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writing-havoc · 2 years ago

Text

Let it be that

♡ Summary: It's late in the night when his demons wreak the most havoc. You're there to keep Nikolai company.

♡ Pairing: Nikolai x reader

♡ Fandom: Shadow and Bone, Grishaverse

♡ Warning(s): None,,,, I think. There's a bit about a snake swirling in a gut if that's a particularly bad ick

♡ WC: 2.4k

Yooo a Nikolai fic for the Nikolai lovers.

This is written in sort of a weird in-between stage? He has control over the nichevo'ya in him, so the sleeping tonics aren't really necessary anymore, but he's still king. So do with that what you will.

It's basically 2k+ words of him yearning.

Please excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Hope you enjoy <3

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

Eye bags threaten to weigh down his entire face from beneath the wanning tailored mask. He was told by Zoya he looked as if he lost a fight with an ambidextrous boxer. And if the tired, yet handsome, man in the mirror truly was him, then she was right.

He really needed some sleep.

But it refused to come to him. Tonics and blood coming to mind at a mere glance of his bed. It makes his stomach turn and gives him the uncomfortable urge to constantly look over his shoulder, despite the threat being inside. And when he realizes that, he can't stop staring at his hands and chest, and it almost looks and feels like the black that covers his fingers is trailing up his palm, and then he blinks and it starts all over.

No matter how in control he feels, some days there's just a lingering anxiety about it.

Sleep isn't coming. Not for a long time. Not until he physically exhausts himself and passes out, and then still he may resist.

But it's not like he has anything to do. His quarters are barren of anything he may find interesting at this hour, and he would rather not get piss drunk just to pass the time with an early meeting tomorrow- today?

He takes a look out his window, marking the positions of the shadow from the moon, and confirms that it is, in fact, today.

It only makes his eyes hurt, a low growling coming from in his mind and possibly escaping his throat.

A knocking on his doorway startles him out of it.

"Enter." He says a lot more curtly than he intends. He bites his tongue.

"I don't think I want to anymore given that tone." Immediately he bites it harder, if only to stop a long winding nervous ramble about the new flower placed outside his window, which also happens to be your favorite.

You stand in the space of his open doorway, hand on the handle and your body half ready to tuck tail and flee. "May I?"

"Of course." He says, a bit too fast, and takes out his chair from his desk and drags it over to beside the bed.

The door shuts with a grand thunk, and your footsteps pad over quieter than ever. He places a pillow on top of the hard wood, just how you like it, and gestures for you to sit.

"I know you aren't a fan." You say, sitting atop the pillow. "So I wanted to hang out for a bit."

He smiles softly, and vaguely notes the roses drifting in at the corners of his eyes. "You mustn't stay up just for me. Beauty sleep is vital, especially for someone as attractive as thee."

You snort, giving him a look that at surface level reads annoyance, but he knows better, seeing the fond disbelief for what it is. "'Someone as attractive as thee?' Really? Didn't know this was a poetry class."

"I have to keep you on your toes. Can't allow you to know everything now can I? How would I ever surprise you?"

"You surprise me every day, Nikolai." His heart thrumps against his chest. "I don't think a change in vocabulary is required."

He snorts. "You have me there."

"That I do."

He takes in your appearance, and nearly gets on his knees when he realizes the soft white cloth that covers your torso has small embroideries on it, all of which hold a certain interest to your craft and possibly his own.

Gears, nuts, bolts, and wires stipple along your shoulders, falling down to your torso, where they plunge into flowing water at the hem. A design similar to a grisha kefta dances along your other sleeve, the same color at the bolts with dashes of purple if you look close enough.

He realizes you are the one that embroidered the details into the shirt, your signature shading technique used throughout the piece.

"How long did these take you?" He barely brushes his finger over the hem of the shirt, then presses down to feel the individual stitches.

You pick up the hem, feeling your own work as well. "A lot longer than I would like." Your voice is low and rumbly as you try to remain relatively quiet. "I kept messing up and changing the color part way through. I actually had to change shirts because I restarted so many times on the first one that the threads didn't want to hold together."

He believes it.

The care you take to make sure every line serves a purpose is inspiring. It makes him want to tinker with the parts around his room, take apart a clock like the young boy he once was did, now that all the clocks are his.

Perhaps he could sneak to Lazlayon. David will probably still be there. The three of you could work until his meeting.

But you'd be cranky the rest of the day. You'd have no problem staying up late to accompany him until it becomes a problem, and then you do yourself the disservice of playing it off like it's fine when everyone else is giving you a very wide berth in the halls and courtyard.

He would like you to have a social life.

"You alright?" He hears you ask.

You're half smiling when he looks up, trying really hard keep his eyes locked on yours and not elsewhere. "I'm not that readable. I know I'm not."

"You had nothing on your face." You admit, leaning in. "And that was the problem."

And doesn't that make him feel bare, vulnerable. To be known so well that even a lack of an expression is an expression in and of itself.

He feels his lips pull apart, the slight stickiness of his mouth slowly separating as he tries to think of something witty, something fast, and it feels like his mind is blank except for the blaringly obvious reason.

"I can't sleep." He whispers, eyes fluttering. "I can't sleep, and everything that could help is exactly the reason why I can't." He let's the hem fall from his fingers, dragging what feels like 40 pounds of dead weight back over to his own lap. "And you're sitting here, staying with me, and there's nothing I can do about the ocean of guilt my stomach and heart and any other organ that has the capacity for feelings are swimming in."

Guilt is the reigning emotion, making it feel like a snake is swimming through his gut, playing with his liver and choking his heart and lungs. If he thinks about it he can feel the tongue flickering and tickling stomach.

He's grateful you're here, but he wants so badly to either force you to leave or drag you into his bed so that you might get some modicum of sleep.

But you'd fight him every step of the way, pushing your heels into the floor (which would scratch them up and you'd complain about it tomorrow) and getting yanked out by his guards when they assume the worst.

And if he chose the second one... it twists his insides in a more pleasant way, but makes his head swim, and really really scares him. Because if you take it the way he really wishes it was, the way he dreams about, then he loses you, and may be seen as just like his father. And that's the worst thing he could ask for.

So he's stuck. He's stuck with the guilt until you decide to leave.

"I feel like we have the same conversation everytime I'm here." You chuckle, and he chuckles too.

"It's probably because we do. Or at least some version of it with varying words of vulnerability."

You lean forward more, arms crossed over your chest. "And it always ends up the same."

It does. It always ends with you sitting there for a few hours until you tire and then he has a guard guide you back to your room.

"But it doesn't need to." He scoots along the side of the bed, sinking into the sewn cloth filled with wool and feathers. "You're tired when you walk out of here and need an extra four cups of coffee when you wake up, and you hate coffee."

"But I like you." You turn in his chair facing directly towards him and he can't breathe anymore.

He doesn't know what way you mean that, if it means in any capacity the way he yearns for it to be. So he waits, with baited breath, for you to elaborate.

"I like you." You emphasize once more. "I like staying up into the latest hours of the night, either talking about everything and nothing or sitting in silence. I look forward to them, actually. Just existing in your presense is enough to make the obscene amounts of caffeine worth it."

It's on the edge. It could be a confession or it could just be you being nice. And he would rather throw himself into the unsea than be one of those guys he hears you complain about.

"I want to be here." You stand and move your chair, pushing it away from the bed. He barely has time to sit up straight before you're right in front of him, legs falling open to allow you closer as your hands come up and rest on his cheeks.

"I want you, Nikolai, wholly and completely, just as you are now. With every flaw and blemish etched into your being, a demon awaiting in your chest." Your thumbs gently glide over his bottom lip, coming to rest at the corner of his open mouth. "But there's a small part of me that fears you do not want me in the way that I want you."

He doesn't know how to respond. He couldn't possibly begin to string together any number of words that could convey even a semblance of the sincerity you ambushed him with.

He's a king for saints sake. Words are supposed to come to him in times of need.

But his mind is an endless fog, and the only thing he can think of is you.

You standing above him, pads of your fingers touching him so gently, palms radiating a warmth that makes him want to lean in and soak in it (he does), and a perfect mouth and mind that pair so well.

He needs to convince you. He needs to somehow tell you that you mean everything to him and more.

"Did you know my favorite drink is brandy?" He asks, looking you right in the eye.

Your eyebrows crinkle, but you smile. "I did."

He tugs you towards him, hands sliding up your back as you take tiny, unsure steps closer and closer. His fingers trail under your shirt, right against your warm skin and in the divet of your spine, and squeeze you until you're completely between his legs, chest leaning back just to get a look at him.

"If there was ever a time where you wanted the last drop of it, saints, the whole bottle, I would give it over in a heartbeat." Goosebumps dance along his skin when your fingers meet the base of his neck, toying with the hair. "If you hated the way a painting looked, i'd throw it out of the castle, and have it burned on the steps if it should please you. If you wanted a pastry from a shop two hundred miles away, i'd fly there immediately, ride there as fast as I could, or sprint the entire distance, if it meant you could eat it."

Your eyes scittered around his face, watching his brows, his eyes, his mouth, and even his ears, for anything. Anything he would give you to tell you he was lying.

But there was nothing to give.

He really would give you the last drop of brandy. He really would fly, ride, sprint two hundred miles for a pastry. "I would kiss you right now if you should request it, or leave from my own chambers should you request that instead."

"Nikolai." You whisper his name, his eyes fluttering the same time as his heart.

"I want you." He tells you forthright. "I want you in the way you want me. If you should ever need to be confident in something, let it be that."

Please, please let it be that.

You look at him, and all he can see is someone he wants. There isn't a thing about you that makes him turn away. Not your eating habits, not your hygiene, not your smell or your walk or your stance.

And as you lean down, placing those perfect lips right over his, definitely not your taste.

It's coffee and whatever berries were leftover from supper, the stickiness of sugar coating your lips from when you licked them clean.

You lean back, and he feels your lips press themselves over his cheek. His stomach turns and turns and turns and it won't stop. It makes his breath shakey and his closed eyes roll even further and further back in into his skull until he's sure they won't ever come back.

But more importantly it makes him feel warm, and warmer yet as you place a kiss over his eyes, the corners of his lips where your fingers rested, between his brows, the awkward bridge and tip of his nose, his chin. Your hands are gentle as they rest in the space between his neck and shoulder, and even still as your fingers find his nape and your lips kiss his again. Each part of him feels raw and exposed.

It's terrifying, and every bit as pleasing.

When you lean back a second time, he opens his eyes, and sees you smiling.

He hums. "If this is where not sleeping gets me, I'm going to have to do it more often."

"You already do it almost every night." You chuckle. "Besides, you don't need to go through all of that just to get a few kisses. I'd be happy to hand them over whenever you like."

"Whenever?" He presses.

"Whenever."

"Now?"

"If you like."

"I would like very much."

He's not all that surprised when you indulge him.

#nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov x y/n #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #shadow and bone x y/n #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfic #fanfic

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kwwallen · 7 months ago

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your hobby x xdinary heroes

gn!reader x xdh(ot6!)

gerne: fluff (sfw), something like a drabble (has a plot with each member).

warning: relationship not specified (you can be friends or dating)

words: ~ 900

from the author: еnglish is not my native language, enjoy reading! (*´︶`*)ฅ♡

Gonil

"do you really like it that much?" - Gunil asks, watching you mix paints to get the desired color. "Yes...” you answered quietly, concentrating on your work. Some paint stains stained your cheek and the apron in which you worked. You were completely absorbed in your task, not paying attention to anything else. The guy, of course, wanted you to be with him now, and not somewhere in the world of brushes and flowers. But he waited patiently because he knew you liked it. At some point, Gunil himself disconnected from reality, watching your hands. He almost fell asleep, watching the careful movements of his partner. he certainly supports all your hobbies, but he is not as plodding as you

Jungsu

Your love for poetry came to you at school. Initially, you simply read and admired the works of writers, felt everything that was happening in a seemingly unremarkable text. After that, you got the desire to write poetry yourself. Thousands of rhymes and ideas flew through your head, putting everything on paper. Some classmates thought that you were strange, but the rest did not pay attention to such an inspired person. You could admire anything, looking for beauty everywhere. You and Jungsu were somewhat similar. The guy is a musician, he devotes a lot of time to lyrics to songs. You often look at this cutie and feelings fill your heart. You can watch him forever playing the keyboard and how he tries to do everything better than before. Many poems were dedicated to him. You also help him with songs, offering something of your own, and Jungsu reads with fascination every time.

Gaon

The room was filled with a variety of photographs. There was a camera on the stand, with which you took pictures, which could once have seemed only a dream, not a hobby. It seemed that now you could capture your whole life and hang photographs on the walls. Most likely, this outcome would have happened anyway, since you really wanted to take photographs, but this moment became real right now, thanks to Jisuk. He supported you all the time, told you that everything would be as you wanted, and also helped you save up for the necessary equipment. You are incredibly happy about your dream come true, and you constantly thank the Gaon, to which he is embarrassed.

O.de

In your opinion, autumn is a wonderful time of year. Pleasant colors of the leaves are presented to the eye. Many of them are now falling, creating a beautiful fall of leaves, and later rustling underfoot. You really love to observe this time, and even more to preserve the memory of it. So now you and Audie went for a walk in the autumn park. You were looking for leaves, such as you had never had before. And it wasn’t difficult for the guy to go with you, considering that you haven’t been able to see each other lately. Seungmin really enjoyed walking with you through the streets of the city, not thinking about anything else. Even if you don’t pay much attention to him now, he really likes to watch, because at such moments you are very focused, calm and sweet. Your image of a simple girl in a coat who likes to look at leaves and look for ones suitable for herbarium greatly inspires a guy. And the way your eyes sparkle when you finally find something for your collection cannot be described in words.

Junhan

For many days now you have been hunched over, sitting and knitting. You really want to give Hyeongjun a gift. Knowing this quiet guy's passion for cool clothes, the idea immediately came to knit him a sweater. Inspired and in the mood for your favorite pastime, you took with you knitting needles, the necessary yarn, delicious tea (or any of your favorite drinks) and sat down in a chair. By God, if someone saw you now, they would immediately say that you are very similar to your grandmother, although in part this was true. It’s already about ten o’clock in the evening, you’re so carried away by the process, thinking about whether the guy will like this thing. Still, drowsiness took over, so I had to put off knitting and go to bed. The following days all you did was knit and by the end of the week the sweater was ready. Han's reaction was terribly cute. At first, surprise appeared on the face, which gave way to admiration. He can indeed be very emotional. The guy was very pleased with the gift. He wore this thing often, and every time he felt delight and warmth.

