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creativeenquiryryanmurphy · 6 months ago

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Critical Review

This project has explored Shibari, from the history of the practice to the modern-day adaptation to mindfulness and the scope for individuality within the rope community. This practice has been massively influential in my life, as a nonsexual, more art-based act, and has given me a community, friendships, and a much broader appreciation for preserving my own internal piece. I initially wanted to highlight the importance of breaking the stigma surrounding sex, BDSM, and ropework within modern society. In the UK we have a systemic issue surrounding sex and intimacy in all its facets, that issue is shame, plain, and simple (UCL,2013). Shame has prohibited people from engaging with health professionals, practicing dangerous methods of sexual activity, and hiding their true interests from their significant others( Findings from the third National Survey of Sexual Attitudes and Lifestyles (Natsal-3). Adding BDSM into the mix alongside shame can lead to life-threatening practices that are avoidable provided proper research and openness can be achieved first. My body of research has allowed me to see the growth in acceptance of BDSM and Shibari in society, and its positive impact on the mental health of the people that participate. An article published by Psychology Today showed that the publication of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ in 2011 (a terrible reference for BDSM practices) showed a marked increase in public interest and participation, thus leading to it being more intensely investigated by psychologists and sexologists around the world.

The Sexual Variety in Norwegian Men and Women of Different Sexual Orientations and Ages study showed that out of a participant pool of 4,148 (2,181 men and 1,967 women) responded. The questions spanned everything from gender identity, sexual orientation, and relationship status to what aspects of BDSM they had actively engaged in and what they wanted to try and never had. The results showed that people who engaged with the practice tended to have higher levels of education, covered a broad range of careers, and were better at communicating with others, both in sexual and nonsexual aspects of their lives, (Træen, B., Fischer, N., and Kvalem, I.L. (2021)). These are just the findings of one study but thousands more have been carried out globally and the results have all shown similar findings. I have speculated that the ability to allow yourself to have internal revelations regarding sexuality and how this can translate into the art world is the same skill and has a lot of room for exciting innovation combining the two.

The direction that my work has gone in leading toward the final degree show has been drastically influenced by the previously mentioned research and the shift in attitudes toward Shibari in the public domain. I wanted to push myself and my practices to more closely mirror the joy, playfulness, and more intuitive nature of the ropework I was seeing on social media. This change has come in the form of 3D elements. Rope is a tactile medium and Shibari is an intensely practical process, adding this more sculptural/installation-based method, devoid of the human body as an anchor point, has given me a far stronger connection to the work I have produced. This has pushed me to better understand the centuries-old techniques that have stood the test of time and are interesting in their own right. I am predominantly a painter, I gravitate to structure and have full control over every aspect of the work I make, from initial sketches to colour placements and compositions. This kind of sculpture/installation required me to completely reimagine my creative process, and rely on more intuitive methods of making. It has been a big change but it is something that I think will continue throughout my work. Allowing myself to become fully caught up in the moment while working on these large-scale installations has been some of the most peaceful moments of this degree year. I believe that this has been the biggest shift in my body of work. The rope artist Hajime Kinoko has said “Shibari is all about connection” and I tried to channel that in my work as it is a key in his. Kinoko is a rope artist specialising in performance and installation-based art, having gained international attention for his work over the last decade specifically. This mentality of connecting with the materials being used, the space being inhabited and the headspace you are in all contribute to the kinds of ties that are being done, what knots work with the rope you have, and the space you are trying to tie are reminiscent of meditation and are incredibly peaceful.

This new-found, meditative approach to creating has been a refreshing change in the lead-up to the degree show. Being able to step back and take time to properly evaluate what I want to achieve with my work for such an important deadline has been invaluable in keeping focused and not letting the stress become overwhelming. The beginning of this project was shrowded in external stress factors, taking a considerable toll on my mental and physical health, however, a newfound clarity with the work I am making and knowing that the end is on the horizon has reignited the passion that I have for this specific topic. This rediscovered joy combined with the newfound methods has allowed me to branch out into a more abstract and natural way of interacting with space and scale, both of which I have struggled with in the past. To me, this signifies a kind of evolution, in both my thinking and my willingness to engage with the outside world, knowing that not everything needs to be micro-managed has allowed me to better understand how my brain works in general but specifically with art. When I get more physically involved with my work I can better drown out distractions and focus on making something that brings me joy and properly portrays how incredible Shibari is as a practice and rope is as a tool.

Allowing myself to also explore different ways of gathering information and the circumstances that I create best in has been enormously helpful. I wish that this had come much sooner in my academic career but having these skills in place now can only be a good thing and they will continue to be useful as I become a more professional artist. Realising that I work better on my own, in my own studio, where I can focus is much easier than trying to concentrate in a shared location. I can listen to musicians, podcasts, and interviews with artists, psychologists, and professionals discussing their research and findings about the chosen topic, I can absorb those influences better, and it helps to shape the piece that I would be working on. I found that this method works due to working with a therapist after being diagnosed with autism and OCD, both of which drastically impacted my ability to connect with people and my work. Knowing my needs and creating a space that was entirely my own was massively beneficial in the lead-up to the degree show.

Shibari has been part of my life for the best part of six years, it has always provided a tactile and very sensory form of connection with others that I struggle with in most situations. The peace and vulnerability that can be achieved with a simple bit of rope is intense and astounding with the right person. It holds a very special place in my heart and I believe that is a quality that shines through in my most recent work. In previous modules, I have included myself in the work, through photos, videos, and self-portraits; this was my stumbling block. My sense of self-image was what was holding me back. Trying to create art that I was passionate about was being tainted by my negative self-image resulting in me hating and struggling to finish pieces, this led to the very conscious choice to remove the human form entirely. Accepting a more abstract and naturally growing form, in a style that was so different from my own, was where the passion and joy that underpins my entire body of work was able to creep back in, and I feel that it shows. With reflection, I now see a different form of beauty in previous work, I see an intense want to be involved in the process as much as possible, it was a labor of love but it was to my detriment, it was an earnest want, but I did not want to be perceived by others because I do not see myself as perfect and thus unworthy of being in the piece. By letting the piece, completely on its own without human form, people can form their own opinions on the work, they can attach whatever emotions they please and I do not need to feel the judgment personally.

This project has grown exponentially and entirely unexpectedly with time. I had no idea how much self-reflection would be involved and in turn, alter the parameters of my entire creative practice, specifically my installation in the degree show. Knowing more about myself and my ways of making has given me a much broader understanding of what my art is and how to communicate my passion with the world.

Word count; 1,553

Bibliography

-Bao, H., Mergenthaler, D. and Zhao, J.J. (2023). Contemporary Queer Chinese Art. Bloomsbury Publishing, pp.33–42.

Barry, M. (2017). Rope Bondage as Meditation. [online] Medium. Available at: https://medium.com/@maddiebarry16/rope-bondage-as-meditation-e8a89b701cd8.

-Castleman M.A., M. and Drevitch, G. (2023). BDSM Is Increasingly Mainstream, and It Boosts Intimacy | Psychology Today United Kingdom. [online] www.psychologytoday.com. Available at: https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/all-about-sex/202301/bdsm-is-increasingly-mainstream-and-it-boosts-intimacy.

-Cowan, S. (2017). Choreographing through an expanded corporeality. [online] researchspace.auckland.ac.nz. Available at: https://researchspace.auckland.ac.nz/handle/2292/36942.

-Dolan, E.W. (2021). New research has found heightened levels of sexual satisfaction among BDSM practitioners. [online] PsyPost - Psychology News. Available at: https://www.psypost.org/new-research-has-found-heightened-levels-of-sexual-satisfaction-among-practitioners/.

-Field, N., Mercer, C.H., Sonnenberg, P., Tanton, C., Clifton, S., Mitchell, K.R., Erens, B., Macdowall, W., Wu, F., Datta, J., Jones, K.G., Stevens, A., Prah, P., Copas, A.J., Phelps, A., Wellings, K. and Johnson, A.M. (2013). Associations between health and sexual lifestyles in Britain: findings from the third National Survey of Sexual Attitudes and Lifestyles (Natsal-3). The Lancet, [online] 382(9907), pp.1830–1844. doi:https://doi.org/10.1016/s0140-6736(13)62222-9.

-Hester, M., Mulvihill, N., Matolcsi, A., Sanchez, A. and Walker, S.-J. (2020). Practitioner Resource 3: Understanding existing prevalence data on the UK sex industry A practitioner resource summarising content from the 2019 Home Office Report ‘The nature and prevalence of prostitution and sex work in England and Wales today’ Authored by Professor. [online] University of Bristol : University of Bristol . Available at: https://beyondthestreets.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/UoB_BtS_PractitionerResource3_UnderstandingExistingPrevalenceData.pdf [Accessed 10 May 2024].

-McKenzie, R. (2012). A Different Way to Think about Creativity: The Case of Autism and Outsider Art. [online] brill.com. Available at: https://brill.com/display/book/edcoll/9781848881273/BP000012.xml.

-Roxo, A. (2017). HOLY F*CK: WHY SHIBARI BONDAGE IS THE ULTIMATE SURRENDER. [online] the Numinous. Available at: https://www.the-numinous.com/2017/06/01/shibari-bondage/.

-Technology, L. and Технологии В Инфосфере (2023). On the Art of Shibari as a Form of Writing. Technology and Language, [online] 4(3), pp.49–58. doi:https://doi.org/10.48417/technolang.2023.03.05.

-Tecun, A. (2017). Volume 1 - Ritual & Cultural Performance [Special issue]. performancereal.pubpub.org, [online] 1(1). doi:https://doi.org/10.21428/b54437e2.350e0b75.

-Træen, B., Fischer, N. and Kvalem, I.L. (2021). Sexual Variety in Norwegian Men and Women of Different Sexual Orientations and Ages. The Journal of Sex Research, 52(2), pp.238–247. doi:https://doi.org/10.1080/00224499.2021.1952156.

-UCL (2013). Survey examines changes in sexual behaviour and attitudes in Britain. [online] UCL News. Available at: https://www.ucl.ac.uk/news/2013/nov/survey-examines-changes-sexual-behaviour-and-attitudes-britain#:~:text=Changing%20attitudes%20towards%20sex&text=One%20in%20five%20men%20(20.

-Vagabond, M. and (2021). Research Recap: Does BDSM Lead to Better Sex and Relationships? [online] Bound Together. Available at: https://bound-together.net/bdsm-better-sex-and-relationships/.

-Zissmann, R. (2023). The Artistry of Bondage by Hajime Kinoko. [online] Pen Magazine International. Available at: https://pen-online.com/arts/the-artistry-of-bondage-by-hajime-kinoko/.

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dehautdesert · 1 year ago

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Okay, I finished it and I LOVED IT and I’m gonna be talking about it incessantly in the next time period. I’m gonna be making a series of posts about what I liked because I just can’t stop thinking about it, I’ve screenshotted paragraphs I really loved and made notes and stuff, which I actually NEVER do but I just loved it this much, and I am so in love with how nuanced and well-constructed everything about these books is, but I guess I first wanted to kind of… explore what made me react so negatively to it at first and how I was really really wrong? In case it convinces someone to keep on with it?

Full disclosure, I decided to finally read this after having it sit in my TBR pile for around 2 years because I love strategy, whether military or political, and I love guile-based competence porn, but I also love character studies of fucked up people with intense personal relationships, and it’s really hard to find both in the same narrative. I’ve been on a binge of the former for a while now and I was craving the latter without wanting to let go of my competence porn lol. I was first recommended this in a Reddit thread on political fantasy and that’s why it was in the TBR pile, but I was also told that it was quite sexy, and then in the meanwhile I saw a poll on “oversexualized stories” where it was next to ACOTAR, my most hated book of all time, and tbh by the time I cracked it open I had lowered my expectations to “it’s gonna be a decent dark erotica with crudely sketched in ‘scheming’ that I can only hope doesn’t strain my sense of disbelief too hard”.

And this was actually really working against my enjoyment of the book, because at its core this is not dark erotica the way I define it, and I’ve read a lot of dark erotica when I was younger. Basically for me BDSM-flavored dark erotica works by… externalizing a fantasy, like I don’t know, in the simplest possible terms with a noncon fantasy there’s a part of you that wants it and part of you that doesn’t and this gets externalized into one character forcing another one into something but you are actually controlling both parts of the narrative. Or like you have this constant sense of hyperactivation/danger around sex so the love interest in the dark erotica fantasy really IS dangerous and therefore your anxieties are externalized and your feelings are justified. And this is usually done in one of two ways: you make the characters basically sketched in blank slates and let the readers fill it all in with how they themselves feel about what’s going on, which usually leads to lots of people loving it and some people hating it because they are filling it in with their own dislike of what’s going on, OR you build 3D characters whose psychology is magically tailor-made to have them somehow be compatible and make each other better and benefit from the dark erotica situation in some way, making a work of a higher literary quality because now you actually have fully realized characters.

So I came into the experience fully expecting that I was supposed to vicariously sorta enjoy what was happening to Damen, and some of your tags/comments on my previous post really made me wonder why I was reacting so viscerally to this because I have read books with worse assholes and grimmer worlds and more orgies with dubious consent without blinking an eyelash.

And then I figured out that this was all a feature and not a bug, because Damen actually isn’t either of the character types that I described above, and actually one of the few things you learn about him in like chapter 1 is what kind of sex he likes, and he immediately comes off as a bit of a service top, and also as someone who takes a lot of pure, honest joy in his body unblemished by self-consciousness or shame, and he fucking hates all that’s going on around him and I was supposed to hate it too, but I was operating under the reflexive assumption that this is erotica so the author expects me to enjoy myself while reading it. Which actually… yeah, looking back on it it’s excellent writing, because in one offhand paragraph about Damen reminiscing about some random people he’s fucked you’ve set the key through which the events of the next 200 pages will be framed, and I as a reader didn’t even notice how it happened for a long time while fully reacting based on those setups. And I REALLY should have just based on the accurate and TBH kinda haunting depiction of derealization that Damen has at some of what’s happening to him.

Basically the basic-ass dark erotica recipe that I was expecting would have been for Damen to start being a bit more submissive due to external pressures (like having to cooperate to free the slaves), and then Laurent rewarding him for it with affection, and then Damen learning that he enjoys this, and I DID NOT want this to happen to Damen because it was completely incongruous with his character and his desires and the way the world was presented, so I felt really scared that it would go that way and was reacting really viscerally to it.

Uh, on a more personal note, and in retrospective having read the entire series, I feel like there’s a lot there about submission when it’s coerced or expected vs. submission when you want it and it pleases you, and how the first fucks up the second, and as a pretty subby person I really vibed with that.

Reading the Captive Prince books and it's the most surreal experience ever. I hate all the characters and think it would be for the best if that entire geopolitical region was just glassed with some sort of out of orbit weapon. I spent the first half of the first book disgruntled because I had been promised politics and strategy and leadership and all I got was awful arrogant shitheads indulging in society-sanctioned BDSM, which I can get at home by simply calling one of my exes without taking the effort to read an entire book. There's a twist and I could tell what it was at the 20% mark.

BUT. Then the actual politics start and it's actually... great? And the author actually... understands how things work? Very very well? And is also great at illustrating it in an engaging manner? Like here is this extremely skilled person who perfectly understands architecture and supply lines and political maneuvering and military discipline who wrote a book about things they enjoy and that I typically don't, but I have such mad respect for their skill that I am actually getting seriously into it. I love me a scheming mastermind where the author takes the time to explain HOW they gain everyone's loyalty or pull off the political scheme instead of just going 'oh, this character is a scheming mastermind!!'.

Also once both the boys turn out to be Secretly Competent and show it to each other they get the best Grudging Respect vibes and I am just a sucker for that way more than I am for the whole pet kink. Yesterday at this time of day I was swearing up and down that this was just another run of the mill fantasy-romance-erotica thing like a SJM book or, like, that Gild series, and that I would never be sold on it but right now I am 98% sold on it and staying in on a Friday night to finish the second book.

Storytelling skill really does matter.

#captive prince

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husbandohunter · 4 years ago

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Moments of Despair #2 [Genshin Impact/Albedo x Reader]

Synopsis: "The alchemist who relished in his gifts only to fall from grace."

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Diluc’s despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death and psychological horror (correct me if otherwise)

(A/n): I decided to take a slightly different approach this time. Regardless, it’s still killing my heart TwT.

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Out of the many wonders of Teyvat, one thing Albedo loved most was how you were so different from him.

Difference ties to the unknown, one that must be discovered. He was drawn to you the first time he had laid his eyes upon your form standing at the heights of Mondstadt's cathedral. The Sisters scolded you from below, but all you did was reply with a wink amidst their chaos before soaring into the skies and letting the wind carry your glider. Reckless they said. For him, your recklessness was intriguing.

As the sun's light blinded his vision, everything he saw seemed like a glass barrier. For the ground was where he thrived and chalk was his core, it became the basis of Albedo's very existence. Even the geo Archon granted him a Vision of the same element to affirm his identity. The earth will forever be attached to his feet as he will keep on his stride until every last truth of Teyvat have all been realized. You, on the other hand, hailed from a place where he couldn't quite reach. What lies beyond this glass ceiling? Albedo found himself gradually holding onto a string of curiosities, a string he could touch but was not able to feel.

'Interesting,' he thought quietly, while the breeze slip between the fingers of his outstretched hand.

He was a character of logic, possessing sharp eyes that could pierce through the depths of the most complex formulas and a mind to predict their outcomes- as long as alchemy was still related. All impossibilities thrown in his way only paved a path for him to become the well known genius he was now. Whether it was alchemy or investigations with the Knights of Favonius, Albedo never failed to deliver the answers. But despite it all, he always found himself endlessly contemplating over things that were considered intangible. He wonders why you smile when there was nothing to laugh about. How could you tell between the complexities of the human heart? Albedo can't seem to put a finger on it.

