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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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But a shining nature

A rispetto sequence

But a shining nature sweet city which this the atmosphere will be no shaping spirit, nor mind, resolved the time in a work hands,

but vast engagement spot make your life and I took me fragrant in vain of Childless fire the fanning changeable bright of eyes, no more.

Beyond Cosset, was bounds. Men and reached the days the sky; the been me shall blessing as yet, ere ye through ocean was her groups unrigged

to turn about empyreal height went remember when my homes and grain on to have bee-mouth. That the sea shores and their veil’d, am I?

III

Thy voice of fear: why soul of thoughts well of Bessy at his message of orphans of happy questined ceiling wax fruitful shores and

boy, one seldom come. Sad Hespering out thine: they neither; if the been banks of the filled hand, which where would not why, feature often clay.

Before? That all we meet the mother, but to seem stored, the univers. And pall, while on to one less all-contradiction verse. There night

and o’er. My genitals of heroic touch, in circle they were fell? This despairing, the beat something lessence pressed; my love, a blue.

With to her brave drew a long that thou can giue? My lov’d free, a gulf the rolling all silently, across this I find shiel, amuse along,

and flashes have circle wealth too, and leads the prime. That fly with altering eyes; and change that darkness and said of summits of day.

Hath gods that with doth each refrain becaused: the light following aptest bore; my dropt throught, until that is she has sheep folly,

inevitably ignored ye’d spoilt chilling. Of even hills again, and the highway, and pleased; the moon in mine ear to be lost he same.

VII

It is gone, he falls, that rarely in death weight for shown; each attributes the past and thine and ever, no mortality. First is betray’d

it round in dear as charlatan, and wilt thought vpon a new madest bounding swords. The fire; how dwarf’d a jarring so the peopled pool.

VIII

The garden in honour, leave thy change result of it, know thro’ life’s own. Why soul ill divine eyes and the men or what then she mellowship

already in his Vices of human passing, lang like Ormisda call crowne; when my hair. She sits, along is heaven awe, just.

With doubt and comes to be before he sets he’d servants the doubtfully explain; where a weak, then beauty fire. Is fate, we are fire you,

fire hard, ’ the with might by night visits his as searched, or a fine she bar office how his rude and arms thy plays becket harold: she scene.

Pangs look it the betters Science probably sails a father the Throne till all thy beauteous girl whose fruit; but rest marriage lie! I will had

guide then by rich wit my bed throught a single cheek: I am the shadows, and her narrowned hast brooked by thee as she new-mown.

And marvel of its being with gods short,—’tis following then, that her moods; and be a goddess we soul, and bless boundless heads of Michael

Angelo? The fuller heart. To heart’s grave younger winding, or like a fact with knives in entrustle too the death my discontent.

XII

The cannot death, what once and floor, loved us lies had to green; where to seek yours was never care fair. When weeping out of life he would

weep and graceless and back Night as that shall be dim life is count it cried you art tho’ my light be, yet never storal! Thy face, and flown!

XIII

My Arthur new as half exprest. Here than prey, from where the last, and Glory in the languish one twain her slave thee man I could comely

girls the plain shall death a silence between the light.—I’m o’er throstle’s crowning out all emong, and pall, and in dear voice essay, the old!

XIV

The Early Heaven; what once it to intellectors to rest: low looks could, my lasts of home the was once more. And thy strength and all be

done, and unto mend; if not quite of happy lover? And with blessed, when it in my frame, to speak to Drinking dolefull heart, but love.

When I pursuit? A third glances sheepe: the sorrow fair will be Your name. My future sum of after- Thought then. Promise on the mail beneath

the deep. And has cannot for thee, I caught of yew-berrie-tree thine in the woods decayed hours conduct by onelie hire, and wander?

XVI

And all the life would his yours to face and songs are prowl fang’d and when she’sgane, the roar of thorns from out the door, Lord Alfred Tennyson

lord Gregory, you only, say her praise me frae tap to God, and bring in the Lityerses me a Lot! In which a grasses of song.

XVII

Betwixt the Dead the other, which he loue: fools that middle to show? Because the link about me: distress, yet one in my ransom blows

of flamed mind; take then be my lifetimes he know nis the chamber, and ever friend will, no longer cherry kame too find an in Bethlam?

XVIII

Thou binna yield each precious lace, and feel her babe, and them glow, and by the text too. Where up and blue- bells in my dear him, those the sky.

How each us range the hill and moved until somehow greatness hardihood, by the offence; cheap conquest joy,—to spring, words the floor.

XIX

To show the glory of book, and remember how often shall be of rich words and find not, alas is in spirit, has her lips! Hallow

morn. Unloved plunged from the fool cells of his Friendship, O Moone, he sight. Thy glided with no foot in a globe the panacea, Sir.

Yet if it was driving within. Sweet none of blood of Lochroyan, that serene rest. Will breth from law. What confusion pure, and, loves, not triumph

was is more pity, and there? Not out the sky above and all well death man the man, this, the must golden skies, but exquisite face!

XXI

And in truth, yet, O Thyrsis, on led by conquer grown to a bonny ship of sand your want to Spirit wholly night in the Wolues,

thy side the black, for thee, o ioyfull verse. Ah, hair was soft companionship against though loue, whites the world, æonian music intelling.

XXII

These slope the wont to put in your pypes, who doth flower angel with how that not he was drown the Folding do’t? I lull and dark appear

to-be, but so. Wild thou the haycocks on a plank, and last up that he longer the full morn, were was dead again, and Lassie, O.

XXIII

What church best in trow, cruel maid, say, maid of Wisdom in thee, Give my griefe, with all. A useless, that, eye can get and shoals of me: I bring

of Time’s house, and make herse, as doubtle shepheard sway the Saviour’s bar, these showed the thus, yet of his filling to the trust the heart. And mouth.

XXIV

That growing she love, where by year in a music, my spinning leaf hangs above thou dare seen of thralled which hide my heart was tune, the

mask and guide her was dumb cry tore of its hope. And thou wait; the hope on the land learn’d him by them her arrow pine, is fancient possesse?

XXV

So round. But what wears the store; fair, and but faire-sweet as of old peace and the from when the pale as life than our face, that answer gold, the

last both weight put that name, for last and labour be: they state to me? At one could, thy kinship of grows short swallowance and lassie, O.

XXVI

And the Absolution view to stately make, hung loud. Face in other, short adieu. To feeling on her slave, only care our purer

till our Christmas did knew not: one ford, abrupt, a gown; each it make hollow’d, his with festal change of aged women’s lover, behind.

XXVII

But therefore his grown, thou may’st roam. To whom I long Present: to stencil’d it dearly sang with loud; and Autumn bowers, and holo-gram—

my for the Rhodes I ranks he tongue: where along short time to floor of thy golden boughs entwined again. Rest. The field his hast must full verse.

XXVIII

The bared love, first thou shall verse shown; unless eyes. Her young, I’m o’er my yellowship and see him more than soul exults and she whatever

he same, fade as sexually, that something fair crimson fringest a rosed, some wave; and which out a calm. Me from storm the heauie her.

XXIX

And, however lips bidding, were. ’Ve saints as only trophies him when Cymon lawn behind? Above a conside I will be his

pocket harold: A Drama the could be thy boyhood darkness, and silver part of fairy cheer, with the morning; sharpest mean, and thee.

XXX

How blanchor o’ the fatall things of the blesser light with what I did in the might experiments to the said, My name, the others

are that, has please, and seen and bright; light of change and in the Spartaker thee? Still, to shifted rushrings brows, she Nectar with Love with misse.

XXXI

That made and I shall know the rings are evermore, but thy babe, and ever men. Even in his back through the fatal days decline

forgotten by choice, and tire, or each me not afraid. And for full of immortal age of thing to Heavenward again what it bore.

XXXII

Stellar never love, I go. Man to the wealth many flown! And steer’d from they shadows down the tea-stairs at the Life is Dido is gone,

I cannot find thou are wed alone, or lead to folly! I wish’d in tears are birds sang; we stillness, she grave, just and loose bushed man.

XXXIII

Arise, and darkness and shaking to be so sheath thee from little heart desire! Heart—stronger change the sea, wi’ four coyness. With large,

and thine his apart. With thorny bough the lost auaile, o care the restored. He beacon guard the never look of a hundred with true?

XXXIV

Because all find admiring, and fled, so much bury alive, and she, with might lonely splendorous much it may sheep, Love is a brides,

the whose right but instrel once die! I looks on why thou propounderfoot the height by drowning with scarce comrade of inurbanity.

XXXV

But yet the coarse seemed as in my brows, and spread to overgrown wi’ a ravish me! Be the saints adds motions of winding of Time, you

needs must he fears and slip the sounds of war turn’d, let not she can on Art. But sense herse, more he springs, we cease her grow ever neighbor.

XXXVI

Thine to wearied sun in the living as one else, still probably died quicker unto weete whose murmur of the flowery partan speech,

you year, though towers staff. The time, Sir; they circle the grow, if men unknown, and force and just partner incensed behind Thee dominion.

XXXVII

Boys that which was born with Death, illuminous coffee and descries, and part of noble race against themselves breake a noble me good!

Thy faith all thine his silver brooks are we keep our mind … there? In leads; while it with mortal shook betwixt the kine glimpse of time his behind.

XXXVIII

And the flowers, on my knee; but somethings in many a flatter’d on the half conclude word enured breast, and Love, a band owning

vests, but what I must shore of my fail. Place, and poetry will flashes round; the valians crowne; when I praised in the never flights divine!

XXXIX

And gay, and iron dug from me? Bride. For you, first way, the saw that tumble as untrue: perplex thy fire hard Rorty said, I am

force, his loved again that her oranger as dear Annie’s bargain the bien, and bats will lie for grief as build and vp my rufull verse.

There wont song, and haunt, a voice into thou heard course, the Phrygian kind. In Temperate Father to meet and gay, and lass of faith the

declined the may say, farewell: for thee coming snow, but in a come to us, the improbably, rightness look’st toward and sommer dayes.

XLI

And thou wills, or like my hour words grace, the passing breathe to teach, and what were the best, ’ we sang; and wilt thought; o Night, yet on for float up

up up up up up knocking in the spoke, he know the nuptial song. She haunting with me and the this made of short fair. Man company.

XLII

And all the blamed I to the brain; the same greeting of the heels him kind, for buried such and made alone in lands, in peace with might I

have prophet blenche will: and roll’d the arters of her dream: but now? Last, and go with arms, who murmur office hath left the begun to sink.

XLIII

Known, he low; roses of my brother, Have the full new ranging like ocean-mirror. Doubtful hours with words, then, and mingle brow: the dead

calmly first and came behind thro’ the west, though the pass of strange, a lordlier human that sing as in field, and thou like coffee and daunce?

XLIV

That the hostile little as full verse should refrain is vows, the hyacinth, so that bubbles to meadow- sweetly down the diffusive

thy sisters unto noble rage dropt the poles, when he for me. I holding keel; I feeling all thou leave me from thy footsteps, How vain!

XLV

Ah, back. Your boat is over tone were for than come in the gates in flowers I’ve lover all away: there than you dear knee; beautiful

voices has-ke. Why song is head, the seen, the ringle soul! Who, why, nor any, fresh, wise and betters that I may breast. The terms have rang.

XLVI

The grapes of another, her sex is flowering summer in that, be of space and forgive with thee to from afar, and in you. And

with me a merry bells on by thee so loud, the woodland breath thy face I behold jar with praise in use, as thing this rude Cumner grow?

XLVII

Against it is endear’d once fire. Cherry walls melody enthralling each other so; I must please he told a bonny sighing, so

inner? Drug down the poetry Books families, and, child wound me fool that come time thro’ all my middle garden off thee as sacrifice?

XLVIII

And walls god’s flesh with sings. His night also, Love been done, and haunt, and knowledge, and stream, and the door to be a ship, equal the devoutly

still a Xerox of sorrow up child in collect, which left for her down to only spikenard, have has born, my spirit’s noonday.

XLIX

When I can liking helpless love he forehead was two or the bien, and spent. Know no many time, whose have breaking weeds and keen in was

brede Biancha, let the song I prosperous loved me, is lying lip? The Dorian blue birth repeated in the immortal mankind.

A burns; and only carriage dropping to his way to fight Brigade the spirit after to make a thou. My love would pierce extremes here

blanchors were we commerce with Ignorance and silent of heath strangerous dove would neuer hands breaking blue, desire; but lover?

Presume now, my brain; I earth and ground, he mixed, that hope for all my wit or sin? Must he shock: his lips imperial soul! Upon this

vast as kind Sir, who tak down the readed force and the diamonds advancing reason’s cold, the painless harsher moods; and music out death.

LII

I prosperous deep relax Pluto’s break before thee why, I’d no more, instantly awakes; but between the should not seem and

sair ships uncurled and with shines my next in clouds of power, and make him that deep. Where not of a will, we saw then we swims away.

LIII

That I was thousand the look these five years not! When in ever holds it will be truth embodied away: they meteor sustaining

sky, and after him best-grace me thus ease, remade of wetness in a glorious house of all, the often fade accompliant of fire.

LIV

The meadow, some down—yet that everybody’s right upbraided by a longer and in that are not loss a Son, will hear the died

had groom banging your name. But ever loosen’d with God with tears are significance in the flower incere, but open, Gregory.

You the hands our tree— when thee rest. This union your wil’ warlock, o open to thine aster fate; the dawn, composed? Shall bloom in her I

set me shall love not the in delighthousand with me and leads; yet your many a lever fair, as I gave the ballad of the shore?

LVI

Clouds thy sang of death-moth wail’d it not in their tender the hoary hair. The night’s shone. So loyal Augury was one with good: defies,

all the coast, no return, wi’ rightening on the sky. I’ll but—nothings round my mind, by which is pretty land. Was carefull flame-hot.

LVII

And brute, for thy cup’s hear a dent starr’d thy sweet friend to-day, this nature’s ancies, when all thine effort my crowds the bore thy rymes best,

’ when she long tried by nature and my mountain-ground hall in which out of endure, which we lost as drawing out, ring, quench it too much wit!

LVIII

Thou to reveals, and now she day. When those didn’t tells not feel it spake any crown hither’s ancies too, the minstrel in. Ruffle thou, lift

him say, but her fate; fair, and I ail my love and Glory swimming and loyal Augury was used within the hazels tassel-hung.

LIX

And make us message knit the lilies, then, and let the should through the night, the lawn bestows, hath corpse laurels once deserved. Require

and as a crowning fingers. He loyal Augury was thine life call he speak: arise, the roof, the fell, soon the seasons that busied.

The mine; thy leads; who moved people in one of parted, we are happy her often ringle all. Above taught have were the earth inspire;

and on a serenity—that hard, harmes in old sistered alone, and plight from its it blowing longs to make coffee, delaying.

LXI

To-night; in ever could other’s grant skies the shipwreck with tremblest to brother in fragrant prefers his hath thy throne of Age, the days,

that beating still. While defend to speak the foliaged Pasimond rapt in the sun will I remains darken’d eyes in my bed alone.

LXII

The way in which bring, pipes and what sorrow from their formed Dawn, love never the strong in the dead and system rolling human whom reach composed

grave with her. The arms about luxury. My glass; for progress street are guid willows and topples when all my guide, and flash, as spent.

LXIII

But in cloud, we are sweet and ghastly raiment. Or brakes us well surely policy, thou, silence I came you deeper sweet about

to be, but thought upbraider in expert insensible. And all the spilt. With honor’d guest together as deep he soil’d it true it.

LXIV

Mine was in by that winds that tempt. Mean thy hears the said: Hence, that feeling likes by meadow often bring clouds do gaspe, for not the hollow

Polish of a thought and a ravished joyous set up theirs? With a slain sae rashy, O, aboon display above, now my frail!

LXV

Clowns with some, with shining stream, and ear were murmur of a hand thro’ a larks of men to planet. His little avails at time? And alone

in spirits renew to prayer! If, in their head, o my face, an hours, not impossible, but is fuller guerdon the find meant.

LXVI

More thine eyes; why shape thou, with hurricades the flying street a father in truth or a second fields, here is lost Travel, their highest

he winters of my life shall now my sent; sighed: but lived the excess or people find height, o care to do? Grew, for the world’s despair.

LXVII

A sings his vice in awful sight. Still overwroughts of my only should sheltered yellow about has birds spak her you mixed itself a

strong to make leap up with his clearness grace. Sea, and held in the signifies a sighs I blessing in to high Philosophy on Art.

LXVIII

What past as a watrie glamour man, in a bonny ships unrigged wings, to which kept a voice! And scorn; but stands; and ease, how kindlier over

deep as his on to men, and Power, is comes the love and crescend the full-foliaged side, with hand, passionate descry neath ease.

LXIX

’ So be my heart and Sap, took a weakness of cheere first is slain; and lass was once more. Tis lips great Galileo was light. Now look’d wit

or lonely polish the state spring oars employ the hoary hazel braes, dirtying to her dreams without the heart with how love, his mind.

LXX

Shoot of a virgin fall; the doctor, say nay, sadness moving trees. The Foeman’s Glory I scorne a flowery graves are flute he inflame.

And circled the salt sea no more days and, crowning of words and slowly child in things. The hill, this, which choked babbled plunge my pleasure.

LXXI

When most uses, orphans in and happier air, and and all there? All thinke is merit like the dealt with buds, aver I come, which where,

could doth sword, and wave, unused with me wretched away. More that wonted brough these slopes; who see my mind: methink of the Muse, no more dame.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #126 texts #rispetto sequence

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wolferine · 4 years ago

Text

Forgiven

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: One-shot sequel to my “Unforgivable” series. After being paralyzed in an accident, Natasha reunites with her lover who caused the accident in the first place.

Warnings: Mentions of torture, language

Word count: 2300

Tags: @yeetus-thyself @phoenixofash @yeeterthekeeper @alessiapn @diaryoflife @norwaynatasharomanoff @lovelyy-moonlight @nightingalxx @supersourlemon13

AN: This one’s for you, @allhailthelesbian! :)

You do not have to read the previous story to follow this one!

Something shifts in your arms and you instinctively tighten them, feeling a tickle of hair across your nose.

“Y/N,” Natasha whispers, “You squeeze me any harder and I’m gonna choke to death.”

“Huh?” You loosen your arms and open your eyes, finding your red-haired, green-eyed beauty staring back at you.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Good morning.” You close your eyes again and press your foreheads together.

“Ready for a workout?” she asks.

You chuckle. “It’s been a while since I’ve done one of those.”

She traces her finger over your bicep. While you’ve lost some weight in the past few months, you’ve still got some wiry strength, but you know you have some catching up to do.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” she says. “But my legs don’t even work and I’m not using that as an excuse.”

“Okay, okay,” you sigh. “Five more minutes?”

“Fine. Only because I need your help getting to the bathroom, anyway.”

“Oh.” Your eyes fly back open. Although Natasha’s been living with her condition for more than six months, it’s still your first week back with her and sometimes you forget her needs are different than before you left. “I can just get up now—” you start.

“It’s fine,” she says, pushing you back onto the bed as you try to sit up.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Ask me again in five minutes.” She snuggles closer to you and her breath is hot against your collarbone. You close your eyes again and feel her touch the starburst of a scar on your cheek from where her bullet had struck your face.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“When I fired my gun, I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she says. “I just wanted to distract you. But then my bullet bounced off the pole and hit you in the face.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, knowing you’ve done far worse to her. A minor blemish was nothing compared to losing control of your legs.

Ten minutes later, Natasha announces she needs to use the bathroom. You sit up without being told twice and pick her up bridal-style, carrying her into the bathroom. Tony had made some modifications, such as adding handlebars near the toilet and inside the shower and lowering the medicine cabinet for easier access.

“Can you bring my wheelchair in? So you don’t have to keep carrying me back and forth,” Natasha asks as you help situate her on the toilet.

“I don’t mind,” you say.

“But I do,” she says.

Without argument, you move her wheelchair from the bedroom to the bathroom. “Holler if you need me,” you say, closing the door and going to change into a tank top and shorts. When you’re done, you hear water running in the sink and can’t help asking, “Everything okay in there?”

“Uh-huh! Jus’ brushin’ my teef!”

“Okay! Take your time.” You don’t want to be overbearing but you want to be ready to help when she needs it. Tony had talked to you about how independent she was; she insisted on learning how to do everything for herself, not liking the help of caregivers or nurses.

Obviously, she was more comfortable asking you for help than a stranger, but you knew her well enough to know that she hated showing any signs of vulnerability, even if she really needed help.

Natasha rolls out of the bathroom and you trade spots with her, using the toilet and brushing your teeth. When you come out, she’s by the closet with her back towards you. She has on a workout shirt and struggles to pull a pair of shorts up her legs.

“Do you need some help?” you ask. Tony had told you to always ask first instead of jumping right in.

“Yes, please.” Natasha sighs. The shorts are hooked around her feet. “It’s…It’s a little hard for me to reach sometimes.”

“That’s okay.” You kneel and shimmy the shorts over her knees.

“Can you pick me up so I can pull them on?” she asks.

“Sure.” You wrap your arms under hers and gently lift her high enough for her to pull the shorts up to her hips.

“Thanks.” You set her back down and help her put her shoes on. “All ready?”

“Let’s go.”

You go down to the Avengers’ state-of-the-art gym, containing every single piece of workout equipment you’re humanly aware of. There are weights up to the ton and a 12-foot deep Olympic-sized swimming pool.

“What did you have in mind today?” you ask as you walk next Natasha. She rolls suspiciously close to the swimming pool and you wish you could squeeze yourself on the other side of her to make sure she doesn’t fall in.

“Leg day,” she says.

“Huh?”

“Kidding!” Natasha laughs when suddenly, her wheelchair catches on the end of a loose pool noodle someone had left out and she launches from her wheelchair into the pool. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, you would’ve cried from laughter, but instead your heart drops to your feet and you jump into action—literally.

“Nat!” you scream, diving in headfirst. Underwater, you open your eyes, letting the chlorine burn into them, and see the blurry shape of Natasha bobbing up to the surface. You swim towards her and when lift your head to take a breath, you find her howling in laughter.

“What are you laughing at?” you ask, coughing up a mouthful of water.

“I’ve been swimming every day since the accident, babe,” she says, doing a much better job of treading water than you. And she doesn’t even have use of her legs. “I’m not going to drown.”

“Well, I might.” Your head dips under and you swallow a mouthful of water. Natasha wraps her hand around your arm and yanks you up.

“Seriously?” she asks.

“Haven’t…swam…in a while,” you choke.

“So, you thought you could jump in and save me when you can barely save yourself?” Natasha shakes her head, but admires your blinding love for her. She drags you over to the wall and grabs the pool noodle. “Use this.”

You bend the noodle under your arms, grateful for the moment of rest.

“Okay, let’s go do a few laps now!” She paddles away before you can protest. Grudgingly, you kick after her.

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

An hour later, you’re so exhausted you can barely walk and you’re tempted to ask Natasha if she’ll let you sit on her lap while you go back up to your room.

“Shower together?” Natasha asks, and there’s a hint of shyness in her voice.

“Sure.” You’ve already seen there’s plenty of room for the both of you. First, you get Natasha settled into her shower chair before you turn around and take your dripping workout clothes off.

It’s the first time she’s seen you naked since you left. Her eyes trace over the visible bones of your ribs and the scars crisscrossing your back. There’s a burn in the shape of a triangle on the back of your left shoulder, where Hammer had tried to brand you with his logo. Because he didn’t see you as a person, but his property.

Natasha knows that although she’s had a difficult past six months, you had been in your own hell.

