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average-transdalorian · 3 months

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Just saw a bad take about The Acolyte episode 3 and I want to talk about it (but am making my own post because I don’t want to start Drama on op’s post)

Spoilers for episode 3 By The Way

That’s an accurate summary, yeah

A: she wanted kids. Like many real life people do for many many reasons. Someone wanting kids. Isn’t bad writing. Or a plot hole. It’s a thing that happens

Or perhaps B: she needed to make sure that her coven was able to create a next generation to carry on their tradition; the episode does tell you to your face that there are no other children there, and haven’t been since before Mae and Osha were born. Why that is, we don’t know, but I’m going to guess it’s related to the Jedi’s Mildly Tense response to the coven training children, as well as their powers potentially being dark. Regardless, we get that having these children to raise and train is Important to the coven, and it reads to me as a sort of proof-of-concept that they could do more

You’re right that the episode doesn’t outright tell us this. Thankfully, The Acolyte doesn’t exist in a vacuum! Let’s look at the wider Star Wars universe to see why this might be, shall we?

1. Osha very strongly parallels Anakin. As a kid, Anakin was told that the Jedi were bastions of peace, justice, and goodness, and that they had the power to free the slaves; that’s why he wanted to become one. Mother Aniseya acknowledges the Jedi’s power herself, and while she seems to have a mildly disdainful view of them, she doesn’t seem to think that they’re evil. It stands to reason that she told the twins stories about the Jedi doing good, as well as stories about the Jedi doing bad. She’s okay enough with the Jedi to let Osha join them if it’s what she truly wants, so she clearly doesn’t think the Jedi are awful/evil/horrible

2. The Force. We know that the Force can guide Force-sensitives to certain paths through feelings of “rightness,” that’s like. A basic thing it does. It could’ve simply felt Right to Osha to say that she wants to be a Jedi, that’s something that makes sense in-universe

Both of these also make sense when we look at Osha’s notebook; she was drawing the Jedi’s insignia before this episode takes place, so she probably had reason to want to be a Jedi then as well

The episode does actually straight up tell us this one. Mae’s whole schtick is that she wants to live the same life as Osha. The whole “I share everything with you, why won’t you share everything with me?” Or their “One soul two bodies” thing that Mae is a lot more into than Osha. That seems to be one of the two central differences between Mae and Osha, really. Osha wants her own life, Mae wants a shared life. As for how that goes to “I’ll kill you,” well. First of all, children aren’t really known for their great emotional processing. Mae is hurt by Osha’s want to go to the Jedi (because she sees it as Osha wanting to leave her specifically), gets very angry, and says things she later regrets. As children do. On top of that, we know that the twins are both in touch with the Force at this point, and Mae has already been leaning a bit towards more selfish (dark) actions (see: her doing something that makes the butterfly thing more uncomfortable than what Osha did, then Osha complaining about how Mae “always does this” at the beginning of the episode), and it is a canonical fact that the Dark alters your thought processes, and makes extreme options seem more reasonable and makes you feel selfishness and anger (for example) more. Prepubescence + Dark side influence = extreme threat and action, it’s. Really not a difficult equation

It’s

Built

Not

Hewn. I’m sure parts of it were carved out of the mountain, but there’s plenty of (flammable) wood paneling to cause a big fire, and it makes sense for the structure to be made out of largely wood, as Brendock is a forested planet, and the coven doesn’t seem to have much contact with outsiders. Sure, there are a few sections that seem to have had excessive fire, but I’m guessing that that’s going to be part of the whole murder mystery schtick that they’ve got going on that’s going to be revealed more later

That’s correct! We don’t know how! The series is a murder mystery, and the mystery is “how did all of the coven die like that”! You’re pointing out one of the things that will be relevant later!

We do actually have an idea! The Jedi of the Prequels have suffered from nearly a millennia of decline. They are fewer in numbers, and missions are more dangerous, than they were during the High Republic, y’know, the era that the show takes place in? And those numbers do match with what we’ve seen so far of this era’s Jedi! Jecki’s first mission is when she’s 18. A master, a knight, and a padawan were sent to investigate an attempted murder in a Jedi temple. The Jedi of this era are more cautious, and have more resources, and as such, can commit more people to missions, particularly ones involving another Force-sensitive sect that isn’t committed to the Light. Also, it wasn’t three Masters; Sol seems to be a Knight at the time, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Indara was too (any Jedi not identifiably a Padawan is called Master Jedi by outsiders, that’s a consistent form of address). One Master, two Knights, and a Padawan (or two Masters one Knight and a Padawan) sent to investigate a coven really doesn’t sound like overkill to me

(Hold on I’ve hit image limit will continue in rb)

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heimdallsbraids · 1 year

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Blood of Mine | Ch. 3 (Heimdall x fem!reader)

Summary: Life is pretty simple. Survive the harsh conditions of Fimbulwinter in Midgard, trade with your dwarven friends in Svartalfheim and – avoid the shit out of Odin’s most loyal lapdog? If word reaches the All-Father about your blood-bending origins, you’re doomed… (Hints of Avatar: TLA, but not a crossover)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Profanity

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

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Chapter Three: Asgard

Nerves had your stomach doing flips as you patiently awaited Odin’s ravens to take you to your next destination – Asgard. Home, for now, you supposed. It was a weird thought. To say you were mildly disappointed when you were transported into a large study lit by candlelight instead of the grand wall you knew surrounded the city was an understatement. You’ve heard many tales of the magnificent view up there, though very few were blessed to see it.

Only after a quick discussion about pay and the commencement of work tomorrow were you escorted out by a young teenage girl with thick strawberry-blond hair – Odin’s granddaughter, Thrúd. ‘Business awaits, you see,’ he had said right before his flock of ravens whisked him away. It threw you off a bit, being palmed off so quickly after what seemed like an eager pursuit, but you weren’t complaining. The less time around the man, the better.

She led up a set of stairs and into a vast hall that split off into different rooms, with a set of double doors sitting right down the end. Your room was the second one to the right. It was relatively spacious – bigger than you’ve ever had anyway – and held all the basics: a big bed pushed into the corner, two windows with a decent view, and a wardrobe to put your stuff in.

“You like it?” Thrúd asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s nice,” you answered, running your fingers along the soft furs on the bed. “Thanks.”

“It was my brother’s… He’s no longer with us.”

Your face fell and, disturbed by the news, your hand recoiled. “O-oh! I’m sorry-”

She shrugged. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She jutted her chin towards the cupboard. “You can throw your coats in there for now if you want. It’s pretty warm out today.”

Nodding, almost awkwardly, you stripped off the excess layers of clothing, leaving you in your plain tunic and pants. You couldn’t help but notice how worn your clothes looked. To you, it was simply a sign of the hard work you’d done, but you weren’t sure that’s how the people of Gladsheim would see it. You probably looked like a beggar.

“This is amazing,” you breathed as you followed your new host into what was known as The Great Hall.

It was rather quiet, with only a dozen or so people sitting around the huge dining table or lingering near doorways to eat and mingle. It was most likely due to it being the early afternoon, but you didn’t doubt that this place could easily withhold up to two hundred people – perhaps even more – on an eventful night. You didn’t have anything like this back home. The camp leader’s tent was about as grand as it got, which could all but fit four people at once.

“Wait ‘til you see outside.”

Stepping outside of the lodge was like stepping into a whole new world. There was a huge, empty courtyard made of stone, but it was the surrounding city that had you gawping in amazement. “Holy shit…”

“Holy shit, indeed,” she agreed with a proud smile. “Sometimes I forget how lucky we are until we get new people.”

“I’m guessing that’s not a common occurrence?” You asked, spinning around to admire The Great Lodge once more. It was simple and totally not what you expected a God like Odin to reside in, but it was nice.

The city was huge, littered with an array of wooden buildings, streets and bridges, and while the fabled wall in the background was daunting, it was actually quite beautiful at the same time. It was impressive. Even more so than Niðavellir, and that was quite a feat in your eyes, considering the dwarves’ creativity was hard to beat.

“Nah, doesn’t happen too often.” She clarified, leading you up a set of stairs to what seemed like a tavern. “Midgardians are usually posted in the refugee town just outside the wall.”

You had half a mind to ask her why that was exactly, but the clamour that erupted from within the building was almost deafening. It was filled to the brim with Einherjar soldiers, drinking from tankards and getting rowdy with each other. Servants scuttled around with their heads bowed, refilling cups and cleaning as they went. Even they had pretty decent clothing, you noticed.

Thrúd tugged on your arm just in time to avoid you receiving a flying cup to the head. Shocked, you grimaced at the two soldiers delivering punches at the table nearby, their comrades surrounding them, jeering and egging them on.

“What the…”

“You’ll get used to it,” she laughed, guiding you with a hand on your shoulder. “This is nothing. You should see the feasts.”

The teenager took it upon herself to shield you from any more incoming projectiles in the shape of cups, bowls and the occasional body of a drunken soldier. It made you realise how built she was for a girl her age, watching her shove people aside as if they were merely sticks. Finally coming to the exit, you sucked in a long breath of fresh air once the door closed behind you.

“Gets pretty stuffy in there, hey.”

“Yeah… the soldiers kinda stunk,” you admitted.

She looked like she was going to add to that, but her friendly expression slipped as she saw something in the distance. “Ugh, great.”

“What? What’s wrong?” You asked, looking around to see what made her so sour. It was then that you spotted a familiar pair of bifröst eyes, and they were currently narrowed at you.

Heimdall. He looked irate as he rode along on a beast you’d never seen before. It looked like an aggressive oversized lion with horns, yet it seemed perfectly content with him sitting upon it, its long tail flicking about when others got too close.

“That’s my uncle,” she groaned. “Let’s get out of here before he kills the mood.”

You snorted, “That thing is your uncle? I am so sorry.”

“You sound like you’ve had the pleasure of meeting him before,” She grumbled as the two of you adopted a brisk walking pace in the opposite direction.

“Ruined my whole damn month.”

You peeked behind to see if he was following, but luckily, he wasn’t. He’d completely vanished from sight, which was odd considering the sheer size of the beast he was riding. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not.

Over the next few hours, the two of you walked around the city, with Thrúd pointing out and describing important landmarks like the markets (where you’d begin trading when ready), the training grounds (you might watch the Valkyries sometime), and the lift that led directly to the top of the wall, though she encouraged you to avoid it like the plague if you didn’t want to run into Heimdall again.

For the final stop, she guided you to the local tailor shop, which, thankfully, wasn’t too far from the lodge. It turns out Odin had requested several new sets of clothes for you to wear on his tab.

“Isn’t this a little too much?” You asked Thrúd as the tailor danced around your position on a stool to take your measurements. “I only wanted one set to get me by until I can afford my own.”

“The All-Father,” you had to stop yourself from gagging at the obnoxious term, “-is being generous. Just accept it.”

After being poked and prodded a bit more, you were eventually shoved into a backroom to change. Unfortunately, the man didn’t have much in the way of your size, but he managed to scrounge a decent set for you to wear while you waited for the others. It consisted of a fresh white tunic (that was slightly too big on you), brown leather pants (that fit suspiciously well) and a belt that had no purpose other than to ‘make you less boring’ (his words, not yours). Naturally, you weren’t amused at the time, but you had to admit, the way it hugged your waist was pretty enticing.

The Great Lodge was bustling with activity upon your and Thrúd’s return, countless people, Gods and soldiers moving about to get their fill of food and drink before turning in for the night. You were amazed at the massive spread of meat, vegetables, and delicacies spread wide along the huge dining table, and you flushed when your stomach rumbled loudly enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the crowd.

The young teen shook her head in amusement, “Let’s grab some food and join my mother.”

You were handed a bowl of braised meat stew and bread to start with, and your mouth was watering by the time you finally reached the end of the table where Thrúd’s mother, Sif, was sitting, quietly enjoying her meal. She was a beautiful woman with unbelievably long blond hair twisted intricately over her shoulders and front. You were a little shy initially, but she warmed you up relatively fast with a gentle smile and kind introductions.

“So,” Sif began, chewing on a piece of cheese. “You’ve never been to any other realm except Midgard and Svartalfheim?”

“And Vanaheim,” you added, shrugging. “But that was a long time ago now.”

“So, you are… mortal, then?” Thrúd interjected, her tone curious.

After a slight pause, you conjured up a short, “Sure am.” It might bite you in the ass later, but who knows how long you’ll be here.

The two shared a look, but you took no notice as you continued to enjoy your hot meal. By the time you were finished, you were ready to turn in for the night, so you stood up, excusing yourself from the mother-daughter duo. However, you didn’t make it very far as you backed into a firm chest. Your empty bowl clattered to the floor.

“And where do you think you’re going, sunshine?”

You knew that smooth voice. Fuck…

You turned around slowly, shoulders tense as you made eye contact with the blond-haired God. “Heimdall.”

His expression was one of judgement as he took in your appearance, brows furrowing as he gave you a firm shove. Back on the bench, it was, but not without a harsh glare being sent his way.

Unaffected, he took a seat beside you. “What brings filth like you into Asgard, I wonder?”

“Not you, that’s for sure.” You moved to leave, but his hand on your shoulder prevented you from going anywhere. You smacked it away, “What is your deal?”

You almost forgot your audience until Thrúd piped up, “Leave her alone. She’s got better things to do than deal with you.”

“Is that so?” He feigned innocence, reaching over to steal some bread from his niece’s bowl before she could stop him. He ripped it in half, all the while eyeing you down as you sat there, seething. “That remains to be seen.”

It was Sif’s turn to interrupt. “Heimdall. I take it you’re done patrolling the wall for the day?”

“Obviously,” he replied, almost lazily. “The real cause for concern right now is this thing.”

Irritation washed over you. He’d somehow heard your insult from earlier and was dishing it right back to you.

“Oh!” You gasped, a sickeningly sweet smile curling at your lips. “Did I hurt your feelings, asshole?”

A barely noticeable tick in his jaw told you you’d struck a nerve; the God clearly unused to people of your standing speaking to him in such a manner. Or at all, if his reputation with Thrúd and Sif extended to everyone else in Asgard.

He was quick to cover it up with a cruel smirk and another dig. “Tch, hardly. I’m afraid you lack the intelligence to achieve such a feat.”

You rolled your eyes at that.

Popping the last morsel of bread in his mouth, he stood up with an obnoxiously loud sigh. “Well, I have to say, this was… boring.” He gestured to the bowl on the floor with a careless wave of his hand. “I’d pick that up if I were you, sunshine.”

You did so, feigning throwing it at his shoulders as he sauntered off, which gained you a snort of amusement from Thrúd.

You huffed. “What an insufferable prick. Again, I am so sorry that you’re related to him.”

“Don’t be,” Sif said. She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s you that’s got his attention at the moment. I must warn you; he’s hard to get rid of once he digs his teeth in.”

“Plenty of chances to get back at him, then.” You conceded, running a hand through your hair.

You had no idea what crawled up his ass – or possessed him to even approach you in the first place, but you knew it couldn’t be good. He was the God of Foresight – the precious watchman of the Aesir – for a reason, so you’d have to tread carefully around him and Odin.

It wasn’t long before you were finally returning to your newly designated room and stripping down to your tunic for bed. It had been an extremely long day, especially with the added stress that came in the form of a righteous blond prick. It’s safe to say you were asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

#thrud has entered the chat #i have such plans for this story #hope y'all like it so far :)#heimdall gow #gow heimdall #god of war heimdall #heimdall x reader #gow heimdall x reader #fanfiction #crossposted on ao3 #female reader #fic: blood of mine

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mewkwota · 4 months

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In my eons of living somehow I've never drawn Jin so here is a first.

So I recently checked out Tekken Bloodlines.

The only word I can really describe it is with a high-pitched Ehhhgn? I wanted to share what I felt here and not The Other Site because any more than 3 words over there gives me too many staring eyes.

I've made it no mystery that I've been left sorely disappointed with another video-game adaptation from this site (albeit a different studio but still, you let it happen). So I was already going into this with some mixed feelings.

Now that I've finished it, would I say it's on that level of Oh-So-Off? As far as I'm aware I don't think there was a sense of disrespect in the changes to the story and all that. I was just left mildly unsatisfied.

Maybe it's just me being cynical, but what is it with adaptations watering things down to a mellow, dramatic something or other to appease the general audience? I came into this hoping for Tekken, which I tend to associate with cool moves, big energy, hype music, and a huge helping of unapologetic goof mixed in.

We got the cool moves, if anything? The visual effects aren't too bad, but I feel like the excess of slow-mo for emphasis ended up doing the opposite to me. And perhaps my memory is also failing me, but the music was also nothing of note. It all sounded like that wonderfully cinematic orchestral stuff that I don't find memorable.

To me, it lacked energy.

My only other-- and very menial-- nitpick was the direction of the voices. Overtime, I noticed a lot of the gals started to sound similar, like in their tone. Why are you all so serious? Why are you all so quiet? Why does Heihachi sound like that? He's not big and commanding, he sounds like an ~evil cartoon shogun~. I don't know who that is??

If I can say one nice thing about this adaptation, it was nice to get more glimpses of Jin's time being raised by Jun prior to the release of Tekken 8 where we see so in the actual games. But the rest of it after, there's definitely changes, I understand. You can only keep a "tournament arc" drawn-out and still interesting for so long.

I grew up with Tekken, the 3rd game was my very first. And with my understanding that not all adaptations will be perfect, I wasn't expecting a perfect masterpiece to this game I like, but I still felt like it was missing a whole lot to really tie in for me.

Perhaps others saw something more in it, so you are always free to feel differently. But right now, I'm still not convinced that I can trust Nut-Flex with anything.