'Why? What drives you? What are you thinking?'

The Chief Alchemist couldn't resist being fascinated by your unpredictability. It reels him in similar to a fish being baited out of the waters. However, unlike those creatures, Albedo only tightened his grip on the strings as if they were a lifeline, determined to find out what they truly felt like to the touch.

"I can't really say it's much of an answer," you hummed, clasping both hands behind your back before declaring with a grin, "To put it simply, you just gotta follow your heart."

'Follow your heart...' What does it mean to follow your heart?

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," he replied in a thoughtful manner. The statement never really resonated with him and it certainly weren't the words his Master taught when he was in the early stages of being created, "But it does suit you very much."

"Really? But still bring your head with you," a playful laugh escapes and you add while pointing a finger, "At least, it's what everyone tells me these days."

"Hm," Albedo then affirms with a nod, "I can definitely see why they would tell you that."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

The days go by and his repetitious march towards the truth remains the same. However, there was never a dull moment when you were at his side. Perhaps that was the reason why Albedo became so attracted to your aura. The way you'd follow around his experiments, eyes so full of enthusiasm at every step of the activity. Sometimes the events can get a little too out of hand in which he needs to step in and save you from getting stuck in slime condensates...constantly. Albedo grew fond of your childlike excitement even when you weren't entirely sure what was going on. He normally distanced himself from socializing as it never sparked his interest. Frankly, he was too much of a genius for mundane conversations. Your presence was rather refreshing in this case. You were an oddball, just like him, and for once the alchemist felt like he didn't need to place that glass barrier between the two worlds.

"You seem to be in a very good mood today Mister Albedo."

He was a man of subtle expressions yet anyone could notice the small gleam in his eyes whenever he saw you walking in the hallway. Sucrose often remarked with a giggle after she noticed her teacher holding his documents upside down. But who could blame him? Joy, fun, laughter. He was able to experience those emotions all because of you; his beloved. You were the colour to his canvas and the meaning to his flower. You were a force of nature. Like a warm breeze gracing upon the terrestrial lands, you move him.

Thump- thump- thump-

Strings around his world began to weave one whole picture while they also tugged inside his chest. God had finally blown the breath of life into mankind's body, it was only a matter of time before Albedo came to follow his heart too.

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"Alright, just one more detail aaaaand done!"

You gave a small tap using the tip of your pencil and leaned back to examine your artwork.

Masterpiece!

On days when Katheryne had no commissions assigned to the guild, Albedo would accompany you to the Whispering Woods and conduct his sketches there instead. He was aware of the discomfort Dragonspine brought as the temperature wasn't ideal for anyone except for him. You eventually learned that your lover was not only intelligently different from the rest but physically too. Albedo, aside from the Cavalry Captain, was mysterious in his own way. He was hard to read yet never came off as intimidating, no one knew of his origins nor they knew how he came to Mondstadt. You wondered why someone like him would have wanted to get involved with your shenanigans. Rosaria often gave warnings regarding the alchemist's 'hidden intentions' in which you'd roll your eyes in response. The Albedo you knew was far from that. He was a big brother to Klee, a man passionate about his work, he was the one golden star among the many silvers in your sky. He was your lover.

My Albedo.

Brushing a hand upon the drawing you made of him, you glided down the lines of his cheek before resting your finger on the mark by his neck. You gazed at it with fondness. Truly a masterpiece indeed.

"You do realize I'm still here?"

The paper nearly flies out of your grasp and you snatched it back to your chest, "HUH A-ALBEDO, WHEN DID YOU APPEAR???"

"I was with you the whole time," he states. The corner of his lip tug upward ever so slightly, "You said you wanted to sketch me."

"A-Ahahaha, so I did," you reply while scratching your head bashfully. 'I thought I was looking at a sculpture!!' You rushed to cover your face with the sheet. It wasn't that you forgot he was there, rather, you forgot he was still a living and breathing specimen who just witnessed your little serenade. As Lisa had once said, Albedo was easy on the eyes. His graceful features made him seem almost like an oil painting that could only be found in halls of the most prestigious households. You made sure to capture everything, every detail, every curve just like he had done with your portraits. Only now you noticed the sun already began its descent below the lakeside, dusting the landscape with hints of bright orange as it marked the day's end. If only time could slow down. But duty calls upon your next journey and there was no telling when you'd return. At the very least, a simple portrait would suffice to fill in the temporary gap of his absence.

"Can I see it?"

You glanced his direction while keeping the drawing close to your nose, "Are you sure about that? It might not be up to your expectations."

"I'm sure," Albedo affirms with a straight countenance, "I can already tell you've put a great amount of effort, otherwise you wouldn't have taken this long."

"Yeeaahh I kinda lost track of time. I guess it's only fair that you get to see the finished product," you say and shoved the drawing in front of him, "Tada! I present to you, my masterpiece!"

Albedo takes it out of your grasp and you watched the way his eyes expanded upon sight.

"Well? Whaddya think?"

Words could not describe the mixture of emotions that erupted within him. Was it distinguishable or abstract? Albedo spent his time pondering between the two answers as he examined the drawing closely. Despite the lines being slightly jagged and the unevenness in the placement of his eyes, he managed to make the shape of the entire image you were trying to convey. Perhaps it was all thanks to his well trained artistic vision which gave him the ability to do so. Or maybe he was simply biased. But there wasn't a shred of doubt that this was indeed your craftsmanship.

"You even added flowers in the background," he pointed out with amusement.

"It's the thing you make when using your elemental burst, I couldn't fit your hand in the picture so I decided to put it somewhere empty," you informed, "Out of everything, that one took me the longest."

"And the rabbits?"

"They resemble Klee's bombs!"

He lets out a chuckle, "I see."

Albedo kept his attention downward until he was mindlessly staring at the paper in hand. This was a memory made to be carried as you moved on to your next journey and it saddens him that he could not accompany you. If only time slowed down. Albedo wanted to hold onto the memory forever, because he knew once he gave it back, he wouldn't be able to see you for an uncertain amount of time.

"Do you really have to go?"

His voice was barely above a whisper. Guilt crept into your heart and you gingerly layed your fingers on his gloved ones, bringing down the paper that blocked his face. A pair of teal orbs held a reflection of your image as the sun's rays casted from the side. You returned it with a reassuring grin, hoping to soothe his worries somehow, "I just need to pay a visit to my father since he's been very sick lately. I'll be fine, so don't worry too much okay?"

Albedo turns over his palm and gave your hand a squeeze, "How long will it take?"

"I'm not sure but it will be a while. Snezhnaya is pretty far so..." you trailed off, "But my time in Mondstadt, with Klee and with you, I will never forget! I won't even if I tried."

When you were met with no answer, a breeze came in to fill the melancholic silence. He too will not forget and he would ensure that it was the same for you. Slowly, Albedo brought your hand up, past the center of his heart all the way to cupping his cheek. He allowed himself to indulge in your warmth, tangling the strands of his hair with your fingers while closing his eyes. Sweet flowers. You always carried the smell of sweet flowers.

"Albedo?" You gawked, "What's the matter?"

"...There are certain aspects where drawings can't imitate," he says, grip tightening ever so slightly, "How I feel against your skin, the shape of my jaw, your warmth radiating with my own. These are the things I want you to remember."

Breath leaves your slightly parted mouth. It was unfair how straightforward Albedo could be when showing his affection. Doing as he pleases without anyone's approval to the point it would even catch you off guard since he often absorbed himself in the arts of alchemy. But during times when Albedo did choose to express his feelings, you knew they came from a place of pure genuinity. The thought made it hard for you to tear away from him, "Did you ever find out what the strings felt like then?"

Albedo returns his gaze, long golden lashes hovering them as he smiles softly, "...I have."

As he began to reveal his stories, the dusk sky continued to flare across the landscape with colours of passion. Red, it was the thread that had led him to you, the same string that weaved him together as a whole. Albedo lays a kiss atop of your pinky, there was a reason why Mondstadtians called him the Chalk Prince. You didn't know the intention behind his sudden affection but he knew. It was a promise, one to ensure that the thread would also have you return safely back into his arms.

Oh how he hated the colour red.

"Al...bedo..."

With speed he never knew he had, Albedo scoops you into his embrace and held you close. How did everything happen so fast? He curses his mind as it proceeds to scan your injuries, drawing a conclusion where he wished to be wrong for once:

You were beyond help.

"Ah..haha..." you managed to laugh through bitter tears, "You don't have to say it. I know."

His breath hitches, trying to make sense of the feeling that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside. It's not real. Of course it wasn't, it couldn't be. What other possible answer was there to explain the numbness stinging his fingers? The reason for his shaking? Everything felt so cold. Your body hardly registered to his to touch, you were losing so much blood. You were losing. He was going to lose you.

"No," Albedo shakes his head, "We still have time. I'll go find help."

Please, hold on.

He forced himself to think. The ruin hunter ran off shortly after it had ambushed you, by now the Knights would eventually noticed and apprehended it on sight. They couldn't be too far. All he needed was to carry you back to safety and everyone can go home. Albedo darted his eyes all over the place, breaths becoming shallower with each passing second. Where? Where to go? Which route was best to not overexert your wounds? Think. Think. Think. Why couldn't he think?

"A..." You watched him in your helpless state. Every part of you throbbed with pain but it pains you even more to see the renowned genius who stood atop the pedestal of elegance and grace so utterly, undoubtedly lost. This was not the goodbye you wanted, though death already had you tight in their grasps. Not yet. Using the last particle of your strength, you tried to stay alive as long as possible. Just a little bit more time.

Albedo freezes when a trembling hand extends itself to cup around his cheek. Every single thought he had in mind vanished and was replaced by a loud ring resonating in his ears. Dreadfully, mechanically, he turns his attention to where you lay.

"Don't cry," you whisper, "I love you, don't cry- okay?"

Albedo grimaces, shutting his eyes closed as he allows the pent up sadness to flow out of him completely, "I can't," he said in a shaky voice, "Please. Stay."

"I'm sorry," Your vision blurs and he hugs you even more. Drawing your final breath, you relay your most cherished words through a broken smile, "But no matter w-where I go...I won't for..ge.."

The moment your hand fell, Albedo finally understood the difference between death and loss.

It was...suffocating. Having the air trapped in his throat, begging to release yet it hurts to speak. The never ending stabs that pulsed within his veins rushed forth like the scraping blizzard of Dragonspine until his whole body lost all its senses. The world was shattering. He could no longer feel your weight. He could no longer feel.

(Y/n).

Albedo glances at his blood stained fingers where the thread had been severed, wide eyes drowning in sorrow. What a horrible feeling. Was this a warning sent by the gods? For stepping into the boundaries of knowing too much? Ah the curse of knowledge man must bear when eating the temptatious fruit. It was the result of choosing to love you. With life, death is inevitable and with love, it will eventually bring pain. Everything had a price to pay and as an alchemist, Albedo knew that better than anyone.

"...Meaningless..."

But he refused to accept it.

Cradling your corpse, he leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, lips quivering as they lingered for a second too long before gathering the strength to stand back on his feet. Nothing will stop the alchemist from reuniting with you. If the laws wished to take you away from him then he will use everything in his power to fight against those laws.

"This is not goodbye..." Albedo said to the sleeping girl, "And it will never be."

When the sun sinks below the plains and the stars lose their light, the sky had been replaced with a palette of darkness. It was time to go home.

------

"Have you all heard about the rumours?"

A group of knights gather in the corner as they whisper about. Sucrose stops on her tracks and hides behind a wall, clutching the book close to her chest in an attempt to stay hidden.

"Another criminal disappeared from the dungeons? Crazy..."

"More like creepy. I was told that place might be haunted by some dead prisoner's ghost. Even the Church is hopping onto this case."

"Well I hope it doesn't get any worse. So many of us started going on night patrols..."

Their voices faded out of range as the anemo user backtracks her steps carefully. Several months passed since the news of mysterious kidnappings have been announced to the public. Rumours of their whereabouts swirled around the city and much to her discomfort, Sucrose happened to catch every single one of them. There couldn't possibly be evil spirits lurking in the Favonious Headquarters right? She silently shrieks at the thought, shaking her head furiously to stop her mind from going too deep. No, I have to find him. Without wasting another minute, the anemo user sprinted towards the stairs all the way up to the second floor before stopping directly in front of her teacher's office. Despite the adrenaline that occured at the same time, she made sure to knock.

No answer.

"Strange, he told me he would be here today..." Sucrose muttered to herself. But suddenly she heard the sound of objects shifting from the otherside, signaling that there was indeed someone occupying the room. Without realizing, she held her breath out of anticipation.

"Come in."

The door creaks as she opens them, giving her enough space to slip between the gap, "Mister Albedo?"

"You're early today," The Chief Alchemist noted from his desk, "Is there something the matter?"

"Y-You mean you don't know? There was just another case about a person disappearing from the dungeons," Her tone became more frantic as she rambled to herself, "The kidnapper never leaves a trace and no one knows how they were able to get out. Even when we ask the guards what happened, they can't seem to remember as if...as if someone casted a spell on them!"

"A spell?" He inquires, "I suppose that could be a possibility."

"I think so too. I-It's the only explanation that makes sense! I mean...ghosts don't exist after all," Sucrose nervously looks down at her shoes while giving her book a squeeze, "But why? Who could be capable of such advanced techniques? No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to understand their intentions."

"...Yes. It is a very strange occurrence indeed."

Noticing her teacher's withdrawn attitude, Sucrose couldn't help but feel flustered at her own behaviour, "Ah my apologies Mister Albedo, I didn't mean to go off track. Have there been any progress on the investigations so far?"

Albedo briefly glanced at the various documents splayed across his table. His reputation as an incredibly intelligent individual had reached far and wide through Mondstadt. This led to the authorities requesting his assistance regarding the recent matters, despite him specializing in the alchemical field, he was also the Captain of their Investigation Team. Although, Albedo detested partaking in things he deemed irrelevant to his research;

"I'm afraid I would need more evidence to draw a conclusion."

"Eh? You still need more?"

He could not deny that the given authoritative position had provided much benefits to his own accord.

"My expertise lies in the subject of alchemy," Albedo reasoned and proceeds to intertwine his fingers in front of his mouth, "Humans on the other hand, are very unpredictable in nature. Even the essence of their existence is hard to obtain."

"Essence of their existence?" Sucrose repeated softly. She wanted to ask what he meant but the blank expression was evident enough to signal his impatience. At least, that was what she thought, "Nevermind! I have something that might help," taking out a slip from her textbook, she handed it to him, "It's the report Captain Kaeya gave me. He said that the culprit might be a traitor coming from the Knights of Favonius."

He narrows his eyes.

"I-I think he might be right! Just think about it, we haven't found anything at all for the past few months but when we do, I sometimes feel like we're just running in circles...oh what if it's becau-"

"Sucrose."

"Y-Yes?!"

Albedo calmly looks at the flustered girl, not realizing how sharp his tone was, "You're overthinking again. Perhaps it's best that you take this day off."

"But I came here to help," she insisted, "I know it hurts to lose someone you love! Don't you understand that we're all worried about you? And Klee, she..."

"..."

"Please Mister Albedo, if there's anything I could do-"

"No need," he cuts her off once again, "Your stress levels are too high. We can't go any further if you continue to act like this."

"Oh," her ruby eyes casted to the side, "I understand..."

"Good. Now, if you would excuse me," Albedo bid her farewell and watched as the door clicked behind her, observing every detail until he was sure that the absolute silence had returned. He picks up Kaeya's document. Such remarkable handwriting. But of course, appearances are only meant to be displayed on the surface for the Captain was a sly man, wearing a mask to shield what lies underneath. Just like his letter, they were full of innuendos and condensed meanings, orchestrated together until the truth spoke loudly to Albedo himself.

"So, that's what he thinks."

Perhaps the alchemist should have been a little more discreet.

--------

There was a certain place in Dragonspine that no one dared to enter. But those who have, they never return.

"Hm, no response. Now as for the next step..."

And he was the reason why.

Taking the sword out of the transmutation circle, Albedo turned to the snowy hill nearby and activated his alchemy. A small portion of it dissipates, revealing a trench that went so deep underground that even warmth couldn't outplay the sheer cold. It was the perfect hiding place for the evidence to lay out of sight and an environment where only he could handle. The alchemist tossed the leftover along with the others before exiting quietly, summoning back the ice to bury his victims once again. Another day, another experiment, another stain goes to his title. The path he walked upon was one littered with corpses and the sins he committed. But despite the bones crunching beneath his feet and the weight of the dead hanging on his shoulders, the alchemist was numb to it all. Like an entity floating in space with nothing to hold, he became unable to feel.

"I'm back," When reaching the center of Starglow Cavern, Albedo puts his hand on the icicle and caressed it's hard cold surface, "Did you sleep well?"

The girl did not respond. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as young as ever. She was frozen in time.

"You must have."

Albedo felt the sword beginning to shake in his grasp as it resonated with his energy. Dust particles emitted from the hilt and slowly made their climb to the side of his arm. Still, Albedo's attention did not waver, "To this day, I've been thinking about what you told me the first time we met."

"..."

"Follow your heart. I couldn't understand it at first but after being around your presence, I believe I can finally recognize what that term means."

He closes his eyes as he envisioned your lively form running across the landscape. Albedo, Albedo! The sound of his name was mixed with your laughter while Klee came into the scene and caught the dandelions with you. A content smile formed on his countenance as he watched from afar, even if it was just a memory, "It's everything. The breakfast we ate together, to the nights spent camping outside, and the silly moments we shared, they bring all these colours that I never knew existed."