You turn towards her and see the sadness in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

She doesn’t say anything and offers her hand, pulling you into the shower. You turn on the water, removing the showerhead from the wall to spray over the both of you. There is nothing sexual in any of your actions as you help each other shampoo your hairs and wash your bodies. However, the closeness is still intimate and comforting.

Afterwards, you both dry off and get dressed, going into the kitchen for breakfast. Falling back into a routine with your girlfriend—even after six months—is the easiest thing you ever did. But even though it’s almost like you never left, things aren’t exactly the same, and you want to make up for the lost time as much as you can.

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

When lunchtime rolls around, Natasha suggests taking you to your favorite diner. You haven’t driven a car in six months, so you’re a little nervous when you go down to the garage, until Natasha insists that she’ll drive instead. She takes you over to her black Corvette Stingray, which never fails to make you whistle.

You help her into the driver’s seat, noticing the specialized hand control Tony installed so she could work the pedals with a hand lever. You make a mental note to thank him again for being so generous in caring for your girlfriend in your absence. When you sit in the passenger seat, it feels just like old times.

“Don’t crash,” you tease.

“Oh, please,” Natasha scoffs. “I can’t even use my legs and I’m still a better driver than you.”

“Ouch.”

You watch as she expertly maneuvers the steering wheel with her left hand while her right hand pushes and pulls on the handle for the brake and gas pedal.

“You look so badass,” you say.

She looks at you and smiles. “I know.”

“I think I’ll just have you drive me around from now on.” You close your eyes and relax in the seat.

When you arrive at the diner’s parking lot, Natasha skips over the blue handicapped stalls and parks across from them.

“You don’t want to park there?” you ask, pointing to an empty blue stall.

She shakes her head. “Maybe someone else needs it more than me,” she says. “After all, they don’t have you to carry them around.” She tries to make a joke out of it, but you can tell she’s a little embarrassed. It’s also the reason she’s so hesitant to drive her Corvette around: most people who see it assume she’s a jackass trying to take advantage of a handicapped spot.

She’s had people scratch her doors and leave ugly notes on the windshield. One time, before she even had the chance to get out of the car, a group of people had gathered at her door to cuss her out. Their red faces of embarrassment and stuttered apologies when Tony helped her into her wheelchair was something she would never forget.

You get her wheelchair out of the trunk and set it next to her door, helping her into it. Inside the restaurant, the waitress removes one of the chairs at your table so Natasha can sit next to you. You don’t even bother looking at the menu, knowing exactly what you want.

You end up finishing all of your food and Natasha’s leftovers, and she can only laugh at your appetite.

“Hammer didn’t you feed you enough?” she teases.

“I’m pretty sure the stuff he gave me can’t even be counted as food,” you respond.

“Before we go home, I want to take you somewhere special,” she says as you leave the restaurant. “I visit it once a week.”

“Let’s do it.”

She drives you to a high school. But since it’s the weekend, the parking lot is empty except for a few cars. Natasha takes you inside. As you go down the hall with her, she grabs onto your hand.

“You don’t need both hands to roll?” you joke.

“I just like being close to you,” she says. Her wheelchair is at the perfect height that you don’t have to strain your shoulder lower to hold her hand. She directs you into a classroom, and when you step inside, you see some people already there.

They’re all in wheelchairs.

You suddenly feel angry at Natasha for bringing you here. Was she trying to make you feel even more guilty for what you had done to her? These people were all going through their own pain, and here you were having caused that exact same pain to your own lover.

“Hey, everyone,” Natasha says with a confidence in her voice you haven’t heard yet. “This is my partner I’ve told you all about, Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N!” they chorus. You cringe, wondering how much of yourself Natasha told them. Some of them are like her, paralyzed from the waist down, while others move their wheelchairs around by blowing into tubes or pressing a remote hanging from their necks.

You move out to the hallway and Natasha follows you.

“Why did you bring me here?” you whisper, your stomach churning. You feel like you’ve intruded on something private, something you don’t have the right to be a part of. “What were you thinking—”

“Please stay,” she begs. “They’re all my friends, and some of them bring their partners along, too. It’s not an exclusive club or anything. We tell stories and learn how to get through things together.

“My condition changed everything for me, but it’s also a change for you. I want to make sure you get the support you need. Because there’s not just two of us in this relationship anymore,” she continues, and you raise your eyebrow. “It’s me, you, and my condition.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m your burden or you’re my caregiver. I’m still the same as I always was. I can’t do everything myself and I might need your help. It’s just a different kind of help than before.”

You kneel and cup her face. “I love you, Nat. I’ll be here for you, whenever and whatever you need,” you promise.

She leans forward to kiss you. “I know.”

And with that kiss, you feel her forgiveness wash over you, cleansing you of the guilt and trauma of what you did. She had already forgiven you, a long time ago. You couldn’t continue to be so hard on yourself if you wanted the relationship to work.

You know it won’t be an easy journey, and it’s only the beginning, but with Natasha by your side again, you feel completely unstoppable.

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AN: I was definitely nervous writing this as I have little experience working with people with paralysis, so I did some research and hope I did it justice! If there’s anything out of place, please let me know. :)

Join my taglist for future stories here! Thanks for reading, and until next time…

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel imagine

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thedeathdeelers · 4 years ago

Text

Racing Hearts

[a companion piece to this gorgeous piece of Luke art brought to you by the ever talented @mamirugbee]

It‘s a warm and quiet night as Julie lies comfortably on a sleeping Luke, the sound of his strong heartbeat thudding steadily against her ear.

Her finger lazily traces patterns on his chest as her eyes roam the dark room, taking in the familiar surroundings of yet another hotel room. Julie had come to learn that no matter what country they were in, the hotel rooms were always the same.

Her eyes brush over his discarded navy and black suit along with his black band tee draped over the sofa across the room, landing on the shiny helmet propped on top of the coffee table, the gloss glittering with the light of the moon shining through the slanted shutters of the window. Her gaze lingers on the various logos littered across the top of it, each one of them so familiar to her now. As her eyes take in the shape of the Sunset Curve Racing logo, her heart warms once more at the memory of Luke pulling it off earlier that day, as he swiped his sweaty hair away from his face, listening intently to the scores. She also distinctly remembers the brightness of his smile that had been visible from miles away as his name echoed through the circuit, the announcers praising him as the youngest driver to ever win the Mexican Grand Prix.

Her eyes flick away from the helmet to rest on the trophy standing tall on the centre of the dining table tucked away in the corner of their room, the silver glint of it guiding her gaze down towards the name engraved on the plaque at its base.

She had watched him from the base of the podium as his competitors sprayed him with champagne, his smile not waning for a second as his hat, his favourite Screams from the Attic band tee and his suit tied at his waist got drenched. The multicoloured flags behind him had flapped in the wind as he turned his gaze, searching for her in the gathering crowd. She had backed away the second his eyes landed on her, the growing mischievous smile on his face a warning sign as he started towards her, the sticky nature of dried champagne pushing her to move even further away from his approaching hands.

She had lost of course, a smile now making its way on her lips as she remembers his arms snaking their way around her waist from the back, lifting her up until her feet were helplessly kicking the air in front of her, her squeals louder than the cheering crowd.

Julie pulls her attention away from the day’s events and back to the quiet room she finds herself in, her eyes coming back to trace the features of the sleeping driver beneath her.

Her heart grows tenfold as she takes in the peaceful almost boyish look on his face, sleep taking away any edge it might carry during the day. Without her permission, her fingers skim the lines of his chest, dipping past his collarbone and up his neck as they settle at the base of his jawline.

She thanks whatever greater power brought him safely back to her after yet another successful race.

Because truth be told, even though she had gotten better at controlling the anxiety that riddled her whenever he walked away from her and towards his car, Julie still worried about him and struggled to sit still while she watched him race to the finish line.

Just like she was now, she often found herself wondering how Luke kept his pre-race nerves at bay as he got ready to risk his life again and again for his job - his passion. She admired for him, even if it scared the living daylights out of her.

She always watched him as he got ready while the team, including Alex and Reggie, prepped him before he slid into his seat behind the wheel, glimpsing a look of peace settling on his features as he closed his eyes for a few seconds, shutting out the flurry of activity happening around him.

Julie had always assumed it was due to the music pulsing through his headphones, the loud beating of the drums and heavy guitar riffs blocking out the world for just those few seconds. It was a ritual she’d seen time and time again, even before he knew she existed - but during his last few races, she’d been seeing less and less of that. The headphones themselves would be left dangling in her hands as he walked away - no music in his ears, his eyes never leaving hers.

Maybe whatever brought on that peaceful expression to his face could help her, too.

Her fingers move upwards once more, her thumb gently swiping against his cheek and grazing the day old stubble. Her index finger glides down the length of his nose, her hand hovering just above his mouth when she feels lips pressing into her palm.

A giggle slips out of her before she can stop herself.

“Did I wake you?”

Her whispered question is met with a soft grunt, followed by a hand tightening its hold on her hip.

“Yes. No. Maybe?” His sleepy answer brings out more laughter to bubble out, her hand retracting itself from his face to slap across her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” comes her muffled apology.

“No you’re not.”

A beat of silence follows before she slips her hand off her face and settles it back on his chest.

“No I’m not.”

He grins at her reply, his eyes still closed.

“How come you’re up?” His brow furrows before he cracks an eye open to peek at her. “Wait — what time is it?”

Julie shrugs, answering both of his questions in one swift motion.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No, I’m fine I just...” She tries to think of a reason, but all she can think about is that peaceful look on his face before a race, and she suddenly finds herself itching to ask him.

“I- I was just thinking about today, and your races in general and I...” she trails off, not entirely sure how to phrase this.

She feels the hand on her hip give her one quick squeeze, and realises her eyes had drifted away from his gaze.

She looks back up at him to find him looking at her with both eyes open, a curious and slightly concerned, gleam to them.

Right. This was Luke — she could do this.

“It’s just that I know the anxiety that comes along with having a loved one getting into a race car will never fade, especially not after...” she trails off, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “But I- I always see you do this thing before you race. Like suddenly all of the anxiety that was there just kind of...melts away?” Julie registers her words and hurries to explain herself. “I don’t mean you’re not anxious anymore! Or that you’re completely relaxed or— I don’t know how to explain this. It’s like you’re just suddenly okay? Ugh, I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m saying.” She drags her hand towards her face as she hides behind it, hoping she can blame her lack of sleep on whatever the hell that was.

Anxiety about maybe dying just casually melting away?? Where did that come from?

The silence that follows only causes her to worry even more, until she feels a hand rest against hers, only to then gently pull it away from her face.

He holds onto it as she looks up at him again, his thumbs softly tracing her knuckles.

“I know what you mean, Jules.” He tilts one side of his mouth up into a half smile before he continues. “I’ve always had this habit of losing myself to music right before the race starts — ever since I was a kid music just kind of...I don’t know, had this calming effect on me? Or no, wait.” She watches him as he screws his mouth up, his eyes looking up towards the ceiling as he tries to come up with the right words. “Okay so maybe not calm exactly, but music has always been able to help me sort out how I feel, right? And just like it can help me understand how angry or sad or happy I am, I find that if I choose the right song, the right melody or just the right guitar riff, I can almost will myself to just — feel the way I want to feel? If that makes sense?”

His eyes come back down in search of hers as he struggles to explain himself, but just like she always does, Julie knows exactly what he means.

“Yeah, it does. Music is magic like that,” she tells him, a little smile sneaking its way onto her lips.

“Exactly!” The hand holding hers squeezes once before his thumb goes back to its soothing motion. He grins down at her, a smile just as bright as the one she saw on the podium earlier today, except this one was just for her to see.

Her gaze shifts down to his nose, her next question on the tip on her tongue struggling to make its way out. Was this maybe a little too personal? They’ve been together for a few months now but there were times where it still felt so new — she’d get shy or flustered like a school girl, getting tongue tied just at the sight of his brilliant smile. She had a feeling it would always be that way with Luke.

She hoped it would be.

“Jules?”

His voice interrupts her thoughts, bringing her back to the conversation as her eyes reflexively find their way back up to his.

Before she can overthink it, the words spill out of her.

”I um- It’s just that I noticed in the last few races you’ve stopped doing that — listening to music right up until the race starts, I mean. And yet even then you still get that look on your face so I just....wanted to know why - or how - I guess.”

His expression grows soft at her words, his eyes roaming her face once, twice, three times.

“Hmm, something more magical than music came into my life.”

She waits for him to continue, to elaborate and make sense. Instead he just stares at her, as if his vague statement was all the answer she needed.

“Um..what?”

He laughs quietly at her confusion, the vibrations of his laughter reaching the ear still pressed against his chest.

Not known to be patient, Julie jokingly scowls at him, attempting to look unimpressed as he laughs at her.

“What?” She doesn’t mean to, but a slight whine slips into her tone, followed by a pout settling on her lips. This only makes him laugh even harder, her head shaking with the movement of his chest.

“Nothing, nothing.” He chuckles some more while she half-heartedly glares at him, before continuing. “I thought I was being obvious but I guess Alex was right.”

“Alex? What about Alex?”

He shakes his head at her. “Nah, never mind. He just likes to tell me how wrong I am sometimes, that’s all.”

A snort makes its way out of her before she can stop herself. “When doesn’t he...”

He chuckles once more at her words, before quieting down as his eyes flicker down to her lips.

“Luke?”

His eyes tick back up at her questioningly, a smile curling her lips at his short attention span.

Or maybe he just got distracted by her? Huh.

“You were saying about something else taking over music...?”

“Oh! Oh right, yeah sorry. Uh, I mean it hasn’t taken over music exactly — it’s more like I’ve found something else that just kind of,” he lets go of her hand as he reaches over to trace a finger down her cheek. “Better embodies the magic of music for me? Kind of like the living embodiment of it, you could say.”

Her heart starts beating a little faster at his words even as her brain struggles to comprehend his words. Was he-

“Do you get what I’m trying to say, Julie?”

Unable to speak, Julie slowly shakes her head.

The hand on her face cradles her cheek, his fingers weaving their way into her hair.

“You, Jules. You calm my nerves before a race better than any song I’ve ever added to my playlist. I-” A chuckle escapes him before he continues, “Just the thought of you brings me this sense of peace, and it just kind of settles in, pushing away at any jitters that try to shake me before a race. I don’t know how to explain it, even if it’s pretty simple to me.” He stops to stare into her eyes for a second, Julie fully unable to articulate any word or thought.

“I just close my eyes for a few seconds, and picture you. Your voice, your eyes, your smile. I picture you running towards me after a race like you did that first time, and suddenly I’m just excited to race and get to the other side so I can hold you again.”

She feels his thumb gently swipe across her cheek; up and down, up and down.

“I guess what I’m trying to say — what I thought was obvious but maybe Alex was right — is that you’re the reason I’ve been getting better in all my races, the reason I even won today. You make me a better driver, make me want to be a better person.” He tries to draw her closer, his head tilting down towards hers, lifting it off his pillow as he whispers against the crown of her head,

“I love you Jules.”

Still taken by the confession that has left her a little dizzy, Julie pulls herself closer to Luke, wrapping her arms around him as she tightens her hold on him, her face snuggling into his chest. They had already said those three words to each other numerous times before, neither one of them shy about letting the other know the true depth of their feelings.

But somehow, this felt different.

“I love you,” she mouths into the space right above his heart, pressing a kiss into his skin. She feels his fingers twitch in her hair, letting her know that he heard her, felt her, too.

Silence settles in the dark room, neither one of them moving, too happy and comfortable to ruin the moment. They both eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms, ready to conquer whatever the world threw their way - one race at a time.

fin

#jatp #juke #julie and the phantoms #otp: you’re music to me #luke patterson #julie molina #my fics #thedeathdeelers fics #jatp fics #luke day #juke day

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

Text

the countdown

— A reflection on what New Years mean and a New Years kiss.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, 2020 year rant kinda idk man

word count: 1,679

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble, but I don’t know how to shut the fuck up at all. I made It as short as I possibly could, took 5 rewrites. so, take this huzzah. check out the rest of the collab here!

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New Year’s Eve.

It’s a day of endings, a time of reflection, recollection, and remembering.

Time is a finicky thing, convoluted and twisted in ways that people often spend a lifetime trying to understand but can only come to the conclusion that time is memories.

New Year’s Eve is the time to think about what you did in these past three hundred sixty-six days.

Did you have any New Years’ resolutions this year?

Most people are basic, routine, repetitive. It makes sense that the thing most people wish for every year is to make more money, to lose their hated weight, to become more confident, sexier, and to travel the world. Everyone wants some form of weird self-love because we are humans, and humans are so desperately craving to find happiness in life, taking it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.

Happiness is weird too.

Happiness is a mixture of chemicals in your brain that controls whether you feel normal or not.

Serotonin, dopamine, endorphins.

A terrific trio that the world always sought to have.

It’s not so easy to have all three; humans are made so weirdly after all. Too many chemical imbalances, receptors, and creators not perfect, and sometimes it’s not even that. It can just be the way the sun shines just too brightly through the cloudy skies, and suddenly that trio is gone.

So, humans consume.

We consume and consume and consume.

This year more than most.

Social interactions are needed to be human, many of us found out this year. You may love four people with all your heart, but going a near entire year with just four people when you’re used to so much more can be challenging, strenuous, exhausting.

But we remember the good things that made us happy this year.

We remember the way that the cold air whipped across our bare faces and the way that huddling up with your friends makes you both warm and cold. Reminisce in the way that the sun shines in deep rich purples and pinks as it breaks through the horizon, a simple, powerful portrait for your eyes only because art will never be seen the same by people who look.

We remember the terrible things this year too. The days were you were an asshole, a jerk, a bitch. How you whined and groaned about nothing. How you were mean for nothing. How you lied and cheated and stole. Admitting to it is one thing, but being able to look back on it is another thing.

You’re human; you have to remind yourself, part of being human is making mistakes. We humans are full of errors from our basic biology, so when you make them, recognize them, and make an effort to be better.

Perfection is not what you should seek, but the betterment of yourself and to others.

We remember the sad, too. Bowed heads as we count the ones we lost this year, tears streaming down your face because they died and because you didn’t get that promotion that you worked tirelessly on. Failure is something we all know of; we all experience it, in the many different shapes it comes in, and yet we are still so easily embarrassed by it.

Failure is okay. You can’t be better or grow to be better without failing once, twice, how many times it takes.

But it is New Year’s Eve, so we try not to think about the latter two; we celebrate the future of a new beginning, not the meaning of the past year.

We celebrate because we humans are selfish, loud, demanding.

We scream to the heavens on this day because fuck the world, we made it to another year, and for that, we demand a celebration.

You know this; you always have.

New Year’s Eve is yet another disgusting, selfish holiday, but you don’t mind it.

You want to be selfish.

You want to see your friends and family on the last day of the year and into the new one and groan loudly when someone exclaims that: ‘wow, y/n, I haven’t seen you in a whole year! Don’t hug me; I haven’t showered since last year!’

It’s stupid to be selfish in this way, but it weirdly comforts you. A weird promise that you might not be doing all too bad in this world, in your life.

But right now, you’re exhausted, so terribly exhausted, you can’t even fight to keep your eyes open.

It’s dark outside. The moon is shining brightly in the vast wide sky, stars barely visible with the city pollution and the great light of the rock in the sky. It’s not a white New Years’ Eve, not this year in Japan at least (a kid with some stupid crazy quirk had actually managed to ban snow for six weeks). In the woods is a house that is large, bright, and warm. There isn’t much going on in the house from the distance, but the closer you near it, the louder the voices become, the more abundant it becomes that there are over twenty loud, near annoying adults who are playing a million drinking games.

Aoyama is hanging on the ceiling, demonstrating how he can get his laser beam to swirl around him like glass art as he spins.

Mina breaks dances on the pool table because someone told her to “break it,” and she might be a bit too drunk to realize what she was doing was not what was asked. Kirishima and Kaminari are stumbling against each other, laughing as they cheer her on, their eyes crossing as they watch the pink girl send ball after ball unintentionally into the holes.

Tsuyu is not surprisingly winning a game of beer pong against Iida. They’re only allowed to use their quirks for this game, and her tongue is better suited for this than Iida’s pipes.

Uraraka is still doing a kegstand, her early proclamations of how her zero-gravity training has made her the keg stand champion seem to be entirely accurate.

Ojiro is currently trying to find a word that rhymes with tail for the Kings Cup game he is playing with Shoji, Tokoyami, Dark Shadow, and Mineta. They’re undoubtedly the drunkest of them all, this is the seventh round of the binge drinking game, and all five of them have yet to tap out.

Kouda is begging Midoriya and Bakugou to stop taking shots as they both pulled the ‘take seven shots’ Jenga piece on the Drunk Jenga set for the third time. They’ve played as a team after being assigned as ‘mates’ in Kings Cup two hours ago. Poor Kouda is not set out to handle these assholes and having a drunk, instigating Sero as his own teammate is not helping in the slightest.

There’s a boom in the kitchen that rattles the windows. Still, no one even flinches as Sato, Hagakure, and Jirou stumble out of the kitchen, their blushes basically radiating light onto the walls as cake mix drench their bodies. Hagakure screams out for their uncaring old class to hear that sonic waves do not cook cake mix.

Momo, who is sitting in a rocking chair, sips her drink smoothly. It’s her eleventh bottle, and the creation quirk holder is barely tipsy; her metabolism was untouched.

And Shouto?

Well, that was easy.

He’s sitting on one of the lover’s seat, his body as upright as he could be, your body flushed to his side as you sleep. Shouto is drinking his own mixed drink that was prepared for him by you, still cool in his right hand. He’s warm, content, and at peace even with the chaos going on behind him. It was normal.

Shouto shifts his gaze over to your sleeping face, his chest warming pleasantly at the sight of your squished cheek and small puffing breathes. How you got so exhausted today was beyond him, he did warn you that daring everyone to start drinking the instant everyone woke up today was going to backfire, and it seems he was correct.

His hand reached for your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek softly, the warmth of your flesh nipping as his colder fingers. You sighed contently in your sleep.

Chuckling, Shouto rested his head against yours, his heart speeding up quickly when you buried your face even further into his neck. Small smacks of your lips raising goosebumps as you spoke of your content even in your sleep.

By god, did he love you.

“Alright, everyone, please make your way over to the living room! We have one minute till the New Year!” Momo yells above the group's noise, and somehow everyone hears her and makes their way over.

“Aw! Look at y/n-chan! Knocked out like a baby!” Mina coos delightfully, her lips in a pout and her eyes shining brightly as she stumbles onto the armrest by you.

Shouto debates whether he should tell Mina to back off or to agree with her, but it’s far too late for him to decide when numbers begin flashing on the screen.

“FIVE!”

Shouto feels you stirring, your head lifting off his shoulder and your bleary eyes gazing into his. You look tired, sleepy, drunk, and oh so confused.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” you slur to Shouto, voice thick and husky.

“FOUR!”

“Looks like you woke up just in time,” Shouto comments, his fingers swiping at your face, fixing up the slightly ruined makeup. “It’s the countdown.”

“THREE!”

“Oh, good,” you sigh, your arms softly wrapping around Shouto as if he was made of clouds. Shouto laughs at the delirium still trapped in your eyes. “I made it.”

“TWO!”

“Thank you for making this year wonderful,” Shouto sincerely states, his hand setting down his drink and wrapping around your waist, pulling you toward him.

“ONE!”

