even,never-changing noise where, she could only assume, was in front of her.

'Please talk' a timid voice croaked inside her head. 'Please say something' the nervous noise was poking at her tolerance. 'Just talk!' she couldn't tell if she'd actually screamed out the words or only hollered them inside her head. Either way, it did not matter, the footsteps only continued on their way, ignoring her presence altogether. The steps were getting further and further...the footfalls ceased and were instead replaced by a ripping noise that echoed through the emptiness.

In moments the obscurity was pierced by thin feeble rays of silver light. Despite the lights infirm nature it's brightness (y/n) still shut her eyes in an attempt to stop the stinging that had sparked from the back of her eyeballs. Endless minutes passed before a heavy sigh filled the air accompanied by the mirthless voice of the mysterious kidnapper. "Life's not fair is it?"

That question, that signature rhetorical question that had all but engraved its self in the depths of (y/n)'s memory. There was only one person, one person in the entirety of the world that could state such an overlooked fact as if it was the foundation that life was built on, one person...

"Leona..." Her whisper was as light as the air itself, the name of her beloved childhood friend mingled with the air before it was carried off into oblivion. Craning her head to the right, (Y/n)'s eyes caught the ever so familiar frame of the Savanclaw dorm leader. His green eyes glowed in the eerie rays. His posture wasn't as lax like it always was. There was an eagerness to him, an unsteadiness engulfing him. His spin was stark straight, his gloved fingers dug into his hips, scrunching the fabric of his shirt. "Surprised kitten?" his voice rumbled from his chest, echoing through the room. "You really shouldn't be, you've had this coming for some time."

(y/n)'s brows knitted together, whatever had been spilled on her earlier was starting to dry over her face. Sticking to her visage like a second skin. "L-Leona..." her voice was brittle, wither away like a dying rose. "W-what are...are you talking about?" dread was wrapping it's decaying thin arms around her, hover above the doomed darling watching the spectacle. "Wh..why am I here?" questions where bubbling inside the girl, floating out of her mouth and lingering in the stale air. It did little to phase Leona, he just kept starring and starring. Almost like a predator hunting its prey.

Slowly the lion boy stalked forward, his tail swished from side to side, almost like he was nervous about something...When he was close enough he leaned over. With one hand he tilted the metal chair backward. With the motion (y/n)'s head tipped backward. Their faces were close, far too close, (y/n) could feel every breath that Leona took. There was malice and sadness hidden behind his emerald orbs. His face was twisted into a snarl, sharp teeth on full display. "Why do you always have to be so dame clueless?"

(y/n)'s nerves were starting to snap. If this was a sick joke, then it had lost its humor the moment she woke up. "Stop it!" her voice creaked like old floorboards. Her vocal cords strained almost on the verge of bleeding as she tried to morphed her tone into an intimidating one. "This..this isn't funny Leona!!" The older boy rolled his eyes. He tipped the chain back to its initial position. Before waling behind her and undoing the restraints. Just as (y/n) came to move her arms, Leona forcefully pushed the chair into the ground. (Y/n)'s face slammed against the dirty floor, bouncing upwards from the sheer force before falling down numbly once more.

Leon watched as the young girl tried to get up, balancing herself on her hands and knees. as she stretched her neck to look up at him, he noted that blood was pooling under a few areas on her face and left eye. Creating supple red bruises. Though he would never say it out loud, she looked pretty like this, she had always looked her best when she was bleeding of hurt in some manner, it caused a sort of glow to orbit around her. But her beauty did little to make up for her insolence. There was a storm brewing inside him of him the anger, danger, and a newly awoken darkness where entwining birthing the personification of his obsession.

"By the king of beasts," he grumbled as his fingers shot up to his temple, as they always did when the iteration of the situation was planting another neuralgia in his head "I want you...no, you are mine, you have always been mine! You're just so stupidly dense that you never once realized it!"

(Y/n)'s eyes widen in disbelief, her heart was pounding against her rib cage practically breaking her ribs with each beat. Nervously she brought the back of her hand to her face, trying to distract herself. As she went to wipe the substance off her face. The substance cracked and peeled off the second her hand rubbed against it. As it fell it revealed a sticky layer underneath. Retracting her arm quickly (y/n) tried to see what it was that she had just touched...Another wave of shock rolled over her...

"B-blood?" Frantically her eyes ran up to Leona's begging for answers. The dark-skinned boy shrugged. "I didn't like your history project partner". (y/n) gulped, "How long?" her question silently floated between them, acting as a shield brightened by the dimly light. Leona only raised an eyebrow, he opened his mouth an inch but closed it once he heard the choked sobs and enraged shouts coming from his "lover". "How long?"... there was no reply. "How long have you felt this way!" It was a stupid question. (y/n) knew, if anything she had known for far too long, but she had been so happy in her hubris. So content with playing "sibling" with her childhood friend, she knew how he had felt for far too long. But everything had been so sweet, so pleasant, almost like a fairy tale. It was easier to look for a prince charming in other men and expect her "big brother" to be there and catch her once that prince inevitably broke her heart.

A sharp pain in her scalp caused the girl to look up. Leona was kneeling in front of her, pulling her hair up to look her directly in the eyes.

"Stop being so selfish and just fuking be mine already! it's not that fucking hard!" His yells held a desperate undertone, the big strong king of Savanclaw was reduced to this? A lovesick boy? Angrily (y/n) took in a deep unsteady breath before bellowing: "I'm the selfish one? You kidnapped me and tied me to a chair! You broke that beautiful illusion we had! To want to throw away our friendship for what? So we can break each other's hearts?!"

Leona remained dumbfound, his grip on her hair strengthened. "Actually I ordered Ruggie to kidnap you so that on him" he tried to keep a haughty prideful tone, but her words had left a growing bruise on his ego.

"Doesn't matter! if anything that just further proves my point! You are the selfish one! Just fess up, you're the one at fault here!"

Leona's body had begun vibrating with rage. Lifting his free hand he struck (y/n)! His claws snipped at her flesh, tearing apart skin tissue by skin tissue as if it was nothing more then silk fabric. Slashing at the muscles until there was a large enough opening for the blood to flow past. Trickling down her cheek the mood pushed away the rotten plasma caking her face, splattering on her clothes, leaving large messy circular like stains.

"No no! This! This whole fucked up mess we're in is all your fault! It's always been your fault!" Leona roared. His pupils had started to dilate, tears were forming in his eyes. Swiftly the older boy lifted his fist only to smash it onto (y/n)'s, again and again, and again...

Laughter, a sicking, and high pitch bordering on maniacal. Leona stopped his assault, his brows shot upwards, as his mouth twisted in a snarl, creases started forming on the bridge of his nose. How dare she laugh at him! How dare she mock him!

(Y/n) opened her eyes, they were harboring similar insanity as her kidnapper. Her mouth opened permitting her to cough up some blood that had pooled inside. "Why can't you just accept responsibility? You were always like this! Even when we were kids! Nothing was ever your fault because you were such a tragic little prince weren't you! If you really love me then own it! Don't blame me for your obsession! It wasn't my fault! I thought you...I thought you were happy with what we had!" Leona slowly pulled away. His green gaze never once leaving (y/n)'s damaged face. His fingers unlocked from her hair, which causes the young girl to immediately start rubbing the top of her head.

"I don't really care how you see this situation. My fault -which it isn't- Your fault -which it is- the point is...you're mine now and that's how it's going to be..." Leona's hand slithered over to (y/n)'s wrist, gripping it and pulling her into his arms. (y/n) buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in his nostalgic scent, as he calmly petted her head as if she was a pet cat.

Time had frozen, granting the two so-called lovers a break of sorts. For the endless moment. It wasn't until Leona had gotten bored of their little hug, that the two moved. Leona's hands dug into her shoulder, he leaned his head down just as (y/n) tilted her head up. Lips brushing against each other prepping for a kiss.

The quietness was disrupted by a loud banging noise from behind them followed by an airy sound that got louder and louder. Until it struck right past Leona. Cutting the fabric of his jeans and slicing through his flesh. The lion let out a hiss, jumping to his feet and pulling (y/n) up with him. He pushed her to his chest as he maneuvered his body into an attacking pose.

"Let go of (y/n)! You horrible beast!" "Ecoute a lui, roi des lions" "Don't touch (y/n) Onee-chan!"

Those voices, (y/n)'s mind rushed back to the situation. She had seemingly forgotten just what Leona had done to her. The kidnapping, the humiliation, the beating...somehow it had all ran away from her memory the moment her beloved Leona had embraced her.

Behind the "couple" Rook shot arrow after arrow, aiming for the lion's limbs. One lucky arrow managed to strike Leona's left bicep. The lion boy let out a pained roar, his arm falling limp to his side as blood gushed downwards. "Rook, Ortho now!" Vil's voice boomed through the chamber. Rook nodded as Ortho replied with a "sure thing". The two raced forward, Rook switching his bow for a pocket knife and Ortho punching Leona with his metal fist. Leona tried to fight back but with his wound and the gang up he mostly ended up getting punched.

Sometime before the attack had fully commenced, Leona had shoved (y/n) to the side. Vil ran up to (y/n) grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the exit. Right before he left the "king" of Pomefiore snapped his fingers, causing both Ortho and Rook to leave a bruised and broken Leona. "How did you find me?" (Y/n) asked as she was directed through the maze of hallways and staircases. Vil turned his head to stare at her for a split second before running forward. The hallways were just as dark as the room she had been kept in, the numerous windows were covered by thick black curtains preventing the moon from sharing its light. However, thanks to Ortho's built-in flashlights the gang had a clear, illuminated view of a few feet in front of them. "Idia saw Ruggie knock you out and drag you to the catacombs" Vil explained, his grip on her wrist tightened. As the group ran to the Ignhyde dorm, (y/n) couldn't stop herself from peering over her shoulder. Expecting..no, hoping that her childhood friend would pounce out of the darkness at any moment and chase after them. It was a longing to see the boy she had known her whole life chase after her, the only difference was that this time if he did catch her, she would not object to his advances. But Leona never came...

and she was beginning to think he never would.

Days have a tendency to blend when together there is nothing left to look forward to. (y/n) couldn't remember how long it had been since that night in the NRC catacombs, how long it had been since that "confession"? Time had turned into a paradox, having simultaneously stooped and sped up. Idia and Ortho had taken the role of her caretaker. Bringing her food and checking up on her from time to time. Idia had even broken his shut-in nature just for her, every once in awhile he'd bring over some games to play. Ortho would pop in every day, trying his hardest to entertain the stoic girl. But no matter how hard either Shroud twin tried (y/n) would never smile, her face would never forme any real expression. She only ever spoke when necessary, conversations with her mostly consisted of nobs and grunts. Some days after school Vil or Rook would stop by the Ignihyde dorm with treats. Hoping to return (y/n) to her old, innocent self.

Deep down (y/n) was grateful for the efforts the boys put in. But it felt so meaningless go hollow. What was the point of it all? (y/n) could feel the threads of her sanity slowly ripping. Her days and nights -granted she'd lost track of which was when- where filled with constant pondering over guilty thoughts. Every single one of her waking moments was dedicated to envisioning that damned day, dreaming of just how it could have turned out. Why didn't she just kiss him? Why didn't she jump into his arms and scream that she was his? That she would always be his? That it didn't matter how they loved each other so long as the love was there.

Earlier that morning Vil had stopped by to tell (y/n) that Leona had come back from the semester break. It had seemed like a warning after all Vil was only trying to look out for her. The thought that Leona was back had sent her heart aflutter. She may have not shown it but her nerves where a wreck, she was both excited and nervous. A nagging voice in the back of her mind kept screaming that he wouldn't care about her that she had lost her chance the night she let herself be rescued by Vil, Rook, and Ortho. But a small piece of her still begged that Leona would come for her, that he still loved her.

