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slaymitchabernathy · 3 months ago

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Keepsake

| a companion to 'Visiting Day' |

Coriolanus can’t stop staring at it.

He’s been sitting on the edge of his small cot for the past five minutes just staring at the small photograph in his hands.

This photograph should be framed and put in museums.

He had gotten a letter today, which he expected, she always writes to him. But he hadn’t expected this particular photograph to be a part of the letter.

Being stationed in District Twelve has been less than desirable, but, Coriolanus often reminds himself of what's waiting for him back home in the Capitol. A diploma commending his time spent serving his country for starters, an extra credit towards his studies at the University, the fame and glory that will come his way since he's one of the only people in his year to take on this task, and of course, his loving girlfriend Soarynn Nightingale.

He saw her two months ago when she came to visit, six hours had never gone by so fast before. He has less than two weeks left but it feels like years now that the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight. And this photograph is not helping.

Soarynn has sent him lots of photos before, photos of her and Petunia, photos of her and her friends, and more photos of Petunia, he's used to getting photos from Soarynn. He's got a drawer full of them.

But this photo will be taken to the grave.

It's a photo of her in white lingerie, beautiful lingerie at that.

The bralette pushes up her breasts while her hands press against her hips, giving him a peek at the panties she's wearing. This must be a part of some intricate set with garters and thigh highs and yet she's teasing him by cutting the picture off at her hips.

That little vixen.

He'd be lying to himself if he said that he didn't constantly think about their little reunion on visiting day, how tightly her cunt wrapped around him, how breathy her moans were, and how soft her skin was. Living with stinky men caused Coriolanus to find a whole new sense of gratitude for his girlfriend who was always so feminine and gentle.

No, six hours had not been enough time.

And the amount of comments he got about her after the visit was astounding. Men were absolutely floored at the fact that Coriolanus had the most beautiful girl they'd ever seen on his arm. Some of them couldn't believe that she was truly his but Coriolanus wasn't surprised at all.

To him, it made perfect sense.

Soarynn Nightingale is a beautiful girl, one might even say the most beautiful in all of Panem, therefore enabling her to pick whoever she wanted to be her future husband. So considering her wide array of choices, she'd want someone of equal status and importance, someone who was also attractive, who dressed well and was well versed in Capitol etiquette. Someone who could take care of her, shower her with gifts and expensive trips.

Someone like Coriolanus Snow.

Coriolanus prided himself in how well he took care of Soarynn, ensuring she was always safe, warm, fed, and properly fucked to her liking.

But this photograph might push him over the edge.

Coriolanus carefully sets the photograph on the bed next to him and his fingers fumble to open up the letter she sent him.

To my beloved Coryo, Not a day goes by that I do not think about you, my love. The penthouse feels so empty without you to fill it with your presence. Our friends ask about you constantly, and I assure them that you are still dutifully serving your country without fail. My studies have been faring well, my exams have been easier than I anticipated and I should finish this semester with excellent grades. I can't wait to have you back by my side while studying in the library or strolling through the University courtyard between classes. Petunia misses you dearly, just the other day I found her asleep with one of your socks in her paws. Should I bring her to the train station when I pick you up? Please let me know in advance. I must admit that our reunion all those weeks ago has left me longing for you more than ever before. No one knows my body like you do, including myself. I can't wait for you to come home so we can have a true and proper reunion, no sergeants or soldiers yelling in the background. I've sent a sneak peek of what's waiting for you when you come back home, I went shopping with the girls the other day and they convinced me to buy some new lingerie pieces. I hope this set is to your liking. This photo can serve as a keepsake until we're reunited. My heart is always with you my darling, please keep yourself safe. I can't wait to become Mrs. Snow when you return. Love, Soarynn

Coriolanus runs his fingers over his curls, remembering how it felt when she tugged at them while he ate her out. He remembers how sweet she tasted, how she whimpered so desperately for him.

This photo is going to be the death of him.

Coriolanus glances down at his wristwatch, twenty minutes until it's time for dinner which means he's just getting closer and closer to getting the hell out of here. But it also means that he has a little bit of time to take care of the problem that Soarynn has unknowingly created for him in his boxers.

Coriolanus sighs and unzips his pants, slowly reaching his hand to take hold of his hardened length. Never in his life has he ever had to do this himself, not when Soarynn always offered up her own hands, mouth, or cunt. He always prefers the last one.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

He quietly sighs once his hand slips under the waistband of his boxers, finally skin on skin. He does his best to recreate how Soarynn usually does it but it just feels so much better when she does it with her dainty little hand and those blue-gray eyes batting up at him as if she's so innocent.

And he usually has at least two fingers lodged in her cunt while she's doing it so that always makes it more fun for him.

"Fuck," he mutters, increasing the pace of his strokes, grabbing the photo with his other hand to get a better look at it. He imagines what it'll be like to have that body on top of him again, to have her skin beneath his hands while he manipulates her body.

He tries to imagine her whimpers, her moans, and gasps while he fucks up into her.

"Oh fuck Soarynn," he grunts, giving his cock one last final stroke before he finishes in his hand.

His forehead is sweaty, and his boxers are now ruined.

Coriolanus takes in a sharp breath once he starts to calm down, settling back into the shitty reality that is living in District Twelve for two more weeks.

But that doesn't excuse him being late for dinner so he makes his way into the bathroom to wash his hands and change out of his pants and into new ones. He tosses his boxers into the wastebin and assesses his appearance in the mirror one last time before walking back into his small room.

He takes the photograph and tucks it beneath the pile of other photos she's sent him over the past few months, making sure it's out of sight for anyone who might dare to rifle through his things.

He'll have to write her once he gets back from dinner.

꧁ ꧂

To my darling girl, I can't wait to have you back in my arms my love, these next few weeks are sure to be sheer torture for my heart and me. Not a day goes by where I do not think of you and the joy you bring me, you simply light up my life. As for bringing Petunia to the train station, please don't. I would be lying if I said that the photo you sent me didn't have a large effect on me and my body, it's been so long since I've felt your touch and I can't wait to experience it again. I'm so proud of you and your studies, you've always been so inclined when it comes to your academics and I can't wait to roam the University halls together once again. I will be thinking of you every moment leading up to our reunion. Take care of yourself, my darling girl, for you are my entire future. Love, Coryo

꧁ ꧂

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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miyamoratsumuu · 4 months ago

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UNSENT LETTERS

↳ he was a writer, you were his muse. and every stroke of his pen reminded him just why all he wished for was to be the one to love you until the end of forever. iwaizumi hajime x female reader wc: 864 note: sappy, lovesick hajime. set around the 1950s or so?? not modern times, basically. phones did not exist yet, and traditional courting was all the rage :D

navigation . . .

haikyuu masterlist

"how many poems have gone unnoticed? my only wish is to be with you until the end"... now playing, leonora by sugarcane

the relationship between you and hajime was like no other. even though he was only courting you now, he treated you as if you were the only woman in the world.

he picked you up from your house for days together, gave both you and your mother flowers whether there was an occasion or not, and visited you after days of not seeing each other. he would have his guitar in hand, giving you a warm smile as he handed you a flower.

"let me sing for you tonight, gorgeous." hajime would sing you songs of adoration, as each chord he played on his guitar matched his voice perfectly. the looks he gave you as he sang were filled with nothing more than genuine fondness, and you felt it.

on days you and hajime were apart, a letter neatly folded inside an envelope was delivered to your front door. every single letter you've received from hajime were words of his longing and endearment towards you, as he never failed to express how much he truly loved you.

"my love, I hope you've been well. I am deeply looking forward to seeing you again soon."

"no matter how bad the rainstorm, your smile is all I need for clear skies, darling."

