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realcube · 4 years ago

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comfort with the haikyuu!! boys hcs 💝

characters: kenma, bokuto, ushijima, tsukishima, akaashi

thanks to anon for the request (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

ALL AGED UP! (no mature themes though) (i just like the post-timeskip domestic dynamics)

tw// hurt! reader, swearing, mentions of death, fluff, angst if you squint

Kenma Kuzome

bb has cat senses so he can tell when you’re sad

he can also tell bc you do the exact same thing he does when he’s sad, which is cuddle underneath blankets in bed, play animal crossing and blare lo-fi music to conceal your faint sobs

so when he walks into your shared room and notices you wrapped up in blankets on the bed, he does his best to suppress a snicker whicH HE FEELS SO BAD FOR HAVING IN THE FIRST PLACE

like he knows you’re sad but a part of his mind is just like ‘heh, (y/n) burrito.’ like you just look sO FKN CUTE!!

anyway, the first thing he always does when you’re down is approach you on the bed, sneak under the blankets and join to you to become a (y/n) & kenma burrito

also, he might turn the speaker off depending on how loud the music is lol but if it’s at an okay volume then he’ll just leave it on and vibe with you for a bit as he desperately wracks his brain, trying to come up with something reassuring to say

you usually comes up with the something basic like, ‘what’s wrong?’ but i mean, you don’t really mind - at least he’s making an effort and you know it must be difficult for him to think of things to say lol

depending on how sad you are, you might just tell him straight-up what happened or you might text him bc you don’t think you’ll be able to choke out an answer without bursting into tears again

then he’ll ask you if you want to be alone and act accordingly

assuming that you say ‘no’ bc you want his presence, he’ll just recollect on the last time you comforted him while he was down and mimic it tbh

..you always comfort him so well 🥺 and whenever you console him, he always feels so much better so he just thought that maybe if he imitates you, then it’ll work just as well

so he started off by resting his head on your shoulder and whispering kind things in your ear just like you did to him, ‘you know i love you, right?’ , ‘i hope you feel better soon’, ‘do you want me to bring you some food?’

he’ll seriously do everything in his power to make sure that you’re as comfortable as possible

and he’ll stay as a (y/n) & kenma burrito until you feel better or until the sun rises ( *^-^)ρ(*╯^╰)

Kōtarō Bokuto

i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again - he’s such an empath and so overdramatic

so when he comes home from work and you don’t run up to the door to give him hugs & kisses- he’s about to burst into tears himself

so he sulks up to your room now IMAGINE HOW SHOCKED HE IS WHEN HE WALKS IN TO SEE YOU CRYING UNDER THE BLANKETS

emo-mode engaged :(

his hair deflates as he pounces on you and wails, ‘(Y/N)! WHY ARE YOU CRYING?! ARE YOU OKAY?! WHO HURT YOU?!’ (ಥ _ ಥ)

and the bitch dives on you while you are under the blanket, essentially scaring and suffocating you

‘bokuto, get off me!’ you shrieked, wriggling out of his grip and out from under the blanket

when he notices you had escaped the blanket with tear-stained cheeks, he felt even worse

he threw himself into your arms, howling, ‘(Y/N)!! I AM SO SORRY!’

at this point all the blood had rushed to your head and you had kinda forgotten that you were sad for a moment or two

‘bo! you should know you’re own strength by now.’ you muttered, rubbing the underneaths off your puffy eyes

‘I KNOW!’ he wailed once more, burying his face into the crook of your neck

you sighed while rubbing his back, unable to supress a slight giggle, ‘bokuto..’

there was ages of silence between the two of you before he pulled away to look you in the eyes and asked, ‘(y/n), why were you crying before i got here?’

you’d explain the issue to him and he’d do everything in his power to solve it because the way he sees it, why should he try console you when he can just fix the variable that’s making you sad in the first place?

like, if you were just fired from your job, he’ll go full karen and he will call corporate to demand for your job back if you don’t stop him

or if your loved one died, he’ll become a fkn medium or study resurrection

or if you’re just stressed from exams/tests, he’ll just be like ‘why do you need to go to uni anyway?’

‘so i can get a qualification.’

‘why do you need that?’

‘so i can apply for a job.’

‘why do you need a job?’

‘so i can make money, so i don’t starve.’

‘you can have my money!’

you couldn’t help but chuckle at how much life-experience bokuto had, yet he will still so naïve; honestly, you couldn’t even tell if he was joking or not. ‘what if we break up?-”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” he gasped, instinctively tightening his grip on you

Wakatoshi Ushijima

both you and ushijima’s pride did not allow y’all to cry in front of one another

if you ever had to cry, you’d just run to the bathroom, lock the door, turn on the tap to drown out the sound of your sobs and just let it all out

and if he ever had to cry, he’d just do it in the shower

but like- you both knew when the other one had been crying because of their puffy, damp eyes but you both mutually agreed to not mention it

i mean, up until now y’all had both been able to flourish in the relationship while dealing with emotions on your own so why bother changing?

and if anything, you both felt more comfortable crying to yourselves

that was, until today

you had cracked under the pressure of your job - you were simply sitting at your desk in the study room, doing some work then it all just came crashing down

ushijima had just stepped out of the shower in his towel and was currently wandering around the house in search of you, to inform you that he ran out of shampoo so it would be greatly appreciated if you were to add it to the shopping list

but when he entered the study to see you sitting there by your computer, bawling you eyes out..he froze

like he had to do a whole double-take bc he wasn’t sure if he was seeing this correctly

your face was buried in your hands so you didn’t notice him at first but then you heard him awkwardly clear his throat from the doorway and your neck immediately jerked to look at him

it was quite embarrassing for the both of you, ngl

like he was standing there half-naked, staring into your red eyes in hopes that what he saw was just a hallucination

after what felt like hours of deafening silence, ushijima broke it by muttering under his breath, ‘uh, is everything okay?’

‘everything is fine, toshi.’ you replied, forcing a bright smile onto your face as you went back to typing, ‘did you come down here to tell me somethi--’

‘i can tell that there is something wrong.’ he stated, walking towards you while using one had to hold his towel in place and draping the other over your shoulders to pull you into his chest. ‘do you want to tell me?’

you let out a long sigh, resting your cheek against his chest while still staring at the many tabs you had open on your desktop

but ushijima quickly fixed that by taking your chin in-between his thumb and index finger, then turning your face to look up at him,

‘work?’ he hummed his assumption

‘yeah.’ you mumbled, quite surprised at how understanding he was being

but then again, ushijima obviously knows what it feels like to be overworked and burnt out too, so he was able to provide a lot of empathy in that sense

Kei Tsukishima

ok a bit of tsukki slander but i feel like tsukishima would make it worse WEILUBRGBE

wait no well, he doesn’t make it worse but he doesn’t make it better either

like he’ll walk into the living room and see you curled up under a blanket on the couch, lightly sobbing from underneath- and he honestly doesn’t know how to act

this is the first time he’s seen you cry bc usually y’all keep your emotions to yourselves - you’re both v independent like that （￣︶￣)

anyway, mans thinks he can just tease the sadness out of you 🙄

‘awh, is my little couch goblin feeling sad?’ he said shakily, clearly intimidated by your figure lying on the couch, and you could tell he was nervous per his use of the nickname ‘couch goblin’

‘‘TSUKISHIMA, FUCK OFF!’ you barked, hastily wiping away your tears and clinging to blanket to prevent him from pulling it away, as the last thing you wanted him to see was your weary figure just so he could tease you about it

‘bitch, i live here.’ he hissed, rubbing the back of his neck - feeling rather conflicted

on one hand, you seemed serious when you asked him to leave; plus, the last thing he wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable by staying when you’re already sad

but on the other hand, he genuinely wanted to help

he’d feel bad if he were to just leave his s/o in tears when he could’ve done something to make you feel better

‘do you really want me to go?’ he asked and for a change, not a hint of mockery or sarcasm was found in his voice

there were several moments of silence until you mumbled from under your blanket, ‘no.’ then proceeded to lift up your arm to allow him to crawl under the blanket and join you

he did so, pulling you against his chest so you could sob lightly against his cotton shirt while being engulfed by warm darkness

‘what could’ve possibly went wrong to make the evilest blanket demon cry?’

‘evilest blanket demon’ - that was definitely a new one, and you’d be lying if you said a small snicker didn’t escape your mouth at how monotonously he was able to deliver such a unique nickname

and after years of being in a relationship with tsukki, you’ve learned to find comfort in these nicknames considering they were a big part of how he expressed love

in his vocabulary, ‘you’re so annoying.’ is equal to ‘i love you’

so him calling you an ‘evil blanket demon’ was, in his eyes, the highest and most sincere form of flattery

you eventually tell him what happened that made you sad and he just listens

feel free to ramble on about anything/everything that’s worried you for the last few months bc he’s all ears

he figured that other than make you dinner and hug you, that was the best thing he could do to help bc he was far from a romantic who’s good with words

if he tries to console you verbally it would probably come out like ‘uh, don’t cry - i understand what you’re going through, i think, but like- cry if you want. this must be tough for you, to be honest.’

so he just listens to what you have to say and occasionally inputs a lil’ ‘mhm’ or ‘yeah’

he’s probably the most patient with you so you could stay sad on the couch for the next few weeks, as long as you’re eating the meals he delivers to you and you’re staying healthy, he’ll just let you mope until you feel better tbh

Keiji Akaashi

boyfie material right here

i’m hardly an akaashi simp but he’s probably the best at comforting you while you’re sad tbh

because he’s literally been dealing with bokuto and his emo-mode for god-knows how long so he’s very good with reassuring people😌

also, i just know that this man can detect emotions so well- evEN THROUGH TEXT ISTG

he’d text you the usual ‘goodnight ❤’

and you’ll quickly wipe away your tears that were blurring your vision to reply ‘goodnight 💕’

then he’ll deadass text back like ‘i’m coming over. what’s wrong?’

HE JUST KNOWS!! don’t question it bc he doesn’t even have a logical answer lol

anyway, he’ll arrive and immediately begin with the reassurance before you even tell him what’s wrong

‘you’re coping so well, (y/n).’

‘i’m so proud and i love you so much.’

‘is there anything i can do to make you feel better?’

‘would you like a hug?’

‘you’re beautiful, (y/n). i hope you know that.’

‘do you want me to get you ice-cream?’

a king- 👑

also, you weren’t embarrassed to cry in front of him either bc you had seen him cry before

plus, y’all both established at the very beginning of the relationship that you’d both try be as honest and open with your emotions as possible

so now, you were both sitting beside each other on your bed while sharing a banana split that akaashi made (you put the sprinkles on though so you basically gave it flavour ✨)

akaashi is definitely the therapist friend to so he gives great advice

but if you don’t want his advice and you’d prefer him to just listen, then he can do that too

honestly, he’d do basically anything to make you feel better 🥺

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qianinterprises · 4 years ago

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Fated To You

Pairing | Kitsune!Yuta x Human, gn!Reader

Warning(s) | depictions of violence, minor character death, supernatural character, blood, mentions of stabbing, mentions of murder

Synopsis | You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you found the injured fox hiding away in the forest. However, after accepting the fox pup into your life as a new member of your home, you quickly realized that there was more to him than just an adorable fox with an odd number of tails.

Genre: supernatural au, fluff, angst, soulmates au

Author's Notes | I have had quite a longing to write a supernatural character, and, while my favorite supernatural creatures are werewolves (they're majestic amazing creatures, shush), I wanted to do something a little different, thus, Kitsune Yuta was born! This has also been posted on NCTA under the name Tori, so if you see it there, it's me. I really hope you enjoy this piece!

Word Count | 6.5k

Tag List: @treasuretaeil

The moon began to rise over the land, casting grotesque shadows over the forest as your feet moved carefully over roots that protruded from the mossy earth. Your hands held strong to the green flashlight clasped tightly in your fingers, lighting the way through the darkened trees as the sun continued to fade.

It had never been your intention to stay out this late. Fresh air. That’s all you had needed. Air to clear your head and calm you down from the near panic attack you’d thrust yourself into as you thought about all the papers and assignments you’d have to complete within the next few weeks.

It was a lot; juggling a full-time job and part-time university. You’d known it was going to be when you’d decided to finally finish your degree. What you hadn’t anticipated was everything piling up at the end, making you truly stretch yourself to get everything done correctly and on time without losing your job and crumbling under the impending weight of unemployment.

Luckily for you, behind your rented out house, was a forest. You weren’t exactly sure how far it stretched, nor had you ever explored it before, but you had a certain affinity for nature. When you began to lose yourself, you slammed your book shut and got up with a huff, grabbing your unused backpack out of the closet and setting out into the woods, hoping immersing yourself in nature would calm you down.

It had. Walking about, listening to the birds sing and the trees grow had soothed your mind and allowed you to relax for the first time in several weeks. You’d gotten so relaxed that, as you sat against a sturdy oak for water and a snack, you found yourself drifting off.

It was only recently that you had awoken. Your eyes blinked open as the sounds changed and the peaceful chirping birds were replaced with the soft, yet creepy, hoots of owls and the howls of wolves.

You’d never meant to be out there that long, but as you pulled yourself off the ground, you were thankful you were smart enough to have a packed back full of extra water, a few snacks, a rope just in case, a compass, a hunting knife, and a flashlight along with batteries.

As the sun descended, you pulled the flashlight from your backpack and here you were, wandering the woods at dusk, navigating your way back to your house in a forest you’d never been in before.

Perhaps it was the start of a disaster. Or perhaps it was keeping you away from your books for just a little longer.

Whatever the reason, you tried not to panic as you made your way through the woods in a direction you assumed was home but honestly, you were too sure.

You scanned your beaming light over varying trees, looking for the mark you’d left on a particularly girthy oak, a mark that would signal your correct direction and your soon entrance into the backyard of your home.

As your light hit along the trees, searching high and low, it caught the glow of a pair of glassy eyes not three feet from where you stood. With a shriek, you jumped back, stumbling over a tree root and falling back onto your bum, letting out a whine at the pain.

You shined your light back on the spot you’d saw the eyes and found them again, wide, yellow eyes staring back at you in, what you could only assume was fear. Fear that pulled at your heartstrings, because this wasn’t any regular fear of humans. This was absolute terror.

Slowly, you pulled yourself up onto your knees, dusting the dirt off of the bottom of your jeans as you carefully inched forward, careful not to spook the animal which you assumed to be a mistreated cat or an abused dog.

The animal didn’t move, seeming to be frozen in place as you moved closer. It was only when you managed to shift the bush it was hiding in that you realized what it actually was.

A fox. A small, dull orange fox that still resembled a pup. It had greying pointed ears and a dirt covered orange coat. As your eyes trailed over the body of the fox, they landed on the tail, or shall you say, tails! By your count, nine, although you knew that couldn’t be right! It’s tail was likely matted in nine big places! You pushed the question of tails out of your mind and roved over its body, finding surprisingly small paws and a muzzle covered in a crusty red which you quickly realized was blood. That fact alone should have sent you running, but as your eyes scanned it’s body, you quickly realized the source. An opened gash on the foxes side, just above it’s hip, steadily weeped a bright red liquid that would claim the fox’s life if kept untreated.

Your heart broke for the poor animal and you knew you couldn’t simply leave it to die. Carefully, you offered your hand for the fox to sniff and, as soon as he did, he seemed to trust you a little more.

You’d taken several animal science classes while pursuing your degree, and you knew the technical way animals seemed to trust a human just by sniffing them, but you always found yourself fascinated by the way an animal could get to know someone simply by sniffing their palm.

“I can’t leave you out here. You’ll die from your wounds if I do. Would it be alright if you come home with me?” you asked softly.

Part of you felt silly for speaking to a fox that couldn’t understand you, but as the fox nodded to your question, you felt relieved-

Wait… nodded?!

You stared wide eyed as the fox, who apparently could understand you, slowly crept from under the bush, small whimpers leaving it’s throat as it moved its hind legs. It no doubt hurt, especially with the placement of the wound.

“I doubt any animal hospital would be open right now,” you muttered, more to yourself than anything, but the fox froze in place, fear once again in its eyes.

“You don’t want to go to the animal hospital, do you?” you asked.

The fox shook his head-- you were really going to have to get used to that.

Sighing to yourself, you reached a hand out to gently stroke the orange fur, something the fox stiffened at before all together relaxing in your touch.

That was all it took for you to know you couldn’t let anything happen to this gentle fox.

“Can I pick you up?” you asked. “It may help get you back home with minimal bleeding.”

The fox seemed to pause, as if pondering and you were beginning to odd just how strange this fox truly was. Not like any other wild animal you’d ever happened upon, which, in turn, led you to believe that this was not just another wild animal.

The fox moved closer to you and touched its nose lightly to your hand. You took this as the ‘go-ahead’ and, very gently, you lifted to fox pup up into your arms.

It whimpered slightly, but as you pressed it’s wounded side purposely against your torso to still the bleeding, it relaxed in your arms.

You didn’t know how you were going to get him home. You weren’t even a hundred percent sure where home was, but as you shined your flashlight carefully clenched between your teeth, your eyes landed on the jagged ‘X’ you’d etched into the pine.

With a breath of hope, you moved toward the mark and within a few paces, you were standing in the yard of your house.

Carrying the fox through the yard was made easier by the darkness. You flicked off your flashlight, relying on memory so as not to draw your neighbor’s attention to yourself or the orange mass in your arms. When you finally made it to the front door, you opened the latch and let yourself into your messy living room covered in stay books and disposable coffee cups you hadn’t yet gotten rid of.

You latched the door behind you carefully and carried the fox going scarily limp in your arms through the house and into the bathroom.

“Don’t go to sleep, please,” you begged the droopy-eyed fox as you placed it in the bathtub.

It seemed to struggle to stand and you knew you had to work fast. Helping it lay down surrounded by the porcelain walls, you moved to the sing, ripping open the medicine cabinets and began rifling through everything you had, which wasn’t too much. You may have been training to be a veterinarian, but that didn’t mean you were already practicing.

Luckily, after shuffling around, you managed to find basic rubbing alcohol and peroxide along with several large bandages, gauze, and, the best find yet, suture thread with a needle.

Pulling on a pair of gloves you usually used to dye your hair, you turned back to the tub with your utensils only to find the fox had drifted off to sleep, pants leaving its mouth. It didn’t have much time left and you’d be damned if you let it die in your house.

Grabbing a towel and a pair of scissors, you knelt by the tub. With the scissors, you hastily cut away the fur surrounding the wound, getting yourself a better image of the wound itself while also making it easier to clean.

Once the wound was exposed, you didn’t know whether you were relieved or panicked, staring at the long gash clearly having been made from a sharp knife. This was no animal fight as you’d first thought. This was intentional and likely had been done by a human. No wonder it had been so scared, yet it begged the question, why had it trusted you?

You pressed a towel to the still weeping wound, pressing down hard to still the bleeding. Once it was mostly halted, you poured peroxide on the wound, flushing out any dirt and grime before washing it with rubbing alcohol that surely would have hurt like hell had the animal been conscious.

With the wound cleaned, you sterilized the suture kit with the rubbing alcohol and threaded your needle. You’d done suture’s before, but only on test dummies. Having a real patient had your stomach twisting in knots, but you didn’t have time to worry about it.

Bringing the needle to the skin, you began to stitch up the now cleaned wound, careful not to injure the fox further. The stitches weren’t pretty by the time you’d finished. A professional could have done a much better job, but at least the wound was closed. You placed a bandage over the wound before wrapping the gauze carefully around the fox’s waist, keeping it loose enough it didn’t constrict him, but tight enough to keep pressure on the wound.

Time was still sensitive. You very well may not have gotten to it before it lost too much blood and you had no way of administering a transfusion. It was solely up to the fox now whether it lived or died.

As it slept in the tub, you ran your fingers through it’s fur, too scared to leave it alone. As you stroked around the foxes neck, your fingers gazed over metal beads buried deep in the fur. Curiosity got the better of you and carefully, you pulled at the beads until you unveiled a dark metal necklace that resembled a collar only slightly.

Inquisitively, you trailed your fingers along the beaded necklace of a collar until you gripped the base, the end that hung down at the fox’s chest. It was then that you saw it.

Resting at the base of the necklace was a dog tag with only one marking. A marking that spelled out a name.

Yuta.

As you ran the tag over in your hands, careful to not disturb the fox, you found no address or number to call. There was nothing to give you any information about who this pup belonged to. However, you supposed, whoever it was wasn’t a very good owner if the knife wound were anything to go by.

Letting the necklace drop from your hold, you ran your hands over the fox’s head.

“Yuta,” you mumbled to yourself.

The name had a nice ring. A name that seemed to roll off your tongue as though your tongue was meant to speak it. And perhaps that holds true as the moment the last syllable left your throat, the fox was stirring, shifting as it-he slowly regained consciousness until his yellow eyes met yours.

Something seemed to stir inside you at that moment and you found yourself reaching out to touch the animal again, a touch the fox shifted into, nuzzling against your hand as if he wholly trusted you. You didn’t really know why the fox would trust you, but your heart beamed with joy. A joy that you knew meant you wouldn’t be letting this fox run back out into the wild unless it’s something he truly wanted, but you could already tell, the fox was going nowhere.

That statement seemed to hold true as the next few days passed and Yuta was finally able to walk around a bit more. He tired easily and had a bit of a limp, but he’d managed to walk from one room to another easy enough before giving you a look that begged you to pick him up. Even now, as you sat on the living room couch, laptop perched on your thighs, surrounded by mountains of resource material books, Yuta made his way from napping in the bedroom to where you sat.

You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in your work that you were slightly unaware of your surroundings, but as he pressed his cold nose against your exposed ankle, you took in a sharp breath, eyes glancing down at the mischievous fox who had learned just how to get his way.

“What do you want?” you asked.

It had become normal for you to ask him questions you’d ask a human. The fox seemed more and more human every day, which made him likely the most intelligent animal you’d ever encountered. He truly was one of a kind.

‘Pick me up.’

A masculine voice suddenly permeated your made, making you yelp out at the suddenness of it all, head shaking as you dropped your computer onto the ground, hand coming up to hit lightly against your head.

