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rubysunnday · 3 years ago

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rooftops

A/N: The finale to my part in Olive's (@lxncelot) , writing challenge! This is fic 3 out of 3 (congrats if you made it this far, well done!) Again, prompts are all from Olive's dialogue and song prompt list) : 3) “I’ll miss this — us.” | 17) “Are we friends?”`| 26) “I could be in love with someone like you.” | rooftop kiss — james horner

Fic 1 | Fic 2 | Fic 3

The wind was howling outside the whaling hut. It was so harsh the windows and doors were rattling in their frames, fighting to stay put. But the two occupants inside didn't notice. They were both too cold and uncomfortable and pointedly ignoring the other to do much more than sit by the fire, bundled in furs, wearing someone else's clothes underneath.

Of course, they were both as far apart from each other as physically possible whilst also staying within the warmth of the fire. Matthias was silent. Y/N was silent. Neither said a word.

Matthias leant forward and poked the fire with the poker, nudging the logs around. They sparked and crackled as fresh wood was added, feeding the fire. Matthias glanced over at Y/N, barely visible under the furs. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"That does not matter," Matthias said, leaning back. "Because you're so cold it means you don't feel hunger. Your body needs to eat."

"I'm fine. I just want to sleep," Y/N muttered, tightening the furs around her, trying to block him out.

Matthias looked back at the pot that was simmering over the fire. "If you sleep, you'll likely not wake up again."

"Oh, good, that saves you from having to kill me," Y/N said, refusing to look at him.

"If I was going to kill you, I would have done it by now," Matthias replied, rolling his eyes as he spooned the soup into two bowls. "Now, eat," he said, holding the bowl out to her.

Y/N reluctantly reached out a hand from underneath the furs and took the bowl, putting it on the floor in front of her. "And if I don't want to eat?"

"Then you'll succumb to hypothermia and pass out," Matthias said, shrugging. "All Drüskelle learn that mistake in their first few months. Most recover. Some don't. Brum always says that a Drüskelle-"

"If I eat the damn soup, will you shut up?" Y/N snapped, turning to glare at him.

Matthias nodded. He watched Y/N intently as she picked up the bowl and took a small sip of the soup, letting it digest before taking another sip.

"It's good soup," she reluctantly admitted, dipping her spoon back in. "If you've poisoned it, I won't mind dying this way."

"For Saint's sake," Matthias muttered, swearing in Fjerdan under his breath. "I haven't poisoned it! I am eating it too."

Y/N raised her eyebrows but returned to her soup.

Silence fell in the whaling hut again.

"You can have the bed."

Y/N looked over at Matthias as she finished her soup. "Don't be ridiculous, there's room for two of us." Matthias was silent so Y/N looked at him again. "Oh, don't tell me little Matthias is scared of sleeping next to a woman."

"I am not..." He paused, forcing himself to calm down. "I am not scared."

"Good, then we will before sleep in the bed," Y/N said, standing up, setting her half-eaten soup aside.

Matthias reluctantly stood up too. He watched as Y/N clambered onto the bed, wrapping herself up in the furs and getting comfortable.

"Oh for Saint's sake, stop being such a prune and come here," she snapped. "You're the one going on about hypothermia and yet you're over there, freezing."

"I'm fine."

"Oh, look how the tables have turned," she muttered.

Matthias climbed into the other side of the bed and lay down on the very edge - as far away as possible from Y/N.

"Drüskelle," she said, turning her head to look at him. "Do you want to freeze to death? No? Then move closer."

He shuffled closer.

"Closer."

Mattthias shuffled even closer. Y/N could feel his cold skin against her back and shivered slightly.

"There, now neither of us will die in the night and we can go back to hating each other in the morning, happy?"

Matthias grunted, burying himself under the furs. Y/N turned onto her side and pulled the furs up over her shoulder, tucking them around her. She closed her eyes and wriggled down a bit, getting comfortable.

The wind kept on howling.

Matthias awoke suddenly as something jolted him. He sat up, expecting to see Y/N standing over him with a knife, about to cut out his heart. But the room was empty. It took him a moment to realise that someone was crying and that the someone was lying next to him.

He looked down at her and could see the tears falling down her face, the terror clearly written on her face as she relived something. Matthias wasn't sure why, but he felt his heart ache for the girl. He wasn't immune to nightmares - no one was.

Part of him wanted to leave her. A Grisha deserved to live through the terrors they had seen as punishment. But he couldn't believe that this girl - barely younger than him - could be so heartless and brutal. at such a young age, what could she have possibly experienced and seen that would have traumatised her in such a way.

Matthias reached out a hand and put it on her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Roëd," he said, for he didn't know her true name. Neither one had decided to share that information.

Y/N let out a panicked yelled and sat up, almost falling out of the bed. She pushed Matthias' hand away, flinging back all of the furs until she was just in the shirt and pants she'd found in the corner of the hut. Y/N pushed herself up from the bed and bolted from the room and out into the cold, cold night.

Matthias quickly got up and followed after her, not wanting her to get lost in the Fjerdan landscape or end up being attacked because, despite the death threats and the mutual hated, he did care for her. She'd saved him from the shipwreck and, somehow, they were still going.

Y/N fell to her knees in the snow - in the dark - and plunged her hands into the cold, wet snow, needing it to ground her and wake her up from her nightmare. Matthias stood in the doorway, watching warily in the background.

"Sorry," Y/N said quietly, her voice almost being lost in the wind. She sniffled and ducked her head, hiding her face. "I'm sorry."

Matthias approached cautiously. He hovered behind her for a moment before kneeling down behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't be sorry for something you can't control."

Y/N chuckled, a shiver wracking through her body. "You surprised that Grisha have nightmares too?" She asked, turning to look at him. "That we're human?"

Matthias was silent. Y/N scoffed quietly, knowing she was right.

Their silent argument ended abruptly when a wolf let out a loud howl, only a few feet away. Both Y/N and Matthias looked up, struggling to see the animal through the dark and blinding snow.

The wolf stalked forward, baring its teeth at Y/N. She didn't move.

"Don't attack it," Matthias said quietly, slowly rising to his feet.

"No offence, Drüskelle, but I'm not going to let a wolf attack me because it's a sacred animal to you," Y/N hissed.

"Just wait," Matthias insisted. "Let him move first. If he attacks first then we know."

"And if he just stands there?"

"Then we wait."

The wolf snarled, taking another step forward. It howled. And then turned around and walked off.

"Get up, slowly," Matthias said, holding a hand out to Y/N.

Y/N reached behind her and took his hand, letting him pull her into his side. Matthias wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to warm Y/N up, as they watched the wolf walk off into the night.

"I've never seen a wolf just leave before," Y/N said quietly, shivering under Matthias' arm.

"They're mainly peaceful if not provoked," Matthias replied.

"As are Grisha."

Matthias looked down at her, his eyes finding hers. He looked at her for a moment in silence. Y/N looked up at him. She met his gaze for only a few seconds before she swayed against him, her knees giving out and plunging her back into the snow.

Matthias fell to the snow with her, pulling her into his side and putting an arm under her legs, another around her back, and lifting her up out of the snow. He carried her back inside, sitting her in front of the fire.

He grabbed the furs off the bed and piled them onto her, wrapping them around her shivering form. Y/N didn't protest, her eyes closing involuntarily as she tried to stay focused on the fire.

"Now who's dying of hypothermia," she muttered, her teeth chattering as she gave Matthias a half-hearted smile.

Matthias sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her shoulder as he tried to warm her up.

"For a man who hunts Grisha for a living, you are very determined to keep me alive," Y/N said quietly.

Matthias sighed to himself. "It was Grisha who killed my entire family. They set the village on fire and let it burn. My mother, sister and father all died. Because of Grisha."

Y/N was silent. Eventually, she spoke, her eyes focused on the fire. "Not all Grisha are good, Druskelle. Not all Grisha are bad. Like people. The Grisha who murdered your family are the minority. We are not all like that. And we are certainly not witches. We create from elements that already exist in the world."

"Such as?"

Y/N pulled her arm out from under the furs. She looked up at Matthias. "Are we friends?"

Matthias nodded. "We are."

Y/N nodded. She held her hand palm up and then made a scooping motion, her eyes closed. She felt Matthias stiffen as fire appeared in her hand, orange flames dancing around her fingers.

"It's not magic. I simply summon all the combustible gases in the world, for there are thousands, and fire appears." Y/N waved her hand and the fire vanished. She pulled her hand back inside the furs. "That's all it is. Small Science, as we call it. No magic."

Matthias nodded. He didn't seem to be able to speak. He eventually decided on what he wanted to say. "What was your nightmare about? Only if you want to tell me."

Y/N shifted closer to Matthias. "I'm sure you've heard of General Kirigan - or the Darkling."

"I think it'd be impossible to find someone in all of Ravka, Fjerda and beyond who hasn't heard of it."

"It?"

"It was not a man, nor a human. It is simply it."

Y/N smiled to herself. It slowly faded as she returned to her mind. "I was a Grisha under his orders when Sankt Alina first appeared. I was fresh out of school - a young Grisha desperate to prove herself. And he used me like he used hundreds of others. I was trapped under his control until King Nikolai broke us out.

"But the Darkling had done enough by then. Being used by him - controlled by him is something I do not wish to repeat. Sometimes in the night, I think I see him. I know he is long dead and burnt but... I hear his voice in the wind, I see his shadows in the darkness and all I can think about is what he did to me."

Matthias was silent. He knew about the Darkling. Everyone did. But very few knew about what it did to the young Grisha under its command.

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, by the way," Y/N said quietly. "I feel like since I'm pouring my heart out to you, we should know each other's names."

Matthias smiled. "I'm Matthias Helvar."

Y/N nodded. She dropped her head onto Matthias' shoulder. "Nice to meet you, Matthias."

Matthias sat there, an arm around her shoulders, watching the flames dance away until morning came.

It took them five days to find civilisation. The snowstorm passed after three days and it took them two days of walking - and almost falling off a cliff - to reach safety.

The inn wasn't much - it was full of Fjerdan sailors on their way out or back from long trips out at sea. But it was warm and it was safe - for now.

"I don't know how I feel about stealing," Matthias said as Y/N unlocked the door to their room.

"I didn't steal, I borrowed," Y/N corrected, walking inside.

"Are you going to give it back?"

"Indirectly, yes."

Matthias laughed. Y/N stared at him.

"Saints, Matthias, I didn't know you could laugh!" She exclaimed.

Matthias chuckled as he took his coat off and sat down on the bed, stretching his legs out.

"It appears we have learnt a lot about each other this past week," he said softly, smiling at her.

Y/N approached him and sat down on his right, dropping her head to his shoulder. "You know, I have no idea what Roëd means."

"What?"

"The other night, when I was having a nightmare, you called me Roëd..."

Matthias' smile grew. "It means red in Fjerdan."

"Red? Why red?"

"Well, when we first met -"

"When you kidnapped me, you mean."

Matthias rolled his eyes. "You were wearing a red skirt, like the one you're wearing now. Since I didn't know your name... I thought Roëd was subtle."

Y/N nodded, a smile working its way onto her face. "I like it."

Matthias put his arm around Y/N's shoulders - an action he'd found himself doing numerous times over the past week. He ran his thumb up and down her arm, gently following an imaginary line.

"What will you do now?" Matthias asked quietly.

The question had been praying on his mind for days now. What happens next. He could easily go back to Brum, resume his training, tell his tale. Y/N could easily return to wherever she came from - carry on leaving her life. Nothing would change.

Except something had changed. The world had shifted. Just a bit, but enough to know that there was no going back to the before.

"Find a ship back to Ketterdam," Y/N said softly. Her left hand was entwined with his, her fingers playing with his. "Tell my boss what happened and hope he gives me my job back. What about you?"

"I don't know."

"Have I changed you that much, Druskelle?" Y/N asked, tilting her head up to look at him.

Matthias looked down at her. "Perhaps. What is... Ketterdam like?"

"First of all, excellent pronunciation," Y/N said, looking back down again. "Second of all, it's shit."

"Then why would you want to go back?"

"Because it was the only place to welcome me after I left Ravka. I fitted in seamlessly there. No questions were asked about me or my powers. I got a job and they treat me well. It works for me."

"I cannot imagine what it must be like to be... persecuted everywhere you go."

"Saints, I have changed you!" Y/N said, looking back at him. She smiled. "It's hard. Trusting people is harder. I haven't used my power in years as a result but... I prefer it that way, oddly. I was used and wanted for my power in Ravka. In Ketterdam I am just me. I'm just Y/N."

Matthias stared at the wall for a moment. "I'd like to go somewhere like that. Where it is simply just... you and I. Simply Y/N and Matthias."

"No prejudice."

"No hatred."

"Just us."

Matthias looked back at her and leaned down, capturing Y/N's lips in a kiss before she had a chance to move. He leant back and pressed his forehead to hers.

"I'll miss this," Matthias said quietly, knowing deep down, that it would inevitably end as all good things did. "Us."

Y/N closed her eyes, pressing her lips together. "You know, Matthias, I could be in love with someone like you."

"I know. As could I."

And that was the truth. She could love him and he could love her. Despite the ways they'd been raised. Despite what they'd lived through and experienced at the hands of their people, both of them, Grisha and Druskelle, could and did love each other.

It was the truth and the pain of it. Knowing that their love was never meant to be.

And that it was never destined to last.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #six of crows imagine #six of crows imagines #six of crows x reader #angst #oliveswc #matthias helvar #matthias helvar x reader #matthias helvar imagine #matthias helvar imagines

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years ago

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Hitoshi tests a more creative application of his quirk on you, his willing submissive.

characters: dom!pro hero!hitoshi shinsou/sub!f!reader

wc: 5.3k

warnings: smut (18+), aged-up characters, pro hero Shinsou (who is kind of a softie), hard BDSM and control dynamics, edging, consensual mind control, sex toys, praise kink, blowjob, unprotected sex, some loooong and tender aftercare/yearning

notes: the dynamic in this fic was partially inspired by We Wear Chains on the Weekend [ao3] and a conversation with @shadowworks about some fun applications of Hitoshi's quirk 👀 I hope you enjoy this horny little bit of fun! I enjoyed thinking about this dynamic with 'Toshi. He talks big, but we know deep down he's just as soft and squishy as us 💖

One more note: The dynamics and safety measures in this fic are the result of a little bit of research that I conducted. It is not meant to encompass EVERY BDSM experience, nor was my research exhaustive. This was just my little take on some kinky business with Hitoshi, so please let me know if there are any elements I've overlooked or misstepped!

(MASTERLIST)

Hitoshi will never forget the first night he spent in this house.

The little semi-detached in a quiet, trendy neighbourhood was one of the first things his pro salary earned him. Having the place to himself is still one of the biggest perks that salary ever provided.

Privacy, as he’s learned since, is paramount to the life he’s crafting for himself.

It’s Friday evening, and the early spring rain’s showing no sign of letting up when you ring his doorbell. The sound echoes through the house like the bells of Notre Dame- terrifyingly gothic, considering it was like that when he moved in, but not entirely out of character for him.

And his heart swells quietly every time he knows it’s you behind that door.

He pads easily down the polished steps, already showered and changed out of his work clothes. He likes to dress up for you a little, sporting a pair of dark slacks and a black button-down with the top four buttons undone. His hair, still damp from the shower, sits a little tamer and darker than usual.

No matter how good he looks, you manage to knock him on his ass with a single glance.

“Hey,” he greets with a quiet, familiar sort of warmth as he pulls open the right half of the double front doors. His smile slips a little at the sight of you, shaking the water out of your umbrella and soaked to the bone. You catch his gaze out your peripherals and start a little, shooting him a sheepish smile.

Something claws tight and possessive at the pit of his chest. You’re so cute, even water-logged like this.

“Getting worse out there, huh?” He quips, stepping aside to let you in.

“It’s not exactly prime umbrella weather,” you giggle, setting the dripping, half-broken monstrosity in the umbrella tray that he keeps by the door. “But I made it, didn’t I?”

He can’t help but reach for you, letting his fingers brush attentively at your clothes as he helps you out of your drenched coat. The dress you’re wearing looks devastatingly easy to remove, and his chest lurches a little with the urge to have you bare for him.

He resists. For now.

“Right on time,” he replies, taking your coat neatly by the collar and hanging it over the bannister. “Do you want to dry off a little before we go upstairs, or…?”

“No.” You answer suddenly enough to prompt his inquisitive gaze, and Hitoshi turns to look at you with a purple brow quirked perfectly.

“I’m just feeling a little antsy today,” you continue, and he watches the way your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip. “So, I’d like to get started right away, if that’s okay with you.”

You meet his eye again. Hitoshi’s starting to wonder if he’s the one who should be getting on his knees in front of you upstairs.

“That’s okay with me.”

He smiles thinly, making his best attempt at hiding the affection that’s bubbling shallow and steady in his chest. He reaches for you, uncurling his fingers to offer an eager palm.

You take it. The contact is breathtaking.

He climbs the stairs with your fingers grasped firmly in his. The suspense never fades.

Hitoshi keeps his bedroom a few degrees warmer than the rest of the house, and as he twists the knob and pushes the door inward, he can feel your palm relaxing in his. You’ve always liked it in here- warm and humid, from the house plants that line the windows and add lush splashes of colour to every corner.

It means more to him than you’ll ever know, that you find such comfort in a space so full of him.

He lets you slip in ahead, closing the door behind him and reaching for the colourful remote nearby. He dims the lights overhead, stroking his thumb thoughtfully over the rainbow buttons. He peeks at you through his peripherals, watching the way you glide your fingertips over the broad leaf of a money plant that blooms atop his dresser.

“What colour should we use today?” He pushes a button, and hidden strips of lighting illuminate in a deep shade of blue-green. The bed and walls are cast into a cool, oceanlike glow, reflecting blue off the room’s vegetation and creating a floating, almost aquatic sense of serenity.

“I like this one,” you confirm. “Keep it.”

“Whatever you like,” he promises, setting down the remote. “Today’s all about keeping you relaxed.”

He approaches you at last, cupping either side of your face in delicate palms. He tilts your gaze to his.

“You’re still up for it?” He asks, low and sincere as he searches your eyes. “What we had planned for today?”

“I am,” you confirm. He’s nervous that the rain may have upset things, but you’re clearly as ready as ever. “Been thinking about this all week.”

His shoulders drop a little, relief trickling into the fluttering cavity of his chest. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He bends, pressing a quiet little kiss to your forehead and smoothing his palms over the wet surface of your hair. He holds you there for a moment, staying close. He forces power into his shoulders and steps back from you, unbuttoning his cuffs. He breathes a deep sigh- focus, Hitoshi- and settles into the power dynamic you both can’t seem to stay away from.