"I'm half a man whenever I'm apart from you, my beloved."

he loved sending you letters, it was his love language. if he couldn't put his feelings into words, he was confident enough in his writing skills to express his love to you through ink on a piece of paper.

he did it not only to assure you of his undying love but also to prove to you that he was willing to wait. he was willing to spend his days writing letter after letter for you, as long as you knew him for his affection.

the only pieces of writing he never sends you were his poems. each line is made to rhyme with the previous one as they work together to convey your beauty as a person. he could never send you those, as he considered them keepsakes of the parts of you that you only allowed him to see.

all the while hajime will do anything to prove he's worthy of your love. even if it costs him the rest of his life, he'll do it. he needs you to know that you're deserving of someone who would wait a whole lifetime just to love all of you.

hajime loved you. and if the numerous kisses on the cheek and letters that reply to the ones he sent weren't enough, the look in your eyes was enough to tell him that you returned his feelings. he was confident that you loved him.

that was until your smile began to look dim when you spent your days with him. until the warmth in your gaze whenever you looked at him disappeared. and until you stopped replying to his letters.

the day five of his daily letters went un-replied to, he decided to visit your home. only to find out from your next door neighbor that you and your family moved out a week ago. he felt his heart drop as he heard the news. you left. and he didn't know. how could he? you never told him. the only signs you spared were your painfully obvious distancing of yourself from him.

despite his disappointment, his confidence in you loving him didn't falter. he was drowned in his thoughts. he refused to believe that all the days and late nights you spent together meant nothing in the end.

he continued to write for you. day by day, piles of unsent letters and unheard poems filled the corner of his bedroom, each of the envelopes slowly collecting dust from the outside. each letter still contained his commitment to you, and the hope that you will come back to him.

numerous times, he was told that he had to move on and that he could find someone new. he was too young to be throwing away his life for someone who packed their things and left without a word.

he never listened to them. though, he decided to finally write another letter to you. he promised himself it would be the last one for a while.

hajime signed the letter as he set his pen down beside the piece of paper. his gaze traveled to the farthest end of his desk, and then he stood up and left the room before the portrait of both of you with loving expressions could taunt him longer. the last time he felt your presence was in his dreams, and that was weeks ago.

until when was he going to put up with this? until his heart felt numb and until forever ended. he'll wait, for his own sake. you were the reason long before, and it's still you until today. he isn't planning on changing that.

his last letter now sat on top of the pile of unsent ones. that corner of his room now marked the love that was left in him that he could never give to anyone else.

hajime's until next time:

GILIW KO & AKING SINTA: two filipino terms for "my love"

both letters say the same thing, the right one is just there in case the one on the left is hard to read:)

a/n: guitar player iwa has been on my mind for AGES??? i HAD to somehow incorporate that into this 🙋🏻‍♀️ also, please excuse my editing skills on the first pic, ahahadhauehdahah

#��️[ haikyuu ]#🖇️[ drabbles ]#i love half filipino iwa sm #iwaizumi hajime #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi angst #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #iwaizumi drabble #haikyuu drabble #filipino iwaizumi #half filipino iwaizumi

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justabigoldnerd · 2 months ago

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Hey y'all, in just two days it'll be Grief Month, so I've decided to compile a list of things that people who haven't experienced the loss of a close loved one might not think about when writing grief in fiction.

*eye twitches*

This is definitely a healthy way to cope probably

ANYWAY (below the cut because TW for death and grief)

Absence. You notice what's *not* there anymore, and you notice it *loudly*. This is the big one that I don't see in a lot of media. The space just feels empty. Devoid. For a real life example, I had a beloved cat who would literally scream for attention because he didn't understand how to come up and ask for it. When he disappeared, I couldn't stop thinking about how quiet it was. Something was very obviously missing. So, make your characters notice the lack of the person they're mourning. A lag in conversation where they would've added a quip, the kitchen being silent when it was always bustling, a character who always left the TV or radio on passes and suddenly there is no show or song playing quietly in the background. The quiet, the absence, it's oppressive. It makes you want to cover your ears. Oddly enough, sometimes that helps. A song that covers this well is "Through Me (The Flood)" by Hozier.

Memories. This one seems obvious, but it's not just crying in bed to a photo of them. It's *avoiding* photos of them, reminders of them, rooms they've been in, places they've frequented. Everything that reminds you of them feels like it's tearing your body in two with rusty shears. I once locked myself in the middle bathroom of my house because being in any other room reminded me too much of my dog who had passed suddenly at 9 months and I had a panic attack fueled by memories of her. I couldn't even sing or dance anymore for a long time because that's what I was doing with her just the week before she passed. I've only recently been able to look at photos or videos of her again.

Time. In mid September, it will have been two years since my best friend, that 9 month old pup passed. I am still reeling with grief. Your body is a clock and it *will* remember when your loved one passed, even if your mind doesn't. You'll start to think of them more often, you'll start going through the cycle of grief again and you won't know why, until it hits you. It's that time of year again.

Blame. Irrational blame, specifically. You'll blame yourself, others, "if only I had been quicker", "if I had known", "if they'd have just locked the door like I kept telling them to", "if they paid closer attention", and even "If they'd have *cared* this wouldn't have happened." It's wrong, it's bitter, it's hurtful, but it's a part of that grief.

Keepsakes. Not your father's watch or your grandmother's blanket (which are still perfectly lovely and valid!), but the pants with holes in the ankles from my late dog's teeth, or the glasses with a crack splitting one of the lenses from where she grabbed them and took off. I was so angry at her for it at the time. Now they're some of my most prized possessions. I could never get rid of them. They still have her marks. In that same vein is the amount of stray hairs of hers I would find. I kept them all. Sometimes I would just sit on the floor and pick up her fur. The day I realized her fur had stopped showing up on my clothes, I sobbed.

Love. We all know the quote. "What is grief if not love persevering?" As beautiful as it is, I call bullshit. Grief is selfish. It takes all the love you have inside of you and covers it in cement because if it can't have it, no one can. It prevents you from loving. In fact, it made me hate one of my dogs, Petunia, for a long time. It wasn't her fault. She is a beautiful, sweet, sensitive little flower and I do love her now. But grief made me look at her and feel so much rage. Because that was supposed to be *my* pup, not this new thing. I still can't love in the same capacity that I loved Giz (my 9 month old pup, my best friend, my world). I love my dog, the dog that chose *me*, Laika, in a different way. She wormed her way past the walls that grief had built up and made a home in my heart. But Giz lives there too. Laika is my girl, but she'll never be my Giz.

That's all I can think of right now. I might add more as the month wears on and I remember things. Hope this was at all helpful and not just. Idk. Sad.

#mawce likes to write #grief

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wh0lemilk0vich · 5 months ago

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Misha Misha Misha u know that one post about trans people giving the fae their dead names?? Mickey doing that w/ fae Ian (hiii Misha we haven't talked in forever I love you mishaaaaaa)

Hello beeb!!! Love you too

I love this idea so much and I think it's so cute, but weirdly I just see Mickey so attached to the name regardless of gender. I think Mickey would want fae!Ian to have it like a keepsake. I for one love the idea of trans!fem Mickey (running away to Mexico floral dress OMG my beloved).

Maybe something like

Ian: May I have your name?

Mickey: You may call me whatever you like.

Ian *impressed and bemused and smitten*: Very well my sweet.

And forever when Mickey goes into the forest and starts appearing a little bit different over time.

Tunic shirts, turning to dresses, hair growing out, and Mickey is bringing Ian gifts, mentioning her troubles. "Would that I filled these frocks out in a manner more befitting a young woman...sighhh"

And Ian just smiles sweetly, returning her some honeyed milk and berries. "Take these my sweet and all will be well."

It's not that Mickey grows more beautiful, it's that the hidden beauty that was there keeps getting revealed. Like polishing a tarnished kettle, until it gleams so brightly you have no choice but to give it pride of place.

And Mickey meets Ian in the woods again and Ian asks:

"what is it, my sweet?"

"I'd like to give you another gift. A proper gift this time, not just bread and milk."

And Ian becomes giddy, hoping beyond hope for the sparkle of her eyes, the sound of her laugh, the blush of her cheek.

"Mickey," she says.

It's an odd thing. Not at all what Ian was imagining and he admitted he was puzzled.

"I'm afraid it doesn't fit me anymore, but I should like you to have it. I'm content to be your sweet."

#misha speaks #gallavich #folklore #gallavich au #fae!ian #transfem mickey milkovich

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litchiteany · 7 months ago

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⏳Precious Time 🕰️

I've encountered Time,

She never halted for a moment,

And I couldn't impede her pace.

She flowed like a gentle breeze,

Unyielding, endlessly straight,

Gleaming and sparkling,

As resplendent as a gardenia.