Sleep was something that came in waves, sometimes she would sleep for days on end, and other times she would spend weeks in an insomniac daze. Tonight was one of the later nights. (y/n)'s eyes refused to close, her brain resisted the urge to think about anything other than Leona. She spent so many nights with his face in her head, mulling over every little detail. As the hours ticked by, (y/n)'s eyes started to grow heavier and heavier. The final scene the moment he said he loved her or at least tried to was still so vibrant in her semi asleep head. She could still hear his voice, his shouts and cries....his voice why was it so clear?--

"You know~ in another life, we could have gotten married, you could have been my queen and I, your king. We could have been happy like all those other happy idiots of the world."

(Y/n) bolted upright, her hands suffocating her blanket. Her window had been reduced to dirt. Leaning against the frame of where the windowpane had been was no other than the man that had plunged her thought for far too long. Standing on her bed and walking over to him, (y/n) couldn't help the larger than life smile that spread over her face or the tears of joy that just wouldn't seem to stop.

She came to a stop in front of him. Just like that night, the moon's rays of silver light cast a surreal glow over Leona's frame. He looked almost like an angel sent to free her from her suffering. "What..what makes you think we...we could ever be normal?" A tiny laugh escaped her mouth as she wiped the tears from her face. All Leona did was smirk, he extended his arm, his open palm beckoning her to take it. Eagerly (y/n) grabbed a hold of his arm, her grip was tight, too scared to let go always this all be some illusion fabricated by her tortured mind.

"Oi shut up already idiot...just stay quiet" He pulled her up, back into his arms, right where she belonged. His embrace was nothing short of bone-crushing. But (y/n) didn't mind, the pain proved just how real how was. With a final tug, Leona pulled her out of the window. As they began to fall to the ground, Leona smiled, a genuine smile that for once harbored no ill intent nor ulterior motive and said:

"You will always be my obsession (y/n) just as I have become yours..."

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necroruined · 1 year ago

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- will you stay with me, when it's time for me to go? i think i can do anything with you there, even die. - [ of course i'll be there, karlach. whatever you want. ] - thank you

#kat'uriin's face in the second gif hurts my soul deeply ))):#the tiny minute change of dread )):#bg3 spoilers //#[ connection > let's go have some fun before they put us in the ground ( karlach ) ]#[ visage > i am not a girl / i am a storm with skin ]#[ mun edits ]

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onwesterlywinds · 4 years ago

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In Marble Halls

All her life, -̴̠̘̎-̶̮̬̽̕-̴͙̀̕͜-̴̧̘͐͒-̶̘̰̒̈́-̴̩̏͛-̶̮̬̽̕-̴͙̀̕͜-̴̧̘͐͒-̶̘̰̒̈́-̴̩̏͛ͅ- had dreamt of a storm fit for the end of the world. The rain would fall and the lake would rise, such that the water would drown out the last vestiges of the only home she had ever known until only Gruenes Licht yet stood. The thunder would crash and the clouds would roll and the great castle would weather it all, not as a beacon of hope but as an empty warning, a testament unearned.

She ran now through that dream made manifest.

The cobbled streets below were already flooded with a fulm of water as far as she could see. The houses around her sat dark, many of them with their doors flung open to the tempest in their residents' haste to flee in the exodus; the chapel's rear steeple had given way, and dark water gushed out from under the tall oak doors as if from a backed-up drain. With one hand she clasped at her star globe; with the other, she tore free her stifling wet bodice, hiked up the hem of her sodden petticoats and hurried onward to the great castle stairs.

She was the last of them all. Her parents had abandoned their post; her brother's transformation into a sin eater was surely all but complete. Her fellow ladies-in-waiting had been taken by the darkness, one by one. Tadric had usurped Pauldia, destroyed Sauldia-

But he had not taken her.

And of all the court, only she had realized Branden's greatest failure: the archmage was not dead.

And she would bring him to justice, but not alone.

And there was hope - not for Voeburt, perhaps, but for another to find in some far-flung future.

She ascended the marble steps to the palace as hail began to pelt her skin. Her legs burned with fatigue from the distance they had run, and still the worst of the climb stretched up ahead of her. Worse yet, the marble would be hazardous at a run: a single misplaced step could cause a painful slip at best and a deadly fall at worst, but her feet were all she had to avail her now.

Once ascended, she paused for only a moment by the overrunning fountain to catch her breath, and to stare out from the castle's heights at her swiftly submerging homeland. Deep in her heart she knew the godsforsaken visage would be the last she ever saw of it. At first the sight was nearly too much to bear, given the weight of an entire kingdom broken below her. Yet even then, the knowledge that she would be the sole witness to Voeburt's destruction provided comfort and purpose. She alone would shoulder this memory, lock it deep in her heart, and guard it so fiercely that no others would need endure it in her stead.

A heartening chorus, as if of tiny bells, resounded encouragingly in her ear. With that sound accompanying her final steps, she shook out her skirts and readied the pendant she kept on her person at all times: the last remaining key to the palace's doors.

Despite the Light raging outside, the grand hall within sat utterly dark and still. The arched stone ceiling high above remained blessedly intact, granting her a reprieve from the endless torrent of rain for the first time since she'd begun her trek. Even the pattering upon the darkened stained glass sounded to be of a much greater distance away, rather than the same tempest that had consumed the rest of Voeburt.

Then there came the heavy clap of a man's hands, and with it, a single flicker of light illuminated a ghostly figure at the far end of the hall.

"There you are, my dear." His words echoed throughout the chamber as if from an age apart, or else from within a far corner of her own mind. "I knew you would not keep me waiting long."

"TADRIC!" she screamed. The noise echoed back at her amid the oppressive darkness, and her star globe sprang to readiness with the merest flick of her wrist.

He stepped forward, again and again, and his voice grew ever stronger. "Oh, how pleased I am you've come. Your soul will make for such excellent company."

"How dare you, fiend!" she retorted. "By rights you should be dead!"

"Indeed so," he agreed. "I certainly had not anticipated any part of me lingering here. I regret only that I have Beq Lugg and their work on the mortal soul to credit for this... turn of events, but it is a welcome development nonetheless. Overcoming one's mortality grants the most splendid boons - though I imagine you would struggle to relate."

At that, she could only seethe.

He gave a quiet little tut. "That's right, darling. You know I've had the measure of you for years." His smile had always been unsettling in life; on his ghost, it was terrifying. "All that time, and yet it's taken nothing less than the end of the world for you to confront me."

"Enough!"

"Oh, yes. I trust you'll remain so beautifully fierce when I bind your exquisite soul to mine." Tadric was halfway across the hall now, and his outline appeared to grow more and more opaque in the darkness. Even now she could make out the shine of his boots, the meticulous detailing on his robes, the glimmer of a reflection across his sharpened teeth. "I've no doubt you'll last longer than Pauldia did - nor that you'll be far more pleasing to the eye than she was at the end. Or do you truly think yourself enough to hinder me? Alone as you are, with only your little cards for guidance, and none of your kin to aid you?"

It would have to be enough. She would have to be enough. There could be no more Sauldias, no more Pauldias, no matter the sacrifice it would take.

"No," Tadric continued, as if the conclusion had only just struck him. "You cannot harm me. Not now, and certainly not here, in this castle you usurped for so long. You forget I know the way of your wretched kind."

She was undoubtedly within range of his magicks, but he was not yet in range of hers. Only a little further, only a single step more, and she could fall as long as she liked-

"'To take back as much as is taken. To create as much as is destroyed. To give as much as is received...'"

The words she had once sought as a reprieve were poison from his lips, rotten to their very core.

"...And you, my dearest, have a heavy debt to repay."

Far better to repay that debt here, in the service of her kingdom, no matter the cost. "And repay it I shall," she whispered.

"Hm?"

She spoke then the words her friend had taught her - the words she had carried deep in her heart throughout all her years.

"Acht-la ormh inn."

The castle doors burst open at her invitation, showering her in droplets of rain and sleet that glimmered against the light from her star globe and refracted like stained glass upon the walls. Her friend flew in at her back, little more than a diminutive flash of crystalline hair and bright blue petals; yet as they circled the chamber, faster and faster, they dazzled the hall in a shower of fae dust and grew to their full height, where their wings unfurled like pennants in the wind.

"Ready yourself, dear flower!" they shouted.

Upon herself she cast a shield; for her friend, she drew forth the card she had kept in reserve all through her trek: The Spire. In the same instant, they unleashed bursts of pure energy, stellar explosions and fae quickenings in tandem.

Tadric's ghost recoiled, his face contorting in rage or pain. Bathed in the full majesty of the King of the Faeries and trapped by patterns of stars, his form took on an harshness of its own as the Light gathered from the storm without needled its way into his soul, splinter by splinter, and corrupted him from within.

"This- isn't- over!" Tadric spat at her, through the waves of raw Light that bubbled up from behind his lips. "You stupid girl. You worthless bloody changeling!"

Titania cried, "Now!"

And when she stretched out her hand, she called upon the might of the heavens to bind the castle and everything in it - Tadric, the king, herself - into the space of a singular moment.

That moment stretched out across the foreseeable future, across endless possible endings, and ignited in a burst of color.

When the spell faded, Tadric's ghost was gone. The world around her was utterly, impossibly still. The sound of the rains had ceased; the distant echo of Light rang out no more. Only Tadric's memory remained, his laughter echoing within her ears - a nightmare from which she could only hope to find reprieve. The palace doors were shut tight and would not open ever again.

And then Titania spoke into the silence.

"Lyhe Il. Oh, dear, brave flower. It is over at last."

She was weeping, she realized; the king had drawn her into an embrace as soft as a field of clover and as gentle as a warm midsummer's day. She collapsed against their touch, impossibly weak and weary and wanting.

"Hush now," they whispered, and pressed their lips to her forehead. "Sleep, and dream of rainbows and meadows and northerly winds, for you have more than earned your name."

"N-No!" she sobbed, clutching at the fae king's shoulder. "I h-have to stay with you, I-I must ensure-"

"He is gone, my flower, in all the ways that matter. All that yet remains is to expel the last traces of him - and there is time enough for such a task in the years to come. Until then, I would not risk your safety while you abide here."

Years. Such a gentle word for the surety of their imprisonment. "But-" Her tears overtook her again, and Titania cradled her ever more tightly. "I couldn't possibly leave you on your own, and with so much Light! Who will you play with; who will you dance with?!"

Titania traced one of their thin fingers along the curve of her nose, liberating a stray tear. "I entered this castle on your invitation and my own intentions - and here I shall stay, on behalf of our people. It will be comfort enough to know that my flower has found the peace she has sought for so long - and that she rests as a hero to Voeburt and the fae alike."

Yet peace still seemed so nebulous a prospect, as remote as the stars themselves. Peace could not grant her a retroactive belonging among Voeburt's people and court; it could not suppress the abject ache for understanding with which she had come of age in her awkward Galdjent skin. She had given all of herself for both her peoples, her past and her present and her future, and still she could not unmake the years of her own solitude. Only Titania had ever granted her such a reprieve.

If the King of the Pixies wished her to dream, then dream she would.

"Be with me," she whispered. "I know I will wake up without you-" She did not dare wonder what travesties the Light would wreak upon the king during their solitude. "-but until then... do not ask me to fall asleep alone."

Titania acquiesced to this final wish with a single kiss goodnight, and began to sing.

Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby.

As her eyes closed, she stared up at the kaleidoscopic light streaming in from the stained glass windows far above.

The sight was so lovely as to push all thoughts of the storm from her mind.

#Lyhe Il

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neverlandfms · 4 years ago

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nerissa. | i am not a girl; i am a storm with skin. | tag dump.

♆ history. | see me not for my beauty; see me for the natural disaster i am.

♆ development. | you used to be alive now you’re almost mythic.

