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sarahisslytherin · 5 months ago

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•❣•୨୧ 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 - 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙞𝙞𝙞 ୨୧•❣•

benedict bridgerton x princess!reader

summary: your father has arranged for you to wed a prince, so you meet benedict for a late night rendezvous to tell him your affair is doomed. however, the night takes a different turn.

contains: angst, a heavy makeout sesh and mentions of sex.

a/n: part three of the series! this one's a tad bit spicy babes! PART I, PART II

word count: 1k

You secure your hood over your intricate curls before stepping out of the carriage. The alleyway is scarcely lit by the lamps lining the street. The heels of your boots clack slightly against the slick cobblestone, a bit of rain still lingering. You haven’t seen Benedict since that night in the garden, and you haven’t been able to bring yourself to write him back. Poem after poem has stacked upon your vanity, and with them have fallen Benedict’s hopes of seeing you again. That was until the last letter you received from him with little more than an address and a plea that you meet him there at the stroke of midnight. So here you are.

You knock on the door, looking over your shoulder to make sure the carriage is gone and that you haven’t been followed. The door is swiftly opened, and you make such haste entering that you don’t get a good look as Benedict until he closes the door behind you. His eyes look tired, bags beneath them and a sad twinkle about them.

“I wasn’t entirely sure you would come.” he sighs, and the disappointment in his voice breaks your heart. “I’ve brought you to my art studio. I know it’s dangerous bringing you into town but I couldn’t think of anywhere else and I had- I had to see you.”

You remain silent, glancing at your surroundings. There is little light in the salon but it was enough to illuminate Benedict’s half-done sketches and paintings of you. Marble sculptures line the walls as well as scattered books and brushes. The place is full of everything that makes him who he is; the man you cannot and do not wish to stop loving.

“Benedict, it’s not what it seems.” you turn and assure him as you remove your hood. His eyes light up at the sight of you, not unlike the first night his gaze met yours across the crowded ballroom.

“Is it not?” he asks bitterly. “Because it seems that you’ve grown weary of me and my affections. It feels like a knife in my chest, like you’re slipping through my fingers like sand.”

You shake your head, your brows furrowing as tears begin to gather in your eyes at his words. You cup his face gently in your hands as you speak. “Benedict, you could not be farther from the truth. You have occupied my thoughts from the moment I met you - no - saw you! I am aware that of late I have failed to return your letters and affection, but it is not out of cruelty or dwindling interest. It is my father, he has arranged a meeting with a prince. If it goes well, I am to marry him. That is why I haven’t been able to face you. You must believe me!”

Benedict’s face has fallen slack with shock. His hands come up to take your own. For a moment he doesn’t speak, only presses kisses to your hands, the hands he so desperately wishes to comb through his hair, to hold as you sway to music, to slip a wedding ring on.

“So you still love me?” he asks with a whimper, and you don’t know how to express your reply other than with a quick nod and a passionate kiss. Suddenly Benedict’s hands are in your hair, then roaming across your back before finally settling on your waist. He carefully pushes you against the wall, caging you with his arms, exposed from his rolled up sleeves.

“I shall take that as a yes.” he smiles between labored breaths. You thought you’d never see that smile again.

“Take me instead.” you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper.

Benedict freezes, his hold growing tense. “My love, you are royal. I cannot compromise you.”

“I am already being forced to wed someone who I do not love; is this pleasure to be deprived from me as well, Benedict?” You give him a look brimming with love and lust and unbridled passion. Benedict has never been one for taboos or conservatism, and he wastes no time discarding his initial hesitation as he nearly smashes his lips against yours, this time with renewed fervor.

“I love you.” he grunts as he lifts you and you wrap your legs around his slender torso, his arms winding around you. “I love you, I love you, I love you…��

Dawn breaks through the window pane, casting your bodies in hues of orange and gold. Your eyes peel open, squinting as you notice Benedict at his canvas. A smile forms on your face as you prop your head up on your elbow, your body and disheveled curls splayed out on the hardwood floor, covered in only a thin sheet. “Adding another piece to your collection?” you inquire teasingly.

Benedict laughs. “I couldn’t waste the opportunity to sketch a nude portrait of the princess herself.” You smirk at him and sit up properly.

“I must go before my father thinks to call on me,” you sigh as you stand and begin to dress. “There is to be a ball tonight, at the palace.”

“I know.” Benedict says. “My family received invitations.”

“Oh.” you nod. “I see.”

Silence hangs heavily in the atmosphere until you speak again. “The prince will be there. He will most likely ask me to dance. Perhaps you should not go.”

Benedict shakes his head. “I am a grown man, love. I am perfectly capable of watching from the sidelines as the woman I love dances in another’s embrace.”

You tilt your head and cross your arms at him accusingly. He lets out a bitter laugh and comes up to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and watching the view out the window from over your shoulder. He presses a chaste kiss to your neck. “Does your heart belong to me, Princess?”

You nod, letting your head fall against his as you do. “It does.”

“Well then,” he smiles as he twirls you around to face him. “I will attend the ball, if only to see you. I shall not plague myself with worry.”

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @holdthegirrrl @enchantedbytomandhenry @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @dd122004dd @marvelspogue @emotionsmgcbabe @pIk-18 @larueluvr

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #princess!reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton series

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kyrviu · 2 years ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫, 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞

prompt: realizing they’ve fallen for you

⭒pairings: wanderer, kazuha, tighnari, and xiao x gn! reader.

⭒genre: fluff

⭒warnings: none!

⭒authors note: happy new year! long time no see, I took a week off right after finals because I desperately needed it lmao uni kicked my ass this semester. now that I'm back the requests are open! not to mention that I’ll be working on 3 fics after this one. in the meantime, please enjoy ♡

wanderer

“i simply can't stop thinking about them, it's driving me crazy”.

when you're not looking, he can't help but sneak glances at you. his eyes move to every little detail about you, from your eyes to your smile to the way your hair moves in the wind. he could sit for hours sitting and admire you.

your heart starts to race as you feel his eyes on you. you contemplate his apparent interest in you. 'why is he staring at me' you think to yourself. you switch your attention to him and prepare to ask him if anything is wrong. to prevent you from catching him, he will quickly retaliate by turning his head away. however, you could still see redness edging its way up his cheeks and ears.

everyone is aware that the wanderer rarely laughs or smiles. he maintains a constant, strong, and mysterious demeanor. the wanderer's mystery can be traced to the fact that he has encountered more pain and sorrows in life than other people.

however, he occasionally lets his strong exterior slip when he is alone. he would unwind and occasionally he talks about his adventures with you and things he saw along the way halfway through the conversation he even grins in your direction.

then it hits him…

the wanderer is in love with you.

kazuha

"hold my hand"

everyone around you knows you two belong to each other, It almost seems too nice to be true how well attuned you are to one another. You are permanently attached to his side, otherwise, he would start looking for you. He can't stand to be apart from you even for a second.

however, if only kazuha would realize.

if only kazuha would realize that friends don’t play flirtatiously with each other. There are moments when it goes on for too long and you can't know if it's a joke or not anymore, making you both stutter and shyly look away from one another, hoping your hearts would calm down.

if only he’d realize that friends don’t feel sparks around them whenever one of you touches the other accidentally. Whether it’s a quick graze or when he holds your hand longer than usual while walking around.

without a doubt, friends do not compose haikus and poems about one another. whenever he wrote a haiku about you or about something special you witnessed together, he would always read to you quietly as you were curled up by his side

Why hasn't he noticed that what we do is more than simply friends? you keep wondering. It's quite frustrating not to know where you guys stand anymore since the lines are so blurred. As soon as you notice him moving towards you while smiling gently at the sight of you, all of your thoughts immediately scatter away. you would rather stay like this than ruin everything you guys have with one another.

Little did you know he’s secretly loved you all along.

tighnari

“ don’t overwork yourself for my sake (y/n)”.

even though tighnari is a researcher & a forest ranger words and communication aren’t his best forte especially when he’s around you. to him it’s the little gestures he does for you that speak louder than any form of words would.

always has your best interests in mind. He always makes you a cup of coffee whenever you are helping him with his research, working through the night.

tighnari would ask if you were all right when he notices that you started rubbing your eyes from exhaustion.

However, despite the coffee, you still managed to fall asleep in the midst of all of your papers and research that piled up at your desk. tighnari smiles as he makes his way over to you and drapes a blanket over your sleeping body.

watching how peaceful and comfortable you seem to be sleeping. smiling softly, he leans down and whispers into your ears. “sweet dreams, my love”. you are unsure if you heard him clearly or not due to how worn out you are, thus you decide to disregard it for now.

one thing for sure is you both are obliviously pinning for one another.

xiao

"i wanna show you something".

it takes place during the lantern rite, similar to the wanderer, xiao would steal looks your way to admire how the lantern illuminated your face and cast a soft glow into your eyes. as the two of you were walking around you can feel the air filled with the spirit of the festival and the enthusiasm of those around you.

little kids are seen rushing around with lanterns. you also notice that many of your friends are gathered in smaller groups to enjoy the festivities. when they wave at you and xiao, you smile to yourself the joy on their faces rubs off on you making you wave back eagerly.

since practically everyone attending the lantern rite is either accompanied by people who are close to them or couples, there is still tension in the air between the two of you. however, as much as xiao means to you. you and him are just friends, right?

you both attempt to avoid crowds as much as you can, therefore xiao suggests a location that not many people are aware of. He whispers softly, "you can see everything from up here”. It was a location on top of a mountain next to large buildings where you could view the entirety of liyue harbor, the mountains in the distance, and the sea shimmering from all of the lights that decorate the sky.

perhaps its the atmosphere of the festivities, or maybe it's the reality that he is by himself with you, or maybe the awe on your face as you take in the scenery is all he needs to see to know he loves you.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #kazuha headcanons #genshin headcanons #scaramouche #wanderer #genshin fanfic #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #tighnari #tighnari x reader #genshin fluff #gender neutral reader #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #gender neutral fanfic

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happysunnyyellowlove · 7 months ago

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Today is my 37th wedding anniversary. Sadly, only 19 of these were spent with my husband, my soulmate, the love of my life, my best friend.

My soul has not been whole since his left this earth.

If you are struggling today as I am, please know, I will say an extra prayer and send positive thoughts your way as well. ❤️

“I still carry you on the insides of me: cave paintings on rib-caging. If I were a peach, you would be the pit that holds me all together. When I met you, I was something small and whole; I do not know how to get back there. You have the warmest heart I have ever set up camp in.

I still carry you on the insides of me: the contents of my suitcase heart. I will lug you around until it breaks my back and then some. I feel sometimes like I have scattered my pieces everywhere, but you are the piece I do not know how to leave at the foot of a stranger’s bed or between the lines of a free-verse poem. I want you to know that loving you is freeing; that loving you is like holding my head under water and coming up new again and again.

I still carry you on the insides of me. This will not always make sense to you”

― Trista Mateer, Honeybee

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lewkwoodnco · 11 months ago

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tis the damn season - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: estranged best friends to lovers trope my beloved!!! 😍 AHHH this is one of my fav fics I've written in a while. Poem below is Golden Boy by Cecil Miller, and the Spanish line is taken from a streetcar named desire by tennessee (idk how 2 spell) williams! this might be less proofread than normal + includes a few of my pre-infection hallucinations? lottt of angst, wc 5.1k!!

P.S. I think I'll be doing a part 2 to buy me presents! but not until a little later ahah and also the 12 days of fics are totally going to spill over hahah

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lockwood stares out the kitchen window. Both inside and outside, there is a bleak stillness in the air that sinks in his bones like a plague. It's too cold and too early in the morning for anyone to be properly out and about. But the season always messed up his sleep schedule more than usual, and now that they had taken a break from their cases for the holidays, there was nothing to occupy his treacherous mind, and its return to taut requirings of Christmases past.

Slowly, the other residents of Portland Row start to stir. George grumbles about their spluttering heating system and having to plod through the snow to get the mail, and Lucy promptly falls asleep in the cup of tea she's just brewed for herself. They were all exhausted, and rightfully so, given that the holidays was prime time for people to start looking into properly clearing out ghosts to keep their homes warm and cheery.

He slips out just as George's complaints about the heater start ramping up, and his mind is so scattered that he forgets to put his coat on. It's a little more brisk than what was completely tolerable, strictly speaking, but it was only just for a minute. When he reaches the mailbox, he runs into Mr. and Mrs. L/N, old family friends who had helped him more than he deserved over the years. They made some polite conversation while he rifled through the bills and letters.

"Oh, Anthony, we wanted to invite you over to tea sometime this week. Y/N's home for the holidays."

His hand slips and an envelope slices his finger open. It was bound to happen, given his glum and careless mood, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint to suppress his cry of pain in front of them.

"Home...as in here? London?"

Ever since she had left for boarding school, there would always be some talk of her dropping by for Christmas every year. But the plans would never be fully solid, or some other pre-existing commitment would prevent her from making the trip. He was suddenly feeling oddly claustrophobic. He glanced up and down the street, as if expecting her to be hiding in some bushes.

Mrs. L/N seemed to pick up on his distraction, and her brow furrowed with concern.

"Of course London. Where's your coat, dearie? Aren't you feeling chilly?"

"...yes. Now that you mention it...perhaps it's best I head back inside."

He gave a stiff sort of wave and walked back, mind reeling. Eight years. Eight years since he last saw her. What the hell was he supposed to do if he saw her now? How was he supposed to feel?

Luckily, he doesn't get much time to panic because as soon as he walks in, he narrowly dodges a wrench being lobbed at his head. Apparently, eleven freezing days with improper heating was more than what George could bear. It's usually a rather quick fix, but maybe the comparatively more extreme frost this year had corrupted the system beyond Lockwood's capabilities, because two hours later he was still no closer to getting it fixed.

Some time later, there's a knock on the door. He yells for someone to get the door, but he's buried too deeply in the house for anyone to hear him. Grumbling, he dusts himself off and walks to the door himself, head buzzing with frustration. He's so preoccupied with what more he could possibly do to get the heating working again that he doesn't think to check the peephole first. So when he opens the door, he gets the wind knocked out of him.

"Anthony."

It was her; rosy-cheeked yet looking effortlessly warm. Her facial features had lengthened and rearranged themselves as compared to when he last saw her, but there was still something expensive to the twist of her mouth and the crinkles near her eyes.

"It's been so long."

Even her voice was rich, like honey. Now that she was standing in front of him, the stitch in his chest from the morning seemed much more familiar. It had been some seasonally grievious paste that had coated his lungs and stoppered his mouth that made him feel eerily weightless if he dwelled on it too much.