He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, depositing it neatly over the back of the nearby armchair. He nods toward you, slow and discerning.

“Strip.”

That dress is precisely as easy to remove as he hoped it would be, and he gets to watch as you slide each strap slowly down your arm, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His jaw gives an interested little tick as he gorges himself on the sight of you.

You’ve developed a nasty little habit of leaving your bra at home for sessions like this, as if he wouldn’t notice the way your tits sat beneath that loose silk, your nipples tight and hard from the wet chill outside.

You are delectable. Hitoshi feels infatuation crawling up the column of his spine every time he has you like this. But he’s about to take you even deeper, and while you’re more than ready, he’s not sure his heart can take it.

You’re wiggling out of your underwears now, exposing that perfect little patch of hair between your legs. What makes his cock throb even worse, though, is the way that you already know how he likes you. And so, kicking your underwear away and smoothing your hands down your sides, you don’t wait long at all before dropping to your knees and settling your palms on your thighs.

You lower your chin and go still.

For a minute, he lets himself admire you. He’s aching to touch you, but today will be all about patience. For both of you.

But he can’t take you, sitting so still for him like this. He caves to the warming in his chest and steps forward, tucking two fingers beneath the point of your chin and pulling your eyes to his.

“You sure about this?” He asks you. You lick your lips again, slow and thoughtful and torturous, now that he’s already so captivated by you. You’re giving it the honest thought it deserves. But when you purse your lips and nod into his palm, your eyes are certain.

“I’m sure.”

He’s been working you up to this for weeks. Exploring the unique possibilities of a relationship with him has always been in your contract, but it’s not something Hitoshi ever planned on rushing into. Only now, after months of playtime and weeks of careful preparation, does he feel ready to practice this with you.

“We left you your signals,” he reminds you, tenderly stroking the backs of his fingers from your chin up to your cheek. You’re staring up at him with such trust and admiration it’s hard to imagine anyone ever thought him a monster, for possessing such power. “You can come out of it whenever you want to.”

“Hitoshi,” you prompt, and the fall of his first name from your lips is enough to quell all his rising nerves. Despite the way you’re looking at him, memories of those poison words he’s been hearing all his life are flooding him. They’ve always served as a grim reminder of the damage he’s capable of.

But you wanted this. You’re ready for it. And he’s taken every precaution to ensure that you’re going to be safe.

So much reassurance, wrapped up in the three tiny syllables of his name.

It’s his turn to nod. He takes your jaw into his hand and drops to one knee in front of you, stooping to press his lips to the shell of your ear. Your sweet scent washes over him as he leans close, enhanced by the fresh rain on your skin and the rapid swell of your chest as you breathe.

“So you’re ready to drop, then?” He keeps his voice as low as possible, delighting in the way that you shiver in response. Your breath hitches against his chest, puffing quietly across his cheek.

“Yes.”

The word barely edges from your lips before the influence of his quirk fills every hollow in your ready bones. It’s a presence like nothing you’ve ever felt before, like the rising tide filling your lungs and weighing down your limbs. You take a deep, shaky breath to remind yourself it’s still possible.

Hitoshi’s used his quirk on you before. Preparing for this level of control, he tells you, takes practice. The more time he has to inhabit your mind, the better control he’ll have over what you experience and what you miss. The first time he ever used it on you is still a blank slate. But he only kept you under for a couple of seconds, building slowly over the course of many sessions toward the layered control he has now.

The sensation is thrilling. And yet, simultaneously, you feel completely safe. He will not misuse this power that you’ve so blithely handed over.

The sounds around you are muffled as Hitoshi gets to his feet, but when he speaks, his voice echoes in your mind like a bell.

“Can you understand me?”

Your body feels heavy and warm and semi-solid, but you manage a slow, clear nod.

“Good girl. Give me your hands.”

When he gives you an instruction, your muscles move without your consultation. You stretch your hands out toward him eagerly, and he takes both of them between his. He gives your fingers a sharp little squeeze.

“Can you give me your signals now?”

You cycle through them like clockwork. This is the part you had to work hard to develop, working through the specific layers of his quirk that might have been able to prevent such advanced thought.

With practice, though, here you are.

The system is one you’ve always used in parts of your arrangement where your ability to speak freely has been repressed. Hitoshi’s always been good at checking in with you no matter what, but thankfully he doesn’t push your boundaries too often.

You squeeze his hands in a slow progression, leaving long, deliberate spaces between each signal so that their distinction is clear.

One squeeze: keep going, all is well.

Two squeezes: slow down, I’m getting frustrated/uncomfortable

Three: STOP NOW

When you finish your stop signal and let your hands go still, Hitoshi’s fingers go slack in yours.

“Good girl, good,” he coos. “God, you’re so pretty like this. Look at you.”

He drops your hands, carefully letting them fall back to their neutral position on your thighs. There’s a pleasant tingle filling your dulled senses. In this state of mind, you can feel his gaze on you like a careful touch.

“I can do whatever I want with you,” he grunts. “Fuck, I can feel how much you want this.”

He’s moved away from you for a couple of seconds, but when he comes back he’s bare. Your vision is blurred about the edges, but you feel a wet little push he presses the tip of his cock, already hard and weeping, to the swell of your cheek.

“Don’t be difficult,” he purrs in your mind. “Open up.”

Your mouth drops eagerly open as you let your eyes fall shut. As he eases his hips forward, you let the flat pad of your tongue slip forward to cradle the tender head of his cock. Hitoshi groans low and soft, but the sound echoes through every nerve in your body, reverberating from within.

“That’s it,” he prompts softly. “So pliant for me, beautiful. Take it.”

He rocks slowly into your throat, letting sloppy drool slough from your tongue and coat his thick shaft as his fingers spread across the back of your head. He grips you tightly, keeping your neck in place as his tense thighs work to keep himself steady.

He eases himself onto your tongue and stops there for a moment. His pulse thrums in your ears, syncopating steadily with yours. He lets his head lull back as he lets out a deep, shaky sigh.

“Suck,” he commands, and you comply.

You bob your head eagerly back and forth, settling into a numbingly precise rhythm. Sucking Hitoshi’s cock has never been a chore for you, but in this state you’re conditioned to like it.

He grips you tighter as his hips begin to stutter a little. Every sound that leaves his mouth passes into your mind well before it reaches your muffled ears. You’re beginning to realize, in the deep, sunken place where your consciousness still rests, that allowing him into your mind has connected you more intimately than ever before.

You can feel his pleasure in the same way that he can sense your desire.

“So good,” he gasps, and the sound rappels down your spine. “Fuck, you’ve always been so good at this. I know how much you love it.”

He’s losing his cool now, thrusting against the barrier of your throat with more reckless abandon. But you’re numb to the feelings that might have stopped you before, swallowing him eagerly down to double his pleasure.

It shows. His fingers twitch against the back of your head as he grits his teeth and grunts, a breathy, feral sound with every rock of his heavy balls against your chin. Your eyes have slipped open again, but you don’t see him. Not really. All you can sense is his ecstasy, building to a rapid peak as he humps and pants and shivers into your needy mouth.

“God,” he rasps, “not gonna… t-that’s it… f-fuck!”

He rips away from you in one fluid stroke, that ecstasy boiling right to the surface before it’s halted in its tracks. He’s got one hand wrapped tightly around the base of his flushed cock and his pleasure’s dwindling.

He’s saving himself, to fill you properly later. While controlling your pleasure has always been a part of your games, Hitoshi’s taken to controlling his own as well. Lately, he doesn’t even let himself cum until you’ve seen your climax.

You’ve been trying not to let yourself read into it.

“Good girl,” he pants inside your head. “Come here.”

You’re a little shaky as you climb to your feet, but the numbness that you might normally get in your toes by now persists through your entire body. You close the distance to him in a handful of deliberate, steady steps, and he settles a hand on your hip to stop you when you’ve come close enough.

“Look at you,” he growls. “You’re still under, aren’t you? Incredible.” He takes one of your hands between both of his, dropping a kiss to your knuckles before giving your fingers a meaningful squeeze.

“Check in for me, sweetheart.”

In the receded depths of your on consciousness, you’re nothing but eager to continue. Hitoshi’s weighty cock in your throat sent spirals of aggressive arousal through your entire body. Your pussy is swollen and tingling, smearing the insides of your thighs with thick desire.

You give his palm one long, deliberate squeeze.

You need more.

“That’s what I like to see,” he purrs. He leads you to the bed and takes the liberty of lifting you into his arms. Your body collapses eagerly into his hold, and you let him deposit you gently onto the neatly made sheets. You stretch into the pillows, but your blank stare is always fixed on him.

“Okay, pretty girl,” he croons, and you’re still and stiff before he even finishes his thought. “Lie still for me, okay?”

He lifts one knee onto the bed and casts a gentle hand down the column of your belly, taking a gentle tilt to the left and sliding his fingertips along the column of your thigh.

“I’ve got your favourite toy here,” he croons, but you can’t respond. Instead, the buzz of nerves builds in the back of your skull, where your meager ability to feel has been preserved. Hitoshi wraps his graceful fingers around the toy in question- a sizeable wand vibrator in a deceptively pleasant shade of pale lilac silicone- and waves it in front of your eyes.

“Let’s see how much you can take, hmm?”

He leans closer, pressing a kiss to the point of your collarbone before tilting his chin forward to find the shell of your ear.

“Don’t cum,” he croons, sending a fresh thrill of terrified arousal into your veins, “until I say you can, alright?”

He slips the vibe between your legs and you feel it rumble to life. He knows your favourite settings easily by now, setting the toy to buzz low and hard between your legs in a series of long, rhythmic pulses.

Your body starts to pitch and tremble, but it cannot disobey his strict instructions to stay still. Your pleasure spikes the instant the vibrator’s soft, flexible head makes contact with your swollen clit. You want to press your legs together, whine with overstimulation and bat away the offending toy. But the influence of Hitoshi’s power is stronger than any physical restraint. Even as your muscles strain, you are powerless to move.

He holds you there, amusement lighting his features. You can feel the satisfaction thrumming in the back of his mind, building slowly. You know he can feel the unbearable sensations racing through your entire body. But he refuses to let up, even as desperate tears break from the corners of your eyes.

This vibrator has always been your favourite of his, thanks to its unshakeable ability to bring you to orgasm within the space of a minute. There’s something about the depth of the vibrations (and Hitoshi’s expert handling) that never seems to fail.

Tonight, that fact isn’t working in your favour.

Your pleasure reaches its peak devastatingly quickly. But every part of your body is under Hitoshi’s complete control. And he’s given you strict instructions not to reach that climax.

Your nerves are struck dumb as the pleasure bleeds into a desperate ache. You can feel the edge of your climax, dangling just out of reach. And the longer he keeps you on the edge, the more torturous the sensation.

The tears are coming faster now, streaming down your temples and soaking into your hair as you whimper and pitch, trying to shrug his control and force the vibrator away from your overstimulated pussy. He lets you thrash and struggle for a dozen heartbeats, picking up on your discomfort and pulling the vibrator away from your body as you gasp for shaky breath.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” He coos, switching the vibrator off and laying a hand on the flat of your stomach. Your body’s gone slack, but the muscles in your lower belly are still twitching and fluttering, trying to make sense of your waning pleasure.

“I can feel you fighting me,” he continues, voice dropping into his chest. He rubs soothing circles into your tender skin, letting you catch your breath. “You know you don’t have to struggle, sweetness.” He leans in, dipping his forehead against yours and giving your mouth a soft little taste.

“Are you ready for my cock now?”

Yes, your mind screams, and he starts, pulling back to look at you in mild surprise.

He actually heard that. After the surprise fades from his expression, he lets the barest hint of a smile touch his mouth.

“Good.”

When he touches your thighs they fall limp into his palms. Any commands he’s given your paralyzed nerves are overridden by the force of his touch. So, as he kneels between your thighs and pushes them apart, you relent easily.

Your senses are still a hazy blur, but you feel it like a bolt of lightning when he swipes the tip of his cock over your sloppy folds. You give a sharp little yip and Hitoshi chuckles, with the breathy edge of pleasure slipping into his voice. He rocks his hips forward, grinding against your needy hole and grunting through his chest.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Can’t hold on any longer.” He edges forward, prodding his thick tip against your entrance. As soon as he’s lined up he slides home in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the base with a shaky groan.

The pleasure is enough to prompt a quiet whimper from your absent mind as your body eagerly takes his stretch. Hitoshi’s cock has always seemed perfect for you in size and form. And he’s proven many times over that he knows exactly how to use it.

He fucks you with devastating precision, slipping one hand under your thigh to brace you against the mattress while he anchors himself by the knees and ruts against your body. He lets his hips slap ruthlessly over your skin, his weighty, spit-soaked balls swinging heavy against the curve of your ass with every thrust.

You’ve been well prepared for this moment, messy-wet and smearing his shaft with your slick. Every time he drives his cock into you, his groans are punctuated by the soft little whimpers that break from his control to escape your clenched jaw.

The pleasure is already unbearable for you. That peak you weren’t allowed to reach before is approaching quickly, and all you can hope is that Hitoshi will have the sense to let you release before he’s tumbling over the edge himself.

You have no choice at this point but to trust him completely.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he gasps above you. Your pleasure is doubled by his sensations racing through your neurons, and you can tell before he speaks that he’s not going to last long at all.

“Don’t know how long I can hold out,” he warns anyway, and his hips are already beginning to stutter inside you. You could have easily cum two times over by now, but your body is held back once again, forced to linger on the edge of bliss until he decides to let you fall.

He shoves his hips against yours one, two, three more rough times before stilling abruptly inside you. His body’s stiff, straining against the threshold of his pleasure. But he catches his breath, and his next words ring clear as day among a sea of troubled sensations.

“Are you ready to cum for me?”

You let out a low, desperate whine, focusing every ounce of concentration you have left into amplifying those desperate emotions.

Please, your mind screams. I’ll do anything, please.

Hitoshi nods slowly, your body going slack when you’re sure you’ve been heard. He slips both hands under your thighs, stroking his thumbs lovingly along your flesh. He bends over your torso, dropping a kiss to your mouth and steeling himself as his lips trail to your ear one last time.

“Cum,” he orders, and you do.

All the pent-up tension and pleasure spirals from your body in the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever felt. What would normally send dull flutters into the pit of your stomach has deep, earth-shattering tremors wracking your entire body. You thrash into the pillows, crying out your pleasure in eager, greedy gulps, and your pussy seizes around his cock as tight as a fist.

Hitoshi curses against your skin, rutting his hips into your convulsing depths and matching your peak with a climax of his own. His balls draw up against your ass as he pumps hot spurts of cum into your needing cunt, fucking the fluid back into your body as your thighs clamp over his hips and the last tremors of your orgasm recede into dull trembles.

“That’s my girl,” he gasps. In the pleasure that overtook him, he’s de-activated his quirk. He lets you surface as he stays inside you for a couple long breaths, tasting the crook of your neck and rubbing sensation back into your limbs.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he croons. “Come here. Give me your hand. Show me,” he prompts, and you’re far from surfaced but you know what he wants when he slots his fingers between yours.

You give him another long, deliberate squeeze. You can’t form words yet, but you’re okay.

“That’s okay,” Hitoshi prompts. He pulls slowly back from you, sliding out of your body and easing onto the pillows beside you. He keeps his movements slow and gentle, handling you with extra care while you’re still feeling delicate.

“You were so good,” he growls, reaching for you. “So good for me. My perfect girl.”

His touch is the first sensation that clears the fog in your mind. He pulls you tightly against his bare chest, and the sweet touch of his skin to yours is like a soothing tonic for your frayed senses. Skin-to-skin contact has always been a big part of aftercare for you, but tonight it hits so hard that it sends relieved tears to your eyes.

Hitoshi’s patient as a lamb with you, stroking slow circles into your shoulders, belly and hips as you cycle through the complex progression of emotions that stand between you and the surface of your consciousness. He keeps his lips nuzzled tight to the shell of your ear, speaking low and soft and constant, grounding you in him.

After a long few minutes, you blink a little faster and stir a little heavier in his arms. You’ve fought your way to the surface, like breaking out of a deep sleep, and the weight of all he’s put you through settles into your chest. Hard.

You shiver. “Cold.”

“Okay,” he promises, shifting both of you a little more upright. “I’ve got clothes for you right here. Let me just-” He lets go of you to reach for the drawers of his nightstand, and anxiety rushes hard and fast to the back of your throat.

You whine. Loudly. You reach for him without thinking about it, and he comes back to you in the span of a heartbeat.

“Okay, okay,” he soothes. “I won’t let go.”

You’re always clingy after a scene. But today you can’t bear to be parted from him. While he’s the one that sent you spiralling, he’s also the one who brought you down to earth again.

With you looped carefully in one arm, he scoots the pair of you toward his side of the bed until he can reach the nightstand with one hand still carefully draped over your middle. He dumps a pile of soft cotton fleece onto the sheets in front of you, then presses himself up tightly behind you to reach forward with both hands and unfold the garments.

“There,” he hums, showing you the sleeves of one, the cuffs of another. “Warm clothes. Can I help you put them on?”

You give a pouty little nod, so he slips you into the pants one leg at a time and pushes your arms gently into the hoodie, staying as close as possible and letting you keep the black hood pulled over your head. He finds his discarded undershorts and slips into those, too, prompting another defeated whimper from you when he has to pull away to find some clothes of his own.

Once he’s dressed (and you’ve cuddled him long enough to quell some of the pouting) he pushes the edge of your hood back and presses a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Do you want to visit the fish?” he asks. Your mood spikes and you cling tighter, but nod nevertheless.

The most prominent feature of Hitoshi’s lavish house is mounted into the wall in the upstairs hallway. During the day it’s surprisingly easy to miss, but now that the light has waned and the house is dark, it glows an ethereal blue that casts a liquid pool of light across the dark hardwood and ornate rug.

Lining the entire wall stands a massive tropical fish tank, maintained professionally and kept in impeccable order. It’s filled by a multitude of different species of tropical fish, darting in and out of live coral in warm splashes of vibrant colour. The pump in one corner sends a steady stream of bubbles toward the surface, and in the quiet, the bubbles make soft little gurgles as they break the surface.

Hitoshi brings you into the hallway cradled tightly in his arms. The moment your face is bathed in that pretty blue light, the last dredges of anxiety bleed from your chest. There’s something immensely calming about the gentle, rhythmic way the fish move. Some of the more curious ones even see you peering in at them, emerging from their little hideaways to swim up to the glass and investigate.