♆ ask memes. | never apologize for burning too brightly.

♆ interactions. | i can and i will.

♆ summer court. | i was not made to be subtle.

♆ musings. | i am not a girl; i am a storm with skin.

♆ visage. | darling your looks could kill.

☼ ooc. | ali talks.

☼ ooc. | ali makes things.

0 notes

cristalsncw · 6 years ago

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tag drop

#◜ஐ · she looked like art & art wasn’t supposed to look nice. it was supposed to make you feel something.◞ ━━━「 visage. 」#◜ஐ · you probably still adore me with my hands around your neck. can you feel the warmth?◞ ━━━「 isms. 」#◜ஐ · i am at one with a sea of sensations glitter silk skin eyes mouths desire.◞ ━━━「 aesthetic. 」#◜ஐ · she thinks manipulation is the greatest art of them all. ◞ ━━━「 answers. 」#◜ஐ · hit me with your sweet love steal me with a kiss.◞ ━━━「 music. 」#◜ஐ · the voice inside my head speaks louder than the one that comes out vocally.◞ ━━━「replies. 」#◜ஐ · you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through & the storms you’ve caused.◞ ━━━「 prompts. 」#◜ஐ · you can’t change the past but you can alter the future.◞ ━━━「 starters. 」#◜ஐ · there she was; bathed in moonlight & silhouetted by stars.◞ ━━━「 study. 」#◜ஐ · the girl has always been half goddess half hell.◞ ━━━「 edits. 」#◜ஐ · she’s in the window in her pink dress radiant transparent lost.◞ ━━━「 attire. 」#◜ஐ · she was like the moon ; part of her was always hidden away.◞ ━━━「 task. 」#◜ஐ · blow a kiss; fire a gun.◞ ━━━「 text. 」#◜ஐ · her aura is made of poetry roses and galaxies.◞ ━━━「 snapchat. 」

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lancermylove · 4 years ago

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Hybrid 2: Confession (Oneshot)

Fandom: FFVII

Pairing: Vincent x fem!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Hi~ Still the same idea 😆 oneshot Vincent x hybrid reader plz. She take him to an ancient ice temple that used to belong to her mom. At night, they have to stay at there bcoz of a snowstorm. He took up the courage to confess his feelings for her in front of the fireplace :3

A/N: Sure thing~. Hope you like it! :D

Word Count: 2,093

———————————————

Your daily strolled through the city was usually peaceful, but today you heard a group of females squealing in a nearby alley. Their voices did not indicate they were in trouble, so what were they screaming about? As you got close, you noticed a tall pale man cloaked in crimson surrounded by females of various ages.

"Mister, are you a vampire? You look like one," a younger girl spoke with her hands on her cheeks.

"He has to be a vampire. I mean look at that pale skin, red eyes, and cloak," a slightly older woman giggled as she fanned herself with her hand, "do you also have fangs?"

'Vampire? Do these ladies think all vampires look the same? How stereotypical.' You shook your head, but an amusing thought crossed your mind. 'What if I told these women I was a vampire from my father's side? Would they believe me?'

You continued to ponder until your eyes landed on the crimson-eyed man. For a second, the aura around him caught you off guard; he was neither human nor vampire. What was he then?

His eyes shifted towards you, and though he displayed no expressions, you could sense his discomfort. Feeling sorry for him, you unleashed your mental manipulation powers on the fangirls surrounding him. Within a matter of minutes, the women left the alley in a complete daze.

The raven-haired man stared at you for a few seconds before lightly nodding his head as a show of gratitude. You smiled at him and rested on hand on your hip.

"Funny that those women assume all vampires have red eyes, pale skin, and wear cloaks." ----

After that day, you kept running into the mysterious man but only exchanged nods. You were curious about him and wanted to speak to him but hesitated every time. You finally got your chance when you found him with an injured blonde man.

"Mind if I take a look at your injury?" You said, cautiously walking towards them as not to alarm them.

Vincent was leaning against a tree with his arms folded and the bottom of one of his shoes pressed against the wooden trunk, knee jutting out. He opened his eyes upon hearing your voice and watched you intensely.

Once you examined his injury, you cast a healing spell on it, and in a flash, the gash vanished without a trace.

"Thank you," Cloud mumbled, "but why did you help me?"

"A friend of a friend is also my friend," you chuckled, gazing at the raven-haired man. Vincent was stunned to hear you refer to him as a friend. The blue-eyed male thanked you again and nodded at Vincent before making his way back to the city, leaving the two of you alone.

"I do think of you as a friend, but I don't even know your name yet." Stepping close to him, you interlocked your fingers behind your back and leaned your head a little closer to him. "So, Mr. Mysterious, what is your name?"

He studied your face with his piercing eyes and mumbled under the collar of his cloak, "Vincent."

"Nice to meet you, Vincent. My name is (Y/N). So have your dear fans been bothering you lately?"

He shook his head once and closed his eyes again. You took this chance to examine his sharp features and smiled, "You don't like talking much, do you? Well, you may not like talking much, but I get a feeling that you're a great listener. For that reason alone, I like you."

His eyes shot open when he heard the words 'I like you'. Most people are afraid of him and chose to maintain their distance, so hearing those words was a foreign concept to him. Vincent stared at the back of your head as he watched you walk away. He couldn't help but question who you were and why he sensed such a vast power from you.

----

The two of you met more and more, but it was the same each time, you talked and he listened. Whenever you asked questions, he gave short answers, but even then, something about him attracted you. You started to wonder if you were falling for your mysterious friend.

It was Valentine's Day, the one day of the year most couples or individuals in love eagerly awaited. You were no exception as you walked towards your usual meeting spot with Vincent, but this time with a red rose in hand.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Vincent." You sat next to your friend and held the flower out towards him, "for you."

He took the flower from your hand as if it were made out of glass. Leaning closer to him, you pressed your lips on his cheek, leaving a lipstick mark on his pale skin. His visage remained unfazed but his muscles tensed at your unexpected action.

For a while, you spoke to him under the assumption that he was listening to your words, but Vincent's mind was preoccupied with the memories of his past. He loved Lucrecia with all his heart, but she repeatedly hurt him; even then, he continued loving her. He tried in vain to save her, but his failure haunted him to this very day. What if history repeats itself? What if you get hurt as well? What if he can't save you?

Realizing that Vincent was lost in thought, you stayed quiet and stared at the floral landscape in front of you. 'Wonder what he is thinking so deeply about. Did something happen?'

"I have to go on a mission," Vincent broke the silence, much to your shock, "and will not return for a month."

"Oh, I see," you mumbled, "good luck on your mission."

The thought of not being able to see him for a month caused a sharp pain to shot through your chest. A realization finally hit you - you do like him.

"I will be waiting for you," you gave him a soft smile, "so come back soon, okay?"

Vincent's eyes narrowed a bit at your word as the uneasy feeling within him grew stronger. He wasn't sure how to feel anymore.

----

You crossed off each day on the calendar, impatiently waiting for his return. Despite your desire to see him, a fear lurked deep down in your mind. 'What if he doesn't like me?'

You had a feeling that Vincent knew about you not being a human, but you feared he would not accept the truth about your parents. The feeling was eating away at you, and for this reason, you wanted him to return soon.

On the 30th day, you waited for him on top of your favorite hill overlooking a field of flowers. A wide grin formed on your lips when you felt a gust of cold air hit your back.

"Welcome back, Vin," you turned to face him, your smile only growing wider, "say, do you anything important planned for the day?"

He shook his head, prompting you to continue, "Then I want to take you to a place that's special to me."

Upon arriving at the ice temple, Vincent scanned the grand entrance and the surrounding area, completely unaffected by the below zero temperature. You led him towards the center of the monument, stopping at several locations to explain certain designs, statues, and images carved into the ice walls. Vincent found the temple to be intriguing and had he still been his old self, he would have wished to study the place in great detail.

At the heart of the temple stood a massive ice monument of a graceful and delicate woman, holding a tall staff in her left hand. Her long cloak flowed behind her, her hair was hidden inside a wide-brimmed hat, and her dress danced above her knees.

"This statue is of...my mother," you whispered in a shaky voice, "she was a powerful ice witch who always looked out for people around her. One day, as she journeyed through a forest, she came a vampire. They fell in love...and well, here I am."

The entire time your eyes remained on the ice sculpture, not wanting to see Vincent's expression. After a moment of silence, you gathered all your strength and faced him, but to your shock, he was unperturbed.

"Y-You are not afraid of me?" You questioned with wide eyes.

"I have no reason to fear you."

His words lifted the pent-up apprehension that had been building up inside you since the day he left for his mission. The corners of your lips tugged up as thanked him under your breath.

"Hm?" You snapped your head in the direction of the entrance, "An ice storm is brewing outside. It may be dangerous for us to head home. Is it alright if we spend the night here?"

After Vincent gave his approval, you led him to a hidden room, "This was one of my favorites places when I was a kid."

In one corner of the room sat three cream-colored Bergere armchairs, each decorated with gold accents. Next to the sitting area, stood a tall bookshelf coated with faded off-white paint. In the center of the room was a large and simple beige rug with a glass table sitting in the middle. On the other end of the room, sat three stone steps leading to a stone fireplace with a cream-colored rug in front.

You made your way to the fireplace to start a fire, knowing the temperature would drop once the ice storm began. "I am sorry...the snowstorm patterns are unpredictable."

Vincent took a seat beside you, and the two of you sat quietly watching the flames dance. The room was silent, except for the occasional crackling of the fire and gusts of wind hitting the outer walls of the temple.

Much to your surprise, the cloaked man started speaking in a low voice, "I am certain you have sensed that I am not human. Are...you afraid of me?"

You shook your head and smiled, "No, I also have no reason to fear you. Why do you ask?"

An expression of hesitation flashed in his usually unreadable eyes, and though he was not looking at you, you sensed his feeling due to your witch power, empathy.

After a bit, Vincent spoke again in the same tone, "Many years back, I worked as a Turk for Shinra. Certain...events took place in my life, and the outcome is in front of you."

The room was once again at peace as he gave you a moment to take in his words. The howling of the wind has grown louder since indicating the storm was creating havoc outside.

"I have no faith in love."

His straightforward words struck you deep in your heart and echoed in your mind. Biting down on your lower lip, you dug your fingers into your dress, bracing yourself for the pain that was about to follow.

"In this one month, I have come to a realization." Vincent's voice sounded gentler than usual, "it is difficult to spend a day without you."

You shifted your eyes to him and stared at him with furrowed brows, trying to make sense of his encrypted words. You waited for him to say more, but he kept his lips sealed, his eyes never leaving the fireplace.

"Vincent...do you...love me?" You asked still in shock, forcing the words out of your throat. He nodded, but this time he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes.

Tears streamed out of your wide eyes, rushing down your cheek as you pressed the flats of your right palm to your mouth. Your heart pounded wildly against your chest, your head spinning a little from the sudden rush of excitement. This was the happiest moment of your life, a moment you never expected to arrive.

Vincent extended his hand to your face and wiped away your tears with his gloved hand. You got on your knees and threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He smelled rather pleasant and calming.

"I love you too, Vincent," a smile danced on your lips as you confessed your feelings for him. Hearing your words, he encircled an arm around your lower back, pulling your body closer to him and sitting you between his legs.

For the rest of the night, neither one of you said anything and continued to stay in each other's embrace. Vincent watched you sleeping peacefully in his arms and made a promise to himself.

"I lost her, but I won't lose you."

———————————————

➣ FFVII Masterlist

#vincent valentine #ffvii vincent #vincent x reader #ffvii

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nurseofren · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 23

Read on AO3

Read chapter twenty-two

Title: Choice

Words: 8200

Summary: When one is hurt, comfort is imperative.