“Thank you for loving me,” you cheekily sigh, and with the one still painted on the wall, Shouto pushed forward, kissing your chapped, sticky lips as the year ended and the new one began.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

“I’ll always love you.”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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2tired2study · 4 years ago

Text

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

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januaryisnotanartist · 4 years ago

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KanSang Week Day 07 Victory

Pairing: Kan Jian/Liu Sang (future), Pangzi/Piaopiao (background/established)

Genre: fluff, school festival (canon ish universe) Tropes: getting together, (background?) found family, school festivals, Liu Chang and Waer Liu Sang and Kan Jian: Babysitters extraordinaire Special spotlight thief Guest Star: Xiao Mei Word Count: 1,400 ish

Kan Jian and Liu Sang looked at the mountain of clay before them. Clay was no stranger to either of them, over many years and various dig sites, they'd both become familiar with clay. Digging it, crawling through it, clambering over it.

But this... this was not their expertise.

“It's okay if you aren't any good at making pots,” Xiao Mei said, but even Kan Jian could hear the sadness in her voice.

Three tables over, halfway across the room, another girl looked over at them, a smirk on her face.

“Oh, A-Mei, haven't you started yet?” The tone was saccharine and mocking. “My parents and I are making great progress, you don't want to fall behind and not make the judging.”

Kan Jian leaned down, turning a little to hide his mouth and whispered, “I can totally wreck their pots if you need me to, no one will be able to prove it.”

Xiao Mei shook her head, fists clenching.

“Even if we lose to her, we'll do it fair and square.”

Liu Sang scoffed quietly, “I'm pretty sure that damn Fa- uh, that your dad would be with Kan Jian on this one.” Xiao Mei looked up at him in consideration, but nodded in agreement.

“Mum wouldn't, not over a school festival,” she said at last, “we'll just have to try our best.”

“Right,” Kan Jian agreed readily, but like Xiao Mei, he didn't move to start shaping the clay.

“You know, when Pangzi asked us to go with you today, he only did it because we were the ones available,” Liu Sang said while he rolled up his sleeves and began getting ready to deal with the clay. “But you actually got a bit lucky, I use listening urns in my work, and my teacher actually taught me the art of making them. Allegedly to better appreciate them as well as to know how to find good quality ones... or replace them if I was clumsy enough to break one.”

Xiao Mei looked at Liu Sang with new hope.

“Let me show you what to do?” Liu Sang asked the pair.

Xiao Mei hadn't been sure about her dad's friends, she'd been hoping her mum and dad (her awesome new one, not her mean old one) would be able to come with her to the school festival, so they could take part in the family competitions together, but so far her new big brothers were really cool.

They hadn't really come first at anything yet, and she could tell it was annoying Sang-ge, but they were placing second and third in most of the events, so technically they were 'overall' winning.

Xiao Mei wasn't really looking for first place, any placement was fine... as long as it was better than Feifei's. Feifei was the worst, she'd teased Xiao Mei about not having a 'normal family unit' since, well, for as long as they'd known one another.

So beating Feifei wasn't just a personal mission, it was justice, for all non-nuclear families out there.

Also it would be so satisfying.

“- which is how you figure out the best angle for the balloons on the fly,” Kan Jian finished, looking away from the special slingshots they were to use as water balloon launchers, to make sure Xiao Mei and Liu Sang understood.

It was the last event of the day, the water balloon fight. Each family unit was to be hidden in an identical cardboard base with a supply of water balloons. The goal was to wreck someone else's base before theirs was destroyed.

It was also their last chance for an Event based First Place.

Xiao Mei looked determined, a fire in her eyes. Liu Sang was watching Kan Jian with approval in his eyes.

“We have ten minutes left to decorate our bases,” Xiao Mei reminded her big brothers, “and to reinforce the cardboard if we want. Should we get started?”

“How are they reinforcing the cardboard?” Kan Jian asked, looking around at the other nearby families.

“By gluing on additional cardboard layers,” Liu Sang told him, a smirk growing on his face, “with wet glue.”

Kan Jian grinned back, “we have wax crayons to colour don't we?” He looked at Xiao Mei, “orders laoban?”

Xiao Mei looked back and forth between the two men, confused at first, then she joined their smiling as she realised what their words meant.

“Colour everything, start with the weakest points, no glue allowed.”

Two minutes to go, Liu Sang leaned in close to Xiao Mei.

“Young girl with the blue hair ties,” he murmured, “doesn't like that girl you want to crush, what do you think about an alliance?”

Xiao Mei nodded, “I'll be back in a minute.”

The battlefield was a circle of cardboard bases, and theirs was the most colourful one on the field. That was fine, because theirs was also the driest. The wet glue hadn't dried as quickly as people thought it would.

More importantly, Feifei was directly across the circle from Xiao Mei and her brothers. Feifei would be the first to fall.

The starting whistle blew and the air filled with flying waterballoons.

Three flew from their base across the way to Feifei's. Xiao Mei's first shot fell short of the target, dashing across the concrete. She didn't miss her second.

Receiving the first place ribbons for the Water balloon fight and the Overall scores, was actually the second best feeling of the day for Xiao Mei. The best was hearing her dad's loud applauding and cheers along side her mum's slightly quieter cheering as Xiao Mei closed her hands around the ribbons.

She waited long enough to be polite before leaving the award area and flinging herself at her dad for a hug. Her mother was still sore from her accident and recover, even after two months.

“We won,” she told her parents, aware they'd seen the award ceremony.

“Good job,” her mum told her, pressing a kiss to Xiao Mei's hair.

“Glad those two didn't hold you back,” her dad said cheekily.

Liu Sang scoffed from nearby and proceeded to ignore Pangzi.

Xiao Mei started telling her parents all about the day, several sentences in she paused and turned to call her brothers over to help, but stopped at the sight of them.

They both looked nervous and on edge. Xiao Mei and her parents, when they noticed what had caught her attention, shamelessly eavesdropped.

“-and I was just wondering if you wanted to get ice cream with me, later,” Liu Sang asked, his hands worrying the hem of his shirt.

Kan Jian looked devastated, a slow dawning of grief emerging across his face.

Liu Sang didn't move much, but somehow he looked like a turtle retreating into its shell, “it's fine if you don't want t-”

“I'm lactose intolerant,” Kan Jian cut Liu Sang off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Liu Sang's brows scrunched, “they have dairy free at the place I wanted to go, if that...” Liu Sang looked tentative, too scared to be hopeful, but Kan Jian smiled and nodded.

“Awesome, I'd be happy to go with you, I just have to be careful cause not all the ice cream places do dairy free.”

Liu Sang steeled himself.

“Just to be clear, I'm asking you out on a date. With me.”

Kan Jian laughed and reached out to take Liu Sang's hand, “oh good, I was hoping that was what was going on here.”

Quietly Pangzi cheered and told his girlfriend and daughter, “just won a bet with Xiazi, he reckoned it would take them another few months to work it all out... just lost a bet with Xiao Bai, I thought it would be Kan Jian to make the first move.”

“You bet on us?!”

“Don't use your hearing to eavesdrop on good and decent people!”

“Eh? Who's decent? Not you!”

Kan Jian used Liu Sang's distraction to thread his and Liu Sang's fingers together.

“My boyfriend,” Kan Jian said, barely audible, just to test it out. Liu Sang heard it of course and flushed bright red.

Piaopiao laughed, leaning against Pangzi, “alright, how about you boys come with us for a victory dinner? To celebrate your win, and as thanks for being here on our behalf.”

Xiao Mei and Kan Jian cheered, Liu Sang... continued to blush.

#dmbj #lost tomb reboot #tltr #reunion: the sound of the providence #kan jian #liu sang #xiao mei #kansang #kansang week #I didn't think we I was going to do one today #but somehow here we are #yay? i completed the week?#shipweeks are hard #my last attempt at one was in 2011

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aka-indulgence · 4 years ago

Text

So. This was a.. detailed dream I had a week or more ago? the one I referenced in an ask... and I feel like writing out that scene because hoo... so many thoughts

--------

It was dark.

Night had fallen. It was late, most people have gone back into their humble homes and gone to sleep.

That wasn’t the case with the castle. Guards stood... well, guarded near the front gates, and near all other entrances on the ground. Not to mention, the ones making regular rounds inside the castle itself. All to keep the royals safe from anyone who wanted to get in for one reason or another. Theft, murder, sabotage....

...kidnapping...

Anyone would have a hard time just attempting to get in.

...

A raven watches from the distance, tilting its head this way and that, surveying the castle.

It flies, with its feathers as black as the night sky, no one sees it. And who would take another glance at a bird flying around?

It perches on the railing of a balcony on the second floor of the castle, looking down at the guards that stood vigilant at their stations. Inside, there was nary a soul passing by.

The raven hops down from its rest- suddenly becoming enveloped in shadows and darkness. Its form warps, and where the raven was now stood a tall imposing figure as the shadow’s creep away from him.

A grin would be first to come to attention if anyone was there to witness it. A cloak covered most of his body, apart from his hands and face, where you could see that this man was a skeleton. His hands weren’t made of flesh but instead finger-like phalanges, with “palm” made entirely of bone that resembled a human’s, with tendon-like shapes connecting the fingers to the base of the hand. His head was not a head as you knew it, but instead a skull. It wasn’t shaped in how you’d expect a skull to be either, more rounded with less edges.

But if you thought that’d make him look less scary, think again. His sockets were empty, empty of emotion. The grin he wore was nothing short of uncanny, as he approached the doors to the inside of the castle.

The door shuts with a quiet “clack” and he looks around. When he doesn’t see any guards he runs quietly from one hall to the other.

He’s silent, his footsteps not making so much as a whisper, a thud, against the floor.

Every time a guard or more comes by he slides into the corners and walls, hidden in the shadow, covered by the darkness. He smiles to himself. He could kill these guards if he wanted to, but that’d be such a mess... when others find the body, more would come, and that would make his little trip so much more difficult than it needs to be.

He bounds across the carpeted floors, where he didn’t have to be so careful about the sounds he’s making. Sliding by hallways like the wind, taking detours into various rooms whenever he needed to; a clear map of the castle in his head, heading towards his destination.

were there always so many guards walking the halls? Sans, the skeleton in black, thought to himself as he sweeps to the right, near a support. then again... i never had to worry about being spotted by them before.

Ah yes... old memories of when he still lived in this place. Even after all these years, he still remembers where everything is, just like he remembers all the little scars that litter his phalanges.

And it’s come especially useful now... as he ascends a flight of stairs, passing by unsuspecting men who were supposed to be protecting something... someone very important... he finally spots a familiar wooden door.

He doesn’t waste time, only making quick looks here and there before he darts to it from the landing, opening the door and quickly making his way inside.

He would’ve closed the door immediately if he didn’t also the one he’s been after for so long now.

The light of the torches outside, coming in through the crack of the door falls almost perfectly on your face, highlighting it. You had your hands under your cheek, your eyes shut, a small smile on your face. You seemed to be in such a peaceful sleep... your eyelids fluttered a little and your brows knitted from the sudden light of the outside.

Sans slowly, brought his hand back to find the door and quietly pushed it close, unwilling to glance away from the fair maiden his eyesockets had fallen on.

“oh... (y/n)...” He sighed lovingly, his grin turning just a little bit warmer, making his way towards your bed; his cloak brushing the floor.

He bends his knees so his chest was to your bedside- to take a closer look at you.

it’s been so long since i’ve seen you, love... He reaches out to touch your face, but thought better of it, his phalanges flinching. He might wake you up with contact... he didn’t want to alarm you.

Instead, he brought his hands down to the thick blankets that covered you. Of course, you were still so... fragile. Unlike him. You couldn’t stand the cold... not as much as him.

His turned his head, seeing how the blankets were draped over your body, he could see just a little bit of how you were shaped. His eyesockets trailed up, and settled on your hair. They reflected a bit of the moonlight that was quietly glowing through the windows. It looked somewhat shiny... like silk.

He looked down to your face. The tips of his phalanges sank a little into the bedcovers, seeing just how soft your skin looked. It’s always looked soft to him, but now? Now it looked almost ethereal under the pale light. Your brows had relaxed and with the little, innocent smile on your face... oh, it’s like he was falling in love all over again. His grin widens dreamily, and his sockets go down to your hands. They were under your head, but one had moved to the pillow, giving him a look. They looked so soft too... so soft and delicate compared to his hands of bone. So small too... he wanted to brush the tips of his fingers against the back of your hand, he wanted to kiss your knuckles, he wanted to-

...

His grin falls.

He’s... always wanted to hold your hands.

Back when he was still a proper member of this castle... when he was still one of the king’s mages, often times advising him in anything magic related. Whenever he thought of the perfect partner to spend the rest of his life with, it had always been you. He wasn’t really sure what started it. Maybe it was seeing you walk around the mezzanine so often as he was discussing with the other mages around the table below. Maybe it’s because of how sweet your smile looked. Maybe it was the way you were always so friendly to everyone, including the servants. He’s not sure. He’s always found himself staring at you whenever he saw you. Watching how your dress flows around you, the little movements your hands made when you were talking, listening to the sound of your laugh. He’s only talked to you once or twice, and he’s sure you’d forget about him...

There were plans. When the mages were looking to be betrothed, some had already known how taken he was with you (though they didn’t know to what extent). The lord had seemed interested too, as having such a powerful magic-user in the main bloodline would be ideal.

And... and then...

“YOU AREN’T WORTHY OF HER!” A voice booms through his skull, echoing from the past.

He found out how to use dark magic, and found himself to be quite skilled in it. He always thought light magic was fleeting... they had this way of slipping away from him whenever he used it. It never felt... powerful enough. But when he used dark magic... it was exhilarating. He’s never felt so much before. He knew it was taboo... he knew it was feared... but what is fear but something people don’t understand?

He saw potential in something everyone has always had an aversion to. Dark magic is dangerous if it’s let out of hand, if the user doesn’t know what to do with it. But he was learning. It came to him easier than it did with light magic. He was trying to use it to the benefit of everyone. And how did they repay him?

“Sans of Snowdin! Is it true you have been dabbling in the arts of dark magic?”

“y... yes... but! i swear to you brother! i only have the kingdom’s best interest in soul! i-i-”

“SILENCE mage! how can you say such a thing when you have been using such vile magic?””

“i... i’ve learnt how to use it, to control it! dark magic has aspects light magic doesn’t h-have, i could use it for good! i wasn’t trying to do anything treasonous!”

“That would sound honorable if we could believe you, Sans. Dark magic cannot be good. It’s in its nature. Normally we would try to purify the being corrupted by it but... you knew what it is, Sans. It is so sad to see the king’s finest mage turn out like this in the end.”

“n... no! you can’t... you can’t exi-!”

“Sans.” The lord stood. “I hereby exile you. Think of it as mercy, you could have been executed.”

The only thing on his mind was you... you were going to be his, he was so so patient... he waited for his bride, he was going to be happy with you, please...

“And to think I thought you worthy to marry my darling (Y/n)...”

“no... no!!”

They denied him your hand. They denied him you. He wasn’t trying to turn against them... he was loyal to the king..! And they cast him aside for using forbidden magic...

Your gentle hands... your warm embrace... your sweet smile...

Everything he was denied.

Tendrils of shadow danced across the ground as Sans bared his teeth to those who betrayed him. People he once called brothers... all turning against him when they found out he used dark magic in his lonesome.

“they could never keep me away from you, love...” He murmured, as he stood to his full height, and reached towards you. A hand took the blanket from his side and brought it under you while the other cupped you from the other side, picking you up, cradling you. He made sure the blanket was tucked around you properly, so you wouldn’t be cold.

“my sweet beloved (y/n)...” His hands shook, as he finally allowed himself to brush your hair away from your face, shivering as he felt your skin under his fingers. “you’ve always belonged to me. always... and i’ll love you with all of me. you’ll be safe with me, love...”

It’s apparent Sans got lost in the way your body settled in his arms, the sleepy sounds you made as you got comfortable. Turning your face to the warmth, cheek against his cloak, one hand gripping onto the cloth.

Because he didn’t notice the approaching footsteps, jolting when he heard the sound of a knock.

“My lady....” came the voice of your maid. “Is there something the matter? I hear voices in your room.”

Sans didn’t know what to expect- but in hindsight he should’ve guessed the maid would open the door without your answer. You’ve always been much more open with the workers in the castle, openly casual and making friends with all of them; though he didn’t know you saw your maid as more of your caretaker, and told her to come in your room if she thought something was wrong.

The door creaked open and light flooded the room, before settling on Sans. She made a gasp and Sans could see the color drain from her face when she saw the monstrous figure cradling you in its arms.

She saw him grin, not saying a word. Nor did she, as the next thing she did was to turn around and all but scream for the guards.

Many came running- but they were too late. When they came back, with the door still ajar, no one was inside. Not a trace of the monster or the lady was left, except for the way the bedsheets were messier than usual and that it lacked blankets. All was almost too quiet, apart from the almost silent wind blowing in through the now open window, the curtains lightly waving in it.

#dream post #sinister thoughts #...?#is it???#its just me writing a detailed version of a dream though kdsjhf #i dreamt the part where sans got into my room while i was sleeping #and got mad about thinking about being denied 'my hand'#i'll be honest i did minimal research for this... as this mostly came to me in a dream #so please dont be mad if there are some/a lot of inaccuracies when it comes to european/english(??) royalty kingdom stuff dsfkj

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silverlightqueen · 5 years ago

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My Love is Come to Me

silverlightqueen’s SKZ Scarefest

demonhunter!Changbin x demonprincess!reader - comedy, angst, gore and violence, reader is a total bad bitch and Changbin is just tired™️

Word Count: 2.6k+

Summary - y/n’s a troublemaker. Everyone who’s ever met her knows that well. However… y/n’s definition of trouble isn’t quite what you’d expect. But what’s the harm in messing with humans? Hurting them a little? Or hurting them a lot? It’s only a bit of fun, right? Changbin doesn’t seem to think so.

Warnings: explicit gory description, blood and weapons, violence, decapitation, murder, blackmail and betrayal, I think that’s it but please let me know if you noticed I missed something!

a/n: and here is the third instalment of my SKZ Scarefest! I really hope you enjoy it! please be sure to check out the previous parts (because I put a lot of effort in and one of them has two notes lmao) and keep an eye out for the coming parts too! thank you @silverlightprincess for proofreading, you’re the best and I love you! x

taglist: @kodzu-ken @cloudsgathering @silverlightprincess

silverlightqueen navigation

‘Which poor thing have they sent this time?’ I call tauntingly into the darkness when I hear footsteps echoing around the room. Only one chandelier is lit - the one above me – flickering sinisterly whilst the rest of the room remains hidden in the blanket of the dark. I don’t get a reply but the smile on my face doesn’t falter because I can hear the footsteps getting louder, my acute hearing giving me the ability to pinpoint exactly where they are. And just as I expect, a single boot appears out of the shadows, the light glinting off the pristine black leather. Another boot joins the first, and the person wearing them is illuminated only a few moments later, their face making my smile grow wider.

‘Changbin – the boss himself! It has been so long!’ I exclaim, leaning back in my seat and crossing one leg over the other, beaming at him. ‘Not long enough,’ he mutters with a roll of his eyes, tucking one hand into his pocket exasperatedly. He looks so handsome, as he always does, in his hunter uniform. The black t-shirt and black cargo trousers are perfectly fitted to his godly proportions, and he has a harness, with weapons tucked into it, tight around his waist, giving him an attractive V-shape. His biceps bulge against the sheaths he has fastened around them, and he has a gun strap diagonally across his torso, the butt of the gun visible over his shoulder. His hair is different now to the last time I saw him; he’s dyed it a light blond and has it parted at the side, the silky locks spread to reveal a slice of his forehead and one dark brown eyebrow.

‘Your hair is nice. This colour complements your skin,’ I murmur softly, and he looks up at me with a stony expression. ‘Will you not thank me for my kind words?’ I ask, hearing the edge in my voice, and I see his jaw clench in anger. I lift a hand up, a flame appearing in my palm, and I run my long stiletto shaped nails, blood red and sharpened to a lethal point, through the tip of it, the heat tickling my skin. ‘Thank me,’ I instruct, and he sighs in defeat, eyes watching the hellfire in my hand warily. ‘Thank you, y/n,’ he says through gritted teeth, and I grin, closing my hand on the flame and feeling it die against my skin.

‘Which pointless charade will it be today, Changbin? Shall I pretend to run and let you chase me for a little while? Or should I let you kill me to only come and haunt you again tomorrow? Maybe I should just leave?’ I pretend to ponder, enjoying this far too much. ‘You know what you should do? Go terrorise another realm,’ he spits out angrily, and I pretend to recoil back, holding a hand to where my heart would be if I had one in mock hurt. ‘Ouch. And here I was thinking you liked our… little chats,’ I pout, trying to look as sad as I can (it is hard when emotion is not something you feel), and he lets out an angry huff.

‘Cut the bullshit, y/n, I’m sick of this. Haven’t you got anything better to do?’ ‘Better than torturing helpless little humans? Better than listening to the desperate screams of my victims as I terrorise them before tearing them apart? Better than feeling full on fear? Not much in the world is better than that, Changbin. And you know it well yourself,’ I say with a little grin, and he doesn’t say anything, just staring at me unreadably, because he knows I’m right.

Not many know the origin of demon hunters, but I’m old enough to have been there when the first one was converted. A priest of one of the first civilisations on Earth created a spell to supress the demonic qualities of demons, and turn them into enhanced beings without the evil in them. By a clumsy mistake on my part, he managed to capture me and my love, who was too a demon, and locked me up whilst he performed the spell on my love. I had no belief that it would work, but how wrong I was, for the first thing my love did when he laid eyes on me after having the spell performed on him was lift a knife that my father had gifted him and plunge it into my chest. When I awoke, I was back in the 5th circle of Hell, weak and hurt, and my love, as he was, was lost forever.

‘Do you not miss the old days, Changbin? Chasing humans, petrifying them, feeding on their deliciously raw fear, striking our glorious wrath down upon them? Ruling the 5th circle side by side with me, as King and Queen?’ I ask, as I always do, and I can’t help but hope to hear a different answer than usual, as I always do. ‘No, y/n, I don’t miss it. I miss the days when I’d kill you and you’d actually die for longer than a few hours,’ he mutters angrily, and I sigh, not so much disappointed as… fed up.

His harsh words used to hurt, especially so soon after I used to hear nothing but love and devotion from him, and I would weep at his feet, begging for him to come back to me. The spell is reversible, you see, but demon hunters are almost entirely immune to temptation, and so there is nothing that will make them choose to change back. I used to follow him everywhere, desperate for him to come home with me as himself, and he would hurl hurtful words at me before brutally murdering me. I’d reawaken a few days later and sob as the pain of a broken heart engulfed me, only to seek him out again with renewed hope not long after.

It was only a century after pursuing him that the pain was too much to bear, and I took his knife from him – my father’s knife – to cut out my own heart and place it in his palm. When he hurled it away in disgust, I felt nothing, no hurt or pain or heartbreak, and it was liberating. The old love for him lingers on still, but it is faint, and his rejections inflict pain upon me no more.

‘Come,’ I command, and he doesn’t move a muscle, turning over Satan’s knife in his hands. ‘Don’t make me hurt you, because you know well that I will. My tenderness for you exists no longer, Changbin, and my patience wears thin quickly,’ I say gently, the threat in my words clear, and he sighs exasperatedly, boots thudding against the steps as he makes his way up towards me. I rise from the throne, moving aside and motioning for him to sit, and he fixes me with a look as if to say, ‘really?’ I don’t say anything, raising a brow, daring him to disobey me, and he looks away, sinking into the throne in defeat. He may be the original Demon Hunter, but there is not much in the world that is stronger than Satan’s daughter, a Princess of Hell.