He didn't know what to do. Exchange pleasantries, or skip to the part where he slams the door in her face? Before he could decide, he hears some shuffling behind him, and almost instinctively opens the door wider.

"Y/N. These are my associates. George Karim, Lucy Carlyle...Y/N L/N."

"Right. Lockwood and Co., was it?"

The four of them glance at each other, exchanging fleeting smiles for a good half-minute, before George has the sense to usher everyone inside for a cup of tea.

The kettle's already on, and George hands out the cups of tea waring mittens, his glasses barely visible behind the scarf mummifying the lower half of his head. If she notices the cold in the house, she doesn't comment on it.

They make some polite small talk. She's pleasantly amiable and a perfectly gracious guest, and talks about her Christmas dinner plans. Lockwood is disinterested and surly and wants to talk about his fragmented sense of self. At one point, his responses start to become so clipped that he earns a poorly concealed kick from Lucy, accompanied by a stern look. Luckily, it doesn't seem as if she's noticed. She was looking at the white blanket of snow over their garden carefully, as if dismissing their presence.

"Your garden looks beautiful. I'd love to have a look around."

George and Lockwood exchanged a look. It was freezing outside, and the harsh temperatures were clearly not worth braving for the little of the flowerbeds they could see. George opened his mouth to tell her as much, in his own snide way, but he hesitated. Lockwood felt his heart sink.

The thing was, she had had a magnetic effect on most people ever since they were kids, a quality that made it difficult for any grown adult to refuse her or for any child to oppose her. It was the same reason why she was sitting in his house, drinking out of his teacups, eating his share of biscuits (George and Lucy had clearly conspired as soon as they picked up on her staying for tea). But he had been sure that if there was anyone who could pull away from this siren call of hers, it would be George. The very boy who was meaningfully looking at him, trying to express some uncommunicable panic.

"Er...Lockwood?"

And so, he ended up taking her out for a brief and awkwardly quiet stroll in their garden once she was done with her tea. They meandered through the garden path stiltedly, and every snow-dusted weed and sapling seemed to astound her. Still, she divided her attention sufficiently to continue the ocnversation.

"Homeowner and agency head at fifteen. Impressive."

"Thank you."

"I bet you're the media's darling."

He shrugs.

She turns to him, eyes generously pooling with faux concern.

"It can't have been easy."

It wasn't easy, not that she would know anything about it. He wants to be spiteful towards her, lash out at her. God knows she deserved it. But something holds him back.

"So...that was George. And Luce."

She jerked her head back in acknowledgement, but he could see the slight smile playing at her lips as she did so. He had forgotten how terribly exasperating she could be.

"What?"

She shook her head, but that only made her smile grow wider, and so she finally relented. There's a vulpine twist to her lips that Lockwood has no patience for. "Nothing. I'm sure they're lovely people, of course. But if I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you."

He shrugged. "I wanted to share a bit of my life now. They're just about all of it."

She hums pleasantly, stopping short in front of one of the flower beds. She bends down and picks up a freshly fallen violet, its deep indigo harsh and unrelenting against the fresh, pure snow, against the season of vacancy and death. She holds it up in front of Lockwood.

"Viola Odarata. Symbolises humility. Flores; flores para los muertos. Flores."

A part of him wants to sneer at her in painful irony. How arrogant of her to think she could waltz back into his life as she pleased.

"That what they teach you in your boarding school? Useless facts about violets?"

She shivers, even though the air is completely still with no breeze, and her lips part. Too late, he realises he's gone too far. Her smile slips a fraction, and she takes on an air that makes him feel obliged to apologise. He resists it, and for a moment he sees something flash in her eyes, but it's gone before he can place it.

"Forgive me, but you don't seem terribly happy."

"The Problem's raging worse than ever. Happy things don't come by easy these days."

"...I suppose. It wouldn't -" For the first time, Lockwood thinks she might be feeling nervous. Her humanity, manufactured or otherwise, draws him in despite himself. "It wouldn't have anything to do with me...would it?"

He takes in her carefully manicured appearance, her intentionally pieced together life made up of the dreams she worked towards and achieved. And all he had was a house that was more of a burden than a blessing on some days and this inchoate dread over a Problem whose end was nowhere in sight. But he doesn't know how to express this resentment, this jealousy.

"I'm alright if you're alright."

Sad, dispirited eyes look into each other, searching for the fulfilment they're sure the other has found. She speaks in a tight voice.

"It's okay with the both of us, then."

She suddenly reaches out, and gently holds his finger with the papercut with a firm but comforting pressure. His first instinct is to pull his hand back, but he doesn't, and as the long seconds pass, he feels increasingly vulnerable. The cut was no longer bleeding, and was even well on its way to healing over just fine, but it was irritated from where he had relentlessly picked at it.

"Looks fresh."

She traces the cut with her other hand, violet folded in her palm, with a feather-light touch. The surreality of the moment - of her standing inches from her, her breath tickling his fingertips, her warmth spreading through him - catches up to him and makes his breath hitch. It was unbearably intimate and made him feel like the exposed, raw wound he had been nursing for the eight years she had been gone. And how like her to return with pockets full of unfounded promise to stitch the tears in his skin.

And just as quickly, she lets go of his hand and steps back, and Lockwood feels as though cold air has been forced into his airways. She tucks the violet behind her ear, and drifts back inside. The tilt of her joints is so familiar that it stirs something in him. Something long gone, something he was gripping like a fist.

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When they return, Lockwood excuses himself to his room for a bit of air, ignoring how closely George is watching him. He sits on his bed and takes a deep breath. His nightstand has a few miniature picture frames on it, and in one of them the picture's been flipped around. It's a picture of him and her, taken a few months before she left. It's how he remembered her before seeing her today. Sometimes, when the urge grew too great, he would tilt the frame under his nightlight, and make out the barest outline of their figures looped together on the other side of photograph.

He didn't know what to make of her departure, all those years ago. One day, they were swinging on tyres in her parents' garden, and the next day, she wasn't at school. But as the years churned on, the string tying his heart to hers stretched and tore a slow and painful death from him, out of the cavity she left, and he never felt quite the same again. And as they continued to age, the wound became old news and scabbed over what was once raw and paralysing, but a part of him always wanted to know why she did it, to be angry with her for being so callous.

And now she was back, pulling him under by the ankles, ripping the gash open viciously.

He didn't know how exactly to deal with it, after years of thinking of her adjacently, daring only to keep her in his peripheral vision, where he was kept safe. Maybe it was all part of a larger problem; the twitch in his hand and his recurring nightmare.

He's ten years old again, at a train station he's never been to, and likely one that doesn't exist. It's hard to see just about any discerning features, except for the massive train peeking through the fog in front of him. He looks to the right, and sees her strong fingers wrapped around a railing, her standing in the door of the train. He can't be sure of much, but he's certain she's looking at him. He stretches the moment as long as it will last, because it's all downhill from there.

There's a terrible groaning sound, and the train reluctantly starts to chug along, steadily gathering speed. He walks alongside it, gradually picking up his own pace, until he's nearly sprinting. All the while, she watches him with amused eyes, secure in her place on the train. He's panting, choking on the fog, eyes streaming. But if he can just reach her scarf whipping in the wind, the train will stop, and she'll step out, cool and gleaming and impervious to the cloud of dust surrounding her and-

He wakes with a start. He knows how it ends.

She slips through his fingers every time.

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She stays for the rest of the day, and the four of them spend a cosy afternoon decorating their Christmas tree, carefully dodging the random mugs of hot chocolate littered across the room. While they were digging out the ornaments from the attic, she finds a box that he, evidently, had not tucked away deep enough.

"Remember these?" She holds up a flimsy, crumbling Santa Claus ornament made of construction paper. "We had so much fun making them."

He nods stiffly, subtly shifting the box towards a corner in the living room. It smarts his eyes to look at the hideous thing, as if its very sight was corrosive.

"Took me a while to find them, though. It must be a pain to dig them out every year."

He puts down the bauble he's hanging, and sighs. "I haven't...brought these out in a while."

Even her look of perplexity looks artificial. "Why not? Aren't there so many happy memories attached to these?" Her face falls ever so slightly. "Do memories of me not make you happy?"

Luckily, they're interrupted by Lucy placing a handful of miniature marshmallows into their hot chocolate. When she moves over to George, Lockwood wordlessly starts hanging their crafted ornaments, and she doesn't press him for an answer. When they're done, the tree looks a lot more crowded and chaotic than it normally does, similar to how Lockwood was feeling with her around. He looks at her, and isn't sure how he feels about the asymmetry of having her here.

Later, when she's about to leave, it starts snowing heavily, too heavily for her to walk home. So after a phone call with her parents, she decides to spend the night. Lockwood's in his bedroom when he hears a knock on his door. It's her, dressed in a spare set of Lucy's pajamas.

"I thought you'd be awake."

She wanted to know what he was doing, and what he was doing was wrapping some Christmas presents. Immediately, she obligingly offered to help, and she was too eager for him to outright refuse. Of course, he might have thought differently if he had known how abysmally little she knew about wrapping gifts. And so they stay up till the early hours of the morning, both of them trying equally hard to teach her the most basic of gift wrapping skills. As the night wore on, they got increasingly drunk on laughter over her heinously criminal attempts and Lockwood's limbs started to loosen up. At one point, he had given up entirely and placed his hands over hers, puppeteering the night's only decent gift wrapping while she smothered her laughter.

He doesn't remember much after that. When he next regains his consciousness, he's lying curled up next to her, with the late morning sun streaming through his windows. He watches her breathe, slow and steady, with a face so relaxed, amiable and familiar.

As her eyes start to flutter open, he panics and tries to look anywhere else, which isn't easy given how she's only inches away from him. They glance at each other, silently acknowledging their positions, and the silence hangs heavy in the air. He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to put as much space between them as he can with his arm wrapped under her. "When do you leave?"

She scrunches her forehead as she thinks. It's one of the few parts of her he instantly recognises and he gets caught off guard by a rush of affection, and a flash of an impulse to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Monday."

He pulls a face.

"We'd have the weekend together. Isn't that enough?"

They stay quiet, watching specks of dust float through the sunlight filtering through his partially drawn curtains. With how close they are to each other, they're not looking at each other's face, and it's unclear if she's asking him, or herself, or the dust they're watching. Was it enough?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, Lucy wants to take a walk along some of the emptier roads in the snow. She takes their trip as her cue to leave but Lucy insists she come along, so she does. The four of them had cycled as far as they could, and when they reached the too-slippery parts of the road, they had dismounted and left their bicycles in a corner. Lucy and George were wandering around a bit ahead of them, while they slowly shuffled through the snow. She had picked up some newspapers on their way there, and was looking through them as they walked, taking particular interest in the odd article on Lockwood & Co.

"You've certainly had your fair share of media coverage."

"Along with a decent helping of frenzied media sensationalism, I suppose."

"My apologies. I forgot I was talking to the Anthony J. Lockwood of Lockwood & Co. Now, is the arson bit complimentary, or would I have to pay extra?"

She was teasing him, and it was irritating. There was a reticent air about him and after some politely delicate probing, which he had been too preoccupied to entertain, she had resorted to amusing herself. Toying with him like a figurine, the way she did all those years ago.

"You wear your grief so beautifully, Lockwood. Like...like jewels between your teeth..."

She pauses, flipping through the newspapers interestedly with inky fingertips, which flickered like shadows next to the soft white snow.

"...and you have such a winning smile. Golden boy." She laughs, and the sound feels like icicles pressing into his skull. "Golden boy," she trills, "you were a bit of a child. The world was having its way with you. You tried to...er, something...golden boy!"

She smiles at him lazily, expectantly, as if anticipating some kind of applause. But Lockwood is in no mood for her childish whimsies.

"I'm fine. I don't have any grief."

She frowns exaggeratedly. "'Course you do."

"I don't."

She mumbles, turning back to her newspaper. "Fine, then. Not like I'm the one holding onto...some kind of...ache."

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. How could anyone be this self-aware and yet completely oblivious? The strain on his self-restraint peaks and he buckles within himself.

"Why are you here, Y/N?"

She looks away from the snow. "Lucy said it'd be nice out here."

"No. I mean why are you here, in London? Here, at Portland Row?"

Her lips are pressed together, and there's something guarded in her eyes.

"I just...wanted to see how you were doing."

"Liar."

The word drops from his tongue in such an aggrieved manner with such vehemence that it makes her choke.

"How could you say something like that?"

He scoffs. "Please, let's not pretend you weren't dying to leave at the first chance. Not that you had the decency to tell me-"

"-I was ten!-"

"- having me go through the humiliating process of finding out on my own-"

"What do you want me to say, Lockwood? I'm sorry I left? I'm sorry you were alone? I'm sorry I was too selfish to give a damn about you?"

"-and you'll come back, choking on your silver spoon only to leave again and again and again until you're all alone-"

"You never wrote!"

"I didn't think you'd want me to!"

"I didn't know what I wanted!"

"Then what do you want?"

"YOU, you idiot!"

He stares at her, speechless.

"I was ten. And I was so foolish. How could I have thought of anything but you?"

With that, the last of her rosy, polished, alluring boarding-school airs fell apart. He looks at her and sees his own anger and yearning reflected back at him; anger and yearning he's hardly ready to face. Despite all their efforts to get away from the other, to move on, something between them held fast. Or perhaps it was that they were hopelessly, irrevocably intertwined.

"Of all the roads I could have travelled, you are at the end of every single one of them. Every single one of them, except the road I did travel. I'm here, Lockwood, because I thought I might have...I might have chosen wrong."

"So you think you can just stroll back now that it's convenient for you? I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, do you realise that?"

"What do you want me to do, Lockwood? You keep pushing me away. I feel like part of a past you're forever trying to run away from. So fine! I'll leave, then. I'll go back to the sorry hole I crawled out of, back to friends I don't care about, back to dreaming of the only person who's ever truly cared about me. Is that what you want?"

She doesn't wait for a response, and turns around and walks away from him.

"Y/N, come back."

She silently picks her bicycle out of the snow, dusting it off.

"You can't cycle in this."

Still ignoring his words ringing through the dead winter silence, she steadies herself and cautiously swings a leg over her bicycle. Lockwood starts to walk towards her.

"You'll fall. You'll hurt yourself. Y/N. Y/N!"

But she's already off, gliding soundlessly like a ghost through frigid air on icy roads.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He's already regretting his words by the time he reaches 35 Portland Row. When he first walks in, the house is so deathly quiet that he's convinced she's left. But her bicycle is thrown down in the garden and he knows she's too averse to the cold to walk home in the snow.