ST Rambles: Hello! It has been nearly a month, not quite, but I have missed you all so entirely too much to admit. This story is my heart, and sharing it means the world to me. I took my first exam of the semester this morning and wanted to finish this chapter so I could upload prior to going to my first maternal-newborn clinical rotation on Saturday.

During my time away I have had the opportunity to read many amazing works, whether they be one-shots on tumblr or ficlets right on A03. One that has evoked such a strong response in me has been Three Blind Tooke by ElmiDol. She is a beautiful soul with such a gift for storytelling. I have quickly fallen in love with this story and I hope to encourage many of you to do the same.

My plan for the semester and writing is to take one week writing and then take one week to read the stories that I want. I think this will provide the necessary balance needed for me to be successful in school while also creating and enjoying other creator's content.

[MASTERLIST]

Time has always had a funny way of making itself scarce when needed most. It seemed that you could barely remember the trial, like it had never happened and all that remained to prove that it had were the restraints locked tight around each of your wrists and your neck. Above you sounded the molten, fatal buzz of the plasma guillotine, though it was mere background noise to the riotous cacophony of the rabid crowd awaiting your final moment. As you knelt, trembling against the icy durasteel, face frozen under cold-stuck tears, you tried and failed to settle into acceptance that this would be your last act of life.

“Please,” you whimpered, unsure if anyone could hear you, “I… I saved that man’s life. I didn’t hurt anyone. I don’t deserve to die for keeping my oath.” You tried to scream but the pleads were barely whispers.

Out of sight came a bellowed laugh, full and ragged just as it had been in the past. “That isn’t why you’re here, young officer.” Snoke could hardly contain his glee. “You’re forgetting, you may have saved one life, but you took another.”

Nausea waved through you and your head started pounding; Snoke’s presence was pain, magnified with each echo of his words as the arena shook against the surround sound. An uproar of cheers and chanting came from before you, the crowd booming with enthusiasm, hanging off of every word their Supreme Leader spoke.

Through the fog of terrified eyes you saw an image appear behind the audience, scaling the entire back wall and striking you with rage. A scrollbar read something you could only assume to be his First Order given name, your focus too centered on the enormous projection of Robbie’s face, smiling while he held his helmet tight against his chest. He looked too nice, just as he’d seemed when you gave him a name. He was being renowned as a hero, his death marking you as the villain.

“I… He! I was defending myself, he was going to kill me!”

“But instead you killed me.”

This voice was angelic, familiar and welcoming in the storm surrounding you. It was accompanied by the footsteps you’d become so fond of, coming closer with every panted breath that fell from your lips. Kylo crowded your view of the blinding screen, a cape trailing in his path. He stopped when he was centered in your view and crouched so he was eye level with you.

He wore no mask, nothing to conceal his beautiful visage as the sight of him constricted your heart. When was the last you’d seen him? It felt like it had been so long, yet you could barely grasp any concept of time. It was frustrating, like you were barred in your memory. Kylo’s face gave no indication into his emotions, yet for a fleeting moment you swore you saw a tear glint over his cheek.

“Yet another of your victims, yes?” Snoke remained hidden, his voice shifting between your ears, slithering like the snake he was.

“You made me! I had no-,”

“Choice.” It was a discordant wrath of voices; at first Kylo’s, then Snoke’s, trailing off with the whispers of Robbie’s and Mason’s.

Kylo brought one hand, bare and freezing, to your cheek. It hadn’t been there before, but his face was now split with the consequences of battle, a gash – open, pulsating, and weeping – ripping through his features. A shiver sank into you, you throat tightening.

The way in which he next breathed your name made you weep, his thumb catching the tear that burned into your skin. “You’ve always had a choice, remember? You just keep making-,”

“The wrong ones.” You finished his sentence, remembering the first time he’d said it. A futile attempt was made to reach for his hand, a sting coming as the restraint bit into your wrist.

The crowd was growing impatient, hordes of screams coming from behind Kylo’s shoulders. The screen behind him shifted to present the live cast of your suffering, the view suggesting that it was Kylo’s own eyes giving view to the onlookers, your face excruciatingly close, allowing every audience member to bask in the terror that plagued you.

You sniffled, nuzzling into his hand and looking between his eyes. He mimicked you, though his gaze was empty, just as it had been one of the last times you could remember seeing him. “I trusted you,” he said. “More than anything.”

Kylo began to leave you, his fingertips lingering just before he could take three steps backwards. The plasma blade above you began hissing louder with inevitability, your eyes squeezing shut as you awaited your sentence’s completion. Pain took root in your left upper thigh, a kind of burning as you continued to kneel. A string of agony tore through your throat as your eyes shot open to see Kylo’s hand shoot up.

“No, no! Please! Kylo, no!” You could see your face twist with desperation behind him now, tears willful in their presence as each one painted creaks of pain down to the durasteel.

Snoke let out another flood of evil-tinged amusement as Kylo turned his face toward the direction the sound came. “You still don’t understand, stupid girl.” Another bark of laughter. “You might have had a choice,” he said, “but your Master never did. Never will.”

And as they were spoken, you saw that crushing glimmer of humanity flicker in the face of Kylo Ren as he turned back to you. Snoke, infuriatingly, was right, of course. Hearing it out loud, accepting it as fact, calmed you down. Staring up at him, watching his fingers twitch, you spent your last remaining second pitying him for all the control he believed he had, knowing more than he did that it was a masterful mirage. Snoke had Kylo wrapped around his finger; you had only aided in tightening his grip.

More than anything. It was the last thought before you heard the overhead blade drawing near, its volume immense until it wasn’t. The next thing you were aware of was the overbearing smell of flatcakes wafting into your nostrils. Taking a few deep breaths, your attention went to the ache twisted into the back of your skull, the dryness sticking to your lips, and the warm weight present over your right leg.

Taking one more deep breath, you coughed, lungs feeling like they’d been stagnant for a while, rejecting the stretch of air. Light was obvious even as your eyes remained shut, its overwhelming presence leading you to blink a few times before adapting.

“Where am I?” you croaked out. Answering your question, you first saw the familiar polygon meal tray sitting atop a bedside table while your watch rested next to it, next catching view of the pulse oximeter resting over your left index finger. This was the medbay.

The first thing that came to mind was your dream, remembering Kylo’s wounded face. He was hurt. Where was he? Was he okay? The monitor to your left sounded louder as your heart rate accelerated. Warmth left your right leg as you saw something move in your periphery. A person.

Mason had been asleep, his hair stuck to his face when he first looked at you with shock and relief. “You scared me!” He sprung up from the chair he’d been sitting in and flung his arms around you. “The news about Starkiller came and I didn’t know where you were.” He hummed your name into your neck while rocking you back and forth. “I thought you were… I thought you had… I didn’t know…”

“Mason.” It was all you could think to say, your arms resting at your side as he kept his hold on you. Maybe you should’ve felt relief that he was here and that he was okay, but all you could feel was regret and an overwhelming sadness. Mason was none the wiser, but his very existence was a reminder of what you’d done, undeniable proof of the choice you’d made.

He finally leaned back, keeping his hand locked around yours and staring down at you with red-rimmed eyes. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his nerves settling more the longer he looked over your face. “I tried calling you—” a laugh accompanied the distant raise of his brows “—but I lost my commlink. I guess. I actually don’t know-,”

“What?” you interrupted his explanation, confused by his recall of events, wondering why Snoke wasn’t the focal point of his reasoning.

His face fell. “What? Did I say something? Are you hurt? Do you need water? Food? I actually ordered some flatcakes for me, but they’re all yours if you-,”

“You lost your commlink?”

His brow creased and his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Yeah? Yeah. I mean. I guess. It’s been crazy around here today and—” his face bloomed in horror “—oh, fuck! I didn’t mean that your day hasn’t been bad, I just. Yeah. I lost it.”

He didn’t seem like he knew anything about Snoke, or that he remembered ever enduring the pain you’d heard him scream through the communication device earlier – actually, how long had it been?

“So… There was nothing… I mean, you weren’t… Summoned? Or…?”

“Summoned?” Mason looked at you with amused confusion. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t give you any pain medicine, but you’re acting a little loopy.”

He didn’t know. He was blissfully ignorant to Snoke’s involvement in your or his life. Again, instead of relief you were met with that bleakness from before. “Maybe I was just dreaming,” you brushed it off.

Dreaming. Kylo. “I need to see him,” you mumbled, moving to stand and becoming extremely aware of your left leg once more. A hiss left you before Mason could pull your shoulders back against the bed, your hand reaching down to soothe the blanket-covered wounds.

“Not so fast,” he said. “Doctor Belkar wants to examine you before you start walking.”

“Belkar?” You couldn’t remember ever hearing that name, though your memory may not be the most reliable at the moment.

“I heard my name.” A man – shorter, skinny, and dark-skinned – peered into the door before knocking and stepping in. “Oh, good! Glad to see you’re awake. You had us worried there for a moment.” Belkar took a few more steps so he was on your left, clutching a datapad under his arm and smiling down at you. His presence was comfortable and professional. He seemed to possess a bedside manner not common of many physicians, and he’d barely even spoken.

Squinting towards his badge you found his first name. “Trace Belkar.” You sounded it out, feeling a faint sense of familiarity. Looking to his face, it finally struck you. “Oh! You’re, you are the one who… You helped me with my friend earlier.” Warmth set in your cheeks when you realized you knew him.

“Ah! My first surprise patient of the day. Funny how things seem to come full circle, isn’t it? Now-,”

Further realization hit. “You also helped me that night. I was the nurse who…” Maybe he didn’t remember who you were, and maybe he didn’t need to, given your actions that night were rather infamous currently.

“Yes! I knew you looked familiar seeing you yesterday. You are the nurse that saved my patient’s life. Great work that night, by the way. Fast-thinking, resourceful. Gives me hope for the next generation of medics.” A quick smile flashed across his face before he reached into his coat pocket. “Now, if you don’t mind following my finger with your eyes.”

It probably took too long for you to follow his request as you were taken aback by his praise for that night. The only emotions you’d ever attached to that it had been pain and fear, likely influenced by the way you were being reprimanded at the moment, thinking of that night as a crime rather than the miracle that it was for that man.

“Um, yes. Sorry.” You shook your head and followed the tip of his finger as he dragged it around – up and down, right to left, and finally in a diagonal cross.

“Any nausea, pain, weakness, dizziness, headaches?” His tone was absent while he traced his penlight in and out of sight to finish his PERRLA assessment.

“I’m really fine. This isn’t necessary at all.” You couldn’t stand being treated like a patient. Even when you were one. Knowing the inner workings of every check made it difficult not to see through their purpose. “I could probably leave now and I’d be fi-ah!” You’d tensed your wounded leg without thinking when shifting in the bed.

“How’s that leg treating you?” It seemed he was psychic in his assumptions, though you knew he’d probably had a nurse do a head-to-toe assessment while you were out.

Mason was puzzled when you looked over at him. “What’s wrong with her leg? She passed out. What’s wrong with her-,”

“Mason, will you go find me some water? And maybe a warm blanket? Please.” Your eyes were locked with Belkar’s as you quieted Mason, mindlessly squeezing his hand to encourage his leave. Mason did not need to see your brand. He wouldn’t understand, and you didn’t feel like having to explain to him, that you felt deserving of it and much worse.

There was a silent moment as you watched Belkar and felt Mason’s eyes before he squeezed your hand back and told you he’d be back soon. The door shut behind him and the quiet swallowed you.

“From what I read in your chart it seemed you’d given yourself a makeshift dressing. Your nurse was actually impressed at how well it was done. I do have some questions about the scars under it, though. If you don’t mind.” He seemed to know to tread lightly; his demeanor reminded you of the one you were instructed to use on abuse survivors.