"..."

Albedo curls his fingers against the ice as he continues to lament, "Perhaps that's why I began noticing the strings around me. The closer I was to answer, the more I felt it was necessary to discover what they are. All this time, you were the answer I was searching for," Moist begins to build up in his eyes but they freeze up once reaching the corners. How cruel. Despite what he went through, he wasn't even granted the liberty to cry, "Because with you, I'm able to feel them."

He wonders what you would think if you saw him right now. Albedo peers at his reflection casted on the crystalline surface, the frame of his face had been decorated with streaks of purple and red, spreading out like tree branches as they both fought for dominance. The teal coloured orbs you once adored were beginning to transform to a colour that reminded him of his darkest days. This was Albedo's true nature- a monster, a being that wasn't human, the essence in which you never had the chance to see.

"I know I may not be the same as I was before," he added, "But if that is what it takes to follow your heart, will you let me feel the strings again?"

Would you still love me the same?

"..."

"If so, then please understand my actions," Albedo takes a step back as he held out the sword in front of him. At last, the preparations have finally been completed. He plunges the blade to the ground with full force and the surrounding area begins to shake under the power accumulated through many, intentional sacrifices. To revive the dead was a forbidden art as it came with heavy consequences. If it weren't for Albedo's talent and quick wit, the process would have consumed him long before executing the last stage. He winces, the pain was excruciating. It was hard for him to ignore the sound of his skin cracking below his ears and all the way to his nose as they fall off in the shape of small rock-like chunks. Everything hurt so much that even death sounded like a sweet dream but Albedo couldn't afford to give up. He had already come this far, his hands completely washed with sin and his reputation already broken beyond repair, Albedo had nowhere else to go. This was his last destination.

"Soon-" he pants between choked breaths. Soon your eyes will open. He could drown in your embrace, one that was warm and not cold. Soon he will be able revive those cherished memories from a frozen past. It was all he could think of right now. Your existence was the reason why a part of him felt whole and your death made him realize how painful it was to tear away those pieces. Albedo refused to let go of those pieces, they had already become a part of him. And if this path ended up tearing him even more, then so be it.

"I should have stopped you the moment you were born."

The intruder snapped him awake and he swung around to where they stood. But before Albedo could make out who it was, they lunged past him with incredible speed, kicking the sword off the ground while severing his two arms once and for all. They flew to the side, blood dyed purple trickling from the edges of his joint as he struggled to stay upright.

"Dains...leif..."

Dainsleif watched the alchemist fall onto his back as the light around him slowly faded away. He turned his gaze to where the objective was and noticed a girl encased within the ice. The man sighs out of relief when she shows no signs of life, he came just in time, "So this is how it ends."

Albedo weakly stared at the blonde man. He attempted to say something but the blood caught in his mouth prevented him from that.

"Save your breath, you won't be having any," Dainsleif remarks in a cold manner and glared at his bloodied form, "The renowned Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt and an important member of Ordo Favonious. Hmph, what an interesting turn of events. Out of everyone, I never thought you were the type to act so foolish."

Foolish...what a foreign name to be called as. He never heard anyone tell him he was foolish.

"Truly a pity," With a flick of a wrist, Dainsleif brought his sword to Albedo's neck. It was unbelievable how he had the endurance to go through all that pain while still breathing at this point but what is there to be expected from a monster? "Remember that all actions have consequences."

The alchemist watched as his life flashed before him, the weight of his sins had finally caught up. He had always seen the world as a platform for his objectives and results were merely a natural cause after attempting many experiments. But death as a consequences was an unbearble realization upon his final moments. He abandoned his title, his pupil and his dearest sister. In the end, he was still unable to fulfill his duty.

"I just..." Albedo mumbled, his words slurring together, "wanted..."

As the ashes turn to ashes and dust becomes dust, chalk returns to the earth, forever yearning a place that can never be reached.

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #albedo #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #genshin impact albedo #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #nya-writes #dainsleif #genshin impact dainsleif #sucrose

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bibliocratic · 4 years ago

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clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

Martin is happy.

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

Jon is happy.

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“… you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

#tma #the magnus archives #cw racing thoughts #cw anxiety #tw eating disorder #tw ptsd #ask to tag #cw nightmares #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tma spoilers

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amimimi · 4 years ago

Text

dreams; kyan reki

synposis: in which you tend to reki’s wounds after his second beef with adam; second part to this fic but it can be read on it’s own! takes place after episode 11

pairings: gn! reader x reki

genre: fluff. just fluff. and caretaking.

warnings: mentions of injuries. swearing. brief nudity (?) sap, so sappy.

word count: 3.5k

notes: i loved the series so much! reki has suffered enough, so i decided to show his some love. i was so so proud of him during episode 11. again, i apologize in advance for grammatical/spelling errors. i'm pretty busy with school so i'm just churning fics out at this point.

“i’m not letting you lift a finger for a month” you moan as you help seat reki on his bed. you’re both mostly dried from the rain, save for your hair and clothes. he only giggles in response and you can’t help it when you lean down to gingerly place your hands up to his face, kissing the bridge of his nose. “a month”

“ahh, i don’t think that’s gonna work” reki gives you an easy grin, before placing a kiss on the side of you mouth. “i got a shift tomorrow”

“i’ll cover your shift” you say, stone-faced. disbelief momentarily flashes across reki’s face before he breaks out into uncontrollable giggles—the kind that erupts straight from your stomach. your hands drop from his face. “shh! i’m serious!”

he hangs his head forward and brings a hand up to his mouth, attempting to quell his giggles. “you don’t even work there, y/n!” he manages to say before delving into yet another fit of giggles. reki must’ve curled in too far because his laughter is cut off by strangled cry. immediately, you surge forward, gingerly placing your hands on his shoulders.

it wasn’t unusual for reki to be banged up from skateboarding—everything from scrapes to fractures were all pretty common for him. in the beginning of your relationship with reki, it worried you to no end, and you even begged him to wear a helmet (he said no, of course). eventually you came to accept that injuries were going to be a normal occurrence for reki. but his injuries this time were slightly different.

reki had his second beef with adam earlier that night. technically reki had lost, but it felt more like a victory instead. he came so close, and he did so well. and he was happy. seeing him like that in his element, gleaming with joy, eyes lit a flame with passion—you felt like ten years was added to your lifespan. of course, reki took quite the beating but no where near the damage of last time.

“m’fine!” he wheezes, placing a hand over his stomach. “it’s just a bruise.”

you’re not convinced and it shows on your face because reki gently places his hand on the back of your head, pulling your forehead up against his. “i’m fine, baby”

you let yourself stay there, forehead pressed against reki’s and staring right into each other’s eyes. for the first time in weeks, you felt the tightness in your chest completely dissipate. because here you were gazing into his eyes—reki’s eyes, in his darkened room, knowing he was safe and okay.

“okay,” you whisper. reki gazes at you with half-lidded eyes and attempts to press his forehead closer (if that was even possible), brushing his nose against yours. “but i gotta patch you up”.

you wiggle out of reki’s grasp, who whimpers at the loss of contact, to grab the first aid kit he’d kept in his drawer. stumbling in the dark, you feel around for his desk, flicking on the lamp. reki watches you sift through the contents of his drawer, overtaken by a sudden wave of fondness. he loves you, always has. but suddenly, in this moment, he feels the love he has for you in a new way. it pools in his stomach, warm and fuzzy, and he feels so full, so content, like he ate a whole meal.

“i love you from my stomach” reki blurts out before he’s aware of what he’s saying. from over your shoulder, you glance at him quizzically and he feels a new sensation—mortification, burn all over his face. later, he’s going to blame his misspeaking on the fact that it was so late into the night and that every inch of his body was practically throbbing in pain. but right now, he can’t form any thoughts, let alone excuses.

“huh?” you’re facing him now, first aid kit in hand and your face twitching with the urge to smile. feeling his ears burn up, reki presses his lips and shakes his head, refusing to repeat what he said. “reki~! what did you say?”

he turns his head to the side as you make your way over to the bed. “i forgot”

“no you didn’t!” you whine, throwing the first aid kit on the bed and placing your hands over his cheeks. “say it again, please?”

“ahh, i meant it like—”reki pauses, thinking about how to put his feelings into words. “i-i don’t know! i love you, but sometimes i feel it in my stomach”

“oh”, you plop down right next to him on the bed, pulling your legs up to sit crisscross. reki follows your movement, pulling his legs up on the bed and crossing them. he’s looking at expectantly. “like butterflies, yeah?”

“no, not that. this feels warm—and kinda heavy”

“oh”, you tilt your head to one side and smile coyly. “so, desire then?”

reki rolls his eyes at you, his ears still red. “you’re so—”

“desperately in love with you?” you offer with a grin before leaning and catching his lips in a noisy kiss. you pull back, but not before kissing the tip of his nose just to see his reaction. reki fights back a smile, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he shakes his head.

“j-just patch me up, please”, he sighs as his lips finally quirk into a smile.

“can I change first?” you ask. wet jeans felt like murder and your shirt was starting to stick in uncomfortable places on your torso. reki nods and points to his closet.

“i have clean shirts and sweatpants folded in there” he informs you, watching as you sit up and make your way over to his closet. reki’s not surprised when you grab his pink dope sketch shirt, shooting him a cheeky grin.

you start tugging off your jeans and reki looks away to give your privacy. “you’re so precious, reki” you coo at him. reki only smiles at the opposite wall and shakes his head. when you’re done, you drop your wet clothes in his laundry and walk over to him. “i’m decent!”

reki looks back at you and his heart twists at the sight of you, clad in his work shirt, hanging just above your knees and slightly hugging your waist. he prays he isn’t blushing and gulps.

“i have sweatpants if you want some, sweetheart”, he reminds you weakly, trying to stop staring.

you blink at him, lost and then you gasp. “oh, sorry! I didn’t meant to make you uncomfortable!” you rush. “i’ll put some pants on—”

“no!” he practically shouts, before squeezing his lips shut. you both hold your breaths when you hear his little sister in the next room, groan and shift in her sleep. waiting, until he’s sure it’s safe, he continues much quietly. “i’m not uncomfortable. you look really good, i love you like this. i just want you to feel comfortable”

adoration surges in your chest as you watch your boyfriend clumsily and earnestly explain himself, a blush adorned on his face. “i feel the most comfortable when i’m with you” you admit with a shy smile, your face growing warm.

reki blinks up at you for a second, looking momentarily stunned before his face morphs into a soft grin. his eyes twinkle as he holds his hands out for you, sure and steady. placing your hands in his calloused ones, you sit down beside on the bed and sit criss crossed.

the both of you sit like that for a while, staring lovingly at one another and taking turn squeezing each other’s hands. finally, you bring reki’s hands up to your lips, littering his knuckles with kisses before giving them a quick squeeze.

“where do you hurt the most?” you question, sliding your hands out of his to open the first aid kit. you skim over his injuries, not even knowing where to start. there’s a line of dried blood and a bruise forming on the right side of his face, must be a small laceration under his headband. you know his back is cut up pretty badly and you hope it’s nothing too deep.

“my whole body is sore, if i’m going to be honest” he replies sheepishly. frowning, you gently tug off his headband to assess the damage. just as you suspected, a small cut right under his hairline. the area is beginning to bruise too. you remember adam repeatedly punching him at one point, as reki had locked his arms around him... maybe reki should go to a hospital?

“I promise you i’m fine”, reki assures you, having picked up on the mounting worry on your face. he takes your hand in his, rubbing the roughened pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “trust me! i’ve had worse. i was jumped and hit with a car all in one day and i didn’t even get a concussion”.

despite reki’s face beaming with pride, you frown deeper and fidget at the thought of reki getting hurt like that. “please don’t remind me...” you sigh, sitting up off the bed to grab a face towel from his closet. “i’m gonna run this under water, okay?”

“alright”, reki answered, watching you step out of his room to make your way to the bathroom. you hurry back, the wet towel dripping water down your forearm, and gently seat yourself on the bed.

you arrange yourself so that you are sitting criss cross in front of reki. “I’m going to clean it, alright?” you say, before leaning into give him a peck.

“okay” he murmurs, placing his hand on your knee. reki squeezes hard when you gently press the wet towel against his wound. you do this repeatedly until you make sure there’s no visible dirt around the wound before placing the towel on reki’s bedside table. you’re quick to patch up his forehead before placing a gentle kiss over the bandage. he snickers through his nose at this, squeezing your knee once more.

“now for your back...” you purse your lips. “take your shirt off.”

you’ve seen reki shirtless a thousand times before and he knows this. still, he can’t help but squirm under your gaze as he works at removing the layers of clothing he’s wearing. he takes his jacket off fine but he struggles a bit with his hoodie, still damp from the rain, wincing as he tugs upward on the fabric.

“here, lemme help you”, you murmur, sitting forward on your knees to tug his hoodie upwards and over his head. you work at the white t-shirt he had on under his hoodie next. gently as you could, you peeled the shirt off reki’s torso trying not to disturb his wounds. but he still flinches, sucking a quick breath in. “sorry! i’m sorry!”

“no, no! you’re fine, it just stung a little” reki promises you, giving your thigh a squeeze. you tug the t-shirt over his head, grimacing. his torso is littered with bruises and a few scrapes, but nothing too worrisome.

“okay, lemme see your back”, you tell him, bracing yourself as you crawl around him get a full glimpse. just as you thought, his back is scraped up and still bleeding lightly—nothing too deep. you grab the wet towel on his bedside table and hop off the bed to go run it under the bathroom facet.

when you return, reki is sitting on his bed exactly like you left, watching you tip toe over to him. “do you wanna take off your pants?” you ask, folding the wet towel. “maybe change into something dry?”

“um, yeah actually...” reki mutters, fumbling with his belt. “c-could you grab me some sweatpants? please?”

with the wet towel in one hand, you grab a pair of gray sweatpants from reki’s closet with your other hand. you can hear reki shuffling out of his pants as you walk over to the bed, with your face turned away.

you hold the sweatpants out for him, your face turned to the side. “you don’t have to look away if you don’t want to”, reki tells you and you can hear the smile in his voice. he takes the sweatpants from your hands.

“you gave me privacy, so i’m returning to the favor—give me your wet clothes, i’ll put them in the hamper”

you trade off the wet towel for reki’s clothes, wheeling around to place them in his hamper. when you turn back, reki is sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, wearing just his sweatpants and holding the wet towel in one hand.

“whenever you’re ready, nurse y/n”, he smiles at you, showing his teeth. you squint your eyes at him playfully and shuffle over to his bed. accepting the wet towel from reki, you crawl behind him so that you have full access to his back.

“okay, i’m going to clean your wounds, let me know if i’m hurting you”, you warn him, folding your legs underneath you. he grunts in response. taking a breath to steel yourself, you gently press the towel against the abrasions. suddenly, reki gasps loudly. you squeak and pull back almost immediately, your heart in your throat. “what?”

reki’s back is shaking and to your relief (and horror), you realize reki is laughing. he turns his head around to catch a glimpse at your expression and laughs so hard, he snorts and it almost makes you laugh—almost.

“i’m sorry, i couldn’t help it”, he gasps between laughs.

you suck your teeth. “well, now that it’s out of your system, can you hold still? i seriously don’t want to hurt you” you reposition yourself, heart still hammering in your chest.

“sorry, angel, go ahead”, he stifles a giggle, holding still. hesitantly, you press the wet towel to abrasions on his back.

“that okay?” you question and he nods. taking another breath, you dab his entire span of his back with the towel, stopping every now and then to check in on him. once you’ve cleaned his wounds up, you dig around in the first aid kit for some gauze sponges to pat his back dry. “i’m gonna wrap you up for tonight but you should let it dry tomorrow, okay?”

“you got it, nurse” reki chimes back and you bite back a smile, reaching for the gauze dressing in the first aid kit. once you’ve placed the dressing over the worst of his wounds, you grab the gauze roll and begin to wrap it around reki’s torso.

at one point, your fingers brush up against his side and his breath slightly hitches. you freeze, giving him a concerned hum.

“i’m ticklish” he whispers sheepishly and you smirk, continuing to wrap the gauze around his torso.

“storing this information for later, thank you!” you tease causing reki groans. “i didn’t wrap it too tight, did i? can you breathe?”

“i can breathe fine, don’t worry” reki sighs, as you loosely tie the gauze. “you did great, thank you”

once you’re done tying the gauze, you place your hands on top of reki’s shoulders. “good?” you ask.

“good”, reki nods. you take in reki’s bandaged back, his slightly toned shoulders, his red hair pressed against nape of his neck, even the back of his head. he look’s so good with his hair down.

before you even know what you’re doing, you gently press your lips against the nape of his neck. reki freezes, his shoulder tensing before you press another kiss along the back of his neck. he shivers and his whole body melts. you kiss again, this time further up the nape of his neck and into his hair and he lets his head hang forward, sighing slightly. another kiss is placed where his neck meets his shoulder, and he has to bite back a whimper.

“i’m so proud of you”, you whisper into the back of his neck. he reaches around to squeeze your hand. “you did so great tonight—you’re always so great, you never fail to amaze me.”

upon hearing your words, reki feels a lump form in his throat. you always told him that, how proud you were of him for doing things he thought were exceedingly mundane. he remembers that night he was panicking in your bathroom, shaking on his legs like a newborn deer and barely managing to control his breathing. how even then, you were proud of him, for what exactly? he couldn’t answer.

but now, when you tell him that with your lips soft against his nape, in the darkness of his room, he believes you. he’s banged up and unbelievably sore, but he believes you. and further more, he’s feeling proud of himself too, for not disappointing himself, for doing what he had come to do at that beef.

reki shifts around, so that he’s facing you to see that you're smiling at him in a way that he could only describe as pure adoration.