#also I am truly a fake fan I almost forgot jin's eyebrows :[#so tdlr; I didn't /hate/ it but I didn't love it #compared to say the mario movie where there's definitely changes I don't care for at least it felt like a mario movie #all I felt was “yeah I'm definitely watching a nfflx series”#whatever that may mean #Mew and the hot dogs #not that this is really seething as other times I rambled but still

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adorerdraco · 4 years

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Not My Type (Like You) ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: you should like do a one shot or even another mini series about amortentia/love potions in general. i’d soooo read that

AU SEVENTH YEAR WHERE VOLDY NEVER CAME BACK <3 f**k that mf !

italics are for flashbacks <3 i love them if you couldn’t tell

Warnings: mean!draco, cursing, more mature themes/ideas, little bit of spice towards the end teehee but not too much bc idk how to write smut to save my life

Words: 4.5K

A/N: I saw a tiktok that kinda inspired this and i couldn’t get the idea out of my heaaaad if anyone knows which one im talking ab send it my way so i can show !!!! ALSO I LOVE THIS ONESHOT I LOVE DRACO AND I AM IN MY FEELINGS this might be my new favoriteeeee

Draco Malfoy was insufferable.

The Prince of Slytherin was unbearable for many reasons, things you've been taking notice of since your first year at Hogwarts when you accidentally had the ”pleasure” of interacting with him when he called you stupid in a class for reciting a spell incorrectly. That day, a hostility blossomed. A hostility that ensued nothing but teasing, mocking, and criticizing that would sometimes go too far and you'd both have to be pulled away from each other by your friends’ before either of you said anything excessively harsh that had no return.

You often felt like Malfoy sought you out to bother you and only for that. You could be sitting in the Quad with friends, conversing and laughing like nothing in the world mattered, and a few minutes later you'd be hurling insults towards the blond across the courtyard after he would yell something infuriating to you with that smug smirk on his face and his goons laughing wildly beside him as if he just said the most hilarious thing they've ever heard.

On the days you’d ignore him, not having the patience or the energy to deal with him, he would still somehow find a way to push your buttons. Little things here and there like passing you in the corridors and tugging at the ends of your hair gingerly like a child but enough to tick you off or sending you notes from across the class in the form a small fluttering bird with a lousy drawing of you usually with a message along the lines of, “Y/L/N, hopefully, this note finds itself in the nest of hair you have today xx DM.”

In all honesty, there wasn’t a day you didn’t encounter Draco and it’s been that way for seven long years. Neither of you ever gotten tired of mildly or spitefully bullying each other and neither of you ever dreamed of stopping. He was one of the few constants in your daily life, and you in his. It was like you both lived on annoying the other, and in the midst of all the chaos that you brought to one another; there was a small, teeny, tiny acquaintance - not that either of you would ever admit it. You may have noticed it the time you bet each other ten galleons for who would win in the Triwizard Tournament your fourth year and he bet on Viktor Krum while you on Cedric Diggory. (he’s very much alive i refuse to think otherwise.)

“So you’re telling me, your mother is the reason why you’re not at Durmstrang,” you scoffed. “This whole time I could have been saved four years of headaches.”

“You’re just jealous some of us have more opportunities than others,” he snarks back pompously. “Unlike you, I hardly believe you would be graceful enough to even be considered admission into Beauxbatons.”

You had gone to see the last task of the competition just like the rest of the schools, all packed tightly onto the stands and watching carefully the exit of the maze. Naturally, you had arrived with your own friend groups, but somewhere during the time of sitting there and even being a few rows behind the blond and his minions, the two of you had met in the middle bench after he was trying to prove something wrong to you.

When Cedric appeared back in front of the stands with the glowing Triwizard cup held high over his head in victory and every Hogwarts student loudly celebrating, you had jumped up from your seat and shook wildly an irked Draco beside you. He roughly shrugged your hands off his stiff shoulder, looking up at you with a sneer that you met with a bright beaming smile.

“Pay up, Malfoy!” You held out your hand towards him, opening and closing your fingers to receive the bet money. “I believe it was ten galleons you owe me.”

He begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket and fished out the coins, counting them defeatedly before tossing them into your palm. “What a waste of galleons.”

“Hey, you made the bet,” you reminded him with a still very bright smile. You shoved the money into your pockets, keeping one of the gold coins in between your fingers, and gave him a small hair ruffle that he harshly recoiled from before you turned to jump back up towards the level of stands your friends were originally sitting at.

“Were you really sitting with Malfoy this whole time?” One of your friends questioned when you reached them, a goading smirk on his face.

“Ooooh, she definitely was,” another friend piped up, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

“Shut up,” you smack her arm casually, showing the pair the one gold galleon you were holding. “We are not. I was only sitting with him to get my bet money.”

“Sure,” they drawled in unison, sniggering when you threw your head back in annoyance.

You looked down the rows to see the mop of white hair you just sent into disarray. He was slowly descending the stairs of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. Almost as if he felt your eyes on his back, he turned back to look at you, his cold gray eyes gazing into yours. It was like everything around you went quiet, the only thing in your focus was him and all you could do was stare back. It wasn’t until your friends started stifling laughter and whispering “aww’s” that you snapped out of the short-lived and odd few second trance you were in. He waited for you to do something before he turned back around, and you did - by holding up both hands; the one golden galleon on your left and your middle finger on your right, grinning to yourself when he rolled his eyes throwing you the finger right back before he finally disappeared into the mob of people below.

You were briskly walking down the corridors, books held tightly to your chest with your friend at your side while you made your way to Advanced Potions with Slughorn after Snape finally made his way into the DADA position. It was an easy class, potions being something you had a knack for and it gave you enough leisure to mess with your “favorite” Slytherin who shared it with you.

“Look there goes your boyfriend,” your friend teases, elbowing your upper arm roughly and nodding her head down towards the hall to the tall blond appearing around the corner and entering swiftly into the class.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss. “I’m tired of everyone saying that. I hate him and he hates me, end of story.”

“You know when you say you hate him, it just sounds like the opposite,” she says tauntingly. “Besides, hate is a strong word and very misplaced. Maybe, it’s just years of built-up tension that both of you have been too nervous to do anything about.”

“Tension? Yeah, I want to strangle him,” you laugh to yourself at the thought.

“Not that tension, idiot,” she shakes her head, “I mean sexual tension...clearly.”

You gave her a horrified look mixed between being disgusted and being offended. You held your hand over your mouth and pretended to gag as dramatically as you could. “I am appalled that you would even say that. I would rather be locked in a room with Filch and Peeves and hear them argue and fight all day than to be with Malfoy like that.”

“Come on, think about it,” she encourages, stopping the two of you a little ways away from the classroom. “You guys 'hate' each other?” She finger quotes the hate, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “When you hate someone, you don’t go out of your way to talk to them every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Also, this isn’t a cliche, this is real life. We hate each other, that is all there is to it.”

You picked up the walk again, your friend to following behind you while letting out a deep and exhausted sigh. You couldn’t help but think about what she said, sure, perhaps at one point you thought Draco was attractive with his bright silver hair, his glittering gray eyes, his little button nose that he would crinkle up every other word he spoke in his charming haughty voice, or the way he’d tower over you in the middle of a conversation gone wrong and he’d be talking lowly to you but all you’d be able to focus on was the sweet scent of apples and cologne that radiated off of him.

“No,” you whispered almost silently to yourself, forcing yourself out of your thoughts and shaking your head from side to side as if it was going to get the image out of your head. He was mean, disrespectful, arrogant, and insulted you daily - even if you both laughed about it or gave props for the perfect jabs.

The first thing your eyes landed on when you walked into the dingy Potions classroom was Draco, his focus trained on the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. Just as his eyes were about to flicker down towards you, and sensing that he was about to, you quickly avoided his gaze and concentrated onto Slughorn who was waiting patiently by his desk with a bubbling cauldron for you and your friend to join the crowd in front of him.

“Great! Now that we’re all here,” Slughorn began excitedly, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he grabbed the ladle in the cauldron and began stirring it while continuing his lecture.

You were trying to listen, capturing only the professor’s last sentence as he called on someone who raised their hand. All attention was thrown out the window when you realized Draco was standing near said classmate, a look of annoyance suddenly clouding his features when his pale eyes met yours.

“What?” He mouthed. You ignored him, trying to turn your concentration back onto Slughorn but nothing he was saying made sense, and right as you caught a word you did understand, a shuffling and an abrupt arm knocking into yours threw you right back out of the loop.

“Watch it,” you snap hushedly when you notice who it is. “Why are you over here?”

“I can’t say hello to my number one fan?” He whispers back, snickering slightly when you scoffed quietly.

“Fan? Says the one who shoved his way through the crowd to come over here,” you grumble, crossing your arms.

“I hardly shoved,” he mutters. “I only moved because I couldn’t see Slughorn from where I was standing. Not everything’s about you.”

“Really? Because to me, it seemed like you came over here for my attention.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, a patronizing smile making its way onto his face. The type of typical boy smile where his mouth is half agape with his tongue smoothing over his teeth as he stared off across the room with his fingertips rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline as he thought of what to say. You stood still as he bent down, nearing his mouth towards your ear and whispering hotly, “you wish, darling.”

Slughorn sent everyone to their paired tables, and as everyone began moving and Draco sauntered off away from you, you stood stuck there, shocked with the lingering chills that were sent down your spine from your archnemesis’ comment.

“I told you, you’re into each other,” your friend sang expectantly from behind you, grabbing onto your sleeve and directing the two of you towards your table.

You were working peacefully at your workspace, cutting up, peeling, and crushing the ingredients that your friend was sliding across the surface to you. In the table behind you was where Draco was working annoyingly quiet, tossing the stripped stems of the roses at you that you had to peel, tiny thorns pricking at your ankles through your socks since the bigger thorns had been taken off for the potion. As payback, you would throw back loose extra pearl dust you ground up, giggling tauntingly when he would frown at you for getting the coarse white powder all over his Italian leather shoes and most definitely inside of them as well.

When you, and seemingly the rest of the class, had finally thrown in all the ingredients and the potion promptly finished brewing, beautiful clouds of white and pink smoke began rising from the cauldrons, each one having a lovely scent of first; freshly pressed high-priced linens, then a faint smell of a brand new racing broom out of a box with a freshly polished wood handle that then quickly transformed into a sweet harvest of apples, green specifically, and finally...

“Ugh, gross,” you pinched your nostrils closed, turning your body around and sending a scowl towards Draco’s way. “Malfoy, we get it, your cologne is expensive, now stop spraying it. I was smelling all these wonderful things and you ruined it.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you were crazy. “Are you mad? I didn’t spray anything, I think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Well you laid it on too heavy this morning then, it reeks in here.”

“You’re one to talk, Y/L/N. Did you bathe yourself in that dreadful perfume you wear just now? And that ghastly lip shiner thing you use,” He sneers, crinkling up his nose. “I can’t even think straight, I might vomit.”

“Lip shiner? It’s called lip balm, you prat,” you retort, crossing your arms angrily. “Either way, I haven’t used or sprayed anything either so-”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Your friend suddenly exasperated loudly from beside you making you briskly whirl around to look at her, a look of pure annoyance etched onto her face. “Are you two really that daft? Honestly? Have you been paying attention to anything other than each other? For instance, the potion we just made?”

This gained the attention of your classmates around you in the surrounding tables, turning their heads slightly but not obviously with small knowing smirks on their faces while they snickered quietly and listened. It was soundless as you reached towards the book in front of your friend, pulling it painstakingly slow towards you in fear of the words that were written on the open page.

“Amortentia,” you muttered glumly as you read the page, pushing it away from you dejectedly as everything began to click.

“The reason you’re both smelling each other is because you’re what the other desires and is attracted to. Wow, what a revelation! As if the whole school didn’t already know.”

You were afraid to turn around. You could feel the cold and hard pair of eyes burning holes onto your back and the immediate amount of whispers and giggles of the people around you. Luckily, Slughorn was busy at the other end of the room, working diligently with another pair of students who managed to mess up their potion.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco announces finally.

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” You questioned, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you turned again and took notice of the way his lips were curling upwards as if it was the most disgusting thing he could have ever heard.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” he deadpans. “Why would I ever desire someone like you?”

There had been occasions over the years when you were in this situation. None as drastic and as revealing, but there would be times when friends and others would poke fun and say the exact same thing your friend told you earlier. The usual, “they got the hots for each other!” and you would always brush it off and joke about how you could never, and he’d do the same. It was always amongst laughs and jokes, but as you looked at the Slytherin in front of you - there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his hardened face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you seethed, biting down hard on your lip to refrain from lashing out either in tears or in insults, you couldn’t decide. “If I’m so revolting, leave me alone from now on, I mean it.”

“I never said that,” he argues. “You’re just simply not my type.”

For some eerie, awful reason, the words tore into you like a sharpened knife going easily through butter. You were used to his insults, his mocking, his comments about your appearances - but this hurt, and you couldn’t explain why. You thought, for a second, possibly, that maybe your friend was right. Maybe there was a hidden attraction you had for the platinum blond that you buried deep away and one that he had for you. There was no way that was the case now, not at all.

And for the first time in your life, you couldn’t be more sure of a simple little fact.

You hated him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t know how long you spent sitting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, back against the cold tiled wall with your knees brought up to your chest. Your friends had tried to console you after the public rejection and humiliation, but their words only made you feel worse. You felt silly for being so bothered about being rejected by Malfoy, he wasn’t exactly someone you fancied, to begin with.

After dinner, you went off the grid and found yourself where you’re now sitting. The ghostly girl flew restlessly around you, popping out of her stall now and then to chat but then going back into her abyss of nothing when she learned you were still upset. You noticed it made her a little too pleased, considering the fact it was always her who was miserably wailing about her problems in the bathroom. She tried to hide it and let you talk to her about how you felt, but she gave terrible advice most of the time.

“Well, if it was me, I would have never started fancying someone who was mean to me,” she mumbled. “Like when Paul Wighorn made fun of my hair for a whole year and laughed when I cried. I hated his guts then and I still do now.”

She had a point, but she was also Myrtle. Nothing about the overly dramatic ghost made sense.

“I don’t fancy him, It’s just weird,” you trail off. “I can’t imagine a day without him, even if he is a complete arse. We always joked about how we hated each other, but I didn’t think he actually meant it, I guess.”

“I think you do fancy him, though,” she whispers knowingly in your ear, making you flinch from her cold draft. “Stop denying it, it’ll only keep making you feel worse. Amortentia doesn’t lie, silly. Maybe when you drink it, but before that, all real feelings are there, whether you know it or not.”

You sat quietly, taking in her words before something came crashing down onto you like a wall of bricks.

“I suppose that means he’ll have to stop denying it too,” she adds thoughtfully.

“Myrtle,” you rush to get up, smoothing your hair down profusely and fixing the wrinkles in your clothes. “You’re a genius.”

“I am?” She asks excitedly. “What did I say?”

You waved her off, giving her another thank you before rushing out of the bathroom and into the empty corridors. You were trying to go back to your dorm to sleep, hoping that when tomorrow came you would be bold enough to confront the Slytherin Prince but it was thirty minutes past curfew, something you didn’t notice until you were bustling down the steps in a rush and came face to face with the man of the hour himself doing his Prefect patrolling duties.

“Go to your dorm, Y/L/N,” he sneers. “I’ll take away house points, don’t test me,”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I’ll take away house points? Watch me. Five-”

“No, you twat,” you groan, swatting his arm with your hand. “I don’t believe that I’m not your type.”

He stayed wordless for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks and clenching his jaw as he peered down at you from his lanky height. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think you were my type until the amortentia made me aware of it,” you answer quietly. “Actually, my friend had a hand in it, but it was mostly the potion.”

Silence, again. Still and deadly. You could hear the large clocks around the school tick and tock, the hundreds of paintings snoring peacefully or chattering quietly. You avoided looking up at the boy in front of you, all of a sudden feeling small under his gaze until you felt cold fingers brush against your cheekbone and then softly through your hair causing you to finally look up into the soft wandering almost blue eyes.

“I didn’t find out with the amortentia,” he muttered almost reluctantly as if it was the most difficult thing he had to reveal. “I’ve known I’ve liked you for a while.”

“How long is a while?” You curiously wonder aloud.

“I’m not telling,” he smirks. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out one day.”

Both hands came up to rest on your cheeks, slightly cold but soft and tender. It sent chills throughout your body as he took a step closer to you and then closer, backing you carefully into the diagonally ascending stone wall that went in the direction of the stairs. Your breathing was getting uneven, you noticed the way you accidentally switched to manually forcing yourself to inhale and exhale normally when he leaned down with his face now being mere centimeters from yours. It was torture, having your eyes closed and feeling the way his nose was brushing against yours, minty breath warm against your lips as he ghosted over them with his. He was so close, you smelt everything that was in the damn potion that got you here. It sent flutters of warmth down your body, trickling down and seeping deeply into every bone in your body as if this is was the remedy its been needing. This is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally felt a soft pair of lips being pressed into yours, it felt almost unreal that you were there. It was awkward the first couple of seconds, both of you wondering how in the world had you gotten yourselves in this position, but after you relaxed and he found his Prince of Slytherin confidence - it was magic. His lips moved languidly against yours, affectionately and full of longing. He kept his hands on your cheeks, still timid to move anywhere else while you kept yours resting lightly on his sides. It scared you a little, how fast and how easily you melted into each other, like if this was something you’ve been doing with him for years rather than torment the other for laughs.

You hated the feeling when he pulled away, a gust of freezing castle air passing through the space between you and cooling your lips and face from his contact. His hands dropped down to his sides and he looked down at you with a small smile, a teeny bit smug, but happy. You wanted to feel the same way, but a question still loomed over your head, overpowering the giddiness you were vividly feeling.