You shook your head, but this only clued you into another pain. “Jeez! Ow!” Your hand fled to your forehead, finding a bandage sealed over a large bump. It was tender to touch, flinching as you remembered Robbie banging your head into the door.

Belkar took his datapad from under his arm and tapped away as you recovered. “There.” He pressed the screen once more before returning it to its original spot. “The nurse should be in here soon with some-,”

“I don’t want it.” You swallowed, dropping your hand and staring at your lap.

Belkar paused and shifted in his stance. He clicked his tongue, put his datapad down, and pulled up a chair. He called you by your last name, professional yet with a considerable amount of concern. “Will you tell me what caused your injuries?”

He was attempting therapeutic communication. And he was succeeding. An uncomfortable laugh left you. “What is there to tell? I’m hurt. In ways that aren’t physical. Ways that are.” Your lip began to quiver before you caught it with your teeth.

Another pause from Belkar. His hand twitched and your eyes jumped to it. He noticed this. “Can I hold your hand?”

The offer was tempting, but you declined by shaking your head and finally looking up at him. There were crinkles splayed outward from his eyes and gray hairs obvious in an overgrown stubble on his cheeks. He was a kind soul, you could tell; it was evident in his eyes, clear and green yet full of warmth. Soon after setting eyes on him you felt your throat thicken and your eyes water.

“You know,” you laughed, scraping at your eyes and sniffling, “I don’t even know what I’d say to any of the questions you mentioned before.”

A kind smile, no teeth, brought his cheeks up. “How about just one, then?”

“Yeah. One. I guess.”

He made sure your eyes were on his before he spoke again. “Do you want to report the person who did this to you?”

Another nervous laugh left. And then a sob before the heels of your hands met your face. “That’s not necessary,” you said through hiccuped words. Robbie’s face flashed into your mind’s eye, the pool of blood spreading below him before the door hissed shut. Your dream, the screen presenting his smiling face. “I… I don’t even know what to do anymore! I can’t… I have… I can’t fix this!”

Belkar squeezed your hand, bringing you back to reality. His face was blurry through your tears. “Slow down. Just breathe. Shh. Slow down.” He modeled how to do so, exaggerating when he took a deep breath through his nose.

After several breaths you closed your eyes and threw your head back on the pillow, keeping your hand in Belkar’s. “I’m sure you’ve seen the scars? Or read about them at the least, right? And then I know you were the one who caught me before I passed out so you obviously know who I work for.”

“Are those two things related?” He was trying not to assume anything.

“All that matters is that this—” you gestured to your head “—and this—” you placed a gentle hand over your wrapped thigh, petting a thumb over it “—are unrelated.” Belkar knew not to speak when you choked on your tears in search of words you weren’t even sure you wanted to say. “I was… Someone broke into my residence just before the explosion. And he.” You paused again, feeling Belkar’s grip tighten and relax over your trembling hand. You cleared your throat. “I was taken advantage of. He went down with the base. It would be pointless to report when the perpetrator is already dead.” Bloodied scissors flashed into your memory before you looked back up to Belkar.

He nodded, placing his second hand over yours. The warmth was welcome, and surprising. “Should I order an emergency contraceptive or a spermicide?” There wasn’t a fraction of discomfort when he asked the question. Complete care and professionalism. He felt safe.

“No, I don’t need that. I had a chip placed last year.” You ran your tongue over your teeth, swallowing before speaking again. “But, um. I was wondering if…”

“Yes?”

“Commander Ren,” you said, searching his eyes for judgment, “is he… How is he?” Your bottom lip would need to heal from chewing it so much.

Another warm, small smile lifted on Belkar’s face. “It’s admirable, your passion for his care. Even in your current state. Even with those wounds you only care about his wellbeing.” Fire bit at your face, your eyes falling back to the bed. “It’s the mark of a true healer. Setting aside your own pain to lessen someone else’s. Your patient’s.”

“Yeah, well,” you raised your eyebrows, “do you know how he’s doing?”

“Before I came in to examine you, I was actually on my way to see Commander Ren. Would you like to come with me?”

“I should probably…” You trailed off, finally feeling relief when thinking about seeing Kylo and avoiding Mason. “Do you think I can walk? How did the nurse say I was healing?”

Belkar scooted out from the chair and stood, offering you a hand for support. “I actually would prefer you start walking now to discourage clotting. It’s likely you can leave here tonight once its officially been twenty-four hours since your admission.”

He made sure to fix your gown so you weren’t exposed while standing before you could tie the lower fastener. He kept a hand lightly placed over your mid-back, the other now holding your hand. “How long has it been since I got here?”

He started you on a slow pace and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Robbie may have been the one to die, but death took residence in you; a bruise splotched out over your forehead, your hair flat and knotted, exhaustion shadowing your eyes. There were multiple bruises lining your arms, their origin a mystery, though you could only suspect a majority had come from the crowd of people you’d stormed through the stairwells with. The one injury you’d grown to cherish was masked by the ill-fitting white and grey patterned gown, the article most definitely shielding an additional multitude you were still unaware of.

“The Command Shuttle arrived soon after Starkiller exploded. Ren was transferred to medbay in less than a minute and began treatment within the next five upon arrival. You fainted before then.” He led you into the hall and began walking through the maze of bustling hallways. “You’ve been resting for nearly sixteen hours.”

“Sixteen. Stars.” The pain in your leg lessened the more you walked, seeing the faces of coworkers who last saw you that fateful night.

“We monitored your intracranial pressure for the first few hours, but it seems you were only severely exhausted and mildly dehydrated. Understandably, of course.” He took a familiar left turn and the entrance to the Elite medbay came into view. “I had entered orders to start you on oral antibiotic therapy as soon as you woke up, completely a prophylactic measure, but it won’t affect anything to hold off for now.”

Belkar swiped his badge across the scanner and the doors hissed open, your heart now thumping in your chest. The last time you’d seen Kylo, you’d assumed would be the last time. Even as you kept forward, nerves twisting your intestines, you couldn’t deny the need you felt to see him again. It scared you, though, imagining how he’d react to your presence.

“Um, maybe this is a bad idea. I don’t think Commander Ren needs any more visitors than necessary.” You stopped Belkar just before he swiped to open the door to your Master’s exclusive medbay.

“It’s a good thing neither of us are visitors.” The door shot open. “We’re his providers.” Belkar stepped past the threshold. “He wouldn’t mind either way,” you followed in after him, hesitant while you stared down at the floor, “I placed him in a therapeutic coma to keep him from disturbing the stitching in his wounds.”

This news brought your eyes up as you entered the room and felt the door shut behind you. Kylo Ren, outfitted in the same gown as you, was supine on the bed, unconscious. Peaceful. His gown was left unsnapped at the shoulders, a blanket resting above his hips and tucked under his wrists. The assessment table had been replaced, an IV pole set up on his left side, a monitor reading off the contents and status of the three current running fluids: metronidazole, normal saline, and a third – separate – line running a bag of packed red blood cells. Kylo was breathing on his own, though there was an intubation kit ready on the bedside table, you noticed while routinely scanning the room for necessary emergency intervention equipment.

Belkar rid the distance between him and Ren, your own feet stopping just before the door. The physician looked at you with a creased brow but quickly dissolved his expression as he accepted your decision. After setting his datapad down he gently peeled back Kylo’s gown, resting it over the blanket and then gesturing towards him with his hands.

“The coma was a last resort,” he began. “Commander Ren was exhibiting signs of delirium when my team began his care. After nearly two hours of noncompliance I wrote a STAT order to initiate it.” Belkar sighed, this fact disappointing to him.

“When you say delirium…” Your hands strangled in and out of fists, nervous fingers smoothing over the fabric of your gown while you looked on at your sleeping patient.

The physician’s mouth had settled into somewhat of a pout, considering your question. “Ren’s health history was scattered and scant in the archives, virtually nothing resembling a family history. It was most likely the physical trauma that caused it, but…” Belkar turned his body to you while keeping his eyes on Kylo. “Whenever any of the nurses or techs would attempt to orient him during those first two hours he kept telling us he’s dead.”

A single step took you further from the door. “Was.. Did he ever say who he was talking about? A name?” This information confounded you, leaving you to wonder whose death could possibly matter so much to Kylo Ren that he’d recount while his mental defenses were weakened?

A deeper, more frustrated sigh left Belkar. “There’s been so little time and the staff is already so overworked with all the new admissions.” He uncovered one of Kylo’s legs and checked the placement and setting of the compression device wrapped around it. “I appointed a droid to sift through the archives to find anything, to see if there was any information on a Ben.”

“Ben?”

“That’s who we assume is dead, as he kept repeating.”

“You assume? What does that mean?” Another step and your eyes shot to the vitals monitor, seeing his heart rate was in the low fifties. Bradycardic, hence the fluids.

“The two phrases came sporadically. At times he would say the name, and whenever any of the care team would ask him who Ben was…”

“They’d suddenly be at a loss for words?”

Belkar’s mouth quirked for half a second, falling quickly when he shifted the blanket back to its original place. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.” He looked at you again, contemplating, narrowing his eyes. “I imagine you’ve endured such acts. I only assume given—” he gestured to your leg.

Heat flared in your cheeks and your pulse picked up. Swallowing, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and crossed your arms. “Yes.” He didn’t seem to know why Kylo Ren had left his mark, only that he had. This brought you ease. “Yes, Commander Ren doesn’t have the best handle on his…anger. I suppose.”

Belkar swallowed, watching you. “Does he scare you?”

This caught you off guard, fingers biting into your arms when you took another step forward. “Does Kylo Ren scare me?” You took a few seconds to really think about it, feeling comfortable when you met Belkar’s eyes again, only a few paces from the bed now. “It would be counterintuitive to be afraid of my own patient.”

“Do you feel safe when you are working with him?” He was subtly attempting to screen you for abuse – well, further abuse – his face trying to hide the curiosity in his tone.

“Doctor Belkar, I do appreciate you’re worried for me. But it is misplaced. Now, would you tell me more about my patient, please?”

He was momentarily taken aback by your forward effort to change the subject. “I do apologize if my questions have made you uncomfortable. I noticed your hesitancy to be near him and thought-,”

“That’s unrelated, Doctor,” maybe in too harsh a manner, you bit his words off. You didn’t feel like telling the edited version of how you believed yourself to be the abuser when it came to Kylo, and you were sure Belkar, just as Mason, wouldn’t understand if you tried. “Will you please just tell me how he’s been doing?” A crack in your voice revealed how weak your defenses were.

The physician’s head nodded back slightly in understanding. Today was good for no one. Tensions were high. He knew you had just woken up after experiencing both known and unknown traumas. “Would you help me change his dressings while we discuss his care?” A truce, gentle and acknowledging.

Your shoulders fell with a breath you hadn’t realized was waiting to escape, your throat clearing when you walked to the drawers set up behind you. Activating one, you pulled out the necessary supplies and set them up as Belkar opened them. He walked you through the various monitors connected to Kylo – leeds stuck to his chest, a cuff around his upper right arm, the pumps over his legs, the IVs placed. He uncovered Ren’s pelvis and had you assess his catheter, mentioning the drainage bag below the bed. The antibiotics were prophylactic, just as yours would be; there had been too many unknowns around Ren’s injuries to not protect against potential sepsis.

When Belkar had completed his assessment – stopping to listen to breath and bowel sounds, motioning for you to do the same with the provided stethoscope to test your knowledge – you helped him fix the gown and sheets back over Kylo’s chest, your breath catching when your fingers brushed against his skin. The doctor tucked his datapad back under his arm and walked to the door, activating it before stepping out. However, you had remained at Kylo’s side, watching him as he slept.

“Doctor Belkar?” you called after him, not looking away from Kylo.

A sigh left him, this one fond. Kind. “A true healer.” He was thoughtful in tone. “Use the assistance indicator should you become faint. Should your friend inquire about your whereabouts-,”

“Tell him I’m okay—” you licked your lips as a tear slipped down your cheek “—tell Mason he can leave if he… Tell Mason he can leave.”