That was a voice you’d never heard before and most definitely was not your consciousness.

‘Calm down human, it’s only me.’

The voice spoke again, eliciting yet another yelp from your lips as you looked around. There was no one in your house save for yourself and Yuta. No windows or doors were left open and, unless someone was hiding in your closet and speaking, there was no one around. The voice itself was too vivid, too clear to be heard through your ears anyways which ultimately lead you to the conclusion that the voice was in your head, although that didn’t make anything better.

“I’ve finally gone crazy!” you murmured to yourself, eyes wide with worry and fear. “I’m hearing voices! It’s only a matter of time before they lock me up!”

‘(y/n), calm down! It’s only me! Yuta!’

“What?!” you screeched.

You didn’t bother looking down at the fox on the floor. There was absolutely no possible way the voice in your mind was the voice of an injured fox named Yuta who’d come to live with you a few days ago! There was no possible way! You were just-

‘Would you stop saying you're crazy before you really upset me!’

“Leave me alone!” you squealed.

You jumped up off the couch when suddenly, a rush of tranquility washed over you, ebbing the panic away as the masculine voice was once again in your mind, this time, in a much gentler tone.

‘Calm down before you hurt yourself. Look down at me on the floor. Look into my eyes and you’ll understand.’

You don’t know whether it was the sudden sense of calm that had you keeping cool, curiosity, or sheer trust that had you lowering your gaze to the floor where they met Yuta’s yellow ones. As soon as your eyes locked on his, a rush of comforting heat surged through your body, spreading from your eyes down to your toes while washing over your brain. Your knees buckled and your body crashed against the couch as thoughts and memories surged through you, eventually knocking you unconscious, head lulling against the couch cushions.

Two Hundred Years Earlier

When you opened your eyes, your living room was nowhere in sight. Instead, you were standing in a deep, open space painted a galaxy shade of purple. Beside you was a handsome man with long, dark hair that touched his shoulders. He had a lean face and boxy jaw leading to a square chin that only added to his handsomeness. His shoulders were broad but he wasn’t all that muscular, rather, he was lean. A grey shirt wrapped around his frame, long black shorts flowed to a stop below his knees.

“Who are you?” your voice cracked.

“I am Yuta,” said the man, the voice the same one you’d heard in your mind earlier.

“W-what- How-...?” you couldn’t seem to conjugate the words properly.

“I wasn’t going to tell you until later. But I am Yuta, and the fox version of myself… well that’s technically my natural form. While injured, I take that form,” he explained.

You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. This Yuta was your Yuta… Your Yuta had a human form… Your Yuta… the fox you’d been sharing your bed with… had a human form…

“Easy now, I’m not sure what happens if you pass out when you're not awake!” the man said, hands grabbing your shoulders to still your wobbling form.

“But how-- I…”

“I’m going to show you,” he spoke softly.

With that, he snapped his fingers and the purple room evaporated from sight. You let out a small screech as it was replaced with air rushing around your face as your bodies hurtled straight from the sky into a forest you’d never seen before. A forest that certainly wasn’t in your backyard.

You touched ground without so much of a wince, your feet settling gently on the plush, mossy earth.

“You’ll get used to that,” Yuta promised as he clasped an arm around your waist to hold your quivering body steady.

“W-where are we…”

“Japan. 200 years in the past.”

“WHAT?! But-”

You trailed off as your eyes caught sight of a beautiful fox with nine tails flowing proudly from her backside strode up in front of your prying eyes, a young fox pup not too far behind, accompanied by his father who kept nudging at the pups hindquarters playfully, earning small little yips from the pup.

“They’re so adorable! Who are they?!”

Yuta didn’t answer for a long moment and when you looked at his face, you caught the fading wisps of a painful memory.

“The pup is me…” he spoke. “And my parents.”

You were about to open your mouth to ask about them when there was a rustle in the trees and a group of six men appeared, each one looking meaner than the next.

Yuta’s father turned away from the pup, who was drawn closer by his mother, as his father approached the men.

“Do you wish to honor our son?” you could hear the father ask although you knew he wasn’t physically speaking.

“Freak!! Unnatural piece of nature!!” screamed one of the men, drawing his sword.

“Hey! Show some respect!” you wailed, fist clenched as you glared at the man who seemed to not even notice you.

Yuta’s arm tugged on your waist, pulling you against his side.

“This is a memory… My memory… There’s nothing we can do or say that will change the past…” he whispered.

“You don’t want to do that!” Yuta’s father exclaimed. “We are kitsunes! We are luck and fortune!”

“Freak!!” the man squealed, swinging his sword at Yuta’s father, who turned to flee from the men, ready to protect his family with his power when another man slashed a sword at the fox’s backside, slashing through all nine tails.

You let out a squeak, hands coming to cover your mouth as a pained cry left the fox’s mouth moments before his body hit the ground and life left his body. You could see the spirit of the fox lifting, rising into the trees, where it would rest as a ghost, keeping watch on it’s family.

The men howled with glee and charged over the fox’s body, trampling it as they made their way for the mother and her pup.

The blaze of a campfire suddenly sparked from the place Yuta’s mother was planning on cooking dinner. A ball of fire lunged at the men, who dodged, and the fire only made them angrier.

The female, just as strong as her husband, held the men at bay with a wall of fire, managing to severely burn four of the six men before the kindling in the fire had died and all was left was embers. She could bend fire, but not without a fire.

“Looks like you’re all out of ideas,” one man, the man who’d killed his father chuckled.

The pup whimpered and burrowed itself in his mothers side, not quite old enough to possess all the powers of his parents.

Frantically, the female fox turned to the pup and, without hesitating, bit down onto its scruff. The pup cried out at the sudden jostle, but his mother did nothing but squeeze tighter. With her pup held close, she leaped over the fallen men and darted into the forest, putting as much distance between herself and the men as she could.

The air around you and Yuta rustled past your faces and suddenly, without moving your feet, your bodies were standing beside a fox and her pup who were now both panting, far from the men that would come searching for them.

“Yuta, listen to me child. The humans are turning on us, but you mustn’t let that stop you from being yourself, from being a true and great kitsune!” the fox’s voice permeated your mind. “The humans will hurt you, try to kill you as it has been prophesied, but you mustn’t let their ways sway you from your duties.”

“Mom!” the fox cried.

He could tell, even at such a tender age, what his mother was about to do.

“You will find your soulmate, who will be human, and you must make the human understand who and what you are. They must understand where you come from. And, if they accept you, bonds between man and fox will be restored once more!”

Her voice was urgent as the sounds of the men tracking them grew louder. Your heart hammered in your chest. You knew what was going to happen, but your heart wept at the fate of the family torn apart. Yuta’s arm around your waist fastened to you tighter, although you weren’t sure if he was holding you or himself together.

You don’t know what spurred you to move, but you turned toward him slightly, enough to unpin your arm from your side, and wrapped both of your arms around his middle, hugging him tightly as together, you watched his mother kiss her pups head softly before dashing off toward the men.

There were yells along with a high pitched whimper before her spirit rose into the air to join her mates, leaving the young pup all alone.

You buried your face in Yuta’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter as a few tears slipped from your eyes, dropping onto his shirt. You’d only witnessed a memory. Yuta had been there. You couldn’t imagine the pain he felt the day both of his parents were killed by greedy, uneducated humans.

Present Day

You stood there, embracing Yuta for what seemed like hours before the air was shifting around you again and, by this time, you knew what that meant.

When the air stopped and you opened your eyes, pulling your face from Yuta’s neck, you were standing against the wall of a small little shop that resembled what you would have imagined to be an apothecary’s shop. White-wicked candles burned around the tiny, clutter-filled room, casting a smoky glow around the shop, surrounding the shelved knick-knacks and bottles of liquid medicine. Inside the shop, sitting behind a desk stacked with papers, was a middle-aged man with snow white hair and tan, wrinkled skin, so many wrinkles it looked as though he were shedding. The bags under his eyes were drooping low on his face, making his entire face seem to sag.

“Who is he?” you asked.

“His name’s Mr. Huang.”

Yuta seemed to know that that didn’t answer your question, but you didn’t have time to inquire further before the door to the shop was opening and Yuta, your Yuta, walked in, dressed the exact same as he was now.

This must have been recent…

“Good afternoon, Mr. Huang,” Yuta greeted, giving him a respectful bow.

“What do you want, boy?”

Mr. Huang’s voice was mean and cruel, riddled with an angry snarl as his now beady snake eyes looked up to pierce Yuta’s brown ones.

“Is Mrs. Huang nearby? I had a few more questions about the prophecy regarding my soulmate,” Yuta said, seemingly unfazed by the man's harsh tone.

The question only seemed to make Mr. Huang angrier as stood up with, slamming his hands down on the desk.

“Mrs. Huang died this morning,” he snarled.

Yuta’s face dropped, skin growing pale as the man stalked toward him.

“You promised us she wouldn’t die!” the man hissed, slowly approaching Yuta.

Yuta backed up slowly, his eyes racing around the room, looking for something he could use for leverage when his eyes landed on an envelope with his name scrawled onto it.

Discreetly, he picked up the envelope and slid it into his back pocket.

“Mr. Huang, I did everything that I could do. I promised you’d I’d do my best to heal her! But she had lung cancer! I gave her as much life as I could!” Yuta said.

“That’s not good enough!” Mr. Huang yelled.

He reached into his back pocket and produced a long knife with a jagged edge. You gasped loudly as the man lunged at Yuta. Yuta, carefully dodged the first and the second jab, but by the third, his back was pressed against a wall. Mr. Huang stabbed the knife into Yuta’s side, right above his hip. Yuta cried out on pain, clutching his side.

“Let’s see how you fare against pure silver!” Mr. Huang snarled.

Silver wouldn’t kill him, but it would slow his healing way down. His body could be unable to atone for the wound. That coupled with his young form without having a soulmate to help him heal faster would prohibit him from healing much faster than a normal human.

With the blade still lodged in his side, Yuta shoved past the man and bolted for the door, running straight into the forest, careful not to be seen by any other human.

You followed this Yuta’s movements, your Yuta holding close to you as together, you watched this Yuta drop to his knees and pull the blade from his side, crying out at the pain before dropping it.

The boy cried out as he clutched his side in pain, slowing the bleeding as much as he could before leaning himself against a tree, the same tree near the bush where you’d found him.

His body began to shake with the weight of blood loss and you wanted to run to him, but your Yuta held you back.

“It gets better,” he whispered in your ear.

You didn’t like it. You hated watching the man die, but there was nothing you could do. This may be happening in front of you, but it had already happened in the past.

With shaky fingers, Yuta used his free hand to dig the now wrinkled envelope out of his pocket, specks of blood dotting the starch white.

He opened the envelope with that one hand and pulled out the letter inside. Somehow, you managed to see the letter from here.

Yuta,

If you can find it in your heart to forgive my husband for what he has done, please do. I know that he can have a temper, and he isn’t the best when it comes to dealing with his emotions, but he means well, usually anyways. I have no doubt that he has tried (if not succeeded) to commit bodily harm after my passing. He will likely be unable to handle himself after my death.

The truth is, I’ve always known there was nothing you could do about my condition. Guess that comes with the territory of being an old witch. You know when you’re going to die. But don’t worry, sweetheart, today is not your time. You still have that soulmate of yours to meet.

Your mother was right about the prophecy. I do apologize that I could not speak of it with you. The fact is, my husband is one of those humans that will be swayed when you meet your soulmate, and as such, I couldn’t have you or him finding too much information out. The future is tricky like that.

I just thought you should know, dear boy, that your soulmate will appear to you soon. I cannot say when. Yes, I know, but again, the future can be a tricky thing. When they do show up, they won’t hesitate to show you compassion and kindness. You will also find yourself drawn to their gentle soul. And they will be drawn to you, although they will not be able to explain. Go easy on them, hun. They are human after all. Humans are not as good at understanding things like this as you and I are. Be gentle. Ease them into it.

While all of this is nice, I do also have to give you a warning. When your soulmate is revealed to you, you will know almost immediately. However, it may take them a bit, especially if you aren’t as a human. Be patient. However, if all else fails, show them this letter. I will write your soulmate's name at the bottom. The future will allow that.

My second warning is to tell them your past. The burden is not yours to bear alone. Prophecy says that when you meet your human soulmate, humans will stop trying to kill you and those like you. Conspiracy says this is because they will understand who you are and what you are set on this earth to do. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

The gods have seen what terrible things humans can do, and it has swayed their opinions (for the better in my opinion). Rather than revealing your purpose to the humans, only a varying few will know the truth, your soulmate being one of them. The memories of Kitsune’s and other supernatural creatures will be erased from the minds of most humans, so you must be careful with this new chance in life. You must hide your identity as a Kitsune from everyone except family.

Now Yuta, I want you to know that these last two years have meant the world to me. I love you my dear boy and I will always be watching over you along with your parents.

Find your soulmate, and love them as hard and as deeply as you can.

Love,

Mrs. Huang

Ps: your soulmate's name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Treat them well.

Your eyes widened at the last note of the letter before Yuta folded it up and put it back in his pocket.

“(Y-Y/N)... but… that’s my name…” you muttered.

The man beside you didn’t utter a word as the Yuta you were watching suddenly began to quiver even harder than he already was and, within a few seconds, in his place was the same fox pup you’d rescued a few days ago.

“Wait… so… the pup… you really are the pup!” you exclaimed.

Yuta turned to stare at you, eyebrow raised.

“Tell me you didn’t just get that.”

You didn’t say anything back, instead trained your eyes back on the pup who was crawling under the bush to hide. Time suddenly began to speed up and within a few moments, you saw yourself kneeling in front of the bush in the dark, peering at the fox.

“So I… I was meant to find you… We’re connected…”

Yuta nodded.

“You’re my soulmate, and I am yours.”

You didn’t say anything. Your voice felt like it was locked in your throat as a rush of air once again brushed past your face, taking you somewhere new, although you weren’t sure what else was left to see.

“The future is a tricky thing,” Yuta’s voice whispered as the world became a blur of shapes and colors as you were taken to someplace new to see more sights that would expand your outlook on life itself.

Undetermined time in the future

The wind stopped brushing past your cheek and you stood in front of a small, cozy house with a broad backyard and a large forest filled with thick trees, perfect for running. You saw yourself, or rather, an older version of yourself, sitting on a pink and purple throw blanket in the middle of the backyard. Beside you sat a brown picnic basket waiting to be opened and a vacant seat on the other side of the blanket. The older you smiled softly as the clouds in the sky parted and a beam of sunlight shone down, warming your body naturally.

Older you looked far too happy to be on that picnic alone, so your eyes scanned the valley for someone you hoped was there.

“I haven’t seen this yet either,” Yuta whispered.

He brought his arm back around your waist, keeping you fixed to his side, not that you were complaining. Somehow, it felt you belonged at his side.

As your eyes scanned the yard, you almost missed the two bodies emerging from the forest. One was the body of a tall man, a body you immediately recognized to be Yuta’s. The other was a much smaller body, the body of a young girl whom you couldn’t see all that clearly.

Yuta’s breath hitched and you turned to look at him.

“Do you know her?”

He shook his head, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the two as they approached the picnic blanket where the older you waited, waving your hand to the two with a bright grin on your face.

Yuta’s reaction to the girl had you pausing to take a closer look at him, waiting for him to tell you who this young girl was. When he seemingly noticed you staring, he turned to look at you.

“I honestly don’t know her. But she has been prophesied many times,” he spoke, voice shaking with emotion.

“She wasn’t in the prophecy I heard,” you conjured.

Yuta shook his head, a smile breaking out across his face.

“There’s not just one prophecy,” he answered. “There are many, about many different things that allow us a glimpse into our fate, but somehow, they never play out the way you think they will.”

“Can you tell me the other prophecies?”

Yuta turned his attention back to the scene and urged you to do the same, but you caught him nodding to your question as the little girl jumped into your lap, laughing and giggling as you began to tickle her.

“I will tell you all of them,” he promised.

The scene before you was nothing like what you’d seen earlier. There was no blood or death or attempted murder. No sacrifices or ominous warnings. There was nothing but peace and love, and if that was your fate, you were happy with it.

The older Yuta sat down beside you on the picnic blanket and, as the young girl became distracted chasing a butterfly, he dipped a finger under your chin and lifted your face to his.

“I love you, my Flower,” he spoke softly.

“I love you too, my Fox.”

He pressed a soft kiss against your lips, a kiss so soft you felt as though you were prying just by watching, and, although it didn’t last long and your own lips hadn’t felt the gentle touch, you knew there was no kiss quite as sweet as the ones from Yuta.

The backyard disintegrated into an array of pickles before your eyes fluttered open and you were staring at the ceiling of the same rental house you’d spent the last three years.

“Was it all a dream?”

“Yes and no,” a familiar voice spoke next to you.

This time, you didn’t jump at the sound of the voice, although you weren’t sure if it was because it was familiar, or if it was because it wasn’t in your head this time.

Turning your head, you caught the sight of Yuta, standing just as he had been in your dream, wearing clothes that were coated in blood, likely the same ones he’d been wearing when he was stabbed.

“How are you not a fox anymore?” you asked.

He smiled as he knelt down on the couch where you were still sprawled out.

“Your human mind couldn't accept the truth earlier. That’s why you freaked out when I began speaking into your mind, which is something I can only do in fox form,” he added. “When I calmed you down by accessing your nervous system, I realized you were going to have to see the truth, so I knocked you out and took you on the journey with me. You had to live through that one way or another,” he explained.

You didn’t understand, not really anyways, not the full story, at least. What you did understand was 1) Yuta was a kitsune, 2) he had a very dark past, and 3) you were his soulmate and, although you hadn’t known him for very long, you were 100% ok with that.

“Now, do you think you can stay calm long enough for me to do something I was dying to do the entire time?” he asked.

“What?”

“This.”

Without further exchange of words, Yuta’s plump lips were on yours and, for the first time through the whole ordeal, you could feel it. And you knew it wouldn’t take much until you were addicted. Because he was Nakamoto Yuta. Kitsune. And your soulmate.

197 notes · View notes

infernal-fire · 4 years ago

Text

Long Forgotten

I am choosing to not use warnings. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with themes of infidelity, angst, swearing and sexual innuendos.

Summary: Your Steve isn’t yours anymore and you’re beginning to understand why.

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairings: Steve x reader and a surprise appearance ;)

Disclaimer: this is set right after Endgame

A/N: this story was inspired by @nsfwsebbie’s fic please don’t take him (even though you can). it was so damn amazing. i thought of how the situation would go under different circumstances, and added a more strong willed reader into the mix :)

i tried to proofread but im sort of posting in a rush so all mistakes are my own!

(This GIF does not belong to me)

Your head was nestled in the crook of Steve’s neck and his arms were cradling your tired form. Dried tears left your face feeling dry and your up do from the funeral was now tousled. Steve let out a heavy sigh and held you a little tighter.

You could fall asleep if it weren’t for the looming stress of returning the stones so you decided to bide your time by focusing on the super soldier’s unnaturally slow heartbeat.

“We should go, sweetheart. They’re waiting for me.” his voice broke the placid silence that had enveloped the room.

You silently got off the bed and Steve’s hand nudged yours, stopping you from reaching the door.

He slowly pulled you towards him and you met him halfway, face-to-face.

“I know things aren’t great right now. But we’ll get through this,” he spoke lowly as his large hands cupped your face. They felt rough against your supple skin, but his touch was as tender as ever.

You stared into his eyes for a moment before speaking. "I’ll come with you,” you offered.

“No,” he affirmed. His tone was firm yet a touch of softness was reserved in there somewhere, just for you.

“I love you Y/N. I’ll love you no matter what,” he said as he pulled your head into his chest and engulfed your body into his.

You reached the new, mini version of the previously destroyed time travel contraption Tony made. Sam, Bucky and Professor Hulk were engaging in light conversation that clearly, none of them were interested in. You look up at Steve, who was as tense as ever, clutching your hand like a vice. He let go and glanced back at you before joining Sam.

You knew deep down that Steve would never be the same anymore. Hell, after the Battle of Wakanda, Steve almost ended the relationship because the Avengers lost.

But the Avengers won this time, and things should feel different. So why did it feel like he was leaving forever?

You recalled the very short conversation you had with him about Tony’s snap.

“I should have snapped,” he sobbed.

“You’ve always been selfless your whole life. This was Tony’s time to be selfless, and you don’t get to take that away from him.” You hugged him and cried with him.

There was nothing else to be said.

How much you wished no one had to die.

He stood on the platform and nodded at Bruce before locking eyes with you.

Apologetic. He looked apologetic.

At the time, you thought he just looked sad. You assumed it was residual sadness from the funeral but looking back, you realized he looked apologetic for what he was about to do.

Rebuilding your relationship wasn’t easy. Tony and Nat’s death and the trauma of the battle were overshadowing both of your feelings. You salvaged what you could and life returned to a “normal” that never existed.

Being an Avenger means your living costs are covered by Tony, basically compensating for the missions. Only there weren’t any missions anymore. You were grateful but it meant that you had a lot of time on your hands.

You took up a job as a waitress and Steve continued running sessions at the VA with Sam. It was humbling to be serving people at a diner after fighting alongside some of Earth’s mightiest heroes. But you needed it. And slowly but steadily, happiness crept its way into the tower.

You didn’t see Steve around anymore though. You weren’t sure if you were even together anymore, aside from the forehead kisses and lingering glances.

You and Bucky set the table while you heard Sam and Steve banter over who gets to choose the movie today. Bucky chuckled and called them to eat.

There was relentless teasing, jokes being tossed around and big smiles everywhere.

“The nurse had poked him 2 times at this point and there was no blood coming out of him.” Sam laughed.

“So she asks me if we can do the other arm.” Bucky snorted through breaths of amusement.

“This guy pulls up his sleeve and the girl faints.” Sam howled as everyone doubled over in laughter.

You wiped a tear from your eye and you look over at Steve who was laughing as well. It had been a long time since you’ve seen him so happy.

Sure, he’d been distant. He hadn’t touched you since he came back. It had been 2 months though, and you wondered if you should try again tonight. You put a hand over Steve’s and he snapped his head to you. He gave you a small smile before slipping his hand out from under yours and picking up a napkin.