“Hi,” you croon softly, touching one fingertip gently to the glass where a bright yellow tang noses eagerly at its smooth surface from the other side. Hitoshi chuckles deeply into your neck, always charmed by how soft and quiet and vulnerable you get after a particularly tough scene.

This part, the tender healing that comes afterward, is half the appeal for both of you. But with every passing session you can feel yourself growing more deeply attached to him. You’re falling for him, despite everything you put into words- on paper for him- that said you wouldn’t.

Love was not what either of you wanted to get out of this arrangement. But when he handles your trust so delicately where so many others have failed, it’s hard not to fall.

It’s hard not to wish, watching over such a tiny, peaceful little underwater world, that you could belong in there, too. Maybe, if you’d been born a little blue surgeonfish, you wouldn’t have to deal with such complex feelings.

But then you wouldn’t have all the pain and all the joy of falling for someone like Hitoshi Shinsou.

After you’re satisfied with the state of the fish tank, Hitoshi brings you downstairs to the kitchen. He’s not letting you go home tonight, but you were prepared for that possibility. You have pills and a toothbrush in your purse, and he’s had extra clothes lying around for you from the moment you signed that contract.

He bundles you into the couch. Puts on your favourite sitcom without needing to ask. He brews your favourite kind of tea- liquid heat that warms you to the very core- and stretches out next to you for the rest of the evening.

You wake hours later, sleeping next to him in the wee hours of the morning. He is stretched out on his side next to you, spooning you lovingly with one heavy arm draped over your side. He’s always reaching for you, ready to catch.

In moments like this, it’s easy to believe he might love you. And in the deepest hours of doubt and vulnerability, you let that feeling lull you back to sleep, just as he might if he could soothe your restlessness.

#bnha x reader #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #bnha shinsou hitoshi #shinsou #bnha #tw dom/sub #tw mind control #my hero academia #gnomewrites

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fuck-customers · 3 years ago

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I think I met the most stubborn customer alive today. I'm the movie theater employee that posts a lot, the one where my work has a Unlimited Movie Membership where you have to show the ticket person (me) your picture of your face on your digital card to use your free ticket.

Anyway, this old man comes in with an Unlimited ticket but isn't able to open his app. Turns out it was the person in box's first day working box so she accidently let him have his ticket from his old plastic card (which they're not allowed to use for the Unlimited. It's gotta be the digital one in the app. Yeah it's a pain in the ass, no I don't make the rules.)

Long story short, he stood next to me for almost two hours, grumbling at me and fiddling with his phone, trying to log into his app but not knowing how his phone works and also not letting me help him get the app to work either. It was less than a two hour movie.

This is extra annoying for me because I'm disabled and can't stand for long periods of time, but I am also not allowed to sit while I'm supposed to be helping a customer. I think I made it for almost an hour and a half before I was literally about to collapse any second and not be able to get back up, which is longer than I expected, but I did almost fall on my face at least half a dozen times and had to catch myself on something so I didn't hit the ground. But that was the point when I said fuck the rules and sat down anyway.

He wasn't even making any progress. I could see his phone and he was basically just resetting the password over and over and then opening the webpage (not the app), rinse and repeat. I dunno if he was just stalling in hopes I'd give up and just let him in without it, but you'd think of that's the case, he'd give up before the movie was basically over. I tried to give him directions on how to get it to work on his phone and he'd just say "that's what I've been doing" and then keep on angrily muttering about how he's been a customer for years, blah blah blah. It got to the point where I was just like "are you sure you don't want to just give up sir? It's clearly not working, and it's so late into your movie that it's not really worth watching at this point, yeah?" But he still didn't want to give up or let me actually help him.

My managers didn't want to do anything/deal with him because I guess he does this like, every time, so they just told me there's nothing they can do except wait for him to figure it out, stop asking. From what they said afterwards, there's something wrong with his app and he needs to email the help desk but apparently refuses to do so (despite the fact that he clearly knows how to use his email on his phone, since I saw him access it multiple times when resetting his password), so we just have to deal with this every time. Like bro, it'll be a hell of a lot easier for you and for us if you just do it? It's less effort than resetting your password at least a hundred times. Though for all I know, he got locked out of the app for spamming the password reset function.

#submissions #fuck customers #fuck managers

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chilligyu · 3 years ago

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info: lee jihoon/gender neutral reader, pg, best friends to lovers au genre: fluff, romance | word ct: 5.5k warnings: none summary: when it came to love, no one was prepared. not even jihoon, who could spend hours turning words into magic, especially when love was mysteriously delivered in the form of a letter to his locker. note: heavily inspired by to all the boys I've loved before, but with a twist! no love triangles or anything like that, so just enjoy awkward people falling in love! and thank you to @dreamystuffers and @starlightjoong for taking a sneak peek and telling me what you think!

tagging: @xfirebenderx, @moriiyun, @ohmygoshcheese, @gyu-log

Lee Jihoon, a genius in many ways, was never good when it came to words. At least, not the spoken kind. The kind that you had to think up on the spot, responses, answers, comebacks, small talk, he was absolutely terrible at it. But if you gave him the time to think, to really dwell on his thoughts, he could create something truly beautiful. Which was why he preferred to express his feelings with letters. And while, yes, he could pen something magnificent, the next great classic novel perhaps, he typically kept his messages short and to the point. Much like the man himself.

There was one time that he wrote a “letter” that was simply—

F U C K Y O U

—printed out on seven separate sheets of paper and taped to a row of lockers. All in response to a teacher confiscating his iPod. No one could prove it was him, though, and nothing happened in response to it. He never admitted to his crimes, and despite it being painfully obvious who the author of the message was, there was no hard proof pointing to the culprit. It became the most well-known secret at their high school. And Lee Jihoon became somewhat of a living legend because of it.

The only one who knew the truth was you. His best friend. You were his go-to when it came to proof reading all of his letters. He was the writer, you were the editor. Half the time you were also a berating parent, chastising him for trying to assault people with words. Which was also why, more often than not, his letters never got sent. He would sit in his room for hours, writing letters that were either half the length of novels or only a few sentences long, and after giving it over to be edited, it would get tucked away in his desk drawer. Never to be seen or heard from again.

See, Jihoon was an emotional person. Not in the sense that most people would assume, he didn’t get offended easily, one mean comment wouldn’t leave him crying, he was simply—emotional. Whatever he was feeling, whether it be good or bad, it was powerful, sometimes overwhelming. So instead of erupting like a hormonal volcano, which he had already done plenty of, he put his emotions to paper. At the behest of his aforementioned best friend.

“You can’t go around yelling at people.” You began one afternoon just after entering high school. “Even if you’re writing it down, you’re still yelling at people.”

Jihoon, the definition of “hard to read”, was visibly pouting. “You’re the one who told me to write down how I feel. Now I can’t even send these to anyone?”

“I mean, you can.” You backpedalled. “I’m not your mother, despite Seokmin’s insistence. I can’t stop you from doing anything you’ve set your heart to. All I can do is advise you not to because you’re going to have a terrible few years here if everyone hates you.”

He clearly wasn’t thrilled by your logical response, but he admitted defeat anyway. “Fine. Don’t send the letters that I write. I get it. No one wants to read them.”

You groaned loudly. “You are so dramatic. I’m saying don’t send the literal hate mail to people. Don’t send the stuff you write to vent out your feelings. But if there’s something you want to say to someone, something that you can’t bring yourself to say out loud, by all means! Send the thing! I know you loathe the idea of talking to people, you also hate being misunderstood more.”

He also hated how well you knew him, not that he would ever say that out loud.

That was also something he wrote down in a letter, one he decided to send.

You crumpled it up immediately and threw it back at his face.

“Letters are powerful things, Jihoon.” You added. “They can break hearts, mend souls, and change lives with nothing more than words. Because words mean so many different things to so many different people. You just gotta say the right ones.”

At first, he was only humoring you. Honestly, he thought you completely senile until he gave it a shot. After spending hours hunched over his desk writing things no one else would see, he was starting to realize that maybe you had a point. Instead of roaming the halls shouting obscenities in his head, he was able to reassure himself by knowing he could write about it later. Even the smallest grievance, he would write it down. He would sometimes scribble it down on the margin of a textbook if he was feeling particularly overwhelmed in the middle of the day.

The letters became his therapy, his outlet, eventually he could stroll past some annoying upperclassmen and not feel rage coursing through his veins. It was—nice, almost. Not being subjected to his own hectic imagination at every turn. Feeling at peace for the first time in what felt like ages.

Until he found a letter in his locker, one addressed to him during his senior year. From a secret admirer. The contents of which would be seared into his memory for the remainder of time.

Lee Jihoon, it began.

I have never been able to tell you how I feel, in person or in a letter. For several months now, I’ve tried. I’ve tried to write letters like you for so long, and I just can’t get the words right. I don’t know how you do it. So I’m going to do something different. I’m going to stop being scared. If you meet me in the courtyard after school, I’m going to be brave for the first time in my life. Please help me be brave, Jihoon.

Again and again, he read that short letter. Practically baffled that someone out there wrote an honest-to-god letter that was addressed to an honest-to-god person. And that he wasn’t the writer, that he was the recipient. The thought alone made his heart race, and to comprehend that this secret admirer perhaps harbored feelings towards him? It was next to impossible. But no one writes a letter without true emotion behind it. That’s a fact he was coming to understand.

“I need you to come with me.” He told you after showing you the letter. “I’m—I’m not sure I can do this alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jihoon, obviously this person doesn’t want to make a public event out of their confession. You should really do this without me.”

“I know, and I’m not asking you to stand at my side or anything.” He reiterated. “Can you like—stand in a bush or something? If I know that you’re there I won’t feel the need to—"

“Did you just ask me to stand in a bush?” You guffawed. “You did not just ask me to stand in a bush Lee Jihoon because if you did then you’re about to get your ass kicked into next year!”

“I didn’t mean literally!” He quickly denied when he did, in fact, mean it literally. “Just—stand around the corner, okay? Be my moral support!”

Pursing your lips, you knew that there was no getting out of this. “Alright, fine. I’ll come with you. But I’m not happy about it.”

“I’ll pay you back, I promise.” He swore. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best?”

A smirk teased at your lips. “You could mention it more.”

“Consider it done.” Jihoon grinned, gathering up his things and heading for the door. “Don’t forget! After school! Courtyard! Don’t be late!”

Once he was gone and you were completely alone, your face fell in disappointment. “I wouldn’t dream of it…”

By the time that school was finally over for the day, Jihoon was a bundle of overactive nerves. He was excited and terrified and anxious and nauseous all at once. The bombarding sensations kept him cemented in place, gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles were about to burst through. He had been like that for the entirety of their last class, still as a statue as a cold sweat broke out across his brow. You were standing in front of him, head tilted and wondering what he was planning to do next.

“Class is over.” You reminded him. “Everyone’s left.”

Very slowly, he nodded. “Y-yeah. I can see that.”

His voice sounded as if it had been completely stripped down. Like he had screamed himself hoarse by saying those few words.

“Your secret admirer is probably waiting.” You tried to spur him. “We should get going before I change my mind and head home.”

He audibly swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Well—maybe that’s best. Yeah, I can wait until tomorrow.”

You eyed him incredulously. “You’re going to stay here until tomorrow. You’re insane, get up.”

“I’d rather not.”

“And I’d rather not grow old and die here.” You countered. “C’mon, Jihoon. Your admirer asked you to help them be brave, how exactly is this helping them?”

He had to admit, you had a point. If they were brave enough to put their feelings out there, he had to at least meet them half way.

Sighing loudly, he started to pry his fingers off his desk. “Alright, fine. We’ll do things your way.”

You rolled your eyes for perhaps the hundredth time. “You’re absolutely insufferable. Why do I hang out with you?”

“Because I’m funny.” He said with the most serious face in the world.

Which actually made you laugh.

“I hate you.” You chuckled. “C’mon, let’s get going while we’re still young.”

Jihoon inhaled and exhaled deeply to calm himself down.

This is just the beginning.

Except—it wasn’t.

He stood in the courtyard, seemingly alone, with the note that brought him there clutched tight in his hand. As his moral support you were keeping your distance, as promised, but no one else joined you. Minutes passed and he did his best to remain hopeful. It was hard, especially when a familiar voice nagged at the back of his mind. The same one he struggled with every day to ignore.

No one would ever like you, so why did you bother thinking otherwise?

While the negative thoughts slowly took over, Jihoon didn’t know what to do next. He was defeated, almost destroyed. And even though you walked up behind him and took his hand in yours, it did little to stop the bitter tears from welling in his eyes.

“I should’ve known…” He whispered angrily. “This was all just—a joke. It’s always a joke. Who could ever like me?”

“Stop it, Jihoon.” You hissed at him, squeezing his hand tighter. “They said they were scared, maybe they couldn’t follow through with it. Maybe they were afraid of being rejected. You never know what’s going through someone’s head. Don’t beat yourself up, okay?”

Nothing you said was going to make him feel better. He quickly wrenched himself from your grip and backed away from you.

“I’m going home.” He clipped. “Bye.”

Before he left, he made sure to crumple up the note and toss it at your feet. When his heart was broken, he wore it on his sleeve. You understood what Jihoon was feeling, he had been living with an extremely low self esteem due to his height and his general inability to make friends for as long as you knew him. He was quiet, shy, reserved, he was slow to open up to others and hesitant to trust. That’s why you tried to be excited for him, and now that things hadn’t gone as planned in more ways than one your heart ached just like his.

The next day, Jihoon strolled into class like a drunk zombie. By the looks of him, he hadn’t slept a wink. Too busy being destroyed by his own thoughts to bother with anything like sustenance or sleep. He took up his seat beside you, and you immediately shoved your desk into his.

“Still upset?” You asked, even though you already knew the answer.

Sluggishly he lifted his head up and then quickly dropped it back down.

It was worse than you thought.

“Are you going to talk to me today?” You teased in an attempt to get a reaction. “Or am I going to have to go bother Hansol?”

Grumbling slightly, the barely responsive mass that was your best friend raised his hand and dropped a crumpled wad of paper on your desk. At first, you assumed it was just another one of his letters. They weren’t uncommon when he was feeling—unwell.

But it was another note from his secret admirer.

You were startled because he didn’t usually stop at his locker in the morning.

Lee Jihoon, it started similarly.

I’m sorry for not showing up yesterday, I was scared. I couldn’t bring myself to face you, please don’t be mad at me. I’d like to keep writing you letters, if that’s okay. Let’s get to know each other and maybe one day I can be brave again.

Once you were finished reading, you immediately began analyzing Jihoon’s face again. You had never seen him look like this before, completely vacant. While he was hard to read to the entire world, he was always an open book to you. Now reading him was nearly impossible even with your expertise.

“What are you gonna do?”

He shrugged lazily. “I don’t know. Sit here for the rest of eternity. Wait for the soft embrace of death.”

“Jihoon.” You exasperated. “We both know you’re not actually going to do that.”

Except he actually might and you actually couldn’t take that chance.

“Are you going to write them a letter?” You tried, again. “Maybe that will work out better.”

“I already did.” He murmured. “I don’t think they want to read it though.”

“Jesus Christ…” You groaned loudly, taking Jihoon’s face in your hands and looking him dead in his lifeless eyes. “They still like you, they’re scared and human like the rest of us, it is not the end of the world! Give them another chance and stop being such a goddamn drama queen!”

Silence. Pure unadulterated and perfectly aggravating silence.

“Alright, you leave me no choice. I’m bringing out the big guns.”

Being careful to keep an eye on the teacher, you pulled out your phone and started texting Jihoon’s mother. According to your message, you and Jihoon were going to be studying late at the library, and he would probably need to spend the night at your house. Which wasn’t a complete lie, maybe you would get some studying done. But, in all honesty, you had other things in mind.

“Take your pick.” You instructed, a box set in each hand. “Descendants of the Sun, or Record of Youth.”

Immediately after school, you dragged your best friend to your house and sat him down in front of the TV. Your parents didn’t even question it when you told them this intervention was a matter of life and death, that the patient might need to be admitted for the night. They simply let you do what needed to be done.

Jihoon, who had been relatively catatonic for the past 24 hours, finally showed a glimmer of something. He gave the slightest suggestion of a nod towards Descendants of the Sun and you happily popped in the first disk. As you claimed a spot beside him, popcorn and banana milk in tow, he naturally relaxed against you. You were the only person who got to see him unguarded like that, the only person he himself would allow. And while he was typically someone who kept his true self hidden from the world, there was a part of him that would forever belong only to you.

“Thanks.” He practically whispered, resting his head on your shoulder. “I—I needed this.”

“I know.” You smiled. “Are you ready to talk yet?”

He sighed heavily. “No. Not really. I still have a lot of thinking to do.”

“Well, if you need help thinking you know where I’ll be.” You offered without wanting to seem pushy.

If you weren’t mistaken, you could’ve sworn he actually chuckled.

“Yeah. I do.”

Little by little, your best friend was slowly returning to normal—or as close to normal as you’ve ever seen him. Eventually he started getting sucked into the drama, going rigid when things got tense, and actively pretended he wasn’t crying whenever You Are My Everything played. It was, overall, a job well done. You could sleep easy knowing that Jihoon would be just fine. As you drifted off, you felt him hold your hand and squeeze it gently.

Everything was going to be okay.

And if only to prove that point, the next day was nothing like the one before. Jihoon was back to his old self as if nothing had happened at all. Just another Thursday without a word or whisper about the chaotic tornado his secret admirer had unleashed onto your day-to-day life. He even had a letter for you to read by the time lunch rolled around. Apparently, some freshman irritated him over something seemingly small. At least—to you it seemed barely worth mentioning. But nothing ever really felt small to Jihoon. It was all or nothing, always living in black and white. Which meant that almost everything was important to him in some way. So you read the letter, and you edited it gladly.

Once you were done, he had something else for you. Another note from the admirer.

“This is the third one, right?” You murmured, glancing it over once before looking up at him. “Have you written back yet? Besides the one where I assumed you insulted their very existence with your entire arsenal of hurtful words.”

The blush crawling up his neck was an answer in and of itself, but the thick stack of paper he pulled out of his backpack solidified it.

“I’ve tried a few times.” He admitted hesitantly. “Nothing I write is good enough.”

“Oh, only a few times?” You teased, knowing full well that Jihoon’s definition of a few was the same as calling Jane Eyre a short shopping list. “What’s got you so stuck? Usually you have no issues penning essays over trivial things like cracks in the sidewalk.”