“and...” you start, pushing his bangs back from his forehead. “you looked so fucking hot”.

reki eyes widened slightly before he blows air out of his mouth and rolls his eyes. you grab his face, forcing him to look at you.

“no, no! but you actually looked really good?” you giggled, squeezing his cheeks between your hands. “like, when you nailed that landing off that cliff? and when you dodged him like that? like, i knew you could move, but you were really moving, you know—?”

“y/n—”reki starts, grinning pretty hard as he tries to advert his gaze from yours.

“and you were smiling so hard, like you were actually glowing—beaming! i don’t know, something about the way you looked under those lights they have at S...i actually wanted to bark, like wow—”

“y/n, shut up!” reki is giggling now, flushed right down to his chest. he tries to wrestle your hands from off his face, but you kept your grip.

“don’t act all shy now, mister! you knew exactly what you were doing! when you were like ‘and you’d better remember it’, i was this close to dropping to my knees—”

“y/n—”

“and every one was screaming your name and i was just like ‘yea, that’s my boyfriend! my man! my prince—!’”

suddenly, reki flips you over pinning you arms right beside your head, the both of you giggling.

“oh my god, why are you still going” reki half groans between giggles as you continue to cackle.

“my sweetheart, my baby, my sweat pea, my darling, the future of father of my children, my honey bunch, my sugar pie, the apple of my eye, the light of my life—” you list off, delirious with laughter, not even fighting against reki’s grip on your forearms. he hovers over you, laughing too, his eyes shining and his face beaming

“you need to stop” reki shakes his head slightly, his bangs falling onto your forehead as he leans in for a kiss. he pulls back and you're silent for a moment...until you start rattling off corny pet names again, but this time less giggly.

“my sun, my moon, my stars, my whole world—” you murmur before reki presses his lips against yours. he pulls away and kisses the tip of your nose, the skin slightly under your right eye, and onto your left eyelid.

“you’re so annoying”, reki whispers, letting go of your forearms to hold your face instead.

“you kinda are too”, you whisper back, placing your hands over his, rubbing your thumbs along the back of his hand.

“mmm, i guess we’re destined for one another then” he murmurs and you nod, fervently. reki kisses you sweetly and you hum against his lips. “i love you so much”.

“i love you too, baby” you sigh, putty in reki’s hands. he looks so pretty above you, the lamplight reflecting his eyes and his cheeks still flushed. he looks like the human embodiment of honey.

you turn your head over to glimpse at the alarm clock on his bed side table. 3:37 AM

“our sleeping schedules are so messed up” you groan turning your head back to look up at reki. he blinks, following your gaze towards the alarm clock.

“oh, i usually sleep around his time anyway” he shrugs.

“okay, but you have injuries...so you need to rest to heal” you reason while sitting up slightly, forcing reki to sit up with you. “are you still in pain? i can get you a tylenol”

“i’ll need one in the morning, but i’m fine for now”, he assures you with a grin.

you both climb under his blankets, but he wants for you to sit back against his pillows. already knowing, you hold your arms out for him and he lays between your legs, wrapping his arms around your torso. reki presses his ear to chest, taking in the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, as you smooth his hair back.

“goodnight, sweetheart” you whisper, leaving your hand in his hair.

“goodnight, baby” he murmurs into you chest, pressing a kiss there. “i love you, i can’t wait to wake up and see you tomorrow”

you chuckle tiredly. “i love you too, i’ll see you in the morning”.

notes: this was also, long as hell. i apologize! this is honestly the sappiest sh*t i’ve ever written, idk if it can get any sappier than this (it probably can, and will >:3) .

#sk8 the infinty #reki #reki kyan #reki x reader #sk8 the infinity x reader #reki x y/n #sk8 the infinity x y/n #reki kyan x reader

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ac3id · 4 years ago

Text

The Artist and His Majesty| 18+

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓎 0 / 5 | fantasy au.

chapter i , chapter ii

pairings: yandere! emperor! shigaraki x female! reader.

warnings: [series] dubcon, exhibitionism, size difference, degradation, masturbation, bondage, reader is also kind of delusional, death, violence (not on reader). (there are more but i can’t think right now.]

↪ for chapter 0: none !!

summary: you come to the big city in hopes of starting your career as an artist but things take a shocking turn when you’re recruited as the court painter for the royal palace.

↪ for chapter 0: a strange man approaches you, offering to buy your painting to which you oblige. little do you know that it kicks of a series of unfortunate events ending with you being trapped in shigaraki tomura’s clutches forever.

wordcount.

a/n: finally !! i started this series. high-key inspired by these two dresses in my wardrobe and @ana-list‘s this drawing ! seriously it’s literally everything. also thank you once again for proof reading this @the-grimm-writer !

taglist: @shigaraki-is-my-master, @deathmemeiverse, @n4dhii, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @mstssister, @nereida19, @prince-zukohere [dm to be added/ removed.]

“That’s a beautiful painting,” a rough, scruffy voice calls out, jerking you away from your daydreams. Your grip around the color canvas resting in your arms tightens as you glance behind your shoulder to see a well-built man standing right behind you. He’s tall and a lot older than you, he has short grey hair which falls right before his eyebrows along beautiful, matching grey eyes. A cigar hangs lazily from his lips as he occasionally huffs on it, blowing clouds of smoke out his mouth. He’s dressed in expensive robes, a choice of style only people better off could afford. You can’t help exachaning a covetous glance between his expensive suit and your sloppy, knee-length, light green dress. “Thank you.” you murmur shoving him an appreciative look, hoping he’d leave you alone. When you come to the city to complete your studies in art, you mother, father, family and friends had warned you about men like these. Rich, snobby men who liked to lure in young, naive girls. Whispering praises of how they are the most unique on the planet so they pull their guard down form them to take advantage of the helpless beings.

“Can I take a better look? It’s the Emperor, is it not? Your painting. ” You hesitate before turning back to him. Not a lot of people had seen the King to be. He lived humbly in his castle, trying his best to not indulge in the affairs of the common people. “ Yes,” you hold up the slightly small canvas (courtesy of you being broke the entire week and not being able to save up to buy a bigger canvas). To even get an idea of Shigaraki Tomura, you had to go through many people. Not a lot of people had seen his face, he had always kept it hidden under a mask. No one knew why he did so but the many conspiracy throes suggested it was something to do with his personal grief.

You had heard many stories about him. Some made him look like a spoiled brat with a demeaning, ignorant personality who didn’t care for others and as the rumors said: self destructive habits which lead him to tear the skin of his own neck down whenever he got anxious or frustrated.

Others portrayed him as a strong, confident man and a reliable leader who cared for his comrades. You did not know which one of the two personas brought him your attention but you couldn’t complain. Tomura had caught you under a spell, and despite never meeting him (and knowing full well you never would), you were still ready to sacrifice your life for him. He was your King even before he had taken his crown, to you he looked like a shining bright light ready to enlighten you. To you, he was a god. And as years passed by, he grew from a caterpillar into a cocoon which was ready to burst open as a butterfly into the beautiful, mysterious world. And it was happening today, Prince Tomura Shigaraki’s Coronation ceremony. After the passing of All For One, it was his turn to take the crown and fulfill his duty as the ruler of the nation

The entire city was busy, bustling with people. Families, friends and everyone in between gathered around the huge castle walls as they waited for the ceremony to begin. They waited patiently, filled with excitement and joy as they waited to catch a glimpse of the new great King. You were among them. You had come down to the centre of the city with your friends, waiting alongside many to catch a glimpse of the new ruler. The painting which nestled in your hand was something you were hoping to sell today, to a shop or anyone who wants to have it. It was a beautiful painting which had taken you several days to complete, and dare you say it, you were quite proud of it. From all the things you had heard about Tomura, you had managed to sketch him decently. Long white, wavy hair reaching till his shoulder, skin white as snow. He sat proudly on his throne wearing a cape with his vermillion eyes peering through your soul. His face was scarcely detailed as you did not have much idea about it but he still looked ethereal. With little scars running both his eyes and a comparatively larger one on his right. Chapped lips with even more scars running over them wildly, he was not conventionally attractive. No one would call him a pretty boy yet there was something more, something alluring which attracted you to him. His beauty was rare, not in the grasp of many but if it was grasped and held close to the heart, it was hard to let go off. And you found him attractive, very attractive.

The man took a good look at your painting, examining it carefully and for a second you really thought he had seen the mysterious Prince. “It’s quite similar to him,” he sends you a friendly grin and you notice a tooth from his front missing, leaving an uncomfortable gap. “Have you seen him before?” he asked and you shake your head, no. He gives you an amused expression, “I must say, you are very talented, miss…?” you complete your name with a nervous smile. “And you are?” you ask.

You realised that you were getting a little too comfortable with the stranger and it could be a really bad decision but you can’t help but give him the benefit of the doubt as he behaves like a gentleman you can find yourself to trust. “Kagero Okuta but I like to go by Giran,” he says with a lop-sided grin. Giran, you’ve heard the name before but cannot recall where and how. It sounds so familiar but you just can’t grasp it, he looked wealthy so you assumed he was a Noble and that made you even more curious as to why he was speaking to you.

“What are you planning to do with that painting?” he asks, diving a closer look and admiring its features. “I must say, you’ve got it quite accurate but,” you stiffen, your hands growing cold as your heartbeat picks up. You realized your painting must have some complications, drawing a man you had never seen before purely out of your interpretation was a hard and a bold task to do. But to have someone who had actually seen the King for himself pinpoint your mistakes sent a rush of anxiety through your veins.

“He’s not that bony.” He completes and you gulp nervously, looking down at your painting in disappointment. Your eyes are filled with disappointment, all of the time and effort you spent making the piece all for it go in vain just because you missed a small detail. Giran notices your remorse and speaks up, “But that’s quite alright. He looked just like that until a while ago,” he hadn’t meant to offend or hurt you. He still believed your painting was the most beautiful thing he had seen all day.

“What do you mean?” you ponder, giving him a perplexed look. He leans in closer to you as if to tell a secret, “let’s say the King has been working out behind closed doors.” you blink in confusion. It was a strange thing to say, exactly how well did this man know the Emperor? Who was it that you were talking?

“Who are you?” you can’t help but question, bewildered by such a character. Giran says nothing. He just stares at you with his lips curled into a snappy smirk, holding his cigar between his lips. He was not going to tell you anything. Without wasting time, he quickly changes the topic. “What are you going to do with that painting?” he repeats, his voice growing impatient.

“I am planning to sell it,” you feel a bit taken back. The friendly aura which had Giran had now disappeared for a reason you could not conclude. “Sell it? To whom?” the intruding nature of his tone starts to make you uncomfortable, there’s nothing more you want to do other than get far away from him. Yet you still find yourself answering him, “To anyone who wants it.” he hums at your response, his eyes holding a mocking glint. “Wouldn’t you like to give it to the Emperor himself?” you frown, was he mocking you?

“That’s well...impossible.” you reply, stretching your neck awkwardly. “To you, maybe.”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, this man was really testing your patience. A part of you tells you to ignore him and walk away but as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bag of coins worth much more than you could ever earn in a month, he has you hooked yet again.

“Hey, let me buy that painting, would yer’?”

“What is the problem now?” Giran takes a seat around the round table. It was late after the Coronation ceremony and the Royal palace was already facing problems. Giran was disappointed but definitely not surprised. After all, he was their personal problem solver and broker. “It’s not that big of a deal.” A curt and hard reply cut him off.

“It actually is, Shigaraki Tomura.” a voice speaks, coming from a man dressed in a black suit with a long, flowy robe covering his entire body. He stands taller than the other two men in the as his head is replaced with a wisp of smoke. He was none other than the trusted and talented magician of the Royal family. With eccentric features and an ability to wield strange magic, nobody knew where he came from. There were many rumors about him; that he was once a normal, handsome man cursed by a witch that turned him into a hideous monster or he simply was a ghost. “What is it, Kurogiri?” Giran rephrases his question, directing it to the other man. “We need a new painter,-”

“Servant.” Shigaraki corrected. He stood in front of the giant windows glancing over his city as his men talked about hiring a new painter for the castle. He couldn’t care less about such tedious tasks, he had his focus set on greater things like expanding his territory, taking back stolen land.

“What happened to Mr. Kyo?” Giran asked, Shigaraki rolled his eyes at the mention of the name and clicked his tongue, “His Majesty eliminated him.” Giran stops himself from laughing out loud. He was certain once Shigaraki would take over the throne incidents like so would double the instant. But he was expecting it to happen so soon. “And why was that?”

“He was breathing too loud, like you are right now.”

A cold silence broke over the room as Giran counted his breath. Kurogiri looked nervously at Shigaraki who still had his back turned to them. The longer the pause grew, the dreadful the atmosphere became. Shigaraki’s threat strung the air loud and clear and Giran was afraid to speak again. “What we are asking for is that-,” Kurogiri started in a calm, slow tone easing the tension in the room. “-we need a new court painter. Do you have any names?”

The murderous sent in the air magically disappeared as a grin stretched across Giran’s face.

“Aren’t you in luck?” He says, running a hand through his hair before taking a puff out of his cigar. “Does that mean you know someone?” Kurogiri questioned. Giran hummed, “You see, I met this beautiful painter today. She’s extremely talented and I know for a fact she will love working for the castle.”

“What’s the name?” growing impatient, Shigaraki asks. “Oh, it was,” Giran pauses for a moment to recall.

“Ah yes, Y/N L/N.”

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rosalineandrosemary · 3 years ago

Text

he reached for the sun, and the sun took his hand.

Ao3

There are benches both inside and outside of their school, even without counting the cafeteria, but they’re all encompassed by the hustle and bustle of their school. And so, when Marinette starts walking away from the school after the lunch bells ring, Felix follows like a moth to a flame. She walks past her house, waving at her maman through the windows of the bakery, and he waves too, stiffly. Her maman smiles at them, and points to the display cases to ask if they want anything. Marinette shakes her head and raises the bag she’s holding, to which Mme. Cheng nods, and they keep walking.

Marinette stops them at one of the benches in the park, and sits down in the shade. He sits down without prompting, and Marinette beams at him, a smile that could challenge the sun. He freezes and looks away, trying to hide the warmth growing in his cheeks, and pulls his lunch out of his bag.

“Did you hear what Lila was saying in class today? Talking about her latest trips to far off places but all the images she showed you can find online with five minutes of searching. Like, it’s nice to sit by you during class, but sometimes I wish I could still sit by Alya in the seat we earned, you know?”

He hummed in agreement, perfectly content to let her talk while he ate his lunch, but she instead let the statement hang in the air before pulling out her own lunch.

The silence was companionable, broken only by remnants of conversation from other small student groups and the laughter of some of the playing children. Around halfway through their allotted lunch time, Marinette puts away her containers with a content noise and a full body wiggle before pulling her sketchbook from the confines of her backpack. “Do you mind if I sketch? I have a couple ideas for some outfits that I really want to get down!”

“Feel free.”

“Thanks, Fe!” She smiles again and he’s lost in it, left staring even after she’s turned away. It’s as if her smile is burned into his eyes, an entoptic phenomenon that steals his breath from his lungs. By the time he pries his eyes away, Marinette is already immersed in her designs, her tongue poking out from between her lips. He reaches into his bag to pull out his book, but none of the words stick in his mind, eyes trailing back to stare at Marinette’s quiet joy.

Eventually he gives up, placing his book back in his bag and sitting there, staring into his own personal sun, sitting right next to him. The ice in his chest is melting into a pooling ocean and it feels like he’s about to overflow with it, surface tension being the only thing keeping his feelings from spilling out and he can’t bear to stare at her for any longer.

He tears his eyes away, trying to turn the water back into ice, to freeze the feelings back in his chest and keep it contained, but there’s too much water and too many feelings and even if he can turn some of them into icebergs it doesn’t change the amount of water and finally everything comes spilling out.

“It hurts to look at you sometimes, Marinette.” His words, soft as they may be, break the silence between them. She turns to look at him, endlessly blue eyes piercing into his skin, eyebrows furrowing with worry, an expression he’s seen time and time again: when he gets too close to akuma fights, when the bags under his eyes are darker and he forgoes his usual coffee order for something with more caffeine, or when she’s worrying about other people and he gets to watch the all-consuming flames of her care.

“Felix?” Her voice is soft and confused, and it takes everything within him to not turn to look at her, to not let the words freeze on his tongue, to not shove everything he’s feeling back underneath his infamous “ice prince” persona that she so carefully took apart.

He watches her out of his periphery, continuing to stare ahead and try to figure out how to melt the ice in his chest that he had tried so hard to freeze. He can’t take this back now. He can’t leave her with just that phrase, not with the twists and turns and dark corners all throughout her brain. “You’re incandescent, a sun of your own volition, and I fear that I am forever just going to be orbiting you at a distance.” He tightens his grip around the strap of his bag, white knuckled and shaking softly, before releasing it and stretching out his fingers. Felix sees her move, place her hands down on the bench, moving to get up, to stare him in the eyes. Her mouth is opening, an indignant cry of his name on her lips, and he feels like he’s going to burn from the inside out.

“Please,” he croaks, voice unsteady. “Please, let me finish, Marinette.” His tone is worrying her even further, and so are his words. It’s written plain on her face, a book she never chose to lock. Her emotions are her strength and it’s awe-inspiring to see from inside his several layers of ice, carefully frozen to keep everything locked inside. She continues to melt it with ease, leaving him scrambling, but he needs to tell her.