He needed the napkin, you told yourself.

You went up to change into something that he might find more appealing. You were torn between the red lace set or the black corset. You settled for the classic red lace and tied on a robe before heading downstairs to tease him a little.

“You’re going to tell her before you go right?” You heard Sam’s voice and broke your stride to the kitchen.

“She won’t be happy.” You swore it was Steve’s voice but it was a little too quiet to be sure. You silently padded toward the kitchen, standing right outside the entrance to hear better.

“Of course she won’t be happy. You went back to be with a girl from 70 years ago and spent 4 months with her. You sort of cheated on her Steve.” Bucky’s voice quipped at Steve.

You couldn’t be hearing right. Steve went back and got together with Peggy?

“It’s not sort of cheating, he almost got married to her,” Sam remarked in rebuttal.

He almost got married to her.

There was so much information to process. Your shoulder sagged with the weight of the news and you cupped your mouth before anyone could hear your sob.

“But I came back.” Steve countered.

“Do you love her?” Bucky lowered his voice and inquired.

“I don’t know anymore.”

Your chest heaved and eyes burned. You wanted to gasp for air but you knew if you breathed, you would let out the anguish building in your stomach.

Your back hit the wall and you slid down, not caring if he hears anymore.

In moments, Steve, Bucky and Sam appear beside you with startled faces.

You didn’t look at them as you got up and paced to your room. You thought you heard Steve’s voice calling after you but your thoughts pounded and clawed at the insides of your head. You couldn’t be sure and you weren’t going to turn back now.

He didn’t run after you. You had predicted that he didn’t want to deal with your hysterical crying which surely could be heard past your room walls. When you considered it, this new Steve was actually quite predictable; you knew he wouldn’t bother bringing it up to you until you brought it up yourself. Because he was a coward like that, you decided. All of his actions spoke for themself and the one true motive behind his cheating is cowardice. You don’t know if you would have been okay with him going back to Peggy, but if he talked about it, things not have ended the way they did.

After 2 days of not leaving your room, you knew that there was a better way to handle this. It wasn’t you who should be embarrassed; instead of sulking, you marched to his room with newfound determination.

You threw open his door that he didn’t even bother locking. Steve was mid-speech with someone on the phone, seemingly a conversation that wasn’t going his way. He seemed tense, his muscles protruding from the tight white t-shirt pulled over him.

Your jaw ticked as you shifted your weight onto one foot and rested on the doorframe, waiting for him to end the call.

“I’m sorry to cut this short. We have a lot to talk about but it’ll have to happen in-person.” he concluded the phone call and sat on the bed with his head in his arms.

“Seems like you planned it all.” you commented, trying to sound like you didn’t care. In reality, the wound was still very fresh. Even though a part of you had known that the relationship was over for some time now, you were only coming to terms with it now.

“I wanted to tell you before I left, but you were just so upset and I couldn’t …” he trailed off.

“All of a sudden you care about me? And now this is somehow my fault that you were too chicken to tell me,” you retorted, unimpressed with his answer.

“I have always cared about you and always will.” He got up and walked towards you. He cupped your face but you pushed his hand off, glaring up at him.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I admit I could’ve handled everything lot better but Y/N. When you told me Tony’s snap was his moment of selflessness, I realized that all I’ve ever done is be selfless. And I don’t regret any of it. But it was time I chose to do something for myself. Then I remembered Peggy and the life I left behind and I just knew this world would be okay without me so I chose to be selfish. I chose to be selfish, Y/n, and I don’t regret that either.”

You were crying now, and Steve reached to wipe it off, but you smacked his hand.

“You used to choose me. You woke up everyday and chose us. The day you decided you didn’t want this anymore, you decided you would just go ‘fuck all’ and cheat on me? You couldn’t have ended it like a normal person?” you questioned through your tears. Your vision was foggy but you kept wiping your eyes, trying not let him see your tears.

He sighed and let a few moments stretch on before he answered.

“We both know that this relationship was over a long time ago Y/N.”

You noted his use of your name and not the usual pet name ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’. It saddened you even more to think that he doesn’t associate those words with you anymore.

“You’re a fucking bastard Rogers. You are the biggest coward I have ever met in my life. You may be the Captain America, but you are the biggest wimp in real life.” You could tell he was fuming because of your comment but you continued your spiel.

“I tried everything to make this work. The moment that the thought of cheating crossed your mind, you should have broken my heart. Because all you did now was rip it out and stomp on it before spitting on the what’s left-”

“I can’t believe you’re standing here accusing me of not trying to make this work. You know what Y/N? I fucking left Peggy because I thought about you and thought I could make this work. And then I came back and remembered all the reasons why this wouldn’t work and now I regret it. I wish I could go back to Peggy.”

“Go fuck yourself Rogers,” you muttered and turned to leave. “Actually, go fuck Peggy’s skeleton Steve. I curse you with every cell in my body. I hope you never get to see her again. I know you’re trying to go back,” you added before wiping you final tear, once and for all. There was no way you were going to shed another tear on this asshole.

Except, it wasn’t that simple. You did cry over it more, but if there’s anything you did right, it was making sure he never saw your tears.

You also found that post-break up glow up’s were a real thing. The lack of missions means you didn’t need to see Steve unless you chose to be in the same space as him. So you chose to make new friends and bring new light into your life. There was no dread clouding your judgment because for once, there was no impending threat on the future of Earth.

You cut your hair, you changed up your wardrobe and got as fit as you’ve ever been. Your friends made frequent stops at the Tower which eventually turned into dragging you into their bar hopping.

On the other hand, Steve was doing everything he could to go back to Peggy, just like you had predicted. You manifested his downfall. Hank Pym refused to let his work fall into the hands of the Avengers and Steve was having a very hard time convincing him otherwise. The final nail in the coffin was when Hank decided that Pym Particles should not be produced anymore. As long as the world didn’t understand the entirety of the quantum realm, no one should have access to something that could mess with it. No arguments could ensue because there was nothing anyone could say to change Hank’s mind.

As much as Bucky and Sam wanted him to go back, they knew he deserved it for everything you were put through. When Steve found that his friends weren’t on the same page as him, he spiraled deeper into regret and depression. There wasn’t much to be done in terms of world-saving, which is what he was made for. The person he thought was the love of his life is gone now. When the dust settled, he realized that you were the only thing that kept him going for so long. But now he lost you too, and there was nothing he could do get you back.

While you were out living your new life, Steve was trying to find a life for himself. He would see you around the compound and wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of your love. What he would do to feel that again, he couldn’t explain to anyone.

Your escapades were at an all-time high. You knew that single life is the life. Just when you finally concluded that all men were trash, Ransom came crashing into your life. Although he only reinforced this belief, this man wasn’t just any trash. He was your trash.

He was the mutual of your friends and you seemed to never be able to escape him. Moreover, your friends decided that you wouldn’t escape him.

The teasing and playful banter between you two turned into something more serious about a year after your break-up. Ransom was everything Steve wasn’t.

Steve was a gentleman. Chivalrous. Gentle.

Then you reminded yourself that he had proven to you that he wasn’t any of things anymore. Ransom was the exact opposite, but he wore it on his sleeve. After all the lies and cowardice, Ransom’s blunt and bold attitude was exactly what you needed.

There were moments you found yourself comparing the nature of the two relationships. With Steve, a lot of it was gentle and soft with some roughness around the edges. Life alongside Ransom was nothing short of callous, but that’s why soft, vulnerable moments felt even more extraordinary and special.

If you made a judgement based off first impressions, someone like Ransom seems to be more likely to cheat than someone like Steve Rogers. Upon deeper analyzation though, Ransom doesn’t have any skeletons in his closet. He doesn’t claim things easily, but when he does, he would go to any length to make sure what’s his, will stay his. Soon after you realized this, you began abandoning thoughts of comparing the two relationships.

There was a party at the Tower for Sam’s birthday. It was the first time in a long time that you were going to be around Steve for longer than 10 minutes. Doubt began seeping through your determination; how well would you fare under the pressure of pretending to be okay around him?

“Do we have to match, sugar?” Ransom whined from your bathroom.

“Why would you even go to an event as a couple if you aren’t matching?” you hollered back.

You heard Ransom grumble as the bathroom door swung open. The emerald green dress shirt with small gold polka dots complemented his eyes so perfectly. Ransom was about to complain again before seeing the look of awe on your face. He decided right then that he could suck it up for the night.

You were wearing an emerald green cocktail dress with sheer black net covering your shoulders, your sleeves reaching your elbows. The material was different, but the print was the exact same as Ransom’s. He couldn’t help but wonder why you put so much effort into such little things. He made a mental note to do something like this for you another time before wrapping his arms around your frame, burying his face into your face.

“Ran! My hair!” you squealed as you tried to push him off.

“Usually it’s me that takes this long to get ready. You trying to impress the Captain?” Ransom winked and sat on your bed.

“Oh fuck off.” you rolled your eyes and added the big bow to your half up hair-do.

“You look so innocent baby. How angelic would you look with my cum dripping out of your mouth?” he smirked as you dropped your mouth, looking at him through the mirror.

“My god Ran, this is not the time.” You shook your head and pulled him with you, finally making your way to the party downstairs.

You were breaking out into cold sweat for some reason. Part of you really wanted to show Steve how happy you were now, but you felt that it meant you weren’t truly over him. Were you making a mistake?

Right before you opened the door the common room where the party was ongoing, Ransom stopped you and looked right into your eyes.

“You know, as much as I’d like to make your ex jealous, if you don’t want this, I could think of a lot of other ways to spend the night,” he winked and you blushed. This is exactly why you liked him so much. There was no pressure to be anything but yourself around him. Even if you told him you wanted to go back to your room, there would be no judgement on his behalf. He wouldn’t ever bring it up as a joke either, because he just knew what he could and couldn’t joke about.

“Let’s do this, bubbles” you giggled. He groaned at the nickname and pulled you into his side with one arm, opening the door with the other.

One of Ransom’s many talents was making an entrance and this event was no exception. As you walked through the entrance, Ransom kept his head high and pulled you along with him. His confidence began rubbing off you and within a few steps, you stopped slouching. Straightening you back and tossing your hair behind your back, you bathed in the glory of the looks you and Ransom were getting. He took you straight to the bar, smiled at you and ordered drinks.

“You know, your ex was fuming in the corner,” he remarked as he sipped on his drink.

“No!” you laughed incredulously, unable to imagine Steve begin angry over Ransom’s presence.

“It’s true, look for yourself,” he calmly retorted. His eyes flicked to a corner of the room and you followed his gaze there. Steve looked away upon seeing you look at him but it was clear that he was flustered. Bucky stood beside him, entertaining a gaggle of girls, but Steve’s attention was clearly elsewhere.

“He’s actually pretty hot in person, it’s making me jealous” Ransom nonchalantly mentioned.

You threw your head back and laughed. Your doubts of whether this was a good idea were dissipating very quickly.

Ransom chuckled and then looked at you intently. You looked back at him, the high of the laugh wearing off because of his intense stare.

“I think I’m in love with you.” you blurted.

“You know, I’m glad you said it because I did not want to say it first.” he snickered and you playfully punched him.

“Ow! I’m just kidding, don’t go all Avengers-mode on me!” he fussed.

You pulled him into a tight hug. He peeled your head away from his chest to cup your face and give you a light kiss before whispering ‘I love you too.’ You started to tear up, thinking of all the pain you had to go through to get this moment of tranquility with your favourite person in the whole, wide world.

He cooed and kissed your forehead.

“I always got you.” he assured and pulled your head back into his chest. You smiled and broke away from the hug, sitting back on the bar stool.

“I think you transferred your lipstick because you have a dark red lip mark on your forehead.”

You groaned and frantically wiped your forehead.

“Hey,” he caught your wrist. “Why don’t we go back up and fix that?” His eyes glinted in the dim lights and you giggled like a schoolgirl as he pushed through the crowd.

In that moment, and every moment after it, Steve was long forgotten.

Fill out the form in my bio or shoot me a message if you want to join my tag list!

I believe the page dividers are by @firefly-graphics (I forget which ones were my own and which ones were downloaded, but regardless, they have amazing work that I definitely rec writers to check out!)

Tag list: @partiesandblurrypolaroids @hitmewithyourbest-shot @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @bval-1

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#steve x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #endgame #endgame!steve #steve rogers #captain america #fic #fic rec #mcu #marvel

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golden-olea · 4 years ago

Text

NSFW Cirillach Fic

Major kudos to @the-immortal-marshal and @xuelingxu for this fic idea! (is it possible for me to post a fic without some type of s/o to @the-immortal-marshal? honestly probably not at this point)

Plot: Avallac’h accidentally concocts an extremely strong aphrodisiac just as Ciri makes her way to his study. Sexy things ensue.

Warnings: NSFW

*also as a side note, I’ve aged Ciri up in this fic bc:

1. Obvious reasons

2. My thirst keeps me from engaging in any kind of critical thought (thinking? Case in point)

Avallac’h sat clutching his hair in his hands, taking long breaths in as he tried to understand what had happened. The recessed edges of the container in front of him glimmered in the candlelight as its contents sparked and puffed happily, sending trails of smoke stretching up into the air, filling the study in a light glowing haze.

What went wrong? The Sage thought, his lids crashing together as he tried to focus his mind. The ingredients, the measurements, the temperature, the timing – yes, he made sure he checked it all twice before creating it but still –

He breathed in deeply, digging his fingers into his temples as the tension built in his body, the sound of hushed garbled notes caressed his ears as he battled his body for order.

Focus he thought, but his mind was beginning to soften, his thoughts disintegrating as smoothly and emphatically as the smoke from the bottle, leaving to dance in the twinkling fog.

The tonic should have been simple, as rudimentary as a sleeping potion. A basic aphrodisiac, with a small twist to enhance the senses and amplify the effects of the drugged powders and oils applied to the girl.

The girl. The music grew louder.

“Avallac’h?”. A note broke through his muddled thoughts, gentle and tender, full of concern.

He looked up to see a figure standing against the warm glow of the hallway, the slender fingertips of an outstretched arm laying delicately on the wooden doorframe. How long had she been there?

“Ah… Zireael, yes.” he managed to say, looking up to address her.

His thoughts caught in his head as his eyes took in the shadow in his doorway. Her lithe body was draped in a slate blue satin, glistening golden threads ran up and around her hips in the shape of small buds, reaching up to her chest and blooming around the deep wrapped collar of the dress. He could see the ivory skin of her chest redden as it moved cautiously up and down, her small breaths inviting the candlelight to dance tantalizingly over her body.

“Avallac’h?” Ciri repeated “are you alright?”.

Her words were airier than before, the end of the sentence trailing off lightly, as if called to sleep.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He said, jerking his eyes off of her body and onto the potion which continued to fizzle ecstatically on the desk.

“Listen… carefully, I-” The Sage stopped mid-sentence, wrenching himself up from his desk. “You will need return some other time.”

He grabbed a cork and shoved it into the bottle. Every word, every motion, was painful; the pressure and desire growing in his body as his instincts roared wildly within.

Get her out he thought, turning to face her, his eyes, still pinned on the ground, landing on a pair of petite elven slippers. He stepped back quickly, his feet hitting the wooden bed frame behind him.

“Zireael, you must leave. Please.” He said, his voice faltering slightly as his body fought desperately to keep the words to himself.

The girl did not respond. He watched as the dainty slippers made their way towards him on cautious feet, the steps slow and deliberate, pulled by the same instinct coursing through him.

“Avallac’h…” the words came out draped in a hypnotic melody, her voice faltering in confusion, the smoke invading her young human mind and igniting her body in ways he could not even begin to fathom.

He held his breath as he passed her, dodging her hand as she reached out towards him, his body screaming at him as he made it to the door and placed his hand on the handle. His fingers wrapped tightly around the metal, the filigree digging hotly into his hand as he pulled the door further open.

He kept his breaths shallow, waiting for the girl to comply, to leave him, to listen. But the figure stood still, waiting, the drought paralyzing her in expectant desire. He fixed his gaze on her, intent to expel her with the last bits of clarity he could muster, but her eyes stole his words from him, burrowing into him with an intensity he had not seen in centuries. Memories, vision, of a petal-soft elfess rushed through him as the figure stood alone, beautiful and delicate, draped in fine elven fabric, ready to be taken.

Shamefully, he conceded. He took in a deep breath as he gave into the howling within, turning to face her as he heard the door clank shut behind him.

He moved towards her with wayward determination, captivated by the glassy green eyes staring back at him. His eyes took in her slender frame as his fingers cautiously reached towards her, daring the spirit in front of him to dissipate into the fog that surrounded them. But the vision held, her skin smooth and supple beneath him, the smell of newly bloomed buds intoxicating his senses.

He stared at her, hungrily taking in the look of lust, curiosity, and apprehension in the eyes that stared longingly back at him. He had seen this look only once, it had become a memory he visited for years after. A young, curious, and nimble body had waited expectantly in his hands once before, yearning to be touched, taught, caressed, by him, only him.

The memory had begun to fade, oh it had been years, but here she was again, in his hands, craving desperately for his touch, his desires, his teachings.

He stroked her cheek gently, her eyelids quivering deliciously under the movement. His gaze fell on her lips, dewy and slightly parted, his breathing deepened as his thumb slithered down, pressing into her budding lips. Her eyes closed as she took him in instinctually, hungrily consuming any piece of him he had to offer her, the fire in his body burned brighter as he watched her savour the taste of his skin.

He let her tongue caress him briefly before pulling his hand back, angling her face up sharply towards his, and bringing his lips to meet hers. She flung herself towards him eagerly as he kissed her, letting out small moans of appreciation as she rose up on her tiptoes, grabbing his hair in her hands and pulling his face down towards her, her body aching for his closeness and his touch. His hunger matched hers, his fingers feverishly undoing the ties of the dress before plunging his hands underneath the fabric.

He felt himself grow painfully hard as his hands ran over her body, hearing her moans intensify as he explored her curves. His hands wrapped around her tiny frame eagerly, feeling her breath rise and fall more rapidly as he ran his fingers up her thigh, stopping at the flimsy fabric lying between her legs. His body craved release, for him to rip off the fabric, to throw her on the bed and take her rapidly and voraciously, but his thoughts pulled him back.

No, he could still have release and still leave her intact. Nobody would need to know, not Auberon, not his assistants, not anyone. He could enjoy her, and then free her without consequence, his actions as phantasmal as the being in front of him.

He began rubbing her lightly through the fabric, her wetness quickly seeping through, the gossamer threads moving naturally with his touch. Her kisses becoming more ravenous as she shuddered around his fingers, her moans filling his mouth as he picked up pace, feeling her small hips twitch and thrust onto him, until she finally pulled her head back, her face contorting in ecstasy as she jerked wildly in his hand.

He breathed a small sigh of relief as her body relaxed in his, her eyelids lifting slowly to meet his gaze. But they were not as tempered as he expected them to be. Still filled with ardent desire, her small hands ran back through his hair, pulling him in for another kiss.

Her body wanted more, the drought having taken full control of her already erratic desires. He pulled his face back from her, stretching up to his full height, removing himself from her reach.

“Come.” He said, taking her hand as he led her to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress before pulling her towards him, her hands in his, enjoying the expectant look in her eyes as she stood exposed in front of him.

“Undress me.” He said gently, stroking her tiny hands in his. Her fingers made their way shakily down his shirt, her breath bated in desire, undoing his buttons eagerly and determinedly. She pushed the fabric open with curious hands, gasping faintly at the mass of tattoos underneath.

His lips pulled up in a slight smile, her reaction hitting him like an intimate echo making its way back to him after years of silence, the look of shock and lust on her face amplifying the memories of his precocious beloved. He pulled her in for another kiss, unable to resist the torrent of emotions cascading through him, her breasts skimming lightly over his chest as he peeled the rest of the dress off of her quivering body.

His hands guided hers as they kissed, bringing them down to the ties in his pants. Her fingers eagerly undid the ties before releasing his cock, now throbbing and aching with desire. She moved to climb on top of him, ready to press into him, to feel him inside of her, but he pushed her back gently.

“Get on your knees.”

She looked at him wide-eyed but did as he commanded. He watched as her body slowly descended to the floor, a look of indignation shadowing her face.

He ignored her silent protest, leaning over to push her hips up higher before placing her hands on his thighs. His eyes looked down towards her rose-blushed lips still glistening with the kisses she had eagerly gifted him. He paused before reaching out to grab her chin and guiding her to the tip of his hard cock.

“In your mouth, slowly.”

He watched as she tenderly wrapped her lips around him, his body tensing at the warmth of her mouth as she took more of him in. He moved his hand to the back of her neck, gently grabbing her hair and guiding her in soft repetitive motions over him, listening to her struggle as he pushed her head down harder with each movement.

“Yes… perfect, luned” he said softly, closing his eyes as he took in her touch, his grip tightening as her embrace became wetter around him, her moans growing louder and more laboured with each push of his hand.

He looked down at her hips high in the air, wanting nothing more than to grab her and place her onto him, to feel her twitch around him in pleasure, the movements of her mouth and the thoughts filling his head overwhelming him, trying desperately to restrain himself as his hips started thrusting lightly into her. Her movements continued dutifully, her moans growing louder as she enjoyed the feeling of her mouth being filled by his cock.

He took mercy on her, leaning over and shifting the fabric to the side, feeling how wet she had become underneath him. Her muffled cries from his touch caused him to buck violently into her against his better judgment. Ciri pulled her head back, gagging slightly, looking up at him with hurt watery eyes.

“I’m sorry, Luned” he said, pulling her off her knees and into him for a kiss, “I’m sorry, here.”

He placed her on the bed, laying down on his knees in front of her. He shushed her soothingly, pulling her hips towards him gently before gliding her underwear off and spreading her quivering legs open with his hands. He began placing small wet kisses along her thigh, slowly working his way up as he listened to her breath become shakier in anticipation under him. He paused, kissing her gently on her clit before running his tongue between her lips.