Jooyeon

You sit on the bed and cross-stitch a beautiful design on the canvas. Your grandmother taught you this craft, after which you became interested in creating pictures using threads and hanging them on the walls in a beautiful hoop. It looks cute and feels cozy. Jooyeon thought it was a boring task, and it took a lot of time. Embroidery takes all your attention, but the guy wanted it to be the other way around, so he is trying with all his might to distract you. With grief in half, he achieved his goal, and you, rolling your eyes, call Juyeon into your arms. “You’re like a child,” you say with feigned irritation in your voice. "And what? What should I do if you spend all your time on this?" with a sad smile, Jooyeon pointed to the put-down embroidery hoop, " By the way, you also look like a child when you sulk". “Eh, okay,” after these words you hugged each other even tighter and fell asleep.

©kwwallen//copying and translation is prohibited

#xdh x reader #xdinary heroes #xdh imagines #xdh fluff #xdinary heroes x reader #gunil x reader #jungsu x reader #gaon x reader #o.de x reader #junhan x reader #jooyeon x reader

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prcttyinpcnk · 14 days ago

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Going steady.

“...And the petals are falling like freshly fallen snow, a soft blanket that as soft as my heart~”

Phiona sighs, gently snuggling up to Harper, before adjusting her new hat. A tiara’s nice, but you can’t beat a pink rancher hat with giant flowers. At least, in Phiona’s eyes, you can’t. Especially when it’s a gift from her wonderful girlfriend. Speaking of which, Phiona gently closes her new poetry book, using the ornate dagger as a bookmark.

Her green-brown eyes look up at Harper and butterflies start to flutter into her stomach. She was scared. She was unsure of herself. Even so, this needs to be done, and needs to be said.

“Hey? Harper?”

Harper’s ears twitch, and she lets out a small hum. Soft green eyes trail down to meet Phiona’s, sparkling brighter than the stars in the night. “What’s wrong, sugar cube?”

“Oh nothing! Nothing! I just… need to tell you something important.” After taking a deep breath, Phiona sits up, and takes both of Harper’s hands into her own. “Harper. This whole 'eternal spring' thing. It made me think about… well, everything. How fragile life can be. How we’re not guaranteed forever. But… I’d like to think that, it also made me think how precious all of you are to me. Even if forever is just a second, I want to spend it with everyone… but more than anything, I want to spend it with you. Now that I’m older and closer to being a woman than a little girl, I wanna make sure that you know, that I’m gonna be here. By your side. Forever.”

Harper’s heart swells with each word that fell from Phoina’s lips. Her tag wags, her hands gently shake with excitement, and tears prick her eyes.

Phiona takes another breath. Reaching into her dress pocket, she pulls out a small box. She watches Harper’s trembling finger press the golden button to open it, only to shoot back over to cover Harper’s gasping maw. In the box was a beautiful lavender topaz wrapped in a gold band. The ring itself dangled from a matching gold chain. It takes Phiona a second to find her word again. “Um… I don’t know if going steady is still a thing, but ya know. I wanted to make some kind of commitment to you. Plus we’re waaaayyy to young to get engaged, but this is the closest thing I could think of–” Phiona words were caught in her throat as Harper proceeded to expresses her gratitude by the sweetest of kisses on the vampiress’ face. Phiona glances up to see tears of pure joy pouring down Harper’s cheeks.

“You’re perfect, Phiona Souris.”

“Nah. That’s your job,” Phiona giggles before wrapping Harper in her arms. She’s unsure what the future holds, but she knows one thing is certain. She’s not gonna face it alone… and neither is Harper. They’ll do this together.

@rcseteaparty

#the rose witch: ic post #oath of the ancients: harper gordon #never fear for i will protect your happiness: phiona x harper #v: boodega (pizza tower au)#v: main #event: noche de la bruja #[more cute!!]#;;drabble

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the-kr8tor · 6 months ago

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Oh the worms in my brain are acting up again and dancing around a disco ball help me.

Dancer Hobie! x Dancer Reader!

(a better version of the step up movies/joke but I do imagine this as being hip hop! But it could be anything you prefer honestly)

The both of you go to the same studio, and you would think that would mean cooperation yet you two are like cats and dogs. Fighting every single second and minute.

Competitions are never as fun as when you get to beat him at his own game, your routine is well executed with a new surprise move you had been practicing in secret. Stunning even Hobie for just a second as he tries to pretend that wasn't the prettiest thing you've done. Your energy can be spotted from across the room, and he's gawking at it. Observing every move, your form and body.

And then you get stuck together to represent your studio at a prestigious dance competition. The both of you are disgruntled by the amount of rules until you hear the theme and the blood leaves your face.

"Passion and Romance"

Hobie handles it better than you, stone faced as he leads you and stares at your movements with a small glare. Trying to convince himself this is all just for the competition. Not because you're pretty. Not because your eyes are as delicate and tender as flower petals. Not because he absolutely adores dancing with you and holding your waist, your hand....everything. He thinks he's going insane? He must be because why do you look at him like that when he tips you over in his arms. The both of you panting from the exertion and lengthy practice.

And why is he softening up, why does he rest his forehead against yours and close his eyes? This isn't part of the routine. Why is your heart out of place. You DON'T like him, you truly don't. You think you might just need a doctor to check on your heart and open it under the table so they can find out why there's only him in it.

And so it goes on. You dance, the routine gets better. Or worse actually. It's stiff, it doesn't look good. Instead of "Passion and Romance" it's screaming "Dangers and sworn enemies"

It's only when you see Hobie crying by himself in the storage room that you soften up completely, sitting down next to him and hugging him, trying to cool him down from his panic attack. You ask him out to dance if he wants to, to practice another time so he can get his feelings out. And with a small nod he follows you back with heavy footsteps, wiping away his tears with his sleeves, into the mirrored room.

At first it still feels stiff, it LOOKS stiff. But as it goes on you both follow the others steps, going at a softer pace. Both of you are more and more in sync with the theme and music that plays. And when he goes to tip you down he kisses you. You kiss him back like he's water and he kisses you like you're the sole human left in the universe.

-🪦 wow uh ok so basically I just like lost it and the voices won. Put me in the crazy room

"You think you might just need a doctor to check on your heart and open it under the table so they can find out why there's only him in it" POETRY

AHHHHH ENEMIES TO LOVERS BUT DANCE EDITION!!!

THE KISS!!!! 🥰😍😍😍🥴🥴🥴🥴

#ask answered #hobie thoughts #🫶🫶🫶#🪦 anon

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laxmiree · 2 years ago

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[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Entrapment date translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

“The artist once hoped to put the butterfly on a glass cover and keep it with him forever. But later, he discovered that even when he let the butterfly go, it flew back to him.”

“It gave him happiness he had never felt or imagined before.”

“I love you.”

“Everything about you, every time you approach me... makes my heart beat excitedly.”

“It makes me fall in love with you again and again... for countless times.”

Translation under cut

(T/N: VERY RECOMMENDED TO HEAR THE VOICE ACTING, ESP THE I LOVE YOU BC IT’S JUST *clenches fist* SO GOOD. BLESS XIA LEI FOR GIVING US THE MOST TENDER, LOVING, AND SEXIEST 我爱你. Anyway I subtitle this date on youtube(turn on CC!) and don’t forget to come back here if you want to read my rambling slash analysis about this date if you want to, I’ll put it on the bottom part of this post-)

[Part 1]

A breeze blew the balcony curtain, and the clear blue sky was intermittently visible through the gap.

The light and shadow of the lamp brushed over the meals on the table and also reflected on Lucien's clear and elegant profile.

I withdrew my gaze and gently rubbed my coffee cup. After a few moments, I couldn't refrain from sneaking another glance at Lucien.

I heard a soft sound of metal touching the porcelain plate. Lucien put down the knife with a faint smile in his voice.

Lucien: Seems like MC has been secretly watching me since this morning.

Lucien: Is there something you want to talk about?

My small movement got busted. I paused a little and calmly denied it.

MC: ...Nothing, I'm just a little curious about your current condition.

MC: After being together for so long, I rarely see you drink as much as you did last night…

[Flashback start]

Some time ago, our work at hand came to an end, and we finally had a chance to relax.

With the intention of unwinding, we arranged a vacation to the city where a classic romance movie was set.

It was Valentine's Day, and romantic decorations could be seen all around the small town. The hotel also sent flowers and local red wine.

After a day of strolling around the old streets, I pulled Lucien to sit on the balcony sofa and enjoy the scenery at night.

The smell of red wine diffuses in the night. Lucien picked up the decanter and swirled it, then poured the wine into the glass.

I took a few sips, and the mellow aroma of the wine spread in my mouth.

I comfortably exhaled, and my tense nerves became relaxed. I saw a book of Spanish poetry on the corner of the table and opened it casually.

After stumbling over a few lines, an unfamiliar phrase caught my attention.

MC: distancia íntima…

I didn't know why I repeated it, and I saw Lucien on the sofa, gazing down at the color of the red wine.

So I gently leaned my head, rested my chin on his shoulder, and dragged the tail notes.

MC: Professor Lucien, I don't quite understand this part.

Lucien put down his glass and glanced over the line of poetry that I pointed to. Then, his gaze fell on my face.

Lucien: It refers to an interpersonal distance of 46 cm, which is also the minimum distance for self-defense.

Lucien: Typically, it is reserved exclusively for family members… or lovers.

Lucien's fingertips fell to my lips, gently wiping away the faint red wine stains. I asked him a follow-up question.

MC: What will happen if we overcome this distance?

Lucien: Then both parties will unconsciously want to share… love.

As Lucien spoke, his face approached mine a little closer. I could almost smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.

There seem to be unspoken and heavy emotions between our eyes. I put down the glass, smiling, and hooked Lucien's neck.

MC: What is it?

Lucien bowed his head along with my force. His falling bangs brushed my face.

Lucien: I find that there seems to be something else more worth focusing on… I can't wait for this 'lecture' to be over.

MC: Pfft, why are you getting more and more straightforward?

Lucien: [chuckle] I prefer to describe it as something "uncontrollable" rather than straightforward.

Lucien: I've heard that when your heart feels excited, your words or actions will unconsciously show it.

Lucien: (whisper) Just like right now, when I think that MC is very cute…

A drunken kiss fell on my lips along with his words.

The unfinished poetry book fell to the ground with a thud, but no one bothered to pick it up. I clutched the corner of Lucien's coat and instinctively responded to his kiss.

The moonlight is gentle. Between our intertwined breaths, I heard a vague whisper on my lips.

Lucien: (whispering between the kisses-) ...I love you...

My heart suddenly beat a little faster. I pulled away from Lucien, slightly panting. I want to hear more clearly.

MC: Y-you just said…

My words were interrupted by his lips that were chasing mine. I don't know if it is because of alcohol, but Lucien is a little more irresistible than usual.

As the kiss deepened, I gradually lost my focus. I can only close my eyes and cater to his demands.

But that whispered phrase lightly tickled my heart, with little tickles appearing now and then.

[Flashback ends]

[Part 2]

Lucien: MC?

Lucien's voice came to my ears. I looked back and saw Lucien looking at me with interest.

Lucien: Your ears are red... Did you think of something?

MC: (blushing) ...No, it's probably because the coffee is too hot.

I pretended to blow on the coffee in my cup and spoke in a casual manner.

MC: Speaking of which, do you remember what you said to me on the balcony last night?

Lucien tilted his head and seemed to think seriously for a moment.

Lucien: [chuckle] I can't quite remember.

Lucien: It seems that a lot of things happened and many things were said last night.

Lucien: Which one would MC like to hear? Maybe you can give me a hint?

Lucien's expression reveals a little bit of innocence as if he really can't remember the whisper that brushed through his lips.

I opened my lips, and a jumble of chaotic memories accompanied by hot whispers flashed through my mind.

How does this remind us that at that time we were on-

After a moment of staring at each other, I blushed and changed the subject.

MC: ... N-nothing, let's talk about it later.

(they really did ‘that’ on balcony-)

Lucien didn't ask any more questions, as if he didn't notice anything unusual. But I couldn't help thinking, how can I hear him say those three words again?

My heart skipped a beat when I glanced at the book of poems on the corner of my desk.

When I was flipping through the book last night, I saw that there were quite a few love poems included in the book. Maybe… I can use this to create an opportunity?

Thinking of this, I naturally picked up the poetry book and raised it at Lucien.

MC: I suddenly remembered that I hadn't finished reading this book yet.

MC: How about this… Please teach me to read some poems for the occasion of Valentine's Day, Professor Lucien~

I put a little more emphasis on the word "for the occasion".

Lucien looked at me for a moment, got up like he understood what I meant, and then sat beside me.

As the other side of the sofa sank down, I leaned towards Lucien, watching him take over the poetry book as he carefully selected the titles.

I looked at him expectantly. However, I heard Lucien speak in distress at the next second.

Lucien: There are many masterpieces in this poetry collection. Which one does MC want me to read with you?

...Have I not implied enough?

I was a little stunned, and unconsciously spoke.

MC: It's the kind of confession that says I love you-

I abruptly stopped talking for a moment. My ears flushed a little.

... I'm obviously here to set up the conversation. How come I fell into the trap before Lucien did?

I blinked unconsciously. Lucien rested the poetry collection on his chin and thoughtfully looked at me.

A few moments later, a warm hand fell on my shoulder. Lucien hugged me and brought us closer together.

I could almost smell the faint scent of cedar on him- it was the same scent I had been deeply tainted with from last night.

(heh, 'deeply tainted from last night')

Lucien: There is only one copy of the book, so I will have to ask this classmate to read it with me.

His fingertips stopped at a page of the poetry book as he spoke.

Lucien: Aquite amo (Here I love you)… I think this is the one that you like.

Lucien: Andan días iguales persiguiéndose (Days, all one kind, go chasing each other)…

His low reading voice came like a soft evening breeze passing through the twilight-shrouded pine forest.

I held my breath and subconsciously turned my head to look at Lucien. I belatedly discovered that we were already so close.

His side profile is just a short distance away, as if I can drop a kiss on his jaw by just tilting my head.

Noticing my gaze, Lucien raised his eyes to look at me. His voice filled with a couple of imperceptible laughter.

Lucien: [chuckle] Fellow student, please pay attention.

MC: (blush)...I'm paying attention!