There was no response before the door hissed shut, allowing you to let free the whimper which had been stuck since you first set eyes on Kylo. You realized you’d never seen him asleep. The one night you’d shared his bed your focus just on that fact, not on observing him. That night had been the only time you’d seen his full heart, or at least more of it than you had. Now, standing beside him, still reluctant to get too close, you were crying just as he had. That night seemed like a separate lifetime, like a dream you’d only ever get to revisit in your memories now.

Tearing your eyes away from him, clearing your throat and thumbing away more tears, you ran your fingertips along the hanging fluids; the saline would need to be replaced soon, and the metronidazole was running at an accelerated rate. The blood, you checked the label, had been hung just prior to your arrival, the colloid causing you to stop and gently press into its plastic confines. A huff of weak amusement left you; it had never occurred to you that this blood would ever be used for its intended purpose, intended recipient. Seeing it running into Kylo’s veins, checking the transfusion sight for infiltration and redness, you felt a sort of sick irony settle into the room. This very fluid, more or less, would be your demise; it was capable of sustaining life, replenishing it, yet would be the very thing to end yours.

The monitor blinked in your periphery, catching your attention; his heart rate was improving, finally skimming the upper fifties, his respirations coming evenly. Steeling yourself, bunching your gown in your hands, you looked down at him. Kylo Ren, resting and vulnerable, lay below for your appraisal. Belkar had walked you through the proper routine to change his dressings, his abdominal wound and the one scraping across his shoulder healing well under the soaked gauze. The wound fixed along his face, however, had been created too awkwardly to be dressed as the others. A grafting patch had been placed along the length of the injury, a black stripe of the regenerative material precise in its placement.

There was so much pain etched into him, you wondered if his outward appearance now matched his inner, the thought choking you with a sob. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. It was silly to wait for a response, to look at him in anticipation, but you did.

It took several minutes of deliberation, but you eventually joined him in the bed, gently sitting on his right side as to not disturb anything. The tips of your right index and middle finger trailed along the ridges of the unbandaged wound, feeling his pulse in the raised flesh, landing on his forehead and brushing into his hair.

“Oh.” It startled you when your fingers got stuck in a mat at his ends. Rolling it between your fingers you found it to be dried, congealed blood. It wasn’t surprising; hair care was not the priority right now, the nurses already straining themselves without paying attention to trivial duties.

But you had time and he was here with no way of objecting, your hand cupping his face before you began gathering your supplies and setting them up. The silence was comforting for only a few minutes, soon leaving you to your thoughts, those which shuddered through you with images of Robbie and Snoke and Kylo.

“I don’t even know how we got here,” you mumbled while filling a basin with warm water. A bitter chuckle, a cough chasing it. “I do, actually. I know exactly how we got here.” Placing the full basin on the bedside table, carefully wheeling it to the head of his bed, you gazed over him. “Snoke. Mason. Rob-,” the name stuck in your throat. “The stormtrooper.”

Gentle thumbs tracked like feathers atop his cheekbones, your remaining fingers pushing into his thick locks and brushing it behind his ears. After admiring him for a moment longer you collected the necessary linen, grabbing three extra towels, four in total. Setting them up – one beneath him, another two rolled and resting atop his shoulders, and the last spread over your lap when you sat on a stool – you reached for the cup you’d earlier grabbed and filled it with water.

“I should’ve told you.” It seemed you would never stop crying; a tear struck his forehead as you poured the first cup over his head, ensuring to guard his eyes and ears. “I never… Snoke threatened Mason. He threatened him and all I could think was that I wouldn’t allow someone else to endure punishment meant for me.” Kylo’s hair darkened as it wet, the towel beneath him turning pink with diluted blood. “That wouldn’t be fair. Someone suffering because my own mistakes? No. No, that would be selfish. Selfish and, and… I don’t know.” A sigh and a swallow. “I don’t know.”

With a second cup you wet the rest of his locks and lathered shampoo between your hands. “I woke up yesterday hating you, wishing I was dead so I didn’t have to see you after that day. I fucking hate him so much!” Your chin trembled in anger, imagining Snoke knowing this was happening, wondering how much he really knew, if he could see while Kylo slept. “And it wasn’t even… That’s what I hate the most. You had so little say in it, so little choice and I spent a whole month, wasted so much time, hating the wrong person. Hating you.”

Rolling his ends between your fingers, you scrubbed at the mats until they became loose. “I wish you could know that everything I told you was a lie. You were right about it all. I don’t hate you.” Words came easier, tears still streaming with ease, yet your throat clearing with each admission. “Maybe in the beginning when I didn’t know so much, when I didn’t know you. Maybe then I had wanted to, but it’s an impossibility now. Today made me realize that.” A pause while you watched his chest tide, stopping to recount the apology you’d known to give him, remembering how it felt as he held you – broken, raw – in his arms. “Today made me realize a lot of things.”

The last mat had been the toughest, your fingers rolling and rubbing for nearly five minutes until it softened. “Can I… I mean, I know you can’t answer, but…” Your throat got thick again, burning as you tried to swallow a sob. Closing your eyes, you dropped the subject, not wanting to recount the event to even an absent mind yet.

Clearing your throat, you began again, instead recalling the various mentions of Kylo Ren’s history during the past day. “Maybe I don’t know as much about you as others do, though.” Water drenched the towel below his head as you massaged the soap out of his hair, your pulse quickening as you thought about your next question. “The old man. The one on Jakku… He mentioned something about a time before Kylo Ren, or something like that. How did he even know you? How did you know him?”

Working your way through his hair, you rinsed until there were no bubbles remaining. Questioning him felt foreign; if he were awake he would have surely stopped you from continuing. Or from starting at all. But you pressed on, wanting to distract yourself from the reality that lurked in the back of your mind.

“And then later, when I…” Warmth spread through you at the memory of his bed, him setting you there, holding onto him until he left. You tried to hide the pain in your throat, knowing if you allowed yourself to sob once you’d surely lose the ability to stop. “I heard you. When you were speaking to someone, talking to your grandfather. Was he in there with you? Or were you on a commlink?” You shrugged, knowing all of these inquiries were in vain. “My maternal grandfather passed away before I began university. I never met the other one. Something about family secrets and drama and blah blah blah.”

Another tear fell to Kylo’s face, remembering the pain you’d felt losing someone for the first time, remembering how helpless you were to change anything. A sigh of desperate defeat left you. “I must be cursed. A true healer? Maybe in another life. In this one it seems I can only save a life in turn for another, be it mine or someone I care about.”

After rinsing your hands in the basin, you gathered conditioner on the tips of your fingers and began working it into the now clean ends. A whimper came in place of the stuck sob, breathing becoming difficult as you denied it life. “You said that to me, remember? The night I had gone to Mason. Not exactly but, you said something along the lines of me only listening when the things I value are threatened. It seems the two things go hand in hand; I can’t help anyone without hurting someone else, I can’t make a decision without being forced into it, without being threatened should I make one wrong choice.”

A hand smoothed over the last remaining tendril of hair, soft with the new product, your chest heavy with regret and hindsight. “You wanted me to give my whole self to the First Order. I did, Kylo. And now… I have nothing. There’s nothing left and it’s my fault.” Mason’s worried expression flitted into your mind’s eye. “And if I do have anything left… It’s nothing I want.” Closing your eyes, you ran the pad of your thumb along the rim of the cup, clutching it to your chest. “I wish I could go back. Earlier when I… When I came home. I wish I had told you then. If I had, maybe neither of us would be pawns in Snoke’s game. If I’d told you, maybe I wouldn’t have been-,”

Pain speared you with daggers of rejection. There was no easy or gentle way to confront the truth. No matter if you’d briefly mentioned it with Belkar earlier; to verbalize it, to say out loud what had gone one, scared you. It made it real, gave it power and life. But this would be the only way you’d get to confess to it; soon you’d be alone, left to relive the act over and over until it would be all that remained. It would consume you if you let it.

“I was raped.” You said it before it got stuck again. Finally, after choking on it for so long, that sob broke free, cries grating against your sore throat. “It was the stormtrooper. The one you’d set out to protect me from. The one Snoke had told me you’d been thinking about.” A shaky hand collected another cup of water and let it rinse the conditioner away. “RB-6745. Robbie. Shit! I’m so, so stupid! I’m so dumb I wish I could fucking die! It would be so much easier if I could just stop…existing, if I could just stop breathing it would all be- none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t- damn it!” A roar tore through clenched teeth before you dragged the towel set across your lap and smothered it against your face.

Scream after scream after scream left you, each one more painful than the last, more broken than the last. The towel collected what tears had set on your cheeks, your voice diminishing before you had the sense to stop yourself from continuing. With the damp cloth draped over your hands, you rested your head in your palms, heaves and hiccups unbidden and unrelenting.

“I gave him a name, Kylo. I did. I gave him a name and I started all of this,” muffled, you finally confronted the truth you had been so unwilling to acknowledge. A bitter crack of laughter left. “You will only ever be the start and end of the issue,” you echoed Snoke, voice distant and decimated. “Yeah, well. I guess he was right. I did start it.” Pulling the towel from your face, staring down at the peace painted over your Master, a cold shiver stalled your lungs. “I started it. And I ended it.”

Silence once more met you with suffocation. Studying Kylo’s face – noticing his eyelashes, the cracked nature of his dry lips, finding a fondness in the angle of his nose – you took a deep breath and settled into your new reality, accepting it as it would be, allowing yourself to begin healing as he was before you. “I killed him. I left him to bleed out just before Starkiller exploded. He’s dead.”

The last phrase reminded you as you finished your task, patting the towel into his hair, lifting his head to fully dry him. “Whoever Ben is… and if he’s dead or not –” you rested the towel over your left thigh “—I wonder if I knew him.” Another thought of Kylo’s figurative family. “I wonder if he knew you.”

Once you left here your privileges as his provider would be revoked; when he would wake and sign the proper documents, notify the necessary people, every tie you had to him would be severed. So, to indulge in one last moment, you parted a triangle of hair from the center of his hairline, separated it into three equal sections, and began the simple pattern: left over middle, right over middle, adding hair with each repetition to create a continuous, tight braid. Aside from giving you more time with him, the style would discourage any new mats from forming.

Repeating this process two more times, one more on each side of his head, you made sure that the hair that couldn’t be contained was brushed and flat beneath him. You set a towel under his head to collect any remaining moisture and prevent knotting. The clean-up process was leisurely, your focus shifting to his monitor every now and then to see he was no longer bradycardic. The last time you checked the monitor, a normal sinus rhythm tracing along the display, you found his pulse had risen to sixty-seven beats per minute.

Finished clearing the last of your mess, you sat on the stool, still at the head of his bed. No matter the new addition setting into features – though, in a way, it suited him well – you admired him; here he was at peace. Resting. Healing. The sobs had died out but tears were still liberal in their formation, another falling to hit the inner corner of his right eye. You collected it, chewing your lip before leaning down and again tracing along the outer region of the wound.

Kylo’s breath warmed over your forehead in the proximity, your own catching as it all became too much. Placing your hands on either side of his face so the tips of your fingers held loosely over his jaw, you brought your lips to rest on his. Kylo couldn’t reciprocate it, you knew, but this would be your goodbye.

“I wish I could have given you more than this,” you whispered, lips brushing against his own. “More than anything, Kylo, I wanted to give you more than this.”

Trembling lips pressed into his, your tears reviving the dry flesh, a whimper leaving when he remained still. He would never kiss you back again, the thought piercing as warmth slipped from your cheeks and onto his. However long you stayed like this, your face on his, you tried to silence the reality looming over you. But you couldn’t stay here forever, and you’d probably been gone for far too long already.