He walks slowly, his measure footsteps echoing on the wooden floors of the house, and he eventually finds her in the living room, sitting with her back to the door, staring at the drawn curtains. The fading evening glow spilling through the edges is streaked across her face and there's a soft crunching sound. As he comes closer, he sees the bowl of ice glinting in her lap, like fractured light, with her face as blank as a canvas.

"Have you gone completely mad? You'll fall sick."

She doesn't even flinch, as if she hadn't heard him. When she speaks, there's a dreamy quality to her typically strong and clear voice.

"I didn't want to come back. This city is nothing I want. I was always going to escape some day. And yet..." she trails off with glazed eyes, as if trying to look through some distant fog. "...and yet."

"You were right." The run back had left him mildly breathless, but was also exactly what he needed to get rid of the buzz in his head, giving way to some much-needed clarity. "About the...heartache. I was just sick of it. You're miles away. I love you in your sleep. I still reach the end of road alone. But I loved you all the while and...somehow that made the pain of leaving you worth it."

"I'm restless. I'm lost. I'm selfish." She swivels her head with an unnerving smoothness, grin wide and grotesque, ice glinting between her perfect teeth. "I'm so alone, Lockwood. Just like you said."

He doesn't know what to say. He walks towards her and picks up her bowl but her fingers close around his wrist like a vice. The gleam in her eye makes him want to pull his hand back. He's too old to play her games and lose.

"That's a bad habit."

"I'm a bad habit. One you can't seem to kick even after all these years: tell me, Anthony, why is that?"

"Y/N, stop. You'll spoil your teeth."

It only makes her grind her teeth even more tauntingly. It's an awful sound. "Good. Let them fall out, one by one. It's what I deserve. Maybe I'll finally learn my lesson."

Her grip on his sleeve lessens, but she doesn't let go. She grips the bowl with her other hand even tighter, as if suddenly terrified.

"Leave me be, Anthony. Leave me...to my vices...and violets and...violence."

He reads her face. He tries to figure her out, to read her like the open book she once was to him. When he doesn't leave, she shovels more ice into her mouth, uncomfortably clacking with her teeth, and continues.

"I was racing ahead...into some glorious sunset, towards some fantastic rainbow, at the end of which was some miraculous snowdrop and a wish to soothe my nomadic soul. I didn't have time for the boy with the sad eyes two streets down from me."

"I convinced myself that you resented my escape from the Problem. I was 15 with the bitter taste of lemongrass in my mouth and a stitch in my chest when I realised I spent all those years missing you. I couldn't run away from it, not truly. So I pretend. I pretend you don't hate me and I pretend I'm not an awful person and I pretend there's a chance you'd want me as much as I want you. I came home to tell you how terribly fond I was of you. It was only at your doorstep that I realised I had run out of places to hide."

"I don't have time for love. Nor the capacity for it. But I am tired of trying to outrun it."

She closed her eyes. Her voice was barely a croak. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving. If I could...I'd wish away the past eight years of misery." She opened her eyes. "Some nights, I can pretend they never existed. But I can't wish your happiness into existence."

Lockwood somehow finds his voice. "I thought this was the life you wanted."

"It is Christmas, once again, and my heart is lonely as an island...once again. What part of this could I possibly want?"

He lets go of the bowl of ice and covers her limp, frozen hand with his own. She speaks in a low voice, barely stirring the dust in the room.

"I'll never forgive myself."

He sits down next to her, his feather-light lips pressed to her temple. She feels drained, and exhausted, as if the spirit that had driven her for so long was finally fatigued. Her breathing was uneven and her lungs felt lopsided. But what a blessing it was to finally fall in the one place she knew her landing would be soft.

"One day. One day, I'll..."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He pulls out a fresh violet from his coat, still damp from the morning dew.

"Call it even?"

She accepts the flower and gives him a sweet smile. He revels in this smallest of victories.

Their peaceful moment gets shattered by the deafening train horn, which unpleasantly reminds Lockwood of where they are.

She hesitates for a moment, but then extends her arm and holds his face. There's a troubled look on her face, like there's something indescribable she wished to communicate just at the tip of her tongue. But the compulsion passes, and she settles for a trembling brush of his cheekbone with her thumb.

"You're such a darling, Anthony. I don't care what any newspaper or lawsuit has to say about you. You'll always be a darling to me."

"Good, because soon enough you might just be the only one."

She grins, widely at first, but then it chips, and for once he can admit that the sight breaks his heart. She gives him a hug, and he holds her like she's one of the precious metals that adorn her jewellery.

"You'll come back, won't you?"

"Perhaps. See you another weekend."

When they break apart, she swiftly picks up her suitcase with white knuckles and marches to the carriage without looking back. The train horn blares for a final time. The doors shut, and the wheels groan to life. He searches for her face, and finds it, but the reflection of the train station lights hides her eyes. It's at this moment that a disconnected part of him realises he doesn't want to wait for another weekend. He wants her here, and he wants her now.

The train picks up speed, and Lockwood tries to match it. But he's not trying to run. He knows that won't work, it never does.

"Y/N!"

That gets the attention of most passengers, including her. This train accelerates much faster than in his dream, and he's got an awful stitch running down the side of his torso by now, but he's beyond caring at this point. When she sees that it's him yelling like a maniac, she presses her flushed face to the window, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Would you stay?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits @ahead-fullofdreams

#taylor swift #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood imagine #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #tis the damn season #evermore #12 days of fics '23

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slowfalter · 6 months ago

Text

My inner child has a crush on your inner child

driving home in silence

as an exercise in thought mining

as an exercise in poetry writing

and the best line I could think of was

we’re all poems in the end

or would that be the beginning?

and you said there’s a poem in that

and I said yeah a bad one

I can’t write long poems because my world is very small

mostly it’s a kettle and a bed

but these distend and retract as required

sometimes over the kettle you’ll swell and scatter

like sugar through fingers

your timelines hatch chromatic

from that crystal that hangs in the window

and I want to know all of the people you were before

even the ones who creep into your sleep

just to embarrass you

like the one with all the hair gel

and the ones they dressed like girls

I'll pluck them from your family album

and cradle them in my palms

I’ll say it’s okay

I know it feels bad right now

but this will all be a poem in the end

or it would be if I could capture them for you

so I could show you

their finest light

and beamingest smiles

neatest hair

first beer

first love

they’re someone’s favourite son

fastest run

funnest time

I’ll show you what I know

and I know that they were all the best people

they had to have been

because they led you here

————

#poetry #poem #spilled ink #poeticstories #love poem #poets and writers #smittenbypoetry #writeblr #original poem #original poetry #love #queer poetry #poetry tumblr

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swiftsaltsweet · 3 months ago

Text

Two Knives Chapter 5: Kyoshi- Escalation

Characters: Rangi and Kyoshi (RoK characters tbh)

Pairing: Rangshi

Rating: M

Summary:

Things have been stressful for Kyoshi. First, she sang a poem and now the whole kitchen staff thinks it’s about Rangi, and is sure that there will be gossip. Then, Yun asks her to join him for the Fifth Nation treaty signing. Now Rangi’s acting strange. It’s becoming a bit much for Kyoshi’s small corner of the world.

(Canon Divergent AU- Kelsang wasn’t the one who heard the poem?….aka What if it took longer for them to realize Kyoshi was the Avatar?)

Other Sites: AO3

A/N: The spray bottle isn’t enough, I need the horny stick and a jail for them. u_u *posts chapter and runs away embarrassed* TT0TT

_____

About two weeks passed before Kyoshi was able to talk to Yun.

It had become extremely hectic around the mansion. Hei-Ran was really on Yun when it came to his firebending training. And when she wasn’t taking up his time, Jianzhu was. They were arranging several political meetings for the upcoming months. Treaties and laws needed signing and other such important things.

Auntie Mui also had an enormous amount of tasks that Kyoshi needed to do. The list was so long every day, she almost didn’t have time to finish them all by the end of the day.

There must’ve been a lot to do, because even Rangi had to chip in. Unfortunately for Kyoshi, a lot of the tasks seemed to take Rangi to the complete opposite side of the peninsula, let alone the mansion.

But somehow, every night, Rangi would find a way to make her way back to Kyoshi. It would usually be after everyone had gone to sleep that she would show up at Kyoshi’s door.

Seeing Rangi had become the highlight of Kyoshi’s day-well…night. The only downside was they couldn’t progress their relationship as far as they wanted, due to being so dead tired every night. A combination of the overwork, and the time they spent sacrificing sleep so they could steal what tired kisses they could, would do that to you.

Today, Rangi was in another village delivering a “secret package.” She wouldn’t be back until that night, again. Kyoshi couldn’t help but sigh.

On the brightside, Yun finally had time to talk about whatever it was that was so important.

She and Yun were alone in the garden while she fed the koi. In the end, she lied about a frog squirrel eating the lost feed.

“What was it you needed to talk about, Yun?” Kyoshi asked as she scattered the feed into the pond.

“First off, Kyoshi, I would like to sincerely apologize about what happened with the Fifth Nation,” Yun looked down at his palm. It had been stained by the ink when he earthbent the container to defend himself. “I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that. You even put your life on the line to save me, and it gave me the opportunity to break free of my ice prison.”

Kyoshi put a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “Yun, it’s really ok. Don’t beat yourself up, I’m just happy you’re alright.”

Yun grimaced. “But still…..”

“I’m just happy you’re safe. You’re important and people care about you, Yun. And not just because you’re the Avatar! You’re important,” she laughed. “Don’t worry about me.”

Yun smiled at her. “Thanks, Kyoshi. You always seem to know what to say.”

Kyoshi scratched the back of her head. “I don’t know about that.” Her mind wandered to the multiple goofs she’d made in the past month. “Is that what you needed to talk about?”

Yun’s eyes widened and looked away. He stood there silently for a moment, then he nodded to himself. He turned back to Kyoshi, drawing up his full height. He had a serious look in his eye. “Kyoshi, I-” he stopped. His eyes widened and face fell in surprise. “R-Rangi?!”

Kyoshi’s heart fluttered upon hearing Rangi’s name, and quickly followed his gaze that led behind her. When she turned around, she dropped the bag of feed to the ground in surprise as she saw Rangi running towards them. She was a mess, covered in dirt and other foliage. There was even a tiny branch sticking out of her topknot!

Rangi stopped right next to her friends, and stood at attention like she wasn’t covered in grime and sweat.

“Hey… Guys…. What’d I…. Miss?” she paused between deep gasps of air.

“Y-you’re…..back,” Yun looked at Rangi, completely surprised.

Kyoshi’s hands hovered over Rangi, the intense urge to clean threatening to overcome her. “W-what happened to you? What happened to your delivery? I thought you wouldn’t be back here until tonight!”

Rangi smiled at her, “Funny story. Turns out, the carriage that was supposed to take me back broke down. So I most likely wasn’t going to be able to come back until tomorrow night at the earliest.”

Kyoshi would’ve hated that, especially if she didn’t get word from Rangi that she'd be late. She would’ve stayed up all night worrying….. But that didn’t mean she wanted Rangi to run headfirst into…..whatever happened to her!

“So, uh, how’d you get back?” Yun let out an exasperated noise.

“I took a shortcut through, or I guess it was over, the mountain,” Rangi said matter-of-factly. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Just a typical stroll for the firebender.

Kyoshi stopped her hovering, only because she needed her full attention to not grab the firebender by the shoulders and shake her. “You took a shortcut through the mountain?!”

Rangi gave Kyoshi a dazzling smile so bright, it’d make the sun jealous. “Of course, it was easy. I think I might make it my go-to shortcut in all honesty.”

Kyoshi was at a loss for words. Rangi sure was….something at times like this. So Kyoshui decided to just…… let the urge to clean overcome her. She started by brushing off the foliage on Rangi’s armor.

“Well you should be careful, I don’t want my bodyguard getting hurt,” Yun laughed.

“Thank you for your concern, Avatar. But you needn't worry, I’m very capable,” Rangi laughed back.

“So what was it you wanted to say again, Yun?” Kyoshi asked as she brushed off Rangi’s pant leg.

Rangi flashed her dazzling smile towards Yun. “Oh, were you two talking about something? I’m so sorry for interrupting.”

“Uh…..” Yun paused, trying to collect his thoughts, then he grinned. “I got a new pai sho board.”

Kyoshi stopped what she was doing and grimaced. “That’s the forty-fifth one! Get rid of it!”

Yun laughed. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I plan to.”

“I seriously have no idea why people keep sending you those! You have more than enough.”

“No idea either, I guess people are just persistent.”

Kyoshi sighed, and turned her attention to Rangi’s hair. She needed to get the leaves and sticks out of it. “Was that all?”

Yun laughed. “No, I do have some-” He stopped.

Kyoshi picked a leaf off of the crown of Rangi’s head, then looked at him. Wondering why he went quiet. “Something else?”

Yun stared at Kyoshi with a wide-eyed, aghast expression. Kyoshi returned it, puzzled. Then she followed his eye’s path, and it led to where her hands were, on Rangi’s hair.

Is something wrong? I know her hair is a mess but I’m trying to fix-

Kyoshi’s heart sank and her hands stiffened, then she slowly pulled her hands away from Rangi’s head.

The hair! She thought, terrified. The hair is the most sacred part of a firebender! And….and I….. I-

She's gotten so used to touching and caressing Rangi’s hair for the past two weeks, she’d forgotten about how sacrilegious it was to touch in general, especially in public! And Kyoshi did just that, she had dishonored Rangi!

No wonder Yun was looking at her horrified, she basically just stabbed and cursed their friend all at once! No, worse!

Kyoshi was starting to spiral, but found herself being grounded by a soft hand holding her’s.

“Why’d you stop?” Rangi asked her, completely unfazed, if not a little disappointed.

“I-I-” Kyoshi stuttered.

“Rangi, it’s your hair!” Yun said exasperated.

“That it is, I’m aware.” She closed her eyes with a small smile gracing her lips. Then she bowed her head forward, offering it to Kyoshi. “I really don’t mind, Kyoshi. If anything, you're helping me.”

If…if she says she doesn’t mind then…. Kyoshi’s heart began to pound as she resumed picking the foliage out of Rangi’s hair, gently. She went on in silence for what felt like eternity. It wasn’t until she removed the final stick from Rangi’s topknot, that she felt like she could breathe again.

“There,” Rangi smoothed her hair out as she stood up. “Much better.”

Kyoshi could feel her face blazing as she turned to Yun. He still looked shocked. Rangi may have said it was fine, but judging from Yun’s reaction, Kyoshi knew they did something that would’ve been considered taboo in the Fire Nation.

Then, as if coming out of his stupor, put his hands on his hips and laughed. “Well aren’t you two close!”