His brow furrowed defiantly. “Hey, proper sidewalk and road maintenance is important to modern infrastructure. If we start overlooking cracks in the pavement, then what? What about traffic lights? Can we afford to allow a single bulb to go out? No, of course not. That’s anarchy.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Jihoon…” You started with an exasperated look. “I was joking.”

Trying to hide the fact that his blush was turning a deep crimson, and failing quite miserably, he pulled a paper from the stack and put it back in his bag. Also something he tried, and failed, to hide from you.

“Are you kidding me!” You laughed, raking a hand down your face. “Did you seriously have a letter in that pile you were going to send to our congressman?”

“No—yes—ugh!” He groaned. “Can we forget about the stupid sidewalk for a second! That’s not important right now! Help me! How do I do this?”

Deciding you had teased your best friend enough, you placed your chin in your hand and smiled at him. “How do you do what, exactly? I’ve never had anything to do with the letters you write, I just read them so someone knows how you’re feeling.”

Who were you kidding, you could never tease Jihoon enough.

He rolled his eyes so hard that he rolled his whole head with them. “Like you’ve ever needed further insight into my head, you always know what I’m thinking before I do.”

True.

“But I don’t understand the first thing about—this.” He finished with a labored sigh, gesturing sharply to the handwritten novel in front of him. “You know that better than anyone.”

Again, he was telling the truth. In the years you had known Jihoon he had never developed serious feelings towards someone else. He had barely entertained the notion since entering high school. He always talked himself out of it because feelings were complicated and bothersome. Plus, he was terrified of being rejected. Like most people are. His intrusive thoughts just so happened to be louder than most.

“I hate to break it to you, Jihoon,” You started in a whisper, “no one knows the first thing about this. Not even me. The only person who can help you is yourself.”

His sour expression made it obvious that he obviously didn’t like your response. “Great. Super helpful. Thank you for your continued wisdom.”

When he moved away from you, you grabbed him by the sweater and pulled him back in. “Why do you always stop listening to me when I’m about to make my point?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Because it takes you forever to fucking get there.”

“Alright, you got me there.” You chuckled. “Listen, I’m not kidding when I say that you’ve got to do this one on your own. As much as I can usually sense what feelings are doing somersaults in your stomach, this is a first for you and therefore a first for me. I’ve never seen you like this before, so unfortunately you’ve got to discover this one on your own.”

As you spoke, his features slowly softened until all that remained was a very nervous teenager who didn’t want to screw up his first real chance at love. That’s all Jihoon was at his core, that’s all anyone was.

But you had to admit he almost looked kind of cute.

Almost.

“How do you always know what to say?” He grumbled while crossing his arms. “It’s annoying.”

“You’ve got a really weird way of saying thank you.” You smirked playfully. “Well, maybe this last nugget of advice will get you started in the right direction.”

“Why are you always—” He seethed through his teeth. “How are you still not at whatever your point is!”

You shrugged, because you honestly had no clue. “I'll get there when I get there. You want to hear it or not—”

“Spit. It. Out.”

“Now is that anyway to—”

Wow. You stopped, suddenly fearing for your measly life. If looks could kill—

“Alright, alright, you win.” You conceded. “If you’re having issues writing a letter to your secret admirer, here’s my advice. Stop trying to put words to your feelings and start putting feelings into words. You’re spending too much time trying to say it perfectly that you’re not saying it at all. It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else, it doesn’t even need to make sense to you. So long as you put them out into the world, they’ll be heard and one day they’ll be understood. You get me?”

The look on his face was—strange. You had a hard time placing it, which should’ve been weirder than it was. In fact, you were seeing lots of different sides to Jihoon lately, sides you never thought existed. This time his eyes widened, the aforementioned scarlet blush had disappeared, and there was a radiance to him that you had never seen before. Like suddenly he could see clearly through the storm of his thoughts.

“Thank you.” He exhaled with a smile. “I’ve never thought about it like that before.”

Feeling triumphant, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I’m starting to wonder what you’d do without me, Jihoon. Three days and you’ve been completely undone and redone by this letter.”

“Letters are powerful things.” He muttered. “They can break hearts, mend souls, and change lives. You taught me that.”

“I guess I’m a pretty good teacher.” You boasted, giving him a squeeze. “Despite the fact that I’m actually quite terrible with words.”

He shrugged off your arm. “Except you always know what to say, how exactly does that work?”

“Just because I can make you see reason doesn’t mean I’m good with words.” You laughed easily. “That simply means that I’ve perfected the art of understanding the impossible. Lee Jihoon. I can’t use words like you do. Trust me I’ve tried, I can never get the words right.”

For a moment, he didn’t have any sort of response. Which was definitely weird. It was a well-known fact that he was terrible with the sorts of words he had to speak, but he didn’t have issues when talking to you. That’s because you were friends, best friends. There had never been this sort of unnerving silence before. Not that you could remember, anyway.

What is going on in your head, Jihoon? You found yourself wondering since you couldn’t read his face. Have you started to figure it out?

“Sorry, I was thinking.” He muttered suddenly, shaking his head. “But I know what I need to write now. Will you read this one too? Even if it gets pretty long?”

“Of course!” You exclaimed with a smile. “When have I ever shied away from a challenge?”

The soft glisten in his eyes made your heart flutter.

“Never.”

When the bell rang and you parted ways, you wondered if Jihoon had ever written you a letter.

Well there’s a first time for everything.

For the next week, he was in full writer mode. And there were no more notes from his secret admirer, not that you expected there to be any. Every chance he got he was scribbling something down on whatever surface he could get his hands on. Textbooks, paper, his arm, he was more inspired than you’d ever seen before and nothing was going to stop him. He didn’t even come over to your house over the weekend, a ritual you hadn’t broken in the ten plus years you had known each other. It was a lonely week, for sure, but you knew it was for a good cause.

Then, after what felt like an eternity of silence, he approached you in the courtyard with a single sheet of paper in his hand.

“Hey…” He started uneasily, his grip tightening. “How’re you?”

Seriously? You mused to yourself with a smile. “I’m good, how’s the writing?”

“Done.” He clipped. “And—I think I covered everything.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, eyeing the sheet of paper. “With all of that writing I thought you’d have a novel for me.”

He shook his head, while a blush crawled up his neck. “Sometimes being concise is more effective than being overly wordy.”

“That’s true.” You grinned. “Easier for me to edit anyway.”

Nodding, he shoved the paper into your hand. “Here. Take your time, I don’t want you to rush it.”

“I won’t.” You promised, resisting the urge to start reading right away. “I know you put a lot of thought into this.”

With that, he turned around and walked off without another word. Leaving you holding something that looked like little more than pen ink on paper, but felt like a confession on fire. Once he was out of eyesight, you exhaled a breath you had been holding unintentionally and started reading.

To the person I have never loved before. It began, and you weren’t prepared for the roller coaster you had willingly climbed into.

This isn’t for the person I’ve loved all along, no. This is for you, someone who managed to stir my emotions more than a raging monsoon with only a few words and the hint of a promise. Who are you? I wondered to myself, because you were without equal. How could I have missed you? You were extraordinary. You didn’t have a face, all I had of you was a letter slipped into my locker, you were a ghost and I was set ablaze by your words. I had never felt like that before, my heart was unprepared. As was I. You made me question everything, and made me realize things I had never seen before.

What I felt for you wasn’t love, even though I thought it was at first. You presented me with feelings I decided I would never feel, so I could only assume that it was love. I felt like a live wire, ready to spark at a moment's notice. All I could think about was you. The infinite options and scenarios I dreamt up, all because of you, was astronomical. It was exhilarating, and I found myself drunk on the endless possibilities that you presented me. What else could make me feel that way, if it wasn’t love?

The answer was one I didn’t expect, and it hit me like a tsunami. I started to feel that way towards someone I already know. Someone who has cared for me more than anyone should, they have been my best friend for years so how could I suddenly feel the same way? How could my friendship for them become intertwined with the love I thought was solely reserved for you? And how could I have missed it after being enveloped by their warmth for so long?

You changed all of that. You made me see clearly for the first time in years and I was completely undone. Everything I knew was suddenly challenged, my feelings towards the most important person in my life changed without any warning, and I didn’t know what to do. How could I ask them, a friend, to see me as anything more? I was lost, trapped in an endless loop of destructive thoughts and desire. Desperately wanting to scream my feelings from the rooftop while fearing the voice that would have to put words to them. Your feelings for me awakened my feelings for them, and suddenly the words that have given me comfort for so long escaped me.

Still, you helped me.

In ways I can only thank with this letter.

You helped me because you are the one who told me to start writing letters. It’s always been you. You are the one who has given my thoughts meaning when I struggled to communicate with the world. One that could never understand someone like me. You are the one who wrote me a letter, asking a coward to help you be brave. It took me a while to realize that you were one and the same, but I picked up on the hints you left behind. I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out.

Would you have showed up had I not asked you to come with me? I think about that often, were you only afraid because my initial thought was that there was no way it could be you? The impossible notion that my best friend could love me anymore than they already do? I have a thousand more questions I want to ask you, but I think I’m brave enough now to ask you in person.

So I’m going to end this letter here, because you deserve so much more than the words I’ve hidden behind for years. A letter I started to write for someone I thought I didn’t know, to the person I’ve never loved before. Funny, how it ended up being a letter to the person I’ve loved all along.

As you read the last line, tears already streaming down your face, you had never felt happier.

“You figured it out.” You whispered, almost in disbelief. “For a second there I thought you never would.”

You don’t know when Jihoon came back, but he was suddenly standing in front of you taking your hand in his. “It really shouldn’t have taken me that long, I’ve only seen your handwriting a thousand times before.”

Laughter bubbled past your lips as you dried your tears with your sleeve. “I was terrified that you would’ve figured me out from the very beginning. Looks like I really give you too much credit sometimes.”

“You do.” He agreed. “So, what did you think of the letter? Any edits you can think of?”

“This isn’t the type of letter that needs editing.” You stated plainly. “It would take away from the author’s meaning.”

“What would that be?” He asked, clearly teasing you. “Enlighten me.”

You shook your head defiantly. “No, no way. It’s your letter, why don’t you tell me what it’s supposed to mean?”

Part of him didn’t want to make it easy, that much you knew with absolute certainty. But, for the sake of time and your poor heart, he would let you off the hook. Just this once.

“That I love you.” He said softly. “More than anything else.”

Choking out a sob, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in close.

“I love you too, Jihoon.”

In the end, neither of you were good with words, but you only needed to know what to say to each other.

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runwithwolvcs · 4 years ago

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You Know I’m No Good - o n e

Summary: Tallulah Forester isn’t a bad person, she’s just made one too many bad decisions. Which is why she has now found herself four hours away from her home in Seattle, to her estranged fathers little home in La Push, with her stepmom and two half sisters, whom she has only been with a couple of times in the past 15 years. Her mother and father had agreed, shockingly, that the small town lifestyle would be beneficial to their wild child, but bad habits die hard, especially when it comes to being in control.

Timeline: Takes place a few years after the events of Breaking Dawn

Pairing: Paul Lahote x OC (Tallulah is 18)

Warnings (future chapters): Drugs/Alcohol, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Mental Health, (Mentions of SA, but no details)

There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down. Pain that transports you to an entirely different universe, even while everyone else thinks nothing has really changed.

Tallulah stared out the window in the back seat with her knees tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly as her father drawled on, switching from topic to topic, your sisters and Kira are so excited your coming to we’ve already enrolled you at the school to do you remember this person or that person? Anything to fill the silence from creating a suffocating atmosphere in the car. It all sounded like white noise to her, she barely remembered La Push.

She moved to Seattle with her mother when she was six and the two of them never looked back, whenever she would see her father or half-sisters, they would meet halfway in Port Angeles and then head their separate ways. It was easier that way for everyone involved.

Josette and Lenna, her half-sisters, were ten the last time she spent any actual memory inducing time with them. Although they are only two years younger than her, they were so different. So in tune with the tribe, whereas she barely knew anything about the histories. She doubted anything would have changed in that respect.

Tallulah's headaches from her hangover, or maybe lack of sleep, she thought, and as she laid her head against the window she listened to the sound of passing cars and her dad's voice as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

--------

Tallulah awoke to the sound of the car door shutting and a nearby dog barking, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grateful her headache was gone, but now in its place was a lump in her throat, as she looked around her surroundings outside of the car. The little blue house she vaguely remembers. The tire swings in the old oak tree. A woman's laugh caught her attention, as she looked to see her dad and stepmom, chatting away, happier than ever. Tallulah felt so out of place. Like she was an intruder coming in to ruin her fathers happy, little family with her black cloud of disappointment.

Tallulah groaned to herself as she unbuckled herself, might as well get this over with, she thought to herself while opening the car door and slowly stepping out, stretching as she did. She could feel the two adults eyes on her as she shut the door gently, looking towards them, Kiras big smile, that if she didn’t know better would look insincere, but she did know. Her stepmom was a tryhard, doing anything and everything to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother and stepmother, no matter how hard Tallulah pushed against her kind persona. She was the reason her family was in pieces. Kira and her father were no doubt in love, even when her parents were still together, they never looked at each other the way she sees her father looks at Kira and vice versa, like they are each other's reasons for being. She moves, he moves. Tallulah nearly physically cringes. It's not something she ever wants for herself, that fairy tale love.

She walks toward them slowly, Kira meeting her halfway, wrapping her arms in a bear crushing hug that she doesn’t reciprocate, looking past her at her father who has that ‘be nice’ look on his face, and clearly, she was in no place to fight that. She couldn’t help but think, if this doesn't work out the way her parents think it will, where is the next place she would be shipped off to?

Kiras' soft, sweet voice shakes her from her thoughts, “it's so nice to see you again. Your hair has gotten so long.” Tallulah raises an eyebrow before stating, “I've cut it a few times since I saw you last.” Kira laughs off the dig, before walking towards her father and saying, “the twins are out, we’d figured you'd be better off getting settled without a full house.” Tallulah nodded in response as her father spoke up for the first time since arriving, “besides, we have some things to discuss. Expectations and what not,”

Tallulah eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Rules? I’m eighteen. I don’t need to have any rules.” Her arms crossed over chest, as if she were a child.

“If you think that you will be continuing your..extracurricular activities that you have picked up in Seattle, you are wrongly mistaken” he says in what she assumes is his fatherly tone that works on the twins, but not her, he gave up that right fifteen years ago. “Your mother has filled us in on everything, Tally” She rolls her eyes at this, as if she knows everything, she thought to herself.

Kira stood up on the porch, just inside the doorway, “Joseph, let her settle in, we can have this conversation tomorrow, after the bonfire.” she said in ‘dont fight me in this tone’, to which Tallulah appreciated, yet was confused, “Bonfire?” she asked, as she made her way up the steps of the house leaving her dad to bring in her few bags, “The tribe bonfire party happens once a month, the girls love it, plus you can meet some of your classmates before you start school.” Kira spoke as if this was something she should look forward to, but in all honesty, large gatherings were not Tallys scene, despite what her mother thinks. But, she would attend, save face and hope with good behaviour she would be back in Seattle with her friends in no time. This thought reminded her to shoot them a text quickly explaining her situation, hoping they would see it as an SOS, before shoving her phone back in her pocket and following Kira around the house like a little kid, listening to where things were kept, which rooms were which and then finally a stop at the room in which she would call hers. The walls were a blank, cream color, with light blue bedding and a wooden desk shoved in the corner, along with what looks like textbooks sitting on top.She nods politely as Kira mentions they will be leaving within the hour but try to settle in and suggests she may want to change out of her cotton shorts, as it “gets quite cold compared to Seattle” as she put it.

-----

7:14 read the time on Tallulah's phone as they walked up to the beach, the sun had just begun to set and the temperature had, in fact, dropped quite a bit, thankful for Kiras advice, Tallulah had changed into a pair of loose, blue jeans and had tucked her hands into the pockets of her oversized, black hoodie, fingers curled under the long sleeves to keep them warm.

She walked slightly behind Kira and her father, standing off to the side as they were greeted by people, before they had reached whom she suspected to be the twins. They looked so different from what she remember, her father lowly spoke to her, as Kira caught their attention, pointing out the smaller of the two as Josette and the taller, as Lenna. Josie dawned a baggie pair of dark pair of overalls, with a striped sweater underneath, her hair in two space buns, which was quite different from her sister, in her plaid mini skirt and form-fitting long sleeve shirt, her pin straight, dark hair fanned out behind her back. Tallulah could already tell they wouldn’t get along.

She watched as Lenna stalked away from her mother to a group of people who looked around their age, before snapping her eyes back at the sound of her name being called, to see Kira and Josette waving her over, before she could even move her feet willingly, her dad was nudging her in their direction, as if she would turn and walk the other way.

Josette moved over so she could sit directly beside, a friendly smile that resembled Kiras on her face, “ Hi Tally” she spoke her childhood nickname softly, “it’s been awhile, you look so much older, not in a bad way, like mature, adultish, but obviously your only two years older than me so not technically an adult..” she rambled off, “Hey Josette” and before Tallulah could say anything else, she was interrupted by the younger girl, “Its Josie or Jo, whichever fine, just not Josette” she spoke quickly, a pale blush crossing her olive toned skin, to which Tallulah just nodded and asked, “How long do these things last?”

“That depends,” Josie spoke, “Typically the adults leave once the stories and tribal matter finishes, so maybe an hour or two. But we usually stay later, or at least Lenna does.” she said, looking in the direction of her twin, who was now surrounded by a group of other rambunctious teenagers. “Sam Uley's crew is here tonight, so who knows if that will even happen, especially after last time.” Tallulah didn’t question the younger girl, mainly because she just didn’t care to. She looked away from Lenna and her friends, her eyes gazing on all the unfamiliar faces sitting on logs or picnic tables surrounding the growing fire.

Her eyes stopped on what seemed to be a couple, the girl was beautiful, her long black hair was tied up into a neat ponytail, she was talking to a man in a wheelchair beside her, who looked like he could be her dad, her eyes shifted to the man sitting next her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he was in shorts and a shirt and looked perfectly comfortable in the frigid air, he was joking around with the boys next to him, as if the beautiful girl next to him was really there, despite his arm around her, “Thats Paul Lahote.” Josie said from next to her, causing her to flush from her obvious staring, he looked in their direction, as if he had heard Josie say his name, they locked eyes for a split second before Tallulah looked away embarrassed she had been caught. “Don’t worry, Lenna stares at him too,” Josie laughed jokingly, “I wasn’t staring” Tallulah spoke defensively, Josie raised her hands in surrender before leaning in close, “looks like he's the one staring now” Josie grinned, watching as Tallulah looked back at the older boy, noticing that he was staring at her, almost like a deer in headlights. He looked so familiar, though she doubts that they have ever met before. He smiles at her slightly, his arm retracting from the girl beside him despite her protest to his movement, and now the beautiful women is also looking at her, causing Tallulah to look down at her sleeve covered hands that lay in her lap, only looking up again when her father sits in the spot next to her, asking if she's alright, to which she absentmindedly nods her head. Is she alright after her entire life has been altered in the last 12 hours? What kind of question is that?