I blushed and looked at the page, but I didn't know where I should focus on.

There was a gentle, meaningful laugh ringing in my ears. Lucien raised his hand and held my fingers.

I felt the soft touch of the paper through my fingertips. He guided me across the paper and landed on one line.

Lucien: I have already read this far.

Lucien: Aquí te amo y en vano te oculta el horizonte.

Lucien: Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain…

The long-awaited words just suddenly came to my ears. My heart beat a little faster, and I instinctively responded to his voice.

MC: Te estoy amando aun entra estas frías cosas (I love you still among these cold things)...

The room echoed with our overlapping voices as we read it to each other. But my eyes gradually began to wander.

I snuck a glance at Lucien, and leaned closer to him. The idea of being "greedy" probes a little bit.

It seems that I want so much more than that.

It would be nice to hear him speak his love... in a straightforward way.

[Part 3]

I pursed my lips in distress.

I know that Lucien won't refuse if I ask him. But a direct request is not as romantic as being unable to restrain your emotions.

But under what circumstances would Lucien say love?

The sound of reading stopped at some point. I belatedly raised my head and met Lucien's gaze.

Lucien: I finished reading the poem that MC wanted to hear. Should I continue?

MC: No~ I want to arrange some other activities.

MC: When traveling, we can't stay just stay in the hotel.

Besides, it is easier to create opportunities in a new environment!

I planned to get up from Lucien's arms, but he caught me by the waist, and I fell back into the embrace behind me.

Lucien's chin gently rested against my shoulder, mimicking my affectionate actions from last night.

Lucien: I have an alternative plan. Would you like to hear it?

Lucien: When I checked in yesterday, the front desk recommended the nearby home gallery and said it would be a good place to visit.

MC: A home gallery?

Lucien: Um, it was converted from a personal residence. The gallery owner changes the theme from time to time and selects paintings for display.

Lucien: The works on display are not those of famous artists. But the personal touch is stronger, and the atmosphere is quiet. The theme in recent days happens to be "lovers".

That sounds like… a good place for creating an opportunity.

I hugged Lucien's arm and nodded with joy.

MC: Well, let's go check it out~

The gallery mentioned by the receptionist wasn't too far from the hotel. Lucien and I strolled along the street, sometimes pausing to look at the roadside scenery.

After about ten minutes, I saw a building with a "Galeria" sign. Curious, I went ahead and pushed the door open.

The room was full of paintings. The elderly owner got up from behind the board and said some words to us with a smile.

Lucien nodded his head in response; I tugged on his sleeve curiously.

Before I said anything, he explained in a low voice.

Lucien: He said that the art exhibition is open, and painting tools are provided to create your own paintings.

Lucien: If you don't mind the surroundings, you can do it in the living room. Or if you don't want to be disturbed, you can also reserve a room. You can decide after the exhibition.

The old man gestured kindly towards the deep corridor in response to his words. Then he sat back at his drawing board and continued to paint.

Not wanting to disturb the old man's work anymore, Lucien and I glanced at each other and lightened our steps in unison.

The daylight flows quietly on the varnished floor, and various portrait paintings hang on the dark vine-patterned walls.

The brush strokes are either smooth or rough, but the faces drawn out are filled with love. I leaned close to the painting frame and carefully examined it.

MC: It seems that not all the portraits here are made by professional artists.

Lucien: Indeed, it is more like a portrait of a lover painted by a visitor on a whim.

I can't help but think of the scene in the movie where the young artist is at a loss as to what to do with his beloved and smile gently.

MC: It is indeed very appropriate to leave this kind of painting for each other in the "holy land of love"~

Lucien: Then, can MC paint a portrait for me?

I blinked in surprise and suddenly thought of something.

Last night, Lucien said that the intimate distance would make people unconsciously want to share their love.

Maybe this can be used to quietly close the distance and create an atmosphere that makes Lucien open his mouth!

Having made up my mind, I nodded with a smile.

MC: Then I'll invite Professor Lucien to be my model this time~

The door of the room was closed silently.

The silence slowly spread, and I could hear the rustling sound of swaying trees from time to time. Lucien looked around and saw the narrow prop bed in the corner.

Lucien: As a model, I have to maintain a pose for a long time… MC, do you mind if I slack off in this way?

As Lucien spoke, he walked around the table and chairs, and sat on the side of the prop bed. I coughed and spun the paintbrush twice.

MC: Sure. So, does Professor Lucien have any ideas about the modeling?

Lucien bent his slender eyebrows.

Lucien: I'll leave it up to the artist to decide.

Lucien: I'm willing to work with you on whatever you need.

Our eyes met for a moment. I held my drawing board and went to stand beside Lucien.

MC: Then I would like you to take a more relaxed pose, Professor Lucien.

As I said that, I pushed Lucien's shoulder. He cooperatively fell back on the pillow and looked at me sincerely.

Lucien: Is this enough?

MC: Let's get a little more relaxed.

MC: I want to portray the way you look when you're at ease~

I explained solemnly and leaned down to unbutton his coat.

MC: ...You should also dress in a way that brings out your sensuality, don't be so tense.

MC: Imagine that you're in the bedroom at home.

His coat fell to the bed sheet, making the atmosphere a little quiet and charming. Lucien looked at me and slightly moved his eyes.

Everything is going as expected. I sat down on the chair beside the bed. And I was beginning to plan how to move forward when I heard Lucien speak.

Lucien: Is this enough for you?

Lucien asked as he lifted his hand and unbuttoned his shirt one by one while I watched.

The collar that was buttoned to the top slowly opens up, and the smooth lines outline the firm shapes, which are gradually hidden behind the bottom of the hem. My ears suddenly turned red.

MC: I-I...

Lucien: I just think it will be more in line with the state that MC wants.

Lucien: (whisper seductively) Or do you need me to relax a bit more?

Lucien's fingertips continued to move down; his tail note was slightly lighter. For some reason, I suddenly felt that the air seemed to heat up a bit.

I quickly averted my gaze and subconsciously tightened my grip on the brush.

MC: No need, this will do!

As I said that, I hurriedly sketched out some lines on the board.

Lucien's soft laugh came to my ears. After the rustling of the fabric, the room returned to silence, with only the rustling sound of the brushes stroking over the canvas remaining.

In addition to wanting to create an opportunity to hear Lucien say those three words, I also wanted to give him this painting as a memento of our Valentine's Day trip.

Dark hair, slender eyebrows… I depicted every emotion stroke by stroke, and the familiar outline gradually emerged on the paper.

It's just that every time I look up, I can see Lucien's smiling eyes.

My face was getting hotter and hotter, and I started to avert my eyes.

The artist's red face when facing the model in the movie came to my mind. I hastily withdrew my gaze and huffed in empathy.

…It turns out that the scene was not exaggerated.

Gazing at the person you like for so long, you really can't control your heartbeat.

I tried my best to maintain my composure and finished most of the painting. Then, Lucien's phone suddenly rang.

He helplessly blinked at me. Before he could say anything, I handed over the phone.

MC: Let's take a look. What if it's news from the research institute~

Lucien took the phone, but his body still remained in the same position as before. He just raised his hand a bit and looked at the message.

The screen's glow shines on his face, sharp and gentle, wonderfully distinguishing between light and dark. Lucien glanced at me, smiled softly, and spoke.

Lucien: Can Miss Artist continue like this?

Realizing this opportunity, I put down my drawing board and got up from my chair.

MC: The angle has changed a bit. Let me correct it.

I said and touched Lucien's cheek, and quietly guided him.

MC: But I didn't expect Professor Lucien to be so calm when he posed in front of me in such a "seductive" way~

Lucien cooperated and tilted his head. His soft bangs brushed against my palm.

Lucien: After all, the job of a model is to work with the creative process.

Lucien: And in the eyes of Miss Artist, now I should be no different from a… butterfly

MC: Now the positions are switched.

I smiled, seeing that Lucien also seemed to have lost in the memory, and then he opened his mouth.

Lucien: The artist once hoped to put the butterfly on a glass cover and keep it with him forever. But later, he discovered that even when he let the butterfly go, it flew back to him.

Lucien: It gave him happiness he had never felt or imagined before.

MC: From the butterfly's perspective, it also reaped the happiness that comes from being willing to stop… The artist and the butterfly are meant to complement each other.

MC: Just like now, you are a "butterfly" that complements me.

Lucien silently looked at me for a moment and bent the corners of his lips.

Lucien: That's right. As you said, painting is a two-way street between the artist and the depicted subject.

Lucien: So, now I will also do my best to assist.

Lucien winked as he talked, and his posture became more relaxed.

I went around in circles and didn't hear the expected response. I pursed my lips and took a roundabout approach to lead him.

MC: Professor Lucien is a very cooperative model. He's probably the ideal partner for any artist~

Lucien: Perhaps. But this kind of close observation is a privilege that belongs only to you.

My heart skipped a beat.

MC: ....Will Professor Lucien have a special feeling when facing the artist like that butterfly?

Lucien: I have.

Lucien said and looked at me.

Lucien: Facing you, I seem to have no way to restrain my heartbeat.

Suddenly, his drunken confessions from last night come to mind, intertwined with his whispers at this moment.

Lucien: (whisper) Just like now. By simply looking at you, I can't help but want to…

Lucien paused.

Amid the accelerated heartbeat, he held my hand that was touching his cheek and slowly rubbed it. The already close distance was shortened again, and my wrist was warmed by the heat of his breath.

Bathed in a faint soft light, he stared at me and spoke softly.

Lucien: (continuing his whisper) So, I'm also a little curious.

Lucien: (still whispering) Now that MC is facing me, what are the thoughts in her heart?

[Part 4]

The church bells rang in the distance, and the birds fluttered their wings and flew past the window.

The shadow of the daylight reflected on Lucien's profile, and the air between us seemed to be stained with lingering and deep affection.

I gazed into Lucien's dark eyes and picked up the painting I was about to finish from the chair.

MC: All I want to express is here.

MC: In that movie, the moment the main character saw the painting, they understood the artist's intention…

MC: So, can you feel my emotions by looking at this?

Lucien looked at the painting. His eyes lingered on every spot as if he was facing a priceless work of art, and there seemed to be some emotions surging in his gaze.

Lucien: Mm, every stroke is full of tenderness and… yearning.

Lucien: Did I get it right?

Seeing his serious expression, I opened my lips hesitantly.

I painted each stroke of the painting with love. How can Lucien didn't feel it…?

Or is my drawing skill so clumsy… that I can't even convey my emotions?

I doubted myself and forcibly raised the corners of my mouth.

MC: It's not wrong, but it's not the right answer either. What I'm trying to express is- ah, just forget it.

I sat back in my chair, feeling a little bit defeated, and sighed unnoticeably.

A very soft sigh came from behind me. Accompanied by the rustling of clothes, I was swept into a warm embrace.

Lucien wrapped me from behind and held the paintbrush together with me.

His faint cedar scent surrounds my body. Lucien leaned close to my cheek and spoke in a low voice.

Lucien: Remember what I told you about "intimate distance"?

Lucien: Within 46 cm, you can feel every subtle change in the breathing and temperature of the person in front of you.

Lucien: For me, you are the only person who can enter this distance.

The brush we hold lands on the canvas. Amidst the rubbing sound caused by the friction of the brush and the canvas, the unrefined half of the face gradually becomes clear.

Lucien immediately put down the paintbrush. He didn't let me go and maintained our hugging position. We looked at the drawing board together.

The canvas shows him lying on the edge of the bed with a faint smile on his face.

However, upon closer look, I find that although the brushwork is more refined later on, something seems to be missing in how the painting subject is portrayed.

I opened my lips but heard Lucien speak.

Lucien: You noticed it too, didn't you?

Lucien: Even I can't paint a true portrait of how I look in your eyes.

Lucien: (whisper) Relaxed, disorganized, and also perhaps a little bit of what you call "playing tricks"… Only in front of you, everything about me will be open without reservation.

Lucien: (whisper) This is a side only you can see… And when I put the brush to the canvas, I can't pour more love into it than you do.

I looked at Lucien, a little stumped for words. In addition to the full attention in his eyes, he also showed a little helpless smile.

Is it possible that he has already understood what I want to express?

So why did he keep avoiding the word "love"? It's like he was trying to bait me to say the word….

I suddenly thought of something and broke free from Lucien's embrace with a little effort.

Then I got up and pressed him down on the chair, unsurely asking him a question.

MC: Your reaction to many things seems to be different than usual today.

MC: …Lucien, are you also planning something?

Lucien: Hmm? 'Also'?

Lucien's voice hid a deeper meaning to it. I opened my mouth and finally admitted with a blushing face.

MC: I admit, I have indeed been trying to bait you to say something to me… What about you?

In the gradual acceleration of my heartbeat, I met with Lucien's gaze.

Lucien: Of course, I… have the same purpose as you.

I blinked in astonishment.

MC: For what reason?

Lucien: For what reason…?

Lucien gently repeated my question, and his warm breath close against my skin.

Lucien: At first, I just thought that the way you worked hard was cute, and I wanted to see more of it. But then I became "greedy" too.

Lucien: Rather than fulfilling your wish, I rather see MC's most instinctive desire for me being revealed in the intimate distance that only belongs to us…

Lucien: Together with the most straightforward expression of love.

Lucien: But looking at it now, it ended up backfired. So, in order to make amends, I'm willing to accept any punishment.

Finally, there is an explanation for this man's various "unromanticism" today. I snorted softly and suddenly thought of something.

MC: But speaking of which, did Professor Lucien remember wrongly?

MC: When we were reading the poem, I was "tricked" into saying I love you first.

Lucien spoke with a voice that was filled with inaudible grievances.

Lucien: But those are the words of the poet, not yours.

Lucien: What I want to hear is a straightforward confession from MC.

I was stunned. I couldn't help laughing when thinking about how I precisely thought the same thing as him. My fingers pulled on Lucien's tie, and I moved closer to him.

Our breathing is gradually intertwined. I asked him a question in a soft voice.

MC: So, is the distance between us now less than 46 centimeters?

Lucien gazed at me and suddenly grabbed my waist.

Lucien: (chuckles, then whispers seductively) I think… It can still be a little closer.

The hands on my waist tightened a little. I leaned over to get close to him and spoke in a teasing manner.

MC: Doesn't Professor Lucien want to take the initiative this time?

Lucien looked as if he was allowing himself to be captured, but his eyes weren't wavering.

Lucien: After all, it's punishment time. So, I'm going to hand over all the initiative to you.