“Why did you lie earlier?” You question softly, directing your gaze to the floor. “In class, I mean.”

He thought about his answer for a second, sighing deeply when he realized he had to uncover more truths about himself to you. You took a mental observation at that, he didn’t like to talk about feelings. “You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. I thought I’d beat you to it and reject you before you could reject me.”

“What made you think I’d reject you?” You coaxed. “Other than the fact that I made you a sworn enemy at eleven.”

“Exactly that,” he laughed lightly. “You’re unpredictable, Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself at the realization that he finally used your first name. “So are you, Draco.”

“Not really,” he grins. “Like in just a few moments, for example, I’m going to start snogging you.”

You opened your mouth to encourage him but shut it quickly when he closed the space between the two of you again, this time much closer than he was before. He was flush against you, and when you say you could feel everything; you could feel everything. You were almost begging for him to lean down and kiss you again by the time you felt his hands on you again, running delicately around the exposed skin of your hips when your shirt hiked up an inch on accident. He leaned down again, and with the advantage of his lowered height, you let your hands slide up his arms, biceps, and ultimately the nape of his neck where your fingers continued up into his hair. The breathiest gasp escaped his throat as you tugged at the ends gently, smirking to yourself when he closed his eyes in delight at the touch.

His lips came down onto your fast this time and hastily, pressing himself impossibly closer into you. You could feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hold moving upwards onto your waist as he continued to kiss you fervently. His teeth bit down softly on your bottom lip and you wasted no time in parting them slightly for his tongue to meet yours. You tugged at the platinum strands of hair again, feeling triumphant when a low groaning sound emitted from his throat at the sensation as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.

You knew you were done for when one of his hands slowly slid up your upper body, stopping first at your collarbones with warm fingertips fluttering over the skin, before he moved it upwards completely and he now had his large hand wrapped comfortably around your neck. You gasped in delight into the kiss, a swarm of butterflies going directly to your lower stomach as he squeezed against the artery in your neck meticulously, the coldness from his Malfoy family crest ring only adding fuel to the fire. He tore his mouth away from yours with his hand still clutched firmly around your throat and you were almost sent into orbit with the look he was giving you. A look filled with desire, adoration, and intensity - his pale gray eyes were much darker, almost a dark blue that resembled the starry night sky on a summer night.

Lips reattached themselves roughly and feverishly against your jawline, peppering long and tender kisses all the way towards your ear and then down towards your collarbones where he was beginning to undo the rest of the top buttons of your school dress shirt. You felt him smile against your hot skin when you’d writhe underneath him, emitting weak whimpers that you couldn’t hold back that he ended up having to clasp a free hand over your mouth as he whispered into your ear to stay quiet.

It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a poorly lit corridor where anyone could walk past and see the frenzy that was unfolding, nor did it matter to Draco that his Prefect duties were long forgotten. Your friend was right, and everyone else for that matter; it wasn’t hate you felt for the blond at all, it was years and years of a craving and a hidden yearning packed with displaced tension.

And now, you were both exactly where you wanted to be; together.

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hanatiny · 4 years

Text

More Than Friends

a/n: Whether you have someone to dote on today or not, happy Valentine’s day~ Not only is this a not-so-little something for the holiday of love, it’s also a thank you for letting me reach 300 followers <3

pairing: best friend!Yeosang x genderneutral!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2684

warnings: high school AU, friends to lovers, Wooyoung is no.1 wingman (or at least tries to be), Yeosang is absolutely whipped, reader is unfortunately very oblivious

-----

January, and with it your winter break, had come and gone - you probably wouldn’t have even realized it was February if it wasn’t for the excessive amount of heart-shaped, overly cutesy decorations that were littered across the hallways of your school.

You groaned internally, making your way past your classmates and towards your locker with a sigh. February itself wasn’t what bothered you so much, what made you positively abhor the month was how lovey-dovey everyone around you acted during that time.

You’ve never really had any interest in relationships and you made sure to make that clear, which is why you were surprised to find a neatly sealed light pink envelope in your locker.

You looked around subtly, wondering if the person who put it there was still around before quickly deducing that they probably weren’t. Curious, you turned over the envelope in your hands, just in case it was meant for someone else entirely. All you found however was your name with a heart and a tiny butterfly doodled next to it, which meant that this letter was indeed meant for you.

You chuckled endearingly, although mildly disappointed that your secret admirer’s handwriting was too ambiguous for you to correlate with a person. Before you were able to lament it more, a quick glance at your phone in your hand revealed to you that you were going to be late if you didn’t get moving.

Stuffing the letter into your pocket, you quickly gathered your books for your classes and booked it to your classroom after pushing your locker shut again.

You couldn’t focus at all however because you were unable to think about anything else other than who the person who had slipped the letter into your locker before you arrived that morning might be, and - more importantly - what exactly the letter was going to say.

Too occupied with your daydreaming, you failed to notice your usually calm and composed childhood best friend fidgeting under the desk behind yours.

Lunch couldn’t come soon enough for either of you, especially not for your mutual close friend Wooyoung who had been practically glued to both yours and Yeosang’s hips the moment you both left the classroom.

You heaved a sigh as you slumped down into a chair at a free table in the cafeteria, Wooyoung seating himself opposite you with Yeosang right next to him.

“What’s gotten into you today, Y/n? You seem so unusually out of it!” Yeosang elbowed his friend, at which the younger whined exaggeratedly but didn’t comment.

You pulled the pink letter out of your pocket and flicked it at Wooyoung to let him inspect the item before handing it back to you, his head tilted in confusion as he cocked a brow at you.

“You’re this worked up about a letter of all things? Don’t you normally just throw love letters and stuff away every year without even looking at them? What’s so different about this one?”

You shrugged nonchalantly while Yeosang poked at his food, listening more intently to the conversation than he allowed himself to let on, “No idea, Woo. Maybe I should just open it and find out for myself what’s so special...?”

You muttered the last part more to yourself than either of the males sitting at the table but they both still heard you clearly, prompting Wooyoung to nod enthusiastically and offer some what he hoped to be encouraging words, “Yeah, you totally should! Worst case scenario, you can just politely reject whoever wrote that.”

“Good point, I might as well... Here goes nothing.” You murmured under your breath, carefully opening the envelope before pulling out not only a piece of paper but also a small tube of strawberry chapstick which would’ve likely dropped to the floor if you hadn’t caught it in time.

You discreetly slipped it into your school bag after inspecting it briefly before your hands quickly unfolded the letter and dropped the envelope onto the table carelessly before beginning to read.

~~~~~~~~~~

My dearest Y/n,

I hope you don’t mind me confessing like this. I’m simply too nervous to voice my feelings out loud...

To yourself, you may not appear as someone special. To me however, you’re like a celebrity. You’re the most important person to me, and I wish we were closer than we already are as of now.

You’re a fresh breath of air to me, you’re not like anyone else. Everytime I talk to you I learn something new, and I think that’s beautiful.

Just like everything else about you. Your eyes remind me of stars the entire galaxy with how bright they shine, and I feel like I could get lost in them if I looked for long enough.

Your smile can light up an entire room, and frequently lifts my mood so effortlessly that it leaves me wondering how you continue doing it. Your voice is like music to me, and your laugh is my favorite song. And I want to be the reason that song keeps playing.

So, if you’d be willing to give me a chance to do so... meet me at the cat café later today after class. You know the one.

I hope I’ll see you there ♡

~~~~~~~~~~

You were so engrossed in the words on the paper that you didn’t look up in time to notice your friends�� reactions as you read before they recomposed themselves; a faint hint of a blush still tinted Yeosang’s cheeks while Wooyoung’s form relaxed after briefly tensing up slightly.

You folded the letter again and slipped it back into its envelope before, once more, dropping it on the table. You smacked Wooyoung’s hand away when he tried to reach for the letter, causing him to whine at you again as his lips formed a pout when you finally looked up at him.

If his eyes didn’t betray his curiosity, you would’ve said he was simply sulking because you hit him, but you knew better than to be that naive.

“No Wooyoungie, you won’t get to read it. At least not now.” You narrowed your eyes at your longtime friend as he huffed in disappointment, “But why~?”

“Because I can’t trust you to keep your mouth shut. The entire school would know about this by the end of the day.” You bit back, smiling triumphantly at the stunned silence Wooyoung offered in return.

“Touché.” Yeosang murmured, pushing his tray away to rest his arms on the table instead while he eyed you, wondering if you had any suspicions about the letter’s author.

As if reading his mind, your mouth opened to speak and Yeosang couldn’t help but focus on your lips, although he kept it as discreet as he possibly could.

“I want to meet up with the person behind these words. Something feels different about them... I initially suspected it to be Hongjoong, but his handwriting is nowhere near this neat."

Wooyoung snickered at that, but allowed you to continue and voice your conclusion.

"So for now, my secret admirer is a complete mystery to me."

"To you, and to everyone else." Yeosang added under his breath. He had a tendency to be quiet, so you weren't put off by this whatsoever.

"Indeed, Sangie...~" Yeosang felt his heart skip a beat at both the nickname and the somewhat affectionate lilt in your tone.

He was promptly yanked back out of his reverie however when you collected your belongings and stood to leave after checking the time on your phone, his eyes not straying from your form in the slightest, “In any case, we should probably get back to class.”

You turned on your heel and walked out of the cafeteria with Wooyoung in tow, the latter noticing his friend staying behind for a little longer than necessary but not commenting on it as Yeosang beamed, visibly lovestruck. It was a miracle to him and Wooyoung both how you didn’t take any of the countless hints he had given over the past few months, whether they were intentional or not being up for debate.

Completely zoned out, Yeosang jumped in his seat when the bell rang, prompting him to hastily grab his backpack and make a beeline for the classroom he shared with you, with quick steps.

He saved himself from tripping over his own two feet more than just once before he finally slid into the seat behind yours, breathless. You turned to face him, quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Are you alright, Yeosang?”

It was a simple question, and yet the clear concern laced in had the blonde’s heart lurching in his chest once more as he nodded with a reassuring smile. He hated how cliché his crush presented itself, as if he was just hopelessly infatuated with you.

This was absolutely the case, as the way his heart rapidly pounding in his chest proved, but that was beside the point.

You thought it was suspicious that he didn’t seem to trust his voice because it was in no way like him to be this flustered - or perhaps you should rather say insecure. You shrugged it off though and turned back around to focus on your lecture, thinking he may just be feeling a bit under the weather.

Both of you found yourselves unable to keep your minds from going off-track, however. Yeosang was still excited about the prospect of possibly having a very real chance to be with you the way he wished to, while you kept wondering about who your secret admirer may or may not be.

The end of your torturous classes didn’t come soon enough for either of you, Wooyoung mysteriously nowhere to be found when you and Yeosang finally left the school building. You were relieved to find the crisp morning air had warmed up considerably over the course of the day, somewhat surprising considering the time of the year, and exhaled deeply, pulling a soft endearing chuckle from Yeosang’s lips.

You grinned at your friend, having always quite enjoyed the melodious sound of his voice before your expression shifted to a miniscule frown when you were eventually forced to part ways with him. Because no matter how close the two of you were, you still lived in different neighborhoods.

You turned to face him with a small smile, adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag before wrapping your arms around Yeosang in a tight but warm hug before meeting his eyes again, “I’ll call you tonight and tell you how my date went, yeah? See you tomorrow, Yeosangie~”

You waited for him to nod and boldly leaned up to peck his cheek before walking off in the direction of your house, not aware of the way you had flustered the poor boy. If it had been possible he would’ve melted into a puddle right then and there on the sidewalk, his face flushed a bright red from calling your meetup a date as he walked on in the direction of the cat café he wanted to meet you at.

He could only hope that you’d stick to your word, and actually show up.

Meanwhile you squealed in excitement when you rounded the corner, making a run for it down the street to your home. You slammed the door shut behind yourself, thankful that noone else was home presently so you could get ready and calm down your nerves in peace.

When you had finally made yourself look somewhat more presentable than you did while wearing your school uniforn, satisfied with your appearance before halting your steps when your open school bag caught your eye. After a moment of hesitant consideration, you spread the strawberry chapstick you were gifted across your lips.

Fully content now as you took one last look in the mirror, you grabbed your phone and keys to stuff into your pockets as you left your house to make your way to the café a few blocks away.

When you arrived there, greeted casually due to being a regular at the establishment along with your friends, you were led into the outside area where the cats were allowed to roam freely.

You would often jokingly call it the ‘fluffy garden’ when you were younger due to the amount of felines you’d be able to interact with. Now however, you paused mid-step upon realizing what you were seeing.

Yeosang, your childhood best friend and secret crush, lying on a blanket on the grass. He had ditched the school uniform’s jacket for his own, personal favorite jacket, you mused as you took in his posture. He had one arm hooked underneath his head while the other rested on his side, his hand petting the small cat that had positioned itself on his chest and purred from his attention.

As if sensing your presence, the animal licked Yeosang’s fingers gently before scrambling to hop off of him and run to play with its furry friends instead. You regarded the scene with a fond look in your eyes before heat rushed to your cheeks when Yeosang finally turned to face you, flashing you the breathtaking shy smile you adored so much before beckoning you over and gesturing to the space on the blanket next to him.

You watched him turn to meet your eyes when you positioned yourself next to him, a smile tugging at your lips.

“So... I take it you were the one who ‘sent’ the letter, Sangie~?” The male in question nodded sheepishly, secretly finding it cute how you never stayed consistent with the nicknames you gave to people. “Yeah, it was me. Wooyoung helped though... the chapstick was his idea, among other things.”

You hummed at the nervous laugh that slipped past his lips as he waited for your reaction, “I expected as much. A mystery how he managed to not snitch, truly...” You trailed off, reaching to brush a strand of hair out of Yeosang’s handsome face. “What’s also a mystery is how neither of us seem to have picked up on the signals we tried to send each other.”

Yeosang tilted his head slightly, subconsciously leaning into your touch as he eyed you with somewhat furrowed brows, “But I thought you weren’t interested in relationships, Y/n?”

“I did say that, but I’m making an exception for you. I guess what I’m saying is... I like you back, Yeosangie. As in... like like you.”

You bit your lip in anticipation of his next move, practically seeing the cogs turning in his head before his face lit up with relief.

“I’m so glad to hear that, I was actually even worried you had changed your mind and wouldn’t come in the first place.” Yeosang took a deep breath as he took in your shy but genuine expression, “Can I... would you let me kiss you?”

You nodded, gently tugging him close by means of his jacket before he even had time to react. Your kiss was clumsy, as expected from two people your age, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It was perfect, just like you were to each other.

He grinned at you when he pulled back, “Did you put on the strawberry chapstick~?” You giggled in response, “Mhm, I sure did. What’s interesting though is that you taste like vanilla... and I happen to like vanilla~”

You spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking and playing with the cats until it was time for the café to close, and you left to make your way back home. Together this time, hands interlocked.

Yeosang kissed you again lovingly when you reached your doorstep and promised to pick you up before school the following day before walking off into the night, a bright smile on his face.

You had barely set foot into your house and heard the door click closed behind you, when your phone vibrated in your hand. You didn’t need to check to know who was calling you at this hour, amusement filling you as you heard your now-boyfriend’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Well Y/n, how was your date~?”

—– Taglist:

@cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @galaxteez @illicit-roses @inkigayeo @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @moonlit-lixie @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx @truebluejoong @twancingyunhoe @vocalyunho @yunhoiseyecandy

Network tag:

@8makes1teamnet

#8makes1teamnet #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez yeosang fluff #yeosang fluff #kang yeosang fluff #t*mblr pls do ur thing and tag everyone pls thank you <3 #also please don't let this flop lmao I put so much work into it-#hanatiny writes

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the-colony-roleplay · 3 years

Photo

Adrián Javier “Ajay” Benítez | Thirty One; Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 3 Status: Infected - Telekinesis

History

Canadian born, but Chilean bred, Adrián Javier was creating chaos in the lower mainland of BC, long before the apocalypse. In fact, before D-Day, Vancouver and its surrounding cities would have perhaps ended a couple hundred thousand dollars richer, were it not for young Ajay Benítez.

It sort of happened on accident, really. That is, he never meant to become a kleptomaniac. But then again, does anyone ever really set out to become their own worst enemy? For Adrián it started almost like a nervous twitch. He was always moving, always a part of him practically vibrating. His knee incessantly bouncing under the table never failed to eventually make his mother snap at him, and, having not realized he was doing it, he would comply. But two minutes later, he’d be thinking about something else and would be at it again.

Some doctors called it ADHD, others attributed it to a coping mechanism developed in early childhood—before his transition. Having been assigned female at birth, Adrián had always been a bit of an anxiety case, uncomfortable in even the most mellow environments. And though his confidence bloomed after he started taking hormone blockers at thirteen, and continued to do so once he started testosterone at sixteen, being transgender wasn’t exactly easy on his anxiety or self esteem.

But whatever the cause (likely a combination of many factors) Adrián’s restlessness kept him (and his parents) pretty compelled to keep his hands busy and his mind stimulated, simply so that he wouldn’t go off the deep end without a constant outlet for his excess energy. Of course, that became steadily more and more difficult because Ajay could only focus on one thing at a time for so long, before getting distracted or bored, and desperate to move on.

The first thing he stole from an actual business was a pack of gum from the gas station he was working at. Actually, it was so cliché, he even found it a little embarrassing, and prefers to come up with other stories as to what he started with. After then it was some toiletries and next, cigarettes, even though he didn’t smoke at the time—he took them because he could, and because the opportunity had presented itself, and because apparently there was something addictive about the thrilling feeling of theft, the anticipation of making sure he didn’t get caught. Plus, as it turned out, selling cartons of smokes was an easy way to make pocket money.