Her eyes are drawn back to the spot Paul Lahote was sitting in, or had been sitting in, the seat was now vacant, the man nowhere in her line of sight, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed.

#paul lahote imagine #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x oc #paul lahote #twilight wolves #twilight wolf pack #embry call #leah clearwater #you know im no good #chapter 1

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xbellaxcarolinax · 5 years ago

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Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 23- Silver Fox

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 6235

Warnings: Some violence.

AN: Kinda long, kinda boring, not my favorite chapter 😅

22- Queen

...

Artemis runs a hand over the smooth wood of her throne, the very one Lagertha sat in and Aslaug before her. It was hard to even call it hers.

The wood was buffed to a shine and draped in fine fabrics and warm bear fur, enhancing its regal image. The night of their wedding went by in such a haze that she didn't pay much mind to her surroundings. It was loud then, full of merry making and fascinating stories. Now it was empty, quiet, and incredibly large. The thrones were slightly elevated, sure to remind those of their place.

The current Queen stands to face the authoritative seat, imagining the women who have sat there before her. She was born a commoner and it was a part of her that would never wash away, and she wondered if she was worthy of such a powerful seat. She stood a while longer, her fingertips brushing through the soft fur.

"It is meant for you to sit on, my love." Ivar's teasing voice resonated in the hall, and it was enough for her to snap away from her thoughts in favor of glancing at her husband, his eyes filled with mirth. He speaks through the leather curtain, sly as a cat ready to pounce on its prey.

"I know that." She huffs out, turning round with a swirl of her skirts. She plops down onto the throne to prove it.

"You are such a pensive woman," He says to her, limping over to place a kiss to her brow, "What plagues your mind at this hour, hmm?"

"The usual." She says, and Ivar raises a brow, already knowing what she meant. She was questioning her position, unconfident in her royal elevation. Despite her unassuredness, she did well to be studious in the running of a household and other queenly duties, but it was not enough for her. Ivar understood the lack of confidence, but as his wife, she had to push all that aside and reflect the image of a strong queen. He knew she would be.

Artemis smiled at him, but focused on the subtle movements in the hall. She was so intune with her thoughts that she barely noticed anyone else. A new fire was being stoked by a thrall, while the others hurried about with a task at hand. One dusted about, while another threw more wooden logs into the fire pit. Geirdis was to care with the feeding of the kittens and the mastiff, and the other two were to help Edda and the rest in the kitchens as well as setting up the table for the morning meal.

She was well acquainted with some of the thralls. Others were new and she was sure to remember all their names, to remember their jobs and to remember to thank them, always. The concept was strange, as slaves were never a part of her household back home.

"How may I ease your mind? Breakfast?" Ivar cuts into her thoughts, raising his eyebrows at her, "Those strawberries you like have been freshly harvested this morning." The mention of the strawberries had her up in an instant, grabbing Ivar's awaiting hand so that they may walk over to the large table set up completely with food and drink.

"I have another surprise for you," Ivar says, and it was almost enough for Artemis to crush the berry in her hand unforgivably.

"Another? Ivar must you spoil me so?" She had enough material items to last her more than a lifetime.

"Hush now," He teases, motioning at the thrall pouring his drink, "Tell Geirdis to bring the girl out." A few short moments later and Geirdis appears with Aria only steps behind her. The blond thrall stands behind her queen, and Artemis almost shoots out from her seat.

"I am at your service, my Queen." Aria's long red hair spills over her shoulders as she bows before Artemis. The Queen had confusion etched all over her face, turning to look at Ivar who bore his signature smirk.

"What is this?" She asks "I thought you were to leave with Jarl Erik? We've said our farewells only last night."

"I've purchased her," Ivar interjects, "You may keep her as your help or you may set her free. Do with her as you see fit." Artemis looks at him with sparkling eyes and he just laughs, holding a berry between his leather covered fingers.

"Ivar..." She couldn't express her happiness well enough, "This is wonderful news!" She stands immediately, careful not to trip over the hem of her dress, before enveloping the Irish girl in her arms.

"I would see you free, of course," Artemis says to her, "Your life is your own to command." The red head smiled, her green eyes glittering with such emotion.

"I would like to stay under your service, my Queen, if that is alright with you. I've nowhere to go, and I will dutifully earn my keep."

"Of course," The Queen smiles, "I will have Geirdis help settle you in." The young blonde thrall moves to Aria's side, ready for an awaiting task.

"I humbly thank you, my King," Aria bows to Ivar once again, to which he waves off lazily as he usually did.

"I did it for my wife." He simply says, waving both Geridis and Aria off, "Report to the Queen in the evening for further instruction." They bow, and Geirdis leads Aria to a vacant room further into the hall, a smile of excitement on her face.

Artemis watches them go, happy to have her friend back. She bounces on her heels excitedly, turning to glance at Ivar. He watches her, head resting on his hand. She grins, flinging herself onto him, embracing him tightly. She places repeated kisses upon his head and brow, and he closes his eyes, relishing her adoring kisses. He could get you to this adoration.

"Thank you, my love." She says to him with a content sigh. Ivar grips her around the waist bringing her comfortably to his lap so that he may give her proper kisses on her plush lips.

"Anything for you, baby bird."

"The Jarl didn't put up a fight?" She asks and Ivar snorts in response.

"I am King, and he is but a lowly Jarl from a different kingdom, he could not refuse me, nor did he deny the silver I had offered." Artemis hums in understanding, placing a jeweled hand upon his stubbly cheek.

"Perhaps I should thank him?"

"No need. Money speaks to him more than any grateful words."

"Forgive me, my King and Queen, for interrupting such a tender moment," Heahmund enters, his tone almost sarcastic, with Hvitserk in tow, "The petitioners will be arriving soon."

"Fix yourselves and eat breakfast."

The older Ragnarsson motions with his hands for them to separate, plopping down beside his younger brother. Ivar rolls his eyes but pats her bottom for her to move.

"Eat. We have a kingdom to run."

...

Ivar sits on his throne as if he were born for it. He was all confidence, regality emanating off his person. He was fit to be king. Artemis on the other hand was a timid creature, lacking the vivaciousness she had when still a slave. Ivar glances at her to make sure she is ready. Her coronet gleamed beautifully in the natural daylight. She was a vision, but apprehension lingered in her eyes.

One after the other they came, some to dispute minor things such as a stolen goat, or a lost sheep. Others wanted marriage approvals and dowries disputed. They were mostly petty squabbles. Such things were Ivar's least favorite duty as king. He loved conquest, he loved expansion, and most of all, he loved war. He was a product of violent times, but he reveled in it. Small talk and petty rivalries were a nuisance in his eyes.

Artemis seemed to have taken quite an interest in the matters of the people. Of course, she was mostly there due to the formal setting, and as Queen, she must be present for all formal functions. But in her mind, if she was to be a proper queen, then it was her responsibility to heed the common people's plight. She wanted to do good for the people that she ruled, and help Ivar as king to prosper the kingdom, not to be a useless puppet beside him.

Ivar settled each dispute easily enough. All those years beside his mother had taught him about the local politics, though he was clearly bored of it.

The grievances of the day were minimal, small matters easily solved. The day progressed uneventfully, and by midday, the Queen sat brooding before a loom, hands tangled in a mess of yarn.

"My Queen, the weft thread is too loose." Artemis sucks her teeth at the comment, scowling. The longer she stared at the threads, the more the pretty colors of blue and green appeared to be one congested mess of shades. She was about ready to throw the loom away.

"You must tighten it, like this," Geirdis instructs, her skilled hands going over the threads with accuracy, demonstrating her many years of experience.

"I can't do it."

"Of course you can, My Queen, it just takes time."

Artemis snorts, turning her gaze away from the loom and down towards the hem of her embroidered skirts. One of the kittens, the brown one she named Eros, latched his sharp little nails into the wool, attempting to climb up the height of her leg.

She coos, easily grabbing the tiny thing in her palm. Eros mewls, causing the other 3 to call out as well, and a soft symphony began in the quiet hall. Artemis didn't mind it, it was a pleasant distraction, but Geirdis was far too annoyed with the felines.

"Hush." She scolds them, grabbing the trouble maker Eros from Artemis's hands. She then scoops up the others. The second troublemaker was Aries of light colored hair, the calmest was Siggy, the darkest and the only one Ivar named, and the curious one was Icarus. Geirdis places them in the arms of a passing thrall. Heracles snores, laying obediently beside his mistress.

"I'm sorry, my Queen, but you'll never improve if there are distractions." Artemis sighs but nods in understanding, once again picking up the shuttle to continue her amateur work. Her weaving was an attempt at creating a blanket for the arriving cold weather. So far, it was futile.

But, she had expectations to meet and shoes to fill. There were lessons in weaving and mending, a task women were to dedicate countless hours to, and a task she utterly detested.

To her, the loom was an unavoidable contraption. Threaded into the wood were her clumsily woven flax threads, nothing in comparison to tapestries and fine clothing made by the skilled hands of the women in the royal household. Artemis left most of the weaving to Geirdis and the rest of the talented women.

Running the household was entirely different, but something Artemis was able to grasp better than weaving. She was to oversee the storages for grain and meat, food that had to last them for the winter months. The keys resting at her hip were a reminder of the control and command she had.

Ivar led several hunting parties, he and his men leaving with nothing but their arrows, and always returning with several rabbits and a deer or two. They would later be skinned, salted, dried, and stored away for later use.

The King was currently out on a hunt with Hvitserk and the rest of their hunting party, leaving Heahmund, Dafi, and the rest of the guards to watch over the Great Hall, and the entire estate.

"My mother was a talented weaver," Heahmund says to her, glancing at the front of the loom before walking to step behind Artemis to get a better look. He was not impressed. "You need much improvement."

"Well, how about you fetch your mother to teach me then, hm?" Artemis shoots back, earning a chuckle from the Saxon man. Geirdis fetches a pitcher of mead and a drinking horn. She fills it for Heahmund, and he takes it with a nod of thanks.

"I'm sure Geirdis has her hands full with you."

"The Queen has been no trouble." The blonde says, her tone absolute, as if warning Heahmund in his use of words. No one should ever be so familiar with nobility, especially the wife of Ivar the Boneless.

"She wields a hammer better than a loom." He says, a comment that not even Artemis could deny. The dark haired queen cracks a smile, but continues to work with the loom, slowly pulling the flax threads tightly.

"I can't hammer clothing into existence. I wish it were that easy."

"The loom is an important part of a woman's life, My Queen. When our death comes to take us, we are buried with our weaving tools and mending needles."

"And what? Are you meant to weave in Valhalla?" Heahmund snorts, raking a hand through his freshly cropped hair. Geirdis turns to him, her eyes revealing her irritation.

"It is our worth, and what makes us who we are." She mumbles out.

"Heahmund, shut up," Artemis scolds before he could say anything more, "Only the gods know why Ivar decided to keep you around." He raises a brow.

"Did you say 'the gods'?"

"Did I hesitate?" She counters back, eyes not leaving her work, though she had no idea what she was doing. Geirdis sits beside her queen, gently stopping her hands with her own to demonstrate the proper technique again. Every so often her honey eyes would drift to glance at Heahmund before finding their way back to the weaving.

"Do manners exist in Crete?" Heahmund mutters.

"Much more than in England, I'm sure."

Loud chatter and footsteps were heard, a cue for Dafi to open the hall doors to let the hunting party in. The hounds could be heard barking, and the smell of dead animal flesh suddenly filled the hall. The kitchen thralls immediately scattered in, helping to bring in the game.

Heracles barks upon the sight of Ivar and Hvitserk, immediately stomping towards them in glee.

"Wife, you must calm this beast." Ivar mutters, watching how the mastiff stood on its hind legs, his paws placed on Hvitserk's shoulders.

"He loves the lot of you." She replies, placing down her tools to formally greet her husband. She smiles at him. He was covered in dirt, no doubt from crawling about with his bow.

"And why does Heahmund wear such a face? Tired of watching women weave all day?" Hvitserk jokes, now roughhousing with Heracles.

"He should take a turn at it, seeing as he bickers like an old crone looking to hear village gossip." Artemis says, softly wiping the dirt from Ivar's flushed cheeks with the edges of her sleeves as he held her close to him. He looked exhausted.

"Have you all the time to stand here and pester me so?" Heahmund barks out with no real heat behind his words. He laughs walking forward to clasp Hvitserk's hand, then to bow to his king in the Saxon tradition.

"It is a fun past time, I dare say," Hvitserk smirks, "Now someone please get this dog off of me." Heahmund grabs Heracles by his silver collar, hauling him down.

"How fair's my wife on the loom?" Ivar addresses Geirdis who stood quietly in the back of all the commotion. With her hands clasped behind her back she dutifully responds.

"She will improve, in time, My King."

"She means I'm terrible." Artemis sighs, smiling up at Ivar like a child.

"She doesn't lie." Says Heahmund with a snort. Ivar sucks his teeth.

"Quit teasing. Now, if you will all excuse us," Ivar addresses the hall, "I'd like to rest with my wife."

"My love, I must see to the preparations of the meat before evening." Artemis whispers to him, successfully earning a frown from the king.

"Surely that can wait? My legs ache," He says back just as quietly, a twinkle forming in his blue eyes.

"What kind of Queen would I be then?" She smiles, pecking his lips quickly, "Geirdis will prepare our chambers for you. Once everything is stored I will come for you." Ivar smiles, placing a kiss to her brow.

"Very well, go be a Queen."

...

The sky was overcast, the sun's radiance blocked by gray clouds, preventing the warm rays from penetrating over Kattegat. The farmers scrambled to continue their harvest before winter came with its harsh grip, and the fishermen pushed their small boats into the sea for their morning catch.

Artemis sweeps through the bustling village, passing pleasantries with the people who greet her, some keeping a distance from the mastiff that trotted beside her. It had been a few weeks since the wedding and her ascension as queen. Things were much different, yet nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The people held her in higher regards, of course, but life simply went on, for which she was grateful.

"Dafi?"

"Yes, my Queen?"

"Does it not bore you having to follow me? You're like a shadow," Artemis jokes to him, offering the young man a smile. It was plainly obvious why Aria admired him so.

Dafi only shrugs.

"I suppose it is rather silly when you look at it that way, my Queen. It is merely my duty to escort you, always."

"Yes, but does it bore you?" Dafi remains silent for a moment, not sure how to answer the question exactly.

"Come now," She smiles, "I've better humor than my husband."

"I assure you, my Queen, it is an honor to be by your side." Dafi cracks a smile. His usual stoic demeanor faltered for a moment, revealing a boyish smile under all that seriousness. He wasn't being honest, but she supposed it was alright, he seemed in good cheer and that was enough.

"Then I release you from your duties for the day, Dafi." His flaxen colored brows furrow at her words.

"But my Queen-"

"Go and spend your day the way you'd want to if I weren't a burden." She says nonchalantly, using the tips of her fingers to skim over Heracles's short fur.

"King Ivar will not be pleased once he is informed."

"Then be sure not to inform him, hm?" Dafi was not convinced. It has always been his duty to be her loyal shadow, as commanded by Ivar.

"Do you intend to escort yourself?"

"Of course not! I have my dog for the company." Heracles perks up to gaze at them both when he hears his name, his wrinkled face covered in drool.

"Your dog, my Queen?"

"Mhm. I'll just be with Master Hagen. Go about your day, Dafi." His features screamed skepticism, but he couldn't deny an order from the Queen.

"Very well, my Queen." She smiles, nodding him off before heading to Master Hagen's shop.

With the increase of trade, many have come to make a living in Kattegat. There was an influx of craftsmen, potters, weavers, bakers, and blacksmiths, many coming from the failing town of Hedeby. After Lagertha's death, the village was taken over by a series of Jarls, who only pushed the village back deeper into misery.

Once it was known that Kattegat's Queen was a blacksmith herself, many wanted to come and show off their work in the hope of gaining the King and Queen's favor, but an increase in forgers meant an increase in competition. Despite the growth in competition, Artemis still only chose to go to Master Hagen. She would honor Arvid's father.

Arvid's father was an ailing man, but the glint in his eye was that of a youthful man. He was intelligent, and quite a talented blacksmith, reminding Artemis of her own father at times, which made some visits difficult. His white beard was braided, and a silver bead was placed at its end. His fading tattoos were a reminder of his younger days, fighting in Ragnar Lothbrok's army.

Her mastiff bounded into the shop as if he owned it, sniffing about the things he has sniffed many times before as if they were new.

"My Queen, I was not expecting you." Master Hagen greets, his aging eyes following Artemis as she enters, removing her hood and shaking off the morning chill.

"This is no place for a queen." The old man nags, but already knew she came with purpose. Artemis snorts, removing her fur lined cloak and placing it aside.

"The title does not change anything." She moves towards the back, fetching a pair of gloves she favored for her work.

"Oh, but it changes everything." He chuckles, scratching at his beard, "A queen sits upon a throne and does not dirty her hands." He notices her usual guard was missing, but he says nothing about it.

"I was born a blacksmith, and I think that shall remain until the end of my days." The Queen says to him, "I would not be true to myself if I left such a life behind." Master Hagen smiles at her words, nodding in understanding.

"Very well, my Queen."

"And Arne?"

"Fetching more wood."

"Excellent," She smiles, "We've much work to do."

"Oh?" The older blacksmith raises his brows.

"I'm sure you have noticed the recent influx of villagers?" The old man nods.

"Many of them come with skill, Master Hagen, which means more competition for you." The old man frowns but listens attentively, "I suggest you take on at least two more apprentices, that way you may flourish."

"But my Queen," Master Hagen sighs, "I've not the strength to take on such a task. I am but an old man. Arvid was to oversee the shop, but he is making a name for himself in England. It would prove to be difficult."

"I will help you," Artemis smiles brightly, "And I'm sure many others will come looking for work. Your trade will increase, and you will be able to retire peacefully. I will see that you are well taken care of." The old man hesitates, mulling over the idea before nodding.

"Very well, I will do as you ask."