Kyoshi flinched. She and Rangi had agreed on keeping quiet about their relationship, mostly to not cause unnecessary trouble for them. Though, Kyoshi couldn’t help but feel like they weren’t exactly the best at hiding it.

“Of course, we’re friends,” Rangi said with a smile, but she grabbed Kyoshi’s hand as she said it. Kyoshi’s face grew hotter at the contact, she was getting a lot of mixed messages at the moment. It was better if she just kept quiet. Let Rangi lead.

Yun laughed. “Well, we’re friends too. Does that mean I can touch your hair?”

Rangi returned the laugh, then said with a slight melody, “If you do, I’ll burn more than just your eyebrows off~!”

Kyoshi watched as her two friends talked and couldn't help but feel….that something was up. Perhaps….she should speak up.

“A-anyway, Yun, you said you had one more thing you needed to talk about?” Kyoshi interrupted.

Yun tapped his chin, in thought. “Well, I still need to work out the kinks. But I wanted to offer you something Kyoshi.”

“What is it?”

Yun grinned widely at her. “I want you to become my Official Avatar Companion!”

There was a long, stunned silence. After hearing the eighth croak of a frog squirrel nearby, Rangi was the first one to speak.

“What?” Rangi said in a dead tone.

Uh oh. Kyoshi thought. She was already envisioning a sequel to Rangi’s mood after she found out Kyoshi was going with them to the Fifth Nation.

“Of course, we’ll make sure Kyoshi is trained,” Yun put his hands up in a surrendering fashion to the firebender's oncoming wrath. “You have a real talent Kyoshi, a lot of raw power. I saw it on the iceberg. And I think learning to fight would be the best thing for you.”

Rangi was taking very audible deep breaths as she squeezed Kyoshi’s hand. Kyoshi could feel her shaking with anger. “No.”

“I think Kyoshi is the one who has to decide for herself, Rangi.”

Rangi didn’t turn to Kyoshi, she just kept glaring at Yun. Kyoshi….didn’t know what to say. Becoming an Avatar’s companion was what so many people dreamed of, but seeing Rangi’s reaction….. Right now, Kyoshi’s primary dream was just having a happy girlfriend.

“Yun, I-” Kyoshi started.

Yun put his hand up. “You don’t need to decide yet. Mull it over a bit. I really think this is the best, for all of us!” His grin grew wider. “We’ll be able to spend all our time together! You’ll be able to explore the world! And, most importantly, you’ll know how to defend yourself.”

Kyoshi felt Rangi grow stock-still.

Yun clapped his hands as he looked up at the sky. “Well, would you look at the time? I better get back to training. Kyoshi, Rangi, you should take the rest of the day off. You’ve both been working so hard.”

Kyoshi watched as Yun left them, rounded the corner, and walked out of sight. As soon as he left, she felt Rangi’s hand go limp, and Kyoshi quickly caught her as the rest of her body began to fall.

“A-are you ok?”

Rangi groaned and then grimaced. “Yes, just…. a little tired.”

Of course you ran up and down a mountain! “Let’s get you to your room,” Kyoshi said, as she held Rangi close to her, arms slung around each other’s waist. Kyoshi half carried the firebender as they walked.

___________________

Rangi sighed, “Kyoshi, I’m fine.”

Kyoshi ran the damp towel down Rangi’s cheek, trying to get what grime she could off. “Then why did you almost collapse?”

Kyoshi had decided to put off discussing Yun’s proposition for now. Taking care of Rangi was more important at the moment.

Rangi grimaced. The firebender didn’t like showing weakness. “My legs were sore from all the running,” she finally admitted. “And exhaustion just….. caught up to me.”

Kyoshi stopped the towel and looked down at Rangi. Rangi was out of her armor, dressed down to her sleeveless white tunic and shorts she wore underneath. She’d also taken her hair out of her topknot. Rangi needed a bath, but Kyoshi wanted to make sure the firebender had the energy to make it to the bath first.

Her eyes flitted down to the bandage on Rangi’s leg. It looked worse for wear, not because mountain grime had gotten to it, but because of sweat. Kyoshi grabbed the medkit from Rangi’s nightstand and knelt down by the firebender.

“Kyoshi! Really, you don’t need-” Rangi started to protest as Kyoshi unwrapped the bandage.

Kyoshi pouted and glared up at Rangi, “Just let me help you.”

After a brief battle ran through her eyes, she sighed and looked away. Kyoshi didn’t know why she was putting up such a fight, she didn’t act this difficult when she first cleaned the wound.

Kyoshi inspected the wound, it didn’t look too bad. Which was good, it meant Rangi was taking care of it when Kyoshi wasn’t looking. Maybe in another week or two it’ll be healed…..

She got to work, cleaning the wound with soapy water, and then applying the salve onto it. She wouldn’t bandage the leg for now, because it’d just get wet when Rangi went to take her bath. But at least the wound would be cleaned until then.

As she worked the ointment in, she lightly blew on it to help it dry a little faster. As she did, she heard a strange noise. Kyoshi looked up, and saw Rangi gripping her armrests tightly, her face red as she looked away.

Kyoshi blinked, fascinate. She blew on Rangi’s leg again. Rangi’s upper body flinched as she suppressed another noise. Her face turned even more red. Then she looked down and gasped.

“Y-you’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” she accused.

Kyoshi didn’t really know what she was doing, but she liked the reaction. She felt her eyes sparkle as she gazed up at her glowing girl, and then she smirked.

Kyoshi blew air once more.

Rangi’s hands flew to Kyoshi’s mouth. The girl lost her balance and fell forward onto Kyoshi, who caught her and held her in a tight embrace as she laughed.

“S-stop that! Don’t laugh!” Rangi shouted, nuzzling her face into Kyoshi’s shoulder as she lightly smacked Kyoshi’s collarbone. It just made Kyoshi laugh harder. “Ugh? Are you secretly an airbender or something?”

“No? Why?” Kyoshi said between giggles.

“Because you were blowing so hard the air went up my-” Rangi cut off with a grumble.

“Your shorts?” Kyoshi reached down and lightly tapped the back of Rangi’s exposed thigh. Rangi squirmed at the touch.

“Stop! I-I’m sensitive right now!” Rangi cried.

Kyoshi felt a fire ignite in her, emboldened by the firebender on top of her, as well as Rangi’s scent permeating all around Rangi’s room. Kyoshi’s grin grew wicked.

“Sensitive?” Her lips dove for the firebender’s neck, peppering it with a bunch of light kisses, and let her hands wander freely over Rangi’s body.

Rangi didn’t stand a chance. She was puddy in Kyoshi's hands. She cried and laughed and kicked her feet. She was both trying to wiggle away from Kyoshi and hold on tighter.

After a minute, Kyoshi decided to stop her assault, to let Rangi recover. Rangi collapsed completely onto Kyoshi again, exhausted, remnants of giggle still escaping her lips.

Kyoshi kissed Rangi’s forehead a few times. Then she sniffed.

“You really need a bath,” she chuckled.

“Screw you,” Rangi smiled, breathless.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Kyoshi joked back, then the two of them grew stiff as the words started to sink in. Kyoshi’s heart began to beat strong and steady like an o-daiko drum, each beat felt like it vibrated the two of them.

Maybe Kyoshi propositioned too soon? Even if it was just a joke…. Well, in this case it was only half a joke.

Rangi, shifted her body. Her face was now facing Kyoshi. Her legs straddled one of Kyoshi’s thighs. “It can be,” she mumbled, hot breath hitting Kyoshi’s neck as she flexed her thighs.

Kyoshi looked down as the beats got louder and more steady. She saw the same steady look in Rangi’s eyes. They leaned in, both of their eyes looking at the other’s lips with heavy intent.

And then Kyoshi felt a new drumming sound encroaching on them.

Footsteps!

“S-someone’s coming!” Kyoshi whispered hurriedly.

Rangi shot up out of Kyoshi’s arms. Kyoshi went to follow, but Rangi shook her head and rolled her girlfriend under her bed instead. Both were thankful that Rangi’s raised bed was a lot bigger than Kyoshi’s.

Rangi quickly started picking up the medical supplies, and hopped around on one foot, trying to play up her injury.

The footsteps stopped, there was a knock, and before Rangi could answer, the door opened.

Kyoshi watched as familiar looking red boots and robes walked into Rangi’s room. It was Hei-Ran, her mother.

Kyoshi said a prayer, thanking all the spirits in existence that she and Rangi had stopped just in time. That she didn’t have to deal with Rangi’s mother witnessing Kyoshi ravaging her daughter on her bedroom floor.

“Mother, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Rangi asked, a little breathless. She hobbled on her foot, trying to hint at it as the reason, rather than Kyoshi having been the one to steal her breath away.

It took a moment for Hei-Ran to respond, she was possibly analyzing her daughter. “You came back…..early.”

Rangi let out a sigh of air. “Yes, I took a shortcut through the mountains.”

“The mount-” Hei-Ran began, surprised. Then she recomposed herself. “I….I see. I assume there were no issues?”

“Other than the carriage breaking down, and that I desperately need a bath? No.”

“Erm, right, I can see that. Wait, just a moment, it broke down?”

“Yes, it should be back sometime tomorrow from what they told me,” Rangi sighed. “Is there anything else you need, mother?”

Hei-Ran let out a harsh sigh herself. “Is it so wrong for a mother to check up on her daughter?”

Rangi didn’t respond, and another long silence followed.

Hei-Ran was the one who broke the silence. “Get your rest, you’ll need to return to Hongcun Village tomorrow to retrieve a few packages.”

Rangi was silent again.

“Be sure to bring Kyoshi with you, it should make the trip a little easier.” Kyoshi flinched on instinct when she heard her name, but made sure not to move any muscle further.

“H-huh?!” was all Rangi could force out.

“You heard me. She’s strong and can help carry them,” Hei-Ran said as she turned to leave. “Oh, and do you know where she is? I believe I heard Auntie Mui was looking for her. I know Yun said you two should take the rest of the day off, so I don’t believe it involves work. Just send her over when you see her next.” Then she left the room.

Kyoshi couldn’t help but feel like the older firebender knew she was hiding under the bed, despite being completely concealed. However, she chose to live on the path of ignorance, until new information was otherwise revealed. Ignorance was truly bliss as they say.

Kyoshi watched as Rangi got on her hands and knees and poked her head down so she could see Kyoshi. It was adorable.

“The coast is clear,” she said with a warm smile. She held out her hand to help pull Kyoshi out.

“I think we should probably play it safe for the rest of the night,” Kyoshi said after she got out from under the bed. “It just seems luck isn’t on our side tonight.”

It was Rangi’s turn for a mischievous grin. “Suuuure. So what should we do now?” She approached Kyoshi with that hypnotic sway she loved to do, and grabbed her by the lapel, and gave her a swift kiss. Seeming more interested in pushing their luck farther rather than playing it safe.

Kyoshi let herself melt until Rangi pulled away. “I think you should take a bath,” Kyoshi said with a smile. Rangi responded with a pout. “I need to go see Auntie Mui.”

Rangi straightened up Kyoshi’s clothes. “I think you should take a bath first, then go see Auntie Mui. I’ll take mine later.”

Kyoshi looked at her confused. Rangi smirked, placing her hands on Kyoshi’s shoulders and stood on her tiptoes as she whispered in Kyoshi’s ear. “You smell like me.”

Kyoshi’s face blazed as she looked at Rangi.

“Plus, your clothes got dirty, sorry,” Rangi didn’t sound sorry in the slightest, and Kyoshi didn’t mind surprisingly. Rangi started guiding Kyoshi’s dazed body to the door. “Now hurry up, the sooner you get washed, the sooner I can too.” And promptly pushed Kyoshi out of her bedroom door.

__________________________

“Rangi, I have a question,” Kyoshi asked, bandaging Rangi’s leg. The firebender had just finished her bath, and she snuck into Kyoshi’s room a lot earlier than she usually was able to.

“Fire away,” she said.

“Was that a firebender joke?”

“Is that the question?”

“No,” Kyoshi mumbled.

“The pun wasn’t intended. Now, what did you really want to ask me?”

Kyoshi finished tying the bandage, and drummed her fingers on the exposed flesh of Rangi’s knee, wanting to avoid the shin that was cut. Kyoshi wasn’t able to keep the blush from rising in her cheeks, suddenly embarrassed. “How do….how do you keep your legs so smooth?”

She saw Rangi tilt her head out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s just, I’ve heard people talk about Fire Nationals growing up. They mentioned how, despite your hair and topknot being super sacred, you never have hair anywhere else….. Like, uh, how men don’t have chest hair…..” She drummed her fingers on Rangi’s knee one more time. “And I noticed how smooth your legs were and…. Um….”

Kyoshi finally gathered the courage to look Rangi in the eye. Rangi looked down at Kyoshi with a small flush, and laughed.

“D-don’t laugh….”

“What? It’s funny!”

“It’s a serious question! Is there some special volcanic razor you use or….”

Rangi inhaled a few times to catch her breath. “Ok, ok. Serious answer. Firebenders don’t shave, we just firebend it off.”

Oh, well that was simple. “Is that why you felt so confident about burning Aoma’s eyebrows off that day?” Kyoshi remembered the threat like it was yesterday. She’d also made the same threat to Yun earlier that day, but Kyoshi didn’t think it was a good idea to bring his name up.

Rangi laughed again. “Yes. But not every firebender does that. It’s a preference. Though, I guess most of us do. You know, less pieces of us to catch on fire.”

Kyoshi laughed and leaned a cheek on Rangi’s knee. “So you guys like to be hairless except for your head?”

Rangi choked on her laughter, the back of her hand flew to her mouth, attempting to poorly cover up a rising blush. “Um, the head? Yes, but there’s….one other area that we don’t usually touch…..”

Kyoshi’s eyes raised in interest, this was new information to her. Something about as sacred as a Fire National’s hair? She better pay attention so she could be careful.

“I’m guessing it’s off limits to touch in public too?” Kyoshi asked innocently.

“K-Kyoshi, it’s, um, I’m pretty sure it’s off limits in public…. regardless of which Nation you’re from….” Rangi trailed off as her blush deepened. Heat felt like it was rolling off the girl which each shade she turned.

A place that had hair, but no one could easily see on a Fire National, otherwise the hairless rumor wouldn’t have been spread. But it’s also a place no one usually saw in public in the Four Nations. Did such a place like that exist?

Rangi moved one of her hands and rested it on the inside of her thigh. Kyoshi stared, wondering if it was a hint.

Kyoshi was slow to connect the dots at times, but, by the spirits, when she connected them. She connected them.