Early on, he had a few petty-crime arrests, making his mistakes while he was still in the stages of nicking chips and sodas off the shelves of low-security markets. But his fumbles enabled him to learn better tricks, and after about a year he was getting away with a lot more than just smokes and candy. It was no doubt in part due to his already anxious demeanour and his blatantly obvious lack of a poker face. He was already quirky, high strung, and a bit awkward, so it made finding signs that he was lying somewhat difficult.

It’s generally agreed upon that he’s a nice guy, when it comes down to it, but Adrián’s always been a little bit obnoxious. His social cues are mildly off, and he often expresses what he’s thinking, even if protocol suggests it’d be better left unsaid. But maybe because of this, he was rarely taken seriously enough to become a suspect of anything, at least not by the people who knew him. He was just an awkward nerdy guy, who liked to have a good time and who was undeniably passionate about winning board games.

But they probably should have taken him more seriously, because if they had, there might not have been a slew of missing jewelry, clothing, and cash collecting in the top drawer of a squirrelly teenager’s dresser (decidedly the worst hiding place in the world and an early sign that he may have been becoming a decent little bandit, but he wasn’t necessarily smart about it). Taking him seriously might also have prevented the upgrade from a bit of pickpocketing to hot-wiring cars and eventually, grand theft auto.

Fortunately for Adrián, when he was finally caught red-handed with his fourth car theft in two years, he was able to avoid jail-time on the case that his wrong-doings were actually a full-fledged disorder. Since a very young age, his parents had had problems with their son stealing the strangest and most trivial items—pencils when he already have plenty, textbooks for classes he wasn’t taking, salt and pepper shakers from restaurants.... Literally anything the chatty girls in his classes would leave carelessly on their desks would disappear in minutes—nail polish, hairbands, chewing gum. It didn’t matter if he had any use for the object, or even if he liked it. Most of the time he’d trash the thing after a few days anyway, that or it would sit in a shoe box in a closet already littered with stolen property. But for Ajay, it was a compulsive need to obtain things. To take what was in front of him for no reason other than to call it his own.

Found Not Guilty by reason of clinical disorder, Adrián was released of charges and sent to court-ordered therapy.

Ajay Today

Adrián’s “skill” proved itself useful to him after D-Day, when theft and pilfering were more or less the key to survival. And, when his infection kicked in, his limits understandably became far fewer. For about six months, he survived in the remains of his work (Staples Canada, one of the few places willing to hire him after his stint in the news), with a few other wastelanders. But when he was found stealing other people’s fair share, the small group rallied against him and forced him to leave.

He only had to survive on his own for a couple of months, looting from small camps in the middle of the night and travelling South towards warmer climate, before he was picked up by some Crusaders from Colony 9 in California. Though he was registered with them immediately, he begged to be transferred overseas to look for his parents, who had been holidaying in Scotland when D-Day hit. When the Crusaders found his parents already registered in Colony 4, they agreed to get Ajay onto a Merchant ship from where they found him in Seattle.

When he arrived at Colony 4 several weeks later, he was relieved to be reunited with his family, but the structure and regime of the Colony, not to mention the constant temptations of supplies and possessions he could get his hands on, proved to be a much more challenging environment for him. At the Colony there were rules and margins and people there to enforce them. Ajay had never been great at keeping within the lines—but after nearly a year of living the life of a transient wastelander, he’d almost forgotten how to even try. It became a daily obsession to loiter around the trading tents and merchant docks, taking everything he could, sometimes keeping things for himself, other times selling them to the needy and desperate buyers of the Colony.

He was caught multiple times, his reputation with the Colony Officials getting increasingly worse. After a handful of warnings, his security was increased, his privileges stripped, and he spent more than a few nights in Col4′s version of containment. Finally, they’d had enough and they sent him off to Colony 22, separating him from his parents and claiming that the smaller colony would have “better means to regulate him.” This of course, wasn’t necessarily true, but 22 took him in, sorted him into a house and slapped him with a class 3 security.

TAKEN

#jorge lopez #jorge lópez #jorge lopez fc #mature rp #literate rpg #calyset #sc3 #telekinesis #taken #male #infected #survivor #taken male #taken infected #taken survivor #adrian benitez #adrian javier benitez

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missmungoe · 4 years

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I would sell my soul to Satan for a corn chip– or a tiny snippet of Moon and Her Maiden's chapter 3 (if you would, pretty please I'm obsessed with Shanks and his crush Makino and his other crush Makino's fey alter ego).

Haha, no need for such drastic measures!! But this made me so stupidly happy to hear, since I’m currently editing this beast of a chapter, have a little more than a corn chip!

(the story so far)

The galley was abandoned, but it was late for anyone to be up, and she was familiar with their routines now, having learned who were likely to stay up, and the early birds who’d be the first through her doors in the morning, after their captain.

She’d never been inside, but didn’t linger to take it in, noting only briefly the long tables and the stove, and the drying herbs hanging from the beams. Large wooden kegs were stacked and tied securely along the bulkheads, bearing the brands of breweries from every corner of the world, the galley asleep, but ready for a party to weather any storm that might greet them at sea, but then knowing them as she did now, Makino wasn’t surprised.

She’d nearly crossed the whole galley when the flare of a lighter caught her clean off guard, and her heart lurched into her throat as a darkened figure materialised by one of the tables, having been sitting so still, she hadn’t even sensed his presence, but she recognised him instantly, his hair as dark as the shadows as Ben put his newly-lit cigarette to his lips.

“It’s late for you to be awake,” he said mildly, as he took a drag. “You get up even earlier than I do.”

Understanding was slow in hitting her, before she realised with a start how she appeared, stark naked in the galley of their ship, and she scrambled to pull her pelt around her. It wasn’t big enough to hide her, and she kept her arms in front of her chest, even as the rest of her was left exposed.

But his eyes didn’t travel, only held hers calmly. And as his words registered, so did the fact that there was no surprise on his face, even seeing her as she was, wearing nothing but her sealskin, and the terror that surged through her left her voice shaking as Makino said, “You knew.”

Ben said nothing, but then it hadn’t been a question.

She shifted her weight nervously, acutely aware of her nakedness, and where she was, her eyes darting to the closed door where it led to the deck. If she bolted, she might reach the water in time, but even supposing she got away before he grabbed her, what would she do? Hide until they left for good?

And if he reached her before she could get away, and she’d be trapped on their ship―

The old fear had resurfaced from where she’d forgotten it, the weeks she’d spent getting to know them, and their captain, dragged up from her depths with her mother’s voice, faced with the complete and utter recklessness of what she’d done, putting herself in danger like this.

But Ben did nothing, although there was a slight softening in his eyes then, and she knew her face had given her away, and that there was no way for her to even pretend she wasn’t terrified.

And while it wasn’t the triumph she’d feared, should any of them discover her secret, or something much darker that she’d heard even kind men weren’t immune to, it allowed her terror to subside enough that her first instinct wasn’t to flee.

For a tense beat, neither of them spoke. He was seated against the bulkhead, two tables between them, and made no move to get up to approach her. The only light within the galley was the faint red glow of his cigarette, and the moon where it crept through the portholes. It brought out the pattern on her skin, and if her pelt hadn’t been evidence enough, there was no denying what she was now, awash in moonlight.

“How long?” Makino asked him. Her hands shook where they gripped her pelt at her front, still uncomfortably aware of her vulnerable position.

Ben’s expression surrendered no more than it ever did. “Figured it out not long after we came here.”

Her mouth parted with her surprise, but Makino didn’t know how to respond to that information. Had it been a recent discovery, that was one thing, but he’d known this whole time?

The sudden thought found her, that more of them must know, but before she could ask, “They don’t suspect anything,” Ben said, although she heard what he was really saying, which wasn’t referring to his crew as much as his captain. “But you should be more careful. All it takes is one person catching you.”

The gentle reprimand was accompanied by a raised brow, as though to indicate himself, even as she couldn’t tell if the warning note in his voice was because of her recklessness, given where he’d caught her, or because of her deception.

She wanted to ask how he’d found out, if it was something she’d done or if he’d simply put the pieces together, but held her tongue.

Ben’s look was measured, although his eyes never strayed from her face. But then that was the most incriminating part of her, Makino knew, although didn’t think that was why he was studiously not looking anywhere else.

“Are you going to tell him?” Ben asked her then.

She folded her lips. But while it hadn’t been asked accusingly, she didn’t know what else lay in that question. He was difficult to read, and the level cadence of his voice betrayed no more than his face did. His song was the same, steadier than the others in its calm, even metre, never swayed by the desires so openly expressed by his peers. Only occasionally did it yield a thrill, the beat ever-steady but the tempo lifted to an almost breathless pace, watching as he observed his crew, a new bet in the making, or a game of cards. A love of high stakes, regardless of the rewards; a love of the stakes themselves, and a puzzle to figure out.

And so maybe it wasn’t so strange that he’d kept her secret, if he believed this a game worth betting on, even if her gut twisted at the thought that his captain should think it was all a game to her, when she was risking everything.

“I don’t know,” Makino said, honestly. “I don’t want to lie to him, but it’s just…simpler, this way.”

She wondered how she could explain it so he would understand―that being with him in her other form was liberating, even if she couldn’t be herself, at least not fully. That it was safe; that it made her feel in control, when she could never hide her reactions otherwise.

And the simplest truth, although perhaps also the most selfish: that she just wanted so badly to be desired by him.

But whatever his personal thoughts on her reasons, she didn’t think Ben believed she had any ill intentions towards his captain. If he had, he would have voiced his concerns earlier, or outed her, even as that felt like an unfair accusation, watching him now, having known for so long without telling anyone, not even Shanks.

And she didn’t know what that meant. Ben had no loyalty to her, and she couldn’t think of many who’d just keep that kind of secret. Humans were terrible secret-keepers. Pride always weakened their resolve, that already fragile membrane on their conscience broken by their need to be seen, and admired. There was a reason her kind concealed their realms with charms and contracts, binding unwitting humans with unspoken clauses and ambiguous phrasings. And even then there were those who found loopholes; who were dangerous for an entirely different reason.

This was such a man, and Makino had known since their first meeting.

“Ben―” she began, but didn’t know what she even meant to say. It felt wrong to ask him to help her continue to deceive his captain, but just the thought of Shanks finding out through someone else filled her with such a crippling fear, she couldn’t even put into words.

Ben didn’t say her secret was safe with him, but then he didn’t strike her as the kind of man to offer an excess of assurances. But she felt it, regardless―that surety, expressed most vividly when he nodded towards the door and said, “Go left. It’s the door at the end of the passage.”

Her breath rushed out, and Makino didn’t know what to call the feeling that flooded her, struck by the explicit demonstration of trust. It was more than just relief and gratitude, but she was glad of her honest face then, because even if she couldn’t find the words, she wanted him to know what it meant.

“Thank you, Ben.”

She was about to go when, “You shouldn’t be worried,” Ben said, stopping her, before he explained, “About telling him.” Then, the corner of his mouth jutting, lifting his cigarette, “I’d ask to be present when you do, because I want to see the look on his face, but that’s up to you.”

Her smile fleeted over her lips, a little trembling. And it might have been reassuring to hear it said like that―that it would be something they could all laugh about, and she knew his captain well enough now to know he wasn’t someone who took things personally, and who was more likely to laugh at himself than at others.

But it wasn’t that she thought he’d be angry, or anything so primitive, although she didn’t tell Ben that it wasn’t his reaction she feared but what came after.

Turning to go, she didn’t question what gave her the courage, but then had it been anyone else telling her they knew her secret, she wouldn’t have felt like this, Makino knew. But even if she should be worried, the certainty within her refused to budge; the knowledge that he wouldn’t do anything with the information, beyond keeping it.

Trust, and it was curious to feel it so strongly, having been warned her whole life against giving it too freely, and yet it was the only thing that could have made her turn her back to him now, and to walk further into the ship, away from the water, and safety.

Her heart was racing, an almost painful pace, but she didn’t look back, slipping between the shadows as the door shut behind her. Ben let her go.

The passage beyond the galley forked, the right towards a hatch and a ladder leading belowdecks and the left towards the captain’s quarters, but even without his directions she would have known where to go, his presence always at her fingertips, and she knew he was asleep even before she’d reached the door.

She hesitated, her fingers trembling around the handle, and even knowing there was no one else in the passage, Makino did a last check before letting herself inside.

The captain’s quarters greeted her, quiet and dark. And while she’d seen the galley before, the night she’d first come aboard, she’d never been inside his cabin, and didn’t know what she’d expected, but found no surprise as she took it in, the shadows swept by thick brushstrokes of moonlight where it spilled generously through the glass panes wrapping around the compartment. The windows had little diamond-shaped muntins, the tinted glass casting patterns on the planks, like the scales of a mermaid’s tail.

It was spacious, as befitting the captain of the ship, lined with dark wooden boards that looked recently cleaned and oiled. It had built-in shelves stacked with ledgers and rolls of parchment, and a large desk held pride of place in the middle, laden heavily with maps. A comfy-looking armchair sat near the stove in the far corner, one of his cloaks thrown across the back.

His bunk sat off to her right, a sturdy frame around it where it had been built into the ship, and her eyes went immediately to the big figure sprawled across the mattress.

He was also very visibly not wearing a single stitch.

A scalding flush flooded her skin, as her eyes shot to the ceiling in surprise, although they didn’t remain there very long before she lowered them back down, a deeper warmth filling her that left her suddenly flustered, somehow more unprepared for this than she’d been to find Ben in the galley. And it shouldn’t be such a shock when she’d already seen him naked on several occasions, but this felt intimate for a different reason, observing him now in his private quarters―in his bunk, which held an entirely different implication than watching him strip down for a swim.

And just like every time before, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the powerful frame where it lay, half-wrapped in the rumpled sheets, white against his darker skin and the hair climbing up his chest. He looked to have thrown them off in his sleep, and on his back, he hid absolutely nothing, his nakedness brandished so cheerfully, she might have believed he’d arranged himself like that on purpose.

She’d never seen anyone sleep like that, so―provocatively, for a stunned beat all she could do was stare like an idiot.

She felt a moment of panic, as though the sight of him naked in his bunk had really driven home just where she was and what she was doing. And she didn’t know what she’d even planned, coming here, but then she hadn’t had a plan, except to see him, not as she did every day at the bar but as her other self could. She’d wanted the freedom it gave her―that he gave her, to see him, and touch him.

And even if she didn’t know exactly what she’d planned to do, she knew what she wanted, recalling the last time they’d kissed, that night in the cove. The following times they’d met they’d spent talking. He’d made no advances, but then she wondered if he might be waiting for her take the lead this time, which might have been considerate if she had even the slightest idea of how to proceed from here. Because kissing him was one thing, but it was something else she wanted now, and that had kept her awake so many nights, thinking about him.

Makino watched him where he slept, indecisive. And it wasn’t too late for her to leave, to run back to her bed and pretend she’d never been here. Shanks wouldn’t know that she’d chickened out; the only one who would was Ben, but she could live with his amusement.

She tried to gather the unravelling threads of her courage, her eyes leaving Shanks’ sleeping figure in search of something a little safer, and chose the first that presented itself.

Drawn towards his desk, her heart held in her chest, as silent as her bare feet where they carried her across the planks, the stillness of the compartment broken only by the gentle creaking of the ship and Shanks’ snores.

Outlined in the moonlight, the maps showed the oceans of the world, and more islands than she could have thought existed, drawn in breathtaking detail.

Wide-eyed, Makino drank them all in. She found Dawn Island on the topmost map, outlined in green ink; a small blot in the vast East Blue. And she’d always known the world was big, but it was something else to see it in this context, and to realise just how small her little corner of the sea was, or at least how it must feel to someone like him, who’d seen so much.

The cartographer had embellished them with illustrations, the borders of the maps showing landmarks and creatures that defied even her imagination. The kings of the ocean; the lords of the coastlines and bottomless depths, each one greater than the next.

Her brows knitted gently as her eyes were drawn to a tiny figure, pictured along the borders of West Blue, and touching her fingertips to the illustration, her breath caught softly as she traced the familiar lines of a small, round shape, the little creature gentle and unassuming amidst the terrifying kings in their colourful scales and trappings, the speckled white spots in its pelt glimmering in the moonlight.

She was so absorbed in the maps, she didn’t notice that it had gone suddenly quiet.

And that Shanks had stopped snoring.

The cool edge of a blade touching her throat had her eyes flying open, although it was his voice that seized her breath in her chest.

“Trespassing?”

#Shanks x Makino #One Piece #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #Makino #Ben Beckman #Red-Haired Shanks x Makino #Shanks/Makino #Selkie AU #Shanties for the Weary Voyager #mungoe writes #fanfiction #opfanfic #One Piece fanfiction

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nowoyas · 4 years

Text

Floriography 2

first - next

A/N: so y’all probs saw my posts about this, but ‘Walks Through the Garden’ has been renamed to ‘Floriography’ moving forward! we start to see a lil bit more of the magic in this chapter. I’m still ironing out details for the magic system but I’m having fun with it <3 we also see a little bit less of the flower symbolism. unfortunately, there’s only so many flowers in the world and I don’t wanna repeat flowers a bunch. (also not every scene is like... conducive to starting and ending with flower meanings >.<) sorry if that’s a huge draw for this series! I do plan on keeping with the flower symbolism whenever I have a proper opportunity for it, though!