Despite saying these words, his hand did not loosen up in the slightest. Instead, he caressed upward, bringing me closer to him.

I couldn't suppress my laughter. I whispered as I bowed my head.

MC: How cunning.

I kissed Lucien as soon as the words fell.

A slightly cool sensation comes through equally soft lips, and my heart trembles with each restless movement.

I sank into the seemingly passive yet irresistible demands of the person in front of me.

The strength of my body was drained away before I knew it. I half-kneeled, half-sat in his embrace, and couldn't resist closing my eyes.

Entangling, deeply penetrating… The tip of his tongue lightly swept my sensitive upper palate. I shuddered and instinctively wanted to struggle.

But I was firmly confined and had nowhere to escape.

…I don't want to stay away either.

Until every breath that reaches deep into my soul gradually becomes fully tainted with his breath.

I could hear the rustling of the curtains brushing against the window and the sound of people walking in the hallway, but I didn't care about it anymore.

My senses, my everything… All melted in this kiss and the depth of his eyes.

Between our melded breaths, I slightly pulled myself away from Lucien and instinctively opened my mouth to speak.

Lucien: (with the most tender and loving whisper between the kisses) I love you.

MC: (whispering at the very same time as Lucien) I love you.

Coincidentally, our unanimous whispers were intertwined in the air. In just an instant, my heart was filled with happiness, flying like a feather in the warm sunlight.

I raised the corners of my lips and stroked Lucien's cheek.

MC: Is Professor Lucien satisfied with my expression?

Lucien clasped my hand and interlocked our fingers together.

Lucien: (whisper) It's even better than I imagined.

Lucien: (whisper) Everything about you, every time you approach me... makes my heart beat excitedly.

His warm breath brushed against my ear. Lucien tilted his head again and irresistibly chased after my lips.

The spring scenery is deeply reflected in his eyes, and I also saw my figure reflected in them.

After those whispers, I heard him whisper once again.

Lucien: It makes me fall in love with you again and again... for countless times.

[Personal Rambles + Date analysis(?) corner]

I love this date. Personally, I would even say that I like this date better than last month’s SP and SSR. I think it is worth being the one date where it has ‘I love you’ in it. Not just ‘I like you’, or his ‘definition of love’.

There are many things I want to scream about this date- but to keep it simple, I’ll just talk about some parts that I think are really interesting this date.

[Here I love you]

Okay, so the first one is the poem, ‘Here I love you’ by Pablo Neruda. I like this part because their poem exchange reminds me of the scene from Lucien’s Blossoms date where they wittily quoted poems to each other (something that sadly, gets lost in translation:”).

But anyway, back to the topic of my interpretation of how some lines of this poem coincided with parts of the dates and their story in general.

First of all, I love how PG choose this poem that explores love and fear of losing someone you love, which is THE big angst theme for Lucien.

"In that hazy memory, he seems to have lost someone."

—In his dream, he also sat with a girl under a tall tree, painting. He never understood why but when they drew a seedling on the paper, he would draw a glass to cover it.

Until just now, after he experienced the moment of losing the only color in his life, Lucien understood his choice in the dream.

—This is a fear of losing someone again.' - [R&S Eternity and a day.]

There’s a reason why PG chooses to torture this man by making him believe that MC is dead after chapter 18 [R&S Not Planned On] and making him watch her die again and again in [Main Story S2 chapters 13 and 14]. Because he already lost so much in life, he’s probably the one who fear losing MC the most.

Here I love you. The word here indicates that the poet is the one who stays and waits in one place. Just like Lucien, who is always waiting for her to take him home in S2. He doesn’t mind waiting for her answer no matter how long. It’s also something that’s highlighted in [Dating Reality Show Date]. Where we learn that he was the one who fell at first sight and waited for MC whose love is something that grows with time and his companionship.

This is a port. Here I love you. Just like ships that always come and go in the port, so do people. But ships can always come back to port after they parted. The butterfly can always fly back to the artist even after the artist lets her go. I’ll dive deeper into it in its own section ;)

I love what I do not have. It really reminds me of what MC said in the only color call. Where she said that to love someone is to love them as an individual, and there’s no requirement for a special relationship. You just want the person you love to be happy, not to ‘have’ them :”.

The moon turns its clockwork dream; The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. Lucien will unconsciously reveal his sides that he doesn’t even notice. Only in front of her, he will open up everything about himself without reservation. ‘The biggest star’ is the love in her eyes as she gazes at him as if he’s the only person she can see in this world.

“You noticed it too, didn't you?”

“Even I can't paint a true portrait of how I look in your eyes.”

And the opposite also true, because he too, always gazes at her as if she’s the only person he can see in this world.

The spring scenery is deeply reflected in his eyes, and I also saw my figure reflected in them.

[Distancia Intima]

This one is probably the shortest part ahah, but distancia intima or Intimate Distance is the nearest space around our body and is reserved for an intimate person like a family member or lover.

For Lucien, it’s a space that only belongs to one person. Only in front of her, he can show his most unreserved sides.

But on the other side, it also means that she’s the only important person left in his life. Whether as his ‘family member’ or lover :”...

[Reverse Artist and Butterfly]

OK BUT, this one is definitely an unexpected twist, but pleasant. I love how in the process of confessing ‘I love you’ we get taken back to his very first definition of love, the Artist and Butterfly.

“If you can meet that artist, tell him this for me. That he actually doesn’t love the butterfly, does he?”

“Why do you think that the artist doesn’t love the butterfly? If you love someone, aren’t you supposed to move heaven and earth to tie them to your side?”

“But that is too selfish.”

“Yes, even I find it selfish.”

“But if he doesn’t do that, it’s likely that the artist will lose the butterfly.”

“And then his life will be like how it was before, his whole world would just be black and white.”

“If he really loves the butterfly, then he wouldn’t want to see them suffer, right?”

“Maybe I’m too simple, but for me, genuine love is simply loving that person as an individual, and I wouldn’t need a special relationship with them. I’d just want them to be happy.”

“If you were this butterfly, and there was someone who wanted to confine you to their side so they could keep you together with them forever…”

“Would you be willing?” - [The Only Color Call]

For him at first, to love is to bind someone by his side, but for MC to love is simply loving the person as an individual and wanting them to be happy. It reminds me of the saying ‘If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.’

The artist let the butterfly go, but the butterfly flew back and decided to stay with the artist because it is happy to be by the artist’s side. This happiness is a two-way street because the butterfly’s willingness to stop also brings the artist happiness he never felt before… Their choice of being by each other side is the longest confession of love.

It is even more interesting that this date talks about the identity exchange between the artist and the butterfly. All this time, we usually thought that Lucien is the ‘artist’ while MC is the ‘butterfly’ but it seems that, the reverse also works.

Because Lucien also brings color to MC just like the butterfly to the artist. They color each other’s world.

Perhaps for everyone, the world was monochromatic at the beginning.

With time and encounters, the world gradually became stained with colors, giving value to different people and things.

Slowly, the whole world becomes colorful as it interacts with memory. It also has smells and sounds.

Until the most special existence appeared that makes the color of this world more distinctive.

It's as if the whole picture has been retouched so that everything has a new meaning.

While we quietly shared the cake, I looked at Lucien's face lit by the warm lights.

“Lucien, you’re colorful right now” – Lucien’s 3rd birthday date

-and because MC too, just like the artist, also greedily wants to keep him safe forever. But because she knew that she couldn’t stop Lucien from walking towards his aspiration, all she can do is let him go and try to catch up to him.

Both of them learn to let go as the artist and also choose to stay as the butterfly because it’s what makes them happy.

[我爱你]

From ‘Can you teach me how to love?’ to ‘I love you.’ LOOK AT HOW FAR HE’S GROWN. I can’t believe it’s been days since the date and the PV but I still sob every time I heard him say that. It’s been a long process, even though he’s been declaring his love in his own way, whether it is his wordless declaration of love in S1 chapters 35 and 36. Or the wheat field as the representation of his heart, with the ebbs and flow of the tide as his heartbeat in S2 chapter 34.

I love you is special as the most straightforward way to declare one’s love. I love how on this date these two fools tried to trap each other into confessing but ended up confessing instinctively at the very same time lmao. The situation is really funny, with MC who’s trying her best to create an atmosphere where Lucien would say I love you vs Lucien that knows all along about her plan, even manages to trap MC into confessing first but ends up feeling dissatisfied with the confession because it’s the poet words, not hers (-how childish-).

On this date, both of them ended up becoming greedy, wanting to hear the most direct love confession from each other.

I snuck a glance at Lucien, and leaned closer to him. The idea of being “greedy" probes a little bit.

It seems that I want so much more than that.

It would be nice to hear him speak his love... in a straightforward way.

“At first, I just thought that the way you worked hard was cute, and wanted to see more of it. But then I became “greedy” too.”

“Rather than fulfilling your wish, I rather see MC's most instinctive desire for me being revealed in the intimate distance that only belongs to us…”

“Together with the most straightforward expression of love.”

“What I want to hear is a straightforward confession from MC.”

-although both of their plans also end up backfiring as neither of them gets the straightforward love confession from their plans, MC was unhappy, and Lucien ended up taking the initiative to open up the first because he can’t stand seeing her in distress.

“It's not wrong, but it's not the right answer either. What I’m trying to express is- ah, just forget it.”

I sat back in my chair, feeling a little bit defeated, and sighed unnoticeably.

A very soft sigh came from behind me. Accompanied by the rustling of clothes, I was swept into a warm embrace.

It’s interesting sometimes how they sometimes mirror each other, having the same expectation and desires, while also opposing each other on the other occasion, like their belief and the way they see things. But one thing always remains the same, and it’s the fact that they’ll always yearn for each other.

In the end, they learn that they don’t need to go that far. They just need to follow their heart. Because whether when sober or drunk, the heart knows when to beat faster simply by the presence of each other. The most perfect explanation of this mutual eternal heartbeat is ‘I love you’. And he will keep falling in love, again and again, countless times simply by her close proximity or existence alone.

My final words; I’m very, very satisfied with this date~

#HOW CAN SOMETHING BE SWEET SPICY AND ANGSTY AT THE SAME TIME #enjoy the 1.5k date analysis (?)#this one is my personal favourite sobs #mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc date #mlqc cn #mlqc spoiler #mr. love queen's choice #mlqc

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kingofthe-egirls · 1 year ago

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CONQUEROR’S HAKI: LUFFY x OC

fox tales

(cw: misuse of haki, experimental poetry, blood/violence, gore, smut, sex, nipple play, polyamory, jealousy, negotiating boundaries)

(a/n: i've been using this series (and all my fanfic tbh) to heal from sexual abuse and trauma. ummm!!!! i was in a Bad relationship with someone who identified as asexual, and used me a lot. it was weird. and bad. but. i'm hypersexual and i feel ashamed a lot of the time for having so much sexual desire, esp after my bad experiences. anyway. i'm trying)

Songs: "Back in Town" by Florence + the Machine, "My Love" by Florence + the Machine

words: 3k

Luffy and you are sitting together in bed, the dark warmth of the captain's quarters pressing in on you from all sides. He's whispering praises against your neck, arms around you while you're seated on his lap. His voice is rugged and hoarse, angelic against your skin.

He's biting at your collarbone as he whispers, “I like you because you’re brave. Always putting your hands into things that scare ya. Like me!”

He giggles, nuzzling into your skin. He smells like tea. You press a kiss into his soft hair, burying your nose in crow feathers, and breathe in. You want to crawl inside his hair like a nest and live there.

“Love you,” you whisper. You feel small, and ashamed. “Not too—not too much?” He presses at your conqueror’s haki: light pink and demure under his touch.

“Sex?” He asks, lifting up to tilt his head. Your arms tighten around his neck. You nod.

He grins.

“Kitty isn’t mean to me,” he shifts you on his lap, so you’re kneeling over his crossed legs as he leans back against the headboard. He strokes his fingers up and down your back. “She listens to me, and stops when I want to. She takes it so good for me,” he nuzzles into your chest, pressing a kiss to the mound of your breast.

“Luuuffy—,” you moan, tightening your grip on his hair. He lets you pull his head backward, tilting his throat up and exposed to you. You lean down, and run your teeth along it. “Captain is good for me, too.”

“D’ya like when we have sex?” He asks you, voice hoarse.

The kitsune of the pirate king nods, small and feline in his lap. “I love it,” you say, “I love it so much. I need it. Can’t get enough of it. ‘M afraid of draining it out of you, like how Enma drains out Zoro’s haki,” your breath comes short and shallow, your heart beating inside your chest. “‘M afraid of wanting too much, Luffy. I need it, all the time. I can’t ever stop thinking about it; I’m just horny—all the time. It’s like—it’s like…,” you close your eyes, letting out a frustrated exhale. Luffy lets you finish.

“It’s like everything in the whole world leads back to sex. Like, everything I’m supposed to be resolves around my pleasure. Like the whole world is talking to me through my clit. D’ya know what I mean? Luffy?” You poke at his cheek. He shakes his head. You try not to cry.

“I like sex,” he says, brown eyes warm as they scan your face. Amber flickers across his skin from the orange lamplight. His thumbs stroke along your ribcage.

“But I think that’s the kitsune in you,” he continues. “It’s thrumming all around you, all the time. ‘Course I can see it,” he cocks an eyebrow at your shocked expression. His conqueror’s haki presses at yours gently, reminding you who’s boss.

You blush, sheepish.

“It’s like…,” he furrows his brows as he thinks, “You’re connected to the voice of all things, but the sexy part? Like, the creation part where everyone’s having sex because it’s spring.” He says it so seriously, so storm-faced and gray, that you blink. And then, you laugh.

You can’t help it.

“Luffy,” you snicker through your fingers, hand held to your face, “You’re so ridiculous.”

He whines.

“C’mon, Vasya!” He complains, stretching out under you. His head hits the back of the headboard with a thunk. “Ya don’t think I can take it?” His voice rasps out, “That I didn’t see you right away? Didn’t see the pink flowers that are always floatin’ around your face? The sweet lil candy ribbons that wound out and around me the first moment you laid eyes on me? Didn’t taste how fuckin’ sweet you’d be for me? Didja think I didn’t see it, didn’t feel it? All of that desire for me?”

You stare.

Luffy presses his thumbs hard against your hipbones. “I chose you, kitty. I chose you to read tarot for me. To paint me. To sing about me,” he waggles his eyebrows, “Ta dance for me,” his eyes sparkle. “I wanted ya to fuck me,” he states, proud, “I knew ya’d do it well.”