“Oh….oh!” Kyoshi exclaimed, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh it’s- Oh!”

Rangi cleared her throat, “Yes.”

“So….it’s also not-”

“I-it depends on the….. preference. Either the person’s own preference…..or their partner’s.” Rangi kept her head facing away, poorly trying to hide her blush, but she looked down to Kyoshi out of the corner of her eye. Kyoshi could see that Rangi really wanted to know her opinion.

Kyoshi stared up at her. Kyoshi didn’t really have a preference, she never even thought about having a preference before. The only thing she knew was that she wanted Rangi. All of her.

The deep heart pounding started to radiate throughout Kyoshi again, as the fire inside ignited and started to burn bright.

“I-I don’t really have a preference. I’ve never thought about it…..” Kyoshi could feel a flush spreading throughout her body like a wildfire.

“I see, well do keep me in the loop, I’d love to know,” Rangi barely made her voice audible.

The thrumming felt like it was getting stronger. Kyoshi attempted to swallow, but found she was unable to. Rangi was drying the room out with her heat. It was maddening, and it was igniting Kyoshi even more.

No, no we need to rest tonight. We need to play it safe. We already had a close call, luck’s not really on our side tonight. She tried to advise herself.

Kyoshi stood up, and looked at Rangi sitting on her bed. Rangi looked up at her with half lidded eyes, bearing the same hunger Kyoshi felt inside.

Kyoshi promptly ignored her own advice.

Kyoshi shifted her body so it was in between Rangi’s legs, then she pushed the firebender all the way down onto the bed in a fierce kiss. The temperature in the room started to rise rapidly as they both clung and clawed at each other with abandon.

Kyoshi broke the kiss and tried to form words. “Can…can I touch-” Her eyes flickered downward.

“Yes!” Rangi hissed, then slammed her lips into Kyoshi’s.

Kyoshi's hands found their way to Rangi's waist. Then her hips. Then she found Rangi's waistband and-

A knock at the door. Kyoshi stilled. No idea who it was, because the only person that it could be was underneath her at this very moment.

“Maybe if we ignore them they'll leave-ngh!” Kyoshi whispered, then muffled her cry as Rangi bit into her neck. Apparently Rangi wasn't as deterred by the new surprised guest as Kyoshi was.

Another wrap at her door. “Kyoshi? Are you awake?” Hei-Ran asked through the door.

That stopped Rangi. Kyoshi and Rangi looked at each other through panicked eyes. Then Kyoshi picked the firebender up, and threw her into the closet and shut the door.

She grabbed her night robe and ran to the door to greet Hei-Ran.

“Yes, Mistress He-Ran?” Kyoshi all but squeaked out when she flung the door open. Despite her closeness with Rangi, she was more than a stranger to Hei-Ran herself.

“Kyoshi, do you know where my daughter is?”Hei-Ran raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the heat that was surely billowing out of Kyoshi’s room.

“No, Mistress, I-I've been asleep! And it's the middle of the night, why do you think she'd be here?”

“I see,” Hei-Ran folded her hands in front of her. “My daughter seems to have gotten into the habit of….exploring at night lately.”

Kyoshi felt clammy beads of of sweat go down her neck. “Oh, well, no. I didn’t know that…. I haven't seen her.”

“I see, well, I’ll keep looking then. If you do happen to see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

She turned on her heel, and slowly walked down the hall. As soon as Kyoshi saw her turn. She counted to ten, and then shut the door and ran to the closet.

“Coast is clear, you can come out,” Kyoshi said, feeling deja vu.

Rangi was curled up into a ball. She laughed nervously as she took Kyoshi's hand.

“What's so funny?”

“This isn't my first time coming out of the closet.”

Kyoshi laughed and then sighed. “I guess this means you have to leave early?”

Rangi sighed. “I suppose.”

Kyoshi pulled Rangi into a tight hug.

“Hey now, you'll see me tomorrow, you'll have the whole day with me!”

“I know.” But I want you with me now.

Eventually they let each other go, and Rangi left, and Kyoshi returned to bed. She laid awake, too wound up from the events of the day, and contemplated what was next to come.

______________

A/N: Hongcun Villageis made up for the story, I needed a place that was close but not Chin’s village (I know it’s not called Chin during Kyoshi’s timeline, it’s just easier to remember/spell TT0TT). Hongcun (宏村) DOES exist tho irl. It just means “Hong village”? I just chose it at random from a list (didn’t feel like trying to be creative like I did for Hunt jfklajf), but ironically enough, apparently it was a filming location Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon….. I say ironically because I believe CTHD is a big inspo for a lot of Rise of Kyoshi (such as the dust/mist/jet stepping techniques). So it all works out! :D

Also, gdi Rangi you lunatic! Sprinting over a mountain? I wonder how tall those mountains are? Let’s pretend they are taller than a 14er and aren’t the most foot friendly, to really sell the point home. (because you can climb Mount Quandary in like 4-7 hours, though it feels like eternity >_> -1000000/10 do not recommend climbing mountains against your will)

“We’re just gonna ignore how horny these two are getting so you can geek out over a movie, and to bitch about mountains?” Yes. Yes we are.

#kyoshi fanfic #chronicles of the avatar #rise of kyoshi #rangshi #rangi #rangi sei'naka #shadow of kyoshi #kyoshi #rise of kyoshi au #kyoshi au #rangi seinaka

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moralesmilesanhour · 10 months ago

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summary: Margo goes to a shitty poetry slam and gets more out of it than she expects. wc: 4.9k warnings: alcohol consumption, and it's like very VERY lightly implied that they had an Adult Sleepover if you get my meaning. Nothing really too suggestive in here I promise. One singular reference to a tiktok. a/n: this took me a whole ass week but I'm very proud of where my writing style is going! somewhat inspired by the film 'Love Jones'. If you enjoyed this pls feel free to leave your thoughts or your favorite line if you have one! EDIT: OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO ADD: the first poem is actually taken from the Junior novel 'Miles Morales: Suspended' by Jason Reynolds! The poem at the end is mine though lmao I'm not the best poet

Margo can’t stand poetry.

Someone gets up in front of you with a piece of paper clutched in their hands, and recites what is simultaneously the most vague and the most painfully obvious string of fragmented sentences you’ve ever heard as if they’d just touched your soul.

It’s not rapping, not preaching, but the ugly middle child standing between them. Some odd bastardization of music for people who thought they were too smart for either of the first two, but weren't brave enough to just give speeches.

Speeches, at least, are coherent, specific, and can be scrutinized.

So far, sitting in the front row of the bar that her classmate Zoe had invited her to for poetry night, no one has changed her mind.

Tonight’s performances consisted of an assembly line of men (and a couple of women) in vintage sweaters ranting about their exes to the rhythm of bongo drums, or some mildly relevant social issue that none had the lexicon to really say anything in stanzas that hasn’t already been said. She had heard nothing yet that sounded much more profound than an Instagram post.

Although, one girl had come up and recited a short poem about her late mother that Margo thought was quite sweet, and the least tortuous to sit through.

The crowd erupted in snaps again for a poet with long braided dreads and an ankh tattoo whose words she had tuned out. The host took the mic and announced the final (thank god) participant:

“Now this next one I had to practically drag over here to get him to share his beautiful poetry with us tonight. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to one of my close friends and colleagues, Miles Morales!”

A lanky young man–Margo suspects about six feet even, given the way he’s towering over the host–awkwardly shuffles over to the center of the stage, offering the crowd a tight-lipped smile.

He’s in a plain green sweater with the sleeves hastily rolled up to his elbows and a bomber jacket tied around his waist. As soon as he’s handed the microphone, it seems to dawn on him that there’s no turning back, and his body visibly tenses.

He clearly just got here, and for once Margo doesn’t know what to expect.

Squinting beneath the bright spotlight, he clears his throat and speaks into the mic.

“Um, hi.”

A few scattered ‘hi’s from the crowd.

There’s something bright and sweet in the tone of his voice that makes him sound a little boyish, and she wonders what he could possibly have under his sleeve that warranted him getting dragged up here last minute.

He takes a deep breath.

“It’s said

That nobody

Is ever more

Than ten feet

From a spider.”

Miles began the poem carefully, like he was confessing something.

“They be everywhere you and me are.”

A few members of the crowd laugh, others shudder at the thought and frown.

“And even though

We see them only

When they big enough to see, or when

They move,

Like a cursor

Across the blank white

Page of a wall…”

His voice loses some of its airiness in exchange for confidence as he recites the rest of the poem, and Margo realizes that he isn’t reading off of anything.

Either he’s improvising, or he has it entirely memorized.

“Or when we trip

The web-like wire

Of a booby trap

Or when they

Fang our flesh

We should probably

Assume most

Just be right there…”

Miles paused and looked somewhere far beyond the crowd, lifting his arm to point to the back of the room. Then he repeated:

“Right there,

Right here,”

He gestures toward the front row, where his eyes land directly on Margo. It’s not so close to the stage that she can tell for sure, but she thinks she sees a hint of a smile cross his lips.

“Looking at us,

Looking over them.”

Silence.

His arm falls limply to his side as his eyes frantically scan the audience, searching for some kind of response.

Then, someone begins to clap. Then another. Then another. WIthin moments, the entire room erupts in applause, causing a shy smile to spread across the young man’s face.

“Uh, thank you!” he says, surprised at the positive reception, before shrinking into himself again and leaving the stage the same way he came.

The host returns and takes the mic from him.

“Miles Morales, everybody!”

After the poetry slam, Margo insisted that Zoe take her to the sushi place across the street. It had a bar sitting off to the side, one with significantly less poets. The decorative lights hung directly above the shelf filled with glass bottles and shrouded them in cherry red.

Zoe takes a sip of her sherry and leans in.

“Sooo, how was it?”

“It was a’ight.”

The light-skinned girl’s lips pull into a pout. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I told you poetry wasn’t my thing,” Margo pauses, then amends, “I liked the last guy, though. Breath of fuckin’ fresh air.”

“Right? His style really caught my attention, subtle.”

“Glad you liked it.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as she glanced just beyond Margo’s shoulder.

When Margo turned towards the familiar voice and froze.

The poet in question was standing just inches away, a friendly smile gracing his features. His jacket is no longer around his waist, neatly folded over his arm like an expensive coat. He is with the excitable darker-skinned man who’d just hosted the event, and a man the shade of sandalwood standing just behind him.

They’re both wearing the same type of muted cardigan as Miles, but they’ve got actual coats.

“Y’all were in the front, right?” Miles asks the both of them, though he’s only looking at Margo.

She nods wordlessly. Zoe picks up the slack.

“M-hm, you were great up there! You’ve really never shown anyone your work ‘till tonight?”

Miles snorts at the wording of the phrase. ‘His work’.

“I wrote that poem in high school,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, but my roommate…”

He gives the dark-skinned man a dirty look.

“...swiped my journal and found it. Told me I should read it out loud somewhere.”

Margo examines Miles’ face and imagines him as a baby-faced high-schooler, sitting in the back of the classroom with a protective arm around the beat-up red composition notebook he’s writing in. He stuffs it in his bag as soon as he’s done, because he has just poured his heart out onto that page, and his crush’s name is in there. Maybe there are tiny doodles of her in the margins.

“Yo,” the sandalwood-colored man claps Miles on the shoulder. “We about to hit up Tiff’s place, you coming?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Miles nods dismissively. “I’ll catch up with y’all.”

The two other men give each other a knowing look before brushing past him.

“Alright man, catch you later then.”

Once she finally regains the ability to speak, Margo remarks, “You were the only performance I really liked, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah, this one hates poetry,” Zoe places a hand on Margo’s shoulder and laughs. “Tried to change her mind by bringing her over here, but no dice.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “What made mine so different?”

“Hm, I dunno…” Margo’s eyes float over his form before making their way back up to his face. “Your delivery, I guess.”

Safe to say, he looks amusedly unconvinced.

“My…delivery.”

She catches herself and quickly adds, “I-I mean, it also kinda felt like everyone else was trying too hard. So.”

He tilts his head at the remark.

“Are you just saying that to flatter me?”

.“I don’t flatter people. Too close to lying.”

“That sounds like half a poem already. Maybe you should go up there next week.”

She gives him a lopsided smile.

“Only if you’re there. I need something to actually look forward to.”

His tongue darts out and passes over his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Margo.”

Miles hums, softly repeating the name before inching his way over to the counter where he leans his hip on it.

“Pretty. Can I buy you a drink, Margo?”

She doesn’t think her name is all that pretty, but he makes it sound that way.

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Zoe teases as she rises from her seat. “I’m gonna go order us some sushi.”

Miles takes the stool to Margo’s left as he waits on their drinks, his long legs never needing to leave the ground to do so.

He has a funny way of sitting, hands folded neatly in front of him with his back just a few degrees off from being perfectly straight. As if you needed to look distinguished at a sushi bar.

Church boy, Margo guessed. That, or his daddy’s a military man.

It’s adorable either way.

“You in school?” she asked.

“Yup. Princeton.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh shit, me too! I’ve never seen you on campus, though. What’s your major?”

“Physics. You?”

“Comp Sci. Been coding since I was in middle school, so…”

Margo remembers the echoing ‘click-clack’ of her keyboard as she sat in an empty computer lab for hours on end after school because she preferred it to her parents’ house.

The bartender hands Miles two glasses of white wine, and he sets the second glass in front of Margo, his warm eyes still focused on her.

She’s intrigued by how clear they are - no trace of suspicion or calculation behind them. Just the warmth.

“So, where you from? My folks are over in Brooklyn.”

“Georgia.”

Miles’ brows jump to his hairline.

“Damn. What brought you all the way up here?”

To get as far away as possible.

“Well, it’s Princeton,” she says beneath a forced laugh.

“Yeah, but you got, like, eight different HBCUs over there. How’d Princeton win you over?”

Margo breaks eye contact to stare into her drink.

“Needed a change of pace.”

When she looks up to gauge Miles’ reaction, skepticism is written all over his face. But he doesn’t push it further.

“That’s fair. Princeton’s got a cutting-edge quantum physics program that I’m aiming for. Had to beg my parents to come here,” he grins proudly, “but here I am.”

Margo is silent for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks suddenly, beckoning Miles to lean in.

“Yeah?”

Grinning, she half-whispers, “I’m actually here on a scholarship.”

He gives her an odd look.

“Why’d you say it like that? Nothin’ wrong with getting a full ride. The opposite, actually.”

“Some people might feel otherwise. You’re like, the second person I’ve told other than my parents.”

“And why me?” Miles chuckles. “My poetry was just that good?”

“I just…Hm.”