“Try as I might, I can’t keep this in any longer. I feel as though I am bursting at the seams, combusting. You melted the walls and pillars of ice I formed for years, nosing your way into every nook and cranny of my being, and I believe I have fallen for you.” Marinette lets out a soft gasp and he turns away, lacing his fingers around the strap of his bag once again.

He can’t bear to see the look on her face when she rejects him. Disgust? Horror? Her quiet kind of upset, where her eyes fill with tears and she tries to stifle it, to push away her own feelings over and over again?

He keeps talking, a desperate bid to keep himself away from the truth for as long as he can. “I apologize for the hastiness of my confession, and I hope I didn’t upset you too much. I’m sorry if I did, I truly had no intention to, but I understand if you reject me and I’d even understand if you never wished to see me again, I just wished to--”

“Felix.” Her voice stops him in his tracks, body tensing. “Felix, do you mind if I touch you?” Her voice is soft and her words kind but he flinches regardless, giving a jerky nod. He didn’t expect her to want to touch him, not after he ruined their friendship, but he tensed further as he thought of all the power contained in her body and prepared for backlash. He knew, intrinsically, that someone as kind as Marinette could never hurt someone maliciously, but that knowledge fell into the chasm of fear in his chest, and all he could hope was that she would choose to spare him, even a little.

One of her hands enters his line of sight and he flinches, closing his eyes, before her warm hand is placed softly on his cheek, slowly turning his head to face in her direction. “Felix, I could never be upset with you for that.” Her tone is impossibly tender, her hand is still cupping his cheek, and he exhales slowly before opening his eyes.

There are tears dripping down her cheeks, rolling down to the beaming smile stretched across her lips, and she raises her other hand to hold his face like he’s something precious. “I adore you, did you know that?” She smiles even brighter, looking him in the eyes before continuing.

“Each pen has a specific place in your pencil case, and you change which pen you use each school period. You take your coffee with cream and sugar even though you say it’s black when anyone asks. You pretend you’re made of ice because it’s everything you’ve known, but you still care even if it’s not in your best interests. Everything about you is something to love, and I do. And you’re here. Despite everything, you’re here, not orbiting some foreign sun or wasting away in a cavern of ice. You’re right here, with me, and I am holding your face in my hands and you are beautiful.” She’s still crying, tears catching the sunlight, and she presses her forehead to his but it’s just warm. Nothing burns and she is so close and she’s not a sun, she’s simply Marinette, and he loves her more than anything he’s ever known.

“Thank you, Marinette.” Those words, choked out his throat, try to compact everything he’s feeling into one simple statement. The love, the awe, the feeling of reaching something he never thought he would be able to reach, the pure joy filling in every gap where fear laid just moments before, like the sun rising over Paris. But instead of being that sun, Marinette is here and she is right in front of him and she is watching the sky turn pink and the darkness retreat and it may be noon but he thinks this is the prettiest sunrise he has ever seen.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, Felix.” He smiles at her, leaning against one of her hands, placing his own on top of hers. He feels ridiculous holding his own face but she brightens impossibly more and there is blush flaring on his cheeks and he tries to look away but she’s still right there.

“Well then, how about saying I love you instead?” He tries to put confidence in his voice, but he is putty in her hands and she can tell, her smile turning from something big and beaming to something small but so fond it almost makes his chest ache.

“I love you too, Felix.” And she locks eyes with him and looks down and he tries to nod but forgets that she’s that close and bumps heads with her instead.

Marinette laughs and it’s joyful and he just stares at her and hopes that she can see the fondness building in his chest when he looks at her. She stops laughing and her cheeks flush to a pink color that he thinks could be his favorite color. Every part of her is his favorite color. The blue color of her hair in the light, the blue color of her eyes, the color of the faint freckles on her cheeks and the pink of her blush and he’s staring again, he knows he is, but she just smiles and places her forehead back against his.

“Can I kiss you?” She whispers it, like they’re in their own little world, and he presses forward and kisses her first. Her lips are soft and she tastes like a fruit flavor he can’t quite recall, not with her hands on his face and her lips on his.

There aren’t fireworks, or sparks. There’s no burning or fire or hurting. There’s just him and there’s Marinette and a feeling of home and rightness like everything he’s ever wanted.

He breaks away first, offers another whispered “I love you” against her lips before she pulls away too, far enough away that he can actually see things beyond her eyes and her cheeks and her hair.

She moves one of her hands and he lifts his so she can take it back, and she puts on a mock-serious face that can’t hide the joy in her eyes.

“If you ever talk about yourself that way again I’m going to fight you.” She waggles one finger at him, lips curling to conceal her laughter, and he raises his eyebrows even as he melts further into her remaining hand.

“You’re going to fight me?”

“Yes! With love and affection and pets.” He doesn't get a chance to ask what she means by pets before her nails are scratching through his hair, and he wished he could deny the way that his eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“You make a formidable opponent, my dear.” She giggles, moving to scratch behind his ear before the alarm goes off, telling them that they have to make their way back to school if they don’t want to be late.

She reaches her hand out to him and he takes it, lacing his fingers between hers.

#felinette #this is the wip i was ignoring!! i finished it!!#thank you notte and nebula for beta-ing!!!!#marinette dupain cheng #pv felix #miraculous ladybug #rosaline writes

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just-a-dumb-gay · 4 years ago

Text

I Love Human Stupidity - Lady Dimitrescu X Reader - 1914 Words

Danger follows the reader wherever they go and Alcina gets the joy of witnessing them have the most disaster filled week.

Tags: Reader gender is not specified, I made Daniela a little bitchy but its funny, 5+1 Things

1 .

For once atop the mountain the weather is beautiful. You and Alcina head into the woods out back for a while. But after lunch you got restless and decided some tree climbing was a good idea.

Alcina sits on the blanket she brought out and watches with pride as you scale one of the tallest trees with ease. You have your camera around your neck, taking pictures of every strange bug or leaf on your way up.

You hear Alcina laugh down below when you let out a victory yell as you reach the top of the tree.

You take a few more pictures, the surrounding woods is a stunning sight from so high up. There's also a few crows nearby that you manage to get some good pictures of.

A dark cloud has started appearing on the horizon, and it looks like it's heading straight for Castle Dimitrescu. You start making your way down, not exactly in the mood to get caught in any heavy rainfall.

You make your way down the tree mostly with ease. Although your jeans get caught on a branch and wind up with a hole in the left leg, thankfully you are left uninjured.

When you make it nearer the bottom you hang yourself upside down from a branch, peaking your head through the leaves to say hi to Alcina.

"My dear Y/N, whatever are you doing?" She laughs.

You don't reply, you just go to pull yourself back up. But Alcinas' laughter distracts you, making you accidentally grab a weak branch. It snaps off in your hand, causing you to fall the last couple meters out the tree.

You land with a solid thud and Alcina is immediately by your side asking if you're okay. But you can't reply, you landed straight on your back and it knocked the air out of you.

A few painful moments later once you've got your breath back, you look to the branch still in your hand.

"Fuck" is all you say before laughing,

"Please do not scare me like that." Alcina says, relieved to see you're okay.

2 .

Later in the day you and Alcina are sitting on your shared bed. She is reading and you're attempting to fix the hole in your jeans and a spot where the stitching attacking the sleeve to your shirt came undone as you fell. You were taught from a young age how to sew, but you've never been good at making it look as if there was never a hole at all.

You've already stabbed yourself a few times and Alcina always reminds you to be careful after you mumble swears under your breath. But unfortunately your needle is a little blunt and getting it through your jeans is a much larger task than your shirt.

You push a little too hard and accidentally stab the needle into the side of your thumb, your much louder swear this time catching Alcinas attention.

She puts her book down and retrieves a plaster from the bathroom while you're trying to inspect how deep the needle went.

"That's twice in one day you've hurt yourself." She says as she gently takes your hand and covers the hole.

"Not really my day is it?" You laugh.

"Please at least try to be careful."

"Believe it or not, I do try."

Alcina just stares, waiting for an explanation. But the truth is you don't have one, danger just follows you.

3 .

It's a quiet afternoon in the castle. You're looking around the library, looking for some inspiration to paint. You notice what appears to be a few old sketches of the castle sticking out from books on a top shelf. But there's one problem. They're almost five feet above you.

You look around for a ladder but the only one there looks ancient and ready to break if a rat tried to climb it. So, what do you do instead of asking for help like a normal person? Climb the shelves.

As you begin climbing, Daniela appears next to you nearly scaring you half to death.

"What's all this?" She asks with near to no emotion.

"Trying to reach those sketches up there." You manage to take your hand off the shelf just long enough to point.

"Now this I want to see." She says making herself comfortable on a nearby arm chair.

You decide to just ignore her and continue your climb.

You make reasonably quick progress, making it nearly two feet away from your goal, but the higher you go the less of a grip you can get as the books cover more of the shelves.

Pausing for a moment you try and figure out if there's an easier way to do things, but the movement as you look around causes you to lose your grip. You desperately try to grab at anything before you fall but all you succeed in doing is dragging a few books down with you.

As you're laying on the floor you can hear Daniela laughing, almost fully cackling, nearby. And barely a few seconds later you can hear Alcina's footsteps down the hall.

"What's going on here?" Alcina asks, kneeling beside you to make sure you're okay.

"I love human stupidity." Daniela says through laughter.

"Out. Now." Alcina yells, loud enough you're sure any mice in the walls just ran away.

Daniela follows her mothers order and leaves, still laughing the whole time.

"Are you okay, my love?" Alcina asks once she thinks Daniela is out of earshot, but a loud fake gag comes from the hallway.

"Leave!" Alcina yells in her final warning tone. "What on earth were you trying to do?" She asks, her attention back to you.

"Those damn sketches on the top shelf are being stubborn." You sigh.

Alcina rolls her eyes fondly before helping you up. As you're dusting yourself off, Alcina hands you the sketches.

"Next time please ask for help." She says softly.

You pause for a moment and then simply reply with "Maybe."

4 .

And much to Alcina's frustration, you did not ask for help the next time something was on a high shelf.

You're attempting to make yourself a late night snack, really craving pancakes for some reason you can't figure out. Daniela and the others are out hunting and as far as you're aware Alcina is in your room halfway across the other side of the castle.

You've got everything prepared. Except for the flour and sugar. Which are both on the top shelf.

This time you're smart enough to use a chair to stand on. And all seems to start well, you get the sugar down with ease. But as you stretch on your toes to get the flour you lose your balance.

You fall to the ground, accidentally kicking the chair over as you fall. And you land with your stomach upwards covered in flour.

You sigh in defeat, creating a flour cloud above you, and as you're wondering how you're going to explain this to Alcina the kitchen door opens.

"Y/N, I was just coming to check on you when I heard the crash. Are you okay?"

"No." You say weakly.

Alcina is immediately beside you again, checking for injuries. When You sigh again and say "I don't think there's enough flour left for pancakes." as sadly as you can manage.

Alcina looks down at you and all she can say is "What am I going to do with you?" while smiling.

5 .

You've known since you arrived at the castle that there's multiple hidden passages in the walls. From the small amount of knowledge you have of the castle's structure you've figured out the passages would be only just big enough for an ordinary sized human which is why Alcina never uses them but Daniela can be found using them to sneak around to avoid trouble.

Alcina never wanted you to explore them, she doesn't know what kind of bugs or rats are hidden in them and considering how often danger follows you she doesn't want you to get hurt.

But eventually after a lot of asking, she handed you a torch and led you to the hidden entrance that leads to all the other passages. She leaves to read a book and allows you to explore at your own pace, and as she's walking away she warns you to be careful.

For the most part you do well guessing which room each passage ends in, and so far the hidden doors have been fairly easy to open except for a few which you've had to squeeze your way out of.

You reach the end of the final passage which you think has led you to the library, where Alcina currently is.

You start to push the door open and quickly realize it's going to be one of the stubborn ones. You manage to squeeze half your body out, but then the worst happens. You get stuck.

You take a moment to try and push the door, but even with your full weight it barely budged so now it's not even slightly moving.

Alcina hears you attempting to kick the door and comes to check on you, and immediately starts laughing when she sees the position you're in.

"This is not your week is it?" She teases.

"It really isn't." You say as you toss your torch onto a nearby chair and continue trying to wiggle yourself free.

Alcina watches you for a moment to see if you can free yourself without help, but after a moment you sigh in defeat and ask her for help.

She manages to pull the door open without hurting you too much and you instantly flop down into the chair your torch is on.

Alcina sits beside you, gently taking your hand in her own as she asks if you're alright.

"I think I might've got a few splinters in my legs and stomach from that damn door, but otherwise I'm alright."

Alcina leads you back to your room to help you remove the splinters, but not without giving you a safety lecture on the way.

Daniela tracked some mud in with her late during the night probaly from hunting, but has been nowhere to be found all day to clean up the mess she's made. Alcina had to go into town so you decided to clean up the mess to kill some time.

You started by the front door and have made your way upstairs to the balcony that overlooks the main entrance. But you don't hear Alcina come in over the sound of your headphones.

But what you dohear during the quiet second between songs is a loud thud from down below.

You look over the balcony and see Alcina sitting stunned on the floor, with a freshly mopped and still wet spot by her feet.

"Careful, it's slippery." You tease, Alcina gives you a playful glare and you hold your hands up in defense. "I'm just glad that wasn't me." You laugh, finally happy to be the one danger doesn't hit.

"Did you really do all this without falling once?" Alcina asks as you make your way down the stairs to greet her.

"Yes, I di-" your proud sentence gets cut short as you slip and fall down the last four stairs.

You're stunned for a second but soon the only thing that can be heard is you and Alcina laughing at each others clumsiness.

The End

Prompts from 4 anons:

1 - Lady Dimitrescu with a reader who does a lot crafty things like sewing or something with sharp objects but are also accident prone and pricks themselves or something.

2 - the reader somehow imjures themselves and Alcina scolds them for not being careful but it's bc shes really worried so she takes care of them and comforts them in the end

3 - I'm just imagining Lady Dimitrescu with a very clumsy reader / s/o would be like. Just umagine maybe it's a chill afternoon and it's quiet in the castle. Alcina might be reading something in that main area, down the stairs, and suddenly there is a crash from one of the rooms. She rushes over in concern, opens the door and sees us just lying on the floor. She jst hears a small "I'm okay!" and she goes over to us to gently help us up. maybe going "What on earth were you trying to do, my love?"

"Trying to reach the top shelf for >Insert supply here<"

+1 - Imagine Alcina slipping and falling, like, the noise that's bound to make, and you'd know it was her cause you'd just hear a loud ass thud LMAO

#lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #theres probably a few typos my bad!

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blaithnne · 3 years ago

Text

Lauren Master Post

EDIT - this post has now reached the 100 links limit so I can’t update it anymore 😭 I will be creating an off site link portal at some point, but for now this list is incomple, still - enjoy what’s here!

Hello! So realised that if anyone wanted to learn about Lauren then they had to venture out on a scavenger hunt across my blog - so I made a Masterpost! This contains every single Lauren Post I’ve ever made, each sorted into their own categories! This post will be continuously updated as more content is made, so if you are viewing this on a reblog please check the original post to ensure it hasn’t been updated since that person reblogged it!

Some basic context, for anyone who’s completely new - Lauren is a Hilda OC of mine, she is Hilda’s older sister who ran away from home at the age of 13. Not all information about her has been ‘released’ yet, but I have plans for the future :)

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Canon

Everything in this section is 100% canon information, generally being at least somewhat important to her character and story

Updated Reference Sheet

Cream Design

Cream Naming

Jason Origin Post

Lauren Smokes

Bi Lauren

Lauren’s Time Away Info

Ages

Birth!

Lauren loves plants, amongst other hobbies

Pianist Lauren + What she wants most

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Self Explanatory :)

Runaway Hilda*

Miraculous

Miraculous 2

Mumswap*

Mumswap Ref

More Mumswap

Harry Potter

My Little Pony

Sketchbook Fake Dating AU

*The Runaway Hilda AU is owned by the lovley @cinnamon-sparrow-scout!

*The Mumswap AU is owned by the wonderful @calebs-hangout-corner!

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Misc

Contains Asks, Shitposts, and Vaguely Canon Content. Posts being here doesn’t mean they aren’t canon, but they may be subject to change

Original Lauren Post/Reference

Jason and Lauren

Hilda and Lauren (Martial Arts)

April Fools 2020

Lauren Joins The God Damn Mafia??

Incorrect Quotes Generator

Poly Mum Content

Sadie Being An Accidental Genius

Hilda and Lauren 2

Lauren Breaks The Timeline lol

Misc Fact

Amogus

Name Origin and Fears

Safest Place

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Misc Art

I draw Lauren a LOT - so here’s all my drawings of her, in order of their creation

Outfit Meme

👉👈 🥺

Just Go To Bed

Mirror Selfie

Jason and Lauren Meet

Little and Broken

Self Confidence!

Title Card

Painting

Woah

Frank

Brainrot

Lauren With Her Hair Down

Traditional Sketches

Lauren Listens To Tøp lol

Lauren is Currently Listening To Tøp

Smoking Sketch

Reaction Image - Free To Use!

Happy Father’s Day?

Lesbian Lauren (no longer canon)

Premiering Never

Librarian Lauren

Outfit Meme 2, Suit Edition

She’s Just Sitting There

Wear Heelies To Escape Your Feelies

Catgirl Lauren Lmao

Like a Fun Alt Outfit Thing

Lauren But In MY CLOTHES!!

Freedom

Good Hair

Misc Sketches

She’s a deer now lol

Lauren vs An Ostrich

Phone Wallpaper

Mario?!

Tag ya spoilers

Happy One Year!