“Fuck—,” you clamp a hand down around your mouth. Your shoulders shake with tiny sobs, and Luffy’s hands come up to soothe over your arms. He shushes you, gently.

“Hey, hey, kitty…,” he croons, thumbing at your chin so you look up at him. His eyes are real, and they tether you to the earth.

“‘M not good enough for you…,” you mumble out miserably. Your shoulders go limp as you say it. You sniff, and wipe an arm across your nose. “You’re so good. But bad. And selfish. And I’m not good, I’m just selfish. Everything I do is so I can get to have sex somewhere, somehow. With someone. Sex is—is my driving force. It’s my compass.”

“Sexy compass,” Luffy remarks, and you slap his shoulder weakly.

“What if—!” You heave a breath, “What if I’m wrong?! What if I’m taking too much and you end up hating me?” You shake with frustration, and Luffy frowns. He tilts his head like a puppy.

“Hate you?” He shakes his head, “How could I ever hate kitty?”

You twist your lips. “‘S’happened before.”

“So?” Luffy sits up, taking you with him. He supports your weight with both hands splayed on your back. “Someone told you they hated you, for wanting sex? Someone is stupid,” he says with a condemning strike of his haki. It roils through the room like a ruby thunderstorm. Your own energy is humming beneath it, nervous and twitchy as you let out your angst in front of the king.

“Someone,” he continues, “Didn’t know they had a treasure on their hands.”

You hiccup, and he soothes your back. His touch is warm, loving, comforting. Like a fruit bat hanging beside you. He grins.

“But I am a pirate, and pirates take care of their treasure. And you are my treasure.”

It’s too much.

You bury your head in Luffy’s hair, gripping him tightly into your chest. He “oomph’s!” as you squish him into your tits. “Luffy!!!” You cry, overwhelmed and hiccuping. He holds you, giggling a little as he nuzzles into your breasts. He starts kissing you, there, long and lazy and sweet. He moans, tugging down your tank top so he can swirl his tongue around your nipple. He thumbs at the other one.

You gasp, pulling away in a pleasured arch. Your tails flicker around you, both ears going flat.

“Fox-ears likes that,” he observes, squeezing harder, “Her haki’s all blushy.”

Rose quartz waves overtake you, filling the room like pink lemonade. The weight of your pleasure is enough to pull Luffy’s emperor’s haki towards you, like gravity pulling at a star. He leans into it, letting his haki get swept up and away by your cotton candy fluff. You’re an empress, by right, and when you let your rule rise up, when you take the glittering crown into your hands, haki reigns supreme. It fills the room with energy: slowly swirling around everything with a fairy-pink tinge.

Luffy is snuggled into it like a comfortable nest.

Suddenly, it mirrors.

Like a portal to the Fae realm, Luffy bucks up into you from below, and you see it: how Luffy sees you.

How everyone sees you.

***

She is—strong.

She is stunning. She looks like stars, Luffy thinks, as he stares at her from across the water. She is crouching down in the river, hands dipping through water to select the prettiest stones. She is feral—fox-like, and more mischief than trouble. She likes pranks, he thinks, as she skips stones along the way. She giggles over at him, sticking her nose through a portal to kiss him on the cheek.

She pinches his knee.

***

And then the scene skips, as he runs his hands over your hipbones.

***

She is—kitten?

No, she is tigress.

She is pirate queen.

She wields her knife with deft cruelty, hunting animals and enemies alike.

She kills with her teeth.

Luffy watches her rip the jugular out of a screaming marine. She spits his blood out with a grimace.

She does not like killing.

***

And then Luffy switches scenes again, pulsing his memories through his and your own joined haki.

***

She has nine tails.

Count them: one, two, three, fourfivesix, swish, tails, seven eight nine—

“Stop pulling at me.”

She speaks over her shoulder, sketching something in a book. He thinks she is pretty. Does she—?

He peeks over at her drawing, and his heart skips a beat.

It’s him.

But it’s him surrounded by fire, by haki, fist stretched out and black as it crashes into an enemy.

“Is that me?”

She slams the sketchbook shut.

He giggles. “Shishishi, Kitty must’ve liked my red hawk, huh?”

She nods, sheepish. Her ears are flat against her scalp. Her eyes won’t meet his.

“Strong,” she says, tails curling up. She is cute, and strong. She sees how strong she is, right?

“You’re strong,” he tugs at her tail (eighth) playfully. She wrinkles her nose, and stands up.

“Stronger,” she states, and walks away.

***

Luffy is fumbling at your belt loops by now, as you ride his hips in ecstasy. He strips your shirt off, then your bra. His mouth is at your tits, immediately.

***

Tails eight and nine are swishing frantically.

“Where is he?” She is fretting, tying her hands together in knots. She is one of those ladies that get even prettier when they’re flustered, apparently.

Luffy stretches out an arm, and pokes her cheek. She gasps, swirling around in surprise. He is standing there, giggling, and she crashes into him.

Oh—

She’s warm.

And then she is backed away, chattering at him like a squirrel. Like Nami always does when he messes up. But she doesn’t hit him, only softly cuffs the side of his head. Only loosely pounds his shoulders with harmless fists. His hands fit.

She gasps, stopped in her tirade of “lost” and “where were you?” To stare at where her hands meet his. Hers are so much smaller, than his. He squeezes them, gently.

“Thanks for worrying about me.” He pecks her cheek. She blushes, but turns away, pleased.

She slips out of his grasp.

***

Luffy moans against your neck, feeding you more memories.

***

She is sketching, again.

He peers over her shoulder, taking in the blues and browns of her latest scene. It’s Sanji and Robin, having tea. She captured their smiles, perfectly.

Luffy loves her.

He knows it, has known it, has always known it.

Has she?

***

You kiss him, desperately, tugging at the back of his hair. He breaks away to rip his shirt off over his shoulders, and then kicks off his pants. You follow suit.

***

Your lips crash together, for the first time.

You’ve pecked, and kissed, and held hands, and cuddled. You’ve made out, but never like this.

This is heated, passionate, with a fire deep in his belly that is only ever Vasya, Vasya, Vasya. He tugs at her clothes.

“Please, Kitty,” he whispers, “Take these off?”

She does, without a word, and pulls off his own clothes in turn. She is breathless, charming, supporting her weight with her hands on his chest.

Her heart beats differently.

He stops, tilting his head to listen. She is softer, fuller, warmer, here.

“What is it?” She asks, her hands on his collarbones. His own heartbeat flutters beneath her touch.

“You sound different,” he says, hoping she understands. “Like roses blooming.”

“Oh,” she thinks, tracing shapes below his throat. “I like that.”

“Me too.”

I like you.

Press me

Into you

All nine fluffy tails

Of you.

She rocks back and forth on his hips, and he moans. He wants her closer, please, pleasepleaseplease closer

She sinks down onto his cock for the first time, and they both hiss in unison. She is velvet, she is home. She is everything he ever wanted, wrapped in a pretty pink bow.

“Love ya,” he grits out, jaw jutting forward as he ruts into her. His first time, her first time, with him—with his love. She is breathless, breathtaking, panting and moaning above him with her cheeks colored pink.

She is hungry, all the time.

She eats almost as much as he does, insatiable and hungry for life. And she hungers for this, too.

She is never satisfied.

She goes one, two, seven rounds before she’s finally panting with release. She holds on tightly, to things. She bites.

He is covered in hickies, the next day. She gasps at his bruises, licking them clean when she sees them in the morning. He laughs, waves her away.

Doesn’t mind being claimed by her, anyway.

***

Vasya lowers herself down onto Luffy’s cock, and they both sigh at the pleasure.

***

Fox-tails

Fox-ears

Did you forget why I claimed you?

Forget why you’re here? Did you think I wouldn’t know that you would devour me, body and soul?

Did you think I didn’t feel how hungry you were? How desperate you were, for life? Well, I did. I saw you, through and through. And I loved you.

I love you.

D’ya know that, kitty?

D’ya know how much I love to feed ya? How desperate I am to have you on my cock?

How I hate watching you flirt with others, how I want you to be mine, all mine, and only ever mine?

Mine.

My little pirate queen.

My vicious vixen.

Always busting at the seams.

***

“Stop,” you whisper, tears trickling down your face. The portals wink out, one by one. Luffy is whining, little “mmph’s!” of pleasure coming out of him in bursts.

“Didja see, kitty?”

He asks, eyes hazy, fingers stroking over your thighs. You ride him, lazily.

“I saw,” you nod.

“Didja believe me?”

“Mhmm,” you crawl forward, movements stilling, to wrap your arms around your captain’s neck. He presses you into him, gently. “I won’t play with Sanji anymore,” you sigh, nibbling at the spot beneath his ear. His grip tightens around you, and you hear him hitch a sob.

“Thank you, kitty,” he mumbles, burying his face in your hair, “I promise I’m good enough for ya! I can make ya cum, I can satisfy ya—,” he’s babbling now, childish and hiccuping and his haki fading rapidly.

“I know,” you whisper, taking his face in both hands, “I know you are. I’m sorry,” you press a kiss to his nose. He blinks up at you, eyes teary. He sniffs.

“I love you, kitty!!!” He digs his hands into the back of your head, crashing you both together for a kiss. “I can take it. I can take all of whatcha have to give me.”

“Are you sure?” You ask him, nerves alight in your belly.

He turns ferocious, suddenly, and flips you onto your back. He is over you, crowding you, lapping at your neck. “‘Course,” he growls, biting at your collarbone. Your tails frizz in pleasure.

He presses his cock at your entrance, and you groan. “O-okay,” you pant, haki roiling underneath you. It bubbles and pops--shimmers and sparks as it feeds off your energy. "Ready?"

"Ready."

You let go.

For the first time ever, you let Luffy have all of your pleasure.

It flows through you and down your legs, rolling off the bed in candy-pink waves. Luffy shudders from the pressure. His haki is buried in yours, already. It submits to your rolling waves of pleasure, letting itself get pet over and over again with your lust. It tastes like cherries.

You cum.

And not just the squeezing pulses of the inside of your pussy, so sweetly rubbed by Luffy's cock, but your clit gets to cum, too. It's sparks, at first, and then it's fireworks. It's icicles dripping up and down your body, it's fire beneath your feet.

"Luffy--!"

He holds you, secure, as you tremble from the sheer weight of your orgasm. It crashes down around you, fizzy and fallen, as your conqueror's haki ebbs out to a happy, satisfied lull.

"Did I do it?"

Luffy is panting, face flushed and heated, as he stares up from under you. His hand is still in between your legs, his own haki fluttering around his arm as he flicks your clit. You whimper, finally oversensitive and satisfied.

"Thank you," you whisper, melting into your captain and lover, as he snuggles you in for bed. "Thank you so much."

"'Course, kitty," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Let's get cleaned up and then go to bed, hm?"

"Mhmm," you hum, slowly lifting up with him. He carries you to his cabin's bathroom. He places you on the counter of the sink, spreading your legs to wash the place between them.

"Didja mean what ya said? No more playing with Sanji?" He doesn't meet your eyes, but a blush tints his honey cheeks.

You nod, "I meant it. No more jealousy for Captain." You swish your tails playfully around him. "What about Zoro?"

"Zoro's different," Luffy mumbles, sticking his lips out in a pout. He finally flicks his eyes up to you, and you laugh. "He's first mate," Luffy explains, sheepish, washing out the cloth now in the sink. You kick your leg out freely, softly bumping your heel against the cabinets.

"He loves you," you say, "And captain loves him."

"Right," Luffy beams at you, happy you understand. Luffy doesn't love Sanji that way, but he fell for Zoro a long time ago.

"I love you, Luffy." Affection flares behind your breastbone, and you gather him into you for the hundredth time that night. He sniffs against your chest, pressing himself into your side like wax. Rubber man, and all.

"Fox-tails," he chides you softly, plucking at your tails. You flick them out of reach. "Let's go to bed, mkay?" His energy is lighter now, less fearful and forced. He didn't ever really wanna share you with Sanji, anyway.

"Mkay," you say, and slide down off the sink and into his arms. He carries you to bed, where you both sink into the mattress softly. His arms rubber-wrap around you several times.

***

#dumpster dive #my writing #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #fox tales #luffy x y/n #personal #kitsune oc #kitsune #tw: blood #luffy angst #luffy comfort #one piece polyamory #zolu #slightly

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spongeofaces · 6 months ago

Note

hihi! i'd like a romantic match up for twst please!

my name is nana, i use she/her pronouns and im under the ace umbrella.

im pretty shy and awkward when you first meet me as im very bad at small talk, but once i get to know you i don't really stop talking. seriously i don't. i'll just have a soliloquy moment if no one is listening. i can be very bubbly. i love teasing my friends and i can get kinda mean with it but im never serious. i have a hard time describing emotions and the way i feel without making very odd and obscure comparisons. i often need even simple things broken down into smaller and more specific directions and will freak out if given a broad project. i get jelaous very easily and im very protective of my loved ones. sometimes i go uncharacteristically quiet for a few hours. it doesn't mean im upset, i just might have too much going on or ran out of things to say. i also don't talk about my feelings that often but i love talking to others about theirs

as for hobbies i definitely hobby hoard. im in show choir and get pretty absorbed in it with predictions and watching other groups. i love acting and being in musicals although i don't do it anymore. i adore dance and at least dip my toes into every performing art i can. i also bake and cook alot! i garden and specifically grow roses (they're the only thing i can keep alive ironically enough) i also enjoy writing from time to time! i spend too many hours a day playing games with my friends. sometimes i go on deep dives into different parts of history including different queens, mideval times, the renaissance, french revolution, and ancient greece. and i collect literature!

as for likes and dislikes, i love sweets, teasing people (giving and receiving), tea, cold weather, fruit, music (especially classical) swimming/being in water, soft things like pillows and stuffed animals and ghibli movies!

i don't like over the top loud noise, being alone for too long, vegetables, math, bugs, hot weather and when my glasses fog up

my love languages are acts of service, quality time, and gift giving!

i think that's about it! and thank you so very much!

I match Nana with...

🌹 Riddle Rosehearts🌹

-:-:-:-

The queen of everyone's hearts, Riddle. The temperamental cinnamon roll, the traumatized sweetheart. And now, your beloved.

He adores you, and is very willing to show it. He might try to present it as platonic, but every little blush that appears on his face will further prove that it's more than that.