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. Artemis decided to look after Arne's work, while Master Hagen dealt with a few customers that came for minor purchases.

Arne was a gifted young man, already showing talent in his trade. He was 16 years, beginning his training a few years prior before moving to Kattegat and finding a new master to teach him.

He was nervous around her, stuttering when she praised him, bending his head low in a timidness whenever she moved to instruct him. He'd never known a woman of high stature to dirty her hands as the freemen did. But he didn't know her full story.

Later in the day, a woman stops by, one Artemis was not familiar with. Her hair was so pale it appeared silver, and her eyes were slanted like a fox. She had a smile on her face as she greeted the Queen formally, extending the greeting to Master Hagen. She appeared to be searching for something, her eyes quickly scanning the entirety of the shop before her eyes landed back to the Queen. Artemis was bewildered but says nothing, thinking perhaps the woman needed to purchase something for her household.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Master Hagen asks her.

"Oh, not in particular. I was hoping to have a word with the Queen? Of course, if she has a moment to spare." Artemis nods, removing her gloves. She then glances at a hammer nearby, deciding to tie it onto her belt before instructing. She never made the mistake of leaving without it anymore as it proved useful. She instructs Arne to continue his work before smiling at the unknown woman, who peers at the hammer before stepping out into the busy streets.

"I'm afraid we haven't formally met?" Artemis says to the woman, tightening her rich cloak about her shoulders. The woman nods before answering.

"I meant no offense, Queen Artemis. My name is Dabria. I have just moved here from Hedeby."

"It is a pleasure, Dabria. Forgive me for being so bold, but if your family intends to remain in Kattegat, then you must all pledge your allegiances to King Ivar."

"I came alone, My Queen. I've no family." Artemis takes in her state of dress. She wore tightly fitted breeches, and a leather vest.

"You're a warrior." Artemis states, and Dabria nods.

"I wish to join the king's army, my Queen."

"Well, if your skills are noteworthy, then I'm sure he will not hesitate to accept you." They walked about Kattegat for a while, discussing the weather and the wealth of the town. Heracles trailed behind them, following his mistress loyally. Dabria speaks of her admiration of Kattegat, how lovely the trees must have looked in the summer months.

Kattegat was beautiful from this height, nothing at all from what Artemis remembered when she was a slave. There was something about the view of the mountains that calmed her, or at least, eased her mind just a bit. She understood Ivar's need to find solitude there. It was peaceful.

Both she and Dabria watched the scenery, and the silver haired woman breaks the silence.

"You seem like a humble woman, Queen Artemis, which makes this so much harder." Artemis turns to look at the woman, her brows furrowing.

"What are you talking about?" Dabria removes a dagger from the pocket of her breeches, unsheathing it to reveal a glittering blade. Artemis swallows thickly, her fingertips lightly skimming her own dagger she kept strapped to her thigh. A gift from Ivar, he told her to always keep it on her person. Looks like she'd be using it.

"Lagertha was an amazing woman," Dabria starts, surprised at how calm the Queen was. She expected a few tears by now, maybe an attempt to flee. She points her dagger towards her, "How could a woman untrained in the arts of battle be the cause of Lagertha's death?"

"I'd call it luck. The rest believe it was the gods who willed it. You may choose what you want to believe. Now what are your intentions with that dagger?"

Dabria smiles, slowly approaching Artemis with a grin.

"I intend to avenge Lagertha."

...

The Queen sniffles, wiping her face to rid herself of the angry tears with the back of her hand. Her eyebrows were arched angrily and her knuckles were white from gripping the hammer tightly. Her eyes were trained on the quiet scene before her.

Heracles laid beside her, his tongue lapping over his dark snout now covered in blood. His eyes were closed but his ears were entirely alert to the smallest of sounds.

She glances down at her hammer, using the hem of her torn dress to wipe the remnants of blood from its surface, grateful she followed her instincts.

The seer had been right in saying such hardships would surface, but so soon?

Dabria was clearly a supporter of Lagertha, a shieldmaiden bent on revenge. Despite her fox like features, she lacked the wit that foxes were known for.

Her dagger cut through Artemis's dress, slicing deeply into the soft skin of her shoulder. The Queen was lucky to have been quick in her own movements.

Artemis presses a hand tightly to her wound, hoping the pressure would alleviate the blood and pain that was blossoming now that the adrenaline had ceased.

She had hit the woman twice, once in the stomach and once to her face. The swing of the hammer was powerful enough to emit a sickening cracking sound from the woman's jaw, now dislocated. It had stunned the both of them, Artemis's eyes widening as she saw the woman drool and spit out significant amounts of blood. Her jaw was loose from its place.

The same feeling she felt at the war camp when beating the man's face was the same feeling she had at that very moment, and before she could lift her hammer to bring it down atop the woman's silver head, Heracles pounced, attacking viciously.

His teeth sank into her arm, the very one that held the dagger ready to attack, tackling her down. Then he went straight for her face, destroying her visage until it was nothing but a fleshy mess between his teeth. The beast growled over the warrior's dead body, before directing it towards an approaching figure, Dafi, who now held an unresponsive Artemis in his arms.

"My Queen," Dafi says to her, his blue eyes pleading with her, "Command your beast to stand down."

Artemis stared at the woman, face destroyed, body twisted in a way that reflected her dog's strength. She had not noticed that Dafi had found her, nor did she care. Moments ago she was fighting against this woman, and now, she drew in her last breathe. Heracles continued to growl, his protectiveness not dying down despite knowing Dafi very well. He slowly inched forward, ready to attack him with any sudden movement.

"My Queen," Dafi tries again, his eyes never leaving the angry creature before him. Artemis blinks, catching her breath before removing herself from Dafi's grip.

"Heracles," She commanded sternly, "Stop." The dog lets out one last growl before quieting, replacing angry noises with whining. He sits, staring up at her with large eyes, bloody snout and paws, awaiting the next command. Artemis says nothing. She spits at the fresh corpse.

Stupid woman.

She only armed herself with a dagger, perhaps not to attract unnecessary attention to herself. Or likely assuming Artemis lacked the strength and was but a weak woman. A weak woman would not have the strength that came from the many years of beating metal.

She walks down towards the path her feet wanted to go, if only to find a moments peace. Waving her hand to her large pup, he immediately follows her, leaving the guard stunned.

"My Queen!" He called after her, but she didn't stop. The commotion had spread to the rest of the village as the people came to crowd around the body of the dead woman to take a look, the ravens already feasting upon the bloody mess. The murmurs spread almost immediately, reaching the Great Hall.

Lagertha was dead, yet her spirit haunted Kattegat, Artemis realizes that. They wanted revenge. King Ivar so easily killed their queen, and so shall they with his. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, her ears picking up the sounds of boots crunching against the grass.

"My Queen," Dafi says cautiously, "King Ivar had appointed me to protect you, and I have failed." He keeps a distance from her, in case her dog decided that his presence was unwanted.

"I'm not dead." She says.

"But I should have been there-"

"Why do you blame yourself?" She asks him quietly, not bothering to look at him, "I sent you away, did i not?" She continued to press her hand against the flesh of her shoulder, blood now seeping through the fabric. It would not be wise to lose any more blood.

"I was not there to protect you."

"You could not have known."

"Artemis!" Hvitserk's familiar voice causes Heracles to bark. It echoed into the mountain ranges for all to hear, like a menacing threat that seemed to rattle over the entire land of Norway.

He pushes past Dafi, already noticing the wound on her shoulder.

"What happened?" Hvitserk asks breathlessly, removing her hand only to see blood. His eyes settle on her hammer, then on Heracles's bloody snout. He sighs, turning to look at Dafi with a glare.

"Is it not your responsibility to protect her? The king will be here any second and only the gods know what he'll do." That was Ivar's cue to enter, his chariot coming into view. His mare ran at full speed, and when he pulled the reins to stop, the chariot lurched forward at the velocity. There was a fire in his clear eyes, a rage that Artemis had not seen in quite some time.

He hopped off, his hands dragging him quickly towards Dafi, but before the guard could create his string of apologies, Ivar swipes an arm against his shins, causing Dafi to tumble hard to the ground, a dagger already placed dangerously against his throat before he could groan at the impact.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you right now." Ivar says to him, his wild eyes shining with anger. His face was so close to Dafi's that the guard was speechless, expecting the blade to slice his throat.

"My king, I-"

"Do not bore me with excuses." Ivar hisses, the point of the blade piercing the delicate skin of Dafi's neck, blood already pooling at the punctured area.

"Ivar," Artemis calls out to him, pleading, "It was not his fault, it was mine. I sent him away. Do not hurt him." Ivar sucks his teeth, but his gaze never leaves the frightened man below him.

"He still had a duty to uphold. And he failed."

"Do not kill him." She stresses, her voice dark and stern, nothing like he's ever heard. It was enough for him to look over at her, her eyes hard and lips set in a line.

Ivar sucks his teeth again, flicking his wrist quickly and swiping his dagger with expert precision, slicing along Dafi's cheekbone and up towards his temple. The guard hisses but says nothing, as he knew without the Queen intervening, he would surely be dead by now.

"Fortune smiles down on you," Ivar spits out, "Her mercy is what keeps you alive. You are released from the duty of guarding the Queen. Now, get out of my sight." Dafi stood, eyes downcast in shame. He turns round and walks away from the party. It was the little mercy Ivar would show him.

"Bishop," Ivar's fiery eyes turn to the cropped haired man, "Take a few men with you and scout the area. Lagertha's supporters must be near, and wherever they are, surely my brothers are not far. Go." Heahmund nods, quickly glancing at Artemis before motioning to the other men to move out.

Artemis slumps against Hvitserk, head hanging low. She lowers herself on the dry grass, her wound aching. She felt tired. Ivar crawls over quickly, pushing Hvitserk away to grab hold of her. She keeps silent, not bothering to look at him, yet he places sweet kisses over her head, running a hand down the length of her hair as he's always done in comfort.

"You are a warrior, and don't even know it," He says to her softly, cradling her close.

"I'd hardly call myself that. I have the dog to thank." Her voice wavered as she found it difficult to speak. He places a hand to her thigh, the one he knew she strapped her dagger to. It was still there.

"You had no need for the dagger?"

"The hammer did its job."

"Mhm," Ivar hummed in agreement, "I saw the mess you made of her. Her body will be burned in the village square tonight for all to see. The people will know the strength of their Queen, and the consequences of treason." Artemis says nothing, her mind still going over the events of the day.

Hvitserk begins to silently tie a leather strip about the thick silver chain Heracles wore around his neck, leading the beast away with much struggle.

"Have the thralls feed him the rabbit meat he is so fond of. He deserves it." Ivar's tone was so gentle, it was hard to believe that moments ago he was nothing short from furious.

Hvitserk nods, pulling the beast away, and only when he was far enough, Ivar begins his soothing again.

"You're hurt, my love, I must get you to the healer at once." Artemis nods, slowly standing up with the help of her good arm, waiting for Ivar to quickly crawl over to his chariot. He waits for her to stand beside him then grips the reins, slapping them against the mare. The beast began to move at a moderate pace.

"This is what the seer meant," She says to him quietly, "This is what he meant by the hardships, the dark shadow that looms."

"And we will deal with it together," Ivar says, "There is nothing that will stand against us."

"Who had warned you?" Artemis asks suddenly.

"Arne, Hagen's apprentice. Said the old man was worried when you had not returned for a while. Arne searched for Dafi, and Dafi warned the other guards."

"You rid him of his post, but surely you won't humiliate him further?" She had that tone, the pleading one, Ivar could already detect it. She did have a much kinder heart then he.

"I will send him back to the lower ranks for a while, until I decide what to do with him."

"It was not his fault." Artemis repeats. Ivar nods.

"I know, my love."

They entered through all the bustling activity, and the people stared as they passed through, whispers of the Queen reaching them until they closed the doors of the Great Hall.

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @leilabeaux @jzr201 @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @rastakami23 @ostra814 @zumzum96

#vikings #ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #vikings ivar #ivarxofc #alex hogh andersen #ivar the boneless

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theewrites-tf2 · 5 years ago

Text

Thee goes from 0-to-100: The Oneshot

OKAY, Anon is now OFFICIALLY off, so I’m free to post this! Be warned, it’s LONG it’s a RANT, and I've been holding this in all day, right next to my finals-stress for college, so grab a helmet because it’s a bumpy ride.

Blocklists. Hate ‘em, love ‘em, make memes about them when they’re still relevant, they exist. While the purpose of their creation is still fully asinine to me, I must admit that the FIRST time I was placed on a list such as the one we have in our lovely fandom, I was surprised to say the least.

Thankfully, the memes and shitposts that followed helped my low-self esteem at the time to keep afloat, so now I can laugh about it, and when a SECOND blocklist rolled around, I was expecting to be able to laugh just as easily about this one.

Then I found out that not ONLY was the new blocklist poster ‘TOTALLY isn’t trying to start drama UwU’ but they’ve PROVEN this, by harassing and bullying a 16-year old for having a differing headcanon about a fictional character.

“Oh Thee, silly you!” You cry, “Surely you must be mistaken! Yes the blocklist is annoying and pointless, but surely this person isn’t BULLYING MINORS-!”

Our darling Blocklist poster, I allowed to make sure their name was blocked out for their privacy. But the sixteen year old, who made this post?

She REQUESTED I block her own URL, because she fears FURTHER harassment and bullying from this individual, and whomever else could come after her because she “speaks up about the blocklist.”

Let me repeat for y’all in the back:

Because a 16 year old MINOR had a different opinion with another blog, the Blocklist Poster decided to NOT exit the blog/go on a different tag/ go on a blog that shares their FICTIONAL HEADCANONS, instead they deliberately stayed and posted not once, but TWICE, responses full of insults and rude remarks over FICTIONAL HEADCANONS, to the point that the OP requested I block out her name in the screenshot so she wouldn’t be further hassassed.

See. I can HANDLE jokes on me, I can HANDLE the hate directed at me. What I don’t APPRECIATE, and what I will not TOLERATE, is people being bullied. Not on my time, not on my blog, and NOT in my fucking fandom.

Below is another message from the unnamed 16 year old blogger, who AGAIN requested that I not show her URL:

They sum it up pretty darn well (*clapclapclap*) SO I’m gonna move in with MY thoughts:

Every fandom has trash blogs. Every fandom has blogs you adore, every fandom has blogs you hate, but guess what? YOU, as the viewer who signed up for this website, YOU get to decide what blogs you do or don’t want to see. YOU get the power to block or unfollow if you don’t enjoy someone’s material. That is and SHOULD be YOUR, and YOUR decision alone.

There’s also this Magical thing called BACKSPACE. Meaning, if you do not ENJOY something, you can magically make it go away by backing away from it! Ain’t that something?!

Blocklist’s don’t do SHIT. They don’t and people who post them are attention-seeking, and demanding to be admired by the 0.2 people that actually listen to them.

Blocklists cause DRAMA. Last year, we had ANOTHER blocklist, one that actually sent several blogs into spirals, despite all the memes. These dumb, purposeless and needless lists cause unproblematic bloggers to second-guess themselves, lose inspiration or, worst yet, LEAVE.

But I can COMPLETELY get over that. I can handle that all, It’s shitty, but I can handle it. What I’m losing my shit over isn’t the damn blocklist. I’m losing my shit because

PEOPLE GET FUCKING HURT OVER THIS ABSOLUTELY POINTLESS, NEEDLESS DRAMA

People are SCARED to speak up, because they’re worried about further bullying or overly-aggressive anons knocking at your door, OVER FICTIONAL FUCKING HEADCANONS?! Are some of us SERIOUSLY that so immature?!

*SIGH*

In a perfect world, I would ask the BL-Poster to delete the damn post, apologize to this young girl, and I would expect a mature response back, and we could be able to move this all behind us.

But no, I expect the OP would claim martyrdom after being called out on their BS, rally a small army of people-with-nothing-better-to-do and escalate this drama into huger proportions.

With that in mind, I’m going to ask something more SIMPLE for the Blocklist OP:

Own up to the fact you wanted to start some pointless shit. Own up to the fact that you want to instigate pointless drama, because your childish actions CLEARLY showcase that you want this attention more than anything. Own up to the fact that you got SO bored one day, you decided that instead of calling out ACTUAL blogs that should be blocked, you decided to get your fifteen-minutes and call out blogs who have more followers than you.

So go ahead: BE FUCKING PROUD. You’re a childish, small and insignificant bully who got their 25-seconds of fame, WOOPDIEFUCKINGDO. You scared a teenager to the point that they don’t even want to post this on their own blog, WAY TO GO. And you UNSUCCESSFULLY defended a fictional character, with the cost only being that you had to bully a literal CHILD to do so, BRA-FUCKING-VO.

Do NOT try and claim innocence or ‘I-i didn’t mean to cause drama UwU’ You know EXACTLY what you did, you know EXACTLY what would happen as soon as you hit ‘Post’, and everyone else does to, so don’t even try playing that card.

Save all of us the time and energy, and just own up to the fact that YOU wanted to instigate the needless fandom drama, so we can speed up the process of you throwing a hissy fit, logging off for some ‘break from the drama’, all of us laughing and making memes, and forgetting this whole affair by next week.

Now excuse me while I go draft the shitposts, eat popcorn and watch the haters try to go on anon in my askbox, because I feel like THAT part will be the most entertaining thing about this whole affair

Peace and Love,

#*prepares for the wave of attempted-anons who forget to log off*#This should be fun #tw bullying #tw suicide mention #fandom drama #fandom discourse #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 drama #tf2 discourse #I got the receipts #screenshots #blocklist #tf2 blocklist #personal #harassment ain't welcome here #and you better be prepared for the shitposts If you wanna step up to me #i dare you #I have so many incorrect quotes at my disposal

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vlovers19 · 5 years ago

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It's been two months but I just came across your post today. Regarding that anon ask accusing vmin of selling out and commercializing their friendship, that message sounds like a vmin anti disguising themselves as one of us and trying to plant the seed of doubt in our heads. The reason why I got this vibe is bc I'm a twitter stan and I've seen similar shit like this tactic on twitter very often, it's being used in various situations to get some ppl to unstan their interests and stuff 🤷🏻‍♀️

You are right. I had already suspected it too. There are many of them who pretend to be vmin stans and ask tricky questions to test us and make us feel doubtful. When I got that ask, i couldn't believe a vmin stan will actually feel upset when their otp releases a song together. Why start questioning the motive of the song instead of rejoicing that they even sang together? The only ones that question and start digging around for loop holes are antis who are unsatisfied and upset. The fact Vmin even sang a song together was a big deal because many people are of the mindset that vmin's relationship is fake. That they aren't that close. Many went as far to say that they aren't soulmates and they actually believe it but when Taehyung and Jimin proved them wrong by singing this song, proclaiming to the world that they are soulmates, they start to panic. They find reasons to deny it. Like what that anonymous said about vmin using their friendship to make money. It's one of the excuses that they come up with to sow doubts and I have noticed that many vmin stans are gullible. There are so many people against vmin ship and when there are so many directly attacking one thing, people begin to question the authenticity and start asking if it's true or not. If they aren't that supportive, they loose interest and jump onto the winning train. That's why vmin ship are still so underrated despite having two of the most popular members of Bts in it. They aren't taken seriously at all despite what they do.