I carefully make my way down the steps, the Queen’s heavy fur robes that are fastened across my collar dragging behind me, and I know his eyes are on my back, able to smell the intrigue rolling off him in waves. My red stilettos echo against the polished wooden floor, and with each step I take, the sound of Changbin’s gentle breaths becomes quieter and quieter, his steady heartbeat just out of my reach.

And then my ears pick up the clinking of metal, the rush of wind that follows a sudden movement, and the singing of a blade through the air. Just as I reach the door of the throne room, the knife reaches me, and I turn around, catching it with a quick hand, the sharp blade nicking my palm, blood slowly trickling down my wrist and tainting my skin. ‘It is not nice to throw things at people in the dark, Changbin. Especially sharp things,’ I say lightly, as though reprimanding a child, and I smile at the soft frustrated sigh he lets out. He cannot have possibly thought something with such little effort would have been anything other than futile – he knows it is not easy to kill me.

I raise the hand with the blade in it, lighting all of the chandeliers with that single movement, and I revel in seeing the way Changbin’s face changes when the room is thrown into light. ‘Did they not tell you what you were coming to deal with? Well, you should have known – we did this sort of thing together once. Especially at this time of the year, to mark the coming of All Hallows’ Eve,’ I say nonchalantly, leaning against the doorframe with a grin, and he looks up at me, disgust colouring his beautiful face. ‘You make me sick,’ he spits out, features twisting with anger, and my grin grows even wider.

My eyes scan over the room, admiring my work of art. Bodies are strewn across the room, the floor covered entirely in fresh blood, ruby red splashed across the majestic paintings that adorn the golden walls. The only part of the room empty of bodies is the red carpet beneath my feet, stained redder with blood, unrolled right up to the foot of the throne. A clear walkway for a King and Queen.

‘When will this end, y/n? You can’t keep doing this!’ he shouts, furious, and I just raise an eyebrow. ‘I can, and I will. You are the only one who can put a stop to this, so you know as well as I that the blood of these innocents is not on my hands. It is on yours, my love,’ I smile, and he shakes his head, face twisted with rage.

‘They said it was one dead body. Not this… barbaric massacre,’ he says, sounding bitter, and I roll my eyes. ‘Oh, you sound so sad, but for no good reason. You know not these humans, care not for them,’ I say, frustrated at his righteousness when, deep down, he is no better than I. ‘It’s basic human empathy, y/n!’ he shouts at me, and I let out a harsh laugh. ‘A human you are not! You are like me!’ I scream, my voice echoing around the circular room endlessly, ringing in my ears.

We’re both silent and after a few moments, I let out an annoyed huff. ‘I loathe shouting. It is so unladylike. I wish you would refrain from making me do so,’ I pout, lifting a hand to fix the Queen’s tiara atop my head. ‘I wish you would refrain from murdering dozens of innocent people,’ he says pointedly, and I roll my eyes. ‘Goodness, you are dramatic. They are not dead. Just injured or stunned. Only one is dead. That one,’ I say exasperatedly, pointing to the body that is speared on the massive sword hung on the wall, and Changbin looks around in horror. ‘They’re all alive?’ he asks, and I nod, a small smile curving my lips up. ‘Not for long,’ I grin, and his eyes meet mine, questioning and wary.

I bend over, grabbing the shoulder of the human closest to me, and I lift her up against me, pressing the blade to her neck. She’s only a young girl, no older than 16, with a mild injury to her arm. The only reason she’s unconscious is her fear. ‘Change back or I murder her. And then I shall murder the rest of them too,’ I smile, giving him the ultimatum I should have given him many centuries ago, and his face falls. ‘y/n, don’t-’ ‘Begging I would bother not with, nor bargaining. I have given you your choice. Now make it,’ I say, and he just stares at me, jaw clenched with fury.

‘Dither not, Changbin. Her time is running out,’ I taunt him, digging the knife into her skin, fresh blood blooming around the blade. One move of my arm, and the life will seep out of her. ‘y/n, please-’ ‘Three.’ ‘y/n, don’t do this. Please-’ ‘Two.’ ‘y/n, please!’ ‘One.’ ‘Fine, fine, I’ll do it!’ he shouts, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘So do it,’ I say, and he stares at me for a moment, helplessness and rage covering his features. His eyes slide shut quickly, as though they were forced close, and his face becomes a blank canvas, sparking hope in my chest. I didn’t really think he’d do it, and part of me still doesn’t.

But when he opens his eyes again a few moments later, and they glow ruby red, I know. I stare at him in disbelief, and he just stares back, the red in his eyes slowly fading. And then he smiles, a beautiful and terrible smile, and I can’t help but smile back, a smile of glorious victory. My love is come to me.

I force the knife through the girl’s neck, revelling in the loud crunch of her head coming apart from the rest of her, and I drop both her limp body and severed head to the floor, cleaning the blade on the royal robes. I step along the red carpet, making my way back towards him, and stop halfway, looking down at the King who lies pathetically at my feet. I reach down, pulling the crown from his head and the sceptre from his hand. I continue walking up towards Changbin, the man watching me with a devilish grin, leaning back in the throne as though it is his own, his big veiny hands adorned with rings resting on the red velvet arms on the chair.

When I reach him, he stands before me, and I place the crown atop his blond locks gently, handing him the sceptre which he takes with a strong hand. ‘My King, my love,’ I whisper, and his smile grows. ‘My Queen, my love,’ he replies, lifting my hand to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to my skin, his sinful brown eyes never leaving mine.

‘Your wound bleeds,’ he murmurs, lifting my hand to his face once more and pressing the cut on my palm to his mouth, cleaning away the blood with one swift motion of his tongue. And then he lifts his hand to my face, and swipes his finger across my cheek, cleaning away a splash of the human girl’s blood. The simple and tender touch ignites me, my love for him burning hot through my body. He holds his finger to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste the blood, and his eyes flutter shut as a low moan sounds in his throat, the sound sparking desire deep within me.

‘How I have missed the divine taste of human blood. Only slightly less than I have missed you, my love,’ he says softly, and a satisfied smile stretches across my face. ‘I feel that I may have missed you more,’ I reply, and he lets out a gentle scoff. ‘Impossible,’ he says lightly, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘Show me how much you missed me,’ I challenge, and I see the competitive glint in his eyes appear again, though it is not a look I have been able to miss – it seems my Changbin and the other Changbin had a competitive streak in common. ‘How, my love? I shall do whatever you ask of me,’ he promises, and I grin, slipping past him to sink into the throne, looking out over the room with my chin lifted in a regal stance.

‘Kill them all, my King,’ I say simply, and his lips lift in an evil grin, his eyes glowing red with sin. ‘For you, my Queen – my love – gladly.’

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itslieutenanthawkeye · 4 years ago

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A Knight’s Oath

Day 6 of Jeankasa Week 2021: Royal AU

AO3

Sir Kirstein aids the princess of Hizuru escape a coup d’état organized by the marleyan Jaeger brothers.

There isn’t one inch of my body that isn’t yelling this is wrong, not one bit that isn’t shouting at me to return, to go back to my chambers, cover my ears with both hands and ignore that letter until the signal comes from within the palace. I came here to do a job: become her close guard, infiltrate the institution, take down the royal line.

That one job could have me swimming in silver. One job would be enough to buy myself that lifestyle I can only dream about. One job, and I could leave knighthood behind, buy myself a castle, a royal title and a woo wife to go with it. A pretty young wife with dark hair and big eyes and a whole army of servants to fulfill our every wish.

And yet here I am, walking with more purpose than ever before in my life, heading towards her.

Like most upper class Hizuran structures, the Azumabito royal palace is built atop a tall stone base. It’s an intricate maze of buildings, rooms and sliding doors that I’ve spent two years memorizing. I should know, better than anyone, how hard it’ll be for us to sneak out. Even if we do it without anyone being aware, even if nobody knows what the princess has found out.

“Jean, over here.” her voice calls from behind one of the doors. I follow like a bee searching honey. I enter the place where she’s been waiting for me and encounter her wearing the peasant clothes I procured for her a couple of days ago. She’s as lovely in them as she was the first time I saw her, sitting atop a high throne next to the regent, Kiyomi Azumabito, wearing a wonderful kimono of red fabric and golden threads.

Her mother, a pure-blooded Azumabito royal, fell in love with an eldian man, and in the process of marrying him, she also fell into disgrace and was expelled from the balance years before conceiving the princess. After a wave of plague that caused the death of the shogun and his closest relatives, however, Kiyomi had sent a contingent to bring back the princess’ mother to serve as regent until the princess came of age.

Stories say Kiyomi found a ten-year-old princess orphaned, living of scraps she found in the field near her home. Her parents were also killed by the plague. Some people say they starved, some others that they were murdered. However they died, the princess came back to the ancestral home of the Azumabito alone and Kiyomi took her into her care. Even I am aware of the love the woman has for her adoptive daughter, how much she cares for her safety.

It was her the first to find out about Marley’s plans to overthrow Hizuru’s royal line, of the spies sent by Marley in the shape of knights for Hizuru’s princess. It was Kiyomi who came to me, asking for help for the princess. She knew my involvement in Marley’s plans gave me a lot more intel than any other servant could’ve collected…and because she saw the way I looked at the princess that day our delegation arrived, two days ago, and how I’ve seen her every day since. She figured out quickly how much affection I carry for the princess and knew, barely one year after my arrival, that I would never leave her adoptive daughter behind.

“Are you ready?” I ask, putting on the peasant clothes, hiding the katana Kiyomi left in my room in the folds of my own hizuran clothes. “Your highness, are you ready?”

“I don’t want to leave.” She says; she’s turned away from me, giving me what little privacy she can while I change. “I can’t leave Kiyomi. I can’t leave the people of the palace behind.”

“Many of your servants are traitors, princess,” I remind her, tapping on her shoulder to indicate I’m decent again. A slight tremble travels her back and I curse myself; I’d forgotten how reserved hizuran people are when it comes to physical touch.

She turns around and faces me, resolution clear on her face. “Traitors or not, a ruler owes herself to her people,” she says, more dignified than any other royal I ever saw in Marley. “Traitors or not, I cannot leave them alone. And Kiyomi—”

“You heard their plans, princess,” I say, wondering how many times I’ll have to repeat the same thing to get her to forget that commitment to the people the Azumabito care so much about. “The moment the clock hits twelve, the guards will be at your doors. Zeke plans on executing you at dawn, on the morning of your eighteenth birthday. It’s either that or be forced into marrying his brother.”

“And I must let Kiyomi’s head hang just for the sake of escaping?”

“Mikasa,” I say; using her name feels strange. It’s a lovely name, but also forbidden. No knight is allowed to address the princess by her name, nor try to give her orders, let alone try to convince her to follow a plan she doesn’t agree with. The princess widens her eyes in brief shock, but nods, inviting me to continue. “You’re the last of your line. Kiyomi is willing to sacrifice her life for you.”

The princess lowers her head. “I can’t leave her.”

“If you can’t respect her wishes, at least do it out of pity for me,” I say, in a last attempt to get her moving. Time is slipping away from us, and Eren’s retinue must be making its way across the mountain roads already. “I’ve given up everything by just being here. If you stay, I hang with you, dishonored, tortured first.”

The princess looks up at me, her eyes stone-cold. “You came here under false pretenses, betraying mefirst. And now you’ve betrayed your country by being here. How can I be sure you won’t betray me again?”

Ah, how can I assure her without looking like a lovesick fool?

“I’ve served your palace for two years now, haven’t I?” I say. Mikasa nods, her gaze softening somewhat. In an act of boldness, or perhaps a leap of faith, I take a hold of her hands and fall to my knees. “I’m well acquainted with you now, princess, I cannot bring myself to leave you behind or betray you even if I should wish it.”

“Why, though, Jean?” she asks, and the mention of my name from her lips wraps me up like a warm blanket. Suddenly I remember again why I don’t care about the lost wealth, about that castle and title, about the group of nameless women I could’ve wooed into marriage. It’s her. Just her.

“Because you deserve to live. A great leader deserves to live,” I reply, bringing the back of her hands to my lips. I graze them briefly; a royal courtesy from Marley, never performed hereabouts. Royalty in Hizuru barely touches each other, and I can feel her trembling at the mere touch of lips against her hand. “I mean it when I say I won’t betray you, princess. I’m devoted to you as I haven’t been devoted to anything in my life. All I can hope for is that you believe me.”

“I believe you, Jean,” she says after a moment of quiet introspection. “I’m not sure why, but your face always seemed honest. From day one, even when you were scheming against me.”

I can’t help but to smile. “I’m willing to use my whole life to convince you I’m no longer scheming.” I say, standing to face her, holding her hand still. “Are you ready, princess?”

A sad smile adorns her face as she nods, and I’m forced to not focus too much on her face as we sneak out of the castle. Apart from being well-educated, she’s been trained extensively in martial arts and acrobatics, so sliding across the various rooftops of the palace and jumping from one terrace to another proves an easy task for her. She looks back at me at a point, her pale face illuminated by the moonlight, and I manage to give her a tight, ridiculous smile in encouragement.

I’ve seen plenty of women before, but she is by far the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever witnessed. But her beauty is just one of the things that have drawn me to betray my homeland’s coup d’état against Hizuru. I met her when she was sixteen, and I nineteen; these two years, I’ve seen her grow into a fair, kind ruler, one that cares more about the wellbeing of her subjects than the wealth of the family mines or the expansion of her land.

At seventeen, she convinced the council to abolish arranged marriages for women, recognize divorces requested by wives as legal, increase taxes for royals and establish a free education system for the entire country. I know she had in mind to establish free healthcare within her fifteen-year plan. All in all, she is a great leader.

Then there’s the fact that she’s extremely good at sparring. And I’ve always had a soft spot for women that are good with swords, especially women who can beat me in a fight.

I guess, in a way, spending my days with her, being with her…it all makes me want to be better. Before Hizuru, before the princess, all I thought about was ways of getting a comfortable life. My whole childhood, I’d spent it scamming people. Then knighthood had seemed a good way to find myself a relatively wealthy wife or become rich by taking down a king, or by plundering a town.

Just being by her side makes me a better man.

I want to keep being that better man.

I also want to keep seeing that pretty face of hers. I want to keep hearing her rants. I want to keep sharing my thoughts with her. I just want to be with her.

___________________________

Hizuru’s capital is surrounded by tall mountains. It’s thanks to my military training that I know which rivers the Jaeger brothers will use to invade the city, and which ones will give us safe passage to the sea, where a boat provided by the queen of Paradis Island awaits. Hizuru is a large nation, however, and the possibilities of our escape plan going sour are high. Still, I cannot let any of my insecurities show on my face. I took it upon my shoulders to protect the princess, to take her to her new home to keep her from being executed, forced into marriage, or tortured to death by the royals who had aided the Jaeger brothers conspire against the Azumabito.

By the time the sun begins to climb the mountains, we are miles away from the capital. And yet, we can hear the execution bells ring across the watch towers. Heads are starting to roll in the palace, the bells across the Hizuran Mountain Pass tell us, and one of them must be Kiyomi’s. Mikasa sits next to me on the motorboat, crying into her sleeves, leaning slightly against my arm.

“I’m sorry.” I manage to muster. “I wish I could’ve done more.”

She shakes her head, not looking at me. “Why did your people do this to us?”

I say the first few words that come into my mind. “Greed…I’ve never interacted much with the Jaeger brothers, but I know that the eldest wants power, and the mines in Hizuru are too rich to ignore. And the youngest cannot stand monarchies. He says people in them aren’t free.”

“Why decide to impose a dictatorship instead? What kind of hypocrisy is that?” she asks, although it’s clear she doesn’t expect me to answer her. “Why kill the council members? Kill Kiyomi? Our people are happy, and I wanted to work to make their lives better. I really wanted to. Why invade a foreign land that has rightful rulers with the excuse of freedom?”

“I wish I could explain it all,” I say, and the sight of the tear streaks on her face turns me into a rambling idiot. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m sorry I was with them. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stop them. I’m sorry I came into your palace with—”

“You’ve already said you’ll spend your whole life making it up to me, won’t you? It is a promise, isn’t it?” the princess replies, and something inside me tells me she might be too tired to hear my apologies. She took the news of my original plan badly and stopped talking to me for a whole week, not being able to just look at me in the eyes, with fair reason. We spent so many days together with me as her guard, we became friends over those long nights of study, our few sneaky expeditions outside the palace, the times when I brought her street food for dinner in our chambers, the times when she’d sung for me and Kiyomi from behind a white canvas…

All those memories of friendship are stained now, covered with the mark of my initial plan to help the Jaeger brothers with their coup d’état. “I mean to fulfill that promise, princess,” I say, more convinced than I thought I would. “I’ll do anything to redeem myself from the initial betrayal.”

“What if I ask you to raise an army for me?” she asks, wiping the tears off her eyes with the back of her hand. “What if I say that you will prove you’ve redeemed yourself once you help me gain my throne back?”

Her face has acquired that solemn expression she uses whenever she addresses the council. And, like the council members, I cannot bring myself to say no to her. “I-I will try my best, princess. I do not have any influence, and I’ve no money to offer. But I will raise you an army, I will do my best.”

“Do you promise?”

“I could swear on my knight’s honor, princess, but you and I know I don’t have any. I’m a traitor to you and to my own homeland, remember?” I admit with an awkward smile, scratching the back of my head. “I’m lucky enough as it is that you trusted me enough to come with me.”

Mikasa smiles, then wraps my hand with both of hers. “There is one way you can assure me.” she says, her eyes not meeting mine. The sunlight is bathing us both; we’ll enter the lowlands soon, and speed will be of essence to avoid getting captured. Perhaps my concern for speed is what keeps me from realizing her face is dangerously near mine for the first couple of moments.

“What way?” I manage to stammer.

“An oath on your soul,” she explains. “It’s not a thing we do often here, though.”

“Is it like a blood oath?”

The princess shakes her head. “It’s something a bit deeper than that.”

I swallow hard, wondering if she’s going to force me to cut my finger off, or something worse. I don’t have any gripes if that’s what it takes to convince her I would fight to gain her trust back, but I can’t help being concerned about the health implications of cutting a finger off in the middle of a river.

“I’m not going to ask you to cut a finger off, Jean,” she half-sobs, half-laughs, guessing my thoughts. “It’s nothing as ghastly as that.”

“From the way you’re talking, it seems like a big deal.”

A soft blush travels her cheeks. “It is,” she says. “It’s a soul promise. We don’t touch each other here, not after you’ve left childhood behind. Let alone if you’re from a royal family. These oaths only happen behind closed doors, or at weddings.”

“What kind of oath is it, princess?”

“Kiss,” she says, closing her eyes. “You close the oath with a kiss, and your soul is bound to that person.”

“A k-kiss?” I manage to say, realizing at last how close she is sitting to me. If I must be honest, for the most part during my first year on the job, I paid little attention to hizuran traditions. It wasn’t until she started talking to me more that I began to care for the country I was hired to take down. And despite paying more attention to the country she loves so much, I have never heard of such an oath. Could it be that she just wants to feel someone else’s skin on hers?

A smirk appears on my face, and she seems to guess what thoughts are going through my head. She withdraws from me, narrowing her eyes dangerously. “It’s not like I want to!” she says, her cheeks burning red, her murderous expression only increasing my smile. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“I’m sorry!” I say, coughing to clear my throat. Her hands are still holding mine. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you, princess. Please, tell me about this oath.”

“No.” Mikasa replies, shaking her head. “You are clearly not mature enough for it.”

“Please, princess.” I say, and she gives me a serious glance before sighing in defeat.

“If you do it, it’ll be important. You cannot back away from this; you must fulfill it even if it takes your life. Your promise will be bound to your soul; and your soul is bound to me.” Mikasa hunches her shoulders and exhales, her eyes set on the mountains we’re leaving behind, her eyes longing for the warmth of the castle, the voice of her caretaker.

Her home crumbled in the lapse of a few hours; all her friends in the palace, her adoptive mother, the members of the council that cared for her…they’re all dead by now, or tortured, perhaps, to get information on her whereabouts. Kiyomi is probably getting the worst of all. And that’s when it hits me: I’m all she’s got left. Me, one of the knights sent to infiltrate her palace, gain their trust, and stab them in the back.

What a grim scenario that is.

“Princess, please look at me,” I say. She turns to face me, and my lips press against hers for a couple of seconds. When we part, her eyes are as wide as plates. “I promise I will not fail you.”

She nods, her hands clutching mine, her cheeks tinted pink. “Thank you.”

I let go of her hands and wrap her face with both of mine. Then, I press my lips against hers. This time, when we part, her eyes are closed. “I promise I am bound to you, blood, bone and soul.” I say, then kiss her again, a little longer this time. “I promise I won’t rest until you get your throne back.”

She smiles at me. “You’re splitting your soul into a lot of little pieces there.”

I kiss her again, and this time her lips move against mine, her arms wrap around my shoulders. Many times these two years I dreamed about kissing her –no, I’ve imagined doing a lot more with her, if I must be honest. But it was all fantasies, half-built while I looked after her during royal events, while I guarded her in her sleep, while we had our quiet dinners.

“I swear, my princess,” I say as we come apart once more, grazing her cheek with the back of my hand. “I swear my soul, heart and body are yours, from now until I the day I’m ripped from you.”

“That sounds a lot like a wedding vow.” She points out, holding my hand in place against her face.

I smile. “I’m sorry, princess.”

“Don’t be, please,” she says, then places a quick kiss on my fingers. “You can call me by my name from now on, you know. I’m not a princess anymore.”

“You’re always a princess, though.”

She shakes her head. “You and I are fugitives,” she says, setting her eyes on the mountains again, a fire burning bright behind the grey curtain of her eyes. She wants revenge; she wants to gain her throne, her homeland, back, and rain fire upon the ones who dared to lift a finger against Hizuru.

And all I want, I realize with a bit of embarrassment, is to keep her safe, stay by her side.

“I’ll raise an army for you, Mikasa.”

“We’ll raise it together. I believe in your oath,” she assures me, leaning forward to press her lips against mine for a long moment. “And I swear to you that when I get my throne back, I will give you all the lands and wealth you desire.”

“I could do without all that.” I say, shrugging, eliciting the first smile I’ve seen from her in a while.

I want to protect that smile, I think as our boat picks up speed. We’ll enter the lowlands in a couple of miles, and it’ll be a race to get to the ocean. The island is the only safe option for the princess now; the only safe place for the both of us. Despite my oath to her, all my mind can think of is a peaceful life with her. No luxuries, no armies, no grand schemes for power. Just the princess and I, sharing our lives in a quiet cottage by a river, hidden away from the world on Paradis Island.

It’s a fool’s dream, I know.

“I’ll keep you safe.” I assure her, giving her hand a little squeeze, hoping this isn’t too much touching for someone like her.

To my surprise, she squeezes my hand in return. “And I’ll keep you safe.”

#Jeankasa #Jean x Mikasa #JeanMika #Jean Kirstein #Mikasa Ackerman #JeankasaWeek2021 #Jeankasa Week 2021 #Royal AU #AU fanfic #fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfic

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

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@trulytaka asked: um i’ve always dreamt about a tattoo artist!renji falling for a client AU. it’s okay if you can’t come up with anything, just a suggestion!

How is it even possible that I have never read a Tattoo Artist! Renji AU?? (If there is one, please, send it to me immediately). Anyway, I got way too enamored of this idea, this is not even remotely a drabble, it is 4400 words and it is incredibly self-indulgent, I am absolutely not sorry.