The reaction was instantaneous. Her hips jutted into him as she shouted in surprise, her hands grasping at his hair and pulling him closer into her as his mouth pressed against her, taking as much of her in as he could. Her thighs pressed into his head as her hips shifted erratically under him, overwhelmed by his touch and craving more. He continued, pushing her legs open further as she shut them with each wave of pleasure.

“Hold still” he said firmly, but she could not listen, her body betrayed her, confused as to what it should do under his wet caresses.

The feeling of her supple skin in his mouth was maddening, his body now screaming like a wild animal, violently commanding him to be inside of her. He dug his fingers into her thighs, pulling her closer as her body writhed against him, dewy and overworked from his touch, her small fingers digging into his hair, craving him just as much as he did her. Her movements fed into his lust, every small twitch of her body taking away what little restraint he had left in him.

“Please… Ava…” the girl managed to plead faintly between moans. He pulled back, grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands from his hair as she puffed in confusion on the bed in front of him. He looked her over, taking in the small figure before him, helpless and lost in her lust on the bed. He smiled before climbing on the bed, leaning over to kiss her, the tip of his cock brushing softly against her clit as her lips met his. She whimpered as she began bucking her hips over his cock, desperate for any touch she could get.

“Hold still”, he said again as he continued, tasting her sweet kisses as he felt her writhe more frantically under him, her breaths growing more shallow on his lips as her movements became more aggressive. He sighed, pulling back. Her eyes locked onto his as he stared her down, her weak and willing body crying out for him like it had so many times before. Tomorrow she would be gone, gone, her touch out of his reach forever. Feeling his heart tear in rabid desire and frenzied desperation, he put his hands on her hips, savouring the little gasp she let out as he pressed his tip between her lips, holding her still as he pushed into her.

He watched as her back arched in pleasure, her legs shaking under him as he entered her, holding her down as he slowly began thrusting into her. His large hands held her still, watching her face contort as he moved in and out, enjoying the display of pure gratification and ecstasy as she lost herself amidst the haze of smoke and indulgence that filled the room.

He closed his eyes as her soft moans became louder, still sweet in their emphatic declaration of lust and love. He joined her in the haze, buckling over her, thrusting faster still as he buried his face in her neck, letting her soft moans run into his ears as he breathed in deeply, the smell of orchards and the sound of her pleas taking him away, back, back.

“Me Elaine-” the honey-sweet elfess filled his mind, wide-eyed and wet-lipped, calling his name so sweetly, her moans, her gentle curious fingers, her surrender. He pulled his head back to look into her eyes, leaning down to press his lips into hers, her whimpers holding him tightly to her as their bodies trembled in release.

He collapsed on top of her, feeling her chest rise and fall with his as they lay, eyes closed. Her breathing slowed against his skin, her small pants tickling his ear ever more gently as the last calls of desire trickled out of her body.

He pulled back, staring at the girl in front of him, still dazed and sleepy, lost to the world around her. The warm haze of memory caressed his thoughts as he wrapped her small body within his, feeling her breath fall to nothing as it gave in to sleep. He closed his eyes, taking in the smell of her meadow-laced hair, the softness of her body, her hushed breaths, joining her in sleep as his love dissipated carelessly and wistfully into the night air.

#cirillach #avallac'h #crevan espane aep caomhan macha #aen elle #the witcher #tw3 #I honestly can't think of a title for this one #why are titles so hard to come up with it's literally the hardest part why

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16woodsequ · 4 years ago

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Hi I'm back for our weekly ask (I have decided it's our new tradition)

Just wondering do you have any headcannons which are about Steve but not from Steve. Like something Clint or wanda have noticed about him. Or something vision or Tony think about him etc. Any character any cannon, as long as about Steve.

Hope that makes sense, is a nightmare trying to phrase what I'm asking lol

Oooh, I like this tradition! (Also, I’m pretty sure this was the ask that prompted my dream the other day, since it was so interesting I went to bed thinking about it.)

Alright, interesting thing with this question, is Steve is a hard person to get to know. He puts up a front most of the time, so for any of these headcanons, I think they would only happen if the Avengers lived around Steve for a while, so either an AU where they live together, or during the time when Steve is searching for Bucky with Sam, or when Team Cap is on the run together.

That being said, here are a few ideas:

Tony and press conferences

Now, starting off, I think Steve is very practiced at handling press conferences. He would have experience doing it as Captain America during the war. So I think he can generally get through the tediousness of it just as well as Tony can (who would also have a lot of practice with this sort of thing). That being said, I think he would have his limits.

Since Tony is practiced in portraying an image to the press, I think he might grow to recognise Steve doing the same thing, and I think he might learn to pick up the clues for when Steve is done up to here with reports and insensitive questions. I think the signs would be subtle—a narrowing of the eyes here, a pointed remark there, a clenching of the fists here...

And Tony knows it is about time to wrap up the press conference and pull Steve away to somewhere quiet.

Avengers and a super soldier

In general, I think the people around Steve forget just how enhanced he is. Even among the Howling Commandos, I think it would be easy to remember some basic things about Steve’s enhancements; he is strong, he can fight really well, he has good stamina... that sort of thing.

But I think is would be easy to think of Steve as, just a really athletic, strong guy, so I can totally see the Avengers and the Commandos both just being a little shook every once an a while when Steve does something the reminds them just how enhanced he is.

Steve: *scales a 6 story building with out breaking a sweat*

Clint: Um.

Steve: *sitting dead still, eyes wide as he listens in on an enemy encampment a mile away*

Gabe, next to him: Uh.

Wanda

I hadn’t thought a lot about Steve and Wanda, but once I did, I realised that the two of them have a lot in common. Wanda lost Pietro, and Steve lost Bucky. Both Wanda and Steve volunteered for body altering science experiments, and both of them are young. Both of them have lived through war-like conditions, and, after aou, Wanda is all alone in a new country, much like Steve was when he first woke up.

So anyways, I think Steve and Wanda could potentially grow very close. Especially if Wanda accidentally sees something like his nightmares. I think the Avengers and her would have an understanding that she wouldn’t see into their minds purposely, but if it were to happen accidentally, or if Steve’s emotions were to be particularly “loud”, I can see Wanda having an easier time seeing past the Captain Rogers part of Steve than other people would.

Steve and friends

I would like to think that anyone who spends enough time around Steve would eventually be able to pick up on his subtle red flags. I don’t think Steve would ever be very obvious with his problems—unless he were in the middle of a breakdown—but I can see Sam or Natasha being able to tell bad nights from good night by the set of Steve’s shoulders, or how long he spends zoned out over his coffee.

I can see Sam and Nat having a completely silent method of communication for ‘scale of 1-10, how is he?’ and ‘what is the plan?’, sort of thing. (And of course, Steve would do the same sort of thing for either of them, but this is mainly about what others notice about Steve right now.)

Bucky

This is for Commandos-era Bucky, but I was reading a post about subtle signs someone you know is having a chronic pain flare up, and I began thinking about that with Steve and Bucky.

What if, after the serum, Bucky notices that Steve moves differently than he did before? And at first, he thinks it is just new confidence, or a Captain America sort of thing, but after a while he realises it is something different. Steve is moving without pain.

He is so used to picking up on the subtle signs of Steve bracing himself to stand, or moving carefully, or being short of breath for reasons other than asthma. But, by the time Steve finds Bucky, he has been in his new body long enough that he is starting to shed those habits.

I imagine Bucky probably wouldn’t have grasped Steve’s chronic pain quite so well as the moment he realised just how prevalent is was—because he recognises now when it isn’t there.

I hope that is what you had in mind! Let me know what you think!

Headcanon masterpost

#asks #steve rogers #avengers #headcanons #headcanon #marvel #mcu #long post #bucky barnes

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kyoupann · 5 years ago

Note

Please do more of the writing head canons. It’s really interesting to see other people’s ideas on the topic, so if you can be bothered, I would highly appreciate more, thanks bye <3

Y’all don’t know how happy I am to talk about these headcanons, they are my babies and I love them so much :’) thanks for asking g <3

Handwriting Headcanons

Same dynamic as before, try to guess whose handwriting it is before reading and tell me how many you got right! <3

You can find the first post here (no need to check it tho)

Quick disclaimer: halfway through making my initial notes, I remembered I had one (1) single lesson of graphology in my applied linguistics class, but that was a year ago and some information might be off. I just thought it was neat to include.

Another quick disclaimer: I don’t know much about Hylian, but I like to think it has a similar stroke system to Japanese, so the pressure and accuracy of your strokes play a major role in your handwriting (among other things, ofc.) so there are some parts where I focus more on that

(First Row, from left to right)

Sky

Our first boy is mother hen! Believe it or not, he has the prettiest handwriting out of all of them! Sky: probably has nice, even elegant handwriting because Sun forced him to practice when they were little. In the end, that paid off because his handwriting is the prettiest one. There’s no pressure, but he is confident in what he writes that his lines aren’t thin. Mistakes? what is that? this boy has impeccable grammar and spelling. No mechanic errors to be found in his letters! I’d like to think that many of Hyrule’s classic/staple poems were originally written by the firt king aka sky child. Like, imagine, after a retiring from being a Person of Power (as the first ruler), Sky finds comfort in the arts: revisits his old woodcarvings and starts writing poetry about the world he still doesn’t fully understand. wowie. tldr: sky writes poetry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands.

This is what one of his letters would look like:

Next one is the one and only, our Hero of Time

2. Time

I’ll die on the “Time didn’t know how to read and write” hill. His handwriting is simple, not pretty but not messy. It has some grammar and spelling mistakes here and there. Can become unreadable if writing in a hurry, he sorts of forgets spaces between words are a thing/letters have different sizes and lowercase letters end up the same size as capital letters. I’m not saying he sometimes forgets to write articles: he just doesn’t want to. Honestly, he just has this dad-neat handwriting. He is a gentle dad and writes like a dad, if he puts too much pressure onto the paper, his handwriting become too sharp/angle-ish and ends up looking ugly. And as much as he would like to not care about it, in the end he does (:

Malon taught him how to write and it was quite the experience. At first he didn’t want to because he was ‘too old’ to learn and it was torture at first, but now look at him devouring his cowboy novels.

A chunk of his handwriting:

*sniff* such a dad quote.

3. my mansss, your 4x1 deal at Target: Four

Look, my boy is patient! He could do some nice and fancy lettering if he wanted to. He was taught that handwriting and spelling said a whole lot about him as a person, you know, like a first impression kinda thing; so he always proof reads more than twice before sending a letter. Super rare grammar mistakes.

The faster he writes, the more slant his writing becomes. Under stress/ when not sure how to write things down, run-on sentences are everywhere and his handwriting is inconsistent in general (I don’t headcanon each part of him having completely different handwriting because handwriting becomes muscle memory over time. It’s just slightly different variations of the same, like idk Vio’s handwriting is neater than Green’s and Red writes hearts instead of any dot/circle and no, I do not take constructive criticism on that, jk i do.) Adding on to each of the colours’ handwriting, I’d think Red and Green write with words slanted to the right( inclined), Vio is a mix of the opposite, so reclined and straight, and my mans blue a true neutral writes straight (kinda like Time’s).

The logic behind this is that inclined writing supposedly means honesty and need for giving (and getting) affection; reclined means, as you can probably imagine, defensiveness and repression of true feelings, but also shows great concentration; straight handwriting means self-control, observation and reflection as well as distrust and indifference. But as complete being (tm), Four just writes as in the image example which is not too straight and not too inclined, and I believe that’s a good middle for him

HOWEVER, if I’m feeling in the mood for crack, I totally accept this boy to have the ugliest, chicken scratches-looking handwriting! :’D It’s just funny to think that someone like him, who has to be precise and careful in his work, can't write neatly to save his life.

One of his letters would look like this:

Also I just LOVE how his hero titles look in this font ksksks

and that’s

(Middle row, from left to right)

4.- Mister Bunny Boy - Legend

His uncle taught him how to write. I’d call his handwriting pretty and neat at a first glance, but he presses too hard on the paper, most of the time staining the back or the following page. Sometimes will retrace some words if he doesn’t like how it looks (which only makes it messier). According to my notes, a thick or strong handwriting represents determination/commitment.

As I also headcanon him to know many languages, mechanical errors are more present than grammar ones; that is, weird capitalisation of words. Punctuation is somewhere in between; uses too many commas when he should just cut the sentence. he mixes punctuation from two languages or more in writing when too distracted (or too focused, because, well, pressure.); when he writes for himself, he has almost no problem following said language’s punctuation rules. Also, this is just polyglot culture, and I’m projecting a bit, but when he forgets a word in the language he’s writing, he just replaces it with its equivalent in another language because we don’t care about fluency, but rather functionality. in this household (more on that in my language hc, ksksks).

An example of his writing:

so powerful

4.- Mr. Wolfman, howl me a song - Twilight

I don’t have much for him because 1) I don’t think he writes a lot and 2) he is a hands-on/visual learner, I’ll die by that. He only learnt how to write because Ulli insisted it was important and he was not about to disrespect his momma; he IS That Guy, but doesn’t really write enough to have neat handwriting.

Many people seem to overlook the fact that his house is filled with books and write him as completely illiterate (which if not explored properly, ends up feeling a bit disrespectful and full of prejudice, but go off I guess; and that’s on my core Headcanons for Twi); however, he sticks to simple sentences. Knowing how to read and understanding a text is different from knowing how to write them. Like, when we would see a semicolon and understand its position in the text, but didn’t understand the nature of it. Is this clear? idk i’m sorry. So yeah, boy reads a lot, writes very little.

As for his Actual Handwriting, as opposed to Legend, his handwriting is thiccc but not because he presses into the paper; he is just that messy, he has no sense of ink-flow-control, he does what he can with what he has. To the untrained eye, his handwriting illegible letters like v, n, u are very similar; when he makes notes for himself he does it in the form of doodles or small ‘icons’. But! He reads a lot, so he rarely makes spelling mistakes (: he is your go-to guy when you don’t know how to write a word.

An example of his writing:

He keeps a journal, sue me.

3. My first born- Warrior

Okay, first off... I accept this is completely biased. I saw the idea and said “That’s True”. If you haven’t, please read Effective Communication; or The Lack of Thereof by htruona, a fic where the boys reflect on the language barriers between them. It’s incredibly funny and probably what made me start making these silly notes. So, if you’ve read that fic, you know where I’m going.

My man, Warrior, can’t fucking write. I mean, he physically can, but it’s very bad. Here’s the reason for it, tho, and it’s not his fault: Technically, he knew how to write alright but he joined the military and whatever note he had to write had to be concise or in the worst case coded. He mixes capital and lowercase letters. If we consider that he joined the military at around 15, his handwriting and grammar had yet to continue developing. Just think about how after summer break, your handwriting was always slightly worse than before because you didn’t write for an entire month. Now think what 2 years can do to that. Hmm, not cool, dude. He makes quick notes, when writing he’s all gotta go fast. he is the lighting mcqueen of writing; good for emergency messages, not ideal for love letters. His punctuation also suffered a lot, he only know full stops and commas and hardly uses them. A sentence for him is either one word or fifty without a single comma, no inbetween.

His hero title and an example of his writing.

(Bottom row, or what I like to call “fuck cursive” row)

7.- Magic man - Hyrule

I’m basic and I do agree with the popular headcanon of he not knowing how to write because well, y’all know his Hyrule. He only knows how to write his name because that’s important, same with numbers. I don’t see why would he write/read except checking the roadsigns. (he can even use this as an excuse for getting lost frequently; he thought it said something different.) But I do think that because his habitual reading consists of roadsigns, his ‘punctuation’ is weird af and places full stops/points/periods at the same level of his words and his commas/question/exclamation marks below them. Yk, creative license. Sadly, I don’t have much about my magic hands man so here’s what his writing would look like if he actually wrote a paragraph:

Man, I love Hyrule.

8.- Man, I don’t understand this boy - Wild

Cursive? ain’t nobody have the time for that. He woke up and had to save the world in his underwear while not knowing how to read nor write. He learnt during his journey and was taught by multiple people from different regions, that explains his inconsistent spelling of things and names for them. So Wild knows language variations for many items and uses them interchangeably (even if they aren’t exactly the same). Another headcanon related to writing/language skills that I’ve been thinking about is that if the shrine was able to cause amnesia, I’m sure there were other areas in the brain affected which leads us to language disorders such as agraphia and aphasia. But that’s a story for another day ksksksk

An example of his writing (after relearning)

9.- The best of sons - Wind

I don’t have much for him and that makes me sad. Look, he’s a kid, doing kid things like stabbing dudes on the head. This boy was taught cursive by his grandma, but could never do it and no one needs it anyway. His handwriting is good enough for his pirate life, Tetra is the one to handle Official stuff, he just gotta sign. Spelling and grammar mistakes abound. He is still relatively young and can correct his handwriting if he desires. But same as Wild, with how many times he’s been thrown out and hit his head, I’m starting to consider some language disorder for him as well.

An example of his writing:

aaand that’s it.

Thanks, y’all for showing interest in this silly thing uwu it was fun to finally talk about this. If you ever want to discuss ideas/headcanons(especially if they are related to language and culture), I’m your person (: I’m always happy to hear new headcanons. Feel free to add anything to this post either in a reply or in a reblog, I’d love to hear from y’all <3<3

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mallowstep · 4 years ago

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I’m thinking about writing a short OC piece about Windclan and I’d love to see your notes about its culture and the hymns you’ve written so far, everything you’ve done for Windclan appreciation month has really inspired me :)

hello anon!

alright, first things first: please send me ur piece when ur done if you're comfortable doing so! i will publish it from you, or if you don't want to be associated with it in Any Way, i will also just read it and add it to the queue with no indication why it's there. or if you don't want me to share it at all, i'd still like to read it.

as for your ask,

hymns?

i'm working on it. however, underneath the read more, i'll include a few snippets for u.

culture

alright, i'm just going to post links with some commentary as i go. feel free to ask any more questions you have.

windclan (search) | windclan (tag) | wcam tag | five clans (narrative essays)

i would link the elders den, but there's no windclan stories in there ATM.

moving on, i'm just going to go through posts in reverse chronological order.

tallstar taking a mate admittedly, this is more about cats and sexuality than windclan, but i provide the commentary that windclan...has a particular view on sexuality and fluidity. one thing i haven't explored but should is the role visiting cats have in windclan.

whoops that's a code word, my plug for solacefruit has been activated. okay, as you may be aware, based on the fact that i have a whole tag for it, i'm obsessed with solacefruit. now, i love everything they do, but i would like to point you particularly to "make a mighty sound" for a fantastic exploration of this idea.

i don't want to spoil anything, but i do think windclan, and maybe cats as a whole, but windclan has a certain view towards relationships that very much breaks them into pieces. i'm a "love is a verb" person, so the idea that you can grow to love someone romantically by going through the actions of love makes sense. not to say you will, but you can.

(to be clear i'm not out advocating for arranged marriages just saying that they can work, they're not destined to be bad, and there's a difference between forced marriage and arranged marriage.)

anyway.

this was a lot of words to say, cats do not have a human (and particularly, western/american) understanding of relationships, which makes analyzing them in those terms difficult.

early hymn talk i'll probably say more below, but it is here.

general ibtwicm notes might get you into the headspace for some of my choices in ibtwicm.

i don't have a ton to say because this pretty much all holds, but uh, yeah.

poetry and language this isn't strictly about windclan, but it does explain some of what i think about when writing hymns.

obviously, i'm writing english translations, but these general themes are what i have in mind. it's also part of why i say i don't think i'll ever release a "full hymnal" for windclan, because i don't know if my weak worldbuilding heart could take it if i only had translations.

names part two very much not about windclan, but just some thoughts on names. as i've said before, i support all names and worldbuilding equally, but if you want my thoughts on names, go buckwild.

clan culture fic rec list just stuff i think does a good job, if you want other sources of inspiration.

general clan culture notes this is really old, but it mostly holds.

i've obviously expanded a lot on windclan since i wrote it, so shrug? idk man.

alright, i'm going to move into hymn discussion below the cut, but best of luck! and i hope u have a good time. it makes my brain shut down to read that i inspired you, straight up got brain juice pouring out of my ears, but i'm really, really happy to hear that.

windclan holds a special place in my heart. (i know my oc avatar is from skyclan shhh it's because of the backstory he sees ghosts.) but i grew up in this super sporty household as a lil asthmatic klutz, and running was a sport i couldn't mess up, so of course windclan appealed to me.

they're actually third on my list of favorite clans, but they. it's a special place in my heart that they hold, especially after reading dawn of the clans and moth flight's vision, where i got an asthmatic cat and an adhd cat, both in windclan.

god i should reread dotc it's good.

alright, here's the deal on hymns: i am not going to fight to get duets to post correctly. there's a 0% chance i can in tumblr's wonky ass new editor with no markdown, not to mention how difficult it would have been in the old editor. so i'm going to talk a lil about what i've got, and post some stanzas that i think don't get explored a lot in ibtwicm.

we're discussing these in the order that they go in. a reminder that these are all sections of one epic poem. that said, i don't know where the gaps are. like, i don't know what's between these, if that makes sense.

the wind

the wind, the very first hymn. this is an ode to, well, windclan. it's a song about everything that makes them them. it's filled with poetry about the wind, about the seasons, and it's just...well, it's a bit of a genesis, in a way.

The wind — like the rain, like the river — calls the name of each star in its breath. The wind — like the earth, like the stone — anchors us to our home. The wind — like the sun, like the sky — is knowable only by name.

i wanted to share this stanza because the last line doesn't show up in ibtwicm (at least so far, i cut the reference), and it really, really, makes a difference imo.

anyway, windclan is basically tying the wind in with every other fundamental part of their life here.

they are the wind, and that's that.

the hare

okay, this one has a line that comes up a lot in ch1, but i already talked about that, so instead, i'm going to talk about this stanza

Speak of the earth and the dens, and you will be answered: By the call of the howling gales, the open earth singing in response. But speak of that which grows above, of the grass and field, And you will be answered by the softness of the buds and the roots.

okay, we get deadfoot thinking about this when he's talking to yellowfang.

i like this stanza because it really tells us what the hare is about. now, hares are not something windclan catches. hares are huge, y'all, there's no way they take one down. i take liberties with ecology, but not that many.