I'm going to give you some examples

There was a time I logged into Instagram and started checking on BTS and their latest information. I came across a vmin account. This account holder had noticed a behavior in Jimin when he and Taehyung slept together inside the van during the last bon voyage. (You can check it out if you want) Taehyung had sat up on the bed first after waking up then Jimin reached out his hand as if he had wanted to pull Taehyung back to sleep on the bed but he immediately withdrew his hands. I had noticed this too without this person pointing out about it but when I read the comments below, there where all sorts of insultive remarks thrown at him. He had only pointed out what he noticed but people fired at him and when I checked to see who they where. They where mostly solo Stans and people from other ships. The account holder kept quiet. He didn't respond to them I'm sure he must have even been questioning himself. Vmin shippers must have also seen the nasty comments and no one said a thing because they too where probably doubtful but I was so pissed so I wrote a comment that ended the entire conversation. Don't ask me what I wrote. It was just some words that instantly made people keep quiet. This account holder sent me a comment thanking and encouraging me.

Another example was when Jimin and Taehyung shared a car for the first time in a long time. People where clearly upset about them driving with the same car. People brought up all kinds of reasons not to believe it. This time, they where at the airport. Taehyung first came out of the car with Yeontan, Jimin followed next. He went to give Yeontan to one of the managers to hold for him. This particular manager is a person I always see around Jimin. But people said they didn't share the car when it was so obvious they did. They came out from the same car right in front of our eyes. But I still wonder why people take bts members riding in one car seriously. After all, they are still going to the same destination using the company cars not their private cars. It's not like they will be doing anything improper inside the cars in the presence of their drivers. Since I'm certain they live together, why the eagerness to enter one car when they will still get home and see each other.

There are so many instances that I can't mention them but the thing I want to point out is that even if I have doubts about other ships, I don't go around proclaiming that they aren't real unless I feel threatened or bothered about their relationship. I stand firm in my resolve because I'm sure of myself and I have reasons to convince me. All of the hating against the ship is even one of the reasons why I'm firm so these antis will continue to disguise themselves claiming to be vmin stans but then again, I'm still going to answer and prove to them that vmin is a ship worth taking notice of. That they are best friends, soulmates and maybe more. We don't necessarily have to believe that they are dating but at least let's believe in their bond. As for me, I'll keep reassuring the vmin population because it's obvious we need it.

#vmin #taehyung and jimin #bts jimin #jimin #BTS #bts taehyung #btsv

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doodlelolly0910 · 6 years ago

Text

Once Upon a Christmas Eve

A/N: Merry Christmas @princesswan I was your Secret Santa this year! I hope you like this little piece I've put together for you and I hope it posts correctly (I've never queued anything before lol). Thanks to @cssecretsanta2k18 for putting together such an awesome event!

*This is unbeta'd and any mistakes are my own*

“It started with a kiss.

Well, to be most accurate, it started a bit before that, as many fairytales do.

Let's just start from the beginning, shall we?

Once upon a time, there was a boy. A man, really. And the man, while devilishly handsome, was very lonely.

Now, the man was very fortunate and he had many friends. He had a job he loved working on a great ship, an older brother who he was very close with, but something was missing. Let's call the man Killian.

It was the start of the Christmas season, not so very long ago, and Killian was feeling especially low. He had just broken off his engagement with a woman who he thought he was very much in love with and, in complete honesty, he was feeling quite sorry for himself. So he decided to meet his friend at the local… tavern. Killian had been waiting for his friend to show up for almost an hour that cold winter’s night and he was beginning to get impatient. He had already drank far too much, er, eggnog that night and he was in a mood of sorts. Killian was sure his friend, the idiot Will Scarlett, had blown him off completely. So he sat alone and drank his eggnog in relative peace.

Killian was sure he was broadcasting his ill aura to all around him, souring the Christmas spirit in the air with his grinchiness, but, as it turned out, he was mistaken. He heard a voice from behind him.

‘Buy you another?’ it said and when Killian turned around, there was a beautiful blonde woman standing behind him. Now, Killian was no shy lad, but remember, he was intent on wallowing in his sorrows this particular evening and he was very much not interested in company. Unless, of course, Will bloody Scarlett had deigned to grace the tavern with his presence so Killian could give him a piece of his mind.

So he told the woman, ‘No, thank you, lass. I'm waiting on someone.’ But the woman was persistent, intent on getting Killian's attention.

‘You have an accent! English?’ she asked in her own accent, Australian, perhaps, but that's inconsequential. Killian was trying to be polite, but he had little patience for anyone that evening. Nevertheless, he was a gentleman, and a gentleman mustn't be rude to a fair lady if he can avoid it.

‘Aye,’ he told her, because he had come from England with his brother, Liam, Scarlett, and his former fiancée about ten years before because the ship of his dreams had gone up for sale in a city called Boston, but he didn't have the money to buy the ship and have it brought to England. So he came to it instead.

‘You're cute,’ the woman told him shamelessly, placing her hand on his arm. ‘Are you sure you don't want another drink?’

Killian looked at the woman again. He could feel how fake his smile was but he just couldn't bring himself to be any friendlier to the poor girl in his sorry state.

‘I'm quite sure, love, thank you,’ he said. ‘I'm still working on this one and, as I said, I'm waiting for someone.’

The woman looked undeterred, perhaps having had too much eggnog herself that evening, and she moved closer to him. ‘You've been alone all night, I don't think she's coming,’ she told him and Killian was beginning to get very uncomfortable. He began looking around the tavern for exits he could possibly make his escape through when a hand landed on his opposite arm.

‘There you are,’ a new melodic voice said and when Killian turned, he found himself stunned into speechlessness, for surely he was now in the presence of an angel.

There before him stood the most beautiful creature he had ever encountered. Her long blonde hair fell in golden curls over her shoulders, hiding the buttons of the form fitting red sweater she wore. She had green eyes, the kind that sparkled with mischief, but were also deep and soulful, like she'd lived a much harder life than most but came out a stronger person on the other side. She was cool and confident, exuding a radiant inner beauty that was only matched by her breathtaking external features. Killian had never in his life seen a more lovely lass than she.

‘I've been looking all over for you,’ she said, her hand wandering up Killian's shoulder as she tucked herself into his side. He was absolutely gobsmacked, be it from her presence or the ru- er, eggnog he'd been drinking, he'd never know, but that didn't stop him from racking his fuzzy brain trying to remember why she might have sought him out. ‘Who's this?’ she asked, nodding her dimpled chin to his other side and suddenly Killian remembered the other woman.

She was a pretty, spritely thing, but she couldn't hold a candle to the angel. The first woman, Killian had noticed, was now upset, but refusing to relinquish her hold on his arm, despite the angel's clear claim being staked.

‘I'm the one who kept him company while he was sitting up here all by himself,’ the woman said, quite nastily. The angel was unperturbed, her hand finding the back of his neck, and he was unashamed to say the simple touch gave him goosebumps.

‘Well, thanks for keeping my boyfriend company, I appreciate it. Can we buy you a drink?’ the angel asked and put her arms around Killian's shoulder, clearly staking her claim. He shrugged and played along with his savior. He allowed himself to touch her for the first time and slipped his own arm around her waist. It felt right, having her in his arms. Like she just fit there.

‘He never mentioned a girlfriend,’ the other woman said.

‘Well, here I am,’ the angel replied. ‘And we are going to go find a table, if you didn't need anything else.’ She grasped the hand Killian had on her waist in her own and began to pull him away. The other woman tugged on his other arm and held him in place. The look that came over his savior’s face, one of challenge and dark amusement, was one he would never forget.

Before Killian even knew what was happening, the blonde avenger had seized Killian by the collar of his jacket and her lips met his. He felt like he'd come alive again, months of heartache melting away as she kissed him. He couldn't help but to kiss her back, completely giving in to the spark that had ignited between them. Beneath the kiss itself, which was earth shaking enough as it was, a glimmer of hope rekindled in his soul.

Killian didn't notice, being too enraptured by his savior angel and their kiss, but the other woman had left without another word. The angel pulled away from him and gave him a beautiful smile, then patted him on the shoulder.

‘You looked really uncomfortable,’ she told him. ‘Sorry if I overstepped.’

Killian was surprised by her apology, having thought his gratefulness had been written all over his face. He needed to let the angel know he appreciated her.

So he told her, ‘Not at all. I wasn't amenable to company this evening and she wasn't getting the hint, clearly. I'm just fortunate that you came along to save me.’

She smiled at Killian again, a dazzling smile that lit up her gorgeous green eyes from within. He couldn't believe how beautiful she was and he thought for a moment the eggnog might have had him hallucinating.

‘You're welcome, then,’ the angel replied. ‘I better get back to my friends, but it was nice to meet you…’

‘Killian,’ he filled in for her. ‘Killian Jones.’

She nodded, that lustrous curtain of golden curls moving with her.

‘Well, Killian Jones, I hope you have a good rest of your night.’ And with that, she turned to walk away. Killian wasn't quite ready for her to go yet. In complete honesty, he wouldn't have minded if she never left his side, which was a silly thought to have about someone you've just met, but he couldn't help himself. So he called out to her.

‘Am I worthy to know the name of my savior?’ he asked. The angel looked over her shoulder as she walked away and said but two simple words that would change his life forever.

‘Emma Swan.’

Killian was sure he was grinning like a fool at just the sound of her lovely name as he cashed out his tab with the bar keep, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

That night, he was absently thumbing through his Facebook app when a friend request came through from a name he didn't recognize. Someone called Ruby Lucas. As one should always be wary of these kinds of things, he didn't accept right away. Instead, he went to do some investigating to try and figure out who this strange woman was that sent him a request.

He went to her page and looked at her profile picture to see if he recognized the lass, but he didn't. She was very pretty, long brown hair, a little too much makeup, but Killian couldn't place her. So he swiped through a few more of her pictures. When he got to about the third or fourth picture, he was shocked to see a face he did recognize staring back at him.

There, in the middle of a group picture that seemed to have taken place at some sort of hen party, was Emma, the angel. He could hardly believe his luck. He scrolled back up and selected the accept button on the friend request, and he absolutely did not drop his phone in his haste. Killian Jones is a calm, collected, rational man.

No sooner had he accepted the request did a message come through, an eloquent ‘hey there’’ blinking at him from the screen. He replied with a ‘hello’ of his own. Ruby asked him if he'd been in the tavern that evening and Killian confirmed he had been. Ruby then replied with just one more thing and promptly logged off. The message said: ‘Rabbit Hole, 12/24, 7:00 PM. Emma will be there. You should come.’

Killian was completely taken aback by this turn of events, but he could only jump at the chance to see the angel again, so he made sure his schedule was clear. He wasn't due at his brothers until Christmas Day, fortunately and that left him wide open for whatever it was that Ruby had requested him for.

The night of the Christmas Eve came and Killian was very nervous. He had changed clothes at least a dozen times and checked the clock at least a dozen more. After he was finally satisfied that he had stalled enough, he made it to the tavern in record time. As not to seem too eager, he decided to sit in the car until 7:00 rolled around.

Now, Killian could definitely say he knew his way around a woman, but Emma had thrown him off so completely that he started having doubts about himself, not that he would let her or anyone know that. When Emma kissed him, it had thrown his world off kilter, but what if she didn't feel the same? What if it was just a kiss to her? What if she was upset that he was there again? As he sat contemplating the situation in his car, a soft tap sounded at the window. Killian looked up and was rendered immediately speechless, a novelty for him, to be certain. There staring at him through the thin separation of the window glass, a gorgeous, albeit laughing, smile on her lips, was Emma.

Killian smiled back, opening the car door and getting out of it immediately. He didn't know what to do or say, but that didn't stop an outlandishly flirtatious ‘hello, love’ falling from his lips. From across the car park, a woman that Killian recognized from her Facebook picture as none other than Ruby Lucas called out some slightly inappropriate encouragement to her friend.

‘So, you're the surprise,’ Emma told him and it took Killian a minute longer than he would have liked to admit to catch her meaning. It wasn't his fault that the second he turned back to look at Emma he was lost in her sparkling, jade colored eyes. It was an eventuality that he’d lose his head around her at some point during the evening.

‘I suppose I am,’ he replied when he had gotten his train of thought back on track. ‘It is lovely to see you again, Emma.’

‘It's nice to see you, too, Killian Jones.’

Killian had a very vivid memory of the night he met her, and he may or may not have looked at the pictures on Ruby's page a time or two in the days since her friend request, but Killian was still struck by Emma's beauty. Snow had begun to fall around them, and with the backdrop of the street lights behind her, she truly looked every inch the angel he initially had thought her to be.

‘You look stunning, love,’ he told her.

‘Thanks,’ she replied in her simplistic way. ‘You look…’

‘I know,’ he said cheekily when she fumbled for a compliment of her own. Her eyes narrowed at him but the corner of her mouth was lifted in amusement. Killian took that as a good sign. ‘Did you want to go inside?’ he asked, not wanting her to stand out in the cold longer than necessary. She agreed and they walked in together.

Once they made it through the door, Emma was greeted by a large group of people. The tavern was decorated in reds and greens, twinkling lights strung all around in the festive spirit of the upcoming holiday. Emma quickly introduced Killian to her friends and her brother, who was only just a tad overprotective of her. Killian has grown on him quite a bit since then, but that's another story for another time.

Killian didn't feel out of place once during the whole evening thanks to Emma. She was guarded, to be certain, but there was an underlying level of comfort amongst her friends that extended to Killian as well. He could tell right away that this was not a courtesy that was extended to many, and it made his heart swell with gratitude and he was just that much more enamored of her.

The activity in the tavern had dwindled down close to midnight and Emma's very merry brother, David, should have been cut off several… eggnogs before he was. But that didn't stop him from threatening Killian as his lovely wife tried to wrestle him out the door.

‘She likes you, Jones,’ he said. ‘And I'll admit you've grown on me, too. But if you hurt her I'm gonna have to declare a duel for her honor, sir. Don't you forget it.’ Killian would have been infinitely amused by the man's threats if he wasn't so elated at his revelation. Emma liked him. And it was all he could have wished for. He spotted Emma from across the floor as she stood bidding farewell to the infamous Ruby Lucas. Their eyes locked from across the room and Killian knew he was done for.

She smiled. He smiled back. Ruby laughed out loud and said something to Emma that made her turn several different shades of red. Killian's feet began to carry him across the room of their own volition. He had tunnel vision on Emma, his angel savior, and he vaguely heard something along the lines of ‘go get ‘er, tiger,’ as Ruby walked past. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of her again.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hello, love,’ he said back.

Emma looked up towards the ceiling and Killian followed her gaze. There hanging from an exposed beam was a sprig of mistletoe. Now, if grown men got butterflies, Killian may have had a swarm of them in his stomach, but he would liken what he felt in that moment closer to a school of particularly violent fish swimming in his belly.

‘Merry Christmas, Killian,’ she whispered, her green eyes bright and so full of hope.

‘Merry Christmas, Emma,’ he replied, and took full advantage of the mistletoe tradition. This kiss was much gentler than the first, but no less life changing. The world began and ended with Emma in that moment and he knew that he needed to know her better, wanted her to stay in his life as long as he could keep her. When they broke away from one another, Emma's beautiful eyes fluttered open and Killian couldn't help the smile that was surely plastered all over his face.

‘Do you want to go get some coffee sometime?’ Emma asked. Killian couldn't agree fast enough. Little did either of them know when they walked into the Rabbit Hole that evening that they would be taking the first step towards their happy ever after.”

A soft gurgle and a coo sounded from the small bundle wrapped in Killian's arms. He smiled, his heart full to bursting, and he ran a knuckle over his newborn daughter's ruddy cheek. The babe yawned and squirmed before settling once more.

“A fairytale, huh?” a voice said from behind him. Killian turned to look at his wife with a grin. Emma was propped up on a mountain of pillows in the hospital bed where she lay, tired but happier than he'd ever seen her. Her hair was knotted in a messy bun on top of her head, her body clad in the standard green hospital gown, tubes sticking out of both arms, and she had never looked more radiant. His love for her had seemed to grow unendingly throughout the entire day, and this moment was no exception.

“Aye, love. My favorite fairytale and my second favorite Christmas Eve. I think this one tops it easily, but that day is a very close second,” Killian agreed. Emma hummed a sigh, her eyes fluttering closed once more and a soft smile on her lips.

“‘Snot the 24th anymore, though,” she said on a yawn. Killian glanced at the clock and saw it was after 1:00 in the morning. He chuckled and walked gingerly to her bedside so as not to jostle the infant in his arms and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Happy Christmas, my darling. I love you both so very much.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs ff au #merry christmas #csss2018 #csss 2018

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olivereactsaboutgarbage · 2 years ago

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Higurashi When They Cry - Watanagashi Chapter 1

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!!!

This is it... my first step into TRULY NEW Higurashi content...

Um, that's an oxymoron.

I do wonder what THIS means though:

Does this mean instead of a minor fatal Camera freakout prompted by ??? and a major fatal Keiichi freakout prompted by nothing, the events this time around will be that an actual murderer commits actual murder? Sounds scary!

Keiichi is talking to Rena on the phone.

Um, no, I can hear the voice acting. She clearly said that "good morning" in Japanese is "ohayou", not that "ohayou" in English is "good morning". Try again, localizers!

This is not nearly as "okay, you got a lot of opening exposition last time, but now for Episode 2 here's an extensive backstory sequence" as Umineko. This is like... in medias res.

Keiichi will meet up with the girls face-to-face.

Mion confirms to Keiichi that she loves doing crimes. Rena confirms to Keiichi that Mion loves doing crimes. Based

Oh, the text log works differently in Watanagashi than in Onikakushi. Even if I see text in a text box, I can STILL check the text log and ALSO see it there.

Keiichi calls himself gamerblooded. I don't know how to feel about that. I think it somehow correlates with Mountain Dew.