Summary: Izuku has a request of your parents. (prince!arranged fiancé!Izuku Midoriya x princess!Reader)

Warnings: uh none really? some mild shitty gender roles as expected of being a female in a monarchy, mildly shitty dads

Word count: 3300+

Sweet peas thank the recipient for time spent together. White violets tell the recipient, "let's take a chance". Yellow water lilies signify a growing indifference, while a wilted flower carries the opposite meaning.

Your fiancé is two people in one body. You've learned this after just one dinner—there is Izuku, the prince, and then there is Izuku, your fiancé. The man you ate dinner with—Izuku, the prince—is distant, speaks in practiced words to fit into the mold he has been expected to grow into. Your fiancé Izuku is kind, almost meek. But he looks at you, sees you.

This much, at least, you can know from a single walk in the palace gardens together.

The morning after your meeting, you prepared a bouquet to be sent to him—sweet peas, white violets, and a single wilted water lily, just alive enough that you can see that it was yellow before it wilted. You'd arranged it by hand, carefully tying an iris around it before having it sent on to Izuku. You learned that same day that the date of your wedding was already set—at the end of the year, you'd be married.

Nine months until you no longer have a fiancé.

Nine months to, hopefully, fall in love with him, so that you can actually enjoy your own wedding.

Your fiancé is someone much more agreeable than you'd hoped, but still you find yourself wishing you were actually in love.

Not that he's making that hard. Every day in the month since your meeting, you've received a single flower and a handwritten note from the prince himself, each reading little things like "ignore the meaning of this one, I just thought it was pretty, so it suited you" and a short little blurb about how his day's gone. You've ended every day with a flower from him, and in the mornings, you send one back with your own short letter and ignore the amused looks your attendants share when they think you're too focused on composing a response or picking a flower to notice.

This morning is different, however. This morning, you magic off your response just after you've been dressed and prepared for the day and receive one immediately.

Sorry for the short notice, but do you think you could request an audience with your parents in my stead? I wish to see you again. My father has requested that you join me on my next trip through the countryside, so that you may learn your new kingdom before our marriage. If it's alright with you, I, too, would like for you to accompany me. Please let me know at your earliest convenience—I have the whole day. :) -Izuku

You smile, leaving your room with the note in hand. At breakfast, you set down your spoon and glance at your parents. "Mother? Father? Izuku has requested an audience with you, whenever it's convenient."

Your parents share knowing glances before your father turns back to you with a smile. "So you've been communicating with the young Prince."

"P-perhaps I have."

"That's good to hear. We'd love for him to visit properly, moreso than merely to have his audience and leave."

Your mother nods. "Invite him over for dinner!"

You blink slowly. "Oh, well, if that's the case, then I'll let him know once I've finished eating."

And you do—before you can be properly sat down for your morning tutoring session, you grab a piece of paper and write him back.

My parents said they'd be more pleased if you came over and spoke with them over dinner tonight. Is that okay?

Smiling to yourself, you doodle a little carnation at the bottom of the note.

Note: it's not striped.

You receive your response in the form of a beautiful drawing of a better carnation. In the bottom corner, it reads:

This one's not striped, either. I'll see you around sunset. (It's not yellow, either, right? This one's red.) :)

Despite the fact that he's completely blown your little carnation doodle out of the water, you can't help but smile fondly, feeling the tiniest amount of heat rush to your cheeks.

Carnations, when solid in color, indicate acceptance or "yes" to an answered question. Yellow ones invoke disappointment or rejection, while striped carnations are a clear statement of refusal. Red carnations are used to tell the recipient: "my heart aches for you".

You shift anxiously. Sunset is soon and you're ready for dinner. You'd be lying if you said you weren't really interested in this proposal of his—to get out of the palace for a while, spend some time talking with your fiancé properly, maybe even away from prying eyes so you can talk to him when he's not posturing and trying to act all princely? Of course you're interested. You'd be a fool not to be!

Eventually, you cast aside nervously pacing around your chambers to get some fresh air in the garden. (You're explicitly not waiting for Izuku's arrival, and no one can prove otherwise.) Naturally, you're accompanied by your guard, who watches from afar, hand on the hilt of his sword in preparation for the slightest thing to go wrong.

To his credit, for a second you think that it does. One moment, you're leaned over the fountain, investigating your reflection in the water and toying with a loose lock of hair, and the next, runes swirl in the air in front of you, green and orange wisps that foretell a teleport about to arrive. The brief scent of peaches and lemongrass is quickly overpowered by the scent of ash and gunpowder that follows, but you have just enough time to recognize the first before it's drowned out.

Eijirou is quick to pull you back and away, sword at the ready in case of intruders, but you grab his arm with a frown, intending to tell him about the familiar scent before he tries to cut someone down, and more importantly, you should move them from the water before there's a teleport mishap.

"Eijirou, wait–"

"It's alright, your highness," he says firmly. "Please step back."

You bite your lip, watching with anxious eyes as the runes finally take proper shape, dropping from their swirls two familiar faces, who land directly into the fountain with a loud splash.

"Eijirou, stand down," you order quickly, willing yourself not to swear as you rush forward. Speaking of swearing, Izuku's knight ('Kacchan', you think he was called?) is doing an awful lot of that as he climbs out of the fountain and extends a hand to help Izuku up.

The minute both men are out of the water, you curtsy with a profuse apology and begin focusing your magic. After rigorous magic tutoring earlier today so you could finish early, you're a little bit close to being tapped out, but you should still have enough left to dry them off.

You breathe in slowly as you lightly touch their arms. On an exhale, the excess water pulls away from both of their bodies and clothes. You struggle with the hair, but it's better not to pull all the water at once. Carefully, you will it back to the fountain, your runes dutifully carrying it away.

"You have my deepest apologies," you say quickly as you pop up on your toes to reach Izuku's hair and try to work out all the water with your magic. "I hadn't thought that you'd be using me as a teleport point, or I'd have not been standing so close to the fountain! In just a moment longer I'll have you cleaned up, so please hold still."

Izuku is silent as your fingertips brush his scalp, his eyes fluttering shut as you focus on the water. Frowning, you bring another hand up to assist you. His hair's so thick, pulling the water from it is nothing short of a struggle. Meanwhile, Eijirou focuses on helping the other knight dry his own hair.

With the water finally obeying you and pulling away from his curly locks, you have the moment to realize just how soft Izuku's hair is. It looks more like a mop than anything from a distance, but now, you feel almost like you're petting a kitten, a sensation only furthered by the fact that he's literally pressing his head into your hand. You honestly don't doubt that he'd be purring if he could.

Once you're properly done drying him off with a little magic, you remove one hand from his head to stifle your giggle. The other lingers in his hair just a moment. "Sorry, you have really soft hair. Did I miss any spots?"

You're careful to look him over for any wet spots on his clothes. His hair is back to its usual fluffy mess, causing you to wonder how much time his attendants must spend trying to tame it on a daily basis. When you're both satisfied that he's dry, you quickly pull the rest of the water out of his knight's hair and return all of it to the fountain.

"I really do feel the need to apologize again for that. I thought to pull your runes away from the water, but..."

Izuku shakes his head with a smile. "No, really, it's all right! I should have told you ahead of time that we'd be using you as the anchor point for our teleport. We must have startled you."

"Perhaps a bit, but once I realized it was you I was reassured!" You shoot him your best grin. "Are you two ready? I can go inquire as to when the dinner will be ready before announcing your arrival, if you'd like."

"Ah, yes, please," Izuku stammers. "I wouldn't want to rush your chefs, however—"

Izuku's cut off by the sudden swirl of familiar teleport runes in front of you. The smell hits your nose before you recognize the inky blue, and you crinkle your nose in distaste at the smell of seaweed. Your father's runes. What materializes isn't him, but a simple note, not even written in his own handwriting: Whenever Prince Izuku arrives, dinner is ready and waiting.

You smile. "Ah! Perfect!" You carefully stick out your tongue, pulling forth just enough magic to pull off your favorite new trick: teleporting just enough ink to a page to write without a pen. Izuku just arrived. I'll escort him to the dining hall.

You send back the note with a wave of your hand. "My father says that dinner is already prepared for whenever you arrive, my prince." You say the last two words in a playful tone, grinning at him mischievously and offering one arm to him. "If it pleases his highness, I'd be honored to escort you to dinner."

He chuckles, looping his arm through yours. "By all means, lead the way, m-my dear."

You giggle as you lead him out of the gardens. "You were so close to a smooth delivery there."

Izuku rubs the back of his neck with his opposite hand, blushing lightly. "S-sorry. I'll do better next time."

"I think it's endearing, actually," you comment, hiding a laugh behind your hand when he lets out a choked noise in response. "Only change if you want to, my prince."

"H-hey! Who's courting who, here?" he whines desperately, hiding his face. You toss your head back in a laugh. "Oh, but that actually reminds me!"

Izuku stops suddenly, turning to you and producing a single sprig of forsythia. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, and quickly pins it in place with the yellow blooms. "There. They suit you, Princess."

Your cheeks tinge pink at the sudden gift, worsened by the way he smiles and laughs lightly at your expression. "There, now I'm not the only one blushing."

With that, he pats your cheek, turns, and heads toward the door, opening it for you with sparkling eyes.

"Wh—hey! I'm supposed to be the one escorting you, you little—" With an indignant squawk, you scamper after your fiancé, cheeks still burning red.

Forsythia symbolizes anticipation.

"So, Prince Izuku," your mother says, carefully setting down her soup spoon to peer across the table at your fiancé. "My daughter tells us that you wished to speak to us?"

Izuku's calm and collected as he sets down his own spoon and swallows his food. When he's ready, he opens his mouth and speaks in even, princely tones that don't suit the Izuku you've come to know through his letters. You suppose this means that he's in 'Prince mode'. "Yes, that's correct, your majesty."

Your mother wrinkles her nose in distaste, waving her hand in front of her face as if she's smelled something unpleasant. "Oh, please, dear. If you're marrying my daughter, I'd rather you treat me like family."

"Oh, of course, ma'am. I didn't intend to offend you. I was surprised, actually, that you allow [name]—I mean the princess to refer to you so directly. My father insists on being addressed by his title at all times, no matter who is speaking to him, so I assumed you'd be the same..."

Your mother laughs. "No, nothing so strict. There are plenty of ways to command respect without the sort of iron fist King Hisashi rules with, if you don't mind my saying."

"Mother," you hiss. "Please refrain from insulting Izuku's father in front of him."

"Oh, no, it's all right, [name]," Izuku says. "I know my father isn't exactly... popular when it comes to others' opinions of him. It's refreshing to be far enough from his influence that I'm actually made aware of it, however."

Your father speaks, the first time since the two of you entered the room to eat. "You never answered the question, Prince."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at how overtly protective he's acting. Moons, he's the one who arranged your engagement to Izuku!

Izuku swallows, and from your proximity, you can see him reigning in his stutter to answer. "...yes. My apologies. I wanted to ask if you'd grant your permission to allow your daughter to accompany me on my seasonal trip through my father's kingdom. My father has historically insisted on these trips to encourage my growth into my role as heir to the kingdom and, hopefully, to build a sensible rapport with my people before I take the throne myself. Since Her Highness and I are to be wedded this year, my father has agreed that it would be ideal for her to join me, so that we might grow closer and our people might learn her face before the wedding occurs. And I, personally, would love to have her company on this excursion."

Your father eyes you with a raised eyebrow. "I assume your betrothed spoke with you about this ahead of time, [name]?"

You nod. "Yes, father. We spoke about it briefly through letters, though I haven't yet requested the full details."

"How many guards typically accompany you on these excursions, Prince?" your mother asks, a hint of interest in her voice.

"It varies depending both on time of year and the prevailing public opinion, but there's always at least four. I'm fairly proficient in combat, and the guards chosen to accompany are all those whom I trust and have been chosen through several combat trials to determine their ability to provide adequate protections. We try to keep the detail low, to prevent from straining resources for travel and not draw too much attention during my travels. If necessary, I'm sure my father would be happy to increase the numbers to ensure your daughter's safety."

"My daughter doesn't know her way around a sword," your father says darkly. (Patently false, but he doesn't need to know about your habit of watching the guards during their training when you have the time, or the fact that Eijirou is more than happy to show you your way around a blade when he accompanies you about the castle.) "If I allow this little excursion, it will be your head if she doesn't return to me unharmed."

"Father, please don't threaten my fiancé," you groan. "I am capable enough with both offensive and defensive magic to defend myself—"

"[name]," he says sharply, not sparing you a glance. "The men are speaking."

Wounded, you snap your mouth shut and return to your food in silence, keeping a trained ear on their conversation and an eye on Izuku, who seems to have gone stock-still at how you've just been addressed.

"Of course, your Majesty," Izuku says, voice strained. "I would never dream of allowing harm to come to her."

A tense silence falls over the room, until finally, it's broken. "The excursion would be followed by a week's stay in the royal palace, if your Majesties and her Highness are all in accordance. I proposed this to my father as a way to allow her Highness to meet with my family and acclimatize to the palace, rather than merely the surrounding kingdom." Izuku's knuckles are white as he grips his spoon.

"I'd prefer to speak with you about this matter in private, Prince," your father says through gritted teeth. You wither under the atmosphere, eyes glued carefully to Izuku as he barely conceals a glare in response.

You're suddenly regretting all the anticipation you'd had for this meal.

"Meet me in the palace gardens before you leave," you'd whispered in Izuku's ear as he left the room at the end of dinner. He nodded then, before following your father to his study with Kacchan in tow.

Your father is an imposing man when he wants to be. Izuku has to remind himself to stand firm, to not give off a moment's glimpse of weakness to the man standing across the room from him.

"If I'm being honest, I'd hoped that the son of the infamous King Hisashi would have been a bit more like his father," the man says, hands folded behind his back. He lets out a sigh, as if it's somehow inconvenient for him that Izuku doesn't demand fear from others or threaten another's life or livelihood at the smallest slight.

Yeah, I get that a lot, Izuku wants to say. Instead, he simply nods. "I see."

"It is not unappealing, per se, for my daughter to marry someone like you," he continues, "but it would be ideal if you could properly set her into her role. She plays her part well, but my daughter is always pushing. She treads the line of her limits, as you saw when she spoke out of turn earlier."

"I'd have to disagree, your Majesty. I don't think [name] was out of line at all," Izuku says firmly, surprising even himself. "I don't know enough about her skills in combat well enough to properly defend them, but if she felt the need to stand up for herself, then I'm glad she acted upon it. What's the point in living if she's to be a quiet little doll who ‘stays in line’?"

Your father doesn't turn his head to look at Izuku, sighing yet again. "I don't think we'll ever see eye-to-eye on this matter. Perhaps it's best if we simply–"

"Did you want to speak further about the excursion?" Izuku interrupts coldly. "I'd be happy to give more details if you have any concerns, but my father would be upset if I returned without a proper decision. He's a busy man, as I'm certain you know, and preparations can't effectively be made if we don't know how many will be attending."

"...color me impressed, Prince Izuku," your father says. "I wasn't aware you had a spine."

"I find it more sound to not play all my cards at once, your Majesty."

"[name] may accompany you for your little trip. Her personal knight—I'm sure you're acquainted—will accompany her. Let me be clear that I was serious about your head should she not return."

"I was serious when I said that I wouldn't dream of letting her come to harm." Izuku's gaze is challenging as he meets the man's eyes.

Your father finally looks Izuku in the eye, one eyebrow raised. "See to it that you don't, your highness."

Taglist: @tooloudarts @zylith-imagines-and-fics

#my fics #bnha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #fantasy au bnha #prince!izuku #princezuku #bnha royalty au #floriography fic #ooh look at me a chapter that's only 3k words

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windermeresimblr · 4 years

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the “without fail” writing tag | by gilded-ghosts.

Rules: List five things that you, WITHOUT FAIL, weave into or explore in your stories, whether it be specific themes or tropes, character archetypes, allusions to other literary works, what have you! It really can be anything that you consistently include in your narratives for whatever reason. Then invite others to share theirs by tagging them!

I was tagged--again!--by @ice-creamforbreakfast and @treason-and-plot. Thanks!

I know I have only finished one story, so this all feels a little excessive and pretentious, but I think I can also use this as goals? Is that cheaty? I hope it isn’t.

1) I’m horribly nerdy, so I love making references to, or riffing off, series I love. Eilonwy the Druid is based on Eilonwy daughter of Angharad daughter of Regat of the Kingdom of Llyr (down to the red hair, but my Eilonwy is a bit more ‘away with the faeries’ than Eilonwy of Llyr. I can still see her doing the “Taran Pig-Boy of Caer Dallben, I’m not speaking to you!” bit whenever she has a fit of temper). The plotline where G. Maximius arrives in hostile Briton territory is based on a few of Lindsey Davis’ “Marcus Didius Falco” novels, although I have yet to write the plot out, and also owes a debt to Rosemary Sutcliff’s “The Eagle of the Ninth.” Marie-Louise “La Temeraire” Des Moulins’ current protector is the Prince of Donnafugata--I love “Il Gattopardo,” even though the mid-Victorian period is definitely not one of my favorites. Last but not least, Alasdair is the result of me being a big fan of @danjaley’s McCarric Scenes! He was also originally conceived as a “Master and Commander” sort of character, probably closer to Aubrey than Maturin. (Perhaps he’s the Tuvix to their Tuvok and Neelix?)

2) I love historical stories, but I also want to avoid falling in the “pretty, white, and wealthy people in pretty clothing in a vague England-ish place all day every day” trap. People of color, LGBTQIA people, and disabled people were NOT invented in 1960, despite what some people would like to think, and they definitely had a much stronger presence in the history books than popular culture might depict. Not to mention that people could, did, and would travel quite surprising distances throughout history, and sometimes would return to their former homes with their new families. I definitely need to work on incorporating diversity into my saves; it’s one of my resolutions for the year.