He's a little awkward socially, well, he can communicate efficiently, but he isn't the most emotionally intelligent. So, don't mind your struggle with determining feelings, he's just as confused.

You are going to drown in gifts, stuffed animals, flowers, chocolates, sweets, poetry books, cute little trinkets for anywhere and everywhere. He loves to see the look on you face afterwards, always looking forward to the smile he fell for.

You hate math? He'll do his best to make it easier for you, helping out in you studies, explaining everything bit by bit. He'll search for a strategy that you would find easiest to use, or something less boring.

You'll definitely be invited to dance at some point. Many times even.

Sit and relax in Heartslabyul's rose gardens with him, rest your head on his shoulder, or let him rest his on yours.

He doesn't mind if you're quiet, or talkative. He'll listen and try to engage with you.

Tease him and he'll go beet-red. The boy might even try to run away! Oh, your compliments do make his heart quicken. And he'll awkwardly try to do the same for you. Maybe he'll go to Cater for advice, or Trey.

Please love him. He needs it.

The amount of romantic dates is extraordinary. Picnics, late-night walks down the lake, beaches, coffee dates, sweet shops, cat cafes, the aquarium, amusement parks, everywhere. He wants you to enjoy life as much as possible, and it's an added bonus that he gets to be with you throughout all of it.

Other options: Kalim and Lilia.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland matchups #twst matchup #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader

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sequinsmile-x · 2 years ago

Text

All's Fair - Chapter 1

Emily and Aaron have loved each other since they were children. War might be the thing that finally brings them together, but it could also be the thing that tears them apart forever.

A Hotchniss AU, set in 1917 and beyond.

-x-

This is something I've been working on for a little while, and is very much inspired by a recent re-watch of Downton Abbey.

This also is my 150th fic on Ao3. Which...is absurd and amazing and just about everything in between. Thank you all so much for all the endless support <3

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Full list of warnings and tags can be found on the Series Master List

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

April 1917

Emily had always loved the spring.

The sun was warm when it hit her face, and the days were longer. Leaving her more hours to spend wandering her mother’s estate. Just her and a book as she escaped the expectations she would never live up to. She’d walk as far as she could away from the house and find a spot to waste the day away, hoping that somehow, in some way, her life would turn into more than this.

She sits in amongst the grass, one hand holding up her poetry book and the other running through the daises she had chosen to sit by. They were her favourite flower, something beautiful in their simplicity, of how they grew wherever they could.

“You know they’re weeds, right?”

Emily rolls her eyes playfully as she closes her book and puts it down next to her, looking up at the man who had disturbed her peace, the only person she’d ever allow to do so.

“You tell me every spring,” she replies, putting her hand over the top of her eyes to block out the sun so she can look up at him, a smirk on her face, “Shouldn’t you be working, Aaron?”

He shakes his head at her, his hands on his hips as he looks down with a smile she liked to think was just for her.

“I would be if my boss's daughter wasn’t right in the way of where I’m supposed to be working.”

She looks behind him to see the lawn mower, and scrunches up her nose, “That sounds very boring,” she says, patting the grass next to her, “Come sit with me.”

“Em,” he sighs, “You know I’d love to but-”

“Please,” she says, smiling tightly at him, and turning serious, “I could do with a friend today.”

They’d grown up together. He was only three years older than her, the son of her mother’s old caretaker. When they were kids, the difference between their lives, between what was expected of them both didn’t matter to anyone. The fact she was the only heir of the estate and he was the son of the live-in caretaker didn’t matter. It still didn’t matter to her and Aaron, and Emily knew he was one of her only friends. He was the only one she completely trusted to have her best interests at heart. Everyone else she knew through her mother, and there was always a seed of doubt about their intentions.

After Aaron’s father died, he was the obvious option for the job - he’d watched him do it his whole life, much more hands-on with the work than his brother Sean ever had been. It was then, Emily just shy of her 20th birthday, that her mother suddenly deemed her friendship with Aaron inappropriate, and tried to stop them from spending any time together.

It was one of the reasons she’d walk the grounds for hours, keeping him company whilst he worked, wanting nothing more than to spend time with him.

She knew she loved him, and that he loved her back, but they could never acknowledge it. Trapped in the lives they’d been forced into by chance and happenstance.

Aaron sits down next to her, never one to be able to say no to her, and picks up the book she’d discarded on the grass. He smiles as he reads the title from the front page.

“Mountain Interval by Robert Frost?” He asks, his eyebrow raised at her as she rolls her eyes, reaching for the book he purposely holds out of her reach, “You and your poetry.”

“It’s one of the few things I can enjoy around here that Mother approves of,” Emily says, sighing as he opens the book in front of her, giving up on trying to get it back, “Plus, she can’t read French as well as I can, so I can buy all the racy ones and she won’t know.”

Aaron chuckles at her, “Robert Frost though? A bit more…simple than what you usually go for.”

She smiles as she flops back onto the grass, looking up at the sky. “That’s why I like it,” she explains, turning her head to look at him, “Just because it’s simple doesn’t make it any less beautiful.”

He returns her smile before looking back at the book, reading the first page to himself as they fall into companionable silence before he reads the last few lines out loud.

“Two roads diverged in a wood,

And I− I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference”

Emily ignores the flutter in her belly as she so often did when he was around, the pull towards him that she felt all the time. So much between them went unspoken, and she knew it always would. That nothing could happen between them, that a fantasy life where she got to be happy with him would always be the road that they could never travel.

“Well,” she says, swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat as she covers it with a smile, “If you get bored with being the caretaker of the estate, you could have a career in professional poetry reading.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he deadpans, finally closing her book and handing it back to her.

“Actually,” she says, sitting back up, “I refuse to let you do that. What would I ever do if you weren’t here.”

His smile falters for a second, guilt he knew he deserved to feel like a vice around his heart. He thinks of the letter he’s already written her, one he’ll leave for her to find after he’s gone. He knew she was the only person who would be able to talk him out of it, his love for her his Achilles heel, so he’d kept it from her. Asked her mother to do the same when he handed in his notice just a week ago.

He brushes past it, “Why do you need a friend today?” He asks, and her initial response is a sad smile.

“I’ll give you one guess,” she replies humourlessly, looking back down at the daises on the ground, playing with the soft petals of one between her fingers.

“Your mother?” He asks, and she chuckles.

“Isn’t it always her,” she sighs sadly, shaking her head, her body still thrumming with anger over the news her mother had so casually delivered her over breakfast, “She…” she clears her throat, looking up at him as she continues to gauge his reaction, “She told me this morning that one of the Doyles, Ian, asked for my hand in marriage,” she swallows thickly, “And she accepted the offer.”

Aaron feels like his world had come to a stop, his heart seizing in his chest at the mere thought of her married to someone else.

“She…she did what?” He chokes out, his hand balling into a fist. He thinks of the letter he’s already written for Emily, of the look of relief on her mother’s face when he handed in his notice that suddenly made more sense.

“I’ve only met the guy once,” she exclaims, pulling her legs up to her chest, her skirts pooling around her as she wraps her arms around her knees, “He spent the whole night staring at me.”

“How can she do that to you?”

She laughs humourlessly, resting her temple on her knees to look at him, “For the same reason she’s always been able to do anything, Aaron. Because she can. Because I’m close to becoming a spinster-”

“You’re 25,” he replies, his frustration breaking free as he clenches his teeth. It makes her feel better in a twisted way, that he was so affected by the news. It felt nice to know someone else cared so much.

“Well, as she’s said multiple times, she was already married and had me by my age,” Emily replies, “Apparently he’s going to do it officially in a couple of weeks, and it is expected that I say yes.”

“This is insane Emily, it’s 1917. Surely you have a choice these days.”

“Women like me rarely have a choice, Aaron,” she says, sadly closing her eyes to force back the tears she refused to shed, “I have a duty. I was born with one. And that is to marry someone and have children.”

He sighs, shaking his head as he leans forward, and he places his hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“I’m sorry, Emily.”

“I’m sorry too.”

She thinks it might be the closest they will ever come to admitting in another life, they could have had more.

___

She barely eats any of her dinner, excusing herself early to her room, her sadness a heavy weight in her stomach. She’s sat on her bed, a book open on her lap, simply staring at the wall. A knock on the door snaps her out of it, and she sighs.

“Come in,” She says, relieved when it opens to reveal JJ, an everpresent kind smile on her face as she steps into Emily’s room, “Oh JJ, I’m glad it's you.”

“Your mother sent me up,” she says, sitting on the edge of Emily’s bed, “She’s worried,” she smiles as Emily rolls her eyes, “She is my boss,” she shrugs.

“Technically Rossi is your boss,” Emily says, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she mentions the head butler, “And she’s his boss.”

“Semantics,” JJ says waving it off, picking an invisible bit of lint off of her maid’s uniform, “Are you ok? It can’t have been an easy day.” She asks, and Emily knows she genuinely cares. She was her friend, another member of staff from the house who she knew she could trust.

“Not really,” she admits, closing her book and sighing, “This whole thing with the Doyles is just…it’s ridiculous. We all know the rumours about Ian, he’s a vicious-”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” JJ says, tilting her head as she furrows her brows, “What about the Doyles?”

“Mother told me…” she drifts off, a sick feeling dropping in her stomach, “Wait, what are you talking about?”

JJ hesitates for a second before starting, “You know it’s being reported we’re joining the war in Europe?”

“Yes,” she says, her stomach twisting even further, “I read it in the paper, what's that got to do with anything?”

“Hotch has…well he’s signed up to join the army,” JJ says carefully. It takes a moment for her words to register, for their meaning to wash over Emily.

She stands up, scrambling off of the bed, “He’s done what?”

“It’s the talk of the house,” JJ says, standing up too, “He handed his notice in a week ago, Rossi has advertised for his role. I thought he would have told you.”

Emily chokes out a bitter laugh, “No,” she says, shaking her head, “No, he didn’t tell me.”

___

He knows it's her the second the door to his home opens, her furious footsteps down the path unmistakable. One of the many things about her he’d recognise anywhere. He turns to look at her, unsurprised to see the fury on her face, the way her arms are tight around herself.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” She asks, her eyes fixed on him, unyielding in her gaze. He sighs and goes back to folding the shirt in his hands dropping it in the bag in front of him.

“I wrote you a letter,” he replies, picking it up off of the small end table near his couch and handing it to her. She snatches it from his hand, the envelope crumbling slightly as she folds her arms again, “It explains everything.”

She chuckles humourlessly, shaking her head at him, “You really weren’t going to tell me to my face? You were just going to leave?”

“Em,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he’s forced into a conversation he’d tried to avoid for both of their sakes, “You would have tried to talk me out of it.”

“Of course, I would have,” she exclaims, stepping closer to him, shaking her head, “It’s war, Aaron. I read the papers I know what’s going on over there,” the next words catch in her chest, scratching at her insides as they make their way out, “You could die.”

He places his hand on her elbow and she pulls away from him, the first time ever the always too brief physical affection between them felt too much to bear.

“Emily, I know that, but I have to do it. It’s the right thing to do. It’s my duty, just like you were talking about earlier.”

“Don’t talk to me about duty. And screw the right thing to do,” she shouts, not caring that she sounded selfish, like the spoiled brat everyone always mistook her for. “What about me? You’re really going to just leave me here? If you die…” she drifts off, aware she’s on the precipice of saying one of the many things they never talk about.

Aaron reaches out for her again, his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t shake it off this time, the tension visibly leaving her body as he touches her.

“If I die…” he says, leading her into saying what he already knew. What he’d written in the letter she had crumbled in her hand. One of them had to say it, and she’d always been braver than him.

“If you die, I’ll spend the rest of my life missing you,” she admits, a crack to her voice as she says it, her eyes shining with tears he knows she won’t shed, “I can’t lose you, Aaron, I…I love you. You know that. Surely you know that.”

For a moment, the world stops. He can no longer hear the chirp of the birds outside his house or feel the warmth of the fire behind them. All he can see, hear or feel is her and this moment they’ve been avoiding for years. The air is thick with it, with the admittance she can’t take back.

“Emily-” he starts, cupping her cheek as he wipes a tear away from her skin. He’d never been quite this close to her before, had never felt the soft skin of her face. She cuts him off, shaking her head at him slightly.

“And I know I’m about to be engaged to someone else, and that there are so many reasons this can’t work, but…I do. I have done since we were kids.”

“I know,” he says, leaning forward so his forehead is against hers, something so intimate about it she heaves in a deep breath, “I know you have, and I love you too.”

“Then stay,” she says desperately, pulling back to look at him, “Stay here and we’ll figure it all out. We can be together.”

“It isn’t that simple,” he replies, desperate in an entirely different way, “I’ve signed up now, if I rescind that I could go to prison for desertion,” he feels a pang in his chest as her chin trembles, the force of the emotions she’d been trained since she was young to hold back clearly taking their toll. “And what about your mother? About the Doyles?”

“I don’t care about any of that,” she says, reaching up and cupping his cheek, “I don’t care. I don’t love him, this is just some business deal my mother has cooked up because she thinks me being married will make me more upstanding…” she drifts off, her desperate rant fading as it turns into an idea, “That’s it. That’s what we can do.”

Aaron uses the hand on her cheek to make her look at him again, confusion colouring his expression as their eyes meet.

“What are you talking about? What can we do?”

She smiles at him, a familiar glint she always had in her eyes when she teased him for being dense.

“We can get married.”

-x-

Tag list:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009

Join my tag list here!

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotch x prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss AU

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raytm · 7 months ago

Text

ELEMENTS OF TEYVAT. bold for what always applies, italic for ‘sometimes’ or ‘in certain verses’

ANEMO

a sense of restlessness. a wish upon a dandelion seed. well-worn walking boots. the taste of sweet white wine. a bird’s wings outstretched in flight. unable to sit still for long. a notebook filled with poetry. seeking solitude to think. a tendency towards pushing oneself too hard for the sake of others. a scrapbook filled with photographs of places travelled to. happy whistling in the morning. a clear blue sky. the wind ruffling through your hair. the sleeplessness that comes from having too much and nothing to do all at once. the smell of freshly cut grass in the summer. four-leaf clover. grapes ripening on the vine. a spinning compass. the tune of a song you have forgotten the words to long ago. hiding your pain behind a smile.our greatest duty is to others.