Her eyes like cinnamon, lips rose-hued,

Hair cascading in champagne waves,

Strands of gold adorned with pearls,

She stirred envy within me,

Her beauty fated to outlast mine,

A competition I couldn't win.

She would enchant every man I desired,

Determine his destiny,

Teasing me with seeming ease,

Graceful, kind, carefree,

As wise as my mother.

I brace myself for her arrival,

Longing for her departure.

"I plead, I'm at your mercy,

grant me victory just this once."

She responds, "My dear love,

Your struggle is in vain,

For you are my treasure,

A ruby in the rough,

My beloved keepsake,

Precious and rare,

Bringing boundless joy and happiness,

A divine gift,

The very essence of my radiance."

11-24-20

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whippersnappersbookworm · 1 year ago

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Kaadhal avargaludaiyadhu

Kundavai fidgeted with her bangles as she sat down in the boat. It has been almost an hour since Vandiyathevan was captured by her guards and has been held captive on an abandoned island under her strict orders. Is he alright? Did the guards treat him with care like I asked them to or did they …? Various thoughts were running through Kundavai's head as the boat moved forward. Kundavai was known across Chola Nadu for her incredible presence of mind and her way with words, but right now that very princess seems to be struggling with composing a sentence in her mind. How am I gonna do it? Kundavai thought. How does one express one's feelings to someone? Why has no one ever taught her this? She is well versed in everything starting from state craft , to poetry, but she doesn't know how to confess her feelings to a man? How can this happen?- Kundavai sighed as she covered her face in frustration.

Since she was a child, Kundavai was never the one to get blown away by feelings. She was always the picture of perfection, logical and practical . Love or any other kind of absurd feeling didn't have any place in her small world. But this certain Vanar warrior changed everything for her. He arrived out of nowhere like a gust of wind in her life and transformed the practical Illavarasi into a simpering girl. How did he do this ?- Kundavai wondered aloud. From where did he learn this art of winning the hearts of young maidens with nothing but a few words? He is the only man who had the power to render Kundavai speechless.

It had been three months since Kundavai had met the Vanar Kulam veer , three months since she had struggled with all these unknown emotions. All these months , Kundavai had tried her best to ignore those unruly thoughts , she had tried her best to drive Vanthiyer away from her dreams . But the news of him drowning in the sea together with his brother ,changed everything. Being brought up with two warriors made Kundavai hard-hearted; crying was always a sign of weakness to her . But the news of her beloved and her brother drowning in the sea broke her stone-cold facade, and revealed a side of her which was unknown to everyone. It has forced her to finally acknowledge her feelings for Vallavaryan, to accept the fact that love is not a myth , it is a very real thing. Three months of separation had proven to her that she couldn't live without this warrior. She needs him like a fish needs water to survive, or like a Chakor needs the moon. She is incomplete without him and his love.

" Leave me ! I am not a spy ! I have brought good news for your Illavarasi!"- Vallavaryan's screaming brought Kundavai back to reality. She looked up to find him on the abandoned island , blindfolded and handcuffed just like she ordered. Kundavai took a final breath to compose herself as she got down from the boat. This is it , this is the moment she has been waiting for , for three months.

****************************************

Ropes dug into Vandiyathevan's hands as he tried to break free. He has been struggling to get out from his handcuffs for an hour now , his whole body is tired by the journey; it doesn't have enough strength to work its way out of those tight ropes. Vandiyathevan entered the city of Pazhayarai with many dreams in his eyes. He spent his whole journey daydreaming about the beautiful princess, the queen of his heart. Oh how beautiful she will look when I tell her about my brave deeds , how happy she will be when she gets to know that her dear thambi is alive. Will she compliment me on my bravery? What if she smiled at me and asked me what I wanted as my reward for such an honorable deed? What will I say ? Can I ask her to give me a small piece of her jewelry as a keepsake to remember our rendezvous? Will she remember me? Of course she will! How can she ever forget the man she sent to bring back her brother? She promised that she would wait for me. Does that count as something?

But all this wonderful bubble of imagination he built in his head was burst as soon as he reached the palace. The princess didn't even bother to glance at him! She completely ignored his presence and, on top of that, all these stupid soldiers decided to capture him and put him in this godforsaken place!

" Ahhhh!"- He screamed in frustration and prayed to every god he knew

" Please Shiva Perumal, kanan , or whatever god is out there! Please help me get out of this situation! I promise I will never lie or trick someone again! I will also stop flirting with women, but please let me get out of here ! I am still so young, I don't want to die without having the chance to gaze at Ilavarasi's beautiful smile for one last time. "

Suddenly, a sound of someone advancing, stopped his chain of thoughts. He could hear someone coming! Someone is here. The gods have heard his prayer

" Who are you!"- Vallavaryan tried his best to make his voice sound menacing.

" Let me go or otherwise, I am perfectly capable of killing you , even if I am blindfolded."

Suddenly, there was a sound of whoosh as his captor took out his beloved sword from his belt.

Vallavaryan panicked internally, his only source of bravery now gone . What is he going to do now?

" Where is Arulmolzhi Varman "- his captor asked as they circled around him.

" Oh they have sent a woman then"- Vallavaryan smirked , ah there is a chance then . A woman can't do anything to him , he can easily charm his way out of here.

" Why should I tell you ?"

The sword swiftly landed on his neck.

" Don't you value your head?"

Vallavaryan smiled at the woman's words

" You are not going to behead me."

" Why?"- she asked as she pushed the sword down his neck , making him wince in pain.

" Because I have good news for your princess."

His captor took a moment to consider his words, then, with a swift blow, uncuffed his hands .

Vandiyathevan sighed in relief ,

" Ah she trusts me , maybe now she will take me to the princess."

" What good news?"

" Why should I tell you ?"- asked Vandiyathevan as she stopped him from taking off his blindfold. " Because the princess sent me "- the word stopped Vandiyatheva

" The ilavarasi sent you?"- he could finally see some light at the end of this dark tunnel.

Was she the one who captured him? That means she remembers him! There is still hope.

" What did she say?"

The sword was once again back in his throat, dangerously close to his pulse,

" Slay the spy!"- The mystery woman replied

Suddenly, a familiar scent of Jasmine and sandalwood hit Vandiyathevan's nostrils as his captor moved forward. There is something very familiar about this smell. Who is she? Vandiyathevan wondered , do I know her? Is she by any chance? Vallavaryan stopped in his tracks . Yes it is her! Who else can it be? This particular smell had been in his mind since the day he met her in the boat. It has haunted his dreams back in Eezham, accompanying him throughout his journey. Vandiyathevan decided to try his luck , as he put his hand on the tip of the sword.His captor allowed it.

" She doesn't remember me? "- Vandiyathevan said as he slowly approached her.

" No, she must have forgotten you."

"Probably, I am, after all, a landless warrior and she is the daughter of Chakravarthy, besides..."

" Besides?"

" I heard she is going to marry Parthibendan soon."

"So ? What is that to you?"- her voice quivered, making him smile.

" Nothing really. Who am I After all? I don't own a patch of land. What can I desire?"

He slowly touched her hands , and fire ignited in his body as he felt her soft hands in his rough ones.

" What do you desire?"- Vandiyathevan could feel the princess coming closer to him, the smell of Jasmine and sandalwood now driving him mad, making him burn with desire and passion. As if challenging him to take off his blindfold and pull her into his arms.

" Many things"- he replied, trying to control himself from doing something rash.

" Who told you that the princess is going to marry Parthibendan?"

" She isn't? Really?"- now it was her turn to surprise him.

" No. "

" Why?"

He slowly brings her closer, hope now filling his mind.

What if the princess feels something for him? What if? A man can certainly dream.

" Because thoughts of someone else fill her mind."

Vandiyathevan could feel his world stop for a moment, several thoughts running in his head as he heard the sword drop behind him and the princess gasp at his touch.

" He promised her something but has now forgotten about it."

" What promise? I kept my promise, Arulmolzhi Varman is safe!"- Vandiyathevan almost screamed in frustration, his hands itching to take off his blindfold and sweep the princess from her feet, to take her in his arms and run away to the lands of fairy tales where there would be no politics, no Nandhini, no impending war to distract them.

" That was an order not a promise"-She replied, her voice now reduced to a whisper.