3) I’m very, very into historical clothing; I’m not brave enough to actually wear garb, but I can at least micromanage what my Sims wear. Hence lavish descriptions of getting dressed and how they’re dressed, down to the buttons and fabrics. (Even if the actual images differ somewhat from the descriptions.) I think it’s fun, and also helps me get into the mood of the piece and into the minds of the characters--Philomena could be crabby because her stays keep poking her bruises after she fell chasing a hog, for example, and that could lead into why she picks a fight with someone. Alasdair could visit Marie-Louise while she’s doing her levee, and their personality clashes could shine through while he’s sniping at her as she’s powdering her nose and having her servants make her old-fashioned wig ever higher and fuller. (As well as “mother, I am a grown man, I’m not going in there until you’re decent!” Even if women did have guests watch them dress and do their hair, I don’t think Alasdair would care to see his mother if she’s not dressed unless it was an emergency. He’s more reserved than she is.)

4) I’ll be honest and admit I do have a bad habit of putting self-inserts into my stories. (You can probably guess which characters they are!) I’m not exactly proud of this, and know I ought to stop. It’s too easy for me to reach for the “awkward nerd” instead of the “bubbly coquette” or “scheming society matron” or “farm girl with ambition” when I’m trying to assign a personality to a Sim. I definitely need to step outside my comfort zones when making characters!

5) I like the Badass Bookworm trope--I’m not tough or intimidating in the least and tend to panic, so it makes me happy to think of the “absent-minded professor” actually handling a crisis or a fight well! I’m also fond of the “wild, sassy grandma” archetype, because I come from a long line of women who (to put it mildly) become somewhat eccentric as they age. Although I don’t think I’ve shown it yet, I also like the idea of very isolated people breaking their shells down as they get to know each other, whether it’s found family, romance, or something else. And “they’re cold and haughty and so reserved they’re practically a statue but they’re secretly very nice on the inside, they just need to get over themselves.” Oh, and I feel like every story ought to have at least one or two wildly spoiled and cosseted little dogs with bad tempers but cute little faces. (Unless it doesn’t make sense, such as living on a spaceship or before little companion dogs were a thing.)

I hope all of that made some kind of sense.

I’m drawing a blank on who to tag, so I’d like to invite you all to tag yourselves!

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mostfacinorous · 4 years

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Stoki Whumptober Day 15: Into The Unknown [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14]

When he was removed from the cell the next day-- or let out, depending on how you looked at it, he had managed to get himself back to a state of being reasonably well put together.

“So I uh-- heard you didn’t sleep so great. Sorry about that. I had forgotten that Jarvis has problems when I ask him to monitor Thor’s vitals, too.”

Loki flapped his hand dismissively at Stark’s apology; he didn’t feel like going into the fact that his baseline would be wildly different from even Thor’s. It didn’t matter much.

“How is the Captain?” He asked instead.

Stark hummed.

“Seems fine now-- that was a pretty wild treatment, though, so I think it’d be good to keep an eye on him.”

He held the door open to allow Loki to board the elevator.

“We got breakfast delivered, so I imagine he’ll be there-- and Barnes, too.” Stark looked wary, and Loki wondered what part of the gathering caused that.

He found it odd that Stark seemed suddenly at ease around him, but perhaps his performance with Rogers the night before, and his relative lack of ill-will after being nearly roasted by his machine had given him some sense of confidence in Loki’s intentions.

Bold of him to assume that Loki’s goodwill extended to him. But then again, all of his windows were thus far intact, so perhaps there was some small basis for it. It wasn’t a high bar to clear.

“You seem… somewhat less than enthused about breakfast.” Loki offered it as an observation, but it was a question, ever so delicate, probing gently to learn more about these people he’d fought so often. He’d certainly never been allowed this close before, into their home. Or, home-base, at least. He knew Rogers had a place of his own, outside of the tower.

Stark lifted one shoulder listlessly. But before he had a chance to elaborate, the elevator announced their arrival with a cheerful ping and the doors slid open onto a scene of surprising domesticity.

The Avengers were gathered around the table, shy only Stark and alongside Barnes and a woman that Loki only knew peripherally as Pepper Potts, Stark’s good half.

“So, now we’re all here-- good morning everyone--” Stark began, but was interrupted by Barnes snorting.

“It’s after noon.” Banner pointed out, clearly amused, and Loki blinked. He must have slept longer than he’d thought, to compensate for the heat and his efforts the day prior.

“Well, yeah, okay. After noon. Happy brunch. Point is-- Loki. Steve. James Barnes-- what are we calling you these days? Bucky?”

Stark’s edgy energy was back, and Loki realized it was centered around the Soldier. Fascinating, that Stark was literally more at ease with Loki at his back than with Barnes at his table.

“James is probably fine.” He said mildly, buttering some toast and casually avoiding eye contact.

Rogers, too, seemed unsurprised but on guard.

Interesting. And charming. A crack in their united front, and Loki wasn’t even the cause. He ought to be offended, he supposed. Instead, he was merely amused.

“Right. So. James… after you stopped in on Loki last night, did you notice anything… weird?”

Rogers looked thoroughly confused-- Loki wondered at that. Had Barnes not told him about his stepping in? Loki would think he would-- to curry favor, prove himself as a good person, if nothing else.

Barnes sat his toast down, only a single bite taken from it.

“Define weird.” He said slowly, almost like the words were a threat.

“Your arm.” Stark said, clearly trying not to sound eager and coming off as smug instead. “I got your message after you were asleep, and asked Jarvis to run a scan, make sure Loki didn’t do anything to you.”

Loki felt his mouth falling open to protest, and, without looking, Stark held up his hand to stop him speaking.

“Your arm has some weird stuff going on with it, but it doesn’t match Loki’s power signature. And last night, it started flaring up. So, did you notice anything weird?”

“You’re asking if I noticed anything weird with my arm while I was asleep?” Barnes reiterated, speaking slowly, as if he was becoming more and more convinced that Stark was an idiot. “No. Because I was asleep.”

“Hang on, why were you scanning him in his sleep?” Rogers demanded. “And why would you visit Loki?”

“To have a chat, Steve, why else do people go see one another?” Barnes snapped back. “Anyway, it didn’t matter, because when I got there, Stark’s robot was in the process of frying the guy’s brain, so…” Barnes trailed off with a sharp glance in Stark’s direction.

Rogers whipped his head around, glaring at Stark who raised his hands defensively. “Loki?” He asked firmly, turning his eyes on him next. “Are you alright?”

“I should be asking the same of you, though your voice is much improved. In fairness, Stark’s machine was concerned because my vital readings did not match that of humans. No harm was intended.” Loki spoke mildly and strode forward to take a seat directly across from Barnes. “But tell me more about this ‘weirdness’. Do you suppose it’s related to the time stone?”

He helped himself to some bread and jam, and began to paint the latter across the former, performatively, of course-- a show of unconcern.

When he glanced up, though, it was his turn to receive the full weight of Barnes’ glare.

“Time stone?” The widow asked sharply.

“Oh. I’m sorry-- did they not know?” Loki asked, pretending at surprise.

“Is there a magical artifact in my house, and you didn’t tell me?” Stark demanded.

Banner stood.

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna excuse myself. Ah-- Pepper, can you update me or give me a call if I’m needed?”

“Of course.” She said smoothly, watching him go then turning her eyes back to Rogers and Barnes, who looked both cornered and uncomfortable.

Loki took a bite of his toast.

“Look, as much as I’m not excited about having the time stone here, I think we’re burying the lede. What weird stuff did Jarvis pick up, Tony?” the Hawk spoke up, having held his peace and just made faces for a bit, but, as ever, keeping his eye on the big picture. Loki shot him an appreciative glance.

“Like I said, it started flaring up-- and with the time stone present-- I assume you have it stored in the arm?” Stark asked pointedly, his gaze dropping to Barnes’ shirt sleeve covered prosthetic.

He pushed the sleeve up and opened a compartment, revealing the time stone, glowing a soft green.

To Loki’s eyes, it was pulsing, however faintly, but that wasn’t the real concern.

“It’s corrupting the metal. Or-- the metal is absorbing it?” He murmured, surprised and enthralled. “I’ve never seen something like that happen before.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, at the same time as Barnes snapped “It’s what?”

“Jarvis?” The Widow asked, standing to come closer.

“The stone is emitting a low level of power. I can confirm that the metal of Sergaent Barnes’s arm is absorbing it. It is, however, also releasing it back and amplifying the power in the stone’s direction at a .20 percent increase from the original radiation.”

Loki nodded.

“The pulsing-- the arm is absorbing the power, storing it, and then releasing it back stronger. This, in turn, overflows the limits of the stone-- causing it to release more.”

Barnes immediately plucked the stone from the compartment with his flesh hand.

“That’s all well and good,” Loki said, “but that leaves us with one problem: we’ll need to draw the power out of your arm.”

Rogers looked to him. “Can you do that?”

“I can.” Loki said. “I cannot guarantee there will not be lingering effects, but the excess we can draw out. Only, I will need to do something with it.”

Loki turned to look at Stark.

“Are you capable of building some sort of containment for it?”

“I don’t even know what ‘it’ is, that’s a power source unlike any we’ve seen before.”

“And the longer it stays within the cavity of Barnes’s arm, the more it grows.” Loki said calmly, then sighed.

“I can… try to ground it, or disperse it, but until I try, until I have it in my hands, I will have little idea as to the best way. Is there a safe place that Barnes and I may go to try and mitigate any damage we may cause?”

Loki saw Barnes narrow his eyes, and it did not escape him the way his flesh fist clenched all the tighter around the stone.

“I have the space upstate-- pretty isolated, big plot of land. That should be safest. I’m going with you, of course-- I gotta see this. And I doubt Steve’s gonna want to stay behind.”

“Nope.” Rogers responded quickly.

“We’ll hold down the fort here.” The widow responded, clearly not needing to ask the hawk how he felt about such exercises. Loki nodded in acknowledgement.

“To upstate, then.”

---

The upstate facility seemed to be somewhat more like a hangar than a tower, which Loki was grateful for. Less to fall on them, should something go wrong. And Stark insisted it was well built, launching into specifications and logistics than Loki had no interest in and didn’t understand.

Instead, upon arrival, he’d begun arranging a table with chairs for himself and Barnes-- opposite sides, to keep the surface between them. For Barnes’ peace of mind, more than anything else.

Loki settled down and gestured at the table.

“If you’re ready.” He said.

Barnes took his seat, and lay the limb out. Loki had been, admittedly, curious about it, and was finally being allowed his first close up examination of the thing.

“The workmanship is beautiful. Utilitarian, yes, but intricate and graceful all the same.” Loki ran his fingers gently up the edges where he knew the hollow was, able to feel the energy humming beneath his fingertips.

“I don’t need a narration.” Barnes said, sounding uncomfortable and cross, which Loki decided likely translated to scared and trying to hide it.

“Of course.” He answered smoothly.

The panel folded back and away, and he dipped his fingertips into the glowing green pool that had formed in the absence of the time stone.

“Ah.” He said, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what it was.

It was cold and hummed, the sensation not unlike being buffeted by a river. But it climbed his arm, and he felt it pulling at him, trying to toss him to or fro, back into the past and forward into the future simultaneously.

He put out a few tendrils of his own power, anchoring himself to the here and now, and urged the energy of the stone up over his fingers, across the back of his hand, and then, as he rolled his wrist, into his palm to pool.

Once he held it and was certain it would not leap forth nor spill through the cracks, he flicked his eyes back to Barnes.

There was no further trace of it there, though the metal sang with the empty echoes of a newly hollow vessel.

“I think you must take care to keep it separate from that metal, going forward. It is… It reacts oddly.”

Indeed, it was vibrating with a movement he was not used to feeling from time related magics. It had become agitated with its constant duplication, and it wanted now to burst free.

He frowned.

He could not put it to ground in such a state; it would merely spread itself out, affecting all it touched.

He could attempt to contain it with his own magics, however, and with any luck they might be able to lock that away in more conventional metals, for study or future use.

This course of action decided upon, Loki called his magics up and through him, pulling from the soles of his feet, though the core of him and down his arm to wrap around the power in his palm.

But in doing so, he made one critical error.

Before the power was contained, Loki became unmoored. And the power was interested only in spreading, now. He felt as it latched on to his power and tried to pull back, but it was no good, and too late.

The power of the stone slid within him, and he felt as time within him lurched, shifted, and changed.

#Stoki Whumptober2020 #Stoki #Frostshield #Capfrost #Steve Rogers #Loki #MCU Fanfic #Whumptober #That Writing Thing I do #I am so excited for tomorrow's installation you guys

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ronnytherandom · 4 years

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Media n Stuff

2/1/2021: American Psycho

Excellent, truly. Has a lot to say about those on the top of our social hierarchy, the wealthy and influential and how our modern system facilitates them at the expense of everyone else. A very stylish film, well edited and directed. Rests upon a truly magnificent performance in the case of Christian Bale’s Patrick Bateman, who does a fantastic job of playing something pretending to be human. Soundtrack is a bop.

3/1/2021: Se7en

All right, not my kind of thing ultimately. There are some thoughts about legacy and what doing good means here but I feel its slightly obscure and could be more clearly stated; perhaps I wasn’t paying close enough attention. Directing is top notch. The acting also is good but nothing truly incredible. The suspense is very effective but on occasion can be defeated by pacing, excess time creating boredom. Further it was partially predictable, which harmed the effectiveness of the piece. Though the point of the state of the victims is to inspire disgust this especially did not fit the remit of entertainment for me.

4/1/2021: The Martian

Highly Enjoyable. As usual, weaker than the novel but not to a Golden Compass level. Any work that bends heaven and earth to save a single life is good in my books. Retains the wit and the scientific backbone to good effect to offset the bleakness. Likewise, the back-and-forth structure between Mars and other locations helps to make the survival scenario less overbearing. Star-studded cast, and I think rightfully so here as the performances are generally very good. Matt Damon as Mark Watney has many moments of excellence. Mars is beautiful and I’m glad Ridley Scott captured that well, on top of doing a job that lives up to his reputation.

5/1/2021: Dredd

Good. Though I worry about the implications of a “Not All Cops Bad” message, it could be interpreted elsewise and is decidedly sympathetic to civilians which works in its favour. There is the aspect of portraying Police and Criminals as two sides of the same coin, with Dredd and Anderson existing outside of said dichotomy to some degree, but ultimately implying that the existing system just needs the right people in it without severe reform, though again that’s up for debate. Otherwise, good spectacle and very nice presentation; the film can be beautiful at times and when it isn’t it has excellent action. Something I appreciate is a clear view of the action, rather than the choppy action of modern superhero films, and an unflinching approach to the depiction of gore even if I was flinching at times. Though I’m unfamiliar with the original work I find this an interesting dystopia, even if Dredd himself can be a little cliché. Performances haven’t left much of an impression though.

6/1/2021: The Wolf of Wall Street

Meh? It’s well made don’t get me wrong, everything looks and feels high quality. Of course, Scorsese is a good director. Of course, DiCaprio’s acting is fantastic, as is the rest of the acting to be frank, but it just doesn’t come together for me. I don’t feel like there was a compelling reason to sit through that for three whole hours. I can see meaning in the depiction of excess; of Belfort’s alienation, losing everything that should be dear to him; of the animal nature of people who just want to make money. I can appreciate the powerful performances and the craftwork on display. I just didn’t enjoy it.

7/1/2021: Enola Holmes

Enjoyable. Has a more juvenile tone than I like, that’s to be expected from a coming-of-age story, but it certainly does a far better job with the gifted sister idea than the BBC Sherlock series did. At times this film was truly joyous and inspiring and I would attribute that to a cast of endearing characters and a strong thematic core which is carried throughout the story. However, from a more radical perspective I cannot endorse a seeming admonishment of direct action, as much as I appreciate the idea that getting new blood in politics is a progressive step forward. Performances are good, Millie Bobby Brown does well in the lead, though I am not so keen on her 4th wall asides, and I always appreciate the sight of Henry Cavill. Also, proud to see Burn Gorman portray the most accurate Normal Englishman I’ve ever seen. I also wanted to make note of what id consider good editing, felt very snappy and effective.

8/1/2021: Shaun of the Dead

Very good, but maybe doesn’t quite live up to its reputation. Very put off by the use of F and N slurs even if the prior is in context with English slang at the time. Id say this is the lesser of the Cornetto trilogy films but with such competition it’d be hard to come out on top. Quite dry humour, I don’t think all the jokes land, but there are a few true laugh out loud moments. Similarly, it works emotionally only some of the time but at moments, especially in Philips last words, there’s some genuine power. I do feel like the pace lulls slightly too much at moments but is generally very good and saves itself for a fun final sprint. The Zombies themselves are true to Romero’s style of zombie and though the satire is light in comparison to character-zombie parallels it is still effective. Performances are good, and serve well in demonstrating the range of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost in comparison with the later Cornetto films and Bill Nighy is always a treat. I only ever have praise for Edgar Wright as a fan of all his later works, so I’m glad to see even his first feature demonstrates his ability well, stylish young man is our Edgar.