Margo leans back and takes a contemplative sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass.

Why did she just tell him that?

“I guess I just sorta felt like telling you.”

Margo cautiously sets the wine back down. She figures if she’s not careful, he’ll have her full government name and social security number by the end of the night.

��Y’know, I actually get that a lot,” Miles laughs. “One time, I had this lady I was standing in line with at Target turn around and just start telling me stories about her dead son and how much she misses him. And it’s like, I’m sorry for your loss, but we’re in Target right now and I literally do not know you.”

“Wait, people just go up to you and…tell you shit?”

“Yup. There was this other time at church, too. Just as service ends and I’m about to get up and leave, this short old dude–Dominican, I think–stops me and starts telling me about his entire life. I’m talking start to finish! Apparently I reminded him of his nephew that died in the military or something.”

“Jesus.”

A crease forms between Margo’s brows. She wishes she could say she didn’t understand the old man at church or the lady at Target, but she does. No, it’s not the poetry. It’s got nothing to do with words.

It’s the way that Miles looks at people.

Like he already knows all of your secrets, but you’re not worried because they’re safe with him, so might as well tell them. It’s a merciful sort of gaze; you get the impression that he won’t judge you. You might even tell him more after his friendly ‘boy-next-door’ voice coaxes them out of you. The thought unsettles her because she had done just that.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?” She asks, all of a sudden.

Miles shrugs, “Yeah, in tenth grade, then again freshman year. Didn’t really work out.”

“Why not?”

His brows furrow gently for just a second, as if he’s still trying to figure out the answer to that.

“I…don’t know, actually. It goes well the first few months and then…”

“It fizzles out?”

“I get ghosted. Something about how they’re ‘not ready’. Understandable, I guess, but you don’t have to ghost me, y’know?”

He awkwardly examines his fingers, then his glass.

Margo feels a bit guilty for suddenly bringing up his exes when they’d just met. Would they end up the same way? She saw herself there too, being in a relationship for six months before his weird pastor’s eyes get to be a bit too much and she takes off.

“Yikes, sorry I asked.”

“It’s no problem,” a smile starts to return to his face. “Onto better things, right?”

“Right.”

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“You ever been in a relationship before?”

Margo smiles awkwardly and messes with one of her fingernails.

“Well…not exactly.”

Miles’ eyes widen.

“Never?”

“I mean, guys offer, and then we talk for a little bit, but then…”

“They flake out on you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn shame,” he says with a bit of sharpness to his voice. “Not even a first date?”

“Nope, just ‘Read at 4:15’.”

“You know what I think it is?”

Just as he asks this, his knee brushes against her thigh. Margo isn’t sure if it’s an accident, but it distracts her nonetheless.

“What?”

“You’re too smart for them, I can tell. It scares ‘em.” But it doesn’t scare me, is the suggestion.

He smiles then, the kind that shows the whiteness of his teeth on every vowel. It’s wide enough that a dimple comes out of hiding on his left cheek, and she suddenly wants to tell him everything again. She takes another sip of wine.

“So! What’d I miss?”

Zoe finally returns from ordering their sushi at the front with an expectant grin. Miles still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her friend, while she is staring at him like a string of code, which, if you know Margo, is better than nothing.

“You didn’t miss much,” says Margo. “We were just talkin’ about our majors. School stuff.”

Miles checks his phone and lets out a low whistle.

“Well, it was lovely meeting y’all, but I gotta bounce. After getting dragged onstage, I get to be dragged over to a house party, too.”

Just as he rises from his seat, he stops and points at her.

“Before I go, though, d’you mind giving me your digits? I’d love to talk about, uh…computer science…over lunch.”

She snorts, “Who still says ‘digits’?” but hands him her phone anyway.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

“Sure.”

His eyes light up as if he wasn’t expecting her to say yes as he saves his number as ‘poetry slam guy’ in her phone, then hands it back.

“Cool,” Miles begins his walk towards the entrance backwards, holding eye contact for just a little longer before turning around. “G’night!”

“Goodnight!” the two women call out in unison as he leaves.

Margo looks to her left at the now-empty bar stool. The glass of wine Miles left on the counter is full, completely untouched.

It’s still on her mind as she's sitting in her single dorm room, re-writing her lecture notes on cyber security in a meticulous neat print that could almost pass for a font.

Every few minutes her pen stops because she’s distracted by the sound of clinking glass in boxes downstairs, or because she pauses to stare at the white wall in front of her that brings to mind one of the lines of Miles’ poem.

There might be a spider that I can’t see sitting ten feet away from me right this second, she muses to herself. The thought gives her an idea, and the perfect excuse to call him without seeming too desperate.

Margo unlocks her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She smiles to herself at the contact name Miles chose. Did he think she’d forget his name that easily?

His voice soon filters through the speaker.

“Hey, you didn’t throw out my number!”

“Yup, lucky you.” she replies. “I wanted to ask you a question? About your poem the other night.”

“What about it?”

“See, I was thinking about that first line. Are we really never more than ten feet away from a spider? Like, at any given moment?”

There’s a moment of silence from Miles before he asks:

“You…called me just to ask me that?”

“What? It’s a very pressing issue! There’s probably one in the corner of my room as we speak!”

“Alright, I’ll humor you,” Miles laughs. “That’s actually a myth from the 90s. Your distance from the nearest spider really depends on where you’re at, so if you’re in a spot with hella bugs, you’re more likely to see one. You’re probably fine.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Margo gasps dramatically. “So you lied to all those poor folks in there?”

“Sure did. Played ‘em all like a fiddle.”

“Terrible.”

“So, why’d you really call? You don’t sound as concerned about spiders as you say you are, if I’m being honest.”

So much for an excuse.

“Don’t nothing get past you, huh?”

This earns a burst of laughter from Miles’ end.

“You’re a worse liar than me, I wouldn’t recommend making it a habit.”

“Ugh, fine,” Margo admits, “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could hear my voice in real life, you know. Offer’s still on the table, and I’m free today.”

Their second conversation, and already a lunch date? But as she’s reminded of what his voice sounds like, she quickly realizes that just the voice is not enough.

Still, she tries to sound casual and makes a non-committal noise.

“Better than being cooped up in my room all day.”

“Great! Where you wanna go?”

Margo shrugs as if he can see her on the other end.

“Wherever you wanna go.”

“Ah, the ‘wherever you wanna go’ paradox,” he chuckles. “Okay, well–lemme ask you this then. Do you like eating with or without music?”

There’s a beat of silence as she considers.

“Hm…is the music good?”

“I’d never subject anyone to a place that plays shit music. Promise.”

“Music, then.”

“Cool, what time works for you?”

“How does two sound? I’ll catch you in front of the Engineering Library.”

“Bet. See you in an hour, then!”

The place Miles chose had a live band playing at the front.

A bass player, a keyboard pianist, a saxophonist, and a few background vocalists on occasion. All are propelled forward by the rapid-fire snare of the drummer. It’s jazz - the easy, conversational kind you hear in the background of 90s romantic comedies where the love interest wears nothing but dark lip liner and filled-in brows with a bit of smokey eyeshadow in the crease.

This is the look that Margo has decided to go for as she sits across from Miles at a mahogany table positioned ideally by the window.

It was all she could do other than frantically adjust the braided 'fro-hawk sitting atop her head and spin around in a mist of ‘Champagne Toast’ before bolting out the door.

She doubts he can even smell it right now through the curry and garlic.

“Figured out what you want yet?” Miles asks as he looks over his menu at Margo.

“Eh, I dunno,” she replies, running her index finger down her own menu. “I’m tryin’ not to blow half my paycheck on pasta right now.”

Miles gives her a strange look, then it clicks.

“Oh! Lunch is on me,” he laughs. “Your bank account’s safe for now.”

Her head snaps up.

“You should’ve mentioned that! I thought we were going half and half this whole time, I had my whole budget for the week planned out.”

Margo has to hold back an ugly cackle at the look of horror on Miles’ face right after she says this.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

With this new information in mind, she orders a bowl of chicken alfredo with a glass of lemonade that she sips on as the band seamlessly transitions into a cover of Solange’s ‘Cranes in the Sky’.

“So, Margo,” Miles rests his chin on his knuckles and squints his eyes comically.

“If that is your real name.”

Margo giggles, and plays along.

“It’s not, it’s my alter-ego for when I go on top-secret missions.”

“Is it short for something? Or just Margo?”

“Hm,” she puts on an affected, ‘action movie’ voice, “If I tell you, I might have to kill you.”

“It’s worse ways to die out there.”

Margo looks around her as if to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in.

“It’s short for Marguerite.”

Miles snaps his fingers.

“I knew it!”

“What? You think I look like a Marguerite? Seriously?”

“No, but you got a lil’ country twang in your voice. Ain’t no way in hell Margo wasn’t short for something.”

“Man, alright,” she laughed.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he winked, “I like ‘em country.”

“Boy, don’t give me that! You look like you’d pass out at the sight of a jar of pig’s feet.”

“Hey now, I got family in South Carolina. I used to go down there and see about ten of those every summer.”

“Fine, but you were still raised a Northerner. I could hear the Brooklyn from a mile away.”

Miles removed his hand from under his chin to clutch his chest.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m caught between two worlds!”

The reference to one of the more choice lines from the poetry slam makes Margo snort and let out a loud guffaw, which she quickly muffles with the palm of her hand.

“Why would you remind me of that!”

Miles is soon infected by the fit of laughter and has to put all his strength into not doubling over at the table and drawing attention.

“This nigga said,” he wheezed, “ ‘I keep doing the Achy Breaky to Suavemente!’ “

“I thought I was the only one who thought that shit sucked,” Margo sighed as she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I didn’t wanna be mean ‘cuz I’m not like, half Puerto Rican, or anything like that.”

“Well I am, and that whole poem felt like a microaggression. And I knew that guy!” He starts gesturing wildly with his hands at the outrage, which Margo finds hilarious.

“He's like, one-eighth Boricua. His last name is fuckin’ Schwartz!” Miles scoffs, “He don’t know shit about no damn ‘Suavemente’. Bet he looked it up.”

“You should write your own poem, then. ‘Take up space’, as they say.”

“Hell no,” he said. “I left that behind in high school. The other night was an exception, remember?”

“Look, I’m not one to encourage more people to become poets, but you never know. Something might inspire you.”

Miles calms down and gives her a meaningful look.

“Maybe.”

The rest of the conversation saw Miles slyly gathering intel through bites of roasted chicken. He’d quickly learned from their meeting at the bar that his line of questioning with Margo ought to be less direct.

He even hit her with the ‘what’s your sign’ question, though Biggie would’ve advised against it (Margo was a Libra, he was a Leo). He didn’t actually care for astrology, but Margo wasted no time in proclaiming that she couldn’t stand Scorpios because they were ‘too nosy’.

Miles’ only error was asking if she’d ever dated–correction–spoken to one, and her eyes hardened with suspicion again. He quickly elected to change the subject.

“Okay, totally random question, but humor me. How do you like your eggs?”

Margo blinks twice.

“What?”

“You heard me. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinda eggs they like, true shit.”

“Alright, fine. I like ‘em fried, with the crispy edges. What that say about me?”

“I dunno, but when I find out it’ll all make sense.”

Margo laughs.

“Okay, well, how do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, fluffy,” A childish grin spread across Miles’ lips. “And seasoned with Adobo to make ‘em all orange.”

“Never had ‘em like that before.”

“Maybe I could make some for you sometime, if you’d let me.”

“Maybe.”

She remembers his promise a month later when she wakes up to the aroma of the seasoning and hears the pop of frying oil, letting out a sigh of relief at the realization that Miles is still there.

His back is facing her when she enters the kitchen, the morning light illuminating a tattoo she had never seen before.

It’s a spider with sprawling legs that cascade all the way down the expanse of skin, the movement of his shoulder blades bringing them partially to life. She hadn’t noticed it in the dark, and he was not one to walk around in anything revealing enough for it to have ever seen daylight. It’s faded, which means he’s likely had it for years.

He’s only twenty-one, she thinks. Did he get it in high school?

Amusement creeps onto Margo’s face at the image of Miles sneaking around the house, darting in and out of the bathroom to clean it without his hawk-eyed mother or straight-edged father taking notice. Picturing this, it’s suddenly much easier to believe that their son would have to beg and plead for them to send him a measly forty-six miles away for school, even for an Ivy League.

Miles doesn’t turn around yet, but Margo catches the way he stops, tilting his head playfully and placing a hand on his hip.

“Man, I can’t believe I’mma have to eat this whole thing of scrambled eggs all by myself, with the ones I just fried! How sad.” “You’re not very funny,” Margo says with a smile, pulling out a chair from beneath the dining table.

He switches the stove off, then does a dramatic spin to face her with fake surprise on his face.

“Oh! Where’d you come from? I didn’t see you there.”

He turns back around to grab two plates–ceramic ones, not the stack of styrofoam ones–from one of the cupboards to serve the eggs in, starting with fried.

Margo watches him silently. The tiny, squint-or-you-might-miss-it gold chain around his neck catches the light as he moves, and she remembers feeling the cold metal brush across her lips.

“The fried ones, are they–”

“Crispy at the edges?” he finishes, with a smile in his voice. “Yes ma’am!”

“You could really be a detective, can’t get nothing past you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“See?”

The two burst into laughter, and the ink on Miles’ back does also. His poem was accurate, in a way. For the past five weeks, Margo has been no more than ten feet away from a spider.

They have a brief and quiet breakfast, wherein Margo finally asks to try the scrambled eggs and is delighted by the burst of flavor added by the Adobo. They aren’t too dry or too soggy the way they tend to be in restaurants - just fluffy, as promised. She thinks it might be time to finally start taking Miles at his word as she watches his back again while he’s washing dishes.

Once he is fully dressed and about to leave, Miles stops suddenly, as if he’s forgotten something. He reaches into the left pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly-folded sheet of paper, nervously running his other hand through the short dreads sitting atop his head.

“Before I leave, I, uh…I took your advice and wrote a lil’ something.”

He hands it to Margo, who takes it gingerly.

“Well, good for you.”

“It’s been a while, so it’s kinda rough, but hopefully the sentiment is there.”

Miles plants a quick kiss on her cheek, and she smiles easily for once as opposed to the usual raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be sure to let you know if it is.”

Some time after he leaves, she finally sits down to read it while sipping on a cup of tea, because coffee wreaks havoc on her nerves. His handwriting is strange, overly graphic as if it’s the title card of a cartoon, but she reads it.

I know you don't like poetry

but you said you liked mine,

and the way you sip your wine

has set my pen to paper,

so I hope

you'll make another exception.