(i.e., a team of cats definitely could take one down, but i know too much, and would prefer letting team hunting stay a plot thing, and not fundamentally alter the environment in the way it would.)

now anyway, all of these hymns come from the time of the tunnelers. and the point of this is, even though the work of tunnelers and moor runners is disconnected, they fundamentally affect each other.

a moor runner must trust the hollows of the earth beneath them won't collapse, and a tunneler must trust that the prey they chase up will be caught.

it's all very symbiotic and is, well, in a way, a love poem. plus i really like the line "the open earth singing in response"

of the warrens

so this has one line, one you might not even know is a hymn, in ch1, but i'll share the whole stanza.

And as for the subject of fallow fields: Fallowed fields make for hungry prey, Yet hungry prey makes desperate rabbits, Who leap into our claws.

and ig my big point is, the hymns are a cultural artifact. just like many of the rules in the old testament have to do with hygiene things being codified into religion, this whole hymn is about hunting advice.

the moon on the river

okay, out of all the hymns, this is the most complete, and because ashfoot and deadfoot sing it together, and deadfoot discusses it, i only have one stanza to share.

Under the coldness, you shine back at me, And I do everything to keep the clouds from threatening you.

now, this poem is about love, grief, and being separated. it's a particular kind of grief, and windclan discourages grief, so this is one of only a few ways to really, fully express it.

and this section, in particular, is about love in times of hardship.

i don't have. a lot to say here. but the way hardship changes how you love someone can be particular and intense.

(temporarily, this happens sometime before "Spare for my chosen few / All I have is given towards the distant ground.")

the gorse in the wind

oh shit! i have so fucking much to say okay first.

the series title does not come from this hymn.

second, this is a challenging hymn okay. fuck. i have so much to say. where to start so! moors are actually relatively wet. think british countryside, not, like, a cool desert.

this is something i always knew? i read the secret garden a lot as a kid. but. i've seen stuff about moors being dry, and it's just one of those things that really...starts to eat under your skin. anyway.

okay, so. gorse is a dry plant. it does not like rain. it grows in sandy soil, etc etc, and yet. aside from everything we know about gorse and warriors, it also grows in this moor. because i say so.

okay, so. so so so. the lines quotes here are really deceptive, and i bet no one understood why, and that makes me just a little sad, but i couldn't find a good way to explain it in text, so uh, yeah, anyway. there's an exchange between ashfoot and deadfoot: "THE GORSE: You called me the heather and I grew stronger. / THE WIND: I called you the heather and brought rain for you to grow."

so...so do you see? do you see the point? it's about communication, needs, challenging each other. fadskj;l i love this. okay, so. the point is that heather is fragile, soft, pretty, and gorse is the opposite. the part of the wind is trying to be kind and complimentary, but the gorse is saying, fuck that, you are not being kind to me by undercutting my strength.

anyway, this passage is sung by the gorse:

In what good company have I set down roots, That even through snow fall I flower. You called me the heather and yet I've weathered, Far more than your sweet-named love.

so uh, yeah, this adds context. gorse! gorse is a hardy plant that continues to flower basically all season round. it's cool. it's cool. gorse is super cool. fuuuck y'all it's such a small thing and i've contained talking about it until now, but now it's too much. the floodgates are open, and i thought about this small detail too much.

okay. deep breath. gorse is a really easy plant to grow, but it's still adapted for dry environments. so the "even through snow fall I flower" part is a little tongue in cheek: gorse itself will flower in the cold, but snow is a type of precipitation, which as we've covered, is not gorse friendly.

then we have some rhyming and puns in the next line, and finally, "yet I've weathered, / Far more than your sweet-named love." like. yes. love as a form of softness is not necessarily helpful.

i mean, consider the damaging "soft trans boi" problem. same energy.

right. okay. so we've got all that? now if you remember, this is sung when deadfoot thinks ashpaw doesn't respect him, and ashpaw says she'll sing with him if she can sing the gorse, so in essence, she's telling him...not to back off, per se, but that...she is the "hard part" of the relationship. like, okay, i refuse to even bring up gender roles in human relationships, but uh, her point is very much, "i am the gorse, and you are the wind," and it's a very monumental moment.

it's anchored, i believe, in the other scenes, but this is a small thing that matters a lot to me.

like a lot.

okay, now that i've talked about like four lines for the length of this entire post, moving on.

the heather and earth

okay, this is the last hymn i have in concrete terms, and i cut a bit of it from the latest chapter, so yeah. it's also, uh, okay everything i have for it is only a line or two, but i wanted to share this closing line (sung together):

Sing a song of forgiveness, of growing together, and we will make madness, And madness from hence will everything beautiful grow.

and i just like these lines. they got cut, it was initially part of an exchange between ashfoot and deadfoot, but i can't share the part of it they talk about, because i'm reusing it for a later chapter and i'll 100% spoil shit if i try to talk about it.

but these lines? mmm they speak to me.

i don't have a ton to say about them, but i just. i like it.

if we apply the same ecology discussion from the gorse and the wind, we see heather is a plant that grows in acidic, infertile soil, and heath (which is not the same as a heather, but also kind of is) is a defining quality of heathland, which is...i'm not kidding, it's hot discourse about the difference between moorland and heathland.

i'm not getting involved, but my point is, if the gorse in the wind is a hymn about finding a working relationship, about mutual respect, etc., then the heather and earth is a hymn about working well together in a terrible situation.

god.

uh, wow! can you tell i like plants? because while parts of my ecology are dubious (see: everything regarding the rabbits in ch1), the plants part are well thought out. this shit is carefully detailed metaphor.

and that's why i won't be releasing a full hymnal. it's hard to as on top of this as i want to be. i'm not kidding, writing even four lines of a hymn usually takes me about twenty minutes, because i pull up a lot of research about how things work, how they interact with each other, etc., and then there's wordsmithing, cat worldview filter, etc.

but i hope this overview of what i've got is a good insight into my general thoughts. and i will eventually release more and more of the hymns i've got written.

#ask #anon #mine #txt #windclan #wcam #essay #long #warriors #warriors worldbuilding #windclan hymn project #mateo fanboying over solacefruit again

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qqueenofhades · 5 years ago

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I really liked what you said about wanting to show in DVLA that the people on the crusades were basically just people. I'm quite fond of the idea that "people have always basically just been people" (see: ancient wooden toys, grafitti in pompeii), but I've never thought of it in a sense of recognising our own biases and faults in the crusaders, or imperialists. That's something really interesting to think about, so thanks :)

I mean... yeah.

The thing is, I love the funny/light-hearted/recognizable “people have always been people” anecdotes as much as you, because of the pervasive idea that the past was nothing but an unrelieved cesspit of misery, filth, misogyny, racism, homophobia, religious bigotry, and Suffering, until modernity and capitalism came along and fixed everything, yay. It’s crap, everyone who follows my blog for two seconds knows that I think it’s crap, I work very hard trying to educate people about how much crap it is, but... yeah, that’s still the baseline in popular culture, and while it has been deliberately constructed to be that way and is not necessarily the individual fault of the person who has absorbed it by cultural osmosis, it’s still frustrating. So when you can identify those moments when people in history are reacting to things in a way that we recognize as our own, or we catch these moments of levity and joy, or we’re otherwise able to recognize that the Bad Premodern World narrative is wrong and troubling, we’re able to comprehend people as people, and not just rote, thoughtless automatons who always believed whatever they were told by religious and political authority and had no volition of their own.

This ties into my whole spiel on the drawbacks of doing premodern social history (especially in the West, but also more broadly) from a corpus of textual sources written largely by educated religious men. And that’s the only thing we have. So of course life back then doesn’t always look like it’s a great time, because that’s who’s telling us about it, and they’d have the broadly same outlook and priorities as conservative establishment clergymen today. And there is never a less reliable historiographer than someone who promises at the start of the narrative to tell you things “exactly how they happened.” (Yes, we’re all side-eyeing Herodotus and Thucydides, but they were the start of the Western historiographical tradition and the topos of authority always has to be invoked somehow.) The promise of objectivity does not objectivity make, and means that they want to culture, shape, and color the version of events for posterity. And the historian’s job is to deal with that and recover the narratives and sometimes understand that things that don’t intend to be historical sources are actually more accurate and revealing than the constructed narratives that promise to tell the truth and are actually very invested in presenting their truth, which might not always concord with things more generally.

Anyway, jargon-y methodological digressions (somewhat) aside, there’s really no point in studying history, or having an honest historical perspective, if you’re going to refuse to see anything of yourself -- good AND bad parts alike -- in our ancestors. Part of the reason the world is in such a goddamn mess right now is because we’re still pathologically incapable of learning history, the rise of “fake news” has created competing information universes where the facts are the ones that fit your political agenda, and the West particularly has been repeating old and bad patterns of behavior because we -- just -- can’t -- break -- the fucking -- cycle. I’ve said before that absolutely everything happening right now reminds me forcibly of the fourteenth century, and that was even BEFORE the plague hit, which was just a little too on the nose. We don’t have to be in the situation we are. We don’t have to collectively make the same choices and go around the bend again and again and again. But because history and historical education has been SO devalued, and the system of collective memory is so flawed, we don’t really have a chance of fixing our current present until we’ve reckoned with our past. Thus, while right-wingers are the ones howling about “preserving history” when monuments of racists get torn down, historians are on the sidelines cheering, because a) those guys suck, b) we WANT people to start applying critical thinking to the glamorized white supremacist triumphalist narrative that passes for history in most Western countries (America is possibly the worst offender just by global scope, but yeah, the rest of the West, especially the UK, is SUPER not off the hook either), and c) when people finally KNOW that they have the tools to confront the unjust systems that have been forced on them, they can do something about it.

So yes. History isn’t supposed to just comfort us and make us feel confident that we’re the best and we’ve worked it out. I want people to think of crusaders as people like them, who went on crusade for a variety of motives both aside from and including personal religiosity, and despite that fact, they still did what they did, and that’s still what we’re doing right now. We are NOT that different from them (see: the entire post-9/11 response of the West which is still going on twenty goddamn years later). We don’t get the comfort of thinking we're nothing like them and would never make their same choices, because they WERE people like us, nobody ever sets out to be monsters (aside from like... a very minor handful), and everyone thinks they’re doing the right thing and making choices conditioned by their social, political, and cultural milieu. And given what’s going on with /waves hand/ all this, we’ve seen what happens when a culture and a civilization is systematically taught that history either doesn’t matter, was all inferior to us, or confirms everything they think already, and that is incredibly, incredibly damaging.

#history #medieval history #historiography #dvla asks #tobsjpalfrey #ask

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cutelittlestar · 5 years ago

Text

Lone Wolf: Chapter 1 || Peter Parker x Reader

Pairings: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary of the Series: You were given the ability to transform into a wolf, but you’re unfortunately captured and experimented on by a cynical madman. Despite being saved by the Avengers and given a place to call home, you’re still having a difficult time grasping onto the basic concepts of being human. However, everything changes when you met a boy, Peter Parker. Slowly but surely, he helps you on your path to recovery –showing you that all you needed was love and patience.

Word Count: 4.3k

*gifs are not mine*

Warnings: injury, mentions of death and pain, kidnapping, physical and mental abuse, torture, MATURE CONTENT, 18+.

A/N: Hey y’all! I hope you guys are safe and well :) Thank you to everyone who supported me in deciding to write this story, I’m so glad there are people out there willing to read my work (ngl, it still baffles me lol). Anyways, I hope you enjoy this, and lmk if you guys want more!! Although I’m already writing a series at this moment, I wouldn’t mind squeezing in another; however, this might mean that I’ll post the chapters a bit later than expected. Hope y’all understand 💕❤️

There was once a time where you freely roamed the remote wilderness, and you called it home; the soft chirping of the birds in the morning eased your mind, the calm flow of the river was music to your ears, and the beautiful green scenery was your protection. You had decided long ago to leave your pack, knowing it was for the best; you were the outcast of the group, and they constantly mistreated you for it, deciding that your life was less meaningful than theirs. The emotional, mental, and physical abuse you endured was too much to handle, so one night, when your pack was soundly sleeping, you left without a trace, never looking back. Ever since you became a lone wolf, your life became considerably better and worth living for; at first, it was difficult to realize, but then you began to learn the secrets of the woods, and it taught you that all life was precious. You deeply cherished this thought, never letting it go. The wilderness was your guardian and you were its child. However, it was all gone in a blink of an eye, and the sacred memories you once had were burned to ashes, along with your home.

Men of greed, power, and corruption immediately disrupted your sanction, and they destroyed everything in their path without remorse. You were too scared and weak to fight them off, so you decided to run away. However, despite how hastily you fled, you were quickly surrounded. There was barely any time for you to attack as the soldiers in black gear immediately used their weapons, electrocuting you as many times as they could; you howled in pain, but they mercilessly continued, ignoring your screams before ultimately subduing you. You thrashed around in the dirt, attempting to escape, but your body was slowly losing its strength, and you soon gave up; as your eyes were on the verge of closing, you faintly remembered a man walking towards you, a man who completely stood out from the rest. The man’s callous face was standing over you, and their void black eyes sent a shiver down your spine. A sinister grin stretched across his face, and that was the last thing you remembered before everything went dark.

You woke up and realized that you were laying on the cold floor; it was strange and terrifying to you, and you hoped that it was just a nightmare but you were wrong. As you tried to stand up, your body screamed in agony. You shivered in the darkness and realized that you shifted back to your human form. Panic started to grow by the second and you were terrified that the men would learn of your abilities, but it was already too late.

“You should be more careful of your surroundings, you never know who’s lurking in the dark,” an ominous voice announced, causing you to scoot back in fear. The lights were immediately turned on and you quickly covered your exposed body as a man stood in the middle of the room. You squinted your eyes, taking note of his features, and you immediately recognized him; he was the same man that stood over your body before you passed out. Despite your desire to rip his throat out, you were prohibited from doing because you were caged in a cell. You let out a menacing growl, but the man didn’t react.

“Let me go,” you ordered, but he merely chuckled, shaking his head.

“Oh Y/N,” the man scolded, and your eyes widened in shock, your body shaking. How did the man know your name? “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The man’s callous eyes examined you, and he was content with himself, knowing that he was the one that managed to capture the infamous shapeshifter. You were so gullible, the man thought to himself; you actually believed you were safe in the woods. Your heart began to beat faster as you were horrified of the man’s calm yet intimidating demeanor; various situations ran through your head as you wondered what he was going to do to you, but you made a promise to yourself, declaring that you would remain strong.

“Let’s see if you're better than the other test subjects,” the man disclosed, walking closer towards you. He crouched down to the ground in order to look at your face, excited to see your reaction as he began to unveil his intentions. The threatening glare you tried to maintain utterly failed as you listened to his words, and your breathing got heavier. “I don’t want to kill another shifter, but if I must, I will,” the man whispered, a sinister smirk plastered on his face, pleased at your reaction. Tears threatened to fall down your face as you wondered if the man was speaking about your former pack, but you didn’t want to believe it.

“Once I get out of this cage, I’ll fucking rip your throat out,” you fumed. You ignored the pain that coursed through your body and jumped at the bars, hoping you would be able to injure him. Although your hand was centimeters away from his throat, the man didn’t flinch at your violent response. Instead, he simply stood up and took a step back. You watched as his eyes darken, but his face remained blank.

“You may think you’ll have the opportunity, but you never will; you’re going to rot in this cell for the rest of your life, Y/N. Don’t say things you’ll regret,” the man angrily declared. Your chest heavily rose and sank as his words stuck to you, but before you could say anything else, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your worst fears. What you didn’t realize at the moment was that he was right.

Ever since then, you endured horrible and excruciating pain; you were experimented on for a reason they did not explain. No matter how many times you tried to fight, whether by biting, kicking, scratching, hitting, and even killing, it only made things worse for you. After quite some time, it finally began to dawn on you that it was utterly useless to resist; you believed you were going to spend the rest of your life in this tiny cell, and there was nothing you could do. You allowed them to do damage to your body – either by letting them shove countless needles into your skin or allowing them to cut you in order to determine how long it took for you to heal. You endured draining and extensive trials, and you were forced to constantly shift back and forth – despite how many times you almost died due to your horrible conditions. You lost track of how long you’ve been kept in the cage, but as time progressed, your hope in escaping gradually disappeared. You regretted saying those words to him, but it was too late.

The damage was already done.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You laid on the concrete floor in your wolf form, softly whimpering to yourself as you were engulfed in the darkness. The men were already gone, but you knew they would be back soon; in this moment of silence, you closed your eyes and attempted to think of your home but your mind remained blank. It was as if those precious memories were gone the minute the men arrived. You knew you could never retrieve them. You wanted to give up so badly, but you never allowed yourself to. While it seemed impossible to ever think that you could escape, you mercilessly clung onto the possibility. However, it wasn’t hope that motivated you. No, there was only one emotion that was capable of doing this: rage. Your hatred was the thing that kept you alive, and you constantly imagined all of the horrific actions you would commit if there was a chance of escaping.

The sound of footsteps disrupted your thoughts, and you immediately remained still and closed your eyes. The door was swung open, and you were able to recognize the two distinct smells that were attached to the men. The two men, Hughes and Perez, walked towards your cell, but you continued to remain frozen, hoping the men would think you were unconscious.

“Fucking hell, it smells like death,” Perez stated in disgust; the men now stood inches away from your cell, but they kept their distance, afraid you would attack them whenever you had the chance.

“Shut up,” Hughes whispered, “and step back from the cage–you have to be prepared–you never know if she’ll attack.”

Perez let out a laugh, amused at his partner’s remark. “She’s unconscious, you have nothing to be scared of. Look.” You mentally prepared yourself as you heard Perez get closer despite Hughes’ protests; he whipped out a taser baton and a blue light flickered. Within an instant, Perez angrily struck the baton down on your body, and a cynical smile formed on his lips as he enjoyed the way the electricity burned your fur and your skin. You bit your tongue down so hard that blood was drawn, and you wanted nothing more than to lunge at Perez and rip off his arm; yet, you didn’t move, thus, proving to Hughes that Perez was right.

“Tsar was right,” Perez announced, putting his baton back on his buckle, “there’s no reason for us to be afraid anymore.” You felt your heart beat faster as you finally heard the name given to the man. Tsar, such a typical title. After such a long time, you never believed you would have the power to laugh nor find happiness again, but at this moment, you wanted nothing more than to let out a chuckle; the man compared himself to monarchs and supreme rulers. What a joke. However, your desire to laugh quickly disappeared as you heard Perez continue speaking.

“Tsar already got what he needed from her. Sooner or later, we’ll be just as strong as her–perhaps even stronger. Can you imagine an army of shifters? The Avengers wouldn’t stand a chance. Now, it’s our time to shine, brother.” It felt as if your heart stopped beating in your chest, and it became more difficult for you to breathe; you were unable to grasp his words. An army of shifters? Was that why they experimented on you? Suddenly, everything made sense; they were going to use your DNA to make soldiers for war– soldiers who would have the ability to transform into a beast– and the thought utterly terrified you. While you’re not aware of who the Avengers are, you assumed they were in opposition to Tsar. However, it doesn’t suggest that the Avengers are good people–maybe they’re just competitors, striving to be at the top of the food chain.

In a blink of an eye, the two men were gone, and once again, you were left all alone. You wish you had the strength to fight off every man, but you knew it was impossible. If Perez was right, Tsar would soon have an army of shapeshifters, and they would be unstoppable. Unfortunately, there was nothing else you could do. Your time was up and it was already too late. He got what he needed from you, and soon, they would dispose of you like trash. You never expected to die like this; you always imagined yourself laying on a fresh patch of grass, next to the lilies, before you took your last dying breath. Tears ran down your face as you began to accept your fate. You would die in this small cell, never having the opportunity to see the sun again.

Yet, the relatively quiet room eased your mind, and in a mere second, you were able to conjure up a pleasing image; while it did not resemble your old home, it depicted a warming view of the ocean. As you imagined yourself standing on the shore, it felt as if the picture you created in your mind was coming to life. You could hear the waves of the ocean gently rocking, but off in the distance, you could hear another sound, a sound that did not fit the blissful scenery. Without warning, a massive explosion erupts, causing the ground to roughly shake, and you open your eyes in shock and fear. You bolted upright as you heard from distance men shouting obscenities and commands; the distant sirens began to wail, and they were coming closer to you. Your head began to hurt as the uncertainty teased your hopes, but you tried your hardest to remain composed. Gunshots and blasts came one after the other in rapid succession, and you then heard sounds of screams echo across the building, causing shivers to run down your spine. Footsteps were coming closer to where you were being held, but you didn’t know how to react; should you be relieved or should you be scared?

The door was instantly kicked down, its hinges falling as well, but the very first second that it happens, you’re confused; the light from the outside completely engulfs the room, and it turns you blind and disoriented for a slight moment. You’re able to see a figure standing in front of the door, but they did not move a single muscle. Things seem oddly calm, but you took a step back in fear, your tail cowardly hiding in between your legs. Your ears flattened down against your head, and you let out a soft whimper, petrified of what could happen next. The person was wearing an ominous suit, distinguishing itself from the men that held you captive, but as they tried to step closer, your instincts to protect yourself came out. Suddenly, your ears and your fur bristles are fully erect, and your lips curl back, your incisors displayed; despite still being in a cell, you let out a snarl, telling the person that if they came any closer, you would attack them without hesitation.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the voice softly spoke, slowly walking towards you. The voice was comforting, and it sounded as if the person was barely a young adult. As the person came closer, you began to take note of their red and blue suit; there was a spider at the center of their chest, and they reminded you of a hero in a children’s book, but you were still terror-stricken. While this person was different than the other men, they all had one thing in common: they all wore masks. Not being able to see the person’s face made you uneasy, and you continued to bark and snarl.

Peter understood your fear and aggression, and he respectfully stopped moving; however, he was saddened at the scene in front of him. The wolf clearly showed signs of wanting to trust him, but due to the horrible conditions it endured, any person was a threat to them. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Peter reassured; while it may have been idiotic for Peter to speak to an animal, he felt as if you understood every single word that came out of his mouth. You stopped growling, but your hairs stood erect on your back, suspicious of the man’s actions.