8/1/2021: Avatar: Legend of Korra: Series 1

Not by any stretch a worthy successor but good by its own merit. Has powerful emotional moments and excellent action, I cannot get enough of any kind of bending in this universe. Some characters are likeable; Korra is a good lead, Tenzin is my personal favourite and I want to hug Naga. Bolin, however, can get shafted. his particular brand of comic relief inspires in me an absolute hatred I cannot fully fathom. I have many little gripes though. I find the love “square” (?) plot annoying and do not understand what purpose it serves. Just be honest with each other goddamn! In universe I wonder at the limits of metal bending, but the police are content simply to launch cables with it. Why are the Chi Fighters such an obstacle in the first half and yet become cannon fodder by the end? I also feel like a lot of the “powerful moments” I feel are dependent on nostalgia for The Last Airbender, such as any moment where the original theme is played, or when General Iroh appears etc. This is particularly egregious with the feature of cabbage corp. Really? It is frustrating to me that Korra spends the entire series past the second episode tell-not-showing us she can’t airbend before having it essentially gifted to her, similarly with the avatar state. As much as she does endure hardship, I feel like the series would be improved even slightly if Korra’s bending is taken away completely and she uses the avatar state to rescue Mako from Amon, when she is actually at her definitive low point. I find with most episodes there are moments which I’m absolutely invested in and really enjoying but then a gripe or two will pop up and marginally ruin the experience for me. But again, these are minor and as much as I fuss over these details the ultimate product is enjoyable and watchable. The setting is certainly interesting but (probably by design) New Republic City clashes too harshly with the magic system, and I think it harms the series. The animators and artists however should be lauded, as the spectacle here is magnificent.

9/1/2021: Ex Machina

Magnificent piece of work. This is what I imagine is actual good cinematography, rather than the usual “pretty stills equals good cinematography” take. Every frame a painting indeed, aided in that way by fantastically beautiful set work. Each actor deserves applause but I feel especially Alicia Vikander. As Ava she does brilliant work and at times uses an alien affectation which is an impressive highlight of attention to detail here. The director knows exactly what they’re doing, the whole thing has a kind of spotless professionalism. Special Effects are minimalist but used so very well, especially the work of making Ava and the other AI look so real. I love that this is a film which doesn’t stoop to explaining every little thing and treats the audience as an equal, and how the tension is reflected in all aspects of the piece and builds to such a mighty crescendo, though I was quite put off by the self-harm scene and would rather that were not a thing. Not only all of that but its deeply meaningful with a lot to say about our own minds (I don’t think Nathan passes Turing test) with a decidedly feminist angle too. It really is a treat.

10/1/2021: Sourcery (unfinished)

Even as a fan of early Pratchett, this ain’t it chief. I don’t like it. The jokes don’t land, the only character I like is The Librarian and the whole thing just kind of bores me, so I’ve stopped somewhere just past halfway as I can’t be fussed for the rest. I don’t care about Coin, or the wizards, or Rincewind, even the Luggage has lost that pariah charisma it usually has. Conina feels weird? I feel like there this constant unnecessary sexualisation of her and Rincewind’s affections seem more than mildly inappropriate. I’ve been reading it a week and I’ve barely been able to drag myself to it these past couple of days so I feel its time for something a little fresher.

10/1/2021: The Two Popes

Very good. There is excellence in all aspects of this films craft. Johnathan Pryce gives an endearing performance; Anthony Hopkins is likewise very good as you’d expect. I think this is a film to listen to through a good sound system, the sound work struck me as exceptional in its attention to detail while the soundtrack is good fun. Direction is dynamic and effective most evidently in the camera work which tends to feel Just Right. Dialogue is very well written and feels very organic. I enjoy the themes of change and reconciliation and feel contrasting the character of the two popes expresses this very effectively, however I would much rather see evidence of genuine change that surely must’ve occurred rather than a simple implication of change as we see. There is the argument to be made that fully reconciling the old and the new without altering material reality, beyond giving speeches encouraging others to do so, represents the will to change being co-opted and perverted by the conservative establishment. But its still a nice sentiment and a well made film regardless.

#film #books #series #opinion #american psycho #se7en #the martian #dredd #the wolf of wall street #enola holmes #shaun of the dead #avatar the legend of korra #ex machina #sourcery #the two popes

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 5

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks

Summary: The visit to the market, the special dinner, and an unwelcome surprise.

Note: Meilin’s name means “plum jade.” Wen Qing seems to refer to Fourth Uncle as shifu, but I did excessive research and it can also be jifu, so I went with that. Yes, I brought in the concept of zhiyin, which has historical origins and has been talked about as a word that could have been used in The Untamed, a missed opportunity that means both “soulmate” and more literally “understanding the music,” as in of the heart/soul. Which, given that Lan WangJi wrote Wei WuXian a love song and they play a duet of it near the end of CQL, like omg. I did far too much research on shit like dying cloth and what plants grow best in poor soil, etc. Some dialog is adapted from episode 29 of CQL.

AO3 link

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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The trip to town is blessedly uneventful. Wen Qing sends one of the older aunties, who had introduced herself as Meilin-jie at breakfast and who is put in charge of the money, and Wen QiongLin, who insists Lan WangJi call him Wen Ning.

He sends the missive to XiChen first, then does his best to distract himself from what must follow before his brother’s arrival: a long overdue conversation with Wei Ying. After his musings of the morning, Lan WangJi had realized perhaps the best way to minimize damage and protect his zhiji was to, with his consent, formalize the handfasting from years ago.

He only hopes the idea does not upset or offend Wei Ying; Lan WangJi himself has no scruples on the matter. His understanding of his feelings toward his soulmate have cleared since coming to Burial Mounds.

With the letter sent, Lan WangJi has only days to approach him.

Wei Ying is, unsurprisingly, easily sidetracked in each shop, flitting around to browse while Meilin selects supplies for sewing blankets and fibers for the making of bedding. Lan WangJi is pleased when she asks his opinion when it comes to fabrics for the more practical robes the aunties will sew for him, letting her explain the benefits of certain fabrics. Ultimately the choice is simply a matter of color.

Lan WangJi is practical, and chooses the least expensive option, an undyed fabric that’s a mottled cream. His choice receives a nod of approval from Meilin. She easily haggles the price down further by buying a bulk amount, clearly planning to make more robes.

“On the way home, we’ll harvest bamboo leaves,” she tells him, and pats his arm with a smile. “We can use them to dye the fabric a pale green for you. Very light, but it will even out the color, make it look nicer. We’ll get a cheap mordant in the market.”

Her thoughtfulness toward him, when he’s foisted himself on the refugees, is touching.

Wei Ying chooses that moment to wander over. “Light colors stain so easily, though.”

Meilin only laughs at him. “Not everyone is like you, young master. There are other dyes we can create for you, darker ones. I was once a seamstress, you know!”

Lan WangJi had never considered the art of fabric dying to be something he would learn, but he is willing to help the aunties if needed; any learning is worthwhile.

She chooses other, heavier fabrics for use creating blankets and bedding, haggling ruthlessly but buying in large enough quantities that the shop owner is satisfied.

A bookstore is nearby, giving Lan WangJi the opportunity to quickly peruse books about plants and farming.

“Carrots, beets, squash, beans, tomatoes,” he reports when he rejoins them outside.

He feels mildly guilty for perusing without purchase, but practicality dictates his actions now.

“There are a lot of v-varieties of squash,” Wen Ning contributes. “So we can t-try to grow several?”

“Not potatoes?” Wei Ying asks, sounding a bit put-out.

“Wen Qing is correct in that they are not as easy to grow,” Lan WangJi tells him.

Wei Ying just sighs. “Well, at least it’s something other than radishes.”

Meilin insists they have a bit of lunch to tide them over, purchasing inexpensive food from street vendors. Wen Ning does not require food, and Lan WangJi claims to be practicing inedia and insists Wei Ying eat his share. And with the three of them watching expectantly, he for once doesn’t argue.

Since they expect XiChen in the coming week, Wen Qing had given them leave to purchase a small amount of tea. Lan WangJi selects based on scent, choosing one he is certain his brother has never tried, but is likely to enjoy.

After some time in the market purchasing plants, seeds, herbs, produce, meat, and building material, it becomes easily apparent that bringing their purchases back to Burial Mounds will not be a simple endeavor. Meilin’s suggestion that they buy a cart, which will also be useful during farming and building, is a welcome one.

By the time they head back toward Burial Mounds, Wen Ning pushing the laden cart, the sun is starting to set, and dusk is fast approaching when they reach its borders. The trek to the small settlement leaves them nearing twilight. Though it is still hours until hai shi, Lan WangJi’s day has been full, and he looks forward to rest. He can only imagine Wei Ying, whose body is weakened by prolonged lack of food, is exhausted.

Wen Qing seems to agree. She takes one look at him and tells him to go lay down “before I make you,” holding up a needle.

While Lan WangJi prefers she not threaten him, he also knows his stubborn nature likely has made that a necessity. Wen Qing waits until Wei Ying is past her on his way to the cave, then looks at him pointedly and jerks her head subtly in a silent order to go with him.

He leaves the rest of the settlement to unload the cart, his mind turning once again to the need to address their relationship, the need to address what he knows Wei Ying does not understand about what happened in the Cold Spring cave those years ago.

A-Yuan’s interference, running for Wei Ying the moment he sees him and insisting upon being picked up, allows Lan WangJi to catch up. Popo is lagging behind the boy, looking quite tired.

“Ah, Wei-gongzi, a-Yuan hasn’t taken his nap yet. He was too excited waiting for you.”

The slight smile on her face tells Lan WangJi that the elder had made sure of that; it’s nice to know these people are also trying to care for Wei Ying however possible.

Wei Ying doesn’t seem to notice the smile, swinging a-Yuan around in his arms. “Okay, my little radish, let’s get you a nap before dinner.”

Lan WangJi offers a short, polite bow to popo who waves it off in embarrassment, and follows them to the cave.

“I will play ‘Rest,’ so he may sleep easier.”

That gets a sideways glance from Wei Ying, but he seems to accept that Lan WangJi isn’t going to yield.

While they nap, Lan WangJi attempts meditation, but is kept from it by his own thoughts, his own fears. Instead he finds himself watching them, Wei Ying curled around the boy protectively, a-Yuan’s face snuggled against his chest.

He expects Wei Ying will be angry he never told him of the handfasting, but he also fears he will be against the very idea. Lan WangJi feels as though they have danced around defining their relationship for years. During the Phoenix Mountain hunt, he thought perhaps that had changed when Wei Ying called him zhiji.

But there were different types of zhiji, and he has never asked what Wei Ying means by it. Lan WangJi would be happy for Wei Ying to be his zhiji, his zhiyin, and beyond. His everything.

He longs to be the same to Wei Ying.

He fears his regard for Wei Ying surpasses Wei Ying’s regard for him, that he will regard Lan WangJi with disgust.

It is an old fear, one he is well-acquainted with, and one he can no longer allow to control him.

He also hopes to convince Wei Ying to confide in XiChen about his golden core—at least about no longer having one, if not how.

Lan WangJi does not usually keep secrets from XiChen—the handfasting is the exception. But even though Wei Ying had not asked Lan WangJi to keep his secret, he will not reveal it to XiChen himself.

Lan WangJi has already done so much to lose Wei Ying’s trust, and he never wishes to give him reason to doubt him again.

Eventually Wen Qing comes to summon them for dinner. They exit the cave to find red lanterns hung on the trees and structures, and only then does Lan WangJi remember her comment about a “special dinner” the night before.

Wei Ying looks surprised to see the Wen remnants waiting in the communal area. They stand and gather around when he walks in.

“Ah, you’re all still awake? Isn’t it late?”

Lan WangJi realizes that they probably retire shortly after dark, keeping to the schedule of farmers.

“All these lanterns… Aren’t the lanterns too costly?” Wei Ying asks.

“We made them, of course,” Wen Qing replies, carrying in a plate of food and setting it on one of the tables. “We’ll hang more along the mountain path. The last thing we need is you slipping and breaking a leg, making more work for me.”

Wei Ying laughs softly, and sits at a table. None of the others move.

“What, you haven’t started dinner yet?”

“No. We were waiting for you.”

Wei Ying blinks at Wen Qing.

“Why did you wait for me?”

She offers him a cup, acting as a proper hostess.

“You’ve worked hard,” she tells him.

Though he takes the cup, Wei Ying looks uncomfortable. Lan WangJi knows he’s never been comfortable with gratitude, even though he’s often earned it, almost as though he still feels unworthy. When he thanks others, it’s often in a self-effacing way, as though he is undeserving of the kindness he has received.

“You’re suddenly talking so nicely to me,” he comments, grinning. “I’m a little scared.”

His voice is undeniably fond, and another laugh ripples through the small group. There’s a camaraderie among these people, one Lan WangJi hopes he might be able to join. These months and their struggles have made them close, though he doubts Wei Ying allows himself to feel a part of it.

This dinner, he realizes, is the way they have chosen to let him know he truly is family. Wei Ying adopted them when he saved them from certain death, and they have adopted him in return.

Wen Qing smiles. “In fact, they all wished to have dinner with you. To thank you. But you’re always running around and busy, or shutting yourself in your cave for days on end not letting anyone disturb you, and they didn’t want to disrupt your work and annoy you.”

Lan WangJi watches Wei Ying, the way his face slackens from the smiling expression he usually maintains, the words of gratitude making it hard to maintain the mask he presents to the world.

“They thought you didn’t like interacting with others and didn’t want to talk to them,” Wen Qing scolds gently, “so they were too embarrassed to protest.”

A murmur of agreement rises among the Wens.

Surprise crosses Wei Ying’s face, and Lan WangJi realizes he had probably kept his distance believing the Wens would want little to do with him. Regardless of the unconcerned face he presents to the world when he’s criticized and when crass and slanderous stories about him are shared, he knows his zhiji feels them deeply. The smiling mask he presents to the world hides the pain of all the traumas and ills he has suffered.

And with Wei Ying’s role in the war, he had probably assumed despite having saved them they would fear him. So he had kept his distance, had split from his adopted clan to appease cultivation politics, and had accepted loneliness as his only companion all these months.

Lan WangJi’s heart aches for him, remembering his reaction over lunch just yesterday to the news of his shijie’s impending wedding, the excitement so quickly followed by a forlorn dejection as he realized he would never see it, that he had sacrificed that ability through his choice to remain true to his sense of justice and righteousness.

Wen Qing smiles at him again with a soft sigh, the expression gentle as though she too knows Wei Ying’s pain.

“Now a-Ning woke up, and we’ve been busy celebrating. Hanguang-Jun’s decision to stay, we’ve been busy with arrangements. Meilin-jie said you had a nice lunch in town, but even if you’re not hungry, please sit with us and chat and have a few drinks.”

The Wens take this as a call to disperse to the gathered tables to eat, and Lan WangJi takes a seat at Wei Ying’s table, along with popo, a-Yuan, Wen Qing, and jifu.

Wei Ying’s expression is momentarily reflective, but then perks up.

“Drinks? There’s liquor here?”

He is clearly excited, as though Lan WangJi hadn’t bought him wine during lunch just the previous day. Wei Ying’s obsession with alcohol, combined with his mental state, worries him.

Someone brings over a jar, and jifu opens it, smiling widely.

“Fruit wine,” he clarifies. “Made from the wild fruit growing on the mountain.”

Lan WangJi focuses on filling his bowl, not commenting as he would like that perhaps the fruit would have been better for Wei Ying to eat, given his emaciated state. But this is not his celebration, and the Wens are obviously elated to be able to offer a luxury to their benefactor.

But given the spread of food on the tables now, the fact that there are still funds remaining, the comments he’d heard over breakfast about the impending radish harvest, he can focus on helping ensure Wei Ying gains health again.

These refugees and Wei Ying deserve a bit of luxury in the face of all they have lost. Such small luxuries offer slivers of hope in the darkness they have faced.

“Jifu likes drinking. He knows how to brew, and he made it especially for you,” Wen Qing tells him. “He’s been trying for a while.”

“Really? I’ll have to try some!”

Wei Ying sounds excited and eager, the first Lan WangJi has seen since Yiling the previous day, and his excitement only grows when he tastes and deems the wine delicious. Jifu watches, laughing, his expression one of paternal affection.

When jifu offers some to Lan WangJi, he thanks him but declines. Wei Ying’s laugh is unexpected, his eyes turning to half-moons with glee.

“Lan Zhan has no tolerance for liquor!” His smile is true and beautiful, the kind he hasn’t seen from him in what might be years now, since before the war perhaps. “I once tricked him into drinking and he passed out after only one cup! If all Lans have such low tolerance, no wonder alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses!”

Gentle laughs rise up from the tables around them, but Lan WangJi isn’t offended. Though he had submitted himself for punishment, that the memory gives Wei Ying joy now is enough compensation for him.

“Ah, I was a brat,” he comments. “But somehow we became close anyway.”

“You still are a brat,” Wen Qing tells him.

Wei Ying makes a show of being offended, but is quickly distracted when Wen Ning brings out more food and jifu pours him another bowl of wine.

Through the conversation, Lan WangJi learns Wen Ning has cooked all the dishes, is a proficient chef. He gathers the food is better prepared than they are used to, with a wider variety of flavors. He doesn’t contribute to the conversation while eating, and Wei Ying explains that Lan principles prohibit speaking while eating, and the Wens nod in acceptance. They still speak to him, but don’t expect a response.

A-Yuan giggles at Wen Ning’s appearance, as he has streaks of charcoal across his face from cooking, and calls him Coal-gege, to the laughter of the group. Wen Qing stands to wipe his face gently, in a motherly way.

Wei Ying’s eyes grow distant at that, the smile fading a bit, and Lan WangJi knows he is thinking about what he lost. He starts filling his zhiji’s bowl, taking care to avoid radishes, and it has the desired effect of distraction.

“You’re spoiling me, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, his smile still dimmed, but firmly in the present again.

“You’re too thin,” popo tells him. “Always giving your food to a-Yuan.”

“Mn,” Lan WangJi agrees, skirting the line of the principle about speech without directly violating it.

He is, after all, not in the Cloud Recesses, even if he chooses to follow the rules regardless.