Vandiyathevan could feel her breath in his face , caressing his ears as if teasing him to capture her lips with his

" He promised that his heart is not his anymore, it now belongs to me"

A smile appeared on Vandiyathevan's face as he remembered a certain vow he made in his first meeting with the princess. She remembered everything,she felt the same for me, it was never a one-sided admiration but something more than that.

****************************************

Kundavai looked at his beloved's face as the realization dawned upon him. A beautiful smile broke into his face, making her heart skip a beat.

That damned smile , the smile that started everything

He tried to take off his blindfold but she stopped him .She needed a minute before she gazed into his twinkling eyes , a minute before he looked at her , all decked up to meet him . She needed a minute to do something she always wanted from the very first moment she gazed upon him.

Kundavai took a deep breath as she moved forward. She could practically smell him now. His smell makes her feel comfortable and safe, it reminds her of the childhood she had left behind. She looked down at his lips , parted and gasping for breath as if eagerly waiting for her . She closed her eyes and slowly leaned forward to touch his lips with hers. A strange sensation passed through her body as soon as she felt his lips on her , making her move back gasping for breath. She could feel fire burning in her heart and a strange sensation in her stomach.

What was she doing? Did she lose her mind? What if someone saw them?

Kundavai tried running away but she was too late. A strong hand captured her and brought her back to her previous position.

****************************************

The kiss was unexpected. Vandiyathevan expected her to hold his hands or maybe an innocent peek on his cheeks, but the kiss came out of nowhere. But he should not be amazed ,everything was unusual with his princess. He ripped off the blindfold as he brought her near. She was dressed in white from head to toe , a red blush creeping into her face making her look as beautiful as ever. In Vallavaryan's eyes, Kundavai's beauty was incomparable and could rival the heavenly Apsaras or the greatest of beauties. She can rage storms and wildfires with one look of her eyes ,her smile can stop the world from burning. It could even rival the beautiful flowers, she was more than perfect in his eyes.

" I didn't know the princess could blush?"- he asked as he touched her cheeks

"Of course she can , she is a woman after all"-Kundavai replied as she looked up to gaze at his twinkling eyes. The same eyes that had stolen her heart like a thief

" Ilavarasi, I "

" Kundavai" - princess rendered the spy speechless as she puts a finger on his lips

" Call me by my name, Vallavaryan. I may be the princess to others, but to you I am just Kundavai. A mere woman who is standing in front of you, asking you to love her"

"Kundavai…"- Vandiyathevan whispered in her ears as he tucked away a stray hair

" My Kundavai, do you know how much I missed you, Ennavale? Do you know how much I yearned to hold you close like this?"

Kundavai giggled at his love-struck words.

" I knew that Vallavaryan is a great warrior from my brother's letter, but he never mentioned that he has such a way with words. Tell me Vanthiyer , how many women have you entrapped by all these honeyed words of yours?"

" Not a single one since I have met you, Kundavai, I swear on Shiva Perumal. You are the only one in my thoughts for those three agony-filled months. You were my only ray of light in those dark times, I only survived so I could come back and confess my love for you!"

" Really?"- Kundavai asked.

" Yes yes! "- He replied as he kissed her finger, making her gasp in surprise.

" Do you remember our previous births, Kanmani? Where you were, the goddess of the forest, and was I your humble servant? I spent my whole life waiting for you to glance at me but you never did! Then, do you remember when you were an apsara in Indra's court and I was a Gandarva ? I dedicate my life to your feet, but you just laugh at my folly? Do you remember when I was a poet and you were my muse? Do you remember when I dedicated all my poetry to you, and you didn't care to take a look? Do you remember all those lives, Kanmani? I have spent all my seven previous births yearning for you , and now finally my prayers are answered. The Gods have finally taken pity on this mere mortal and granted him a boon in the form of your love devi. You have made me the luckiest man on earth today Azhagiye.And I , the Vanar kulam Veer Vandiyathevan, promise with the sun and the ponni river as my witness that I will keep on loving you, the Illiya Piratti Kundavai till my very last breath. Even if you leave me or break my heart , I will keep loving you since the day I die."

" Oh Vandiyathevan!"- tears were now flowing down Kundavai's cheeks. She had imagined many things about her future since she was a little girl. She imagined being her father's pride, her brother's support. But never ever in any of her wildest dreams had she imagined a certain veer like him falling madly in love with her and promising her the world.

" And I , the Illayi Priratti Kundavai, also promise to you, Vanthiyer, as the sun and ponni river as my witness that the hand which held yours will never know the touch of another man"

Her last words were drowned by Vandiyathevan as he leaned upon her, stopping her midway by capturing her lips with his. The twin flames that were burning within them for all these days , were finally extinguished by the long-waited kiss. Finally, two souls whose story started on the banks of the Ponni find its course once again with Ponni as their witness .Their story will live on forever frozen in time , as long as Ponni blows through the heart of the great Chola Nadu. Dynasties will change, people will change, but their story will remain forever preserved in the water of Ponni.

Many people had already done their version of the proposal, so here is mine. Please tell me your honest thoughts about this. Also I am writing more fics on them , so you can give me prompts if you want ! I will try my best to write them down.

@gemsmusings Thanks for this prompt!

@vijayasena @vibishalakshman @thelekhikawrites @ambidextrousarcher @celestesinsight @yehsahihai @jukti-torko-golpo @kovaipaavai @rang-lo @dr-scribbler @ragkee @hollogramhallucination @thegleamingmoon @chiyaanvikram @arachneofthoughts @sakhiiii @harinishivaa @freeunknownwasteland @nspwriteups

#ponniyin selvan #kundavai #vandiyadevan

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rogerakinsey · 9 months ago

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Anniversary Bliss with Disney: Unveiling the Top Shirts for Your Celebration

Celebrating anniversaries is a cherished tradition, a time to reflect on love, commitment, and shared memories. Adding a touch of Disney magic to these special moments amplifies the joy. In this blog, we delve into the enchanting world of "Anniversary Bliss with Disney: Unveiling the Top Shirts for Your Celebration." Discover how Disney characters and themes can elevate your anniversary festivities.

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Themed Anniversaries with Disney: Exploring Options

Explore the diversity of Disney themes to align with specific anniversary milestones. From fairytale weddings to adventurous journeys, Disney movies offer a rich tapestry of themes. Dive into possibilities, discovering how different characters and movie themes can be seamlessly woven into the celebration, adding layers of meaning to the couple's journey.

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Encourage creativity by considering the option of crafting DIY Disney anniversary shirts in vintage drip. It's an opportunity to infuse personal elements into the celebration. From hand-painted designs to incorporating fabric from memorable moments, DIY shirts add a unique touch, making the celebration even more special. The process becomes a shared experience, creating lasting memories for the couple.

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Conclusion

In conclusion, celebrating anniversaries with Disney brings unparalleled joy and magic. From classic elegance to personalized picks, the world of Disney anniversary shirts is diverse and enchanting. Each shirt becomes a symbol, not just of the celebration but of the enduring love shared by the couple. As you embark on the journey of choosing the perfect Disney anniversary shirt, remember that the magic lies not just in the characters but in the unique love story it represents. May your anniversary be filled with Disney bliss and the promise of more magical moments ahead.

#disney anniversary shirts

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rmoonstoner · 2 years ago

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So Strange

***

Note:

I am starting at the point of when Stephen is already in Tibet. We don't need a retelling of the story on how he got there, because it's literally the same.

First chapter is a bunch of memories/small blerbs about events that are different from the Canon timeline.

Warnings:

No major warnings at this time. Just a lot of whumpy feelings. Maybe some traumatic experience memories. Foul language. Story is PG to start, but will progress to NSFW/18+ eventually, with Stephen being paired with the fem!reader at a later date.

No one has proofread for me. If you are interested, please let me know. If you would like to be tagged, please let me know.

***

Chapter 1 - So Strange

***

How did he get here? He knew how, but why had he allowed himself to get to this low of a level, before reaching out for help. He was a jaded man that was desperate for his old life back, and in that desperation, he had rejected the ones he cared about most in this world. He had outright lashed out at the love of his life, because he couldn't accept his fate.

He tried everything to fix it, but nothing worked past getting his hands good enough to hold a cup, let alone being able to write. He once had beautiful writing, but now it looked worse than a family doctor's chicken scratched prescriptions.