“We have a problem, guys. Meet me here soon,” Peter announced on his comms, alerting the rest of the Avengers; your ears perked up as you realized that he wasn’t alone, and you stepped back, afraid of what was about to come. The building was now completely silent, signifying that the Avengers successfully completed their mission. Peter eyed you carefully, watching as you paced back and forth in the cell, growing anxious by the minute. Within seconds, all of the Avengers were in the room.

“Wow, that really is a big problem,” Tony remarked, letting out a sigh and trying to determine what to do with the humongous animal.

“We can’t just leave it here,” Peter stated, knowing he would feel guilty if they left without you. You carefully observed the boy turn his head to look at the man in a red-and-gold armor and there was a moment of silence. It looked as if the man in the armor exactly knew what the younger boy was thinking, and he immediately shook his head. “No. There’s no way in hell we’re taking this thing back to the compound.”

“What?! Why not?” the boy argued.

“Because, no. It’s not like a regular dog, Peter. It’s a wolf!”

“Tony,” another man interjected, getting the attention of the whole group; the man was carrying a shield, and judging by the way everyone remained quiet, you knew he was the alpha. “Maybe we should listen to the kid, he’s got a point. We can’t just leave it here nor allow it to run free; it’d be better if we take it with us. We can figure things out later.” You narrowed your eyes at the men as you continued to listen to their bickering, and you did not like where the conversation was going.

“I think it’s a great idea,” a man proudly stated. “It’s about time we finally got a pet.” You turned your head to look at the man, and you let out an intimidating growl, indicating to him that you deeply despised his comment.

“Sam, stop making it mad,” a woman with red hair scolded. She rolled her eyes at Sam’s behavior and smacked him on the shoulder; you mentally thanked her, glad that at least one of them understood your reaction. You averted your attention back to the alpha, your ears pulled back and your tail pointed straight outwards, curious about what he was going to say.

“Then it’s settled. The wolf is coming with us.”

“Alright,” Tony mumbled, throwing his hands up in defeat and walking towards the exit, “but if it tries to kill you, don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Despite Peter’s excitement of convincing the team to take you in, you did not share the same enthusiasm. Instead, you were enraged. You hoped that since your enemies were either dead or gone, you would finally have the chance to run away, but of course, that wasn’t going to happen anymore. You let out a huff of frustration, irritated by their plan, however, you knew it would be best if you didn’t fight back.

Peter turned his attention back to the cell, his mask eyes staring at you; he slowly walked towards you but kept enough distance, respecting your desire to have boundaries.

“Don’t worry,” he vowed, placing his hand on his chest. “you’re safe, you can rest now.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Once again, you laid on the concrete floor, but this time, everything was different. You weren’t kept in a cell that was small, unsanitary, or cold; instead, you were given a proper size, allowing you to roam around the spacious room. Although you were still confined to a location, you didn’t mind the bulletproof glass wall since it granted you to see beyond the confinement; there was a comforting heat engulfing you, and you weren’t surrounded by filth. You were alone for the time being, but you weren’t bothered by it; rather, you were oddly relaxed. Perhaps, it was due to the fact that there was an enormous window which gave you the privilege to see the beautiful skyline. Although you were still unsure of where you were, you were mesmerized by the sight; it would never compare to your home, but the buildings, cars, and powerful lights caught your attention. You limped towards the window and sat down, settling in the moonlight and continuing to stare at the small figures that moved.

You heard footsteps approaching, but you didn’t bother to turn around; you hoped that whoever was standing there would leave soon, but as you felt their presence linger, you slowly turned your head around. Standing right in front of the glass wall was a boy who looked around his early twenties; he had dark brown hair, fair skin, and enticing brown eyes that caught your attention. There was something about him that felt familiar, but you couldn’t place it. The boy smiled at you as he held a tray of food, but you merely narrowed your eyes and decided to ignore him.

“C’mon, I know you’re hungry,” the boy pointed out. You instantly recognized the voice from before; it was Peter, the one who was wearing the red-and-blue suit.

He bit his lip in anticipation as you didn’t move a muscle, but he was determined to get you to eat. You let out a big huff, irritated that he did not leave. Suddenly, the sound of a door opening made you alert, and you instantly stood up, turning around to face Peter. Your ears and fur were standing up, and you crouched backward, baring your teeth.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to try anything,” Peter assured, placing the tray on the floor and sliding it across the room. You immediately stopped your actions and directed your focus on the food instead of him; you carefully examined the food, not knowing whether to eat it or leave it there, but you were unable to resist the delicious smell of the meat. Peter watched in awe as you quickly ate the food in seconds and licked the tray clean. The violent and capricious behavior you were once showing was completely gone and was now replaced with a relaxed demeanor; you sat like a sphinx and your tail was placed down, signaling to Peter that you were starting to trust him. As Peter began to examine your calm posture, his eyes gazed over the large gash that was on your left thigh; there was dry blood and dirt around the wound, and it looked as if there was puss leaking out. Peter needed to treat the injury as quickly as he could, but he feared that you wouldn’t allow him to.

You nudged the tray back to Peter and licked the food that lingered around your mouth; Peter let out a slight laugh, understanding that you wanted more food.

“I’ll be right back,” Peter affirmed, stepping out of the room to retrieve more food. You waited for Peter to return, and once he did, you couldn’t help but feel happy, content that you were interacting with someone other than the vicious men. Once again, you began to hastily swallow the food, but you were so ravenous that you failed to notice how Peter tried to discreetly look at your wound. As soon as you felt Peter place his hand on your thigh, you immediately stopped eating and snapped your mouth at him. Luckily, due to Peter’s abilities, he was able to save his fingers from being chewed off, but he stepped back. You let out a menacing growl, angry that he violated your space, and Peter felt like he was back to square one.

“You have an injury,” Peter defended himself, “I need to treat it before it gets worse.” You growled again, not caring about the severity of your wound. What Peter doesn’t know was that it’ll heal shortly; however, judging by the burning pain you felt every time you moved your left leg, it seemed as if that wouldn’t be the case. On the other hand, you were stubborn, so you decided to ignore Peter’s words. You limped to the corner, attempting to get as far away from the boy, and you plopped onto the ground. Peter stood still, not knowing what to do; while there was a chance you were going to attack him, he didn’t want to leave you with an unattended injury. Peter walked towards you once again, causing you to become angrier by the second, but you also gave him credit; he was determined to treat your injury. You watched as the boy kneeled down, inches away from you, but you didn’t growl nor bear your teeth; instead, you intently observed his every move, watching as he took out the necessary medical tools. Your heavy and strong breathing intimidated Peter, but he also knew that you weren’t going to harm him.

You flinched as Peter poured rubbing alcohol onto the wound, to which he quickly apologized, but then you soon found yourself letting out a sigh of relief. You continued to watch Peter as he pierced your skin with a needle, but it was over in a blink of an eye, and now he was wrapping the wound with a clean cloth. “All better,” Peter proudly declared, returning the equipment back in the kit. You gazed at him, shocked that someone was willing to help you even though you’ve been aggressive to them.

Before Peter could react, you slowly moved towards him until your head was resting on his lap. Peter sucked in his breath as his muscles contorted, but then they smoothly eased up as he watched your chest rise and fall in a steady and tranquil motion. This was your way of thanking him, and although you did not truly know him, you felt completely safe with Peter; he had gained your trust. Peter felt a smile stretch across his face, and he gingerly placed his hand behind your ear and slowly petted you, to which you happily accepted. As Peter continued to caress your head, your eyes began to feel heavier every passing minute; slowly but then all at once, you fell asleep in his lap, but Peter didn’t mind at all. Instead, he pulled himself closer and leaned his body up against yours.

After a few hours passed, Tony and Steve decided to stop by and see how you were doing, but when they entered the room, they were shocked at the sight in front of them. Peter blissfully slept in the confinement with the beast, but that wasn’t what frightened them. Rather, what terrified them the most was that the beast was gone and was replaced with a naked woman who peacefully rested in Peter’s arms. Tony quickly connected the dots but was still unable to believe it was actually real.

“Holy shit,” Tony remarked to Steve, “she’s a shifter.”

Taglist: @juliebean247

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nosferatvpussy · 5 years ago

Text

distorted lullabies [chapter IV]

Word count: 4,113

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x reader

AO3 link

Author’s note: Listen... I wrote this chapter this past week and I must say I'm not happy with it. My brain is mush due to work so that's all I could come up with. I wish I could've done better but I know if I delayed posting it I would never do it. Feedback would be greatly appreciated on this one (good or bad).

“Oh my fucking God.”

My day had started out fine. I had woken up in a surprisingly good mood considering it was Monday and then I ruined it.

With the exception of Count Dracula’s visit to my house, my weekend was pretty uneventful. Sunday was spent grocery shopping with Diana and reviewing cases to prepare myself for court sessions during the following week. Occupying myself with work was not only necessary but also served as a good distraction from the deal I had struck with the Count.

Being arrogant had its advantages in my line of work but after proposing a deal to a vampire, I was starting to think how quickly that arrogance could turn into vanity and plain stupidity. A deal from which I had yet to glimpse a way out of? Could I outsmart a centuries old vampire and wiggle out of that deal? On Saturday night I was pretty sure I could. Now… Not so much.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, receiving ugly looks from people on the tube.

My hand covered my mouth so I would stop cursing and to stop it from falling open.

Reconnaissance was part of any good lawyer’s job and that was what I had decided to do as my first course of action against Count Dracula. As soon as I had found a good spot to sit in the tube, I googled him by his title. All of the pages included the interesting moniker Vlad the Impaler followed by his actual name Vlad Dracula. That in itself was enough for a chill to run down my spine but each line I read managed to make it worse.

He was born in the Middle Ages, more precisely in 1431, which put him somewhere over five hundred years old. So, I had made a deal with someone overly experienced in the matters of life, which wasn’t ideal but could be remedied. But then I was met with medieval drawings depicting him dining amongst a field of impaled people. One particular page had supposed accounts from Ottomans and Saxons describing the atrocities committed by him. Boiling people alive, nailing hats to people’s skulls so they wouldn’t take it off, setting beggars and thieves on fire to “cleanse” Wallachia were just some of his various lovely bedtime stories. Those tales had elicited my first string of curses, which yes evoked the name of God in a blasphemous way but at that point I didn’t care if I offended a higher power or not.

Not only was he abhorrently vile, he was smart. Smart enough to send people infected with the plague to infiltrate enemy camps, using them as biological warfare and weakening enemy numbers. Not many people would have thought of such a tactic in the Middle Ages. Apparently the sight of the impaled people put on display around the city Targoviste was so repulsive that the Ottoman Empire simply retreated. And albeit having half or sometimes a quarter of the army of his opponents, he still managed to win several battles because of his cunning.

That was the part that made me curse several times as some sort of mantra. A ruthless and smart ruler that had been a monster long before he became a vampire, that was who I was up against. And he had five hundred years of practice under his belt. How nice for me.

My body took control as my mind raced and I got off at Canary Wharf station, making my way to the overly modern glass plated building where I worked.

The Middle Ages were a long time ago and it was a notoriously dark and violent time. Desperate times call for desperate measures, one could say. It should serve as a logical explanation to make myself feel better but the cold sweat on the palms of my hands was an obvious sign that it wasn’t working. I resorted to my earbuds and played one of my favourite songs to try calm myself but I was barely paying any attention to it. The noise inside my head was far louder.

I willed my brain to catch up with my body once the elevator doors opened to the 17th floor. Work, now , I told myself. I could think about how to escape the Count’s grip later.

Greeting my colleagues, I made my way to my desk at the far left of the office. We occupied half of the 17th floor while the other half was made up of a café and a small finance firm. Smelling croissants and fresh coffee, I placed my purse and briefcase on my chair and was already making a b-line for the café when Renfield peeked his head out of a meeting room and waved for me to join him.

I threw my earbuds over my shoulders so the string could hang from around my neck and stuck my phone on my trousers' back pocket. Renfield promptly closed the door as soon as I stepped inside. He splayed his arms over the doorway, blocking it. Eyes with dilated pupils watched me from behind thick glasses. Frowning, I looked out through the blurred glass walls that outlined the meeting room we were standing on. If he was about to reprehend me for something I’d done then at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of the whole office witnessing it.

Renfield had always been composed and taken great pride in his work and looks. For the past few days that stopped being true. Not only was he acting in a disturbing manner, he also appeared unwashed. His hair was greasy and a few strands stuck to his forehead. His suit had a stain on a lapel and he didn’t have a colourful handkerchief peeking out of his front pocket as he usually did. Overworked, I guessed, but never in all the years I knew him had I seen him this way. When I joined the firm as his intern, he let me write most of his opening and closing statements so I could learn and he would rehearse them on his office as I watched and explain why certain phrases should be changed to provide the necessary punch in court. He taught me the basics and all the clever little tricks one could use to dribble a prosecution. He was in the audience when I worked my first case alone in front of a judge. He was there when I won my first case and he took me out for a beer. And he was there when I lost for the first time and he took me out for whiskey. We still went out to celebrate whenever one of us won a case.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he rasped, barely sounding like himself. “Are the Mast-- the Count’s documents in your possession?”

The Master’s, that’s what he almost said. A little too late I remembered that Renfield was Dracula’s servant and automatically took a step back to put distance between us. The Count had arrived at London a week ago, which could explain my boss’ disheveled appearance.

“They’re at my desk.”

He nodded and licked his lips in a way that made me think of a lizard.

“And what did you think of him? Of Count Dracula?”

The lunatic gleam in Renfield’s eyes made my decision before I could think through it very much.

“He’s polite and handsome,” I said in the most neutral tone I could manage. “I’ll get the documents and bring them to you. Excuse me.”

I closed the distance between us with more confidence than I felt. Nudging Renfield’s shoulder to the side so he would make way, I tried to grab the doorknob and then he was on me. He pinned me against a glass wall before I had a chance to push him back and his hand yanked my shirt’s collar down, exposing my neck.

“Ah! Ah!” he exclaimed loudly. “I knew it!”

I tried to fight him off, terrified of the crazed look on his bulging eyes, but he slammed me back on the glass. It trembled under my weight.

“ Why … you ?” Spittle landed on my face as he spoke and I cringed. “Why would he bestow such a gift on you?!”

Understanding dawned on me and for a second I stopped trying to escape. He was infuriated because Count Dracula had bitten me and not him, like some sort of drug addict that had his vice taken away.

“Let me go,” I said, summoning a calm semblance. “Ask him about it. It’s not like I offered him a drink.”

“No, not a drink. If he wanted just a drink he would have killed you. He’ll make you his bride. But I-- I have worked so hard, so so hard. I deserve it, I do, I do,” he was whimpering now and shaking his head to the sides like a child.

“I know, I know,” I cooed but I had tears on my eyes.

His hands wrapped around my neck and squeezed. My eyes instantly bugged out of my head and the tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I struggled. My hands found his face, trying to slap him or scratch him, anything that would get him off of me. I hit the glass wall with the back of my heel repeatedly to try to get someone’s attention outside. Air couldn’t reach my lungs anymore and my windpipe would probably collapse if he pressed harder. The pressure on my head was enormous. I could barely see and my face felt like it would explode at any second.

Several figures burst in the room. Two of them tried to pry Renfield off of me and the other three screamed for him to let me go. The crushing force on my neck ceased all of a sudden and I went down like a sack of potatoes, falling on my side as I gasped for air.

“Master! Master!” Renfield howled, struggling against his captors. “I was good, I was good! MASTER!”

A hacking cough seized me as I tried to will air into my lungs but failed to do so in the speed I needed. Slowly my vision returned and I saw Henry and Mallory kneeling next to me, trying to get me to sit up. Renfield’s deafening screams filled my ears.

“What happened?!” Mallory asked as Matthew, another colleague of mine, and a security guard tried to pin Renfield to the ground as he continued shouting.

“Not h-his fault,” I croaked, covering my neck with my hand. I would have a new bruise to match my bite now.

Mallory and Henry started talking about what they should do while I found myself trapped in Renfield’s demented eyes. He wasn’t in there, not anymore.

“A psychotic episode,” I whispered to Mallory. It hurt to talk. “Call medics, not the police. It’s not his fault.” Mallory and Henry exchanged a look and nodded.

More people filed into the room to gawk at the scene. Several more people gathered around me, trying to be helpful to the point where they started to resemble vultures and not good samaritans. I allowed myself to be coddled by these people while my mind ran amok.

My chest tightened as if the sorrow I felt hurt physically as well. The man I had looked up to as an outstanding lawyer, the man I inherited the poise and the commanding voice… was gone. Reduced to the likes of a mewling baby and a deranged man.

I hardly paid attention when paramedics arrived and took Renfield away but when a paramedic wanted to check my neck, I was pulled back to reality by the bond I had to Count Dracula.

“No,” I told him, one hand securing my shirt’s collar to my neck so it was covered. “I’m fine, really.”

“Miss, please. By what your colleagues described he nearly choked you to death.” His hands hovered on the air around me as a second silent request to let him look at the bruise.

I shook my head vehemently but tears were welling in my eyes again.

I wanted desperately to tell someone just then. To explain about Renfield and the bite on my neck that marked me as his . But I couldn’t. My voice wouldn’t leave my throat because that too had become his . Even if I was able to tell someone, I knew it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Bitten by a vampire? Surely I would be thrown in the psychiatric ward as Renfield would.

“I can’t,” I said weakly before pushing him out of my way and running to the restroom.

London’s night lights kept me company as I worked overtime on the firm. After spending the rest of my day warding off preoccupied people, I decided that I would need to add extra hours of work. At home I would succumb to my bed’s embrace and wouldn’t get any work done.

My desk lamp was the only source of light coming from inside the office and it illuminated the papers spread haphazardly in front of me. I had attended court earlier that day only to request an adjournment to Judge Llewellyn, who scowled and immediately demanded I explain myself. Matthew, my colleague, accompanied me to speak on my behalf since my voice box wasn’t strong enough yet to project my words to a courtroom. When Matthew explained the ordeal to Llewellyn I had the satisfaction of seeing the judge’s face dismantle in embarrassment for questioning me so harshly. It didn’t matter how much satisfaction it brought me because at the end of the day my case was delayed which impacted the life of a very dedicated mother who was disputing custody of her children with her ex. Catching up on cases and preparing future statements was my way of rectifying it.

I scribbled on a post-it and stuck it to a page before putting that pile to the side. I still had three more cases to review, draw up a plea bargain and think of a way to escape Count Dracula. I was procrastinating the latter.

The elevator opened with a ding on the other side of the floor and I raised my head to see who could it be at this time of night. A silhouette stepped out, standing in the darkness for only a moment before the hall’s motion activated lights came on. At once I sunk in my chair.

“Renfield... Where are you?” Count Dracula pitched his velvet voice in a mock song as he strolled in the office.

My heartbeat shot up in response and I shrunk further, trusting the darkness to conceal me. He swiveled his head directly at me as if my fear had drawn him. The lights from the buildings outside only illuminated half of his face.

“Y/N,” he said. My name on his lips sent a shiver through my body. “Working in the dark, are we?” When no answer came from me, he clicked his tongue. “I can’t seem to get ahold of Renfield but I suppose you’ll do. My assets were supposed to have been released today. The bank said I need-” He had been strolling my way as he talked but he stopped abruptly, whiffing the air. “You’re scared. Of me?”

He resumed his pace slowly, almost dragging his steps. Just then, I truly understood the feeling of being stalked by a predator.

“Why… are you... scared?”

He quickened his pace suddenly and covered over half the distance between us in seconds. I jumped from my seat and backed up as I searched frantically for a way out. The back of my knees hit a desk and I had to reach my hands back to stop me from toppling over it. I let out a squeak as I tried to regain my footing but it was too late. Dracula towered over me, so close I could smell his cologne. My face was turned away from him so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. I had a feeling that if I did he would devour me whole.

“Tell me why,” a whisper. His breath smelled like copper. “I will not have you of all people cowering from me.”

“Renfield was committed to a psychiatric ward this morning,” I blurted.

“Your voice,” he said.

Another squeak escaped my mouth as he grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. I expected to be met with a monstrous face but it was just him. Familiar dark eyes and lush lips. His stare fell from mine to my neck and he furrowed his eyebrows. His bite was well concealed under my shirt but the ligature mark was just beneath my jaw and in plain sight.

“He attacked me,” I provided in my frail voice. “Because you bit me.”

He pulled his lips down. Anger or disapproval, I wasn’t sure.

“I see,” he muttered.

“Is that what will become of me?” I asked.

“I told you-- I would never make you a servant.”

“No. Will I become a monster like you? Will I be uncaring? Will I enslave people? Kill them, torture them?”

He squished my cheeks between his fingers with every word I spoke. Perhaps provoking him wasn't a smart choice but I wouldn't simply lower my head and accept my fate.

“Only if you wish," he replied.

“You won’t even try denying it?”

“If I did I would be a hypocrite. And you think you are without blame.”

“Me?! How am I to blame for anything?"

He loosened his grip on my face until he finally allowed his hand to rest on the side of my neck.

“Yes, you. You the lawyer that defends robbers, murderers and rapists. And you know what’s interesting? I haven’t found much guilt about it in your blood. And now you accuse me of such things with disgust in your face? That, my dear, is a hypocrite.”

I swallowed his vitriol and it burned on the way down. Suddenly I didn’t like being provoked as much as I liked doing so.

“You ruined Frank!” I blinked at using Renfield’s first name. “He went mental today! Never in his life--”

“He’s weak , always has been but you never saw it. One look. One look was what it took for him to practically kneel before me. You shouldn’t hold people like him in such high standards.”

“Doesn’t bloody matter, he’s my friend!" The threat of tears made my voice tremble and I caught hold of myself before they spilled. “I don’t suppose you understand what that means.”

The snarl on his face made me think he would kill me right there.

“I should kill Renfield for what he did,” he murmured, stare searing into me. “But you wouldn’t like that.”

“Why does it matter what I like, Impaler?”

His brows softened as comprehension crossed his face and his lips parted in a grin.

“That is why you’re afraid, isn’t it? My darling, that was my human life, you have no need to worry.”