You've already claimed

half of my sketchbook

because I just can't get your eyes right.

I always make ‘em too soft,

or too round.

They don't pierce through me,

like they did when

you stared at me over your glass,

eyes narrowed.

When you search my face

and pick me apart,

I'd like to know what it is

you're always searching for.

#miles morales fic #margo kess #flowerbyte #cybershock #cyberflower #atsv fic #atsv fanfiction #moralesanhour

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mehreenkhan · 10 months ago

Note

Hey. Can you please elaborate the meaning of your bio "bawajud e dil .... "

In the workplace of existence, the asset of the tulip is its scar;

The lightning of the harvest of comfort is the hot blood of the farmer

From bud to full bloom, it appears as the petal of contentment

Despite its collected heart, the dream of the rose is scattered.

How would the sorrow of impatience be endured by us?

The wound shows weakness in earnest and the flame has a straw in its teeth.

Bawajud-e-dil-jami khawab-e-gul pareshan hai

Is taken from the second verse of Colossus of Urdu literature — Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib’s Persian poem “کارگاہ ہستی میں ” where he describes the fate of the bud. [The following explanation is taken from various sources and none of it is mine.]

There are different explanations for the second verse and it is critical to read all of these to develop your own understanding of the verse.

Sarfraz K. Niazi from Ghalib.org explicates the verse as

The bud seems composed. Despite this composure, the rose is destined to a disturbed dream as it eventually withers away.

Syed Noman-ul-Haq from Dawn describes it like this:

A bud has all its petals closed up, held tight together, fully collected. Naturally, its dream is to bloom, to become a flower. But then, there is a cosmic paradox waiting to manifest itself: as soon as the bud opens up to bloom, it loses its collectedness; now its petals have lost the firm embrace of one another, thrown thereby into disconcert. What was togetherness has, in the fulfilment of the dream, turned into a scatter. Winds will further scatter the split-open bud — now a flower — by blowing away its petals, and bees and worms will invade its integrity to destruction. Recall ‘The Sick Rose’ of William Blake here: “O Rose, thou art sick ...”

As Francis Pritchett brings to our knowledge:

That is, as long as the bud openly shows its attainment of the 'provision of contentment'-- that is, its remaining happy through contentment-- how can this be known to happen? When this is the case, then the rose has, instead of 'heart-composure', 'anxiety'. And thus the bud has been used as a simile, and from that the aspect of 'heart-collectedness' is manifest. In the same way, the scattering of the petals of the opened rose makes manifest the aspect of 'disturbed'. And the rose's silence and prostration in fatigue show the state of sleep/dream. In short, since all these three states befall the rose, then despite its 'heart-collectedness', the sleep/dream of the rose remains disordered/scattered. And the cause of this disorder is that it broods, 'let's see whether in this realm of disaster the 'provision of contentment' is possible or not'.

Josh:

In barg there is an īhām . The reason is that it means 'leaf', and also 'wealth, treasure' [toshah]. In connection with the rose, barg meaning 'leaf' is the most obvious meaning. But here he has taken the remote meaning.

“What I really love about this verse is the second line. It stuck in my mind the first time I ever heard it. It has that great sense of 'mood', and so much flowingness and resonance! You don't even need the first line, in order to enjoy the second one very fully. In fact it's almost better without the first line, for then you're left to imagine for yourself the nature of the rose's restlessness in its sleep/dream. Then it's a line full of mystery, with a powerful ominousness that evokes for us our own similar fate.”

It is impossible to explicate Ghalib's poetry in a single post as he enjoys setting up fine, lucid metaphorical equations, and then subvert them or tangle them up. You can read a more detailed analysis here.

#mirza ghalib #explication #urdu poetry #desiblr #poetry blog #urdu literature

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umbralsong · 3 months ago

Text

Lady Incognita

Cazador Szarr's "niece" is named Amanita Szarr. You can find her story scattered throughout the palace's attic, dungeon, and the House of Hope. She was a girl who grew up near Anga Vled raised by old servants. At 13, she was brought to visit her uncle in Baldur's Gate...

The day her entire family exposed themselves as vampires.

Alternate Text: An east Asian girl with medium-brown skin and dark brown then red eyes looks away from the viewer. One with brown, facing away. Twice with red and shoddily cut away dark hair, looking away in despair and notably darkened, red, downcast eyes and short hair. Once more with darkened eyes and a cloak and red eyes to match, long dark hair flowing from her hood.

Unfinished, but hey. I want to show fellow artists that things just don't come to you. Sometimes, you have to work the lines and paint until they do. Use Glaze to protect your art from AI scrapers.

The notes you can find in order:

Alturiak 1477 Tarsakh 1477 Mirtul 1477 Kythorn 1477 Flamerule 1477

Please read about issues with Cazador's depiction [here]. Thank them for their kind contribution and show support.

Donate to Gaza here: https://gazafunds.org/ Support good causes with a click here: https://arab.org/ Ceasefire Now: https://ceasefire-now.com/ Donate to the [Sidewalk School] [Pay your rent], settlers. [KOSA Resources]

The city palace, straddling the wall between the Upper and Lower City, was more than creepy, it was somehow chilling.

Cazador Szarr the Avid rose to power in 1296. She stayed at the estate for at least four months before she was killed. She was turned in Kythorn 1477, 15 years before the start of the story.

'Uncle' Cazador made me a vampire, but I refused to participate in the family rites. He gave me the Hunger but he could not break my will. He had Blovart imprison me in the attic. I weakened. They sent up human blood, and eventually I drank it. For a year, they stopped sending anything. I tore at the walls in frustration. Then they sent up a bound captive.

Cazador's favorite punishments are cruelty, hunger, and isolation.

His staff, "Woe:" The gentle tap-tap-tap of a staff on stone sparked terror for all in Cazador's palace. It signalled an approaching storm, and all they could do was shrink into the background and pray its wrath would not fall on them. His dagger, "Rhapsody:" Cazador's love of poetry arose after he read on the naked stomach of a dead child in his homeland. The child was hung from the lowest branch of a tree. Cazador read the poem, and looked at the child, and he knew that here was the artform for him.

Her coffin is on a wooden table overlooking a window. There are chains by her bed, a candle, and a skull. There are three skeletons in the attic, one headless with a crossbow and garlic cloves in their cage.

I succumbed. I am a vampire, and damned. I curse the name of Szarr and reject it. Now I stay in the attic by choice and write my little histories. I am Lady Incognita. Amanita is no more.

I think the snippets of her story were so impactful because of the complete betrayal. The fact her family were never around. The fact they lied for her entire life. The fact they forced her to transform, which we know from Astarion's partial ceremorphosis dialogue is incredibly painful:

Player: Unlike you to be so unwilling to receive a new power... Astarion: That was before I knew the cost. Before I knew it meant transforming into some grotesque beast. I remember how it hurt when I turned to a vampire. My body writhed and warped while I was utterly helpless, the grip of death owned my heart as it beat its last. I - I don't want to turn into anything else. I can't do that again. I can't watch my body be taken over. Player: You're afraid? Astarion: I'll happily murder my way to whatever powerful artefacts we can make use of. Point at the back and I'll stab. Just don't ask me to sacrifice my body. It hasn't been mine for so long.

We know thematically there is a parallel between vampirism, abuse, and sexuality. Cazador appeared to lose interest in his 'niece' altogether. Nonetheless, he locked her into an eternal childhood under "true vampirism," never to grow to adulthood, and denied her a "typical" life forevermore. There is something particularly grotesque about that.

Astarion: Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until today. Player: You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force. Astarion: Maybe, but he did take it. There's almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries, I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.

We find The Tourmaline Depths in the room beneath Cazador's room. She wrote Diseases of the Blood to tackle vampiric illness. She wrote the names of ruling vampires, their titles, and their successors. She is, what, 28?

I like to think she knew all of Cazador's secrets, from the corpses in the suspended cages to his dungeon. I'm impressed by her mental fortitude in the face of such odds as a child and young woman. I'm impressed she chose to do what she loved, escaped, and became such a relevant figure in the study of vampiric physiology. I wish we knew her better. I wish we had the opportunity to meet her.

She is the historian who sullies his name and documents his endless crimes. She escaped. Cazador underestimated her.

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pddngchi-artblog · 5 months ago

Text

And here they are! Last post haul for today, I’ll continue on tomorrow o7 these body models are part of a twst project I’m doing where I’m mostly just making reference model sheets of the twst casts’ physical appearance based on my headcanons of them ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

See the full headcanon list under cut!

Riddle Rosehearts

- He has a condition called "Huldu's Blessing," which is a genetic mutation that was believed to be a fae's blessing to a mother and her future generation. This blessing is well known in the history of faefolk and generational curses/blessings. Pieces of a poem depicting this phenomenon was scattered around The Briar Valley and Pyroxene until it was recovered in the mid 1800s by researchers.

- "Huldu's Blessing" is characterized by smooth yet sensitive skin with no blisters nor hair. People with this genetic mutation are at risk at extreme temperatures, such as cold or heat.

- This condition also made Riddle appear doll-like, with how natural and vibrant the pink of his cheeks and nose is.

- He is underweight due to the diets his mother arranged for him, causing his ribs, collar bone, shoulder bones, and pelvic bone, to be slightly prominent.

- He has a rectangular body.

—————

Leona Kingscholar

- He developed an intricate pattern of scars from the center of his palm up to his forearm due to exertion of his Unique Magic. In magical situations, he would rarely use it, unless it is an emergency. The exertion comes from his daily training of controlling the feedback of his Unique Magic to him as well as its output. These scars resemble cracks and fractures found on dried up soil or concrete, and they faintly shine like ichor under the sun as well as glow in dim light.

- He has body hair all over his legs, arms, chest, and down to his crotch. He has a few moles scattered some place in his body.

- He has a set of horizontal scars around his neck and a set of vertical ones on his right breast. Both are results from a fight he had in his second year at Night Raven College.

- He has an almost an hour-glass shape to his body, but closely resembling an inverted triangle. He has a pudgy stomach that is mostly seen on the side and when he is sitting down. He is also quite muscular due to his genetics, despite the lack of abdomninal muscles.

—————

Azul Ashengrotto

- Genetically, he is more on the heavier side. This is because his species of merfolk live a bit deeper underwater where the temperature is cold and the pressure is greater than the ones in the surface. Having thicker skin, a larger body mass, and bioluminescent skin, are all part of his species’ biological evolution.

- He is much larger than male octopi, including the tweels. His top surgery scars appear as though they are part of his natural body markings, only appearing much lighter than the rest of them. In his human form, they resemble curling octopus tentacles. The dots appearing above those tentacles are actual markings that line across his breasts.

- He has an genetic eye condition called “Chameleon Eyes” and he has the basic type. This genetic condition allows his eyes to adapt to the color or pattern of his environment. He can also camoflauge himself into any surface but this is only done in his original merfolk form. As a human, he cannot camoflauge.

- Although Azul lost a considerable amount of weight in his early to mid adolescent years, he retained his body shape and mass due to his genetics. He has rolls of love handles and fat, his lower body appearing larger than his upper body.

- He has a congenital limb deformity, specifically fibular hemimelia (Type 1A). One of his tentacles are shorter and appear more swollen the rest whose tapered to an end. This resulted in his slow locomotor abilities in the water, but it does not hinder his strength as an octopi merfolk. Transforming into a human did not remove this deformity, therefore, Azul walks with a cane. (See link)

- His body hair are actually speckles, remnants of his merfolk form. They appear similarly to body hair because of his transfiguration potion. However, he is hairless, and has smooth soft skin. He also has stretch marks starting from his stomach then thighs.

- He has a triangle or pear-shape body.

—————

Kalim al-Asim

- As dancing is one of his passions since he was a child, he has grown to be agile and flexible. Although not an excellent fighter, he has the decent skill of fending for himself in light physical altercations.

- He has some scattered freckles and patches on his back. He also has some subtle arm and leg hair that isn’t too noticeable unless one would get a closer look.

- He has small, faint scars all over his palms and fingers, a scar under his neck, and a streamline scar starting from his left breast down to the side of his torso. The streamline resembles fractured capillaries in shape, and it caused a significant discoloration of his skin. This was because of a poison he injested in secret when he was training his body to be immune to certain poisons. He tries to hide this scar from his family and from Jamil (more so to save Jamil if he was ever accussed of negligence) but failed. So, he made an excuse, and said that this scar was a result of the most dangerous (and known to be the last) kidnapping that occured to him when he was 12 years old.

- He has stretchmarks on his thighs and his lower back.

- He has anemia.

- Because of good genetics, Kalim is considerably built, having broad shoulders and some muscles to his arms and legs. He has a rectangular body type, almost resembling an inverted trapezoid (See Pavitr Prabhakar in ATSV 2023).

—————

Vil Schoenheit

- Although he does have body hair in his limbs, he makes it a habit to shave to maintain a smooth and clear skin.

- Because of her diet and good genes, he never had any acne, pimples, blackheads, whiteheads, or any sort of blemishes on her face. However, having deep eyebags are hereditary, so Vil makes it a habit to rejuvenate her skin to lessen the darkness of the eyebags.

- She has a genetic eye condition called “Chameleon Eyes” and have the subtype “Obscura Eyes.” This allow the eyes to reflect inverted images from the environment, but this is only noticeable in enclosed and lighted spaces, such as photoshoot rooms or interview rooms. This becomes one of Vil’s defining traits as an artist and model. (Inspired by koutingmiao’s distinct trait for her TWST OC Micah.)

- He is quite muscular around the upper torso, having a faint outline of abdominal muscles, and muscular arms that are not too evident unless flexed. She underwent boxing and fencing training, and makes it a habit to go to the gym twice a month with her personal trainer.

- His appearance is quite adrogynous; her curves making her feminine and her hard angles making her masculine. Despite how well-built he is, he is still slender, closely resembling an hour-glass body type (See Marina and the Diamonds and Helga Sinclair from Atlantis: The Lost Empire).

—————

Idia Shroud

- He is very underweight. Collar bones, balls of his shoulder, and a few ribs are peaking out of his skin due to this. He also has prominent hip dips. His thinness makes him almost appear gaunt, accentuating his cheeks and jaw slightly.

- As a result for the curse bestowed to his family, his hair emulates fire, but he and his family are naturally blue-haired. This means Idia have body hair over his legs and some on his arms. His hair varies by temperature. Despite being blue, the heat is not at all intense, but rather mellow and controlled. The fire of his hair can spread from surface to surface depending on the intensity of his emotion, but it can disappear within seconds once he is calm.

- His family’s genes makes their skin dull and pale, allowing veins to appear at some parts of his skin, and explains why their lips are blue. His eyes are also hooded with prominent dark eyebags circling under them.