GEO

as solid and dependable as foundations of stone. wondering about those who walked this road before you. an unshakeable will. statues weathered by the passing of time. glimmering jewels. golden opulence. solemn memories. respecting tradition, yet not bound by it. oral legends passed down through families. the silence of a tomb. dusty old books. pleasantly fragrant tea. candles flickering at the altar. perfectly cut jade. the softness of expensive silk. hearth and home. stronger than you look. lilies blooming under the full moon. the smell of a hearty meal served by a loved one. a night at the opera. a story told over dinner amongst friends. ornate chopsticks. sunrise over distant peaks.those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

ELECTRO

a preference for familiar routine. sakura blossoms drifting on a gentle breeze. troubled thoughts, darkening clouds.fireworks bursting across the summer night’s sky. the sweetness of candy on the tongue. each day like the one before it. peacefully reading under a tree.a remarkable person thought strange by many. wits as sharp as a blade. afraid of what the future holds. crumbling like a castle of sand. a sudden growl of thunder to interrupt a previously pleasant afternoon. strict adherence to the rules of tradition. desperately trying to hold on to a fleeting dream. fearful of your own potential. an explosive temper. the calm before the storm. relentless in pursuit of your goals. absolute clarity of vision. turning of the hourglass. the only true ending is being forgotten.

DENDRO

wandering barefoot in the grass. hands cupped around fresh garden soil. a crown of wildflowers. sun-kissed skin. freckles like a constellation. grass-stained clothes. the background noise of chatter in a busy market. strong roots in unstable ground. the woods are lovely, dark and deep. the fresh scent of crushed medicinal herbs. often preferring plants to people. finding joy in causing a garden to bloom.always knowing things that others don’t. heart like an open book around those who matter. burdened by all that knowledge. advocating growth. trading in secrets. grieving the agony of the earth. green-fingered. a bath filled with flower petals. knows how to kill you with 20 different poisons. loves even the most ugly of blooms. full of childlike wonder. the flower that blooms in adversity. be less the innocent flower, and more the viper underneath it.

HYDRO

scent of the first spring rain. as swift and graceful as the river. a taste of salt: the sea or one’s own tears?. moonlight on the surface of a lake. footprints laid out before you in the sand. hearing the waves when you hold a seashell to your ear.a singular cause that means everything. a torrent of grief that threatens to drag you under. shimmering fish-scales. small stones cast huge ripples. the courage it takes to do what is right. fate is a force more powerful than the will of gods or man. firm and resolute. the call of the tides. feeling always somehow inadequate. the sea is both a cradle and a tomb. a quiet pride in one’s accomplishments. a sense of justice that can’t be broken.intent on communication: even if you’re saying what they don’t want to hear. keeping your promises. always the first one to step forward. preferring night to day. starlight, star-bright.

PYRO

fist raised in protest .was studying the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. clash of steel upon steel. the sweat of one’s brow and the strength of one’s back. iron heart, iron will. black-ash sand. burning in righteous fury for past wrongs. blazing creativity. passion as hot as the unrelenting sun. light up the night. bloody knuckles. molten lava. the strong one for the sake of others. merry laughter.often misunderstood. loving and hating fiercely. the smoke of the forge. hammer and tongs. the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.raising your voice where it counts. sunburned shoulders. fire-red hair. a drink between friends before the battle begins.relentless hope despite everything. anger forged in the fires of past trauma. never hide your light from others. loud, but kind. i can’t carry it for you, but i can carry you.

CRYO

the crown weighs so heavy. softly falling snow. mountain peaks under a frosty twilight. a cold and cautious exterior to shield your broken heart. a feeling like you just don’t belong. desperately reaching out for love that never comes. a chill so deep it makes your bones ache. breath misting in the air. catching snowflakes on your tongue. it must never happen again. tear trails still frozen on your cheeks. the beauty of a snowflake. the snow queen was always your favourite fairy-tale. some things you just can’t speak about. cruelly crushed innocence. pushing others away, even though you really want to let them in. eerily echoing bells, slow as a funeral toll. empty halls once filled with laughter. a photograph hidden in a drawer. a rose wilting in a sudden snap frost.

#this was actually alot of fun ok bye.#* ๋࣭•*⁀➷ 𝐵𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿. › 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲.#steal it from me and tag me so i can read it.

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saving-word-crawls · 1 month ago

Text

Nine Muses Crawl

By: MelusineDreams

Nine Muses Crawl

This has ten sprints or writing sections. You will pick a unit of time or words (or pages or lines) for each writing step. If you pick 1000 words, this crawl is good for a 10K day!

You pay a visit to the Valley of the Muses, an ancient Greek site on the eastern slopes of Mount Helicon, to draw inspiration for your story. Every five years, a festival was held here to honor the nine muses.

Step 1. You have journeyed long and are hot, tired, and thirsty, though you have traveled through the night and it is just now sunrise. You gaze back over the distance you have come, the rolling hills, grass arid and dry in the summer heat, clusters of green trees. At your feet, there is a small spring with sparkling, fresh water. You cup your hands and drink, then fill the vessel and refresh the large bundle of flowers you have carried with you. You enter the temple, leaving your pack and shoes outside the door, and find an altar where you place the flowers and pour the water in a hollow carved into the stone surface. “Make my offering worthy,” you ask. “Guide me in my creation.”

Where has your story meandered until now? What main themes have you carried forward? Which ideas or characters or subplots need to be dropped to advance your plot better? Which ones need to be intensified and expanded? Analyzing the changes to make and direction to take, brainstorm for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 2. You move from the cool interior of the temple outside to a platform holding a statue of the first muse, Kalliope [Calliope] - Epic Poetry. From time immemorial, since Homer wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey, the long form of poetry, the epic, the novel has captivated us. Rosy-fingered dawn touches the statue of Kallipoe, illuminating her writing tablet and stylus, spreading her wisdom to your story. Write without stopping some of those scenes you analyzed and planned in step one, building your epic—sprint for your designated unit of words or time.

Step 3. Next you move to the statue of Kleio [Clio] – History. Her face is grave beneath her laurel wreath as she gazes down upon you. Every story has a setting in time as well as place, whether real or imagined. In what period does yours take place? Have you fully mined the richness of your story’s time? If in the past, did you bring in everything you intended from the story’s history that would advance its themes? If in the present, are there current events that have a bearing on your characters’ state of mind, the choices they make? If in the future, have you thoroughly imagined the aspects of civilization’s development—or downfall—that give your story its direction? If an imagined world of fantasy or fiction, have you created a rich enough past to anchor your story and make it feel real? Brainstorm and write scenes using the inspiration of Kleio for your designated unit of words or time.

Step 4, Melpomene – Tragedy. Replenishing your water at the spring once more, for the sun is rising higher in the sky, you hike through the valley until you reach the theater. Ancient marble seats form the first rows, while the slope of the mountain rises behind to accommodate more spectators for drama that might go on all day. The sun has moved overhead, and Phoebus now begins his descent.

You gaze down at the circle of the theater, imagining the works of Euripides, Sophocles, and Aeschylus, the catharsis for spectators weeping for Iphigenia, for Antigone. To capture the hearts of your readers, your story must draw on the power of Melpone, with riveting dialogue, tight plotting, and rousing action. She wears a mask of tragedy but also boots, and she carries a sword or a club! Take a moment to read or watch a scene of a favorite play or movie that is inspirational in some way to your story. Make the next scenes you write as strong as a tragedy, and sprint for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 5, Euterpe – Music, song, and lyric poetry. Sitting on the cool marble stone, you seem to hear distant pipes and timbrels. The spirit of Euterpe, blowing on her aulos, brushes softly against you. So much of writing is conscious, analytical, subject to planning, outlining, and editing—but stories also need the pure, unconscious inspiration of music. For your next scenes, pick a CD or playlist you love, or go to the Take a Song, Leave a Song or Song Chain Threads, and find a musical backdrop to sprint to for your designated unit of words or time.

Step 6, Erato – Love poetry. The sun is sinking now and rosy hues of sunset start to tinge the sky. Most of our stories have love of some kind—romantic, erotic, familial, friendship—or ecstasies and deliriums that share in love’s transport. Pick some favorite erotic or romantic poetry—Keats, e.e. cummings, Sappho, Sylvia Plath, Walt Whitman? Read a few poems. Without analyzing too much, turn to scenes between lovers or other scenes of love or ecstasy in your story, and write freely for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 7, Terpsikhore [Terpsichore] – Dance. You gaze down at the level circular center of the stage, the “orchestra” or “dancing place.” You can see Terpsikhore playing her lyre as she dances, leading a throng of happy celebrants in a wild, Dionysian dance! Writing is so sedentary and so solitary—don’t forget your body! Take a break, put on some favorite music, and dance as long as you like, till your breathing climbs, your heart pounds, your blood flows to your brain, and your energy is recharged.

Step 8, Ourania [Urania] – Astronomy. While you were dancing the evening away, the sun went to bed, and the moon and stars rose in the sky. In this wild setting far from any urban lights, you see vividly overhead the constellations, one of our early attempts to find patterns and make stories from the observed phenomena of nature. Cassopeia, Orion, Gemini wheel overhead.

Ourania holds a globe and a compass, showing our early attempts to make sense of celestial bodies, while later observers created increasingly sophisticated tools to discover the nature of the cosmos. Take a moment to think about scientific or mythological components of your story, perhaps some that treat our place in the universe or on this planet. Here’s a link to Greek myths and constellations:

Now write for your designated unit of words or time.

Step 9, Thaleia – Comedy. Gazing down into the theater, you see Thaleia cavorting with all kinds of shady and silly characters, drunks and satyrs and fauns and a man with a donkey’s head (hmm!) until a shepherd’s crook appears to pull them offstage. Stories need more than one mood or tone.

If your story is a comedy, you have already drawn on the inspiration of Thaleia and followed in the footsteps of Aristophanes. Think about which works, which artists, authors or comedians, made you want to pick this format for your story. What did you admire about their comedy? Is it just for the cathartic escape of laughter, which is certainly a worthy enough goal in itself? Or do you like comedy with a message, which uses humor to say things that might be too preachy or didactic or hostile in another format? Is your story meeting its full potential in this regard?

If your story is not a comedy, remember that we need all kinds of flavors and tones in our stories to maintain audience interest. An unrelieved tragedy or long, serious essay can be hard to tolerate, and the most devastating scenes have more impact if they are surrounded by moments of relief. Think about places your story could use humorous moments, even in conjunction with moments of great sorrow, anger, or fear. Write scenes employing humor, comic relief, satire, etc. for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 10, Polymnia/ Polyhymnia – Hymns. Under the starry skies and the full moon shining down to guide you, you make your way back over the rocky hillside to the temple of the muses. An oil lamp and candles now burn on the altar. Someone has arranged the flowers you brought into two lovely urns, and in a little room off to the side, you see rushes and blankets laid down on the floor, and another welcoming candle burning for you, the traveler, the visitor.

Polyhymnia’s statue is near the altar, decorated with a real veil and a bunch of grapes laid at her feet. Hymns express the voice of humans reaching and yearning towards something greater than ourselves—god or gods, spirit, community—and revering and celebrating this mystery. Your story is or someday may be your offering to the community. Is there a higher purpose your story serves or that characters in your story serve? Are there forces beyond the characters that direct their lives? Does your story celebrate in some way the beauty of creation, the mystery of human existence, the miracle and majesty of god or nature? If your story was a hymn to the things that matter most to you, what would it say? Write for your chosen unit of words or time.

Step 11. You enter the little room that has been prepared for you by unseen hands. As we strive to give in our creation and to our fellow writers, so do we also receive gifts of encouragement, support, and inspiration. Think about all the other people and books whose gifts brought you to this place, who inspired you when you were younger or today, who supported your creativity, gave you time and space and encouragement, who gave you—gave all of us—incredible books and plays and films, shows, even little clips online. Take a moment to enjoy some of your inspirations and then write freely on your own project, in any way you desire, for your chosen unit of words or time.

Conclusion: Your writing is done—it is time to sleep now. Lay down your pen, take off your dusty clothes, and rest for a while. The bed of fresh rushes, the clean blankets, and sweet, restorative dreams await you. Tomorrow is another day.

#variable length crawl #variable #short #word crawl #word crawls #9 muses #nine muses #nine muses crawl #9 muses crawl

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ragesin · 1 year ago

Text

ELEMENTS OF TEYVAT. bold for what always applies, italic for ‘sometimes’ or ‘in certain verses’.

ANEMO

a sense of restlessness. a wish upon a dandelion seed. well-worn walking boots. the taste of sweet white wine. a bird’s wings outstretched in flight. unable to sit still for long. a notebook filled with poetry. seeking solitude to think. a tendency towards pushing oneself too hard for the sake of others. a scrapbook filled with photographs of places traveled to. happy whistling in the morning. a clear blue sky. the wind ruffling through your hair. the sleeplessness that comes from having too much and nothing to do all at once. the smell of freshly cut grass in the summer. four-leaf clover. grapes ripening on the vine. a spinning compass. the tune of a song you have forgotten the words to long ago. hiding your pain behind a smile. our greatest duty is to others.

GEO

as solid and dependable as foundations of stone. wondering about those who walked this road before you. an unshakeable will. statues weathered by the passing of time. glimmering jewels. golden opulence. solemn memories. respecting tradition, yet not bound by it. oral legends passed down through families. the silence of a tomb. dusty old books. pleasantly fragrant tea. candles flickering at the altar. perfectly cut jade. the softness of expensive silk. hearth and home. stronger than you look. lilies blooming under the full moon. the smell of a hearty meal served by a loved one. a night at the opera. a story told over dinner amongst friends. ornate chopsticks. sunrise over distant peaks. those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

ELECTRO

a preference for familiar routine. sakura blossoms drifting on a gentle breeze. troubled thoughts, darkening clouds. fireworks bursting across the summer night’s sky. the sweetness of candy on the tongue. each day like the one before it. peacefully reading under a tree. a remarkable person thought strange by many. wits as sharp as a blade. afraid of what the future holds. crumbling like a castle of sand. a sudden growl of thunder to interrupt a previously pleasant afternoon. strict adherence to the rules of tradition. desperately trying to hold on to a fleeting dream. fearful of your own potential.an explosive temper. the calm before the storm. relentless in pursuit of your goals. absolute clarity of vision. turning of the hourglass. the only true ending is being forgotten.