“And you’ve been an angel since then?”

“Oh never.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I was still supporting myself with my hands on the table behind me, slightly tipping backwards so the Count didn’t crawl on top of me.

Did I see a monster when I looked at him? Quite honestly no, yet I knew I should. He had done horrible things and I only knew about the things history had kept record of. I had learnt over the years that people are complicated. I had never met one person that was fully good or bad. If I had to classify myself, I wouldn’t know. My entire job was one big gray area. I swiveled around the lines of good and bad, never fully committing to any of them because I was paid for it. That wasn’t to say I didn’t have my own moral compass outside of the law. Count Dracula however… I had yet to find out if he had any moral compass at all.

“Will Renfield get better?” I questioned.

“He might. It’s difficult to predict how my power can affect some individuals, but he will remain my servant, that much I know. And he won’t attack you again, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Let him go.”

“I will not. He's quite good at being a servant.”

Renfield’s shouting replayed on my head.

“Let him go and I’ll let you feed from me whenever you want,” I said, shocking myself with my words. “But know this, I will never be yours.”

“Another deal? Tempting.” He licked his lips and my stomach coiled. “So very tempting.”

He reached to my waist, digging his fingers in my skin and I held back a gasp.

“Take the deal,” I urged.

Excitement grew within me. I preferred to believe that that was due to the possibility of tricking the Count into another deal but the tingling scar on my neck told a different story. I closed my eyes trying to concentrate and take full control of my body but it wasn’t responsive to rational thought. If he took the deal then it meant freedom for Renfield. That’s where my mind should be, not the rush of pleasure I had felt three nights ago when Count Dracula had bitten me. But by God, that’s what I wanted. I wanted to feel it again, feel his teeth sinking into my flesh and the dreamlike daze that followed.

Dracula’s arm circled me and smashed my body to his in a single motion, causing the gasp I had been holding to escape my lips. His thumb caressed my jawline while his fingers teased the back of my neck. In the little light between us I saw his black eyes swimming in carmine red. My heartbeat quickened lower in me when his tongue snaked out once again to lick his lips. Suddenly his fingers found my scar and massaged it lightly, evoking a moan from me. I rose my hands to hold his shoulders as an attempt to balance myself.

I felt more than heard his laughter.

“Look at you," he said. As he spoke I caught a flash of long and jagged teeth before it was gone. “‘I’ll never be yours .’ Liar, liar.”

I collected myself and pushed him away when I realised he was mocking me. He didn't move at fist but when I pushed him again he stepped back of his own volition, still laughing.

“Are you taking the fucking deal or not?”

“No,” he enunciated the word slowly. “I like this game we’re playing and I don’t want it to be over just yet. As powerful as you think you are, you don’t have the power to control me with your blood. I’ve granted you enough as it is.”

“I wasn’t trying-”

“Don’t lie.”

I closed my hands in fists.

“Fine. Can you at least say you’re sorry?”

“For what?” He raised his eyebrows.

“For Renfield,” I snapped, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Do you want me to lie to make you feel better?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“I wish Renfield hadn’t attacked you,” he said, sticking his hands on his pockets.

“That wasn’t the apology I was looking for.”

“I know.”

Why did I even want an apology? Was I desperate to find some semblance of regret on him? Desperate to find anything remotely good in him to justify my desire for him? I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep the tears away, hating myself for letting him affect me like that. My whole body desired him while I knew I should hate him for what he did to Renfield, for what he was doing to me. It made me feel like his plaything.

“Can you please leave? I have work to do.”

He nodded.

“I assume you’ll take over as my lawyer to assort my affairs.”

“Not like I have an option, is it?”

“Quite. I’ll leave you to it. See you Wednesday!"

He had already turned away, walking back to the elevator when I fully registered what he said.

“What happens on Wednesday?” I rose my voice to get his attention.

"I take you on a date," he answered over his shoulder.

I marched after him and stopped when I realised what I was doing. What could I possibly do or say to threaten a creature like him? I probably bothered him as much as soft wind did.

"I'm not going on a date with you after what happened today."

He slowly turned to face me again, a big grin on his face. A victorious grin. If he was winning, then I was on the losing side - of what, though?

“Oh but you are. Your deal clearly stated that I am to convince you that immortality is worth it. You didn’t express how I should do it. Therefore that end of the deal is mine to fulfill however I wish. ”

I groaned. Had I removed my brain at some point when I made that deal? I was used to being the winner inside courtrooms, and I had stupidly condemned myself by binding a contract between Count Dracula and I. As much as I would like to withdraw it, I didn't think he would be open to the idea. He had made it clear that he would make me a vampire whether I liked it or not. I had no choice but to abide by my own rules until I came up with a way out.

“I’d rather meet you," I said at last. "Where are we going?”

He smiled widely as he walked backwards, facing me.

“I’ll text you on Wednesday. Goodnight, darling.”

“Night, Dracula.”

Taglist: @festering-queen @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @thorin-smokin-shield @hoefordarkness @dreamer2381 @girlonfireice

#dracula fanfic #dracula 2020 #dracula netflix #dracula bbc fanfic #claes bang #claes bang fanfic #c #dracula bbc #dracula x reader #vampire fanfic #bbc dracula #distorted lullabies

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itsybitsylemonsqueezy · 5 years ago

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Okay, I’ve been putting it off, but it’s finally here. My KazuMaji playlist, which I have titled “Mad Dragon” because I think that’s a much cooler ship name : | This is informed mainly by whatever I’ve heard lately on FM radio and I’ll probably add to this as I go, but this hit my metric for being complete enough to post ^^;

Mad Dragon Playlist via youtube (I can also probably put this together via spotify if needed)

“Van Horn” - Saint Motel

Well, tell me do you me hate me? Or do you wanna date me? It's kinda hard to tell 'cause your eyes are looking crazy So why you coming over? Anything but sober? Looking like it's time tonight For fight or flight in Van Horn

I thought this would nicely start us off at the beginning of Kiwami 1. Like, look at those words and tell me you don’t INSTANTLY think of Kiryu. I sure as fuck did when I heard this song for the first time. This is defs Kiryu’s first impression of Majima and not knowing what in fuck’s name just happened. The eternal “Are we supposed to be fighting or fucking right now?”

“Take Me Home Tonight” - Eddie Money

Take me home tonight I don't wanna let you go 'til you see the light Take me home tonight Listen, honey, just like Ronnie sang, Be my little baby!

Ah, and with that, we enter what I like to call the Horny section. And nothing more appropriate than an egregiously horny 80s ballad. Really sets the scene I think. And an excellent counterpoint to “Van Horn’s” confusion is the absolute certainty of Majima’s first impression here. His entire goal since meeting Kiryu is, well... to make him take him home ^^; Let’s be real. Absolutely no confusion about what he wants out of this. Horny, but also very sweet, just like our boy ❤

“Faith” - George Michael

Well, I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body I know not everybody has got a body like you But I gotta think twice before I give my heart away And I know all the games you play because I played them, too

I would be truly remiss to write a queer playlist from the 80s without doing credit to our king, George Michael. So, continuing the Horny theme, but also, as you all might recall, the leaping directly into Kiryu’s lap gambit didn’t quite work out. And this is about that nervousness, that hesitation. And if Kiryu’s not going to put out, so to speak, then Majima’s better off holding back a bit. This is a reaction to Kiryu’s, well, rejection would be a strong word, but at least lack of reciprocation. Majima still wants him, clearly, but he’s reconsidering his strategy. Perhaps an early Kiwami 2 vibe.

“It Will Come Back” - Hozier

I know who I am when I'm alone! Something else when I see you, You don't understand, you should never know, How easy you are to need...

Don't let me in with with no intention to keep me! Jesus Christ! Don't be kind to me! Honey, don't feed me, I will come back

And so ends our Horny arc. The longing of this, the pining. As much as Majima knows he shouldn’t, Kiryu’s so... nice. He’s sweet, he’s tender. He’s so unbearably easy to fall for. He’s such a fucking good guy, it’s just... His helpless desire to be a part of that. Mmmm. This is a motif that stretches the whole of their relationship, but is certainly pronounced in 2 and 3. Hell, there’s even howling for fuck’s sake.

“Dragging Me Down” - Travis Love Benson & Yo! The Moon

Oh, this feels like a misstep, oh what a mistake! But I’ve fallen in with feelings that I cannot shake, The darkness that pulls me is dragging me down! And I think that I might be willing to drown

Ah, that inevitable horror. You’ve tried to resist, you’ve tried talking yourself down, you’ve spent time away and... yep, no, you’re good and in love. You’re fucked. This is a special kind of feeling, after the resistance, after the pining, the terrible realization that you’d give your life for this and there’s absolutely nothing you can do. Arguably, Majima’s felt like this the whole time as he’s always been afraid of what being in love with Kiryu will mean. But this is ESPECIALLY a game 4 feel. When there’s absolutely nothing you’re getting out of this, less than nothing, but you just can’t break with the feelings. You’re gonna die like this and tehre’s nothing you can do about it. Kiryu spends a bigger portion of his life than he would like to admit fighting against realizing this.

“Running Up That Hill” - Meg Myers

It doesn't hurt me, Do you want to feel how it feels? Do you want to know? Know that it doesn't hurt me Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making? You, it's you and me

What comes after the terrible realization that you’ll die like this? The dedication. The resignation. If you’re gonna die like this, may as well make it worth something. BIG game 4 energy here. You may as well be playing this over the arrest scene. “Running Up That Hill” is a classic for any love story where some dumbfuck is stupid enough to be self-sacrificing and oh, look at that, we have two of them. “Running Up That Hill” is so gutting though because it doesn’t assume a happy ending. It assumes that if the trade works, this still all ends in tragedy. But it’ll be worth it. Make that big Game 5 energy as well.

“King and Lionheart” - Of Monsters and Men

Howling ghost they reappear In mountains that are stacked with fear But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart

And in the sea that's painted black Creatures lurk below the deck But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart

And as the world comes to an end I'll be here to hold your hand 'Cause you're my king and I'm your lion-heart

Another absolute classic. I think it’s illegal anymore to make a shipping playlist without “King and Lionheart.” I certainly have more ships than I can shake a stick at that fit this song. But it’s a classic for a reason. This takes all the dedication we developed in “Running Up That Hill” and argues that it doesn’t have to be tragedy. See, the problem with the previous is the sacrifice is one-sided and unacknowledged. “King and Lionheart” says what if we both knew? What if you let me do this for you? What if these were our roles and we were happy? It doesn’t all have to end in tragedy if we just... know. And that’s the real dream isn’t it? Be my king, let me be your lionheart. *stares helplessly at Kiryu Should Have Been Chairman AU*

“I Want You to Want Me” - Letters to Cleo

Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you crying? Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you crying?! Feeling all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dying! Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you crying?

It was hard for me to decide where to put this, but I do feel it belongs on this list. “I Want You to Want Me” on surface level expresses a fairly typical expression of infatuated puppy love. But it’s the above, this part, that really strikes me. Because that isn’t just the adoring desperation of courtship. Didn’t I see you crying, didn’t I see you vulnerable, didn’t I see you broken, and didn’t I love you anyway? Didn’t I see you crying and didn’t it do something to me to see you like that? That isn’t just blind desire. I’m still not sure where this should go and I may find a better spot for it eventually, but this is about the fact that they get each other’s broken pieces. That there’s some deep, vulnerable shit to work through and... seeing it and still wanting to be a part of things, fuck, even still feeling that blind puppy love is... really something. This is certainly part of Kiryu’s love language. He never sees ugliness in people and he has a profound propensity to take care of others. This is a thing he wants to say.

“I Still Ain’t Over You” - Augustana

Hey, I'm the blood in your veins, I'm the cold when it rains, And I'm your heart when it breaks- Time, no it ain't on our side, I'm the truth to your lies, And I’m your tear, when you cry

This is a different kind of pining. This is that post-break up pining, the know-I-should-get-over-it pining. It’s not the pining you get when your courting. It’s not even the resigned to rejection pining. It’s that important part of getting over a break up where you’re still dealing with what it was you had or wanted and can’t let go of yet. Big Game 3 energy, but also Game 6. Because this also has a little hope for what still might be. There’s longing for what was, but also the possibility of the future. That’s what’s so confusing about it. Not knowing how to let go or what to let go of. I also just really like this song and I’m also just physically incapable of not putting Augustana in my playlists. You can really tell me generation there.

“With or Without You” - U2

And you give yourself away, and you give yourself away! And you give! And you give! And you give yourself away! With or without you! With or without you, I can’t live... with or without you...

To be honest, this song basically makes no damn sense. Because it’s not asking for anything, like... it has no solution. But it perfectly encapsulates the heartbreak of being in love with something that can never happen. Game 5/Game 6 energy if I ever saw it. Just... the rawness... the desperation. It’s a classic for a reason.

“Needing/Getting” - Ok GO

So I been sitting around, wasting my time, Wondering what you been doing. Aw, and it ain't real forgiving, it ain't real forgiving, Sitting here picturing someone else living. And I, yeah I still need you, But what good's that gonna do? Needing is one thing, and getting, Getting's another.

So we’ve had the break up. We’ve had the heartbreaking realization that what we wanted can never happen. And now... we’re finally coming to terms with that a little bit. Finally going, y’know what? I may never be over this, but I should probably try to move on with my life anyway. “Needing/Getting” is at least admitting that this is a losing proposition. We may not be all the way to healing and, heaven forbid, getting over it. But we’ve gotten as far as... this is pretty dumb.

“My Love” - Sia

My love, leave yourself behind Beat inside me, leave you blind My love, look what you can do I am mending, I'll be with you

So... after you realize that this isn’t going to get any better and, maybe, you don’t like being heartbroken all the time... sometimes you try to let things go. Big Game 6 energy. There’s a lot to love, there’s a lot to appreciate. And letting go doesn’t mean letting it all go, it doesn’t mean forgetting or regretting. But it can mean... moving on. Taking all you loved and learned with you, but moving on. To not give up on yourself, to keep doing what you promised you’d do, sometimes you gotta. There’s a lot of endings in Yakuza and a lot we may have to accept. “My Love” is about honoring that and keeping that love strong.

“Somewhere Only We Know” - Lily Allen

And if you have a minute, why don't we go Talk about it somewhere only we know? This could be the end of everything So why don't we go? So why don't we go?

But, then again, who says we can’t try again? After we’ve accepted our loss, our endings, who says we can’t be close to the people we love when we still love them? This is how I tend to favor post-5 and even post-6 thoughts. Why can’t we just have nice things? I mean... jeez, c’mon. Please. I like to think that after all the pining and regret, we could still come to terms. We could realize how silly we’re being and just... it’s as easy as just asking for a little time.

#Kazumaji #Mad Dragon #Lemon writes a playlist #Yakuza #I hope some of y'all are interested anyway ^^;

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greekbros · 4 years ago

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"greek-Bros: The Return of an Old Enemy"

Chapter 10: Two Sides to Show Business

Apollo confronted Ares, who was training out near his competitors tent. From what he had heard, Ares was doing his usual bit making sure he isn't a force to trifle with. "Ares, I would like to have a word with you before the joust. It's rather important.", Apollo greeted himself.

As if he was completely ignoring Apollo, Ares continued to strike the tree. To Ares, there was nothing Apollo could say that would interest him. "Yeah, what is it.", he gruffly responded. With a final strike, he cuts the tree in half with no hesitation. He turns around to turn to Apollo, "If that sniveling fat fuck Dionysus sent you hear, let him know that all of this-", he raises his hand to show the wide expense that is Delphi, "-is going to be the birth place of my own army.", Ares boasted.

Apollo looked at Ares completely dumbfounded, he saw Ares simply stood there with a grimace on his face, there didn't seem to be anything else in his mind. "Ares....I ask you to maybe.... you and Dionysus should just joust for the sport of it. I mean, is there even a purpose to you or him gaining any of each other's assets?", he politely asked, "I mean.... seriously why are you doing this, what would be the point of doing this to your own brother?". It wasn't uncommon for Ares to be meanspirited but in this situation it seemed there could be a different motivation. Why would Ares agree to do something he didn't want to do, just to make it harder for everyone. A stupid question indeed but there had to be something.

Ares turned to Apollo, "ugh.... didn't you hear me? I'm going to make all this land into a training field....", he stood there letting the cogs in his brain turn a little bit and remembered a small detail he so adamantly told Dionysus, "...OH you mean his girl? Nah, I wasn't going to do shit to her. I just told him that to see if he was serious about this stupid joust.", he chuckled as if it was all just a joke, a joke that if it was pulled on him with Aphrodite....he would have carved a hole in the middle of Mediterranean Sea with rage. The reality was that Ares wasn't interested in Ariadne in the slightest, the whole plan was to simply take Dionysus's land and scare him. "Why, what's it got to do with you?", he asked with a straight face.

Of all the terrible and cruel things Ares had committed, this could probably top them all. Apollo at this point didn't know if he should joust Ares himself or to smite him where he stood. However, he knew Hermes was already sabotaging Ares, no use in ruining the plan at this stage. Hiding his anger behind a false smile, "Oh....well...I was just worried about the whole thing.....that's all, personally I've never known Dionysus to be serious about anything but I guess I'm mistaken.....good luck at the joust....just please...don't make it worse.", Apollo quickly left Ares to the rest of his 'training'. He couldn't wait to contribute to humiliating Ares for basically ruining what was supposed to harmless fun for Dionysus.

Ares just shrugged, thought it was Apollo being his dramatic self and figured it could have been time for the joust. He didn't need to put any armor, mostly because he already wore armor all the time. He figured he'd raise the stakes to make things entertaining to him, maybe he could see how sharp the lances were or see how far he could if he could put oil on the handles. He went to find the lances to inspect them at the temporary stables. Ares took one look at the lances and saw that the tips of the lances had brightly colored cushions on them, one red cushion and one green cushion. "What the hell is this?!", he shouted. He poked one of the cushions and his finger was dyed red with fresh paint.

A young satyr came, trembling a little knowing the god of war what're answers. "Ugh, those are the l-lances oh great one. If one of the players gets hit with tip of the lance, they lose aananand you see it's to make sure ugh...no body gets hurt", the young satyr replied.

Ares glared at the satyr, he was completely undignified at such a soft centered idea. This whole arrangement meant that no one would get hurt, no one would shed blood or anything. "As expected from Dionysus.....shame, I was planning on giving him a taste of "fair play",.....where are my horses?", he asked sternly.

The young satyr's usually blushing, flushed face turned pale, he had recently checked on Ares's chariot horses. "Ugh...well...um... please understand that I had NOTHING to do with.", he sheepishly warned Ares.

His ears perked up, "WHAT?", Ares boomed. The satyr lead him to his chariot horses towards the end of the stable. The horses were plastered, lounging and drunkenly lapping up what ever whine was left on the ground. Ares gawked at his once mighty nightmares....now a trio of drunken dead weights. He turned slowly to the satyr, his face was glowing red with fury. "....did...you feed...MY war horses...your SHITTY WINE?!?", he roared. He had just about enough of this clown circus that was Delphi.

From out side of tent, Ares's wrath could be heard along with the pleads of that satyr, two gaurds ran in to break up the fight between them and left their post. In the vary moment the gaurds left their post, a curious wolf pup, whom have been sneaking around looking for snacks this whole time, was now currently scampering just past the tent, completely ignoring the fight inside the temporary stable. He sniffed the air, smelling the new unfamiliar sents just itching to be discovered. His nose lead him to the food tent, where he could smell bread, sweet fruits and the bittersweet sent of wine. He didn't hear anyone inside, nor did he smell anyone, it was the perfect chance to find food.

The pup lifted the tent's fold, as he crawled under the tent his claws accidentally cought on to a table cloth as he was reaching out to see in the dim light of the tent, causing some bottles to topple down and decorative clothes to fall on him. The little lycan's eyes weren't so use to the light shift from day to night. He was draped in a large table cloth, covering his head, shoulders and good portion of his body. He didn't mind it at all, the soft, silky cloth felt pleasant to his paws, so wear it he did, pretending to be his 'noble king's for a few seconds much like any like-minded toddler would. He took a long whiff of the air and smelled the tasty treats that were stored in this treasure trove. Searching around and near the table, he found several fruits, roasted meats, dates and loaves of bread rolls. His little pup heart couldn't contain it, he jumped onto the table and attacked a roll of bread and began chewing on it. Never in his life did he ever taste something so delicious, his whole life he had only eaten moldy bread and scraps of rotting flesh. His eyes floated to some roasted goat, just as fast as he went after the bread he jumped on to the goat meat. Fresh, seasoned, cooked meat was truly something worth howling about, he let out a small, somewhat gentle, inexperienced howl that sounded like a little trill rather than a hardy wolf howl, with every bite he would let out a short burst of happiness.

Outside the tent, Dionysus was in full ornate armor. He was fussing around with some of the straps on his arms when he heard one of the little lycan's short trills. He stopped in his tract to catch the sound again, but nothing happened. "Oh man, that better be one of the nymphs experimenting again, I can't take this anxiety anymore!", he loudly worried to himself. He took a deep breath and went off to find his chariot at the stable tent. He walked in to see Ares tied up to the support beam, foaming in the mouth, and very disheveled satyr and two of the gaurds tired from holding Ares back. "....sooooo.....uhm...I'm just here to pick up...my lance....", he awkwardly shuffled to his lance, takes it, turns to Ares, "see you there man...oh ugh...since well....I'm using mules... you'll have to use mules too....bye.", he quickly leaves the tent before Ares would blow his stack.

Ares, with foam in the corner of his mouth, growled loudly. "DAMN YOU DIONYSUS!", he roared in frustration. So loudly infact, the lycan pup heard it from his tent. The poor thing stopped knawing on the goat bones, perked up his ears thinking it was an adult lycan. He paused for a few seconds, he than promptly went back to knawing on the bone because a pup his age has other priorities, like chewing on some goat bones and eat bread.

With a sigh of defeat, Ares simmered down, and looked to one of the gaurds, "if one of you doesn't untie me right now and get me your most killer mules....I will rip BOTH your balls off.", he stared at the guards and the guards stared back. The gaurds both scrambled to their tasks and prepared Ares's chariot. The joust, was about to begin, finally.