He had exhausted all of his options, and when they all eventually failed, he would throw a fit and lash out at anyone whether or not they deserved it.

They never deserved it.

His friends and family, and eventually, his girlfriend all left him. They couldn't tolerate his crazed rants or frenzied plans to regain the original movement he once had in his hands. He had become ruder and meaner then he used to be. Now he resembled a very grumpy old man. He even had the scraggly beard, unkempt hair, and he looked older than he did during the accident. The graying streaks on the slide of his head were now more prominent and turned white from the stress and his constant misery. It was evident on his face where the wrinkles deepened.

Now here he sat, on dusty stone steps, watching the world go by as he leaned against the heavy wooden door of the Kamar-Taj. He had been turned away when he first arrived. It had been seven days since he refused to budge from the spot.

He was growing weaker by the day, having spent every last cent to his name. He only held a shitty flip phone and the watch he was gifted by his ex.

He was losing almost any hope of gaining entry to this mysterious place that claimed to be able to heal injuries that even his own colleagues could not (and did not want to) fix.

It came down to selling his watch. The only thing of sentimental value he had left of his beloved. He knew it held more monetary value and he needed food to survive…

So, as his stomach threatened to burn holes through his lining, he finally broke down and decided to sell the watch.

For the first time in days, he decided to leave the steps, going farther into the market with purpose. More so then when he went into the market when just going to find a spot to relieve himself.

He wandered the market, looking for a stall that would take his broken keepsake. He knew it was worth a pretty penny, even if it had damage. The glass plate could be replaced and the gears inside just needed to be realigned. After visiting three stalls, he finally found one that appeared to show interest in the watch. He was just trying to barter with one merchant, and getting told a resounding no, when another overheard the conversation.

"Excuse me, I saw that you're trying to sell your watch. May I have a look at it?" It was an old woman with a veil over her face.

She was dressed in old yellow robes and scraps of cloth. She didn't appear to be the type that could offer him anything helpful, but he was desperate. For once, he kept his snarky comments to himself and approached her with a slow nod.

"Yes. Yes, I am trying to sell my watch." He replied and held up the item in question. She glanced down and hummed.

"Aren't you that man that's been camped out on the temple steps for the past week?" She asked, and he nodded.

"The same one that was almost robbed of this very watch that you claimed meant the world to you?" She asked another question and he didn't hesitate.

"Yes." He murmured softly.

"Why have you changed your mind?"

"I… The person who gave this to me is no longer in my life, because I allowed my anger and my depression to get the better of me. I was cruel to her and pushed her away. It's value to me is no longer sentimental, but now a constant and unbearable reminder of how I failed her, and everyone around me."

"Ah, I see. It sounds more like you failed yourself by being much too harsh on yourself. Tell me, young man, what is it you need the money for?" She asked as she looked up to see his tired looking face.

"I am hungry. I need food. I am cold at night, and my blankets have holes. I want to use some of the money to use the bathhouse, because I am sure I smell terrible." Stephen explained through tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

"Well you certainly do smell terrible. Tell you what, I shall give you a basket of fruits and veggies, some cheeses, dried meats, nuts, seeds, and grains. I can add bread and some water. On top of this, I will give you more every day for as long as you need, if you agree to help me with my chores. I cannot offer you a place to stay, but I can help you look for one." She said with a calm and kind voice.

He mulled it over for a few seconds, trying to decide if this was really worth giving away his watch. The woman waited patiently as he thought about it.

He was stuck in Tibet, with no money, and nothing else to his name. His hands were crippled and he was useless to find a normal job. His clothing was in tatters, and he had been starved for weeks, just barely able to get by.

"I… I accept your terms. What do you want me to do?" He sighed in defeat and passed the watch over to her.

"Thank you, Stephen. Here's your basket of goodies, and I'll see you again tomorrow at noon back here." The old woman said as she handed him a basket that definitely wasn't there before.

"Thank you, kindly." He was too hungry to question it, or how she knew his name. She hadn't turned the watch over to see the back engraving.

"Wait. Please take this as well." She added with a smile as he produced a weathered old guitar and a pack of new strings.

Stephen stared at the guitar, wondering if she'd lost her mind. It was such an insensitive gift, given that he had showed her his hands, yet he said nothing and took the gift anyway. He slung the guitar over his back and set the strings into his pocket as he thanked her again, but when he turned around, she and her stall were gone.

Baffled, he made his way back to the steps at the temple, sitting down and digging into the food he had received. He decided it was well worth the indentured servitude that was to come. He didn't even look at the guitar that night.

***

The next day, Stephen had returned to the old woman's stall. It felt like it was a few blocks closer then it was the day before, and Stephen was absolutely certain it was twenty blocks away, and not sixteen. He dismissed the oddity as her not being able to set up in the same place as before. Perhaps some other merchant had taken her previous spot. He didn't even bother to go check.

Today he was tasked with hanging up fabrics for one of her stall neighbors. It took him over an hour, but they were patient with him as he painstakingly clipped hangers to each garment and hung them up on hooks. He was given a basket of food, a voucher for the bathhouse, and then told to come back at the same time the next day.

Stephen happily went to the bathhouse with his basket and found a small spot in a corner next to a grumpy looking bald man. He was careful to avoid bothering him as he got to the stall where he was supposed to do a proper cleaning, before stepping foot into the shared water space.

He took his bags, the guitar, and his clothing off, setting them down in a way that gave him barely any privacy. He washed himself efficiently, but harshly, trying to scrub every bit of dirt and grime away as best as he could. His doctor's training had him washing certain areas repeatedly, to the point of using the sponge to turn his skin red. He even took the time to clean under his nails and wash his face and hair thoroughly, before he stepped into the warm pool of water.

"You sure took a long time over there." The man in the pool said.

Stephen blinked when he heard perfect English and he turned his head to look at him.

"I… I uh… I was backpacking for a while. Haven't had a chance to bathe."

"But you used the entire bar of soap."

"I like to be extra clean."

"You washed everything four times."

"I used to be a surgeon. Old habits die hard." Stephen sighed and he slowly sank down to his shoulders and leaned against the wall.

"A surgeon? Then why do you look like a homeless bum?"

Normally, Stephen would have been offended and had a snarky remark to show just how offended he was, but he had the wind knocked from his sails recently. He just sighed deeply and held his scarred and twisted looking hands up to show the man.

"Oh… I'm sorry I asked."

"It's alright. That was my old life. I'll never be a surgeon again." Stephen's voice was hollow as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the water.

"Why are you here, then?"

"I came here in the hopes of finding the Kamar-Taj and maybe receive help in repairing my hands. I apparently can't get them to even open the door for me." Stephen explained while he rubbed his tired feeling legs.

"Oh? They don't just let anyone in, you know."

"I know. I've given up for a bit. I am helping out a merchant with her stall to pass the time. She gives me food and drink, and she gave me a voucher to come here, so I don't scare her customers away with my funk." He laughed as he looked at his hands. They still had dark creases, stains from going so long without a cleansing.

"Well, perhaps you should take this time to help her and regain your strength."

"Yeah. I think I will."

The two men talked for a while. Stephen learned that his name was Hamir and that he lived nearby. He told Stephen stories of the local lore, areas to avoid, and areas that were a must see. Stephen offered to share his goodies with him, and they both happily ate and exchanged stories about their lives.

It wasn't long, before Hamir had to go, and Stephen decided he should leave as well. Again, he made his way back towards the temple with his little half empty basket and fell asleep against the doorframe.

***

For three weeks, Stephen kept coming back to the old woman's stall to do small tasks for her. Each time he made the journey, he found the stall had gotten closer each time. Fifteen blocks away, then twelve, and then ten. He thought it was very peculiar that she kept moving her stall, but he didn't question it at all. When the stall couldn't get any closer to the Kamar-Taj, it stayed still and didn't move again.

He also started to mess around with the guitar over these weeks. He tried it out and hated how the tuning sounded. He changed the strings and tuned it perfectly, yet his fingers could barely play. He would only practice when he sat at the steps of the temple, and he sounded awful.

He spent a week folding fine linens and packaging them up into protective canvas sacks. After work he would go back to the temple and practice until he fell asleep.