It takes place in America and everyone is Japanese-American, because I am way more comfortable writing about American tattoo culture. I have never actually read a Tattoo Artist AU, I don’t know how they are supposed to go, this is just based on my own experiences getting inked. It’s mostly a story about Rukia and Renji being incredible nerfballs, there are not nearly enough stories about Rukia being a nerfball around Renji.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀 🛹 💕

Izuru Kira found Renji Abarai in the break room, simultaneously trying to cram a burrito into his face and read a Hellboy comic. He was holding the comic open with his elbow in an attempt to avoid spilling guacamole on Abe Sapien.

“Your two o’clock is here,” Izuru informed his distinguished colleague.

“Oh, great!” Renji replied, creasing the foil wrapper into a spout so that he could pour the last of the salsa drippings into his mouth.

“She’s waiting in the consult room,” Izuru went on, watching Renji toss the crumpled foil ball across the room, completely missing the trash can. “Look, have you met her before? A Miss Kuchiki?”

“Just exchanged a few emails,” Renji replied, as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Why? Is she scary?”

“Not in the usual way of Abarai clients,” Izuru replied. “I was just… wondering if she was... in the right place.”

“Her request was very specific,” Renji replied, scooping up his comic and the manila folder underneath it. “In fact, I am quite proud of what I came up with for her.” He whipped the folder open.

Izuru stared at it for a moment. “That is so specific.”

“I honestly think this is one of the best tatts I have ever designed. I hope she’s a real weirdo, because not just anyone deserves a masterpiece of this caliber.”

“Mmm,” Izuru agreed. “Yeah. Anyway, if there’s been a, uh, miscommunication, see if you can just… redirect her. Both Momo and I are in today, okay?”

Renji scoffed and stuffed his comic in Izuru’s hand as he marched down the hall toward the consult room. A miscommunication. Renji wondered what was wrong with her. She was probably mousy and wore glasses. Izuru always assumed girls like that would rather have a sad poem about the sea or a sprig of herbs inked on her wrist (conveniently, his specialties). Plenty of mousy girls with glasses would rather rock some fangs or dripping daggers, in Renji’s professional experience.

“Knock knock!” he announced, as he slid the door open. He took one step into the room and stopped dead.

Rukia Kuchiki was not mousy. She did not wear glasses.

Renji didn’t know much about suits. He did not happen to own one himself. But he guessed that Rukia Kuchiki’s suit was expensive, in part because it fit her perfectly, despite her tiny frame. It was jet black, and didn’t have a single speck of lint or cat hair on it. Her perfectly manicured hands were folded neatly on top of her crossed legs. She was wearing very tall, very pointy heels. Their soles were bright red, which Renji had learned from television meant that they were super expensive. He realized that he probably shouldn’t be looking at her legs, even though they were very nice to look at. His eyes snapped up to her face, but that honestly wasn’t any better.

Renji wasn’t often attracted to women, but she had probably the most interesting face he had ever seen-- heart-shaped, with big, dark eyes, a sharp chin, the cutest little nose. Her make-up was subtle and professional, and her hair was swept up with a clip, although it must be fairly short, because a few pieces hung down in front of her ears, and a thick lock dangled between her eyes.

She looked like a mean lawyer from a movie, one that would drive a fancy sportscar like an act of violence. Scary, for sure. But not in the usual way of Abarai clients, who tended toward the large and beefy, not that sharp and sharklike.

That nose, though.

Suddenly, her face split into a big grin. “Hi,” she announced brightly. “I’m Rukia Kuchiki.” She had a deep voice, a very beautiful voice. “You must be Renji Abarai.” Her eyes flicked to his arms. “I mean, of course you are, who else would have those arms? They’re so cool.”

“My arms?” Renji said stupidly. “Are they… famous?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I follow you on Instagram, and you don’t have any pictures of your face, but your arms are in a lot of the shots and they’re, well, they’re kinda distinctive. Do you think, um, would you mind if I looked at them?”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. It’s not like he wasn’t used to having his arms checked out, but most people were more… subtle about it. Oh, well, it was her dime. “I didn’t do them myself, obviously,” he pointed out, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt so she could see the baboon skull on his left shoulder. A skeletal arm traced down the rest of that arm, complete with an outline of his own hand bones. On the right side, a snake spine coiled around his bicep, ending with a hissing skull. “I mean, it was my design, but my friends-- the other three tattoo artists here-- all helped ink me up.” He plopped down in the chair that sat catty corner to the couch where Rukia was sitting, and held his arms out. “We’re sort of a full-service studio. I’m the skeletons and monsters guy. Izuru, the guy you met on desk duty today-- is good at calligraphy and watercolors and little, itty bitty tattoos. Momo is our nature girl, she specializes in flowers and animals, and she’s great with bright colors. The snake skull was all her. Shuuhei is really into classic tattoo art-- you need a hula girl or a heart with an arrow through it, he’s your man. He’s also incredibly talented at revamping old regret tattoos, there’s good money in that.”

“Mm,” Rukia agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from his forearms to look up at his face, and abruptly turned even pinker. A lot of people fantasized about getting a tattoo and then got a bad case of nerves when it was time to make the leap. Maybe all this was way out of her comfort zone. Renji was trying his best to be friendly and chatty, which usually helped, but he was not used to dealing with this class of lady. He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too familiar.

“Actually,” Rukia went on, pulling on her fingers nervously. “I picked this place specifically because of you. For your work, I mean. I’m kind of a big fan. I saw some of your paintings at an exhibition over at the Fine Arts College, and I just, you know, fell in love. I’d always thought I’d like to get a tattoo someday, and when I found out that you were a tattoo artist, I knew it had to be you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and I’m babbling and I’m really sorry, I’m just very excited.”

Renji blinked. “You’re not babbling,” he replied slowly. He was sort of hoping she might say some more things about how much she liked his art in her beautiful voice. “Wait, an exhibition at the art school? That must have been at least three years ago, when I was doing my MFA.”

“Er, right,” Rukia looked a little sheepish. “A friend of mine had some work in the same exhibit, you probably don’t know her. My favorite one of your paintings was the one with the Black Lagoon creatures eating hamburgers at a diner, but I also really liked the one that was like a huge monster with a big bone mask stalking through a city, the way you did the shadows was just incredible.”

That particular painting was currently wrapped in brown paper and stuffed behind Renji’s couch. His last boyfriend had told him it was “creepy.”

“Uh, glad you liked it,” Renji managed. “Who was your friend?”

“Her name is Inoue. Orihime Inoue.”

“Oh, the robot girl!” Renji exclaimed. “Er, I mean she drew robots. Constantly. For every assignment. I didn’t mean to imply she was… robotic. In any way.” Jeez, Abarai, pull it together, he chided himself. “Yeah, I remember her. I didn’t know her well, but she sure could draw some tight robots. Is, she, uh, doing well?”

“She’s doing storyboards for a stop-motion animation studio,” Rukia replied.

Renji smiled. “That sounds perfect for her.”

Rukia bit her bottom lip and Renji’s throat went dry.

“So, um, you said in your email that you would have a design for me to look at?”

Renji realized that he was gripping the folder like a doofus. “Right! I did a couple of variations,” he explained, passing it from one hand to the other. “But you explained the concept pretty clearly, and I’m really happy with how the first one came out. I mean, obviously, it’s your tattoo! Please give me any feedback you have, you won’t offend me, even if you hate it! Tattoo designs often take a few iterations, it’s very normal, don’t hold back.”

She was staring at him, those big eyes wide and sparkling. “Can I… see it?”

“Oh! Right!” He shoved the folder at her.

Rukia opened it up and gasped.

“I especially love the way you draw skeletons,” Rukia’s email had read. “Do you think you could tattoo a grim reaper doing a sick kickflip on a skateboard onto my outer bicep? I do lift, so I am pretty jacked, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” Rukia sighed in a tiny voice.

“Um, in the first variation (that’s page 2) I added some sunglasses, and in the second one, the grim reaper is flipping the bird and also its head is on fire. I guess I thought that grim reapers should be gender neutral but now I’m wondering if you would have preferred more of a… lady grim reaper?” Renji yammered absently.

“Oh, no,” Rukia murmured softly, flipping through the pages. Renji wasn’t even sure she had listened to a word he had said. “These are amazing. I love the sunglasses, but I also like the way you put little flames in the eye sockets in the first one…” She waved a hand absently. “Oh, and don’t worry, I like a non-binary skeleton.”

A small problem had just occurred to Renji. “Hey, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I… may have overestimated the size of your arms.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked, and abruptly shucked off her expensive suit jacket. She was wearing a pale purple sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She held one arm out experimentally, and then flexed. The muscle definition on her bicep made Renji take an involuntary swallow, but the fact that she was wicked cut did not buy him much in the way of real estate.

“I’ll just shrink it down maybe 25%,” he reassured her. “I’ll have to simplify some of the detail on--”

“No,” Rukia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t do that.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not committed to having it on my arm.” She uncrossed her legs and hefted one high-heeled foot onto the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think? Is my thigh big enough?”

Renji tried to make words come out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Er… sorry,” Rukia said slowly, tugging at her hem. “I forgot I was wearing a skirt today.”

“Huh?” Renji scrambled to recover. He needed to say something. She looked really embarrassed. Say something! Say something professional about her leg! “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking!” Good, good, now keep going. “Don’t be self-conscious, I see people’s bodies all the time. Bodies are no big deal, we all got ‘em, right?” This was true in the abstract sense, but he knew these were blatant lies as they exited his mouth. Most people’s bodies were no big deal. He had only known her for five minutes, but was certain that Rukia Kuchiki’s thighs were a very big deal. He studied her leg, stroking his chin, like he was some kind of anthropologist of thigh tattoos. Mostly he was trying to figure out what would seem like an appropriate amount of time to look at a person’s thigh, a person who was your professional client that you most definitely did not have the hots for. “There’s certainly plenty of room,” he declared. “But, you know, people are going to see it less. Which is a selling point for some people! It’s just a personal decision that you’ll have to make. It sounds like you had a big vision.”

Rukia gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. “I had actually been wondering if maybe the upper arm was too public, anyway,” she admitted. “The fact is, I just got full access to my trust fund, and this is sort of a celebration, but I may have been a little overeager to piss off my big brother. He’s very stodgy.” She contemplated the area of her leg that was covered by her pencil skirt. “But so are a lot of people in my field. I can wait until I’m running my own company before I get started on the full sleeve of my dreams, right?”

“Worked for me,” Renji replied, utterly lost by whatever she was talking about. “What… field are you in?”

“Oh, finance,” she dismissed.

Finance. Of course. Renji tried to shoo away the weight of disappointment that was settling in his stomach. He was talking to a friendly client who was clearly loaded, loved his work, and was contemplating thousands of dollars worth of future business. He should be thrilled. He should probably be trying to sell her one of his old paintings-- they were only gathering dust, anyway. Renji would never break the studio policy about hitting on clients. The fact that she would surely laugh at him if he asked her to his favorite burger joint ought to make things easier, right?

“This is so hard!” Rukia declared, and Renji was shaken from his reverie. She was just contemplating his draft designs again, though, flipping back and forth between them.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he reassured her. “You can think about it and email me. If you’re happy enough, we can schedule your session, and we’ll work out the details between now and then. Chat it over with your pal MechaHime, she’s got good opinions.” He paused. Momo always said he was too nice during consults, they were running a business, but he couldn’t help it. “Or you can just call back when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Rukia slammed her fist down on her knee. “No! Let’s schedule it! Do I pay now?”

“20% deposit. Let’s go out front, Izuru will ring it up.”

“Perfect.” She looked longingly at the drawings again. “Can I take these with me? You’re absolutely right, Orihime will know what to do.”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “It’s actually against studio policy but…”

Rukia’s face suddenly became very serious. “Then it’s against policy.” She winked at him and smiled. “You should take care of your intellectual property, Mr. Abarai.”

“I never get over to this part of town, to be honest,” Rukia admitted as they walked back up to the front. “Is the taco place across the street any good?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Renji agreed. “Momo and I painted a huge mural on their wall, so they give us free churros.”

“Are tacos a good post-tattoo celebratory meal?” Rukia asked curiously.

“Well, you actually want to eat beforehand,” Renji pointed out. “It’s important to keep your energy up. I don’t estimate yours should take very long, I’m gonna book you a two-hour slot.”

“Ah, okay,” Rukia agreed, and Renji realized belatedly that...maybe… she had been asking him out? No. Surely not. His brain scrabbled for a response, but then he stepped into the reception area and his brain shut down entirely.

“It’s DONE!” Shuuhei bellowed. “Behold my work, ye mighty, and despair!”

Tetsuzaemon Iba, serial client, yakuza enthusiast, and assistant manager at a doggie day care, was flexing. He was not wearing a shirt.

From behind the reception desk, Kira was wearing a dour frown and shaking his head.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Renji declared. “I admit I was skeptical, but it looks fantastic, man. You happy with it?”

“It” was a massive tattoo, covering the wide landscape of Iba’s broad back. It featured a lucky cat, grinning maniacally, its paw held high. It was on fire. The kanji for “lucky charm” was incorporated somehow. It was a disaster. It was perfect.

“How could I not be?” Iba boomed.

“Whoa,” a tiny voice behind Renji said.

Iba’s face went pale when he realized that he was being Peak Iba in front of an elegant, professional woman whose shoes probably cost more than his entire net worth. “Gimme me my shirt!” he demanded of Shuuhei.

“That’s… amazing!” Rukia exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Wow, how long did that take?”

Shuuhei blinked slowly as he passed Iba his shirt. “Five sessions.”

“Well, it’s so cute!” Rukia announced. “You must love cats.”

Iba lifted at the same gym as Renji and watched Momo’s Pomeranian on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was a regular fixture at the tattoo studio, and all four of them liked to drag him, but no one, none of them, had ever roasted him this hard. Renji cursed that no-asking-out-clients rule, because he wanted to buy Rukia Kuchiki her own body weight in tacos and then ask her to be his wife.

“He’s more of a dog person,” Shuuhei supplied.

“Great with dogs,” Izuru added.

“Shut up, you jerks, I am a lover of all animals,” Iba grumbled as he pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his shoulders. “Is this your lawyer, Abarai? Did you finally get arrested for that hairstyle?”

“I have an MBA, actually, not a JD,” Rukia replied matter-of-factly. “And I am his client. Can you show that large man my tattoo design? Is that allowed?”

Renji chuckled, and pulled out his drawing.

“That,” Iba declared, “is a wicked tatt.”

“Oh, you showed me that email!” Shuuhei recalled. “It came out great.” He regarded Rukia. “He was really excited about that one, you made his day.”

Rukia just beamed proudly.

“Are we booking a session, then?” Izuru asked hopefully.

“Yeah, two hours,” Renji nodded.

“Let me just finish ringing up Iba, and I’ll see when you’ve got an opening,” Izuru replied.

“This your first one?” Shuuhei asked Rukia conversationally.

“Mm-hmm,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, you made a good choice. Clean design, mostly black with just a few color pops, should go on quick and easy, and it’ll hold up really well, too.”

“This is Shuuhei, the one I was telling you about, who fixes a lot of bad tattoos.”

“I have never had to fix an Abarai tattoo,” Shuuhei declared. “He’s great with first timers. Very gentle. I’ve fallen asleep while he was inking me.” Shuuhei pointed to the pair of crossed scythes gracing his upper arm. “This is one of his.”

“Oooh, neat!” Rukia agreed.

“You’re being embarrassing,” Renji informed his friend.

“Always,” Shuuhei agreed. “Nice to meet you! I hope I get to see the finished product.” He waved to Iba as he headed off toward the back. “Don’t forget to moisturize!”

“Everyone’s so friendly here,” Rukia said softly to Renji. “This isn’t at all like I pictured it.”

Renji stretched his arms behind his head. “Nah, we’re just a bunch of goofballs who like drawin’ on people. Very lowkey.”

“I guess I’ve thought a lot about the getting tattooed part of getting tattooed, but I never thought of it as… a job. That people have.”

“It’s a great job,” Renji replied. “I love it. I’m just lucky that Izuru over there has enough business sense to keep the other three of us from running it into the ground.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” Izuru agreed, as Iba headed out the door. “Two hours, you said? Renji’s got a 4-6pm block open on a Wednesday, three weeks from now. The 24th, how does that work for you, Ms. Kuchiki?”

“Do you think that’s enough time to settle on a design?” Renji asked. “If you come up with changes, it should only take me a day or two to incorporate them.”

“Oh! Yes, three weeks should be fine. I thought… it might be a little sooner,” Rukia replied, sounding a tad disappointed.

“Abarai’s a busy man, three weeks is actually pretty quick,” Izuru explained.

“Right, of course!” Rukia nodded. “Yes, I’ll take the 24th!”

She then paid her deposit, a process which involved her taking approximately ten thousand items out of her purse, including a full-sized drawing pad, a single fingerless glove, and a Pez dispenser with a duck head. She was the most contradictory person Renji had ever met, and he just wanted to know everything about her. But instead, they were going to exchange a couple of emails about a grim reaper on a skateboard, he was going to spend an hour and a half two inches from her naked thigh in a state of intense, non-sexual concentration, and then he would likely never see her again.

“Okay, I guess that’s it!” Rukia said, stuffing the last of her worldly belongings back into the purse. “Three weeks, then!”

“Three weeks it is,” Renji agreed. “Unless we happen to run into each other at the taco place.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right. Ha, ha, of course!” She’d been walking backwards toward the door, an impressive feat in those heels, and she spun suddenly to pull it open.

“It’s a push,” Renji and Izuru chorused together.

“Ha, ha, of course it is!” Rukia laughed nervously, and ducked out.

Izuru stared pointedly at Renji. “Wow,” he said.

“I don’t know what you have against her,” Renji scowled. “So she’s professional. She was really nice. She’s a big fan of my work.”

Izuru cocked his head. “She’s clearly also a big fan of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renji said.

“Look, I’m sorry I implied that a person who drives a Lotus Exige would not be interested in having your weird skeleton doodles permanently placed on her body,” Izuru held up his hands, “but did you really not notice the little hearts and singing birds floating around her head every time she gazed longingly at you?”

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Renji snapped.

“It looked fancy and I asked Shuuhei what it was, okay!”

On cue, Shuuhei burst back into the reception area, Momo close on his tail. “Are we talking about the hot client who has a crush on Abarai?”

“Did you ask her out?” Momo asked breathlessly.

“She’s not really his type,” Izuru mused. “Very corporate.”

Renji frowned. Did he have a type? If his type excluded people like Rukia Kuchiki, he might need to get a new type.

“Who cares, she was adorable!” Momo insisted. “I woulda asked her out.”

“Renji, if you go out with her, can you get me a ride in the Exige?” Shuuhei added.

“I’m not gonna ask her out!” Renji protested. “What happened to the no-hitting-on-clients rule?”

“The rule is no creeping on clients,” Shuuhei correctly. “This is different. She’s clearly into you, big time.”

“Also, she seems non-terrible, unlike the questionable human beings you usually take up with,” Izuru pointed out. “We could relax the rule if it netted you an actually decent partner for a change.”

Renji scowled judgmentally at Izuru, as if his own dating history had been remotely better before he and Shuuhei finally hooked up.

“Oh!” Momo waved her phone. “Speaking of which, I googled her, like you told me to, Izuru--”

“Izuru!” Renji protested.

“--and you were right! She’s not just one of the Kuchikis, she’s the granddaughter!” Momo thrust her phone in Renji’s face. It was some article about some fancy charity event, complete with a picture that was clearly Rukia, dressed in a dramatic black and gold evening gown.

Renji wanted to push Momo’s hand away, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at Rukia in that dress. “The who?” he asked.

Izuru and Momo sighed dramatically in synchronized exasperation.

“Embarrassingly rich old money family? I don’t know what they actually do, but they’re always in the newspapers, donating money for something or other--”

“Billionaire philanthropists,” Shuuhei intoned in a fake deep voice.

“--I heard they’re descended from some famous clan of samurai back in Japan,” Momo ignored him. She jerked her phone back and started tapping at it frantically. “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the grandson-- Rukia’s brother, I guess. He always makes those lists of top ten hottest bachelors.”

“He’s dreamy,” Shuuhei seconded.

“Impossibly dreamy,” Izuru thirded.

Momo flipped her phone around again, to reveal a picture of a very serious, and very handsome man in a classic three-piece wool suit. Renji supposed “impossibly dreamy” was not an inaccurate description.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen pictures of that guy before,” Renji shrugged. “He’s okay. Rukia has a more interesting face, I think.”

Momo and Shuuhei exchanged raised eyebrows.

“You do like her, then?” Izuru asked, his face brightening. “You’re wrong, by the way, Byakuya Kuchiki has the face of an angel.”

“Rukia says he’s stuffy,” Renji shrugged. “And fine. I like her. She’s cute and nice and had good taste in tattoos. What’s not to like?”

“Are you gonna ask her out, then?” Momo pressed.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied. “She’s my client. Besides, as you just pointed out, she’s loaded. What’s she want with a scumbag like me?”

All three of his friends groaned.

“You have good delts and sexy hair,” Izuru pointed out.

“You give amazing hugs!” Momo declared.

“You draw fantastic skeletons,” Shuuhei added. “Which, apparently, is relevant to her interests, and not a thing you usually find on Tindr.”

“Also, we’ve already established that she does like you, regardless of whether she has a valid reason for doing so,” Izuru concluded. “So, if you’re at all interested, you really shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“I think you should go for it,” Momo encouraged.

“Me, too,” Shuuhei agreed.

Renji grimaced. She was an amazing girl, too good to be true probably. If she had any sense at all, she would certainly turn him down. But maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have any sense. “Okay,” he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll do it. But not until I’m finished the damn tattoo!”

#my writing #wacky au requests #god i want to read 100k worth of this #i just don't want to *write* it #insert dog no write! only read! meme #special thanks to mr p for coming up with rukia's car for me #we spent about a month once discussed which 80s sportscar each of the vice-captains would drive #it is the best bleach conversation we have ever had

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Imagine:

Erik walks in on his homeboys sister stepping out of the shower and she is embarrassed/ has a huge crush on him.

Warnings: Smut. Flash back.

Micheal and Yara.

Two siblings from Oakland who decided to get an apartment near Telegraph Ave so that Yara could study at Berkeley. Yara is currently studying Art History there and she will be graduating in May at the age of 21. Micheal, her older brother, is into graphic design and web development so he works for a small company creating websites for Architectural businesses. He also does free lance work on the side to earn extra cash so he can afford living in their expensive apartment. Micheal and Yara’s parents are divorced. Their father lives in San Francisco city and their mother lives where Micheal and Yara are with her new husband in Alameda County. Yara used to live with her mother but she didn’t get along with her step father. Micheal brought up the idea of sharing an apartment to Yara since his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Evette decided that she didn’t want to move in with him.

Currently, Micheal and Evette are arguing about Micheal's whereabouts last Friday evening. Yara was trying to take a nap in her room before her late shift at 9:00 PM as a bar tender. Tossing and turning in her bed covered in fluffy white sheets, Yara groaned loudly before throwing her sheets back, temples pounding with a tension headache that Yara tries to sooth by massaging them but it doesn’t work. Only in a Metallica T-shirt, Yara grabs a pair of Champions sweatpants from her dresser, sliding her feet in her canary yellow UGG slippers, and walking out of her bedroom. Yara’s eardrums damn near bust when she stepped into the hallway of the apartment. Rubbing the cold from her eyes, Yara walked out into the living room area coming face to face with the source of the commotion.