End of Chapter 10

#why is the little lycan pup so well written #greek bros #greek-Bros #greek gods #ares #greek mythology #greek bros: the return of an old enemy #short story #dionysus #apollo #satyr #lycan #chp 10 #asked no one #hellenistic #blood of zeus #hermes #amateur writing

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suits-of-woe · 5 years ago

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Yet Edmund Was Belov’d

Shakespeare Appreciation Week — Day 4: Villains Day

So...you all knew who this day was going to be about. What better day to show my love for everyone’s favourite bastard? Thanks @harry-leroy for always enabling me. But I figured I’d appreciate more than one Lear villain I stan by posting the full version of an Edmund/Goneril fic I wrote ages ago that sparked my love for this disaster ship.

I wish I’d written something new, but my creativity levels have been negative all quarantine. Writing this last year was basically my gateway drug to thinking about a lot of dynamics that don’t appear here because I hadn’t thought of them yet. So I’m not super pleased with this, but it’s what I’ve got.

This fic is called “WHY did William Shakespeare leave the two loneliest characters in King Lear to die offstage and ALONE and expect me to be okay?” So I remedied that, a bit. Tw for death (including semi-graphic details of death by stabbing) and suicide. Slight AU in how 5.3 plays out, but the outcome is the same.

As the servant rushes off with the bloody knife clutched in his hand, and the other attendants take no time to scatter and disappear from sight, Goneril is the only person left in front of Albany’s tent. Unless she can count Regan, she supposes, but given that Regan is truly gone now, a body without mind, all at her sister’s hand...well, she probably can’t. It’s a thought too overwhelming to sit with. Her mind races. As does her heart, which is still pumping steadily, all the blood in her body strictly confined under the unscathed surface of her skin. She makes an effort to quiet her breathing, just in case any whisper of the sound might reach a lingering witness. Starting now, Goneril is supposed to be dead.

It’s an absurd plan. Nothing resembling a long-term solution, but it was the only thing occurred to her in the frantic moment when she realized her husband had finally grown half a vertebra at precisely the wrong time. It was easy enough to achieve. The servants were eager to help for a small price; Oswald had been her best, of course, but she still had more than her share of loyal followers. She’d had the knife already. All she had really needed was a body to bloody it with, and helpfully, she’d already supplied one of those for herself.

The wound in Regan’s chest is still open and flowing freely, and Goneril dips her hands in it to begin creating the illusion of a matching one on herself. She doesn’t feel guilty for stabbing her, not exactly. The only thing Regan had to look forward to was ten minutes of slowly choking to death; if anything, Goneril did her a favor. It’s just that she can see too much of her sister from this angle, leaning down so close. There’s the tiny scar above her eyebrow she got falling down the stairs as a young girl. The red hair intricately braided, just like their mother taught them. The gold chain around her throat – given to her by her husband – and the love bite near the base of her neck that most certainly was not. It’s impossible to look at Regan and feel nothing.

But it’s not Regan she thinks of as she arranges herself on the ground in a relatively comfortable position, peeking through her lashes at the surrounding tents. She made her choice. She did not choose Regan. She has to live with that choice now, or die with it, and the only reason she’s not dead yet is the tiny shred of hope that maybe she didn’t choose wrong. It’s wishful thinking. Implausible, and only not impossible because Edmund is the only man she’s ever met who might be that clever. They think alike. So alike, that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance he’s exactly as wounded as she is dead.

The approach of footsteps makes her quiet her thoughts. It’s two or three men – three, she sees when she opens her eyes a sliver more – carrying a stretcher. She goes hot and cold all at once. Those black curls – and he’s not moving, but then, neither is she, and when one of the men looks at her for a long moment, he seems convinced. She holds her breath for good measure. The men move out of sight. She can hear them set the stretcher down. They leave. She’s alone with him, finally.

She forces herself to wait a minute. No signs of movement yet, but she’s still equally frozen. Drying blood is surprisingly sticky. Her breaths are too loud. She can’t make out his.

When she loses count around thirty seconds, she gets to her feet. A gust of wind blows her hair in her face. She moves ghostlike, a lump caught in her throat, as she makes her way to his side. His eyes are closed, but she knows from one look the blood is all his. He’s more gasping than breathing. After everything today, there’s little semblance of a world to be swept out from beneath her feet, but she’s still not prepared for the way her stomach drops. He’s Edmund. Pain doesn’t suit him.

“My Gloucester,” she says softly, at a loss for anything else.

“Not yours or Gloucester,” he mutters back, his mouth twisted into a tight grimace, “anymore.”

His eyes come open, violently bright green, and for a moment Goneril is sure he can’t be dying, not when that sharp look in them hasn’t faded a bit.

“I thought you were dead,” he says.

“I know. I thought maybe you...”

“Weren’t? Well. Sorry to disappoint.”

He’s already stopped looking at her. There’s something distant in his expression too, and it must be the most ridiculous time in the world for Goneril to feel lonely of all things, and yet...

“I thought if...I mean, even if the Duke knows, I still have followers.” She can hear her voice rising, growing higher and more frantic. There’s no point telling him this now, but she can’t seem to stop. “And if we’d bided our time then maybe...or we could leave together, get away from—”

“Stop,” Edmund cuts her off. “You’ll—you’ll hate me now.”

“Hate you? For losing a duel?”

Maybe she should, or would, if he were anyone else, or if she had anyone else. But for now, she seems to have used up enough rage that there’s none left for him.

“No. I...I tried—”

The cry comes from the camp before he can finish his sentence. It’s a ragged, unearthly sound, a distillation of anguish so pure it makes Goneril want to climb out of her skin. And that’s before she recognizes his voice, and the howled sound of her sister’s name.

“Tried to save them,” Edmund finishes. He’s laughing, if it can be called that. Laughing until he begins to cough and blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth. If her father’s cries weren’t still echoing toward them Goneril would say it was the most miserable sound she’d heard in her life. “It’s just nature. I should’ve known. Once you set it in motion it doesn’t care.” He coughs again, weaker. “Guess I made you hate me for nothing.”

For a moment, she’s too numb to process any of it. But the wailing hasn’t stopped, and she makes herself go through the facts if only to occupy her mind.

Cordelia is dead. She expected that. They’d discussed it, almost, in that veiled way they discussed anything pertaining to their families. Cordelia is dead, yes, but that’s not all. Regan is dead. Goneril is supposed to be dead, but she isn’t. Edmund will be dead soon, but he isn’t yet, and he’s the reason Cordelia is dead, but also the reason her father is still alive and making those noises. He must be.

“Why?” It’s the only word to make it out of Goneril’s throat. He’s right. She should hate him for this, for making her listen. It’s just that the thought exhausts her.

“I told you,” Edmund says. “I thought you were dead.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“I thought...” He sighs. “I thought maybe I could have changed it. Not now, but before. If I did what...what was supposed to be right. If it felt any different. Better.”

“And?” Goneril’s muscles are locked. He still won’t look at her, and she can’t look anywhere else. “Did it feel different?”

“Maybe. For a moment. Before I knew it didn’t change a thing.”

She doesn’t have a response to that. Neither does he. There’s nothing good to look at, but closing her eyes only leaves Edmund’s struggling breaths and her father’s distant cries.

Cordelia!

If shattered glass could speak, Goneril imagines it would sound something like this. Otherwise, there’s no way she can possibly describe it.

Cordelia, Cordelia!

No one would guess the man had three daughters.

Regan’s blood is stiffening the fabric of Goneril’s dress, and for a second Goneril feels the urge to try and shove it back into her sister’s veins, to seal up the wound, make her undrink the poison, bring back the one person who would understand this unique agony. Regan used to understand. She used to be right there with her, once Cordelia was there and their mother was gone; she knew what it was to watch her sister be loved when she was tolerated at best. They’d had the same hunger in their eyes in those days. Once or twice, they talked about it. They shared the same daydreams, not of wildly handsome fairytale princes but of plainer men, men who might one day care. Mostly, they didn’t talk, but sometimes they’d be silent and just hold each other, because no one else was around to do it for them.

Cordelia!

They must have told him. And her husband certainly knows, even if her father doesn’t, yet she hasn’t heard her name once. Goneril is supposed to be dead, and there’s not a person living who’s grieving for her.

She can’t do this alone. Whatever he’s done, she just can’t.

“What happened?” Her words come out frantic, rushed, as she looks down and sees Edmund’s eyes are closed and she’s struck by a bolt of fear that he’s already gone. But he isn’t. The eyes open, duller, but defiantly alive. “I still don’t understand it. How did they find out? Who told my husband? Who was that man?”

“My brother.” He shakes his head, a half smirk forming on his bloody lips. “Suppose it’s...only fair. The wheel...”

“But how?” She needs to cut him off, or the defeat in his voice might just kill her for real. “How did he find you? How did he even know?”

“He found my father,” Edmund starts. “I don’t know how...he was disguised, he must have—”

“Your father?” It really couldn’t matter less, but Goneril needs to keep him talking. His voice is too weak, all wrong, but it’s still the only bearable thing to listen to. “The Earl, he survived, he’s alive?”

“Was.” He starts to laugh, chokes again. Blood splatters Goneril’s chest and neck. “Until my brother told him who he was. His heart couldn’t take it. Said he...he died of joy.”

He looks at her now, really looks at her.

“Love,” Edmund says. His breath rattles in his chest. “Ha.”

The sounds from the camp have finally gone silent. Goneril is thinking of old men, dead men, dead of joy or despair or love, but not for her, and not for him either. She is thinking of the hunger in Edmund’s painfully vivid eyes. The tenderness she feels toward him is stronger than she thought herself capable of.

But she doesn’t act on it. The rage in the back of her mind is not quite burnt out. Not yet.

“Did you love her?” Goneril asks. She needs to know. And maybe she won’t really, maybe he’ll just lie to her, but she at least needs to hear it.

Regan used to understand. She used to, and Goneril used to think she always would, she would always be there on nights like Goneril’s wedding night, when Regan was the only one to see her cry. But when Regan’s wedding came, she wasn’t crying. She was smiling like a woman with the warm comfortable glow of knowing she was cherished, and suddenly Goneril didn’t know her anymore. It wasn’t fair. She must have known that. She had it all, had everything Goneril had always wanted; it was only her bad luck that Cornwall went first and she had no one crying for her now. Cornwall would have burned down the world for her, Cornwall would have torn whoever killed her to pieces with his bare hands, and Regan must have known it. She had that love, that love that could move mountains and halt planets and break literal hearts, she must have had it and it must have been everything Goneril imagined because the second it was gone she had to do everything she could to get it back. But how dare she? How dare she tear it from Goneril’s own hands, how dare she when she had only lived without it for a few days and Goneril had never even had a taste of it in the first place?

Her face is burning again just to think of it, her heart racing out of control. Edmund’s voice pulls her back to the present.

“I don’t know,” he says, and there’s no trace of the smooth deception she’s come to know so well. “She loved me, and I think I loved that.”

She could ask him the same question about herself. There’s no real reason to think she would get a different answer. But it doesn’t matter anymore. They do think alike, Goneril knows now. They understand each other. Neither of them has ever been worth grieving for.

Edmund gasps and shivers and screws his eyes shut, muttering something Goneril can’t catch, and that’s when she knows what she has to do. There are no more lives for her to try and save, but she can give him this.

“My love.” When she kisses him, it’s with too much passion for a dying man. She tastes blood, but when she pulls away, there’s something like joy mingled with the pain on his face. “My Edmund.”

He doesn’t speak, and she’s not sure if she can anymore. She holds him instead. He’s heavier than she expected, limp and unresisting in her arms, but she clutches him close, feeling his the irregular rise and fall of his chest. He clasps weakly at a handful of the fabric of her dress. She cradles his head, smoothing back the dark curls off his forehead. At least he can’t see the tracks of blood her hands leave on his skin.

When she moves back enough to get a good look at his face, she’s surprised to find silent tears running down his cheeks. She’s equally surprised that she doesn’t mind.

It can’t last. Maybe that’s what makes it halfway bearable, but it can’t, because no matter how tight she holds him it doesn’t stop the dark stain on his abdomen growing wider and wider by the minute. His fingers weaken, twitch, release the hold on her dress. She can feel the labor it takes for him to draw air into his lungs. Every time he breathes she half wishes he wouldn’t.

She doesn’t mean to break the illusion, but it must be agony, and watching it feels crueler than anything else. She makes her voice low, as close to comforting as she can manage, as if she’s only watching a lover drift off to sleep.

“Do you want me to stop it?”

She doesn’t need to gesture to his dagger to know he understands. When he inhales, it sounds like he’s taking in water and not air, but he shakes his head, tears still making tracks in the grime on his face.

“No,” he says, almost inaudible. “Not...not yet. Just—”

He can’t finish. He doesn’t have to.

It might be a nice touch if she could cry for him, Goneril thinks, as she resumes the slow stroking of his hair. It’s only then she realizes her cheeks are already wet.

In one way, it is nothing. He says no more. She says no more. Minutes pass. He stops breathing. Death is that simple, he would say. Only natural.

In another way, it is everything. It is the thing she’s always wanted, the thing he’s always wanted, the culmination of what they’ve both been craving for god knows how long. And then it is gone.

From far away, Goneril can hear shouting and rapid footsteps. The sounds seem imagined at first, intangible next to the weight of Edmund’s cooling body in her arms. But still, they are coming. The time is up, the wheel has turned, and she cannot find enough strength in her legs to try to run.

Regan is gone. Edmund is gone. Her only companion is the dagger at his belt.

She’s already playing the tragic lover for him. She may as well act the last of her part.

#theplaysthething2020 #i have a love hate relationship with this but i wanted to post at least a LITTLE writing this week #there's a lot i would change/add if i were writing it all again #but this is what made me start to ship this unironically so...still fun to share #i'm so dumb why did i think i could write this without starting to ship it for real #i'm a sucker for a deathfic #probably because the fanfic for my otp since age 12 was like 50% deathfics #the POTENTIAL okay #they both want to be loved #king lear #edmund #goneril #otp: yours in the ranks of death #THIS TIME LITERALLY :((((#fic #mine #shakespeare #queue stars keep not their motion in one sphere #this is way too long i'm sorry

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hitwizards · 5 years ago

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❝ i would rather die of passion than boredom ❞

huh, who’s DARREN BARNET? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually TEDDY LUPIN. he is a THIRTY ONE year old HALFBLOOD wizard who is a HIT WIZARD. he is known for being ABSENTMINDED, GULLIBLE, IMPATIENT, IMPRUDENT, and IMPETUOUS but also STEADFAST, AFFABLE, NURTURING, UNINHIBITED, and JAUNTY, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song WHAT I GOT BY SUBLIME and ASH TRAY FULL OF DISCARDED CIGARETTE BUDS, COLORFUL HAWAIIAN SHIRTS AND LEATHER JACKETS, MAGICAL TATTOOS THAT SHIFT AND CHANGE, TOUSLED HAIR THAT CHANGES COLOR DAILY, BOISTEROUS LAUGHTER, BRUISED KNUCKLES, MISMATCHED SOCKS, WIDE RECKLESS GRINS, and SCARS WITH UNTOLD STORIES. i hear he is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on him.

unless you are part of potterhq pls don’t reblog/interact

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Edward Remus Lupin NICKNAME(S): Teddy, Ted AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 31, 04/14/1998 OCCUPATION: Hitwizard GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: He/Him/His HOMETOWN: Yorkshire, England CURRENT RESIDENCE: Edinbrugh, Scotland ALMA MATTER: Hogwarts, Hufflepuff House BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

BIOGRAPHY

i’ll write something formal soon. but have some of my scattered af thoughts so far:

PARENTAL DEATH TW. first thing’s first - since this is a lil canon divergent there comes the question: are remus and tonks alive? yes and no. nymphadora tonks is still alive and well, even still working as an auror and living their best life (unless someone takes tonks up and changes it, get spicy if you want). remus on the other hand is not. after a life filled with adversity and trials, but very much love, remus john lupin passed away at the age of 43 - shockingly early for a wizard, though werewolf life expectancy was a lot shorter back then. teddy was only 5 years old. he doesn’t remember a lot about his father. he remembers his scratchy old sweaters, his jackets with elbow patches on them, and his scarred up face that didn’t seem so scary whenever he smiled widely at him. everything else that teddy knows about remus is from family and friends and his mother, who like to tell him everything he wants to know. it’s almost like he knew him for more than a handful of years.

DEATH TW. yes, harry was teddy’s godfather - and considering remus didn’t make it for long, he was kind of like a father figure to him. but teddy wasn’t exactly raised by harry. tonks was still around, so he had a parent, but he also had his grandmother andromeda and grandfather ted (after whom he’s named) to help with raising him. and he was basically adopted into the “wotter” fold, so he has more relatives and parental figures than a boy could ask for. but outside of his immediate family, he was rather close to his godfather harry - and hasn’t really coped with the fact that he’s gone. feeling a brotherly love for the potter children, teddy chose to be brave in the face of loss in order to be a reliable shoulder for them to lean on, someone strong for them. deep down he’s utterly broken up about it, and is probably going to break down eventually. that’s two dads he’s lost in his short life. someone give him juice and a hug.

before this most recent tragedy, teddy was a pretty chipper guy. he’d always been an optimist and a happy go lucky kid. his youth was spent running around the burrow with his extended family/friends and on adventures with his mum. tonks wanted him to be a happy kid, especially after remus was gone, and so the two spent a lot of time just going around and having fun. they’re thick as thieves, and when it had come time to go to hogwarts the only qualms he had was in leaving his mother. he had been attached to her hip, but he found himself comfortable in due time. following in tonks’s footsteps he ended up a hufflepuff, though he could have been a gryffindor. he could be boisterous and rowdy when he wanted to be, but above all else he was a kind and just boy, caring and loyal to a fault. he’s always been a wee bit of a nurturer, though that may have to do with being raised around the large wotter clan, of which he is eldest so he took a lot of pride in watching after the little ones. but that responsibility didn’t keep him from being a fun and mischief loving boy.

as soon as he left hogwarts, he entered into the auror training program with hopes to work beside his mother. he actually graduated from that and would have continued that path but eventually he found himself more interested in the hit wizard division and took up a post there. he’s been working as a hit wizard since, going on some pretty wild missions to track down dark wizards. he loves the job, even with its risks and hazards, and deep down he hopes that his father would be proud of his line of work.

per the expectation of many, teddy dated his childhood and family friend victoire weasley. as far as first romances/young love goes, it was pretty great. they’d known each other their whole lives, which meant that there wasn’t as much awkwardness or discomfort in being himself around her, none of that “getting to know you” stage. they already knew each other, what was there to be embarrassed about? the pair had dated a decent amount of time... that was until the decision for victoire’s healing training came up. when talk of training in france came along, teddy was faced with a somewhat difficult decision: support her growth even if it meant going far away for a bit or try and convince her to stay. he’s never been a selfish guy, so the answer had come pretty quickly. and france wasn’t that far - not when apparition and portkeys were a thing. surely they could make it work... except they didn’t. communication was not their speciality it turned out, so when teddy eagerly encouraged her to go train abroad their relationship crumbled. to this day he doesn’t really understand why. outwardly he acts pretty cool and indifferent, almost as if it doesn’t phase him, and enough time has passed where he’s basically accepted it as over, but deep down he questions what the hell happened there and what things would have been like now if he hadn’t been so passive about his desire to make it work out. he tries not to dwell on that, though - things happen and he kinda goes with the flow when they do.

when it comes to conflict and war, there was really only one side for teddy to take. of course he went with the order - what else was he going to do? his parents were in the order. his family was in the order. when it came down to it, he knew that he had to join their ranks and fight for their cause. it wasn’t even a question, and he doesn’t regret the choice to take up arms. as a hitwizard it’s his job to apprehend dark wizards and stop them from harming the community, so he was pretty much already doing as much. he won’t hesitate to do what’s expected and to fight. this is the kind of thing his father fought for, and that his godfather would stand up and fight for. teddy feels that, per their memory, it��s his duty to do so - especially as more of his friends and family join the fight as well. he feels a deep obligation to be there to protect them and fight beside them. the last thing he wants is to lose anyone else, and he would willingly throw himself in front of them if it meant saving their lives. and if it came down to it, he’s ready to put his life on the line for the entire cause. anything to see a better tomorrow.

idk my thoughts are so scattered like i’ll be editing the shit outta this over the next few days so tune in.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic LANGUAGES: English, Gobbledegook FAMILY: Nymphadora Tonks (mother), Remus John Lupin (father) †, Andromeda Tonks (maternal grandmother), Ted Tonks (maternal grandfather), Lyall Lupin (paternal grandfather) †, Hope Lupin (maternal grandmother) †, Harry Potter (godfather) †, many many others PETS: a toller named Lenox FACE CLAIM: Darren Barnet ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Aries MBTI: TBD PINTEREST: (x)

WANTED CONNECTIONS

hogwarts gang ok

work friends? where the hitwizards at??

idk come at me with whatever.

bonus:

tattoo details:

"je t’aime” written in handwriting that is mostly certainly not teddy’s. he won’t elaborate on this one. it is slowly fading away as the years go by.

lilies which is a clear representation of lily luna potter, whom he considers to be like a sibling. the lilies wilt and bloom with the seasons. he definitely has tattoos for each of the wotters which he has adopted as siblings/cousins, i’m just too damn lazy to come up with them / idk they’re probably in places not visible in this drawing afheiahpfiea

a lightning bolt which is new, it shimmers and shines and represents the man who was like a father for him. a snitch to represent his quidditch days. the snitch flies along his arm.

a wolf which roams his arm and howls whenever its the full moon. there is a hand which is always giving a peace sign, but when teddy is angry a neon yellow outline reveals a hand flashing the middle finger.

marauder’s footprints which sometimes walk along his arm. beneath each set of footprints are initials: JP for James Potter, SB for Sirius Black and RJL for Remus John Lupin.

the andromeda constellation with stars that shimmer and shine during the night time. a match, possibly the only truly aesthetic one. idk i saw it and liked it ahfeiahfpe

some random teddy sketches

#potterintro

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