- He has lumbar scoliosis and Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.

- He is quite lanky and it is why his clothes easily dwarf him.

—————

Malleus Draconia

- Curiously he’s quite built but also slender (somewhere in the middle)

- He has no visible scarring or blemishes, but dark scales does litter across his limbs and body similar to how body hair or body blemishes work.

- He is quite warm, surprisingly, with thermal spots found on the palms of his hands, his fingertips, his nape, and his chest.

- Majority of her scales gather around the area of her tailbone wherein her tail can morph out of her skin as she pleases.

- Her nails are naturally sharp and nearly dark at the tips.

- There is a space under her shoulder bones where her wings will morph out on its own. It is a painless process for him, even though the bones stretch out from the area and membrane forms seemingly from the plane.

#₍ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ₎ ; pddngart #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fanart #twst fanart #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit #kalim al asim #idia shroud #malleus draconia #digital art #much like the other reposts i did i might redo some of these models? but its hard to say since im very much into idv now #i did have fun making these! it was such a good way to practice diversity in body shapes + shape language in general

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journey-to-the-attic · 9 months ago

Note

Okay but do you realise you have to drop the nicknames list now. Like I can't just move on without knowing what Lucifer's number 3 most sappy nickname is. (/j, only if you want to ofc!!)

i went to do it nearly as soon as i posted that ask answer, so here you go! copy-pasted and reformatted for ease of understanding - and some previously unseen because they come into use post-jtta

running list of ik's addresses/nicknames, stc

category one: standard

kid/kiddo - mostly mammon (who uses these more than her actual name), occasionally levi

twinkle - astaroth, belphie (tends to swap between this and her name)

moppet - mephisto

darling - asmo in every day life

sweetheart - asmo again, in softer moments

doll - alecto, though she uses this one on a lot of people

[my] dear - barbatos, so far only used impulsively once, but which becomes more frequent in future

paws - satan, shamelessly borrowed from anon

little dove - simeon, used once so far, but which is likely to make a comeback

wizard of shoes - solomon, as part of a running joke

overlord terror of the sands, duke of the sea turtles, bestie - any of a number of titles ik has slowly accumulated throughout her various running bits with levi

category two: special occasions

[my] lovely - simeon, in the same why english teachers in the uk often do

treasure - mammon

(something in a now obselete language that translates to) 'light of my eyes' - popular several generations ago, now probably only ever used by lucifer

something derived from these lines from an old devildom poem: "that which dreams like bottled lightning / sparks hope that grows from rot / to scatter wishes across the starry sky / and sever old threads at the cloth" - which only diavolo seems to understand

[my] precious/sweet/many other adjectives girl - asmo when very very drunk

brave hero - levi, making an effort to cheer her up

#answering asks #anon asks #luke and beel don't use any nicknames #for luke it's more because he and ik are in the same. generation i guess #and it'd feel weird for him to use a diminutive nickname #and anyway he likes ik's name as is (mostly just because it is ik's name)#for beel it's because he's very frank and often literal-minded and to him #he doesn't need to give ik an affectionate nickname because to him her name is already a term of affection #being that the Concept of ik is just synonymous with family to him #for both of them it's just this: ik's name contains Multitudes

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paranoid-poppies · 4 months ago

Text

A poet falls in love with a singer

Listen to me, 3200 years ago, Patroclus

Plucked figs, ripe and bleeding juice,

Just for the blond haired boy who

Laughed with him. They sat on beaches,

Drank in sunlight as if it was life

Itself. They spoke to each other like equals

And had private races simply for their

Own amusement. The water reflected

In its waves just how happy they were.

Listen still. Even longer ago, furious Zeus

Sent his golden lightning down to us,

Striking the pairs that roamed the earth

As one. He scattered them, each now

Only half of the soul they used to be,

Left to seek out their other half, knowing

Nothing of how they looked or behaved;

Only that their laugh was the most

Beautiful. You say my name and I want

To melt into you like beeswax, vibrant and bright

With natural joy. I want to give parts of myself to

You, until you feel as if you are one whole

Soul again. You don’t like my poetry

As much as I want you to, but the thing is,

I would love you even if you hated me.

If the universe collapsed in on itself right

Now, and our small world came to its

End, I would be content lying in bed with

you, our legs tangled beneath the sheets,

Our warm breath mingling in a quiet conversation

That only we will ever have. The world

Will get cold around everyone towards the

End. Our air deprived of oxygen and

Heat as the Sun is swallowed. Humanity

Will feel winter like never before, the

Winters we get with the changing climate

Will not rival the end of time and space.

What I’m trying to tell you is, if you’re ready,

I want to make you shiver like that.

With lines from “History Student Falls in Love With Astrophysics Student” by Keaton St. James

**I saw the mentioned poem this morning and I physically couldn’t stop myself from opening my notes app. I just started running. The pacing and format is just so gorgeous and I wanted to emulate the theme with my own words. I will DEFINITELY be reading some more of Keaton’s stuff in the future because oh my god.**

#poetry #art #writing #artists of tumblr #writers of tumblr #poems on tumblr #original work #original writing #poem #poems #original poem #poets on tumblr #Paranoidpoppy #Paranoidpoppy writes #greek mythology #tsoa #the song of achilles #achilles and patroclus

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ghost-with-a-teacup · 2 years ago

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Summary: You were never one for grand gestures displaying your love for the world to see. Love for you was in the little things, especially little notes scattered across your home for Simon to find. But for his birthday you do something a little different. OR You read a handwritten poem to Simon and he melts in your arms, with a little extra surprise as well :)) Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: None, it's really, really, soft. I can't emphasize that enough. Author's Note: Wrote this on the way to my grandparents' house, got carsick lol. Came up with this idea on the bus though, it's really cute in my opinion, hehe. Enjoy!!

If there was one thing you were sure of in this world, it was that you loved Simon. Without hesitation, you could say that, and despite the infinite number of words in the thousands of languages of this world, nothing would be enough to describe the extent of your love.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

You weren’t…big on talking about the storm of feelings that swirled in your heart, nor one for grand gestures encapsulating how you felt. Perhaps that was one of the many reasons you and Simon clicked so well because neither was he. You both found comfort in the collections of little things; small, considerate gestures that brought that tiny spark of warmth each time.

It could be something like bringing one another tea after a long day, murmuring so softly to each other, because your words were for each other only. Or perhaps making pancakes in the morning, laughing in embarrassment as you realize that Simon had caught you singing into the spatula. Or soft touches, skin on skin in gentle strokes as you breathed down from your highs, matching smiles gracing your lips.

Love is in the little things. That much was true, at least for you and Simon.

But you were always one to take that extra step, that little push that meant just a little bit more, but still not yet toeing the line of grandness. You loved to write, especially to him.

Little notes scattered around the house, small poems you come up with as you watch Simon in the early morning light, as he does mundane tasks like reloading the dishwasher or folding the laundry. Just because you didn’t like speaking your truth didn’t mean you wouldn’t make it known.

And just because your notes were small didn’t mean that it meant anything less than the entire world to Simon.

Every time he spotted a little note of yours his heart did a little skip, that feeling of childish giddiness he missed out on when he was young seeping into his very bones. Sometimes you would catch him as he read your notes, and without fail his eyes would sparkle like woven gold itself as he breathed in your words like they were his salvation.

He would always find you after every one, reciprocating in his own way whether it would be a kiss pressed to your lips, or your forehead, or simply sweeping you into his strong arms.

Your love language was your words, his was touch. Maybe they weren’t grand gestures, but it was more than enough.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, the weather warm enough to only have to wear light sweaters as opposed to thick winter jackets. The sun was shining down on you and Simon as you went about finishing errands for the day.

The last of the groceries had been packed into the trunk, and you were both tired enough and wanted to be in the comfort of your shared home.

Despite the normalcy the day held however, today was actually Simon’s birthday. He was never one to celebrate it much, maybe a nice drink and dinner, and when he wasn’t on a mission, a night with you held close. Simply existing in each other’s space would be better than anything else for Simon.

That didn’t stop you from buying him a little cake however, it was Pac-Man themed, with little ghosts frosted on. You thought it was silly and cute, fitting given his callsign. It would definitely get a chuckle out of him no matter how ridiculous he thought it was.

“Man, I really should’ve gotten those gummy bears,” you say, a pout on your lips as you watch Simon hang up the car keys.

“I did say you would regret putting them back, doll,” he says with a low chuckle, moving the grocery bags to the kitchen to begin putting them away. You trail behind him, poking his side playfully as he shoots you a glare which only makes you laugh in response.

“We do not need more snacks in this household, Si. The pantries are suffering as is,” you say as you try to find a place for the Pringles can you hold.

“Your loss then, but you know damn well they’d be gone within the day.”

“If I tell myself enough times that they won’t be, maybe it’ll come true,” you glance at him with a grin and you watch as his eyes crinkle, likely the same expression on his face, though his balaclava was blocking it.

“Hey, let’s get this off you, hm~?” you ask, making your way over to him. You grasp the edge of it in a silent question, and he only kneels down with a slight nod.

“I’m not that short you know,” you say with a snort, pulling the fabric up and off his head.

“Tell yourself that, love,” he says, and only now can you see that cheeky expression on his face that you kiss away.

“I have a little something for you, after the groceries though,” you say, patting his shoulder lightly as you watch him stand back up. His eyes shine with something akin to curiosity as he hums, turning back to help you put stuff away.

You wrote notes, that much was true. From your vantage point in the kitchen, you could spot at least three colourful notes lining the walls alone, but it wasn’t often that you said the words yourself. It felt…vulnerable, there was no way to hide the feelings that overflowed from your voice. But even moreso, those notes allowed for time, time to find those words that captured how you truly felt, or at least as close you could get to that truth.

But you knew Simon yearned for it, you couldn’t count the times he had told you how much he loved your voice, and hearing the words of your poems scattered through the house from your very lips would make it all the sweeter.

“Your voice is like honey,” he had said one night as you simply held each other close, watching some random documentary playing on the TV. You were rambling on about the facts you knew about the animal in question, elephants or something.

“What?” you responded, confused as you paused your crash course in elephants for a moment.

“I don’t know how else to describe it other than honey. Nectar maybe. Sweet, syrupy, all encapsulating. I could get lost in it,” he said simply, and you felt your cheeks heat up at his admission. He only watched your expression change from awe to embarrassment, and couldn’t help but pull you closer to his side at your adorableness.

It made sense, the way he was so enraptured by you every time you spoke, as though your voice was an enchanting song that he couldn’t help but pay attention to. He had asked you a couple times to read out your poems but you always shied away from it. He didn’t mind though, never pushed, but deep down Simon truly wants to hear the words come from your sweet lips. But he would take what he could get, if this is what you were comfortable with, then your honeyed truths written on colourful sticky notes were more than enough.

But today was the day you would grant his wishes.

Finally, the groceries were packed away. Trying to find space for everything was…a task. Costco was a dangerous place.

“What was it you wanted to show me, love?” he asked, turning to face you now, hands grasping your hips and soothing little circles into them.

“Sit down on the couch, I’ll be there in a sec,” you say, nudging him a bit.

“Oh?” his lips turn up in a smirk before you huff out a little laugh.

“Not that, you freak. Not yet at least, behave,” you say before turning towards the bedroom, your heart beating a little faster now.

You speed in, grabbing a little sheet of paper from the bedside drawer. This one had taken you days to write, your best attempt at condensing all that you felt for Simon in this piece of writing. But at long last, you were happy with it.

Making your way back over to the living room, Simon comes into view sat comfortably on the couch.

“Good job,” you praise, and he scoffs lightly but you don’t fail to see the tips of his ears redden which makes you grin in turn.

You situate yourself down on his lap and his hands gravitate to your waist immediately. Your heart beats a bit faster now as you lean into him so your head is over his shoulder, face out of his sight.

“Just…stay there, alright? Stay there and listen,” you say softly before taking a deep breath. “I’m a little nervous so don’t judge me if I stutter alright?”

“Never,” he reassures you, and you take one more deep breath as you feel him hug you close in comfort.

“I...love you. I know you know this with the words that line our walls and the whispers in the dark of night, but I truly do,” you say, and where his chest is pressed to yours you feel it pick up in rhythm.

“When you kiss me awake as the golden light of the sun shines through the cracks of the blinds. When you nudge me to the inside of the sidewalk when we’re out on a walk, or when you wash my hair when I’m too tired to even think, I love you,” you swallow as you try to ease the beating of your heart that now rested in your throat, but Simon only smooths his hand over your back patiently.

“When we drink tea together in the middle of the night when we can’t sleep, or when you laugh at all my stupid jokes and innuendos, even when you heckle me in the rare times when you let me drive, I really love you,” he laughs a bit at that.

“I think most of all is when you come home after a long mission. Even despite being tired, aching, and exhausted when you come home, it means that you made it back to me, safe and sound.”

“What I’m trying to say is that it’s in the little things, I think. But they form a collective of something great, something beyond you and I that bleeds out beyond the frontiers of this world,” your breath shudders as your words reach a climax.

“I think that above all else we have a love of destiny, written in the stars by the divine entities in the heavens above themselves and tied off in a bow with the strings of fate, that’s the only way I could explain how perfectly we mould together as a pair.”

He hears you sniffle a bit and nudges you forward so he could see your face. Concern washes over his features but you just shake your head, assurance that you were okay, more than okay.

"Every day I thank the fates that I met you, and that you let me worm my way into your heart that was once guarded so tight. In the journey that is life itself, I am thankful that it led me to you,"

“In this universe, and every other universe parallel to our own, I am yours. Irrevocably, impossibly yours, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you say with a smile despite the tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You reach back into your pocket at that moment, and a small burgundy box appears in your hand. You watch as Simon’s eyes grow wide in response, swirling in infinite emotion, but most of all, love.

“So, Simon Riley, would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?” you say, tears streaming down your face now as you open the box that had been weighing heavily in your pocket all day.

It was a simple little ring, swirling black and silver that you felt represented Simon perfectly.

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you wait for his response, and before you know it you’re swept into his arms, face pressed into your neck before he pulls away. Then all he says is “Yes”, before he’s capturing your lips in his own. It’s all tenderness and all encompassing; it’s all the words that Simon can’t say but wants to show nevertheless.

When you pull away you’re breathless, and all you can gasp out is “Really?”

Simon doesn’t say anything for a moment, only takes your face into the hands roughened through time in war, yet holds you no less gently. He wipes the streaks of tears staining your face before pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yes.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod ghost #call of duty modern warfare 2 #softtttt #fluff #fluffy fluff

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