He spent another week hanging herbs and spices to dry. Again, he would go back and practice the instrument.

On the third week, he helped pack jars and envelopes with dried spices. He didn't even realize that each task was gradually getting harder and longer, nor did he notice that was gradually getting better at handling the guitar. He still sounded terrible, so he didn't even notice.

By the beginning of the fourth week, Hamir had found him again. Stephen was busy beating dirt and dust from the mats of several stalls around the one the old woman had. He was covered in dirt and sweat as the man approached the old woman and chatted with her for a few moments. Stephen glanced up and noticed Hamir, giving a wave, before going right back to work on the last mat.

"Hello! It's good to see you again!" Hamir said as he came up to Stephen. He didn't seem to mind the dust flying at him as Stephen worked.

"Hello, Hamir. It is good to see you again." Stephen greeted back with a half smile.

"I see you're working hard, just like you said you would." Hamir commented, causing Stephen to chuckle.

"I am trying to earn my keep. Granny Tilly has been so kind and patient. I owe it to her to help out, even if I am only able to do minimal tasks."

"Don't you find it beneath you?"

"I used to… But now… I am just grateful for any help that I can get." Stephen quietly admitted.

Hamir raised his brows and then gave Stephen a smile as he watched the broken man put the mat down and roll it up. Once he was done, he patiently stood back as he watched the old woman make up a small basket for Stephen to take away. Stephen gave his thanks and went to leave, when Hamir asked to accompany him back to wherever he went after work.

Along the way, Hamir asked Stephen a series of questions.

"Where do you go after work?"

"I go back to the temple and I sit outside of the doors. I practice with this old guitar that Grandma Tilly gave to me. I'm not very good at it."

"I see. Do you even knock? Surely they can hear you playing."

"Oh, yes. Certainly. I knock when I get back, but no one answers. I knock when I wake up, and again, no one answers. I've seen people go in and come out, but never when I am sitting by the door. By the time I can reach the door and knock, no one comes. When I play, no one complains or tells me to stop." Stephen said sadly and he flexed his hands repeatedly while switching the basket to his other hand every so often.

"Perhaps you need to do something else to gain their attention. Are you musically inclined at all?" Hamir asked with a small smile, but Stephen's face didn't change much from his pitiful expression.

"No. I don't play anything well. I've just been trying to get my fingers to move enough to make the chords."

"Shame-"

"But! I am very good at hearing pitch and tone, and I know all the musical terminology. I can tell you any song after hearing only a few seconds of it. Uh, if I have heard it before and know the name."

"Really?"

"Yes. There's an app that does that as well, and I can beat it frequently. I just need to hear a song once in its entirety to be able to remember it." Stephen said with a small smile beginning to develop at the corners of his face.

Hamir seemed both impressed and skeptical at this information. Without another word, he fished out a small iPod from his robes and turned it on. In seconds, a tune was playing, and Stephen's eyes lit up.

"Freebird, by Lynyrd Skynyrd. It came out in the beginning of November 1974, but was made in April on the 3rd, the previous year." He compulsively blurted out the answer and a little bit more. Hamir grinned and immediately changed the song.

"Wannabe, by the Spice Girls. Released on June 26th, 1996." Stephen happily said. Again the song changed.

"Boulevard of Broken Dreams, by Green Day. It was put out on November 29th, 2004." Stephen was now becoming excited.

He enjoyed this little game, and he missed it terribly when Christine and the other medical staff used to play it with him. Hamir was now fully invested in this, now actively looking for songs to stump Stephen. He picked an obscure song, hoping it would. Not even ten seconds into the song, Stephen snapped his fingers and hopped up and down with an answer.

"Maxwell's Silver Hammer. The Beatles. Recording started on July 9th through to the 11th, and finished on August 6th of 1969. It was released on September 26th the next month." Stephen had a good hold on the song.

Almost every song Hamir presented to him, he genuinely enjoyed. He wasn't a fan of the Spice Girls, but it didn't bother him.

"Fantastic job, but are you willing to keep this game going?"

"Oh, yes. Throw anything you want at me. If you stump me, that'll surprise me. All I ask, is that if I haven't heard it, that we listen to it in its entirety, then you tell me what it's called and the artist who made it."

"Deal. I'll even do you one better. I'll let you read the Wiki page for it, so you can get all the neat little facts. Next, try this one." Hamir grinned as he hit play on the next song.

"Get Along. It is the theme song to the Japanese Anime, Slayers, season one. It aired on April 7th, 1995. It was performed by Megumi Hayashibara and Masami Okui, and the lyrics were written by Satomi Arimori. It was composed by Hidetoshi Satō, and it was arranged by Tsutomu Ōhira." Stephen said, much to Hamir's surprise.

"How the hell did you even know that one?"

"My ex's niece used to watch it. I found it… Weird, but it was entertaining. I enjoy that animation style quite a lot actually. A little odd they focused a lot on how large the main character's breasts were. That shouldn't be an issue when Lina is a powerful sorceress that can burn a man to a crisp." Stephen said as he went into detail about the show. He wouldn't admit it, but he loved anime for the extremely complicated magic portrayal they had.

"Well I don't think I am going to use any more anime, then. Here, try this one on for size." This time Stephen was listening for a good forty seconds, and Hamir thought he had finally stumped Stephen, when Stephen again, spoke up.

"Yuve Yuve Yu, by The Hu, and that's H U, not W H O. I was told it was released in 1998."

"Okay, now how do you know this one?"

"I heard it at the airport when I first came here. I liked it enough, that I asked who the artist was."

"I'm impressed. Ah, it looks as though we have arrived at the temple." Hamir announced as he motioned to the door.

Stephen frowned. For the first time in a while, he had been genuinely enjoying himself and now it was cut short.

"Oh… Yeah… I guess you have to go now, right?"

Hamir nodded and waited. Stephen stared at him, then looked back at the door. Reluctantly, he went up and gave a good couple of knocks and stood back to wait. After a few moments, Stephen sighed and his shoulders slumped.

Hamir stepped forward. Stephen was confused, because no one had answered. Was is friend going to try again for him?

Hamir got up to the door and cleared his throat, before knocking a certain way.

Knock, knock.

Pause.

Knock.

Pause.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Hey, it's alright. They won't answer." Stephen sighed and placed a hand to Hamir's shoulder.

No sooner had he spoken, then the door opened with a loud creak. The same man that had saved Stephen from his attack earlier that month was standing there with a hard look on his face that quickly changed when he saw Hamir.

"Oh! Master Wong! It's good to see you! How was your day out?" The man said as he respectfully bowed before Hamir.

Stephen's face fell into shock as Hamir smiled and bowed back. His jaw slowly dropped and Hamir turned to him with twinkling eyes.

"Master Mordo, can you please get some tea ready for my guest?" Hamir requested and he motioned for Stephen to come forward.

Stephen's mouth snapped shut and he came over while looking particularly nervous. Hamir let him in, while Mordo left to grab some tea.

"Master… Wong?" Stephen asked and looked around the inside of the building as he processed the title's meaning.

"Ah, yes. My name is Master Hamir Wong. Please, just call me Wong. I am one of the many masters here at the Kamar-Taj. Please, have a seat."

Stephen was promptly given a chair to sit in, with it literally being shoved under him. He sat down awkwardly and looked around, finding no one there that could have shoved the chair at him. When he looked back, there was now a coffee table, and a cup of steaming hot tea.

"So, Doctor Strange… I've gotten to know you over a few meetings. I've seen the good you've been doing for Grandma Tilly, and the other market vendors. She's said that you don't complain about the tasks she gives you, but you do moan and mope about your lost life and your sore hands. I mean, that's fair, given everything you have gone through."

Stephen hung his head and went to pick up the tea cup with both of his shaking hands as Wong continued to speak.

"I also know why you came here. You wish to heal yourself. I believe you can, and move on from the sadness you are drowning in. With time, you will even regain almost one hundred percent of the use of your hands."

Stephen's face lit up and he sat up in his seat. He looked down at his twisted fingers and then back up at Hamir.

"Almost completely?" He asked hopefully. A small part of him still clung to the idea that he could go back to his glamorous old life of being a surgeon.

"That depends on you, and your willingness to surrender yourself to our teachings." A familiar voice rang out.