“And no one wants to have to carry you drunk to bed,” Wen Qing adds, “so you need to eat if you’re going to drink more.”

More soft laughter follows, along with a toast to “Wei-gongzi.” Lan WangJi joins with his cup of water. The atmosphere of the meal, the soft chatter at each table, is wholesome and comfortable, and very different to what he is used to, lacking the silence of Cloud Recesses or the strained feeling of banquets.

Distinctly distant from his own experiences, a sort of controlled chaos, and yet he finds it soothing.

Too soon, it seems, it is hai shi. Lan WangJi bids the room goodnight. Wei Ying waves as he heads out, still engaged in lively banter and drinking with several of the uncles, including jifu. Popo carries a sleepy a-Yuan from the area, accompanying him partway to the cave.

“Goodnight, Rich-gege,” the boy murmurs, half asleep. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“I am as well.”

He pats the boy’s head before retiring to the cave.

Lan WangJi is still only somewhat familiar with life on Burial Mounds, and though he would normally wash his face before sleeping he will need to learn where to go for water in the morning instead.

Hours later, he’s woken by a shout of panic and a thump, followed by Wei Ying tripping over him blindly. He lights a talisman to find him plastered against the wall, his eyes wide and wild.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying barely glances in his direction, then back to the center of the chamber, his flute held out like a shield.

“Dog. Dog, Lan Zhan.”

His voice is filled with more panic than Lan WangJi has ever heard from him, even in the midst of the worst battles in the war.

A growl catches his attention and elicits a whimper from Wei Ying.

Near the boulder Wei Ying uses as a bed, Lan WangJi can make out a pair of glowing red eyes. As he focuses, he can see the outline of a large dog, its body made of and leaking resentful energy. Animal ghosts aren’t uncommon, but this one seems especially hostile.

The normal protocol is to attempt liberation first, followed by suppression or elimination if necessary, but Wei Ying is pressed against the wall, curled in on himself, his voice a hoarse croak.

And so Lan WangJi does not feel guilt manifesting his guqin and using Chord Assassination to eliminate immediately, rending the resentful energy into wisps that dissipate into the shadows. He dismisses the instrument, and turns to Wei Ying, who is shaking, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Wei Ying, it’s gone.”

Wei Ying looks his way again, and Lan WangJi realizes he’s beyond words, his pupils blown wide in terror. He’s beyond even speaking, just mouthing “dog.”

Lan WangJi worries that manifesting his guqin again could send him into a full panic, that he could hurt himself. So instead he imbues his spiritual energy into his voice and hums “Clarity,” letting the song reach out to him to soothe.

It takes a couple of verses before Wei Ying’s tension starts to ease, the flute lowering. But his shaking doesn’t stop. Lan WangJi reaches for him slowly, pulling him away from the wall, closer to him.

“It’s gone, Wei Ying,” he repeats.

“Gone?”

His voice cracks in the middle of the word.

“Eliminated,” he clarifies. “It won’t come back.”

The sound Wei Ying makes in response is almost a sob, and he goes almost boneless in relief on the cave floor. Even now, he’s trembling, his breathing erratic, and Lan WangJi recognizes he’s having a mild panic attack.

He didn’t know Wei Ying was so afraid of dogs, never expected a phobia of this intensity—he’s seen him face down some of the most terrifying monsters with barely a blink, but he’s been sent into a state of near-hysteria by a ghost dog.

But Wei Ying is in no condition to explain, and he’s still in the throes of panic; he shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t resist when Lan WangJi pulls him closer, shifting on the bedroll to share it, covering them both with the blanket, barely reacts at all. Wei Ying’s breath smells of alcohol, and he’s certain it made his fear worse.

Lan WangJi imbues his voice again and hums “Rest,” letting his zhiji settle against him. When he’s still, his breathing even, he softly sings “WangXian” to him somewhat self-indulgently, then listens to Wei Ying’s breathing until he, too, has fallen back to sleep.

#the untamed #untamed fanfiction #cql #chen qing ling #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wen qing #wen ning #wei ying #wen qionglin #my fanfiction

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madlori · 5 years

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Unveiled - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 2800 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Definitely sex in this one.

Zhenya gets to know Sidney a little more, and enjoys some more intimate time with his consort.

Read it on AO3

The next day’s 3:00 p.m. appointment was just as satisfying as their first. Zhenya entered the bedchamber to find his consort waiting for him, veiled as before, except instead of sitting primly, he was already stretched out on his side, looking relaxed and even...eager. He’d reached up to help Zhenya off with his dressing gown and pulled him down to the bed. Zhenya had lain between his legs to enter him this time, pushing his thighs back against his chest to spread him wide. The consort had wrapped those thick legs around Zhenya’s waist, pulling him closer and placing his hands on Zhenya’s chest, and Zhenya had come so hard he feared the top of his head had blown off. Afterwards, he’d slid down and taken his husband’s cock in his mouth to bring him to orgasm, his hands in Zhenya’s hair, tightening into fists when he came.

Over the next few days, life began to settle into normalcy. Matters of state demanded Zhenya’s attention, but he would not hear of missing their appointments -- it certainly made an excellent excuse for getting out of boring meetings. Several times he saw his husband walking on the grounds or inside the palace, always heavily draped and always accompanied by his guards. On two occasions, those guards included his midnight snack friend Sidney, looking sharp and handsome in his uniform -- he also had a spectacular ass, Zhenya couldn’t help but notice. What was in the water over there in New Scotland that it produced so many handsome and well-proportioned men? All of his husband’s male guards were excessively pleasing to look at -- the female guards were, as well, but Zhenya took less notice of them, as they were not to his taste. The second in command of the guard, Lieutenant Letang, looked like an Instagram model.

It only whetted Zhenya’s appetite further to know what his husband looked like beneath his drapings and veils. He hoped fervently for him to conceive, so that the countdown to their embargo’s end could begin and they could anticipate his unveiling together.

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On the fifth day after his marriage, Zhenya went to the stables after breakfast, for no real reason other than to visit his horses and perhaps brush them, an activity he found soothing. When he arrived, he found Sidney there, standing at a stall and feeding apple slices to Lady Esther, a sweet-natured gray mare, cooing to her softly and stroking her neck. She looked quite besotted, which Zhenya could understand. Sidney looked up when Zhenya entered but did not snap to attention, merely smiled in greeting. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” he said.

“Good morning,” he said, mildly confused to find him there.

“I hope you don’t mind my visiting your stables,” he said. “I love horses and miss the ones I had to leave behind in New Scotland.”

“I don’t mind.” Zhenya said, picking up a brush. “I’m sure they will appreciate the extra attention.” He went into Admiral’s stall and began brushing him. “You grew up with horses?”

Sidney hesitated for a moment. “I started out working as a groom on the Duke and Duchess’s estate, that’s how I met His Highness. I was a good rider in my youth and nearly became competitive, but...it didn’t work out.”

Zhenya didn’t press the matter. “You’re welcome to ride here.”

Sidney looked up at him. “Really?”

“Of course. Except for Admiral, he is mine. All the other horses are for the use of the palace residents and staff. The grooms can advise you on which horse might suit you.” He smiled. “Lady Esther might be a little tame for your taste.”

Sidney stroked her nose. “She’s a sweetheart. That’s my taste.”

Zhenya made a quick decision. “Care to go for a ride now?”

“Could we?” Sidney said, wide-eyed.

“Sure. I have a little free time, if you have.”

“I’m not back on duty until after lunch.”

“Then let me show you my favorite trail.”

The grooms saddled Admiral and Lady Esther -- Sidney could not be dissuaded -- and they rode out towards the lake.

“It’s beautiful here,” Sidney said, after a few minutes’ silence.

“It is. I’m so used to it, it’s useful to be reminded.” He glanced over at his companion’s strong profile. “What does New Scotland look like?”

“It’s on the water, quite rocky. It has its own beauty, but here it feels...wider.”

“You miss it.”

“In a way. It’s where I was born and raised. But there comes a time when you want something new.”

Zhenya sighed. “I wouldn’t know. I am bound to this land, by blood and law. I may visit other places, but here is where I was born and where I shall die.”

They were quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Why isn’t your brother the crown prince? He’s older, is he not?”

“Yes, he is. My brother was unwilling to go through the embargo. He abdicated his claim to the throne many years ago.”

“He was...unwilling?”

“He has taken a calling to orders, which disqualifies him from being King.”

“I see. And you felt no such calling?” Sidney’s voice was cautious.

“My faith is what you might call...performative.”

Sidney grinned. “A heathen King?”

Zhenya laughed. “Don’t spread that around. I respect that it’s important to many of my citizens, although I know there are many who wouldn’t care. Sometimes I feel dishonest, to go through the motions for their benefit, but I must weigh my conscience against the health of my reign.”

“But you believe in the embargo.”

“The embargo may have the trappings of a matter of devotion, but in reality it’s a practical consideration, not a religious one. It began as a sacred rite, but now it’s more a cultural practice.”

Sidney nodded. “That’s well-put.”

“My husband is more...devoted, is he not?”

He glanced at Zhenya. “What makes you think so?”

“His strict observance of the embargo.”

“As you say, the embargo is more cultural than religious.”

“So he is not? Religious?”

“You’d have to ask him, once you’re allowed. But I would say...casually? Observing the holidays, and such.”

“Ah. In that we are similar.” They rode in silence for a few minutes. “A question of my own, if I may?”

“Of course.”

“You seem very...comfortable with me. Informal, even. I don’t mind -- in fact, it’s refreshing -- but it’s not an attitude I often encounter.”

Sidney shifted in his saddle and looked away, seeming a bit uncertain how to answer. “I apologize if I presume too much on such a short acquaintance.”

“I said I didn’t object. You are not one of my subjects, after all. You report to the consort.”

“Perhaps it’s my long acquaintance with him that’s to blame. I’ve grown accustomed to a casual manner with those far above my station. He encourages such familiarity from those around him.”

“It’s been my observation that those who insist on strict etiquette and become angry when the trappings of rank aren’t observed to the letter are those who are insecure in their station, and need people to bow and scrape to them to bolster their self-image.”

Sidney laughed. “That’s your observation, eh?”

“Do you disagree?”

“Not at all, I’m just surprised to hear a Crown Prince say so. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve surprised me, Your Royal Highness.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke the title, and Zhenya felt a guilty flutter in his stomach. Sidney beamed a wide smile, and the flutter became a full on gut-twisting wrench -- the man had the most beautiful smile Zhenya had ever seen.

-------

The next morning, Sasha was lurking around Zhenya’s quarters, polishing shoes, while Zhenya sat reading his morning dispatches and having his tea. “You went riding with that guard yesterday,” Sasha said.

“What of it?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just...you know how tongues wag around here.”

“What is there to wag about?”

Sasha gave him an are you serious look. “He is exceedingly good-looking.”

“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” He stared at Sasha and silently dared him to call him a liar.

Sasha just shrugged. “If you wanna fuck him, then fuck him. That guy’s a four-course meal, nobody will judge you.”

“Oh, they won’t?”

“Zhenya, you’re in an arranged marriage. Nobody in an arranged marriage is expected to give up pleasurable dalliances, or even love affairs, if any come along. Once your husband’s given you an heir, he could get his own bit on the side if he wants to.”

“A week ago, I’d have agreed with you.”

Sasha put down his shoe polish and walked over to refill Zhenya’s tea, his eyes flicking to Zhenya’s face. “This consort of yours has you rattled, doesn’t he?”

Zhenya sighed. “He’s…” He hesitated. “You know Seryhoza has been giving him all the daily dispatches and reports?”

“Yes.”

“Every afternoon I find them on my desk, covered in notes. Ideas, suggestions, even corrections. And you know what? He’s always right. I’m starting to think he should be running the country, not me.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that...well, obviously I don’t know him. But his associates are devoted to him. I’ve yet to hear a bad word spoken of him. The way he’s been with me, even in what limited contact we’re allowed…” He trailed off. “I think he must be extraordinary.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think I could love him. Perhaps we could love each other. It could be more than an arranged marriage. He’s fulfilled everything I could have asked for from an embargoed consort and more. I can’t justify throwing away that chance after less than a week because one of his guards has a brilliant smile and a spectacular ass.”

“Your consort’s ass is nothing to shake a stick at, you know.”

Zhenya smiled. “I’m saying there’s no harm in waiting until the embargo is lifted and I can get to know him properly before everyone writes off our marriage as a loveless arrangement and we get carte blanche to fuck other people.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’ll have a horrible shrill voice and it’ll be so off-putting the whole enterprise will be doomed.”

“Oh, no. He’s got a very nice voice, not shrill at all.”

Zhenya sat straight up. “You’ve heard his voice?” he exclaimed.

Sasha just looked at him like he’d grown another head. “Zhenya, you do know that the whole no-talking rule is only for you, right? He can talk to whoever else he likes, as long as you can’t hear him.”

The rub was, Zhenya did know that, but in his momentary flash of jealousy that Sasha had heard his husband’s voice, he’d forgotten himself. “Of course. I’m...yes.” He frowned. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“Oh, God, no. That rule’s for everybody.” He stood up and took Zhenya’s breakfast tray. “I’ll be back to dress you in a bit.” He left with the tray, shutting the door behind him.

He hadn’t been gone more than ten seconds before there was a knock at the door -- not the bedroom door, but the door that led into the royal bedchamber. It could be nobody but his consort. Zhenya started to call for him to come in, then remembered himself. He got up and went to the door and opened it.

His consort was standing back a little in the usual garb he wore in this chamber -- nothing at all save his veils, the ones Zhenya was beginning to think of as his sex veils. Zhenya’s eyes slid down his toned stomach to his cock, which was semi-hard. He was a little surprised that his husband would come to him outside their scheduled appointments -- confirmed every day via messengered card just as they had been the first time -- but it was a pleasant surprise.

The consort reached out and took Zhenya’s hand, pulling him into the chamber and shutting the door after him. He began removing Zhenya’s nightclothes and leading him back to the bed. Once he’d gotten him naked and laid out on his back, he knelt next to him -- it was hard to tell behind the veils, but he seemed to be looking down at Zhenya’s face. Zhenya just waited -- clearly there was a plan here, and he’d be damned if he’d interfere with it. The consort reached out and placed his fingers over Zhenya’s eyes, gently urging him to close them. When he did, the man’s fingers pressed down a little, a clear message to keep them closed.

Zhenya lay there with his eyes shut, feeling his consort moving down the bed, the rustle of his veils moving against Zhenya’s skin, and then suddenly his warm mouth was around Zhenya’s cock. He gasped, keeping his eyes shut only with effort, and clutched at the sheets to keep from grabbing at him.

The consort tapped his hip twice; Zhenya hoped that was a sign that he could open his eyes now. He did, and saw that his husband had spread his veils over Zhenya’s hips so that he could suck him without violating the embargo. The sight was unexpectedly erotic; he could not see his partner’s mouth on him, or even see himself. All he saw was the vague shape of his head and shoulders moving beneath the veils and his hands on Zhenya’s hips. The sensations were overwhelming. He was rock hard within seconds, biting at his lips to keep quiet. The consort was tonguing at the head of his cock in between long, luxurious strokes of his mouth down his shaft. It was exquisitely torturous.

Just when Zhenya was pondering how he’d communicate to him that he’d better stop or it would be too late, the consort pulled off and knelt up over him, his veils coming with him, keeping him concealed. He shifted to straddle Zhenya’s hips and sank down on his cock, his pussy wet and grasping. Zhenya’s hands flew to his husband’s waist and pulled him down tight; the consort covered Zhenya’s hands with his own and began to move, rolling his hips in tight arcs, his stomach clenching and his own hard cock straining away from his groin. Zhenya moved one hand to stroke him and his grinding movements sped up. The consort’s breathing sped up, he arched his back, his head tipping backwards; Zhenya could only imagine what his bared throat looked like, his flushed face…

Zhenya’s eyes widened as his brain brought up an image of Sidney’s face. What would Sidney look like, in the throes of arousal, riding him like this with his head thrown back and his cock swollen and insistent in Zhenya’s hand?

He grit his teeth and refocused on the actual man fucking him right now. Not Sidney. It didn’t need to be Sidney; his consort was all he needed, all he wanted. How could he want anyone else, when he had this impossibly sexy husband who was driving him to such ecstasies?

Zhenya was determined to get him off first. He licked his palm and stroked the consort’s cock from root to tip, giving the head a little twisting flourish that he knew was very effective when he used it on himself. The consort jerked and whined, deep in his throat, and Zhenya knew he was finding it equally effective. It only took a few more strokes before he was coming all over Zhenya’s stomach. His consort’s body pulsing around Zhenya’s cock pulled his own orgasm from him and he came, straining upwards to fill him as deeply as he could. The consort sucked in a deep breath, grasped Zhenya’s hand and placed it flat and low on his belly, covering it with both of his own and pressing it firmly to him as they shuddered together.

Wetness gathered in Zhenya’s eyes as he shared the wish that his husband was expressing, their hands clasped over his belly, the hope that even now their child might have been created inside him and was already growing.

Zhenya relaxed into the bed and the consort sagged into the cradle of his hips, Zhenya’s cock still snugged tight inside him. Zhenya laced their fingers together and squeezed, hoping he got the message. The consort rested there for a moment, breathing hard, before rolling away and tucking his legs to his chest as he always did, that old wives’ tale position to help the seed reach his womb.

Zhenya rose and put his robe and pajamas back on. He put his hand over his heart and bowed slightly to his consort; he was still curled on his back on the bed, but his face was turned toward him and he answered the bow with a nod. Zhenya just wished he could see if he was smiling.

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#unveiled #hockey rpf #sidgeno #sidgeno fic #my writing #unveiled chapters

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