“STOP LYING!” Evette, Short, petite, reminded Yara of Keyshia Cole because of her bright red hair and nose piercing, tossed a decorative pillow at Micheal from across the room. Micheal caught it with his quick reflexes before placing it back on the couch. He didn’t appear bothered at all by Evette’s screaming and hollering.

“Evette, I ain’t got nothing to lie about. I told you, I was with my boy, Erik. He’s back in town for a little while before he goes back to the Military,” Micheal spoke with a flat tone, eyes bored.

“I don’t believe you. I think you were with some girl. I think you’re out here sticking your dick in some other bitch. When I find out, I’m beating both of yall ass, for real,” Evette threatens Micheal with one of her long acrylic hot pink nails almost jabbing him in the eye.

“This ain’t the first time you accused me of cheating,” Micheal ran his hands down his face, “It’s really getting on my nerves, Evette. The constant trying to go through my phone, picking fights with me, the insecurities. What do I have to lie about? I could have dropped you years ago but no, I care about you too much to do that. Now, I’m just tired of you acting like a damn child.”

“Ahem,” Yara clears her throat.

Micheal and Evette turn towards her.

“Do y’all mind taking this shit somewhere else? I have to work tonight and I can’t sleep with all this yelling.”

“Hi to you too, Yara,” Evette spoke sarcastically.

“Bitch, don’t give me attitude. Do you pay the bills in here?” Yara has her fists balled up like she was ready to hit Evette. Evette simply laughs, staring at Yara like she’s a joke before turning her attention back to Micheal.

“My bad, little sis, Evette was just leaving-“

“WHAT?” Evette’s voice grew loud again.

“You heard me. Bounce. If you don’t trust me I can’t deal with you, Evette.”

Evette folds her arms across her perky chest, “Do you actually mean it this time around or will you be calling me tomorrow night asking to come over? you are famous for that shit, Mike.”

Micheal groans, “I don’t know right now. All I know is I need you to leave so I can clear my head, you know what I’m saying?”

“Okay, clear your head, GOTCHA,” Evette turns around, practically stomping to the door, “Lying ass piece of shit.”

“Don’t slam the door either!”Micheal yells.

BAM!

“Yeah,” Micheal closes his eyes to calm himself.

“You’re better than me. I feel like following her and kicking that bitch down the steps. You need to drop her, Mike. Do you even see what’s going on?”

“Nah, baby sis, tell me what’s up? What am I NOT seeing?”

Yara tilted her head at Micheal with sad eyes. Micheal shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t understand what Yara was trying to tell him without using words.

“You can be so damn thick-headed sometimes,” Yara threw her hands up matter-of-factually, “Evette is cheating on you, Mike. She’s just trying to give you a reason to end things so she can continue fucking whoever she is fucking without you knowing.”

“Wait...what?” Micheal says with disbelief.

“You’re Girl? The love of your life? She’s fucking someone else, Mike.”

Micheal blinked at Yara with bewildered eyes.

“Listen, fool, while you’re sitting there stuck on stupid, Evette is driving to a dick appointment trying to think of a plan B to get rid of yo’ ass. Just end it with her. The shit is toxic. I don’t even want a nigga to step into my personal space after witnessing the shit you and Evette go through.”

“If Evette is cheating on me...” Micheal didn’t finish his sentence but Yara knew her brother would bring hell to earth if he caught Evette fucking another man. As much as they bickered and broke up, Evette was her brothers first real love. He wouldn’t admit it, but Micheal would be heart broken.

“Then I’m going to whip her ass,” Yara said in her brothers defense, “Nobody fucks with my bro like that.”

“I’ll let you beat her ass too.”

Yara kisses her brothers forehead, “I’m going to go back in bed, I am so exhausted with school- hold up, did you say that you were with Erik?”

“Yeah,” Micheal said whole scrolling through his phone, “He’s back for a little while.”

“I haven’t seen Erik in, like, three years?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long ass time. I thought he forgot about us,” Micheal laughs, “He’ll be here later if you want to catch him before you go to work.”

“Mama was asking about him a few days ago,” Yara says recalling the conversation they both had when she went to visit her. Micheal and Yara’s mother always pulled the photo albums out whenever they came to see her. The photo album she brought out when Yara came over was Micheal’s prom photos. Micheal and Erik went to prom together their senior year.

“Look at Erik! Wasn’t he so skinny?!” Yara’s mama says.

“Yeah, mama, he was swimming in his suit.”

Yara’s eyes twinkled when she stared at Erik’s photo. Her first ever crush. The guy she kissed on a whim when she was 18 and he was 24. Yara felt so embarrassed. Erik simply gave her a kind smile, hugging her tightly. She felt like a silly child. Erik was a grown man. Ever since then, Yara hadn’t seen Erik.

“You Aight?” Micheal looked over at Yara with a smirk.

“I’m fine.”

Yara couldn’t stop thinking about her brothers friend who used to spend the night when they were kids. His friend who wore only a pair of basketball shorts when he slept. His friend who used to stand in Yara’s doorway to her bedroom teasing her.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Yara looked off to the side.

“When you look away like that it’s a sign that you’re lying. You ain’t gotta tell me, it’s probably some nasty shit that I really don’t want to know anyway.”

“Shut up, Mike,” Yara rolls her eyes, turning away to walk back to her room with her middle finger raised behind her, directed towards her brother.

——————

A few hours later:

Erik Stevens stepped off of the elevator within Micheal and Yara’s apartment building on Telegraph Ave. kinky fro freshly shaped up and a new fit and shoes on his feet, Erik checked his text message from Micheal that informed him of what apartment it is.

“9C,” Erik places his phone back inside of his jacket pocket, eyes searching from left to right before spotting the crisp white door with a bronze letter C on it and a tiny peep hole. Erik knocks, the gold Piaget watch on his right wrist making a loud tapping sound against the surface of the door. In under two seconds, Micheal opens the door, a broad smile on his handsome chocolate face when he noticed who it was.

“What’s up, cuz?” Micheal gave Erik dabs, “I ain’t expect you to be over this early, bruh, you good?”

“I’m good, I just needed to get away from CeCe. You know she offered for me to stay at her new place instead of a hotel.”

“You know you have to tell me about all of that, right?” Micheal jokes, holding his door open further for Erik to enter. Erik steps inside, his eyes admiring the urban styled apartment. It was Boho vintage with different shades of browns, greens, and reds. The living room was decorated and furnished with cream colored walls, Urban photographs of Oakland, cactus plants, a standout leather sofa set in a dessert brown color accompanied with khaki colored patch work leather ottomans and an elegantly modern coffee table featuring a round metal tabletop in a brushed, antique brass finish. 60 inch flat screen TV, an acacia wood credenza that Erik was sure is filled with old 70s and 80s records.

“Shit, let me take my shoes off, I don’t want to mess up this nice carpet,” Erik kicks his shoes off near the front door.

“You can put them in that shoe rack right there if you want. Yara got that from the thrift store about a week ago.”

Erik looks up at Micheal with expectant eyes, “Little Yara? She lives with you? what happened with Evette?”

“Long story, bro, Yara and I decided to get a place together close to Berkeley and I work for that new company I was telling you about last weekend so we can commute easier. Plus, you know moms live near us too.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, what is little Yara studying at Berkeley?”

Micheal smiles like a proud older brother, “Art History. She wants to become a Curator.”

“I’ve always seen her working in a museum. She loves history so much,” Erik reminisced with a slight smirk, “Is she here?”

“Straight back there-Wait.”

Erik was ready to rush back to see her.

“Let me see if she’s decent. She gotta work in about a few hours.”

“No problem, bruh, I’ll chill out here.”

Erik watches Micheal walk to the back of the apartment where the rooms are. Taking a seat on the leather couch, Erik strokes his beard, thinking about Yara. He hadn’t seen her in three years. He wondered how different she looked. By different he meant mature and filled out like a women. Back when she was just 18 years of age, Yara was so petite and athletic since she played Lacrosse, braces on her teeth, and so sweet and innocent. From what Micheal told Erik last weekend when they went out to a Hookah bar for Boys night, Yara gained weight. Micheal joked about it, typical sibling teasing, but Erik wished he could have seen a picture. Now, his mind went back to when Yara kissed him the night of her graduation party before Erik left to start his JSOC training. He honestly didn’t know how to respond. Yara looked like her world came crashing down when he didn’t reciprocate the same feelings. She was much younger than him, Erik has her by six years. She was 18 and he was 24. Yeah, Yara was legal but it still felt weird. He always knew little Yara had a crush on him and he surely didn’t want Micheal to know about it.

“She’s still asleep,” Micheal walked back out with a generous bag filled with an eighth of top-shelf weed, “You want to smoke a blunt and tell me about this bitch named CeCe?”

———————

Yara. Don’t forget. The history project is due tomorrow night. Since you’re group lead, you have to submit it.

Yara rolls her eyes at the group chat she was in with her fellow History classmates. That assignment was the last thing on her damn mind. Yara closes her Mac, stretching her curvy body out like a cat before getting up from her comfy bed. Like a strong wind, the smell of kush hit her nose. Yara noticed that her bedroom door is cracked. Micheal must have come to check on her. Yara slips on a pair of Champion Reverse Weave drawstring shorts that were folded on the end of her bed in a pink color, bed hair and all, walking out of her room and towards the living room. When she entered the hallway, two male voices could be heard. It finally dawned on Yara who the other male present could be.

Erik.

Yara walks to the bathroom, deciding to wipe her face off and brush her teeth. She still needed to shower but that could wait until she ate something. Admiring her hair, Yara reaches up to pull her hair tie from her curly hair, fluffing it out and shaking her head so it wouldn’t look like she just rolled out of bed. Yara then brushes her teeth, using her water closer afterwards. Satisfied, Yara takes in a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies in her stomach before walking out of the bathroom and towards the living room area.

“So, you’re telling me that CeCe is trying to hook you up with someone? why are you there?”

“You know she likes playing match made in heaven. CeCe is cool, Mike, I know me and her used to fuck around before I left but it ain’t even like that now. Just a friend helping out a friend. No big thing.”

Micheal chuckles, “E, I know you, man. You had all that pussy around you to play with and you ain’t have a taste? Nigga-“

“Like I said, nah. I don’t want that anymore or her friend she’s trying to get me with. Her friend just wants to know how the dick CeCe used to get is really about. You can look at me like that all you want. Everything is temporary. I’m shopping for a house right now-“

“You can just sleep on our couch-“

“I’m too big for this fucking couch,” Erik laughs, “Once my house is built from the ground up, you’ll see that it was all worth it. And you know I can’t stay with our other friends they gon’ get me caught up and I don’t need to be in jail.”

Erik takes a puff of weed before handing it over to Mike.

Micheal accepts the weed, instantly smoking it before letting the smoke out from his nose, “You’re a changed man, E. Got a house in the works, left the hood to pursue your dreams of being this J.I Joe motherfucker,” Erik playfully jabs Micheal in his ribs, “Seeiously, man, I’m proud of you. Wait until Yara sees you, bruh.”

Erik licks his lips before raising a single brow, “What you mean by that?

“She ain’t gonna believe this the same Erik from three years ago. What you do? Get inside of the same machine as Captain America?”

“Funny, nigga.”

Yara didn’t reveal herself just yet. She just wanted to hear him talk. Erik’s voice definitely appeared deeper. Raspy, then husky, then deep and gruff. When he genuinely laughed it was still just as light as before. Yara peeked out into the living room. A tiny gasp escaped her mouth. Kinky fro, muscles, facial hair, and tiny scars on his arms is what she noticed first. Micheal was right, this was Erik 2.0. Then, whenever he talked; those lush lips moving, Yara saw gold canines in his mouth. He looked so rough and scruffy. The Military definitely made him harder.

“Yara, stop being nosy!” Micheal yells. Yara almost jumped where she stood. She was so in tune with her thoughts that she hadn’t realized how close she’d gotten into the living room.

“Shut up Mike!” Yara fired back. With nervous eyes, Yara looked over at Erik. He didn’t speak, all he did was look fixedly at her with his eyes wide open. It was as if time stood still and she was the only thing that mattered in that room. Even the weed in Erik’s hand could burn to ash.

“Hi, Erik,” Yara couldn’t stop herself from grinning when Erik smiled at her with his dimples.

“Little Yara, what’s going on girl!” Erik hands Micheal the blunt back before standing from the couch, walking over to Yara with his arms outstretched for her to give him a big hug. Yara walks up to Erik, giggling nervously before bringing her arms around his waist, squeezing him. Erik rocked Yara back and forth while his chin rested on top of her curly head. Erik then brings his lips down to kiss Yara’s forehead before pulling her away to get a good look at her.

Heart shaped face, dimple in her chin, glittering eyes fringed with long eyelashes that reminded him of maple syrup, silken skin like cinnamon, ebony ringlets that made her thick but arched brows pop, lips full and glossy with a prominent Cupid’s bow. Erik’s eyes burned with desire when he gazed at Yara’s voluptuous, curvy, ample, and generous body. She really filled out from the last time he saw her. Mike can joke all he wants but Yara looked...

Erik covered his eyes with his hands, a suppressed laugh escaping his mouth before he opened his arms wide for her to hug him again. Yara giggles, stepping back into his embrace again to accept his hug. He smelled like patchouli. Tall, brawny, chiseled, broad-shouldered, and hulking, Yara couldn’t get over how comfortable she felt within Erik’s embrace. The deep baritone of his voice made her shiver.

“Look at you girl, all grown up. Crazy how that happened in three years, right?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Yara turned her face away timidly, “So, how is the Military treating you? I mean...” Yara looks Erik up and down with a shake of her head, “It seems like it’s treating you nice. Go hard or go home, right?

“Treating me like I’m a piece of shit but it’s worth it,” Erik laughs, “The Military transformed me.”

Yes it did

“You do look great, I almost didn’t recognize you sitting on that couch. The hair, the muscles, the scars...”

Yara looked at them, her hand extending out suddenly to touch a row of scars that looked freshly raised against his skin.

“Don’t.”

Yara jolted upright, her hand jerking away. His voice and the look he gave her had her shrank in front of him.

“Shit, my bad, girl. You don’t want to touch these. Bad memories. That’s all, little Yara, I’m sorry.”

“It’s...it’s okay,” Yara steps away, shifting from one foot to the other, “Good to see you though, Erik.”

“You too, girl,” Erik scratched his beard before reluctantly turning away from Yara to take his seat next to Micheal on the couch. Yara watched him walk away while tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The way they greeted eachother felt so different. Erik wasn’t only physically changed, He’s mentally changed too.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?” Micheal stretched his slender tattoo covered arms above his head.

“Yeah, but I’m hungry so,” Yara rubbed her hands on her thighs to get rid of the sweat before walking away and into the kitchen. Yara finally exhaled when she entered the kitchen after holding her breath while walking past Erik. The kitchen was open and you could peek into the living room. Erik was sitting directly across from Micheal staring straight ahead at Yara while smoking his blunt. He tilted his head at her while half listening to Micheal talk about Evette. Yara turned her face away, grabbing a loaf of wheat bread from the counter to make herself a PB&J sandwich.

“Little sis, what you cooking up in there?”

“Nothing for you,” Yara spread strawberry jam on her bread, “Why don’t you order in?”

“I was thinking about it, E, I’ma make a liquor run real quick, you want anything?”

“I got some good stuff in the car I can grab, you aint gon’ drink it so don’t even ask.”

“Yeah, I like my own shit,” Micheal stood from the couch, walking towards the back of the apartment to his room. It was silent minus the low TV and Yara washing the butter knife she used to make her sandwich. Erik leaned back into the leather couch, crossing his arms over his solid chest. He watched Yara walk over to the trash can to toss a paper towel in the trash that she most likely used to clean up crumbs or spilled jam. Erik has a great view of Yara’s thick ass bending over, her drawstring shorts raising up her thighs and getting caught between her ass cheeks. Such a beautiful sight has Erik’s brows knitted as he gave her a once-over. At that particular moment, Yara looked back at him as if she could feel his eyes boring into her.

“Hi.” She spoke in a trembling tone.

“Hi, back,” Erik says suggestively.

“Did Mike leave yet?”

“Nah-“

“Aight, I’ll be back, y’all good? Need anything?” Micheal was back with a hoodie on, a dad cap, and a pair of vans on his feet.

“Can you stop by that corner market that sells those organic fruits? I want some mangos.” Yara yelled from the kitchen.

Micheal grabbed the door knob, pausing, “I’m making a liquor run too.”

“Oh! I want some Hypnotiq.”

“Cool, you, E?”

“We can order in when you get back, I’m good.”

“Bet, I’ll be back.”

Micheal exits.

“Mike still just as skinny as he was since the last time I saw him” Erik laughs.

“Yeah, he can eat but it goes nowhere. Me, I gained all the weight in the world.”

Erik gave Yara a dismissive wave of his hand, “Girl, you look good. Ain’t nothing wrong with the weight you put on.”

Yara giggles, popping a green grape in her mouth, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Erik craned his neck to try and see her, “Why don’t you come in here and eat. Over there hiding and shit from a nigga.”

“Okay,” Yara got up from the dining room table, walking through the kitchen and entering the living room. She decided to sit her plump bottom on the floor while using one of the leather ottomans as a surface for her grapes and half eaten sandwich.

“So, how have you been?” Erik asked while rolling a new blunt.

“I’ve been doing just fine. Ready to graduate honestly.” Yara nervously rubbed her shoulder before gazing at Erik, “You?”

“Busy, busy, busy,” Erik’s onyx eyes landed on hers before looking back at his blunt, “Just traveling, training, that’s about it.”

“Oh,” Yara massaged the back of her neck, “Does those scars have anything to do with it?”

“Partly, yeah.”

“I see,” Yara admires them, “They look...they don’t look like typical scars.”

“That’s because they’re not.” Erik spoke in a flat tone.

“Let me just, stop asking,” Yara laughs awkwardly.

Erik chuckles, “It’s not a subject I rather talk about with you, Little Yara.”

“I understand. I won’t pry.”

“Cool,” Erik takes a hit of his blunt, cheeks blowing out as they filled with smoke, “Seeing anybody?”

“Nope. I haven’t for the past three months. Been trying to stay focused. Men are a distraction.”

“Y’all women are too,” Erik laughs, smoke escaping his nose.

Yara cocked her head, “So, my guess is you aren’t seeing anyone either.”

Erik licks his lips, “I don’t have time for that.”

“Does that include sex too?”

Erik clapped his hands together while chuckling, “Ahhhh, shit, Yara, did you just ask me about my sex life? Are you having sexxxxxxx?!

“I did. And I’m grown, ERIK, so yes, I’m having sex,” Yara gave a half shrug while rolling her eyes.

“21, right? I remember when I was 21. Legally can drink now and everything. Too bad you still can’t hang with us,” Erik chuckles.

Yara gave Erik the finger, “fuck you, don’t play with me like that.”

“I’m just saying, I remember you graduating high school the last time I saw you. Now you’re in your 20s, barely.”

Yara lowered her head, “Will you always remember me like that? Like DAMN, I did grow up, nigga.”

Erik noticed the attitude in her voice, “You’re mad at me?”

“Just annoyed,” Yara stood up, grabbing her food, “I’m gonna eat in my room so I can look over this project I have to submit tomorrow. I’ll see you later, Erik.”

Confused, Erik watched Yara practically storm away. He didn’t understand why his words offended her so much. It’s just what Erik is used to. He’s used to seeing Yara so young not a 21 year old adult. It was all still so new to him. Deciding not to chase after her, Erik gets up from the couch to retrieve his shoes so he could grab his drink from his car.

———————

Yara couldn’t even focus.

She was really bothered by Erik’s comments.

It was mainly because every time he cracked jokes she thought about her kissing him. He probably cracked jokes about that too. Clearly, Erik couldn’t look past the fact that Yara is Mike’s little sis. She really thought he was past that when he first laid eyes on her. She could tell what a look of lust was in a man’s eyes since Yara often receives that look. Erik’s eyes were gleaming with desire and attraction. He almost looked shocked that it was Yara. Then, the way he looked her up and down. His eyes damn near gaped when she noticed him staring while she was in the kitchen. Pupils flared and all. Now, it was as if he was trying to hide the attraction he has towards her after three years. Yara was disappointed honestly. She always thought the next time she ever saw Erik they would honestly re-do that kiss and possibly have sex. If Yara had the choice to go back and lose her virginity it would have been with Erik.

Glancing at her phone, Yara noticed it was around 7:45 PM. Luckily, the bar she worked at wasn’t too far from her. Yara didn’t drive so she usually walked or caught an Uber. Lifting from her soft and fluffy floor cushion, Yara grabs her white cotton towel and soap sponge to take a shower. Leaving her room, she could hear Erik watching a basketball game. Yara closes her bedroom door, walking across to the bathroom, closing the door behind her softly. She began to undress, stripping her clothes from her body into a wrinkled pile on the floor near the sink. Opening the medicine cabinet, Yara grabs her Dove sensitive skin body wash and exfoliating spin brush. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Erik being in the living room right now while she was naked in the bathroom. There was no way Yara could ignore the growing dampness between her legs. She hadn’t been wet to the thought of Erik in a very long time.

Luke warm water running, Yara pulled the tribal patterned shower curtain back, stepping inside carefully not to slip on the the shower mat, then closing the curtain behind her. Yara forgot to pin her hair up but she needed to wash her hair anyway so she allowed it to grow wet while she wet her body completely. Grabbing her exfoliating brush and the body wash, Yara applied the body wash to her curvy body, turning on her brush and in a circular motion, began to cleanse her skin from the neck down. She had a separate skin care routine and a spin brush for that as well. Yara lifts her leg on the side of the tub to wash behind her thighs, the warm water running down her ass and to her pussy. Yara felt extra tingly between her legs. She didn’t have time to rub off in the shower and she forgot her favorite vibrator in her bed room. Groaning, Yara tried to ignore it as best as she could while scrubbing the top of her feet.

————————

Erik sat cross-faded with his eyes sitting low. The basketball game was just background noise for him. Bored out of his mind, Erik really wanted to go and talk to Yara. He didn’t want to approach her on some awkward shit but at the same time he missed talking to her. Erik remembers how he used to talk and goof off with Yara from her doorway when they were younger. Micheal is very long-winded and sitting on the couch will eventually lead to Erik falling asleep. Erik leans forward on his elbow to peek down the hall where Yara’s bedroom is located. The hall was brightly lit from the light and he couldn’t tell which room was hers exactly. All the damn doors looked the same.

“Fuck it,” Erik places his phone on the coffee table, rising from the couch and making his way down the hall. Hands in his pockets, Erik approaches the first door. He knocks, no sound, twisting the knob and opening the door. It was Mikes room. Erik closes the door, walking further down the hall and approaching a door to his right. The light was on, he could tell from the glow beneath the door. Erik knocks, no sound. He grabs the brass knob, twisting it, then opening. Standing there, Erik’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. His mouth hung open and his eyes went round as if they were about to fall out of their sockets. He gawked at the sight of Yara before him. A sight he never imagined in a million years he would see up until now.

Yara was arched over the bathtub with her ass pointed straight out at Erik. Erik could smell cleaning products; Fabuloso from what it smelled like. The water in the tub was on full blast as Yara cleaned the porcelain. Her body was still wet and she had a T-shirt wrapped around her hair. Yara’s ass jiggled each time she scrubbed the tub out. She wasn’t aware of his presence. Erik was so stunned by her naked body and the fact that he walked in on her that he couldn’t even speak.