Leaning up from him your nose drew a faint line up his bridge, feather-light lips setting against his forehead in a final show of unrequited adoration. With a breath your spine straightened, eyes strict in their effort to keep forward. There was no moment of hesitancy as you passed the threshold and left the Elite wing; if you had indulged in a final glance, you knew you’d have never left.

On the journey back to your room – head hung low, teeth rooted in an effort to stop the trembling of your bottom lip – you met a stiff wall of muscle as someone exited a room, your feet stumbling back before you completely fell backwards, landing on your tailbone. The room spun when you opened your eyes after hitting the floor, a gloved hand extending down and offering you assistance. Taking it, you looked up to find General Hux.

He looked as you did, exhaustion heavy in his features before he was struck by your identity. He didn’t recoil, though, pulling you up and even steadying you for a couple seconds. Hux’s eyes darted to the bandage on your forehead and quickly over your gown, narrowing only slightly when he appraised the red rims of your own. He remained silent, retracting his hand as he nodded once.

“Officer,” he acknowledged. “I heard about your fainting spell.” His tone lacked the animosity you had come to expect.

You took hold of the wall support, looking up at him, confused at his sudden civility. “Oh.” It was the best you could do right now.

Something about him seemed off. Even as he remained more guarded than most humans you knew, it appeared as though something had him worried. Maybe it was the fall out from Starkiller that had him acting out. He had just lost men.

“Is there an official count yet?” you asked, filling the silence.

Hux swallowed, the corners of his mouth dipping before he returned to his normal façade, his shoulder going up and back when his stance shifted. “Nice work during the transport.”

“Thank…you. Uh, thank you, General.”

Another nod and he turned away from you and walked out of sight. A crease bit at your brow. How strange. Or maybe it wasn’t. The last twenty-four hours had been less than favorable for the entire First Order. Nobody could be expected to be at their best right now. Or even at their normal.

Before you started down the hall, your periphery caught view of the room where Hux had come, your heart falling. Confusion was drowned by new concern. Talia was slumped into her shoulder, asleep while she sat upright, both arms resting at her sides to reveal bruises from multiple IV attempts. There was one line running from her left forearm which led up to a bag of fluids, the contents of which you couldn’t read from a distance.

Peaking around the hall, you ducked into her room and clicked the door shut with your back, keeping the volume to a minimum as to not wake her. It seemed like a week had passed since you saw her seize, Snoke’s men abducting you before you could aid in her care. It had been less than a full day.

Walking up to her right side you noted the oxygen secured over her ears, a nasal cannula delivering two liters per minute. Nothing excessive. That was good. But still curious. The fluid bag was filled with electrolyte replacement, another bag hanging empty behind it. Looking for more clues, you found the information board to be devoid of any recent updates, only indicating her nurse and the continuation of the current fluids. There was a check mark next to a note which read sterile urine specimen, CBC, CMP.

When you kicked your foot under her bed, swinging it mindlessly while holding onto the upper bed rail, something skidded beneath your sock. In a manner which didn’t stress your wounds, you knelt to the ground and picked up the item. It was a white square, shiny material which glinted under the harsh fluorescents. Holding one corner, it unfolded to reveal a second half. Turning it over, eyes blinking back to make sure you were reading the images correctly.

Everything was in the right spot, every label and measurement and identifier correct and official. Dropping completely to the floor, your legs splayed across each other, you peaked up at your friend and back to the printed picture multiple times, not knowing what to make of the situation.

Talia was pregnant.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #st kyp #ao3

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apocalypsewriters · 4 years ago

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Not-a-Damsel in Distress: Hallway Edition

Summary: Victor-Hecate's first public short story! Their many protective layers concealed too many features, so a patrolling teacher hehe that rhymed decided to lecture them on it and subsequently put them in danger. A somewhat mysterious girl (Aster @pagesofcursive character) comes to the rescue, which may lead them back to a path they abandoned long ago for the safety of them and the mental peace of those around them.

“Miss Ernesh!” The teacher’s voice rang out across the hallway.

Victor-Hecate Ernesh jumped, their head halfway in their locker. Sighing, they tugged at their scarf, one of the many layers of clothing they wore, and closed their locker. “Yes?” they answered, their voice muffled by the cream bandana they wore.

Coldly, the teacher demanded, “Take off all those… accessories. You know the school policy.”

Victor-Hecate said nothing and began unwrapping their copious layers of clothing. Under the severe gaze of the teacher, they shrugged off the overcoat and laid it on the tiled floor, grimacing at the thought of all the grime from day to day usage getting on the soft leather. They tugged off their grey beanie, a mop of tightly coiled chocolate brown curls spilling out and hanging halo-like around their head. After trying and failing to unwrap their scarf, they tugged off their treasured gloves and added them to the slowly growing pile at their knees.

“Hey!” a voice echoed sharply from one of the nearby lockers.

A pale girl stormed over, her dark, choppily cut, chin-length hair framing her face. A scar traced down the left side of her face, through her eyebrow to halfway down her cheek. Her dark clothing contrasted starkly with her fierce blue eyes. Victor-Hecate’s eyes widened at the impressive figure she cut; they’d heard of her before - Aster had dated Dawn, one of the more popular girls in schools, and was in and out of detention so often, no one could keep track of her misdeeds. “Can’t you see they’re obviously uncomfortable? Why can’t they just wear what they want?” Aster’s icy tone matched the teacher’s.

The teacher raised an eyebrow at the fuming girl. “She wasn’t adhering to the dress code, so she had to change. And frankly, it’s none of your business, so resume getting ready for class.”

Victor-Hecate turned back to their pile of clothing, their spirits lifted a little - they’d finally managed to unknot their scarf, and someone was trying to stand up for them. They stole another look at the girl, who rolled her eyes at the teacher. Stealing a hidden smirk, they got to work untying their bandana, which had gotten caught in their short hair.

“Dress code is stupid anyway,” she snapped, her eyes blazing brighter than before, and she narrowed them at the teacher. “Are their clothes personally bothering you? Because I don’t see how a few extra layers do anything but help them feel comfortable.”

The teacher’s visage grew haughty at the fiery girl’s insolence. “It’s a matter of security. It is hard to identify the student, and he or she could be smuggling something,” the teacher said snidely.

“A matter of security?” she said with a snicker. “Did you know that four of the doors leading into the school and the front gate all have broken locks? There are malfunctioning cameras everywhere, and at least half the windows are cracked. Why don’t you focus on those instead of targeting an innocent student?” As Victor-Hecate ripped their ashamed gaze from the pile of clothing on the floor, they caught a flash of fire curling around Aster’s fist.

“Mind your tone, young lady,” snapped the teacher.

Finally, Victor-Hecate plucked up the courage to say something. Apparently, their mumble was inaudible to the pair standing above them, as the teacher abruptly asked, “What was that?”

They swallowed and tried to muster up their drive once again. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s fine, really.”

The teacher turned and smugly addressed Aster, who was still standing there, boiling with barely checked rage. “You see?”

Aster’s voice hardened, her eyes growing steely as she reeled back her temper. “You’re terrifying them, do you see that? Although I’m sure that during the dark ages, when you first became a teacher, it was fine to mistreat students, but it’s a different time now.” If looks could kill, the teacher would be dead on the floor. Rolling her eyes once again as the teacher opened her mouth, she quickly said, “Just let them go the rest of the day with the layers they’re comfortable with, and then I’ll help them figure out a new wardrobe after school.”

The teacher huffed before stalking off down the hallway, leaving the pair alone in front of the lockers. Victor-Hecate spoke up again, their voice filling the silence that now permeated the area, “Thank you. That was really brave. I would never be able to do that.” Their cheeks rushed with blood, giving them the color they desperately needed.

Aster’s expression softened a little. “It’s no problem. I hate when teachers do stuff like that.” She paused for a moment. “Hey, do I know you? You look familiar.”

They shrugged, “Maybe. But probably not. I don’t know a lot of people, and as you can see,” they said, gesturing to their backpack, which was bursting at the seams with their shredded layers, “I don’t show a lot of features. But I know you, though.” Victor-Hecate paused, doubting their previous observation. “You’re Aster, right? You’ve caused quite a stir at school. Even I noticed.”

Aster let out a laugh, her features alight with memories of mischief. “Yeah, that’s what I’m known for. What’s your name again?”

Victor-Hecate smarted, startled by the question. “Sorry about that. I’m not really used to people asking me. I’m pretty good at fading into the background.” They smiled weakly, pulling on their backpack. “I’m Victor-Hecate. Take your pick of nicknames; I don’t mind. It’s a bit of a mouthful, I know.” Once again, they wished they didn’t have their powers, or at the very least, were wearing gloves – this seemed like a situation that needed a handshake. Memories of normal greetings, normal interactions with people had faded over the six years of having powers.

“Well, Victor-Hecate,” Aster said, nudging them. They stiffened at the contact, preparing themself for pain, but none came. Thankfully, Aster hadn’t managed to brush any skin. “I think you’re pretty cool. And I’m sure I know someone in your family- any siblings at this school?”

“Thanks. My cousin goes here, actually. You’ve probably heard of her; she’s pretty popular. Violetta?”

Aster’s eyes widened for a moment, a slight blush rushing into her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “Oh. That explains things then. She’s in a bunch of my classes.” She chuckled. “I don’t know if she mentioned, but we kinda have a rivalry going on.”

Victor-Hecate shook their head sadly. “I don’t see her that much. We don’t run in the same circles. Like I said, I don’t know a lot of people.” They shuffled their feet awkwardly, tugging at the sleeves of their light green turtleneck. “Thanks again for rescuing me.” They started walking away, leaving Aster behind, still a little flushed.

“Well, tell her I said hi, I guess.” Her face went red again as they stopped, just shy of a chewed pencil that lay unseen one pace away from the tips of Victor-Hecate’s grey converse. Aster’s hair bounced slightly as she shook her head quickly. “Actually, don’t.”

Victor-Hecate twisted around, taking two steps towards the darkly dressed girl, raising their eyebrows, a smirk spreading on their face. “So, don’t tell her you say hi?”

Aster avoided their eyes, somehow blushing brighter. “Just ignore all of that. Uh, so am I coming over to your house to help you pick out new clothes, or did I straight up lie to that jerk of a teacher?” Fire licked out from her fists at the memory of the argument.

“You can if you want to. But I’d understand if you don’t. I’m not the most sociable person,” their smile faded.

“No, no,” Aster reassured. “I would love to hang out.”

Victor-Hecate brightened, “Awesome. Here.” They swung their bag around and fished in a pocket, searching for stationary. After a few agonizing moments of scrambling, they pulled out a pen and paper. “Write down your number so we can organize this later.”

Aster stretched out a hand. As soon as her fingers brushed the paper, they let go. The pen clattered to the floor, the paper drifting to the rest moments later. Victor-Hecate shot Aster an apologetic look as she bent to pick up the fallen materials. Aster leaned against the lockers, writing out her phone number in chicken scratch, the numbers barely legible. Stopping for a brief moment partway through writing, she aggressively shook the pen, which revolted at being used sideways. Handing back the paper, Aster blinked as the other student snatched the paper out of her hands. Victor-Hecate cringed at the situation, worried their fear was warping another potential relationship.

“Well, text me then,” Aster said, thankfully not mentioning Victor-Hecate’s odd mannerisms.

“Thanks! I will” They turned and started walking away. Suddenly, their foot slid out from underneath them, a pencil flying up in the air – the culprit of the tumble. They fell to the ground, hard, their wrists smacking against the grimy tiled floor. Anyone else would have let out a cry or grimaced at the fall, but Victor-Hecate’s high pain tolerance allowed them to brush off the injury.