Moss Tik Tok (vids will get their own category if I make more :))

Lauren and Baba

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Concept Art

Not all of these concepts are true to the final designs, but some of them are!

Older Lauren

How The Hell Does Lauren’s Hair Work

Kid Lauren

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Screenshot Edits

Self Explanatory :)

Edit 1

Edit 2

Edit 3

Edit 4

Edit 5

Edit 6

Edit 7 (The Tide Mice!)

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Fan(?) stuff!

I feel weird calling this ‘fan’ stuff but I literally don’t know what else to call it lol. Anyways - this section contains content not made by me! I absolutely adore everything here and I’m so grateful that people like Lauren enough to make their own content for her!! I included everything here, from finished artworks, doodles, and a few incorrect quotes - bc I cry tears of joy whenever anyone makes anything abt her LMAO

Incorrect Quote 1

Incorrect Quote 2

I Think This Was The First Lauren Drawing Not Done By Me 😭😭

MERMAID LAUREN

B e h o l d

Beautiful Full Body Piece!

The Greatest Animatic Of All Time

Beautiful Drawing of Lauren and Hope!

TEAM BIG SISTER

Adorable sketch

Cool As Hell Mario Kart Chase

More Mario Kart >:)

Pokémon!

Insanely Cool Anime Esque Screenshot Art!

Incorrect Quote 3

Incorrect Quote 4

#Lauren #Lauren hilda #Hilda lauren #text post

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help-im-a-gay-fish · 4 years ago

Text

It's A Long Road to Recovery.

(post Dark-Cream story)

"How's the water my Love? " Cross asked, dipping the tips of his fingers into the bath.

"perfect" Dream replied sinking slightly deeper into the water. The warmth wrapped around his bones and felt amazing on all the aches and pains.

"you got it just perfect"

The guard smiled wide "I'm glad to hear that, soak as long as you want, you deserve it"

The two had returned to the place they called home and Cross had drawn his beloved a bath. If Cross had it his way, he would have attempted to create a full spar treatment to pamper the bruised guardian. However, Dream had been more then happy to have something simple and the way he sighed as he relaxed in the water filled Cross with warmth.

It was so good to be home, even if it was mostly just a void with some rooms and things, it felt like home now. Though Cross wondered, with no anti sanses did that mean that him and Dream could settle down? They were engaged after all.

That thought make him smile wider. it had definitely been a long journey, but now that it was over him and Dream could finally be together. A family.

The gloopy mass had mostly washed off him now, though his joints where not completely free of it. Sadly, the lack of gloop now revealed just how damaged Dreams body was. There where huge cracks running across many of his bones and many bruised and stained areas. Then there was his eye.

Cross was trying hard not to look at it, but he didn't want Dream to know he was. Of course Dream was still beautiful, he always would be, but that didn't make it easy.

The wound was large and caused Cross to think about how it must have felt for him during the transformation. He hadn't seen the whole thing, but the sounds of Dreams bones splitting and his cries of agony became present in his mind whenever he looked at the eye.

It made him shudder to think of the pain he must have, and still was in.

"how's the" he started glancing away "the.... Eye?"

Dream sat up a bit.

"it's fine.... Mostly numb really"

He could sense his partners concern and didn't want to tell him the whole truth. It was painful and throbbed slowly, especially when touched. It threaten to hurt for a long time, not that it was a punishment he didn't deserve.

As soon as he was done in the bath he'd have to bind it.

Dream felt no shame in Cross being there while he bathed. He knew he wanted to stay in the water for a few hours, and those where hours that he wanted to spend with Cross. So therefore he'd asked Cross to join him.

The guardian stretched, wincing slightly as his back bones slid together. It ached and probably would for quite a while.

He pressed his fingers into the crook of his elbow joint, sighing in relief as more of the gloop stuck there gave way. The slime had dried and jammed up most of his joints, making him feel stiff and useless. It would take hours to clean, but it seemed like the warm water was helping it give way.

Taking a breath, he ducked his whole head and body under the water. Laying there under it for a few moments to soak, before resurfacing for air.

There was a trickle as Cross continued to flick the surface of the water with his fingers. Dream lent forward to shake the water from his skull and felt a sharp pain in his back. It didn't last very long but it was quite a surprise so it caused him to suck in air quickly through his teeth. Cross looked up straight away.

"Dream!?"

Dream took a breath and slowly moved his body back so he was lent against the bath again. The pain stopped.

"j-just moved to fast.... It will be fine, Nightmare said the first day was the most painful"

"right" Cross said, still concerned but with a slightly harder tone. "Rest...."

"I will Crossy, if Night was able to run, I'll be able to take care of myself" Dream replied, trying to sound reassuring.

He scooped up some of the bubbly foam from the waters surface in his hand and blew it in Cross' direction. Cross batted it with his hand in a playful cat-like fashion.

Dream smiled, seeing Cross acting playfully with him, it had been a long time since they'd been able to just exist as a couple. He would have continued to blow bubbles at him, but an intrusive thought ruined the momentary joy and it made him freeze.

" ¿Estaba él en este dolor?" he asked quietly. Cross glance sideways at him.

"hm?"

"Nightmare..." Dream clarified "......was he....is he in this pain?" Cross sighed.

"Dreamboat, you need to focus on your own recovery" he said, once again flicking the bath water with his fingers, though slightly more aggressively.

His tone was firm and slightly bitter "I know you worry, but he has Killer"

Shifting his legs around a bit, Dream sighed. He knew his partner was right, he shouldn't let himself worry about Nightmare to much, they would be in contact in a few days.

Yet he just couldn't help it. If he was in this bad of shape after a few months, then how bad would it be for Night after hundreds of years.

"but what if he-

-just drop it!"

Startled at Cross' tone, Dream flinched slightly. He wasn't used to Cross speaking to him like that and he didn't like it.

He narrowed his good eye at him and the soldier sheepishly looked away. Dream sensed shame from him, but also anger. His emotions were a mess.

"sorry i just meant-

-You're still thinking about what he did to you....."

Cross' shoulders tensing confirmed to Dream that he was right. His expression softened.

"Cross..."

"it's not just what he put me through" he said, still avoiding Dreams gaze "it's what he did to you... And heaven....." his voice trailed off and his eyes watered slightly.

Dream felt his soul twist as the memories flooded in. Feeling suddenly very cold, he lowered his legs deeper in the water.

Cross squeezed his eyes shut and shook the tears away. Before opening his mouth to keep speaking, but closing it again.

"oh.. Cross" Dream said, reaching forward in an effort to comfort him. But he soon lowered his arm when Cross continued to speak.

"I know he's your brother... And I know you want to reconnect with him...." he swallowed and turned back to his lover. "I'm not gonna stop you... And I'm not going to hold a grudge, I just need.....

".... time" Dream said finishing Cross' sentence. Cross nodded in response.

He felt selfish just saying it

Even if Dream seemed to understand he still felt bad.

The reality of everything was still catching up with him and it was a slightly rough reality.

He'd been on happy to see his beloved gloop free and happy, that he'd completely pushed aside any kind of confrontation he'd had in mind for Killer or Nightmare.

Both had serious partaking in his pain and he hadn't realised how much he resented them until now.

But the reality that had just hit him was that Dream was going to reconnect with with his brother and if Cross was going to be Dreams husband then Nightmare was going to be a part of his.... Family.

"........"

That thought hurt.

Dream stared at his partner for a long time, as Cross watched the water flicking under his fingers. Cross' emotions were very negative, Dream knew he needed to say something.

"it's ok Mi Soldado, you aren't the only one. .."

Cross looked up at him again.

"I may have forgiven him in my head, but I still need to forgive him in my heart". He struggled to keep his voice steady.

"I-it's been so many years"

he bent over his knees and hugged his legs tightly.

"just like my face, there are a lot of cracks to heal..." he'd sighed "it's not just you"

Cross' emotions calmed slightly and he relaxed at Dream's reassurance.

"Its going to be a long road to recovery Crossy, for all of us"

Cross gave him a soft smile, and reached forward to cup his soapy cheek.

"I'll be here every step of the way" he said in a gentle tone.

Dream melted.

He leaned over to catch Cross in a kiss and the soldier happy obliged. It was a soft and affectionate kiss. Something that they had both been needing in that moment.

After pulling away Dream sank back into the water with a sigh. For the first time in a long time, he felt that things were going to be OK.

So here I am was another little bonus Dark-Cream scene. I came up with this recently and sketched it out. I wasn't originally gonna finish it but @zu-is-here asked me to so I did. I'm not really 100% satisfied with it you know? The bubbles was horrible to draw, I'm proud of the water and the bones though. The writing was just a cute Scene I came up with. Because it can't just be all fine and dandy can it? Nightmare put them both through hell and everyone needs time to heal. Idk if that makes sense? But I hope you enjoyed.

Original cross and dream belong to jakei95 and jokublog

Original shattered dream belongs to @galacii-gallery

Based off the Dark-Cream ship by @zu-is-here and the comic by @zu-is-here

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I wasnt the one who requested it, but I loved your how would the Blue Lions react to killing their SO! May I ask the same but for the Golden Deer if its alright?

{That was actually one of my favorite requests to write! It’s been a long time so I might be a bit rusty, but let’s give this a shot :)}

Claude:

He had accounted for the possibility of you betraying him. Your disappearance had not been something he took with ease, yet the lack of contact or declaration of death for so long had him thinking

Emotions are fleeting...the human mind was complex. Your loyalty was never something he wanted to question but he could never put his complete faith in you

Even when you stood at his side protecting the crests, befriended his people, treated him as a true partner...he just couldn’t completely put his faith in you. Not with so much on the line

He wonders if that’s where he went wrong. Heavy rain clouded his sight but the sound of your voice rang dominant across the field. As you stand at Gronder with your weapon focused on his friends- your friends; Claude could not help but momentarily reminisce over the times you instead showed him your smile. The one that temporarily alleviated the weight of his dreams and expectations from his shoulders

He would be the one to get it back. The professor had already converted other students to their side so there was a chance

One you didn’t want, as you aimed at their head with tears pricking your eyes. He dismounted his wyvern instantly

“Was it all a lie? Tell me...is this what you want for your home (Y/N)? Come fight with us” He slowly begins his approach, but the words die out as you attack him this time

A shrill battle cry is all he hears before he watches an axe lodge into your side. He’ll never hear the answer, but he didn’t need to. It finally clicked

White hair

You planned to die

His brows pressed in further as Lysithea gasped at your fallen form. Before he would have killed to know more about the hidden experiments going on in the empire, but not like this. They’ll come to collect the body before Hanneman can conduct any research, but he’ll give them more. Much more

Raphael:

Raphael doesn’t like to think on the battlefield. It’s not that he enjoys pummeling people without a glance, but if he looks back then he won’t look foreword. He’s confided in Ignatz many times after being scolded for running ahead, but when thinking can cost you your life he prefers not to waste the effort

Especially because he takes longer to process complex emotions and thoughts compared to the others. He trusts them to be tactical while he uses his muscles to save the day

Back in the day he had a perfectly reliable head to think for him. He cleared their path and they took care of all the important business. The classic ‘brains and brawn’ duo that no one would expect to ever find genuine interest in one another. Aren’t they stereotypically supposed to fight and be at each other’s throats? Not in this case

“Haha! THAT WAS GREAT! Nice Job (Y/N), I hope today’s menu has meat because you need brain food and I need to feed my muscles!”

You knew Raphael and how to predict his movements, and he had complete faith in your judgements. Even at the monastery you both made the most efficient team to do chores

Instead of trying to change him, you worked to match his pace and became his partner. On the field and in life. Raphael knew he didn’t have to second guess with you at his side, and he felt what he wanted to feel.

He loved you. Your brains, your laugh, your heart, your cooking no matter good or bad...you. It was an emotion that came easy to him.

Though sometimes he berated himself for not thinking. Sometimes you’d get in trouble if he broke equipment or did something else out of line. Yet you remained patient and calmed him down at the same time.

It was difficult to adjust to fighting without his partner. He essentially had to relearn everything through experience, but he had full hope that you’d come back

That hope clouded his judgement when he saw you conversing with the professor at Aillel. He was so overcome with joy that he mindlessly pushed aside enemies to get to you without actually examining the scene

His fury took over when the professor’s sword went straight through your stomach. He tackled them to the ground and it took both Lorenz AND Hilda to pry him away.

“You idiot! They’re the enemy!” Hilda shouted at him as he settled down. He couldn’t process it. They wouldn’t hurt their family, him.

Yet, they wore red. Red that grew darker as their blood seeped in

Ignatz:

“Can you paint my portrait?” You asked him one evening long ago. After a particularly grueling training session with the rest of class he had snuck off to sketch the trees by the market. The year was young and he still wasn’t too familiar with all his classmates

You were new and he had took to your appearance instantly. He could replay your introduction mentally over and over. Your smooth words, slight bow, and the way your feet glided effortlessly to the closest seat you could get to the window. He was of course too shy to approach a new student since he wasn’t the social sort, but luckily he did not have to do much.

You took the liberty of following him to his painting spot. He was flustered at being found, but you merely plopped at his side and began to eat your lunch. Where you had it stashed beforehand? He still doesn’t know

He had never been more aware of another’s presence, and his art showed it as the paper crinkled in his grasp. Yet somehow you seemed enamored at the picture forming on the page, so much that you asked to model

He grew anxious instantly and decided to head back for his own meal. With no given answer you had left the topic behind, and from then on he began to find you nearby often. From acquaintances to friends, and from friends to ‘lovers without definition’. No confession was ever spoken but he knew you made decisions easier, life joyful, and the rest of his peers agreed as much as he.

He drew that portrait. He drew it over, and over, and over, and over because he refused to forget your face. He would remember you and fight twice as hard to make up for what you couldn’t give. He swore that to Claude and everyone else when you were pronounced missing in action.

and now? His eyes glisten as a body fitted under a white tarp lays yards away. You hadn’t tried to harm him but you were healing the enemy. It was decided that you were not with the Empire, but instead travelling through and became swept in the battle. Perhaps you didn’t know? Perhaps you simply decided to help whoever needed it no matter their side?

He clutches his bow to his chest. One arrow, and you were down. He didn’t know

He didn’t know but the pictures would never let him forget. The pages never felt the same from then on

Lorenz:

Relationships should never be formed unless you have something to gain

It is a nobleman’s duty to protect the weak, the poor, the sick; yet, there must always be distance.

A nobleman must always carry themselves with a sense of professionalism. They must not display weakness, and a true leader is born of being able to separate their personal affairs from that of those they govern.

One day Lorenz will be the head of the Glouscer territory, and soon the Alliance as a whole if he has his way. Death must not phase him and he must be willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of his people

He follows the laws of a noble. He knows them on paper, but not in practice.

Only as he grew during an age of dispute and fighting did he begin to learn that actions differ from voice. All that he pledged as a young man held no meaning, because gradually he began to realize that he is not the most fit to govern Fodlan. He was incapable of completely tossing aside his personal desires or making the best decisions with certainty. Yes, he was well educated and would make a great right hand

Yet the title of leader would never be his. Why? Because he is a noble by definition

The professor was a noble by heart. A true leader who let actions speak for them and selflessly protected the entirety of Fodlan instead of one singular portion.

Lorenz is a noble in name, but in nature he is a man. He is a solider, a son, a friend, a politician...a human. One not immune to temptations or the grievances of loss no matter what face he may display for the public eye.

There was a soul he once found vibrant. They were a mere commoner yet full of dedication. He placed a barrier around them immediately, one he was not allowed to cross no matter how tempted. They did not fit the criteria he sought

Yet the night of the ball he allowed “them” the curtesy of a dance. Their warm hand on his own, their body held tightly in his embrace, and lighthearted small talk being tossed between quips about their poor dancing skills

They left his mouth dry as he bid them farewell to their next partner. He allowed the barrier to resurface as he went his own way

“You must rethink this (Y/N). How could siding with the empire lead to any promising future/ They will kill us all and then themselves in the process! Please, join us”

“Spoken like a true noble, Lorenz. This social hierarchy has divided people for too long and you would realize that if you’d only look beyond Alliance borders!”

If only he had grasped their hand longer- listened. They were the first to show him a world beyond his bubble, if only he popped it sooner.

Hilda:

You really annoyed her in the beginning. The way you carried yourself like some kind of prophet, or how you’d question everything the professor taught. Was it so hard to just do what was needed and move on? Even with something as simple as weeding the courtyard you always had to add your own two cents

It was like always being under analysis. She got that enough from Claude and didn’t need two people trying to read her. On many occasions she tried to gain traction over you, but somehow her efforts never bore fruit

For a try-hard you were very accepting of her shortcomings. So long as what you were tasked with got done, the performance of others was never a secondary priority

If only she could be that carefree about other people’s opinions. Maybe then living would be easier?

Perhaps you were what she wanted to be? Satisfied with who you were enough to question the world around you while remaining secure with what you had

Someone with the ability to step beyond your comfort zone and make your own decisions. Respected, knowledgeable...loved for who you are. Maybe that’s what drew her to you and lead to her envy forming into adoration

and that adoration being trampled by sorrow

“I still love you so no hard feelings, okay? I can’t back down” is what she told you. It was a taunt, but she did not expect your smile

“Of course. I’m glad you’ve decided to show your backbone, just think of this as a spar like old times”

The casual talk did not fit the clash of blades that followed. Nor did it suit the battle roaring nearby

A spar- just like old times. It was a familiar battle but this time her axe did not halt before delivering the deciding blow.

Her hands shook as your body fell, yet you still appeared at peace despite the gash adorning your back. Perhaps you knew this would be the outcome before the day even began

Hilda did not cry, but asked for you to be buried on alliance soil. If anything she owed you that curtesy

Leonie:

She would never forgive you. Not today, not ever.