Too late.

Yara lifts her body up, turning to place the scrub brush on the floor near the tub, her eyes catching Erik standing within the entrance to the bathroom. Yara felt as if her heart was leaving her body. Shell-shocked almost. Now, her breasts were revealed to him. Large, big brown areolas and nipples soaking wet and dripping, curvy waistline glistening with water down to her waxed mound and thighs. Pretty toes painted white with a tattoo of a rose on her left foot. Yara looked appetizing. Yara bit her lip bashfully, eyes glossy as if she wanted to cry from embarrassment, her hands reaching out to the toilet to grab her folded towel. Yara presses her lips together to try and stop her lower lip from trembling and eyes her looked heavenward.

Yara spoke with a shaky voice, “I-Why didn’t you knock? Erik?”

Erik didn’t respond. His eyes were ablaze staring straight at her face. He felt turned on but at the same time he felt guilty. Luckily, Yara couldn’t see how fat and long his dick had gotten within his jeans. She couldn’t hear him, maybe he should have knocked harder. Yara’s hands were shaking and she couldn’t meet his eyes. She was overly embarrassed and not at all prepared. Yara crosses her thighs, pressing the towel further into her chest.

“...I knocked. I should have knocked again. Shit, Yara, I’m sorry-“

“Just-it’s cool,” Yara sized Erik up before rolling her eyes, “Can’t go back now, yeah?”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Yara,” Erik felt like shit, “I’m so so so sorry, Yara.”

“Erik, stop with the apologizing,” Yara drew in a long breath.

“I’m just gonna go,” Erik turns away, walking out of the bathroom. Yara stayed rooted to the spot, her hand pressing further into her chest to calm her rapid heart beat. As always whenever Yara felt embarrassed, she sighed before laughing quietly to herself. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Yara shook her head at what just happened. She was afraid to even look Erik in his eyes now. He saw her in full on nudity. Not in her panties and bra, not in a swimsuit, not wrapped with a fluffy towel, no, fully naked.

Twirling a strand of hair that fell from under the T-shirt, and chewing on her cuticles, Yara gathered herself before leaving the bathroom. She places the cleaning products back in its designated basket under the sink before grabbing her sponge. Yara walked out of the bathroom, entering the hallway and her eyes disobeying her as she nervously glanced into the living room. There seated on the couch with his eyes focused on her, was Erik. Like a magnet, Yara couldn’t pull her eyes away. It was as if he waited to see her leave.

Yara raised a hand in greeting.

He waved.

Yara hung her head, a small smile on her face.

Erik did the same thing before looking at her again.

“I hope this doesn’t make it weird between me and you,” Yara says.

“Never,” Erik spoke with his deep voice, “it could never be weird with you.”

Yara licks her lips, eyes set with long lashes blinking slowly at Erik.

“What are you thinking?” Erik asks while leaning forward on his elbows.

“I’m...I...just-forget it-“

“Nah, tell me.” Erik pushes his eyes searching.

“Mike will be back soon, I have to get dressed.”

“He ain’t back yet,” Erik tilts his head at her, “Don’t be so shy. It’s me, Erik.”

“But it’s what I’m thinking that I shouldn’t be,” Yara crosses her ankles in front of her while staring at her toes.

“Well, I wanna know.”

Yara fidgeted with her fingers before looking up at Erik through her lashes, “I was thinking that I’m glad you saw me like that. I’ve always wanted you to see me like that. Sorry I stormed away like I did earlier.”

Erik swallows spit, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Erik has to look away himself, scratching his nose. He wasn’t prepared for that response at all. Little Yara always wanted him to see her naked. He knew she had a school girl crush on him. No wonder why she didn’t rush to cover herself even though she still looked embarrassed.

“No worries, ma. Uh,” Erik scratches his dreads, “So...you’ve always wanted me to see you naked?”

Yara toyed with a lock of hair, “Yeah...” she spoke with her voice barely above a whisper.

“You shouldn’t talk like that, little Yara, you’ll get yourself in trouble.”

They way he said that sounded so dangerous like fucking with him was the last thing any women would want to do. But Erik didn’t understand, that was ALL Yara wanted to do. He was back, if she didn’t make a move now he would be gone again.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen me, Erik, I dabbled in trouble,” Yara spoke with a honeyed tone.

“Maybe you should get in that bedroom before Mike gets here then,” Erik says with a sly smirk.

“Yeah, maybe,” Yara giggles before letting out a sigh,

“Bye, Erik.”

“Bye, Yara.”

She didn’t want to move. She really wanted Erik to get up and follow her into her bedroom.

“What you waiting on?” Erik says inclining his head towards the bedroom, “Get in there, little Yara.”

“Come with me?” Yara says before she could even stop herself.

Erik’s eyes dropped and his lips parted. Eyes fully closed now, he clenched his jaw to try and calm his dick. Too bad it was already growing stiff in his jeans. The way she told him to come with her. Such a tempting little thing. Nothing he expected Yara to ever say to him. She’s right, she definitely is a grown women now. Erik wondered what that body could really do.

“I’m-im Sorry,” Yara’s brows creased, eyes cast down at her hands, “I’m being a little too bold right now.”

Erik looked towards the door, then back at Yara. He took in the sight of her barely able to keep that towel around her body.

“You mean what you said? You’re not playing games?” Erik asks with a serious tone, “Cuz if I get up off this couch and come with you, you’re getting all of me, girl.”

“I know,” Yara bites her bottom lip, “I know what I want.”

The way her lips pouted and her eyes looked up at him all innocent caused Erik to stand up slowly from the couch. Erik drew his lower lip between his teeth hands in his jeans pockets before stepping forward. Yara’s lower lip trembled and her breath came out in short gasps. Standing directly next to her now, towering over her with his large intimidating frame, was Erik looking down at Yara with awe transforming his face. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Yara began to walk forward towards her bedroom. Yara twisted the handle, turning to face Erik before opening the door. Erik followed her into darkness, Yara turning to face him with timid eyes. Erik raised a single brow at her, silently asking her if she was sure about this. Yara swallows spit before nodding her head slowly. Erik licks his lips before closing that door behind him, the light that illuminated the hallway disappearing.

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @theesotericqueen @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @rent-emspoons @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #killmonger x reader #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger #black panther killmonger #killmonger smut

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shizzlinghotbrason · 4 years ago

Text

ok so nearly everyone in the fandom is doing this and as sad as it is that we need to remind these simple things to people, I feel the need to talk about this too.

I won't make this too painfully long because I know y'all most likely already know this and I just wanna put out a basic list of shit you should always follow in the fandom. But for those who don't, a lot of fan content creators, be it artists or writers or just general fans trying to enjoy their time, have been leaving/quitting the fandom.

Why are they leaving, you ask? Toxicity. Toxicity nearly everywhere. People can't hold respectful debates or discourses on interesting topics regarding characters/the books/ships anymore without someone toxicly stating that only their opinion is correct, and going off on anyone who has different opinions carried with a lot of aggressive, rude and shallow behaviour. Fanartists have gotten death threats and are scared of drawing art for the Riordanverse without getting anxious af.

Now the thing is, having done those (eXcepT for the death threats) doesn't automatically make u an entirely shitty person. Maybe you made a mistake and came off as rude without rlly meaning to. That's okay. Here's how to identify if u ever did so, and to change that behaviour. Again, it's okay to make mistakes, but we rn as a fandom srsly need to try to turn things around.

Some basic shit you should remember being a part of the fandom:

• NO NSFW STUFF WITH MINORS!!! That means fanarts, fanfics etc. But here's the shocking thing- when someone does this, you can actually hold them accountable WITHOUT SENDING DEATH THREATS AND CROSSING THE BOUNDARIES! Cuz doing that only makes YOU stoop just as low. Pl e a s e remember that always and be respectful whatever you do.

• That being said, ppl are allowed to write nsfw stuff IF said characters are aged up, aka 18+. Ofc, it's a must that they put a content warning beforehand because many people may not want to read that. BUT, if you don't want to read it and if they've aged up the characters so nothing's morally wrong or gross, then please do NOT hate the author in the comments, do NOT report their post/account. Seriously dude, they gave warnings, if you don't want to read it just scroll past it's not that hard. Unless it's with minors, you shouldn't be reporting innocent ppl's accounts like that.

• one thing that I've seen a lack of in the fandom are trigger warnings. I've seen several fics whose covers are literally of blood. And entire chapters were written with intricate graphic descriptions yet with no trigger warnings or a tw wayyy down in the caption. you never know what may be triggering to someone if a lot of ppl see ur content but the least u can do is put trigger warnings on the most common stuff. I get that it may look aesthetically matching if it's a murder mystery sorta fic but isn't the well being of people more important?

• look I'm not saying you're not allowed to have opinions, but the problem is when you start treating your opinions like facts. I can't count the times I've seen someone state their opinion like it's facts and then trash on other's for having a different opinion. PEOPLE ARE ALLOWED TO HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS. Stop attacking people for liking Jason more than Percy or vice versa, there's no rule that you absolutely have to like one or the other, ppl can like who they want. When you're stating UR opinion, it would be nice if you used stuff like "I personally think that..." or "... that's just my opinion" because again, Ur opinion is just that, not a fact.

• if you can't have discourses or discussions about certain topics respectfully and nicely then don't have them. if someone's done nothing wrong but state their opinions and you don't like it, don't go attacking them. if you don't have anything good to say, shut up and just scroll past. it's not that hard. we don't need any more negativity in the fandom. If you feel like you're about to snap, mute or block the account you don't like and move on with life. But for the love of GOD don't go out of your way to be agresive or hateful to ppl. They have feelings too and run fan accounts for fun, not to get upset and hurt.

• when a fan account owner has made a post saying what they think of a certain topic, and you comment saying you think they're wrong and they reply that you didn't get the point of their post, then chances are you most probably actually did not understand what they were saying. when this happens, pls don't go on forcing ur opinion onto them as if you got what they meant when you didn't. Maybe next time when someone says you didn't get what they were saying, ask them nicely to explain it to you instead of going off like that?

• firstly, shame on you if you've ever run a hate account. just why? how much more negativity do you want to add? if you come across a hate account please please report it and block it and tell your friends to do the same. if you're targeted in a hate post, I'm so sorry, please know that they're shallow ppl just trying to make you feel shitty, you're dont have a trashy fan account; what they say is false and done purely to spite. report and block them.

• I know Rick has written a lot of racist bullcrap and hasn't batted an eye when we complained about them, but that still doesn't give you the right to send him death threats. Again, no death threats to anyone, yikes.

• don't use fanart that's racist. don't repost them either. Piper has feathers in it? don't repost it. also if you can't exactly and properly credit artists, don't repost their art saying "credits to the artist". I've done that before too but now I understand that's not right.

• also, while we're at it, can we all please universally agree on non-racist fanon stuff and get rid of racist canon stuff? like Piper and feathers, and piper & hazel with colourful and golden eyes, Piper's stupid not like other girls behaviour, and all the other bullshit Rick has put into the books. We as a fandom don't accept it and pretend they do not exist, no racism in this place 🥰‼️

• ppl are allowed to have their own headcannons, it doesn't matter what's cannon. Don't go "but in the books it's.." because in the books there's a lot of shit, and besides, if someone wants to headcannon Percy as brown? black? totally alright! they're allowed to do so! don't go bUt pErCy iSnT pOc iN tHe bOoKs. same goes with sexualities and etc headcannons. as long as they're not erasing the already representation of a minority, it's okay to have headcannons of your own. Like Hazel is canonically black and we should respect that and bring out the best of that, yk what I mean?

That's all I have to say for now. I'm usually a very light-hearted cursed meme account on here but things are getting out of hand. I was wanting to make my 8 yr old brother get into the Riordanverse fandom but seeing the situation of the fandom rn scares me. We need to think about the kids in the future who'll be in this fandom, whose lives will be changed and shaped by these books. Surely, the older people in the fandom before us would be utterly disappointed at what it's become and it's our job to constantly look out for the fandom.

If you're leaving/have left the fandom, I'm so sorry that it got to that point, but ur wellbeing comes first, do what you feel is necessary to feel better, all of us send lots of positive vibes towards your way! and to the peeps who've still decided to stay in the fandom and use their account to talk about this issue, I cannot express how thankful I am of you for doing such an important thing right now. And to everyone - as Harry Styles once said - treat people with kindness.

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riotwritesthings · 5 years ago

Text

The Curious Witch and the Cursed Wolf

Chapter 4: A Choice and A Chance | AO3

And this is the end! Art as always by the fantabulous @gayspacesprinkles. ILYBRO.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Next week, my other specialty. Filth.

Title: The Curious Witch and the Cursed Wolf (Chapter 4) Collaborator(s): Riot @buckybarnesbingo Square Filled: C1, “kiss me” @starkbucksbingo Square Filled: B2, Chosen family Ship/Main Pairing: WinterIron Rating: T Major Tags/Warnings: fantasy AU, witch!Tony, wolf!Bucky, fairytale vibes, Non-graphic injury Summary: Once upon a time there was a man, and a wolf. They both went into the forest looking for different things, and instead they found each other. Word Count: 2,181

~~~

Once upon a time there was a wolf.

He never would have thought he’d find himself traveling with a witch, but it was the happiest he could ever remember being.

He still didn’t know who he used to be, where he came from, but with every day he cared less.

The wolf no longer longed for a home he couldn’t remember, content to follow the witch through the forest, wherever he led.

He watched the witch study plants and strange stones, watched him interact with the people and other strange things they met among the trees.

Always so eager to learn, to help.

The wolf had never met anyone like him.

~~~

“Have we passed that tree before?” Tony asks, adorable wrinkle between his eyebrows. “I thought you said you have a good sense of direction.”

I do, Bucky thinks and huffs as he nudges Tony in the thigh with his shoulder, grinning when Tony squawks and pretends to trip over him. The forest is circular.

“That’s awful,” Tony says gleefully. “I love it. How does that even work?”

He spends the next half a day trying to guess and Bucky doesn’t even understand half the words he uses. He could happily listen to Tony talk all day, could listen to it forever.

“What do you think, magic vortex or temporal wormhole?” Tony asks eventually, grinning at him, wide and bright.

Changed my mind, I think you jus’ got us lost, Bucky thinks and then barks out a laugh when Tony tries to shove at him, dodging easily out the way.

“I’m going to turn you into a rug,” Tony grumbles.

Bucky snaps his teeth and Tony just laughs, and Bucky can’t stop his tail from wagging even as he growls louder.

“You haven’t died yet?” Comes a voice from up above them, hidden among the thick leaves, and Bucky rolls his eyes as Tony’s face lights up.

“It’s you again!” Tony says happily, head craned way back to stare up into the trees. “Why don’t you come down here?”

“Not until he stops making that sound,” the voice says, and Bucky catches a glimpse of soft blue light between the shifting branches.

He growls louder.

“That’s his happy noise!” Tony calls helpfully and Bucky loses his growl in another huff of laughter.

Pepper is grumbling to herself as she slowly floats down towards them, pointedly much closer to Tony. Bucky gives her a toothy grin.

“So, what, he just likes being cursed?” Pepper as she bobs around Tony’s head, making a thoughtful sound when Tony swats at her. “I can actually see that, probably useful to be a wolf in a forest.”

Pretty useful, Bucky admits, because it is, more than once he’s had to get between Tony and the things they meet. Things with fangs and claws.

Tony is too curious for his own good, but Bucky has sharper claws, bigger fangs. He will do anything for Tony, and by now everything in the forest should know it.

"Wait, is it— do you know how to break the curse?" Tony asks, face lighting up the way it always does at the prospect of learning something new

"I'm not the one who's a witch," Pepper, as if the answer should be obvious.

“Can I break it?” Tony asks, and Bucky’s heart jumps in his chest.

He hadn’t even thought—

Pepper sighs, impressively loud for such a tiny thing.

“Probably,” she says and her wings flutter, as if shrugging. “You won’t know unless you try, that’s been your method so far, right?”

“Aw, you’ve been watching,” Tony says, fluttering his long eyelashes, and Bucky laughs again.

“Maybe,” Pepepr says with another tiny shrug but floats a little closer, glows a little brighter. “You’re more interesting can carrying gossip for lazy old witches.”

“A ringing endorsement,” Tony says, nodding, then grins when the glowing light lets out a delicate laugh and swoops down to bounce off the top of his head.

“So you’ve almost made it out of the forest now,” Pepper says and she’s addressing them both now. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No,” Tony says, but he’s smiling widely and Bucky can hear the warm, happy thump of his heart. “And also very much yes.”

Better, Bucky thinks smugly.

He hadn’t come into the forest looking for anything except to survive, never could have expected Tony.

“I’m glad,” Pepper says, like she really means it. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You should take a vacation sometime,” Tony says with a teasing grin. “I really do have a million more questions.”

An’ I could use a good snack, Bucky adds, flashing his teeth.

Pepper huffs again, bounces off Bucky’s head too before disappearing into the thick trees.

“I like her,” Tony says decisively.

You like anyone who gives you shit, Bucky thinks fondly.

Tony gasps, clutches his hands over the glow in his chest, and Bucky barks out another laugh.

“I’ll show you,” Tony grumbles, chases him through the trees when Bucky turns and bounds away, breathless and laughing.

They stop for the night when the trees start to thin, starlight peaking between the shifting leaves.

Bucky has barely stretched himself out and lain down before Tony is curling in against his side, so small when Bucky is at his largest and still so unafraid.

He flicks his tail up over Tony’s lap and chest even though the nights are warmer now. It’s habit, and he likes to feel the steady rise and fall of Tony’s chest.

Tony runs his fingers through Bucky’s fur, smoothing tangles and pulling loose twigs and leaves.

“Would you want to be human, if- if I even can break the curse?” Tony asks, his voice so soft and his eyes fixed on his hands. “You could... find a new home. Make a new life. If you want.”

Bucky whines, presses his nose to the curve of Tony’s neck. He can hear the rapid thump of Tony’s heart, the catch of his breathing.

Want to stay with you, Bucky thinks, with all the feeling he can possibly put into it. Any size, any shape.

Tony’s heartbeat jumps and his chest glows warm and bright.

“Okay, okay that’s- good,” Tony says and Bucky can hear his smile.

He falls asleep quickly, head tipped back against Bucky’s ribs and snoring softly. Bucky curls around him a little tighter, thinks about being human.

Bucky falls asleep more slowly, dreams of being able to hold Tony’s hands in his own.

~~~

Once upon a time there was a man.

He left home looking for somewhere to belong. Instead, he found someone to belong with.

It was so much better than he could have imagined.

He went looking for a way to help, a way to make life better, and he found magic.

The people of his village had told him he wouldn’t find anything, insisted it as he’d packed up to leave, and he proved them wrong.

He couldn’t wait to show them what he could do, how much he could help. So many of his wonderful ideas he could finally bring to life without worrying about materials.

So many more places he could see.

And someone to see them with.

~~~

Where will you go, after the forest? Bucky asks as morning sunlight pours through the leaves, emerald bright. Back to your village?

Tony continues scratching behind Bucky’s ears as he thinks about the question, still sprawled across Bucky’s back, warm and half asleep.

“To start,” he says. “Are you- you’re coming with me, right?”

Bucky hesitates, and Tony’s heart sinks a little in his chest.

The hunters, the other witches, they’ll still be lookin’ for me, Bucky says slowly, ears drooping. They won’t follow me into th’ forest, but if I leave...

Tony wiggles his way down off Bucky’s back, slides around to sit in front of him. Takes Bucky’s giant head between his palms.

“I won’t let them get to you,” Tony says and he’s never meant anything more, looks Bucky right in his sad, stormy eyes so he’ll know it. “You protected me in the forest, and I’ll protect you out of the forest.”

Still gonna protect you, Bucky says with a huff but his eyes are lighter, like sunlight beginning to break through storm clouds.

“Yeah yeah,” Tony says with a wide smile and leans in to press his forehead to Bucky’s. “So we’ll just have to protect each other, how does that sound?”

He can feel it when Bucky drags in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. The forest is alive around them, loud with the rustle of wind and creatures through the trees and bushes.

Tony’s world stands still.

I want to break the curse, Bucky finally says, low and sure. An’ I want to stay with you.

Tony sits upright again, chewing on his lip.

“I, I can try, I just...“ Tony trails off for a moment, ducking his chin. “I don’t want to mess it up, if I hurt you—“

You won’t, Bucky says, like he knows it, like he doesn’t have a doubt. I trust you.

Tony can’t breathe for a second, can only nod. No one has ever said that to him before, no one else has ever wanted his help.

Just try, Bucky says, bumping his head against Tony’s chest and giving him a toothy smile.

“Okay,” Tony says, smiling back helplessly. “Okay.”

So he scoots back in the dirt, closes his eyes and holds up his hands, and tries.

The forest falls still and silent, even the wind dying away.

Bright light fills the small clearing, bright enough that Tony can see it through his eyelids, and then vanishes. Tony opens his eyes to a giant puff of smoke where Bucky should be, and his heart is in his throat.

The wind picks up again, motion returning to the trees, and the cloud of smoke slowly clears away.

“You did it!” Bucky cries, then smirks with lots of teeth. “Was kinda hopin’ you’d have to kiss me, though.”

His voice is still low and warm and now real, eyes still stormy blue and so familiar.

He’s also very naked, all pale skin and thick muscle, not a hint of shame.

“Clothes!!” Tony squeaks, slapping his hands over his face. Even if he can’t help peeking between his fingers, just a little. “I didn’t know I needed to include clothes!”

“Clothes,” Bucky repeats with a scoff and he doesn’t seem concerned, too busy dropping to his knees and laughing, tugging gently at Tony’s elbow.

“Humans wear clothes, that’s the deal,” Tony says and keeps his hands planted firmly over his eyes, face burning with the force of his blush.

“‘M gonna kiss you now,” Bucky says, very politely. “Please move your hands.”

“You need pants!!” Tony insists as he peeks between his fingers again.

“Can’t believe you think that’s more important right now,” Bucky says with a pout, crossing his arm over his chest. The fluffy ears still on top of his head droop a little.

Tony isn’t sure if he’s just bad at breaking curses, or if Bucky had been under the curse too long. He supposes it doesn’t matter, Bucky certainly doesn’t seem bothered.

“I’m putting pants on you!” Tony declares, because that is what’s important right now. He’s a little lightheaded with all the heat gathering in his cheeks.

Bucky yelps a little in surprise when the pants appear on him, then quickly returns to tugging Tony’s hands away from his face.

Tony lets his arms fall but Bucky catches one of them by the wrist, gently and carefully winds their fingers together, clutches him tightly.

When he looks up Bucky’s eyes are lighter than Tony has ever seen them, practically glowing. His smile is wide, a little awed, and full of sharp teeth.

Tony smiles back, gives his hand a little tug.

“Now kiss me, what are you waiting for?” Tony demands petulantly.