“Here, let me help.” Too late, they heard Aster walk up to them, her boots clumping across the floor, and grab their hands to try to pull them up. Pain bloomed in their abdomen, their eyes flashed black as their power flared up. They snatched their hands away, falling once more to the floor. They curled into the fetal position, wrapping their arms around their middle as the phantom wound lingered. By their best guess, it would be a knife wound- and an ugly one at that. They let out a whimper as the pain surged. Finally, finally, it faded, allowing Victor-Hecate to recover and sit up.

Their voice was strained, “I’m good, but thanks.”

“Are you okay? What happened?” Concern was etched on Aster’s face.

Hauling themself to their feet, they replied, “My awful power happened.” They wilted at the worry, the pity on Aster’s face. It always happened. They were maybe, finally, respected as a person, a whole person without issues. And then, inevitably, their power surfaced and put them below everyone else again. They hated feeling weak, but the only thing worse than the pain was the looks they got. No one ever saw them as competent after witnessing a breakdown. Victor-Hecate watched curiosity light in Aster’s eyes. Maybe pity wasn’t the worst. They dreaded her horrified reaction to the reveal of the morbid powers they never wished for.

“Oh, uh- what’s your power then?” The question spilled out of Aster’s lips.

Straightening their backpack, they muttered, “I’m so sorry for the way you go out.” They brushed themself off, relishing in the final moments of ignorance before horror soured the air. Clearing their throat awkwardly, they explained, “Whenever I touch someone, I feel the pain of their death.”

With their gaze fixed on the floor, they didn’t see Aster backing up, but they heard it; her black leather boots squeaked twice on the tiles before her hand pressed against a locker, the metal letting out a crack as it warped under her weight. They imagined the shock on her face, just like the dozens before her. “I- What hap- No, I don’t want to know. Is that why...?” She stammered before trailing off.

Victor-Hecate's shoulders tightened from their slumped position. They were distraught but tried not to show it. “Yeah. That’s why I wear so much clothing - to cover any skin.” Swallowing back tears, they knelt back on the ground and pulled a jacket out from their bag. They slipped it on, jamming their thumbs in the holes by the base of the sleeves and zipping it up as quickly as possible. They forced themself to meet Aster’s gaze before continuing, “If you don’t want to come over, I understand. Nothing like a stranger knowing how you die.”

Aster chuckled weakly, the shock slowly fading from her face. “No, no, it’s- it’s okay.” She smiled at Victor-Hecate, who stood, shell-shocked in front of her. “And, exactly, I’d rather a friend know how I die compared to a random stranger. So, I’m still welcome to come?”

“Oh,” they said, caught off guard. “Of course.” The words were quiet, not quite out loud, but not quite to themself either. “I’d love that.” The pair stood in silence for a few moments before Victor-Hecate piped up, “Just, be careful around knives, okay?”

Aster’s jaw dropped at the statement. It hung open for two counts before snapping shut. “I’ll do my best. See you after school.”

“Yeah,” they said, perking up at the prospect, “Yeah…” As they made their way down the hallway, making a point to avoid the pencil, which sat innocently three feet from where it had been five minutes earlier.

Aster laughed under her breath, before starting on her own way in the opposite direction of Victor-Hecate, who now almost had a spring in their step. That day, they counted down the hours left of school for a completely different reason from their classmates. The only time the wait slipped their mind was lunch – they pulled out their phone, pulling up the number of a person they hadn’t talked to face to face for a long time.

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arsnovacadenza · 5 years ago

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Jean x Napoleon fanfic - if you hate the sunlight, come meet me in the dark

Pairing: Napoleon Bonaparte x Jean d'Arc from Ikemen Vampire, MxM

Word count: 1602 (!!)

Rating : T (mentions of sex without actual smut)

Prompt: Morning after, Friends with benefits, Fluff,

A follow-up piece from this fic

Jean woke up to strong arms wrapping around his waist. Sunlight was already pouring in through above, illuminating the otherwise dull bedroom.

He stared at the wall across the bed as he listened to Napoleon's soft snores.

Why is he still here?

They had an unspoken agreement that Napoleon would slip out of bed before dawn and back to his room (to sleep some more, Jean presumed). Whether or not Napoleon was aware that Jean had been awake during those times, it never mattered. There was no room for goodbyes nor lingering gazes.

Even a final, chaste kiss was a luxury both could not afford.

With Napoleon out cold, Jean couldn't help but lean back into the warmth of his chest. The jacket that Napoleon wore sometimes tricked Jean into thinking that his shoulders weren't any broader than his. Oh, how wrong he was.

Any woman would readily fall into his embrace and stay caged there. Jean was no woman, but there was a tiny bit of satisfaction knowing that he had momentarily stolen the chance away from those ladies.

Before Napoleon decides to start his new life properly with a girl, that is.

Jean nearly followed that train of thought until Napoleon stirred and pulled him tighter against him. The man pressed his lips softly on Jean's shoulder.

Enough already.

Jean rolled on his back, narrowly avoiding bumping into Napoleon's forehead. He pressed his fingers lightly on the waking man's chest and urged him to give some space. Seeing that Napoleon refused to make a move, Jean cleared his (very sore) throat and boldly looked at Napoleon.

"Shouldn't you be back in your room already?"

Napoleon parried the question away with a well-timed finger on Jean's lips. "Quiet," he grumbled. "Imma just sleep some more, anyway."

Bewildered, Jean watched as the man rolled away from him, taking the blankets along and leaving Jean exposed to the cold morning air. The gall! Jean was ready to wrestle the former emperor awake if he had to.

"Why not just sleep in your room?" Jean hissed, "What if they panic?"

"Don't care. 's still time to sleep until breakfast," Napoleon grumbled, refusing to budge even as Jean tugged at the blankets.

"They're going to look all over the place."

"Let them look, then," Napoleon blindly batted Jean's hand away from his shoulder. "They donna have to know."

Defeated, Jean let out a sigh and pulled himself to sit up against the bedframe. The steel felt cold on his back, especially compared to the warmer skin of his companion earlier. "What if they find out?" Jean whispered with his face buried in his hands.

He heard the rustle of sheets beside him. "So be it," Napoleon answered, "Then I won't have to kiss a random person each morning."

Jean felt intense heat crawling onto his cheeks and ears. Whether it was due to rage at Napoleon's indifferent words or jealousy, he didn't want to know. There was just so much happening this early already.

"That's on you, vieillard," Jean spat with no heat, "No sane man wakes up from slumber to kiss the nearest person around. You're lucky you're handsome."

It didn't escape Jean that he had mistakenly called Napoleon handsome. But it was a fact. Being a former emperor and a charmer, anybody would quickly forgive him after getting a taste of that little quirk of his. Especially Sebastian. It was easy for him to imagine Sebastian falling on weak knees after Napoleon graced him with a kiss the first time.

Somewhat luckily for Jean back then, nobody has ever pushed him to into filling in that particular morning duty either. Unless he offered to do it himself, they'd never go far out of their way to involve him. It was either his stoic demeanor or their impression of him as a chaste, devout worshipper of God. Or maybe they didn't see him as interested enough in Napoleon to do the job.

But now that Napoleon himself had taken him up as a lover, Jean wondered if his desire to have those morning kisses all to himself wasn't all too unnatural.

"Sebastian never seems to mind,"

Jean looked at Napoleon, who now laid on his side with emerald eyes sparkling with obvious lust at the sight of Jean. Men, Jean thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

But Napoleon only smirked wider, adding to Jean's growing vexation. The charismatic leader sure knew how to push a man's buttons.

“Ah, but if were to allow Sebastian to continue kissing me awake, somebody would be sad, non?"

Jean shot him a look of mock distaste. "Handling you every night is exhausting enough, and now you want me to fill in the mornings too? Not to mention, they're going to find out I'm your kept man. Can you imagine Arthur pestering me about it?"

"Then I'll be there to save you," Napoleon covered Jean's outstretched legs with the blanket. "We're all old men reborn in healthier, fairer bodies. Why not make the most of our situation? No care for the outside world, no pressure to wed a total stranger at the behest of our families..." Napoleon suddenly trailed off. "Well, at least we're not Leonardo and Comte. I heard Sebastian talk about Comte urging Leonardo to wed some noble lady vampire."

"But if you ask me, they're as good as married," Napoleon chuckled, "Without Leonardo's presence, I can't imagine Comte running the household on his own. He establishes order within the mansion, but I can see how he'd need someone to keep us tightly knit together, like a family should.”

Family, friends, lovers.

Jean never dreamed of his previous life in Domrémy —of his mother and father, of his sister, of his loyal brothers. He waved away memories of d'Alencon and Dunois on their horseback, poking fun at Jean flustering at their bawdy songs as they rode back to camp.

He willed himself to sleep every time Gilles emerged, his soft visage illuminated by the bonfire as he invited Jean to sit and drink warm honey water together.

The mansion was a different universe altogether. Jean found no traces of his parents in Leonardo or— God forbid —Comte. But friends?

His world had never been this loud, with the mischievous Arthur and Dazai and the confusing dualism of the Van Gogh brothers. Jean once thought he found some bits of himself in the lumbering Isaac. But then, his notions were dispelled upon seeing the quiet genius' contentment in the company of the troublemaking duo.

Jean eventually found himself a friend in the ostensibly distant Mozart. As time went out, he learned to see past their similarities and found that Mozart mas a much mature and experienced man. He was a friend who offered quiet solace and kind words of encouragement when Jean was at his lowest, but he was also unafraid of showing his stern, mature side when the situation called.

Through thick and thin, through storms and sunny days, Jean would always feel Mozart's hand on his back, gently pushing him forward. The composer would never admit it, but he and Jean both knew they'd always pray for each other's happiness.

If Jean had Mozart, Isaac had Napoleon, a strange man everybody regarded as their brother (and idol, in Sebastian's case).

At first, it stirred something in him when he learned about another French soldier who fought for the very same nation and people he protected. He was too absorbed in himself to know about the details, but there was something recognizable in the way the rumored former Emperor carried himself.

Within the brilliant green of Napoleon's eyes, burned an indomitable spirit as he first spoke to Jean: Bonjour, I am Napoleon Bonaparte, and I have longed to meet the man who fought for my Fatherland.

Jean came to hate the words of exaltation that the people sent his way —felt undeserving of them, even. Yet all his self-doubt momentarily dissolved the moment Napoleon pressed a fervent kiss on the back of his hand.

Jean blushed and even deeper shade of red as he realized the state they were in now. His mind could reel back forever to their previous encounters, but Jean would later save that for later. Right now, the brilliant man he used to admire from the shadows is naked beside him, lethargically yawning as if he's back in his bed.

Jean didn't even protest when Napoleon pulled on his arm, insisting that Jean lie back down beside him. The man casually adjusted the blanket on him, patting him down like a mother to her baby.

"Can't stand seeing you sit up against that cold steel." Napoleon pulled the bundle of Jean closer. "Here. Let me warm you up. Don't fight. You're wasting precious time to sleep."

Jean found himself unable to fight himself free from Napoleon's cursed strength. He was the Lesser Vampire for God's sake! "Don't make me go along with your sleeping habits, that's sloth."

Jean was losing the battle. Who knew an intense session face-to-face lovemaking could carry them this far? He shouldn't let Napoleon coddle him like a wife, Goddammit!

"Be careful. Move again, and you’re going to arouse me.”

Jean had never been this determined to rip another man's limbs off.

"Good. Stay still." Napoleon commanded. "You're going to be here when I'm awake."

"And kiss you while we're at it?"

"Oh, I can't wait to wake up with your lips on mine." Napoleon snuggled against Jean's neck. "Maybe you can get creative and wake me with your mouth on other parts."

Jean elbowed him hard.

@weird-profiterole, @hokkaido-the-hellbeast @kasu-gay-ama @batteryrose ‘Tis done.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam fanfic #ikevam bl #jeanpoleon #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp jean #riri tries ikevam

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