How dare you choose to side with the people who killed the captain? He never did anything to anybody, and if you chose to betray everyone than Leonie would return the favor

She decided that any history between you two was nonexistent the moment you lifted your weapon. Mercy was a word you forgone long ago when instead of defending Garreg Mache, you slaughtered it’s inhabitants

She thought you felt the same as well. Yet, fate always liked to twist in ways to hinder justice

She watched from a distance as the professor approached your fallen form. They had insisted on trying to sway her old classmates, but she scoffed at the mere thought

What made them think traitors would be good allies? Did they want to be stabbed in the back like their father?...like the captain

She ignored the sting in her chest as you swatted their hand away. You had some nerve to reject their kindness and it pissed her off. She wanted this entire situation to simply end but-

Her feet moved on their own

“Why are you such an idiot? Were you always this irresponsible?” her words cut deep, clearly shown by how you turned away. She could only grit her teeth at the stubbornness and reach for her lance

You made your choice, and clearly it was up to her to deliver justice if no one else would

So she did what she’s always had to do, the brunt work. With one swing it was over and you were just another count among the others

She doesn’t know if the captain would praise her for remaining strong or scold her for remaining indifferent

Lysithea:

Everything always boils down to one thing: people cannot be trusted. Each and every time Lysithea has allowed someone close it has blown up in her face

and somewhere deep down, she knew this situation wouldn’t have ended any differently. The world always found new ways to crush what she cared for

The only question that remains is how much longer will she have to endure? How much longer did she have to fight?

because now she had to fight for two. She had to find a cure or die trying

During the battle for Garreg Mache many had been taken prisoner. She hadn’t the empire to conduct unethical experiments; maybe torture, but nothing like what she was witnessing.

It was a fever dream one couldn’t fathom, but the mindless husk killing without remorse kept her in reality. What had they done to you?

She noticed the white hair in an instant. One of her worst fears had come to life seeing you at the death knight’s side, but the way you hadn’t even flinched when she called your name made her terrified

Not even a whack of thoron could snap you out of it. She began to lose hope...were you even there anymore? Is this what they had planned for her if she didn’t flee?

“Say something you jerk! Don’t tell me you’re letting some petty magic keep you grounded, fight it!”

No matter what anyone said it did nothing. When moral dwindled the only solution left was to free you through other means

The death knight escaped after you fell. Next time...next time he would die at her hand.

Lysithea instantaneously moved to further her research after your burial. Not for herself, but to find out if you were gone long before they found you. She needed to know if your death was peaceful, if you could see that she tried

If you would forgive her

Marianne:

“This is Nova. I have to leave for a mission, would you watch him for me Marianne?”

Bright blue eyes bored into hers as she gingerly took hold of the bunny. It’s fur was soft, well groomed. She took notice of how it snuggled into her arms as if it feared no human. Marianne knew instantly that the animal was well loved and cherished. The though made her almost refuse the favor in fear of hurting it, but her classmate’s insistence wasn’t something to fight.

Despite her warnings (Y/N) never listened, and at some point Marianne gave up on pushing them away. Their company was appreciated yet she would never say it, and the cuddly creature in her arms truly proved their trust in her

She could only nod in agreement as they skipped off to prepare the bunny’s necessities to bring to her room. Marianne hoped she could care for the animal properly, and that nothing would happen to it

She worried for the wrong reasons, as (Y/N) never returned home. They were sent to face Solon and avenge the death of the Professor’s father. Marianne was asked to remain and help in healing injured soldiers from the most previous confrontation.

·If she knew that would have been the last time (Y/N) would show up in her room, she--no, she wouldn’t have done anything. She may have tried to convince them to stay home but Marianne knows she would have not confessed anything

Not that she valued their friendship or that she worried for their wellbeing. Not that she was grateful they trusted her with Nova, or that they help her care for her horses. She wouldn’t have even thought it.

She didn’t think of it afterwards either. Her fondness for her deceased friend wouldn’t have been noticeable at all if not for the bunny. Despite everything she cared for it as if it were (Y/N) themselves.

When she sees a familiar figure take charge at Gronder, time freezes. She remembers the bunny sitting in her dorm without an owner. She wonders how abandoned it must have felt to never see it’s best friend again. She feels for the bunny because it’s how she felt.

Without thinking she shoots a blast of magic their way and watches them crumple on the floor

Why did they abandon their precious bunny? Did they give up on it? Did they give up on her?

Did you...finally realize you had befriended a monster?

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theprocrastinatingredkitty · 3 years ago

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Byeonduck-nim is telling us something suspish, I can tell

LOOK AT THOSE GORGEOUS BRIGHT COLORS 😭 Yes, I know, the drawing itself doesn’t seem to be finalized yet BUT LOOK AT THOSE SUNBEAMS!!!!

Nothing in the series is coincidental, everything has meaning

This seems to be from a flashback of sorts, as Na-Kyum’s body seems to be thinner and smaller here. He seems to be at a tavern as well. (BOY, WHERE ARE YOUR GUARDIANS???) For me, this seems to be a time when he was still full of joy, judging by the rays of sunlight beaming down at him. The tavern and its shadows seem to symbolize his state of mind, as he was still a sheltered child in this scene. And the presence of four stacks of cups (15 in total) tell me that the other adults are somewhere within the vicinity and they left Na-Kyum alone with the sweet treats for him to consume (poor bby 😭)

Now, in BD’s post, she asks us to imagine taking medicine, which doesn’t sound much at first glance, but do you remember something similar to this scene?

In c57, we see the doctor telling Na-Kyum of a flashback about Seungho’s “illness”.

Later on, we see the adults talking in one corner while Kim talks to little Seungho to keep him entertained and to keep an eye on him

In contrast to the first picture above, as Na-Kyum didn’t really have any servants as he was an orphaned boy, he’d be left alone while the adults talk away doing adult things while Seungho, at least, had his servants to keep him company

If we align this to BD’s post, what’s there to say that the adults there went away from Na-Kyum so as to talk about him and possibly... of an “illness”? Probably an “illness” that is similar to Seungho’s? I suddenly had a thought. We know that Heena had most likely told (or suggested) In-Hun of Na-Kyum’s homosexuality. She probably told it to him in a roundabout way, probably telling the scholar that her brother loves him a little too much, like that of a father (or something). What if In-Hun knew of this all along and his suspicions were confirmed when Heena told him of Na-Kyum’s condition, and therefore had suggested that Na-Kyum be treated as well, similar to what Yoon dad wanted for Seungho?

I am guessing that Heena didn’t agree to these methods as Na-Kyum remained of sound mind in his childhood, and she probably asked In-Hun to keep it a secret from Na-Kyum, thus planting the seed that In-Hun had now thought of Na-Kyum becoming a prostitute due to his upbringing and his secret homosexuality. The sweets that Na-Kyum ogled at is a distraction so he couldn’t hear what the people around him were saying about him, it was like how Seungho was “distracted” due to the drugs he had after the beating and assault took place.

The only difference between this situation compared to Seungho’s is: In-Hun thought of making Na-Kyum the scapegoat much, much later, during the time he realized Seungho is smitten with Na-Kyum, compared to Yoon dad, who thought of Seungho as a prostitute prior to the doctor’s visit

So, to summarize the similarities of these two scenes, we have:

1. the scene opened with closeups of the thatched roofs

2. the presence of light reflecting innocence (for Na-Kyum, the sunbeams; and for Seungho, his “lighthearted” expression)

2. a flashback of their younger selves

3. a trip outside accompanied by adults

4. the mention of medicine for a treatment of an “illness”

5. father figures trying to use their “sons” and sell them into prostitution

The question now is, what could possibly trigger Na-Kyum to recall these memories?

If you notice the pattern in s2, after the doctor had told Na-Kyum of Seungho’s “illness”, Seungho returned to him, feverish. And after a love session, Na-Kyum was kidnapped. Things happened, and all went down the drain from there on out

So I am guessing the first picture will only appear AFTER THE SECOND KIDNAPPING takes place, wherein Na-Kyum’s brain will go into fight or flight, recalling all memories that he could use to possibly escape or for people he can call help to, similar to c60

Now, THAT is possibility number 1.

Possibility number 2 is through a clue on BD’s recent sketch:

Recall that in s1, Na-Kyum also witnessed a similar situation where they slept together and Seungho was in the middle of a nightmare. In my theory, the sight of Seungho having a nightmare could trigger Na-Kyum to recall the doctor’s words about the illness, thus also prompting him to recall his own memories about the adults talking in secret about him. This could throw Na-Kyum into protective mode over Seungho, as he had done so since c38 when he first saw Seungho have a nightmare while they slept together

And what happened after that particular scene?

In-Hun comes to his room, asking about Seungho and his recent bout of scandal in public about him being seen with a lowborn at night.

And that’s it. THAT IS WHEN IN-HUN WILL RETURN. TO ASK NA-KYUM CONFIRMING IF THE RUMORS WERE TRUE. YET DIFFERENT FROM S1, NA-KYUM WILL NO LONGER REPLY:

But rather probably somewhere along the lines from c11, but instead of Na-Kyum contradicting In-Hun, it would be:

Na-Kyum has nothing left for In-Hun but pain and dead anger that he cannot express, and only Seungho will heal that pain, urging Na-Kyum to now become truly protective of Seungho’s name and reputation. Similar to Seungho who had been thrown away and had externalized his father’s teachings that he’s a prostitute, Na-Kyum, too, will externalize In-Hun’s accusation of him becoming a prostitute, making it “come true” as well. The only difference is, Na-Kyum will only be for Seungho and Seungho alone, as the painter had proved himself to be extremely loyal to those he loves

#potn #painter of the night #yahwacheop #potn analysis #painter of the night analysis #yahwacheop analysis #manhwa analysis #seungho x nakyum

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years ago

Text

Day 1: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 1: Your soulmate’s name is on your wrist.

Content: Flower/Tattoo Shop AU, background character death (unspecified cause, none of the sides), that’s pretty much it, it’s just soft Logince.

Word count: 2.7k

A small ding from the store entrance pulled Roman out of his thoughts, and he groaned softly. It was nearing the end of his shift, almost closing time, and another customer at this time would probably mean he was staying after hours again. All he wanted to do was go home and watch cheap reality TV in his sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of hot cheetos into his mouth. So sue him, it had been a long day. But nooo. Someone else had just walked in, probably someone with a very specific style that was out of season and they would argue for half an hour, no matter how many times he explained that tulips aren’t blooming right now, Vanessa!

Sure, usually his customers were great. Nervous first anniversaries, eccentric brides, all that romance stuff. He loved it. And they were usually all too willing to give him a budget and a color scheme and let him go wild, which was the best part about his job. He was good at it, too. His boss had seen his eye for style and almost immediately gave him solo shifts, which meant decently good pay and hours alone to belt out songs amongst the flowers and daydream to his heart’s content. It was a small enough business that the only mandatory part of his outfit was a green apron, so he could wear whatever he wanted, and he didn’t need a pesky nametag. Those had always weirded him out just a bit. So yeah, he loved his job, but right now, he knew himself too well. He had awful luck.

With a forced customer service grin, he poked out of the backroom and began his usual spiel of, “Thanks for coming to The Rainbow Bouquet, what can I get started…”

His words died in his throat at the mere sight of the man before him. Never had he been so equally attracted and frightened at the same time.

He was tall, probably just taller than him, but he held himself in a way that made Roman feel miniscule. Both arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, the left one a flurried mix of black and white and color, beautiful strips of pink and blue galaxies blending with grayscale skulls and clocks. The other had more order; shadows of a forest growing from around his wrist, shimmering mist curling up over his bicep and ending with a full moon stamped on his shoulder like a crest. A corner of something peaked up around the collar of his torn vest, and if Roman had to guess, there were most likely plenty more tattoos that were covered by his ripped black jeans and blue Nasa shirt. Not that his mind was going there at all, no siree.

Once Roman’s brain had screeched to a halt back in his body, he spoke again.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man swallowed with difficulty, taking in the rows and rows of flowers surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look in his element.

“I need an arrangement for my mother. She’s in the hospital.”

Ah, the part of the job that Roman didn’t enjoy. Probably half the orders that came in were for sick people or funerals, and those were always a lot harder to arrange. It was always hard to find joy in creating for something so dismal.

“I’m sorry to hear. Did you have anything specific in mind? Does she have a favorite flower?”

“Daisies. She likes Daisies,” He murmured, still admiring the space around him. Roman couldn’t help but smile at the man’s expression. It was just a little awe inspired, a little bit of childish wonder, under that rough exterior. It was a gorgeous shop, that’s one of the reasons Roman had started working there.

“That’s good, it makes it a little easier for me to design something when I have that to go off of. Do you have a budget, or…”

He shook his head weakly, finally turning to look at Roman. “Price isn’t an issue. This is one of the last things I’m going to be able to give her.”

“Oh,” Roman whispered, slowly putting down the pen he’d been writing with, “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be changed. There’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

“Just because it’s going to happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

The man narrowed his eyes, giving Roman a once over before lifting his chin slightly. “I don’t need advice from a stranger.”

“Of course you don’t,” Roman quickly corrected, remembering he was still at work, “My apologies. When did you want to pick it up?”

“I’m visiting her tomorrow at noon. Could it be ready by then?”

“You bet. Can I have a name for the pick up?”

“Logan.” Roman’s pen skittered over his notepad, almost falling through his fingers.

Having a common name on your wrist was a curse in and of itself. And poor him, the hopeless romantic that he was, had met countless “Logan’s” in his day, and consequently fallen for most of them at first introduction, only to figure out quickly that they weren’t destined for a “Roman”. As inconspicuously as possible, he tried to glance down at Logan’s wrist, only finding a mass of swirling tattoos covering his skin. Dammit. There were some people born without soulmates, or had their soulmark fade to nothingness when their person passed away, and he tried not to think too terribly hard on which one Logan was. He tampered his rush of excitement as quickly as it had arisen and turned back to his notes, ignoring Logan’s raised eyebrow at his sudden stop.

Roman scribbled down the name and phone number as it was given, setting down the notepad with a customer service smile. The man spent no time dawdling, immediately starting towards the door, only to hesitate before walking out.

“Her favorite color is yellow.”

Roman nodded, the fake smile slowly morphing into an authentic one. “I can work with that.”

It was now a week after Logan had picked up the bouquet, a somewhat awkward interaction filled with small compliments towards the arrangement and Roman nearly dropping the flowers as their fingers touched while passing it over. As he was ringing up the total, he’d been able to uphold a brief conversation where Logan revealed he was a tattoo artist (no shock, considering he showed more inked skin than plain), and Roman showed off his rose tattoo on his upper arm. It would have been fine if the conversation ended there, but no, Logan had to reach up tentatively to brush his finger along the edge of the piece, commenting off handedly about how the color had started to fade.

“How long ago did you get this done?”

“Probably ten years, give or take.”

“You’re what, mid twenties? There’s no way you were legal ten years ago.”

“Who said I was?” It was said with a small wink that made Logan pull his hand away, an action that immediately dampened Roman’s mood.

“If you ever want it touched up, come by the shop. It’s just down the road.”

Roman had promised to consider, pulling the collar of his long sleeve shirt back up over the rose and bidding the man a good visit to his mother. Even now, a full week later, he couldn’t help his thoughts that were so centered around the tattoo artist. So maybe that was why Logan walked back into the shop the following Wednesday. I simped so hard I summoned him, Roman thought weakly as the gorgeous man strode straight up to the counter, leaning on it like he owned it.

“I have a question.”

“What’s your question?

“A client asked me yesterday to design a tattoo for her. A bouquet, seen from the top, and all she specified was it should feature hydrangeas, and she asked me to, quote, ‘go nuts’.”

“This isn’t sounding like a question so far.”

Logan sighed apprehensively, adjusting his glasses, “I was hoping you could give me some ideas on how to start. All the tips I found online contradicted each other in some way or another, and the arrangement you created for my mother was so well done…”

He trailed off, giving Roman a look that clearly said I need your help but don’t make me ask for it. Chuckling slightly, he leaned onto the counter as well, his face inches away from Logan’s. For the first time, he could see the small piercing on the man’s tongue as he sighed again. God, that’s hot.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.”

“Being?”

“Help me design my next tattoo.” In full honesty, he hadn’t even considered a second tattoo until that second.

“Deal.” There was no hesitation in his answer, and he took Roman’s offered hand, barely shaking it in the small space between them.

“Alright!” Roman pulled back, satisfied but disappointed as their hands separated, “Let’s talk flowers!”

And talk they did. For hours, in fact. It started with Logan’s tattoo dilemma, and Roman’s skillful eye and creative mind solved that problem in a flash, crudely drawing out a bouquet idea that fit all the criteria. The tattoo artist took it from there, using the notepad paper and Roman’s sketch, along with a quick round of the shop to see what the recommended flowers, fillers, and greens would all look like, and drew out a detailed piece that put Roman’s own art talent to shame. After explaining that his shift was done at the parlor and he had the rest of the afternoon free, Roman invited Logan to stay for a while longer, seeing as his day had dragged on customer-less so far, and he was bored. Plus, now was as good a time as any to pay back the favor. Two mugs of breakroom coffee later, the two were huddled around the counter, Roman describing his ideas and Logan sketching them like there was no tomorrow. Maybe half way through the brainstorm, the conversation switched to Logan’s mother (which he talked about hesitantly), then to Roman’s family, slowly changing to the absurdity of satin couch cushions, then to their favorite foods, and finally ending with a loud debate on whether pineapple deserved to be on pizza.

“It’s a fruit, Logan! Why the hell would you put fruit on a pizza?!”