Stephen looked over to see the old woman he had been helping. She had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and now she looked far younger than she did before. She was dressed in golden robes with fine embroidery, and she gave Stephen a knowing smile.

Again his jaw dropped.

"Grandma… Tilly?"

"Yes, but also no. My name is Master Yao, but everyone calls me the Ancient One. I am pleased that you have proven yourself worthy enough to gain entry into this place. I had Master Mordo and Master Wong follow you around. Mordo stayed hidden, up until you were assaulted, then he vanished again to keep an eye on you. Wong's role to was to see how you react to others that weren't helping you with anything, except friendship."

"So… You were testing me all that time?"

"Yes, Stephen, I was. I have seen many possible futures, and instead of being harsh on you, I decided that we should take a different path, the one you've just gone down. It was either that, or the path where I put you in your place by sending you to Mount Everest to nearly freeze to death."

Stephen's face fell and he looked confused.

"What? Possible futures? Choosing a different path? What does that mean?" He asked and she slowly sat down in front of him.

With a wave of her hand, she made another teacup appear on the table, and then it began to fill with with piping hot tea. Stephen watched, transfixed as she had a sip, and started to move her hand. The tea cup set itself down onto the table and she gave him a smile.

"It means, that had you been allowed to enter our sanctuary the first week you arrived, you would have been ten times more insufferable than your current self." She explained and showed him a small viewing orb with scenes of him helping her and the other merchants.

"By asking for your help as a feeble old woman, you learned to listen to others that you once considered beneath you. It allowed you to work on using your hands and getting used to real work again. It helped you calm down, and be less angry with yourself and the world. It taught you respect and manners, and how to take what life gives you and be less, how the kids say, angsty about it." When Yao finished, the orb faded away, the last image was of Stephen giving her the watch.

Stephen was mesmerized by the display of what he could only call magic. It explained the appearing chair when no one was there. It explained the suddenly there tea, with no sign of Master Mordo, the one who was tasked with getting the tea in the first place. It explained the viewing orbs and the way the woman had made her own tea appear, and even tilted the cup to show him how it was slowly filling with tea.

But that wasn't possible, was it?

Sure, there were supernatural things out there, but science had explained almost all of them

Tony Stark's whole deal with his technology and the reactor core in his chest. But it was science, not magic.

How genetics had mutated the human genome to create Mutants, Inhumens, Spiders, and other closely related things. Again, science.

Black Widow and Captain America were modified through scientific testing and research.

Hawkeye had professional training to be the sharp shooter that he was. That was a special science as well.

Doctor Bruce Banner, a man Stephen highly respected, had been turned into The Hulk by Gamma radiation when he really should have died…

But it did not explain how the Mighty Thor could use a hammer that seemingly had no tech inside to power it, or help the supposed God fly. It didn't explain the lightning, or the basic fact that Thor, was most indeed, Thor from the legends.

It did not explain Wanda, the Scarlet Witch. Her name was literally screaming, 'Magic!'

He looked down at his tea, and smacked his lips, then he looked up at Yao. He was starting to think that he might have possibly been drugged with something. Maybe she had been microdosing him with mushrooms or something…

"And no, Doctor, it's not psilocybin, or LSD, or anything else for that matter. It is just tea, with a little honey. What you are seeing is very real, and you can learn to do it, too." She said calmly as she pulled yet another orb up and showed Stephen images from his past.

It started with his sister's death, moved on to him studying, then showed him graduating.

A whole montage of Stephen played while he was working at the hospital. It showed him moving up in the rankings of the best surgeon in the city within weeks of landing a job. Within three months, he had become a sensation in the medical world, and was the top surgeon for all of the world.

But then more of those hospital images played, showing just how dark and unkind Stephen had become over time. It showed the many people he had refused, just because their insurance wouldn't cover the procedures, or that they just weren't interesting cases. A high mortality rate followed his refusal to do those surgeries, and the ones that lived, had twisted and horrible lives.

It showed the one man he had refused. The one that was desperate and begged Stephen to take his case, but the doctor had given him a resounding 'No.' Stephen wasn't swayed by the tears he had shed. It was the same man Stephen had later begged and pleaded with to share his secrets to his healing process.

Another image played, going to the car accident. Stephen could have sworn he saw two images playing at once. One appeared to show the actual crash, exactly how it happened, with him ending up with his broken hands. The other that overlapped it, showed the same crash, but Christine was with him, and she ended up dead.

He was horrified to see that secondary image. He felt goosebumps prickle his skin all over, and he swallowed thickly, before going for his tea. He never even thought about that possibility. Stephen grabbed his tea and drank another sip, thankful that didn't actually happen to him, even if it felt very real.

"Now, Doctor Stephen Strange, a doctor by experience and title. You will never be the man you once were. You've been through a lot, and now is the time for your metamorphosis. Do you wish to see the world the way that we do?"

Stephen didn't hesitate. He nodded vigorously and put his tea down to clap his hands together. If he could achieve these things, he wouldn't need medicine anymore. He could live his life, becoming one with the world, and hopefully heal his hands and his very soul.

He didn't even stop to think about a valid protest to her offer. The fact she had already stated she had seen possible futures, told him she had lived this moment before. That she already dealt with him, and he had been just as snotty and snide as he had been a year prior. From what she had done and shown him, he was ready to believe her more easily this go around.

He also didn't even want to think about the fact it was possible he had already lived that moment as well.

Yao smiled warmly at him and nodded as she picked up her tea and had a long sip. When she put it down, the cup was empty, save for some bits of tea leaves at the bottom.

"Prepare to be open with me. Let your mind settle, and close your eyes. Surrender yourself to the flow of energies that make up this world, and the Multiverse."

Stephen closed his eyes, yet his mind did not clear. He was stuck on the word 'Multiverse' and he felt a pit in the bottom of his gut as his brain went into overdrive.

Flashes of being here, doing this, and meeting these people, all zipped through his mind. He saw many different versions of this single moment. Ones where he was explosive and in full denial of what was happening, to others where he sat quietly and asked far too many questions, and the more he asked, the less he knew. Then some of them showed images of himself where his hands were straight up gone, and more still where they had absolutely nothing wrong with them. The last one being what she had told him. All of them showed him doing great things with magic, things he had only ever seen on television.

Those variants of these events showed him what he could become, and gave him glimpses of what his world would be like.

He was terrified to say the least.

But then a sudden thought entered his mind.

Would this all have happened if he had chosen music over medicine?

His sister Donna had always enjoyed music. They used to play the guessing game he had played with Wong and his colleagues. Donna had happily played with him whenever he had asked, and she made it her mission to try to stump him whenever she could. She once told him he should be a guitarist, because he had long and thin fingers.

He never did, and instead, took up medicine when she died. He vowed to save every life that he could from then on.

Then the thought of all those he had turned away entered his mind and Stephen broke down, tears silently streaking down his face. He couldn't even do that, because he had become cocky and forgotten the reason why he even became a doctor in the first place. He became too self assured and bored. He wouldn't take a case, unless it was extremely baffling and new, or if it wasn't, it had to be a good paying job. He didn't do charity work, unless it was a challenge or fame was attached.

Stephen was about to open his eyes, when Yao hummed.

"Keep them closed, doctor. We're not finished, yet."

Stephen listened, and he tried his best not to let a sob break the silence of the room. He knew he looked pathetic, crying like a child in front of people he barely knew, but he didn't care at this point. If these people hadn't let him into their lives, he probably would have done something incredibly stupid.

The darkness he saw while his eyes were closed suddenly became a bright and multicolored array of lights. He could hear music playing, one of his favorite songs, Interstellar Overdrive, by Pink Floyd.

In an instant he was jolted forwards, with everything in his vision flying past him as he was moved through outer space. He zipped past nebulae and galaxies. He slowed down when he went by stars, planets, and moons, giving him just enough time to really get a good look. A large rocky belt of debris floated around him as he witnessed a supernova and an explosion of comets as a direct result.

All the bright colors against that vast black expanse filled his very soul with wonder and awe. He took in everything, feeling like this was only real in his dreams or the actual vastness of space.

The scenery changed again and he was suddenly flying back through space, going directly towards a certain blue and green planet. In the blink of an eye, he could now only see the surface of what he assumed was Earth as he was sent shooting towards Tibet and back into his body at the Kamar-Taj.