The core trio meets up with the Toddlers in front of a moneyful toy shop. Toddler 01 doesn't love doing crimes. Not Based

Endlessly reusable Higurashi reaction image.

Is this Ryukishi telling me I've foolishly overlooked something and need to find out what's REALLY evil? ...Is the True Evil something other than ableism? Am I totally off-base?

Ah, this is a timeline where nothing scary has happened yet, so Rena is back to her accursed despicable self, accumulating Rena Points as per usual. Ah well.

Mion has an army of male toy enthusiast frenemies. Alright.

Kaiji Joke Part 14

It's CALLED a Rena Points Meter. Also, why does that ellipsis only have two dots?

There keep being intense audiovisual stings while Keiichi calls his friends scary murderers, even though we're 110% in Nonscary Mode right now. Kaiji Joke Parts have always had Keiichi going all like "Guoooooohhhhhh...!!", that much is an essential aspect of the Kaiji Joke, but... I don't remember it always being this much... like this. There's no way I can argue that it isn't uncanny.

D... Don't say that...

THEY GET SPRITES???

Oh, Keiichi is playing that game for toddlers. Fitting, given that his opponents are toddlers. Wait, shit, am I gonna have to call these guys Toddler 03 and Toddler 04? I... I don't think I realized what I was signing up for here...

Keiichi notices for the first time that games for toddlers suck. Good work, Keiichi! This is part of becoming a man!

Um... "Okay" "Cool"

exceptionally bad taste sorry

THAT voice acting is what a "Man" sounds like???

These people with these voices... Are "Man"s???

Despite being the person whose name was most similar-sounding to Kaiji, Keiichi was the least-Kaiji-ish participant in this Kaiji joke, and the lead girls (by which I just mean Mion) are filled with smoldering fury or some such. However, in a deeply Kaiji fashion, Keiichi transitions from least-Kaiji-ish to most-Kaiji-ish. He enacts a clever gambit: Bullying children.

I have to ask... I truly have to ask... why was "Pretty girls!!" the part without voice acting. It appears there is a disconnect between the English and the Japanese, methinks.

Keiichi makes Toddlers 03 and 04 bleed all over the place. I can't remember why I ever felt sympathy for Keiichi. Something about hallucinations? It doesn't matter anymore.

If I made mochi for Keiichi, I would also put a needle in it. There, I said it.

Mion is so insecure about her intelligence... the joke's on the Insecurities Devil, because I say stupid stuff exclusively, and I'm the biggest most genius 100% of the time, so Mion objectively doesn't suck.

I believe I am beginning to grasp the shape of it... within horror-drama scenes, it's impossible for anyone with a conscience and an opened third eye to not feel deep empathy for Keiichi and Rena, the most obviously mentally ill characters... however, within lighthearted comedy scenes... oh yes, things are different within those scenes... within those scenes, Keiichi and Rena, the characters who accumulate Rena Points, are easily the most puntable characters by far!!!

So then, how does it all balance out? How can it be determined who is truly the worst Higurashi character? Well, the third-most-puntable character... the most-puntable mentally-healthy(?) character... is Toddler 01. HOWEVER!!! Toddler 01 being the worst Higurashi character... if I am not mistaken... is a Normie Opinion, isn't it?! I, a Self-Proclaimed Freak and God-Emperor of Having Something Wrong With Me, refuse to let my shroud of hipsterism drop for even an instant... Toddler 01 CANNOT be MY least-favorite Higurashi character!!! Therefore, taking into consideration the fact that having Mion as my least-favorite is rendered utterly out-of-the-question by the fact that she's the best one... heh, there's only one option, isn't there?

...Fuck. I don't want to say Toddler 02 is the worst Higurashi character. She doesn't seem half bad. She seems like she has a decent head on her shoulders. ...Can I say Ooishi is the worst character? I already know I can't say Camera, because cameras aren't characters.

Anyway, Mion decides the toy shop game tournament shall now spontaneously transform into an exhibitionism contest. Alright?

PFFFFFFFFFFT??? THIS WAS HAPPENING RIGHT BEFORE SHE HAD TO GO TO WORK???

Oh, it's a Something Came Up situation. I see. Mion's actions were completely coherent and explicable all along.

Toddler 02 decides to cut to the chase and name-drop this arc already. That's right. The important festival will contain the Kaiji Joke Climax and nothing will go wrong.

Man, even the store owner doesn't have a character sprite... that means, like, Toddlers 03 and 04 are going to, like, actually matter... what the heck, I don't need these twerps in my life...

Everyone except Mion gets toys. Mion points out that Keiichi's toy implies a nonstandard relationship to gender roles, so Keiichi shifts the balance of reality such that Rena has two toys and he has none. In a CG I didn't bother taking a picture of, Mion seemed distinctly disappointed about that.

*OPPRESSIVELY LOUD LAUGH TRACK WITH CHAOTIC CLAMORING GOLF SOUND EFFECTS LIKE IT'S NOISE MUSIC OR SOMETHING*

...Yeah I have no idea how to take that. Sincerity? Insincerity? Either way, what's the rationale? How interested is Higurashi in particular about interrogating such themes?

Pfft, like that stopped you.

What a creep. Upwards, steadily upwards, doth thine Rena Points Meter climb.

Meanwhile, in Side Story Land...

Man, Mion's aura... it's just inherently pleasant. Also some information gets conveyed or something

Keiichi is forever cursed to be the most puntable character in Higurashi. Sorry. So sorry, Keiichi. There's nothing I can do to save you. There's nothing I can do to rescue you. You're going to have to suffer and struggle on your own.

Forgive me.

#higurashi #when they cry #is what i'm consuming

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lh-dreamlog · 3 years ago

Text

08.29.XX

this dream... was the first that blended my reality and the dream world that i had become accustomed to. the detail of it was a lot more memorable than my previous dreams, hence the lengthy log entry.

also potential triggering events: if you are sensitive to strong violence or the topic of burglary, please read with caution. this was a warning.

the dream had started off in another strange way, but it was one that i had seen before. i was with my extended family when everything became eerily staged, almost as if they were producing a sitcom. i behaved normally, not following their forceful flow of events, though something told me that wasn't what was planned for me that night.

a daunting feeling overtook me as i almost gave into the dream's persistence for my cooperation. thankfully, a new presence brought everything to a halt.

"h! there you are! we need to get you out of here!"

it was my long time, closest friend, e, breathing heavy and grabbing my wrist. relief was evident, though it couldn't beat my curiosity. as she pulled me out of the crowded house, i stared at her, "e... what's happening? how are you here?"

her voice was trying its best to seem calm, though you could hear the fear rising quickly, "please, h, i can't answer anything yet. i have to get you out of here."

as we escaped, she brought me to a running car and hopped into the driver's seat after leading me to the back door, "get in, h. just... cover your ears and don't look outside until i say it's okay. got it?"

i nodded, though thinking this behavior didn't quite fit the e i knew in reality. i followed her instructions easily as i felt the car swerve and e swear quietly, "i'm sorry, h. we'll get there soon."

my eyes clenched shut until we finally came to a stop. i heard a car door open before mine and e's voice broke me out of whatever trance i was in, "come on, we have to go. they'll be here soon."

my eyebrows furrowed as i looked at her, "how do you..."

"we need to go! come on, get out of the car, h. i'll explain everything inside." i quickly followed her, my intuition telling me to follow the currently anxious blonde. we approached a beautiful house that was surround by ominous woods.

the interior was just as stunning, though it felt very empty (despite the beautiful furniture). i wasn't sure how much time passed, but i was sure that e was becoming more and more frantic. she watched the windows as she muttered about things not being how she remembered.

finally, i approached her and ask what i had been thinking from the start, "what. is. happening? how are you--?"

"i don't know either, but for some reason, i've been here before and you're in danger. so, please stay away from the left side of the house. that's where they'll attack from first."

it took a second to process what she had told me before i grabbed her wrist, "we need to hide then. tell me what we're up against."

as we went to hide, she began to explain how there were two men who had used my family to try and lure me into a trap. my eyebrows furrowed, unsure what i had done to warrant the hostile behavior, but accepting it rather quickly. i looked at her as i pointed to a closet, smiling, "don't hate me for this, but get in. if they're after me, then i'll just hold them off."

her eyes widened as she moved back seemingly against her will, "h, please, they have guns. let's hide together!"

i considered it, but ultimately shook my head, feeling a pang in my heart as tears gathered in her eyes, "don't worry, e. i'll distract them enough for us to both get out of here safely."

"they'll be here any minute. i swear to god if you get hurt, you better let me out of here, you stubborn ass."

i chuckled as i nodded and closed the door, successfully hiding my friend from any danger. however, that seemed to have triggered the next events as there was a knocking on the window.

just as e had described two men grinned sadistically at me as i put on a brave façade, "can i help you?"

"where is she? i know that brat is planning to get in our way again. there's no way she would make it this easy.." the taller male muttered, keeping his eye on me as he climbed into the room from the window.

my eyes followed the man wearily, noticing the weapon that had been secured in his hands. i kept eye contact with the man as he slowly approached me, "there's no way you aren't afraid. yet, you have the guts to look me in the eye like that?"

i glanced at the other male, who was clumsily making his way into the room. 'i need to be stronger, faster.'

smirking, i let the façade come to life, mocking the man, "it's not like there's much to be afraid of."

i could only hope he would take the bait, but he just scoffed, "looks like there's another brat. you must be stupid."

a scoff left me before i could stop myself, "says the person who is chasing after two young women for the hell of it."

his eyebrows furrowed, frustration clearly winning as he got within three feet of me, "the attitude on this bitch... my finger almost pulled the trigger."

"do it, then." i knew i was flirting with death, but i need the man to attack in some way to progress the plot. a sigh left me unexpectedly as i was met with a cool barrel to my forehead, wishing it hadn't had to come to such a cliché, "classic."

i grabbed the gun barrel with sudden speed i wasn't aware i possessed and quickly disarmed the man. the other looking at me in shock before groaning, "man, why did we get the hard job?"

with my new weapon equipped, i aimed at the armed man, quickly pulling the trigger on the farther man, not wanting him to become an inconvenience later on. the bullet hit his wrist, making him drop the gun as he fell to the floor and screamed in pain.

before i could bring the aim back to the more aggressive male, he smacked the gun out of my hand. my heart rate skyrocketed as he grabbed my face, but the adrenaline kept my mind moving as i squirmed under his hold. 'be stronger, they can't hurt e.'

tears formed in my eyes as his grip tightened, "you shut up? what? am i scaring you?"

i closed my eyes out of frustration, desperately attempting to kick him away from me, "h! help will be here any second now! just please, be careful!"

i heard e's voice as clear as day, but it seemed that the two men did as well, "find that bitch and i'll take care of this one."

"NO!" i screamed as i finally landed a blow on the man's torso, noticing the gun only a few feet away. the man only stumbled back slightly, yet somehow, that gave me more than enough time to grab the loaded weapon. quickly, i finished the injured male without a second thought, turning the gun to the surviving attacker.

somehow, he kept a grin on his face, despite his partner just being killed, "now, i get it. i see why they wanted you alive."

my eyebrows furrowed as i kept my sights on every move he made. as my finger danced over the trigger, i mumbled, "shut the fuck up. one more word and you're next."

his grin widened as he lunged at me, successfully surprising me. exhaustion was becoming obvious as a fight ensued, but i could only focus on my best friend's safety.

soon, a familiar voice could be heard, "H?! where are you?!?"

the gun flew out of my hand due to the man's forceful attacks. a yelp escaped me as i tried to fend off the angry man, "s! we're here! we're here! please help h!"

soon, my legs finally gave out, making me fall to my knees. however, the attacks stopped as a familiar boy came into my sights and tackled the attacker. there were another set of footsteps as a tall, panicked boy rushed into the room. a safe feeling flooded me as i saw him, "y... you're here too. please, go get e. she's in that closet."

the overwhelming exhaustion hit me as i laid on the floor, any pain suddenly taking its toll. i could see s fighting the man without any trouble, using some martial arts mixed with instinct to fight him.

my sight moved over to the closet where e and y where now embracing tightly. i could see tears falling from y's eyes, before their sights landed on me, "h!"

as soon as they called out to me, i heard s yell out in victory as he knocked the man unconscious. a sigh of relief escaped me as i saw everyone was unharmed. my eyes met s's frantic stare as he rushed towards me, panic clear on everyone's face.

i wanted to tell them that i was fine, that there were no life-threatening injuries. but i couldn't gather the energy too. smiling, i tried to soothe them, "i'm tired, guys."

s looked at me and quickly scooped me up in his arms, "yeah, you fought hard, h. let's go get some rest, okay?"

tears pooled in his eyes as he looked down at me. i gathered the last bit of energy i had before smiling, "until next time?"

the scene around me was already fading, signaling my waking up approaching. s's face was the last thing i focused into as his tears finally fell and a sigh escaping him, "until next time, h..."

#my god this was long #not sorry #dream log #lucid dreaming #weird dreams #that was a rollercoaster #i got kinda carried away with the details #but i don't regret it

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alertreadingquotes · 6 years ago

Text

I've Been Meaning To Tell You: A Letter to my Daughter, David Chariandy

"The Occasion"

"How did you know?", my mother and father both asked me when one day I wrote about their experiences. Their faces held surprise, even something like fear as if they had unintentionally leaked their secrets. But as you had reminded me over a slice of chocolate cake 10 years ago, children always sense more than what their parents are willing to say. Children read stories in pauses and silences, from irritation and sadness, from the grief and fear behind brave faces. And children sometimes choose silence. A child would not always readily tell, for instance, how growing up as a working class black boy in a white middle class suburb he comes to embody what is feared about a changing city and nation. He hesitates to convey his experiences because he wishes to be seen as tough - or - because it is the special nature of the hurt to feel shameful in reporting it, or perhaps a child will not discuss the mater with his parents because, tragically, he has come to believe it is not history but they who are to blame for the legacies of race.

"The Test"

I did, in the end, learn how to pronounce "thhh". Like others, I made a concerted effort to speak in a way - indistinguishable from other Canadians born here. Although I do understand of course, that many times it isn't my voice or what I say with it, but the louder silence of my body that suggests to others I'm from elsewhere. I do sometimes wonder if you, from a very different generation and upbringing than me, have had similar experiences. IF even now, a girl like you can be asked, "Where are you really from?" or that worse question, "What are you?".

"The Incident"

A good chunk of my energy and attention as a child was devoted to monitoring the physical presence of people around me, reading smiles for potentially wicked intentions, bracing when I heard about me, laughter. I'm sure there were moments when I misjudged people. When laughter was just laughter. When a smile wasn't a threat. I'm sure that some of the people who freely spoke that word were not always consciously malicious. I played with those who chanted "Eeny meeny miney mo, catch a nigger by the toe" to assign roles in a game of hide-and-seek, never realizing that long ago in a deeper way, I had already been determined "it".

I was invited to play along with my friends when they would imitate the jive talk and silly gestures of black comedians they saw on television and in movies. Not appreciating that these comedians were trying - at least at times - to reveal more complex and serious truths about the roles they were expected to perform, both on stage and in life and my friends would be disappointed, even puzzled, if I didn't enthusiastically join in. But the truth, dearest daughter, is that I sometimes did play along. I didn't want them to know when I was hurt. I was afraid that if others recognized my vulnerability, the racist insults and bullying would only intensify. Perhaps even at that young age, I had already learned to be "a man". To not admit to myself or others any stupid sensitivities. Perhaps I sought, like some of the comedians I watched, to play along in the dim hope of ultimately tricking up the role.

A practical consequence of all this was the deterioration of my relationship with school. I remember vividly the summer days leading up to my first year of high school. I was particularly excited about learning French, about entering the world of a whole new language. I got my hand on a library book of verb conjugations and began memorizing them in preparation for the first class of the year. But when I showed up, the teacher immediately read me as trouble and forced me to sit at the front of the class where she could - she warned - keep an eye on me. For days afterward, known to her or not, I was pelted with bits of pink eraser. With spit balls blown through empty pen tubes which would either bounce off my hair or get lost in what others saw as the "jungle tangles". The word "nigger" was whispered. Soon I demonstrated quite perfectly what my French teacher had suspected all along: my inability to focus effectively in the classroom, my willingness to disrupt the classroom with frustrated outbursts and jokeyness, my failure - eventually- to regularly attend class.

I'd never called any of them honkeys. Not because I was morally superior, but simply because I understood very clearly that coming from a black boy in an overwhelmingly white class in school, this word wouldn't stick or damage in any real way. However, for both the boys and the principal this nuance regarding power and language was very much beside the point. It was more important and psychologically convenient to reassure everyone that no form of racism would be tolerated. "You'd be in serious, serious trouble!" the boy rightly warned me, jutting his finger at me. There is an effect in being named, whether one is a "nigger" or a "paki", whether one is a "chink" or a "bitch", a "faggot" or "fat" or "trash" or any other number of words that are not equivalent, not exchangable but nevertheless even on the quiet of this page and in my effort now to be honest and protective, inevitably hurt and implicate. There is a toll upon the self. It was easy for me to believe that I was indeed trouble, or a joker. That I was untrustworthy in basic ways. A predator and a pervert despite my shyness. That I really wasn't cut out for school or for serious thought in general. I had little concept of a future and imagined that at some fundamental level, there was something unpleasant about me, an oily smell not entirely attributable to the strange foods my parents served but a secretion form my body, from my skin itself. At the same time, I understood very well that the hurtful people around me were never monsters of the Hollywood movie type.... I glimpsed their contradictions, their inner doubts and vulnerabilities, their brave curiosities and cowardly tribalisms, their sincere desire to be good and also their desire to be casually cruel. The truth is that before I could appreciate my own complex humanity, I was made to understand and appreciate theirs, which I saw confirmed over and over again on television, in films and in books.

I did want a life of my own in books. I wanted to read, and, mysteriously even scandalously, I wanted to write. Your grandmother would attest that a very early age perhaps 9 or 10 I secretly informed her I wanted to live alone in a log cabin in the woods and write. I can hear you laughing as you read this- knowing as you do that I never seek out experiences in nature, and hold no romantic notions about living even temporarily away form elecricity and hot running water. But I think, as a child, I had a fantasy about retreating from the heated language around me. From the words launched at me in hallways and streets, hissed at me from radios, televisions and newspapers in their coverage of people who looked like me. I wanted different terms for living in language and like any other child, I had discovered a particular- even peculiar- passion. Few around me considered my passion appropriate.

#canadian #ethnicity #racism #life #quotes #DavidChariandy #IveBEenMeaningToTellYou #books #blackness #feels

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