“All I’m saying is that the sweet flavor of the pineapple balances out the tanginess of the marinara sauce, and adds more to the plain crust!”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Logan had to go soon after that, wanting to visit his mom before visiting hours ended. He left with a begrudging smile on his face and a promise to come back another day, drawing an ear to ear grin from Roman. He’s just a friend, he reprimanded himself sternly, all the while sliding the drawing of his next possible tattoo into his phone case with startling reverence. No use getting attached to some who wasn’t his soulmate.

Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel saddened as a week passed again, then two, then a month. His job had returned to it’s boring normalcy, with only the flowers and no cute boy to keep him company. Even when he sat at his little desk next to the counter, hands working effortlessly to string together order after order, he couldn’t help the occasional glance at the door. The hope that his prince charming would waltz back in, piercings and ripped clothing galore, never faded.

A month and a half later, the little chime above the door dinged, and Roman glanced up from his handful of Baby’s Breath (seriously people, there are other fillers). Immediately a huge smile pulled at his lips and he dropped the half finished bouquet onto his table.

“Logan! What took you so… long…” His expression morphed into one of worry as he took in the other’s appearance. Gone was the usual grunge attire he was so prone to wearing, replaced with a black hoodie and beaten up Vans. His eyes no longer held that dangerous glimmer that had intimidated Roman so much when they first met. He just looked… small. Logan had never looked small before.

“My mom died last month,” He whispered.

Roman was over the desk in a second, pulling the man into his arms before he could protest. It took Logan a second, a long, awkward, stiff second, before he let his arms wrap around his waist, allowing his forehead to rest on the florist’s shoulder.

“I thought I’d be okay when she died… it was inevitable. It was her time… so why does it still hurt so bad?” The desperate whisper shattered Roman’s heart.

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Logan.” He felt him merely shake his head in response, but he said nothing to push the topic further.

Logan didn’t cry as they stood there, though he clung to Roman almost desperately. If he had to guess, the poor man was probably already cried out. He looked exhausted, and his unusually slumped posture only weakened more when Roman tightened his arms ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You were probably waiting.”

“Hey, no apologizing.”

“I just… didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So what changed your mind?”

Logan shrugged, still not pulling away, “I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. And I needed someone who wouldn’t laugh at me. If our few interactions were anything to go by, you were that person.”

Roman decided to ignore the blatant implication that Logan didn’t have anyone except a practical stranger to go to. They could talk about that later, if he decided to stay for a while. Roman really hoped he did.

When the tattoo artist finally pulled out of the hug, many minutes later, he pushed his sweater paws under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t cried, but he sure was close to it.

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I don’t even know your name, and I-”

“It’s okay, stop-” Roman reeled back slightly, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, “Oh… sweet Zac Efron. I never told you my name! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“It felt too late to ask,” Logan smirked subtly despite himself, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I am none of those things.”

Roman sighed in soft exasperation, smiling at the barely perceivable glimmer in the other’s eyes. Ah, there it is. “My name’s Roman. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

He was instantly concerned with the way Logan’s face fell into one of total shock. Shit, what did he do wrong? The fear was quickly replaced with understanding, however, as the artist’s hand drifted to his right wrist.

“What are the chances that your wrist says my name on it?” Logan said it like he was scared to be hopeful, like a happy ending was just not imaginable for him. Roman couldn’t comprehend all the emotions he felt at one time; elation, shock, fear. He answered in a choked voice, smiling all the while.

“One hundred percent.”

The both upturned their arms in near harmony, Roman pulling his gardening glove down to reveal the name. He squinted at Logan’s wrist, finally noticing the small writing that just barely stood out underneath a grayscale (anatomically correct) heart. No wonder he missed it before, it almost blended in with the outline.

And then Logan did cry, but so did Roman, so it was a little more okay. He seemed more confused than anything as Roman pulled him back in, holding him even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so unused to… well, feeling. I’m not usually like this, I believe I’m just sleep deprived and worn out from-”

“You never, ever need to be guilty for feeling, you absolute punk stereotype.” Roman pressed a long kiss to the other’s temple, letting him unwind in his arms. “We’ll work on that together. I promise.”

A muffled affirmative hum was all he got in response. He pressed another kiss to the top of Logan’s head as his crying slowed, breathing out heavily into the man’s hair. Together. That’s all that mattered.

Peep this gorgeous art piece for this fic

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts soulmate au

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sebbytrash · 4 years ago

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Through His Eyes - Part Twenty (The End)

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - The end.

A/N - Gah. I’m literally at a loss for words. This is almost 3 years in the making. My life has changed drastically since I started this. (I’m a mom, yikes.) I can’t thank you enough for all the wonderful support on this one. It was truly a piece of my heart in words. So yes, the end is here and it’s a little bitter sweet but I might visit these two again one day. I hope this is everything you have been waiting for. <3

HUGE thank you to my other half @manawhaat for her exceptional Betaing as always

Through His Eyes Masterlist

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Bucky asks, not for the first time, glancing worriedly down at your forearm.

“The surest.” You reassure him, fix him with your best full wattage smile and roll your sleeve up the rest of the way. The skin tingles in anticipation, or dread, and your heart thumps readily in your chest. It’s time, it says with each beat.

At your nod, the needle descends and the first painful line of change begins. Bucky shudders at the noise and keeps his eyes on yours, or more accurately, keeps them anywhere but on that needle.

“You know, for an Avenger, you sure are squeamish,” you joke, grab his hand and give it a squeeze when he doesn’t smile back. “It’s just a tattoo, Bucky. Barely even registers.” The tattoo artist catches your eye with a soft smile and you roll your eyes in a playful isn’t-my-boyfriend-cute kinda way. Boyfriend, yeah, it still feels weird to think it, let alone say it. Truthfully, the word doesn’t even come close to what he is to you. The word simply doesn’t exist.

“I know, I know,” the boyfriend in question says, “I just hate the look of it, s’all.” His mouth twists in that way that tells you he's still concerned and is probably going to be the entire time so you should just let him.

This moment was a long time coming. You had thought and thought about getting your scars covered, these ones in particular that made wearing short sleeves a nightmare unless you wanted to flash an unintentional Nazi neon to anyone in a 2 metre radius. At first, you held on to them as a reminder, something to keep your heart cold and cruel, and then you held onto them as a shield, something to keep you from growing and forgetting, to keep you from leaving that part of you behind and finding out what was left without it. Now, you ache to transform, to strip away the last of the darkness and move forward with the growing light. That light that Bucky has shined into your life with that stubborn heart and those same unrelenting eyes that warily watch you close this chapter of your life. It will always be with you, be a part of you, but you no longer want it to be you.

The tattoo itself, flowers chosen for their meaning, would now flow up your forearm with a soft wind replacing the haphazardly cruel branding you endured. Daffodils, meaning rebirth or new beginnings, and Irises for hope. Steve and Wanda had helped you with the design, the former brushing off his old drawing skills to do so and Tony had acquired the artist. Lee, a tall, severe looking man with the softest smile you’d ever seen on someone with a shaved head and ear gauges. He was kind and funny, and everything you needed to put yourself entirely in his hands with this precious piece of your history.

It takes roughly four hours and Bucky is tense for every single minute of them. Lee spends half his time smirking at you when Bucky starts pacing again or sighs a little too deeply, his intense discomfort is nothing short of hilarious in the end. The finished piece is breathtaking, Lee has taken Steve’s sketch and created something so incredible, you feel the breath forcibly taken from your lungs and words from your mouth.

“Wow. It’s perfect, Lee.” You stare at it unblinking before glancing at him. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” He nods with quiet understanding and busies himself tidying his workstation. You turn to Bucky, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes and you try haplessly to blink them away, a few escape and Bucky steps up close to catch them with his thumb. His eyes reflect yours, and you wonder if it feels as significant to him as it does to you, looking at your arm and seeing that journey etched in colour, bright and beautiful and on display.

Bucky lets out a breath so large, it’s like he's held it the entire day. "It's beautiful," he says, after a long minute, "It's you."

It's still dark when you are catapulted from sleep, your sweet dreams stolen from underneath you in a swift movement just like the blanket so often is by your bedmate. It takes a second for the sound to match what you see, for you put the pieces of your reality together like a puzzle. He's dreaming again, Bucky, a bad one from the sounds being torn from his throat.

He's rigid beside you, muscles and ligaments all turned to stone despite his obvious turmoil. You suspect that it's a part of him that holds on to a sliver of reality, that fights to ensure he doesn't harm you, even now, when he's asleep. It doesn't shock you to discover that even unconscious, he's the best man you know.

"No. Stop. I can't." He says and the words curdle in the air. You wondered if this would happen, after today and his reaction to the tattoo. His need to protect you runs bone deep and so it’s impossible to run from the dreams on the days he considers you hurt, or hurting.

You smooth a hand over his face, gently and coaxing, "Shhh, Bucky. I'm right here. I'm with you, I'm safe." The magic words, you'd discovered, were less about his own safety and more about yours. Buttery promises that melt right through the brickhouse dream and pull him back to you.

He wakes slowly, blinks up at you with those sea storm eyes, rides the crest of a wave in between realities and then blinks again and lets the waters crease and slow, settle into a soft hum. You place a kiss to his brow and leave to grab him a glass of water, giving him a minute to settle so that he isn’t forced to look at you before he’s ready. When you return he's sitting up against the headboard with his body tilted like he's waiting for you to slot right in. He downs the whole glass quickly and then grants you a smile, the smile, the one that makes electricity wake up in the morning.

"Do you need anything?" You ask, like you always do, letting your fingers lace with his.

"Just you," he answers, pulls you gently to him so he can tuck your head under his chin and his fingers slot against your ribs, let's his breathing slow to match yours and his heartbeat to follow suit.

It's what you do for each other, when the need arises. Just quiet understanding and quiet support. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, you no longer feel like it's going to strip the skin from your bones or send you plunging into the dark. Now it feels like stitching a wound shut, or rubbing an aching muscle, leaning on each other in a truly honest way despite everything, or maybe because of everything, and it's...nice. There’s not a single part of you that you have to hide from him, or him from you, and that feeling is measureless. There were stars living inside your chest, burning furious and bright, a sunshine heart and a moonlit soul.

You stay that way long after sleep steals you both back, tangled limbs and tangled scars, and tangled hearts.

In the morning, his tired eyes are not weary, as they once might have been after such a night. Instead, they hold a promise of a smile inside, the saltwater seas are waveless. His smile comes easily, harbouring a quiet joy he has not yet shared and so you're helpless, swept away in it as his lips take your reason captive. He stops to look at you and you look back at this resilient, gentle man who didn’t try to hide or reconcile all the complex truths inside himself, just simply existed exactly as he was.

“What’s got your face looking like that?” You ask, letting your fingers slide along his jaw in a lazy, familiar way.

“Just realised somethin’” He smiles like he has the answer to a question you forgot to ask, continues when you raise your brows at him, “Bob isn’t sharing the bed anymore.”

Oh.

It’s true, you’d finally found yourself ready to put your gun into an actual gun safe and not within 2 metres of you at all times. Since the great revelation, as you so often thought of it as, you’d taken Sam up on his offer to join him down at the VA for the group sessions, finally unburdening yourself in a more controlled and productive way, taking your own small steps to recovery. It’s not a journey, the voice of Sam scolds, it’s a state of being. One you need to work on every day.

You make a noise of agreement. “Yeah. Didn’t really need him there anymore.” You admit, press a quick kiss to his lips and say, “Besides, they would need to get through you first. That’s why you sleep closest to the door.”

He laughs and smiles sheepishly, the admission dies on his tongue when you hush it with yours, the curve of his mouth when it smiles simply too tempting not to taste.

“There you go,” Wanda says as she zips your dress. “You’re ready.”

And you were ready. It was a date, a real date in a real restaurant with real people around you. You and Bucky had lived inside a bubble, protected and cosy, all bed covers and armchairs, netflix and books. He decided, or was reminded, that there were other ways to spend his time with you and tonight was to be the first. The first official date. It was exciting, and nerve wracking, and you tried not to hang your fate against the success of one night.

“Yeah,” you agree, let the hum of unreleased adrenaline settle over your bones in anticipation, “I’m ready.”

You're halfway to the door when you stop, sudden, and hastily turn back to your dresser, rummaging around with abandon until you find it. You gasp in triumph, clutch the glass bottle in hand and show it to Wanda.

“I haven’t worn it yet,” you explain when she casts you a confused glance. “I guess I was saving it.”

Hope. The scent you’d purchased all those months ago when Bucky had first arrived, when you’d felt the very first flutterings of it within your chest before you even recognised what it was. It feels apt to wear it tonight when all that hope has become reality.

“Hmm, well now does seem perfect, right?” She looks at you that way she sometimes does when her face turns into a mirror for your own feelings. It still makes you blink a few times, even now, when the feelings are joyful.

When you make it to the door this time, you hesitate, hand gripping the cold handle long enough for Wanda to softly clear her throat. She doesn’t ask, but then again she probably already knows. It’s been a while since you’ve worn anything this nice, the dress is really nothing fancy, it’s flattering and comfortable, but still entirely different to your usual workout clothes and lounge wear that Bucky usually sees you in. It still makes your hands clench and your heart flutter with nerves, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of feeling self-conscious. The same man has seen your very soul, after all.

He’s waiting for you with Steve, his back to you as you approach and so you have a few sweet seconds to admire the sturdiness of his shoulders in the shirt, how the fabric stretches and clings to his broad back and thick arms. Steve smiles when he sees you coming, gives Bucky a nudge and then watches him turn to you with barely contained glee.

When Bucky finally sees you, he looks at you with such fierce want, and love, that you nearly buckle at the sight of it. He smiles the smile that carves roots in your bones and stars in your heart. It’s only when you draw closer that you see your own eyes reflected in his, see yourself looking at him the way he’s looking at you.

“You look beautiful.” He says, quietly and just for you.

“Thank you.” You finally tear your eyes from his long enough to do a leisurely sweep of him, taking in that shirt and dress pants combo that somehow looks like it was how he looked all along, made for it. “You do, too.”

He laughs, like you intended, reaches out to clasp your hand in his without thought and those two actions combined are threatening to let too much of that feeling leak out of your chest, the one that reminds you that you need him too much, love him too much. It’s still terrifying, this kind of love.

You hate it. You don’t.

The restaurant is small, a quiet but cosy kinda place that has more candles than menus and serves things called “Mom’s soup special”. Its soft lighting combines spectacularly with the coved tables, each individual one a private getaway that’s filled with fluttering lashes and toothy smiles. Bucky ushers you forward and tucks your seat behind you as you sit, the gesture all too natural for him and not all like the forced way you’ve witnessed so many people do it before.

“This place is amazing,” you say, still glancing around with wonder hanging off your eyelashes, “how did you find it?”

“Oh, uh, Sam suggested it, actually.” He admits, tucks his chin a little before adding, “Haven’t actually been out to eat since, you know, melting.”

You blink at him stupidly, eyebrows gathering up into a frown. “But, didn’t you live in Europe? And Wakanda?”

“Yeah. Romania. Well, I was on the run so it was mostly tins of beans and whatever fruit I could find,” he explains, nothing of the painful memories showing on his face, even if they show on yours, “Wakanda was different. I spent a lot of time in the lab, and when I wasn’t, I didn’t exactly socialise. I wasn’t what you would call, fit for the public eye.”

You reach across the table to take his hand in yours, try not to squeeze it as tight as your chest is squeezing your heart. “I’m glad you're here,” you say, still marvelling at the ease at which he now opens up to you, how these things don’t drag you both down into the dark. “I’m glad I get to share this with you.”

He smiles, soft and pleased, “There’s no one I’d rather share it with, sweetheart.”

The pet name, or perhaps the casualness in the way he says it, makes your heart stumble in your chest. Once, a gesture like that would have felt entirely foreign to you, probably even a little pointless, but when it rolls off his tongue with such tenderness you find yourself with sudden understanding that no amount of Hollywood movies could ever show you.

If he notices your reaction, he doesn’t say anything. The rest of the meal is spent with easy laughter and enthusiastic eating, the staff leave you mostly alone but you catch more than one with a small, knowing smile on their face when they do approach. Caught in the feeling between you, your happiness that bubbles over and spills into every passing person so that their smiles mirror your own.

You had spent so long denying yourself, and Bucky, these feelings that the now freely given love is pouring, uncontainable, from you both with such force that you can barely stand it. All that effort that went into holding back, denying, did not transfer because in truth, loving Bucky was no effort at all.

You share a dessert, Bucky coming round the table to join you in what was surely just an excuse to be close, arm draped along the back of your chair, touching from knee to hip. You lean into him, letting his body heat soak into yours and his metal fingers dance along your shoulder. It’s quietly euphoric, and you know he feels it, too.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this.” You admit, turning so you can see his eyes when the words take shape, watching as those seas rumble against your meaning.

“Me neither.” He admits right back, turning to look at you the way he so often does, captures your mouth in a kiss, a lifetime's worth of affection hidden in the curve of his mouth.

You didn’t believe in soulmates, not really, but as you lay back against his chest and feel his heartbeat on your back, feel the way the beats of his match the beats of yours so precisely, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, they might.

Or perhaps, Fate saw the damage you’d both done to each other and decided to forcibly fuse those souls together. That those matching scars would fit perfectly together and prevent you both from spilling out onto any of her other plans or people.

As someone once said, “May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, whispers I love you in your ear and you think that you don’t care if it’s soul mates or fated or not. You know that you’d choose him every time. A fate selected by your own hand, or heart, and worth far more than dreams of paths forged for you.

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#through his eyes #kale writes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel fanfic

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