The landing was not graceful. He came into contact with his body, just like he would have if he had hit the ground from a twenty story fall, but all that physically happened, was him falling off of his chair to the floor. He landed on his ass with a loud thump and he gasped as his eyes opened. He had even more tears of emotion on his face and his beard were soaked, as was the collar of his ratty shirt and jacket.

"Please, Master Yao, teach me." He begged as he got to his knees while holding his hands in a silent prayer.

"And so it shall be done, Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange."

***

Note:

Hamir the Hermit was comic book Wong's father. We don't get a first name for Wong, but I thought it would be neat if he had his father's name. It's relevant to the next chapter. Let me know what you think.

First chapter and name of the fic is So Strange, by Polyphia.

Tags:

#doctor strange #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange #guitar strange #eventually smut #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x you

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lesmislettersdaily · 2 years ago

Text

Four And Four

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 3: In The Year 1817; Chapter 3: Four And Four

It is hard nowadays to picture to one’s self what a pleasure-trip of students and grisettes to the country was like, forty-five years ago. The suburbs of Paris are no longer the same; the physiognomy of what may be called circumparisian life has changed completely in the last half-century; where there was the cuckoo, there is the railway car; where there was a tender-boat, there is now the steamboat; people speak of Fécamp nowadays as they spoke of Saint-Cloud in those days. The Paris of 1862 is a city which has France for its outskirts.

The four couples conscientiously went through with all the country follies possible at that time. The vacation was beginning, and it was a warm, bright, summer day. On the preceding day, Favourite, the only one who knew how to write, had written the following to Tholomyès in the name of the four: “It is a good hour to emerge from happiness.” That is why they rose at five o’clock in the morning. Then they went to Saint-Cloud by the coach, looked at the dry cascade and exclaimed, “This must be very beautiful when there is water!” They breakfasted at the Tête-Noir, where Castaing had not yet been; they treated themselves to a game of ring-throwing under the quincunx of trees of the grand fountain; they ascended Diogenes’ lantern, they gambled for macaroons at the roulette establishment of the Pont de Sèvres, picked bouquets at Pateaux, bought reed-pipes at Neuilly, ate apple tarts everywhere, and were perfectly happy.

The young girls rustled and chatted like warblers escaped from their cage. It was a perfect delirium. From time to time they bestowed little taps on the young men. Matutinal intoxication of life! adorable years! the wings of the dragonfly quiver. Oh, whoever you may be, do you not remember? Have you rambled through the brushwood, holding aside the branches, on account of the charming head which is coming on behind you? Have you slid, laughing, down a slope all wet with rain, with a beloved woman holding your hand, and crying, “Ah, my new boots! what a state they are in!”

Let us say at once that that merry obstacle, a shower, was lacking in the case of this good-humored party, although Favourite had said as they set out, with a magisterial and maternal tone, “The slugs are crawling in the paths,—a sign of rain, children.”

All four were madly pretty. A good old classic poet, then famous, a good fellow who had an Éléonore, M. le Chevalier de Labouisse, as he strolled that day beneath the chestnut-trees of Saint-Cloud, saw them pass about ten o’clock in the morning, and exclaimed, “There is one too many of them,” as he thought of the Graces. Favourite, Blachevelle’s friend, the one aged three and twenty, the old one, ran on in front under the great green boughs, jumped the ditches, stalked distractedly over bushes, and presided over this merry-making with the spirit of a young female faun. Zéphine and Dahlia, whom chance had made beautiful in such a way that they set each off when they were together, and completed each other, never left each other, more from an instinct of coquetry than from friendship, and clinging to each other, they assumed English poses; the first keepsakes had just made their appearance, melancholy was dawning for women, as later on, Byronism dawned for men; and the hair of the tender sex began to droop dolefully. Zéphine and Dahlia had their hair dressed in rolls. Listolier and Fameuil, who were engaged in discussing their professors, explained to Fantine the difference that existed between M. Delvincourt and M. Blondeau.

Blachevelle seemed to have been created expressly to carry Favourite’s single-bordered, imitation India shawl of Ternaux’s manufacture, on his arm on Sundays.

Tholomyès followed, dominating the group. He was very gay, but one felt the force of government in him; there was dictation in his joviality; his principal ornament was a pair of trousers of elephant-leg pattern of nankeen, with straps of braided copper wire; he carried a stout rattan worth two hundred francs in his hand, and, as he treated himself to everything, a strange thing called a cigar in his mouth. Nothing was sacred to him; he smoked.

“That Tholomyès is astounding!” said the others, with veneration. “What trousers! What energy!”

As for Fantine, she was a joy to behold. Her splendid teeth had evidently received an office from God,—laughter. She preferred to carry her little hat of sewed straw, with its long white strings, in her hand rather than on her head. Her thick blond hair, which was inclined to wave, and which easily uncoiled, and which it was necessary to fasten up incessantly, seemed made for the flight of Galatea under the willows. Her rosy lips babbled enchantingly. The corners of her mouth voluptuously turned up, as in the antique masks of Erigone, had an air of encouraging the audacious; but her long, shadowy lashes drooped discreetly over the jollity of the lower part of the face as though to call a halt. There was something indescribably harmonious and striking about her entire dress. She wore a gown of mauve barège, little reddish brown buskins, whose ribbons traced an X on her fine, white, open-worked stockings, and that sort of muslin spencer, a Marseilles invention, whose name, canezou, a corruption of the words quinze août, pronounced after the fashion of the Canebière, signifies fine weather, heat, and midday. The three others, less timid, as we have already said, wore low-necked dresses without disguise, which in summer, beneath flower-adorned hats, are very graceful and enticing; but by the side of these audacious outfits, blond Fantine’s canezou, with its transparencies, its indiscretion, and its reticence, concealing and displaying at one and the same time, seemed an alluring godsend of decency, and the famous Court of Love, presided over by the Vicomtesse de Cette, with the sea-green eyes, would, perhaps, have awarded the prize for coquetry to this canezou, in the contest for the prize of modesty. The most ingenious is, at times, the wisest. This does happen.

Brilliant of face, delicate of profile, with eyes of a deep blue, heavy lids, feet arched and small, wrists and ankles admirably formed, a white skin which, here and there allowed the azure branching of the veins to be seen, joy, a cheek that was young and fresh, the robust throat of the Juno of Ægina, a strong and supple nape of the neck, shoulders modelled as though by Coustou, with a voluptuous dimple in the middle, visible through the muslin; a gayety cooled by dreaminess; sculptural and exquisite—such was Fantine; and beneath these feminine adornments and these ribbons one could divine a statue, and in that statue a soul.

Fantine was beautiful, without being too conscious of it. Those rare dreamers, mysterious priests of the beautiful who silently confront everything with perfection, would have caught a glimpse in this little working-woman, through the transparency of her Parisian grace, of the ancient sacred euphony. This daughter of the shadows was thoroughbred. She was beautiful in the two ways—style and rhythm. Style is the form of the ideal; rhythm is its movement.

We have said that Fantine was joy; she was also modesty.

To an observer who studied her attentively, that which breathed from her athwart all the intoxication of her age, the season, and her love affair, was an invincible expression of reserve and modesty. She remained a little astonished. This chaste astonishment is the shade of difference which separates Psyche from Venus. Fantine had the long, white, fine fingers of the vestal virgin who stirs the ashes of the sacred fire with a golden pin. Although she would have refused nothing to Tholomyès, as we shall have more than ample opportunity to see, her face in repose was supremely virginal; a sort of serious and almost austere dignity suddenly overwhelmed her at certain times, and there was nothing more singular and disturbing than to see gayety become so suddenly extinct there, and meditation succeed to cheerfulness without any transition state. This sudden and sometimes severely accentuated gravity resembled the disdain of a goddess. Her brow, her nose, her chin, presented that equilibrium of outline which is quite distinct from equilibrium of proportion, and from which harmony of countenance results; in the very characteristic interval which separates the base of the nose from the upper lip, she had that imperceptible and charming fold, a mysterious sign of chastity, which makes Barberousse fall in love with a Diana found in the treasures of Iconia.

Love is a fault; so be it. Fantine was innocence floating high over fault.

#les mis #les mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 3: in the year 1817 #chapter 3

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