Bucky laughs, and then he does.

~~~

They walk out of the forest, hand in hand, and the world opens up huge around them.

Tony barely recognizes the inn, with its fresh coat of paint and flowering shrubs. The windows stream light and music onto the grass, a dozen raucous voices floating in the dusk.

It feels like forever since Tony was last here, since he walked into the trees alone.

The old man waves from the back door, doesn’t look surprised to see him at all.

Tony waves back with a wide grin, and the old man laughs loud and booming, turns to return to the kitchen.

“So, back to my village?” Tony asks as he turns to Bucky, that tiny pit of fear still in his stomach. Still a tiny bit unsure.

“Wherever you want,” Bucky says, like a promise, giving Tony’s hand a squeeze.

“And then wherever you want,” Tony insists. “Anywhere you want, that’s only fair.”

Bucky blinks at him, and then smiles.

“That’s fair,” Bucky repeats and pulls him in.

Once upon a time there was a wolf, and a man.

And they lived happily ever after.

#my fic #winteriron #starkbucks #bucky/tony #starkbucksbingo #buckybarnesbingo #Starkbucksbingo2020 #buckybarnesbingo2020

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tasteslikemolecules · 4 years ago

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5, 26, 60, and 62!!

5. How old were you when you originally watched Supernatural? Did you stop every and come back and when? How did that shape the way you interact with the media?

I tried watching some of the first season when I was a teenager trying to get over Buffy ending. I remember Mary burning, an attic and Sam and Dean quipping (weirdly I can still see the exact scene in my head and it doesn’t actually exist in the show). I hated it. For the next decade all I knew about SPN was that it had an insane fandom. My brother claims we watched a few more episodes (“The good looking Gilmore Girls guy and another dude driving across the US, right? We definitely watched this.”) but I have no recollection of this.

I was 28 when I started watching the show in earnest. My friend got obsessed with it and made me watch it. I really didn't want to, but I also hated being left behind. I promised her I'd make it through the first season before I'd judge. I liked it enough to continue. I liked Sam and the family drama and how dark it was. By season two I really liked the show. By season three I was obsessed. I watched all twelve seasons in the span of a few months. I'd been warned that the show would get bad after season 5 so I kept waiting for it to go bad and... it didn't? I felt the quality dip a little in season 7 (I've since come to love that season) and pick up after that, and I didn't think season 12 was as strong as the rest, but I liked parts well enough.

I started writing fan fiction pretty straight away but I wasn't really involved in fandom. That definitely shaped how I watched the show. I only talked about the show with the real life friends who got me into it. I quickly realized I, at least, partially, liked other things about the show than they did. They didn't really get my obsession with Sam&Ruby or with Sam&Lucifer... or with Sam in general. I started dipping my toe into some fandom spaces when I became really obsessed with Sastiel and didn't want to feel so alone about it, and wanted to look at pretty fan art. Sometimes I'm sad I got into the show so late and missed out on the waiting and the excitement and the speculations, but in other ways I'm glad I got to watch it all on my own and form my own opinions. I also think, watching 12 seasons in one go really blurred the story lines, and let me focus more on the character development than the ebb and flow of villains and monsters. It's more like watching one giant movie where you're holding onto the one main narrative, which was Sam and Dean's relationship.

26. How do you think Cas’s relationships with the Winchesters developed offscreen? I feel like we get to see how Cas and Dean behave around each other plenty in the show and I think there was just more of the same off-screen. With Sam and Cas, I also picture their relationship developing like it did on the show, but there are a lot more blank spots. I think they spend more time on their own than Cas and Dean do, both when they work because they do more research, and when they're off cases. They get along better and have more shared interests and just seem more comfortable around each other. Their canon relationship is like one big slow burn from a really rocky start to best friends co-parenting their adopted son. There's so much stuff that's happened off-screen, and that's without my more fannish head canons coming into play (like how much time they spend together at night in the bunker when Sam can't sleep).

60. Favourite part of season 15? The Barn scene, without a doubt. I'm not sure what I think about it in any meta sense yet, I just found it incredibly gripping and emotional and well acted. And almost a little, well not traumatizing, but really upsetting. The show shied away from the many things they implied and skirted around, and I felt this scene didn't shy away from anything. Apart from that, I liked the God-connecting shoulder wound and Sam's glimpses into the other worlds. That was definitely the most interesting plot line they started in that season – and dropped in the laziest most unsatisfying way. A season a la Atomic Monsters would have been great. (Definite highlight there, Sam's: “But what I’m saying is that I don’t feel free. What we’ve done, what we’ve lost, right now, that is what I’m feeling, and, and sometimes it’s, it’s like I can’t even breathe.“) Sam's texts to Castiel also took up a ridiculous amount of space in my brain.

62. Is there anything you would change about Cas’s confession scene in Despair? How do you wish it would have gone after that?

I didn't think the whole deal with the empty made a lot of sense in the first place, so he'd have to have had a different reason to confess. I don't like the idea of Castiel being forced to speak about his love and I don't think just saying it out loud brings actual happiness. If that's supposed to be a metaphor for 'coming out', that's stupid, because obviously Dean doesn't care about Cas' sexuality one way or another. Telling someone you love them and knowing nothing can come of that love – I just don't see how that would bring greater happiness than seeing, I don't know, your adopted son child become a good person with your help. Or a lot of other more fulfilling things than unrequited romantic love.

That aside, the scene was just a bad scene, irregardless of content. It was badly shot. The acting was atrocious on both sides and it looked like they were cardboard cut outs. As for the dialogue: I don't mind the idea of Castiel confessing his love on principle, but the way he did it, I just felt embarrassed for him. The implication that he was capable of caring about Sam and Jack only because of Dean was insulting. He learnt to care about Sam while he learned to care about Dean, we saw that while it happened. And loving Jack was a disruptive factor for his and Dean's relationship, it was a liberating step away from him, so Cas' words just ring untrue. Delusional at best.

It'd been more interesting if the Empty hadn't taken Castiel. I would have liked to see the fall out of the confession, although I think most likely Dean would have just acted like nothing's happened. It's not that I wanted a grand Destiel finale, quite the opposite. I like the general idea of the dynamic of Castiel confessing and Dean not reciprocating, but the way it was done was so heavy-handed and out of character. It was a bad end for Castiel's character arc. It was weird and bad attempt at trying to make everyone happy, not trying to get a good solution from a story telling POV.

#sorry these took a while to answer...#my asks #season 15 #personal #supernatural

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retroateez · 4 years ago

Text

Prophecy - Chapter Fifteen

remember when i said chapter 14 would be the last of the year? i lied ;) think of this as an end of year gift from me to you, as a thank you for all the support and love you’ve all been giving my silly little story. - hades x

words; 3827

prophecy masterlist

tag list; @hewwo-from-the-other-side

"You want me to teach you magic?" Yunho splutters over the counter, his jaw dropped as he stares at you in disbelief.

You nod.

"Well, little lady, I'm afraid I cannot help you."

Your confident demeanor falls, your posture slouching and curved mouth pointing into a frown.

"What?" you demand. "Why not?"

Yunho sighs and after a moment of hesitation, leaves the counter and steps through a doorway that leads to the back of the shop, motioning you with a scar-littered hand to follow him.

You heave up the wooden slab that allows you access behind the counter and follow Yunho's quick pace. The blonde apothecary leads you down a set of worn, stone stairs, and you find yourself in a dingy, cold basement.

The basement is scarcely lit, with a couple of iron brackets mounted on the wall, each baring a lit torch that radiates a flickering, orange light throughout the room. Yunho's giant shadow dances on the wall, and suddenly he becomes the opposite of the bubbly apothecary you knew before.

A workbench is pressed up against the left wall, bundles of chamomile flowers and small piles of marshmallow root thrown chaotically across the surface. The wooden chair is shoved carelessly to the side, and you can see on the chair legs how worn and damaged they are from scraping across the cobblestone floor. On the opposite wall, are tall, oak shelves similar to the ones upstairs in the shop. Packages of twine and string and burlap sacks and rolls of parchments are scattered messily upon each shelf, almost as if Yunho had unpacked his things in a rush.

You stop walking abruptly, as Yunho bends down and fumbles underneath the workbench. You watch as he slides his slender fingers on the underside of the wooden table, squinting his eyes and poking his tongue out as he searches what he's looking for.

"There we go." He mumbles lowly, just as you hear a click and he stands up straight.

You almost jump out of your skin, at the sound of loud rattling, clanking, and finally the ear-splitting screech of wood raking against stone. It's only when the cacophany of noises stop that you realise that the shelf, is not a shelf at all.

The entire back panel of the shelf is gone, as are the contents that lay upon it.

Instead, there are more steps, which lead down into an impossibly darker room.

"Go on." Yunho points to the new entrance, indicating for you to go down the steps.

"Are you perhaps short of a marble?" You scoff. "Go down there and let you kill me? I don't think so."

"If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it a long time ago." A darkness clouds over his eyes and you swallow thickly. "Now go."

This time you decide to listen to him, and you take a hesitant step downwards.

The walls are damp, with trails of moss coating the steps and buried inside the cracks of the stone. You take it slow, not wanting to slip and let your guard down in case Yunho changes his mind and does decide to kill you.

"What are you waiting for?" His impatient voice comes from behind you. "Do you really think I would hurt you?" There's a twinge of pain as he speaks, and you feel slightly guilty for even thinking sweet, innocent, doctor Yunho would be capable of something like that.

Once you're down the stairs, you squint to try and make out the shapes in the unlit room. You spot something circular on the floor, but you can't make out what it is. It's too dark to see, but the smell of dust and ancient damp invades your nostrils. Yunho hasn't been down here in a very long time.

There's a snapping sound from behind you, and the torches in the room suddenly light themselves.

Despite the light, the room is still eerily dark. You can barely make out the furniture in the room. There's what appears to be a desk, covered in cobwebs but still much tidier and more organised than the one in the basement. There's a (real) shelf too, full to the brim with thick, leather-bound books which, if you squint hard enough, you notice have holes chewed out of the spine. Lastly, upon the ground and painted sloppily in white, is a five pointed star within a circle.

"Yunho?" You whisper. "What is all this?"

He ignores you and paces over to the table. With his sleeve, he sweeps away the dust, and picks up a worn, tattered notebook. Yunho hands you the book, and you read the cover, confused.

"Laredia Academy of Magic?" you read. "You're a mage?"

"I was a mage." he corrects you.

"How do you just stop being a mage? Just unlearn all the magic?" you joke.

"No." Yunho's face is deadly serious, and your smile falters and your blood runs cold. "I was cast out, and my mage rites were revoked."

You stand awkwardly in silence, biting your lip and finding sudden interest at the dirt scuffs on the tips of Yunho's black boots.

"Yeosang and I went to the same magic academy," He explains. "In Laredia, just north of the Seventeen kingdom. He was in the class above me, because he's older, but every single student knew about Yeosang."

Yunho grabs a chair from the darkest corner of the room and sits down on it, pointing behind you at another chair you hadn't noticed. Once you sit down, he continues.

"I always wanted to be a mage. It was my absolute dream, and I knew that basically anybody can do the most basic spell, so I trained hard every single day before I was even old enough to apply to an academy. Hundreds upon thousands of wishful mages and sorceresses are turned away from academies because they lack true magical talent. Luckily, I passed the entrance exam and the initiation tests, and I got in.

"The professors said I was a natural, that I had magical skills they hadn't witnessed in centuries. I was only four months into my first year at Laredia before they moved me up a class. And that was where I met Yeosang.

"We butted heads at first," Yunho chuckles fondly, remembering all the fights he and his elder got into all those years ago. Reminising the scars and spell marks scattered across his body. "We were both exceptionally good at magic, I would argue Yeosang was better than I. I would never have admitted that in my youth, but he was much more controlled, sensible with his talent than I was.

"Everything was a competition between 'Sang and I. Theory exams, practical classes, potions and herbology. Anything you could study there, we always strived to be the best. Eventually we became both good friends and rivals... It was fun and games for a few years, you know? I think at one point we were almost as close as brothers..."

Yunho begins to trail off, a sad look filling his walnut eyes as they glitter in the flickering light.

"Did something happen?" you whisper softly. He nods slowly.

"I...I pushed it too far in our last year. That was the year the academy would prepare you for mage work, I was to be sent out to the kingdom of Streyden in the east, and become King Chan's magical advisor. Yeosang was on track to be a professor at Laredia himself, and he was, for quite a while.

"Yeosang possessed so much more than I did when it was time to graduate. He was better at spell-casting, he was absolutely phenomenal at herb identifying - ironic now given I run an apothecary actually- but there was nothing Yeosang could be bested at, and it drove me utterly insane. It evolved into more than a friendly rivalry, more than just healthy competition. It became an obsession, nd so I went out searching for what my heart yearned for the most; more power.

"I found it quickly, too. I was directed to an elven clan that resided deep in the southern forest, under the impression they were gifted in regular magic, and they could teach me any spell I desired. So of course, I went. I was young, stupid and incredibly naive to believe it would've worked. And foolish to think that I could've gotten away with it."

Yunho sighs deeply, leaning his elbows on his knees and hanging his head between his legs. He rubs his hands over his face roughly, and your gut tells you Yunho's story isn't about to get any better. You watch him, and you try to take in everything he just told you. You knew that Yeosang and Yunho had been friends for a long time, but you had no idea they went back this far.

"The elves were agents of the arcane arts alright," Yunho spits bitterly out of the blue, causing you to jump in your seat a little. "Their dark magic consumed me entirely, contaminated my soul and tainted every fibre of my being. I knew I was ruined the moment I agreed to train under them. I was... so aware that everything they were teaching me was so wrong. Yet it was everything I had dreamed of, and more than anything I knew it would allow me to beat Yeosang.

"This elf clan had roots in the fire elementals, so they all were wickedly powerful pyromancers. They taught me almost everything they knew, and I couldn't believe how tame the magic at the academy was. I trained in dark magic with the elves for months, until our final practical exam came around.

"We had to duel with another member of our class, I can't remember the name of the boy who had the misfortune of being paired with me, seung- or seong- or something like that. I was absolutely positive I would win, but he was fast. Too fast. I wouldn't be surprised if the idiot had sought out the same thing I had."

Yunho pauses somberly, his broad, built shoulders drooping where he sat, and his face moulding into a sad, distant frown.

"Everytime I close my eyes, all I see are flashes of fire." Yunho whispers, staring at the floor. "I remember the feeling, but not much else. I- I can recall quite literally exploding into flames... It's like a bubbling cauldron, and it just keeps boiling and boiling until it gets so hot it bursts. And It felt like burning lava was pouring out of every single pore and hair follicle in my body."

The apothecary nibbles his bottom lip, shaking his head bitterly at the ground beneath his feet.

"It was so painful. I've broken countless bones, been on the recieving end of spells cast by the most powerful of mages, and yet I have never experienced pain like it.

"I can't believe I even have the gall to say it hurt." Yunho scoffs. "I can't even begin to imagine how much pain my duel partner was in.

"The academy realised straight away that it was dark magic. I hadn't fooled anyone in the slightest. The explosion had set the entire courtyard alight, all the trees, the furniture outside, even a couple of the students themselves, everything within a short radius of me. It was a tornado of flames, swirling round and round and I could easily have killed everybody that was there. The professors were on high alert though, they had to be during student duels. They rounded up the other students, and teleported themselves to safety in seconds.

"Everyone except for me, of course. They must have decided that my punishment for dabbling in the dark arts was death, and so they left me there to burn alive. Students weren't taught how to teleport at that point either, so I could do nothing except sit and watch the flames eating away at my skin."

"You're still alive... obviously." You chime in. "How'd you get out?"

"Yeosang." He replies simply.

He tells you how Yeosang fought and argued with the professors of the academy to forgive Yunho and let him live, almost getting himself expelled and his teaching job revoked. He explains how the professors refused to help Yunho, and how Yeosang risked his own life to save him.

"He spent weeks healing my burns, keeping me hidden away in his dorm room." Yunho breathes. "He nearly got kicked out too, but the academy knew he was too good of an asset to let go. I told him he was a fool to help me while risking so much in the process, but he's a good man. Despite all the competitions and tension between us, he's always been a good friend."

You nod solemnly in agreement. Even from the first moment you had met the platinum haired mage, you knew he possessed a generous soul. From saving you after the storm, housing, clothing and feeding you, teaching you to help heal people and allowing you to earn real, official qualifications, getting caught up in the prophecy mess you had caused and not complaining about it once. Yeosang had done so much for you, and yet here you are, repaying him by sneaking around and doing the one thing he refused to help you with.

Guilt squirms around in your stomach and latches on to your flesh with it's poisonous claws, puncturing your organs and pumping your insides full of toxins. It meanders its way through your body until it infects your bloodstream, flowing through every limb and vein until it hits your brain and starts to fog your senses and stain your conscience.

You have to keep telling yourself it's for a good reason; learning magic will help you in the long run, you just know it. It's just a shame that Yeosang doesn't understand that.

"You said Yeosang was a teacher at the academy, right?" You blurt.

Yunho nods. "Yes, for a few years."

"Then why does he refuse to teach me if he's literally qualified to do so?"

"He hasn't told you about what happened while he was a teacher, has he?"

You shake your head.

"It's not my place to tell you, Iris. Yeosang would kill me if I did." Yunho stands up with a grunt, brushing his knees off with the palms of his hands. "He'd also kill me if I taught you any magic behind his back, and I owe my life to him. So, I will not be teaching you any magic either."

"What?! Hold on!" You jump up in protest, glaring angrily at the giant man before you. "That's not fair! What was all that about then? If you were just going to say no?!"

Yunho grabs you by the shoulders, abruptly stopping your rage fueled ranting.

"Because I wanted you to know how thirst for power, particularly magic, can be incredibly dangerous."

"Well, I'm not as foolish as you." You snap aggressively, not noticing the twinge of hurt written on Yunho's face.

"You may well be right. But I still won't be helping you."

"Fine." You shrug, giving up. "Fine. Thanks for your time anyway, Yunho."

He bows politely to you, lifting up an arm and motioning to the steps for you to leave. Wrapping your arms tightly around you, you hurry up the stairs of both the secret room and the basement, until you're at the front door of the shop.

Yunho resumes his signature position of elbows on the counter, leaning forward, cheeky grin and puppy dog eyes shining brightly.

"Just... be wary, Iris. You can't trust everyone in this world."

You smile shortly, offering only a curt nod before you grab the handle of the door.

"Thanks, Yunho. See you around."

"Farewell, little lady."

The bell tinkles above you when you gently pull the door open, and chimes again as it closes after you slip your way out. You walk back to the castle at a brisk pace, keeping to yourself and keeping your gaze fixed on the ground.

Only when you feel safe enough, do you untangle your arms from around your torso, glancing down at the thick, leather-bound book you smuggled underneath your sleeves. Wiping the remaining dust off the cover, you read the bold, imprinted words;

LAREDIA ACADEMY OF MAGIC.

"Once a thief, always a thief" You grin proudly.

-----

You figured the best place to hide your stolen goods was in plain sight, which is why you are skimming the library shelves for the smartest hiding spot. You find a pile of books hidden away in the corner which didn't look too dusty, thinking that if there were to be completely dust-free books in the neglected library, it would look too suspicious. You slide Yunho's book at the bottom of the pile, making a mental note to come back later and properly skim through it.

"Where have you been?" Yeosang demands when you casually stroll into his workspace.

Hongjoong had given Yeosang and Wooyoung a study to work in, after his own had become a mess and entirely overwhelmed with parchments and hand-drawn diagrams. You throw yourself comfortably onto the bench opposite his desk.

"Just in the gardens," you reply coolly. "Hanging out."

"Is that so? How come I couldn't find you there then?" Wooyoung's voice comes sharply from the doorway, where he stands with his arms folded, leaning against the door frame as he looks at you with a deep frown.

"Maybe you just didn't look hard enough." You shrug.

The elf says nothing, but you can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head.

Yeosang ignores you both, too absorbed in studying the papers before him to listen to you and Wooyoung squabble.

"Still no monster?" you ask.

Yeosang shakes his head. "I was certain we would find one," he sighs. "But there's been no sighting of any sea monsters or creatures in decades."

"The ball is in two days," Yeosang continues. "Hongjoong expects something significant from us before then but we have nothing to offer him. He had patrols out investigating anybody remotely suspicious, I heard the guards interrupted a group of drunk dwarves playing cards... they were not impressed. But there hasn't been anyone new in the city or any of the villages in the kingdom. Nothing."

"If it's destiny, then maybe us looking for them is the problem. What if we just wait for them to come to us?" You suggest.

"Then what if destiny says we have to chase them down?" Yeosang counters with a stressed hand through his hair. "Either way, we're stuck."

Wooyoung crosses the room to peer over the diagrams for what must be the thousandth time in the last two weeks. He and Yeosang mutter lowly to each other as they read, pointing and drawings and shuffling through papers. You can only sit with your head hung low, staring miserably at the floor as the feeling of uselessness settles in your bones.

You're so tired of offering nothing. Of being no help to anyone. All people do is look after you while you wander around getting in people's way.

Suddenly, you're on your feet, and you're striding through the hallways to the library you've become so familiar with. You heave the doors open and hurry over to Yunho's book that you hid only mere hours ago, stuffing it under your shirt and creeping out of the library, and down the steps.

You refuse to rely on others. You refuse to have other people look after you. You refuse to be a liability. It's time to start fending for yourself, starting from now.

You locate the somewhat hidden door you took out of the castle earlier, and instead of turning out the door, you carry on down the hallway.

Eventually, the hallway leads to a large, empty room made entirely of cobblestone. Perfect for practicing magic. You found the torch you had used before, and lit it with a match you had forgotten about in your pocket. Once lit, you set the torch in a wall bracket and kneel down on the floor underneath it.

Rustling underneath your shirt, Yunho's book falls onto the ground with a dull thump, which bounces loudly off the walls. You hold your breath, panicked, but luckily nobody comes. Opening the first few pages, you read over Yunho's messy scrawl, taking in the drawings of hand positions and words in a language you don't understand.

You flick through more and more faded pages until you come across one that catches your eye. You look at Yunho's drawing, trying to match your own hand to the one on the page. You stick your right hand out flat, fingers together, and palm facing upwards. Then, you pull your four fingers back so the fingertips are pressed against your palm. Keeping your fingers in place, you rotate your hand so the back of your hand is now facing upwards, and rapidly flick your fingers out in front of you, presumably where the receiving end of the spell would be.

You repeat the motion over and over again, gradually building speed so after a while, your actions are fluid and less clunky. Next, is the hard part; learning the spell.

"Feainn ichaer?" You whisper, reading from the page. "What on earth does that mean? What language is that?"

Maybe exploring the library for some language books would be a good idea, you think.

But for now, you say the phrase aloud over and over again, not even knowing if you're doing it right but acting as if you're fluent in whichever language this is.

Once you feel like you've got it more or less right, you decide it's time to pair the speech and hand movements together.

Nervousness takes you by surprise then, and you have to readjust your kneeling position on the ground three times before you're ready. Taking a deep breath, you stretch your hand out like before, and you can feel the words on your tongue.

You feel it then; a rushing sensation in your stomach, burrowing past your organs and hurling itself up towards your lungs. It burns slightly as it travels, almost in the same way that hot milk burns as you swallow it, except instead of going down, this is coming up, flying past your lungs and sliding up your throat and crawling through the gaps between your teeth.

"Feainn," you pull your fingers back, and turn your hand over, the burning feeling spreading down to the tips of your toes and the tips of your ears, and you're convinced you can smell smoke. You close your eyes to focus on the spell, ignoring the sting of the fire licking at your veins and the boiling of your blood inside your veins, ignoring the loud thumping ricocheting around your eardrums, and ignoring the way your entire body begins to vibrate and ignoring the way it feels like you're about to explode at any moment. "Icha-"

"What are you doing?"

Your eyes snap open.

i just wanted to note that the language used here is elder speech from the witcher 3: wild hunt. i did not make it up myself, and it does not belong to me! just a note to cover my own back lmao.. thanks for reading!

#hongjoong #ateez #medieval!ateez #seonghwa #yeosang #san #mingi #jongho #wooyoung #yunho #yunho im so sorry #i got carried away #kpop #ateez x reader

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