DENDRO

wandering barefoot in the grass. hands cupped around fresh garden soil. a crown of wildflowers. sun-kissed skin. freckles like a constellation. grass-stained clothes. the background noise of chatter in a busy market. strong roots in unstable ground. the woods are lovely, dark and deep. the fresh scent of crushed medicinal herbs. often preferring plants to people. finding joy in causing a garden to bloom. always knowing things that others don’t. heart like an open book around those who matter. burdened by all that knowledge. advocating growth. trading in secrets. grieving the agony of the earth. green-fingered. a bath filled with flower petals. knows how to kill you with 20 different poisons. loves even the most ugly of blooms. full of childlike wonder. the flower that blooms in adversity. be less the innocent flower, and more the viper underneath it.

HYDRO

scent of the first spring rain. as swift and graceful as the river. a taste of salt: the sea or one’s own tears? moonlight on the surface of a lake. footprints laid out before you in the sand. hearing the waves when you hold a seashell to your ear. a singular cause that means everything. a torrent of grief that threatens to drag you under. shimmering fish-scales. small stones cast huge ripples. the courage it takes to do what is right. fate is a force more powerful than the will of gods or man. firm and resolute. the call of the tides. feeling always somehow inadequate. the sea is both a cradle and a tomb. a quiet pride in one’s accomplishments. a sense of justice that can’t be broken. intent on communication: even if you’re saying what they don’t want to hear. keeping your promises. always the first one to step forward. preferring night to day. starlight, star-bright.

PYRO

fist raised in protest. was studying the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. clash of steel upon steel. the sweat of one’s brow and the strength of one’s back. iron heart, iron will. black-ash sand. burning in righteous fury for past wrongs.blazing creativity. passion as hot as the unrelenting sun.light up the night. bloody knuckles. molten lava. the strong one for the sake of others. merry laughter. often misunderstood. loving and hating fiercely. the smoke of the forge. hammer and tongs. the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. raising your voice where it counts. sunburned shoulders. fire-red hair. a drink between friends before the battle begins. relentless hope despite everything. anger forged in the fires of past trauma. never hide your light from others. loud, but kind. i can’t carry it for you, but i can carry you.

CRYO

#⁺✧⠀⠀`⠀dash⠀﹕⠀❪ nothing can stop your sin. ❫

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minaturefics · 3 years ago

Text

Grazes

Request: Greetings! I was wondering if you would mind writing a Faramir x femreader where Faramir tries to teach the reader how to use a bow and arrow, and she accidentally hits him with an arrow. Maybe some sort of romance or fluff? Thank you!

A/N: Hello hello! Thank you for waiting. This is probably a bit archery and medically inaccurate, but I hope you enjoy it all the same! 😊

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

Content warnings: Mild descriptions of blood and wound cleaning

2.7k words

---

You stood in a beam of sunlight, turning your face up and relishing the afternoon rays. The small garden outside the Steward’s House was bathed in the yellow light. Lavender and lilies perfumed the air with their heady scents. It was quiet, save for the rustle of the short trees and the distant call of the birds. The sun warmed you through your thin tunic and trousers, and a thin sheen of sweat formed on your skin.

You paced the small green area, tugging at the hems of your clothes. Where was Faramir? Was arriving early a mistake? Perhaps it made you seem too eager to see him. You paused by the plain stone bench, took one last furtive look at the closed oak door, and sat down. The stone was cool and smooth under your fingers, and you stroked the bench, thinking of him.

It had only been a fortnight ago when you found yourself sitting next to him, on the same very bench, when he had suggested an archery lesson. You had been wandering through the Citadel, exploring the long hallways and peering through doors, when you had come across the tranquil garden. The grass was green and soft, and the smell of freshly shorn grass was in the air. You sat on the bench, admiring the vivid flowers, when a large door opened and Faramir stepped out.

You had seen him before, across candlelit dinner tables and in the dim of the reading alcoves in the library, but never like he had been in the evening light. His light brown hair had been touched with gold, his grey eyes bright and sharp. He smiled at you as he approached, his eyes crinking in the corners and head ducked a fraction in shyness, and your heart had lurched in your chest.

Faramir had always been a friend — an easy partner to converse with at stuffy celebrations, a spirited counterpart to debate books and poetry with — but it seemed everything had come undone in that moment.

For the past two weeks, you had stolen glances at him from above your books, had cajoled him into reading passages out to you.

You thought of his hands, large and steady, thumbing through the thin pages. Of his voice, warm and deep and gentle, echoing softly in the quiet of the library. Of his faint scent of soap and musk, mingling with the paper and leather of the books.

You sighed and leaned back, staring up at the blue sky. Did Faramir know your feelings towards him had changed? And if he did, was he disgusted or pleased? You glanced down at your hands. Perhaps you were too plain for him, too common for a Steward. How could you compare to the other nobles in court, most of them dressed in finer silks and had larger jewels.

Faramir never seemed to care about such things, but perhaps when it came to a partner he would be more concerned?

The groan of a heavy door drew you out of your thoughts, and you turned to see Faramir stepping out into the light with two bows slung on his shoulder. You traced the line of his figure, up his strong legs and to his broad shoulders. A smile played about his lips and you grinned at him.

“Faramir,” you called, and rose to your feet.

“Apologies for my tardiness, I was searching for these bows.” He shifted to show them to you.

“They look smaller than regular bows,” you muttered, running your hand over the curved wood.

He chuckled. “Yes, these were mine and Boromir’s when we were younger. They are not as powerful as a full bow, but they will be easier to draw.”

Your chest warmed at his words. How like Faramir to be considerate about such things. “Shall we go? You will have to lead I’m afraid. I am not familiar with the way to the training grounds.”

He lifted his arm, hesitating for a moment, and offered it to you. You threaded your arm though his, resting your hand on his forearm, and willed your heart to slow.

Faramir glanced back at you from where he stood on the open field. You were standing in the shade of a tree inspecting the bows. As though sensing his eyes, you looked up and smiled at him. His stomach clenched and he turned away, wondering why he thought it might have been a good idea to spend the afternoon with you.

It had been a moment of weakness in the garden, so enraptured by the way the sun looked in your hair and how the blue sky was reflected in your eyes, that the words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. For a few terrible seconds, he had been worried you would turn him down but you had lit up and agreed.

What could have motivated him to suggest such a thing? Perhaps it was the way he would catch you looking at some of the guards, your eyes lingering on their well-built forms. Or maybe it was because he realised you only ever saw him when he was bent over a desk or curled up with a book, and had never seen him with a blade or bow.

But now that you were outside with him, dressed in a tunic and trousers that hinted at more of your figure than your usual clothes did, he felt as though he would hardly be able to contain his feelings. But who could fault him? There was no one more captivating than you in all of Middle-Earth.

Your eyes were always bright with mirth, your laughter melodic and joyful. You were incandescent in your finest silks at dinner, outshining even Queen Arwen in his eyes. Your mind was sharp, your tongue even more so, and none of his advisors could match the way you debated books with him.

He did not know when he started to view you in a different light; his heart was lost to you before he even realised what had happened.

But could you return his love, or did you prefer the more robust and lively soldiers and guards that he sometimes saw you sharing a laugh with? He was more of a scholar than a fighter, more thoughtful and ponderous than spirited and spontaneous.

He straightened the round, straw target and took a breath. It was his chance to show you his quality, that he was more than the books and parchments.

He strode up to you and picked up one of the bows. It had been Boromir’s and he traced the crude initial carved into the wood. How his brother would laugh if he saw Faramir now, doing his best to win the affection of the one who held his heart.

“I shall shoot first.” He smiled at you and you grinned back. “Just as a demonstration.”

Armed with an arrow, he steadied his stance. His heart thundered in his chest, his hands grew clammy on the bow. He took a breath and relaxed his shoulders. There was no need to be nervous. It was just a target some twenty paces away, and he had always been one of the best archers in his company.

He drew the arrow back, the string digging into the calloused pads of his fingers, and let it fly. It flew straight and true, and landed in the centre of the target. You let out a small exclamation and beamed at him.

“Very impressive.” You came up to his side and looked at the target. “I have always heard that you were a good archer, though to see it with my own eyes is certainly something else.”

His chest warmed and he felt a smile tugging at his lips. He fought down the boyish glee that rose in him and he kept his eyes fixed on the target. “Would you like to try?”

You glanced at him and looked down at the bow in your hands, running your fingers over the faded writing on the wood. “Was this yours?”

He nodded. “It’s a good bow, well made, and still well maintained after all these years.”

“Will I… I do not wish to damage it.”

“Do not worry yourself over such a thing.” He smiled and nudged your hand upwards. “Here. Keep your back straight and your legs slightly apart and your feet planted.” You raised your arm and tried to mirror his stance. “Draw the string back, and mind how close your arm and face are to the bow.”

He watched you as you tested the string. You pulled it back, nearly as far back as it should be, but your arms began to quiver. You dropped your arms to your sides. “That takes incredible strength. I cannot imagine what it would be like to shoot a full sized bow.”

“Would you like to try with an arrow?”

You glanced back at the quiver resting against the tree. “Would that be wise? Or safe?”

“It will be alright.” He went to retrieve an arrow and handed it to you. “You pull back on the fletching, just like that, between your fingers.”

You adjusted your fingers and knocked the arrow to the bow. Faramir stepped to the side, watching your form. You drew the string back, but as you did so, the arrow slipped off its resting place on your fist and slid sideways. You lurched, trying to recover it, fumbling with the bow and arrow.

There was the dull twang of the string, and he felt searing pain in his calf. He glanced down and found blood blooming on the side of his leg, his trousers ripped where the arrow had grazed him.

You rushed to Faramir’s side, kneeling by his leg, your hands hovering uselessly over the wound. The blood trickled sluggishly, and the flesh was red and raw. It did not look overly serious, but what would he think of you now? A fool who could not even handle something as simple as a training bow. He lowered himself to the ground, hissing, and peered at his leg.

“We need to get you to the Houses of Healing.” You stared at the wound, wondering if it would be better to put pressure on it or leave it as it was.

“It is only a small graze,” he muttered. “There is no need for that.”

You blinked at him. “You cannot be serious. It may not be deep or large but it can still get infected.”

“I have some healing salves and bandages in my rooms. Those will suffice for something like this. There is no need to trouble the matrons.”

You opened your mouth then snapped it shut. Would it do any good arguing with him? Faramir was not an unreasonable man, and had probably seen more battle wounds than you had. If he believed it was not worthy of a trip to the Houses of Healing, then perhaps it would be best to trust and aid him, instead of opposing.

“Then let me help you back to your rooms.” He nodded, his lips pulled back in a grimace. You retried the bows and arrows, and slung them over your shoulder. You crouched by him and offered your other shoulder. “Here, I’ll help you stand.”

You felt him hesitate, his arm lingering just above your back, before it came to rest across it. You tucked him into your side, your arm wrapping around his waist. He was warm, so warm, pressed up against you. Even his fingers, curled around your shoulder, felt like fire through your thin tunic. You felt your cheeks reddening, and hoped that Faramir would not pay too close attention to your face.

The walk back to his rooms was not long, and thankfully, there were few people around. Most of their concerned queries were waved away by Faramir with an easy smile. He led to the spacious sitting room in the Steward’s House, and dropped into a cushioned chair.

“I can attend to myself if you would be so good as to retrieve the medical supplies for me.” He gave you a rueful smile, his grey eyes soft. “I am sorry today has turned out so.”

You knelt by him. “Faramir, if there is anyone to apologise it is me. And I am not leaving you to tend to yourself when I am the one who has caused you such hurt.”

He blinked at you and glanced away, pink dusting his cheeks. “I suppose it would be foolish to turn down the offer of having such a beautiful lady tend to me.”

Beautiful? He thought you were beautiful? Your eyes dropped to your hands resting on the chair. You suddenly became aware of how close you were to him. You could feel the heat coming off him, hear his quiet breaths. You inhaled his scent of musk and faint soap. Faramir shifted in his seat and you glanced up at him. A small line appeared between his brows, hesitation in his eyes, as though he was concerned he had said the wrong thing.

“Where are the supplies?” you asked, feigning a bright tone.

“The bandages and salves are over in the box on the shelf. There is a wash basin and a pitcher of water in the next room.”

You gathered the items and returned to his side. Faramir had rolled the hem of his trousers up, and was inspecting the wound. He leaned his leg over the small basin, and hissed as you poured the cool water over it. With a clean cloth, you dabbed away the more stubborn lines of dried blood and dirt. While you changed the water, Faramir unravelled the bandages and laid them out for you. You curled a hand around his calf, and began to apply the pungent salve.

“Your hands are certainly much more gentle than the healers,” he muttered.

“You flatter me. My hands are untrained.” You smoothed out the salve and wiped your hands on a cloth. “Watch as I struggle to tie this bandage well.”

You wrapped the bandage, adjusting it to make it tight enough, and tied it off with a crude knot. You washed your hands and peered up at Faramir. His grey eyes were gentle, his lips creeping up into a smile. “How can I thank you for such tender care?”

“Forgive me, for hurting you. I was careless.”

His fingers tentatively ghosted your cheek. “There is nothing to forgive.” You leaned into his touch, and felt him let out a breath. “If anything, it was of my doing.”

“How so?” You rested a hand on his arm, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

“I will admit to wishing to impress you.”

“Impress me? Whatever for?”

He stiffened. “Is it not already plain?”

Your heart drummed in your chest and a grin broke out on your face. “Faramir, there is no need for such things. I am taken in by you enough as it is.”

“I was afraid you found me too bookish, too boring.” He stroked the line of your cheekbone with his thumb.

“And I was afraid you would find me lacking compared to the other nobility.”

“No,” he whispered and drew you towards him. “You are everything I could hope for, everything I could want.”

He ducked his head and pressed his lips to yours. His lips were soft and gentle. You breathed him in, filling your lungs with his familiar scent. You felt him smile against your lips, and laughter bubbled in your chest. He drew back, his grey eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Perhaps,” you murmured. “No more archery lessons.”

He chuckled, bright and merry. “I would be willing to try again if you are.”

“I am more willing to spend an afternoon with you in the library. Though, I will happily watch you shoot whenever you wish.”

“Perhaps the next time I am practising with my company you should come watch us. But I will admit to some jealously. My men are fit, and most of them pleasing to the eye.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek. “Even so, you are the only one who can draw my gaze. Has no one ever told you how handsome you are?”

“Perhaps a few,” he mused. “But Boromir was always more popular than I was.”

“Then I shall tell you again and again, every day you are by my side.”

He arched an eyebrow, grinning. “Every day?”

You rested your forehead against his, returning his smile. “Every day.”

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