#went to the met and was struck by the resemblance

[eraenaa]

So High School

Inspired by the song "So High School" by Taylor Swift

Athlete Rafe Cameron x Scholarly Reader Tag List

Summary: He knows how to ball, you know Aristotle

Warnings: Jealousy, Dry-Humping, Fluff, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 4,638

A/N: Re-upload because I wanted to add a bit of spice and a few more elements inspired by the song. And I wanted to clarify that the Rafe here is heavily inspired by Zach Maclaren

You’ve never considered yourself as a cliche. You did love to read, watch, and think about cliches, you would sigh longingly when you see the differing variations be reproduced in media. The kisses in the rain, the jocks getting with the nerds, the popular girls kissing the geeky boys. All of them were great in theory, but you could never see yourself taking part in one of them. Not until you met him. Rafe Cameron.

You’ve never had a high school romance, nothing that even resembled it. If you recall your high school days, nothing remote to a teenage romance was achieved. You went to balls without a date, only the company of your friends; no flings were made nor ambiguous relationships achieved and could be added to your trophy case. You were not even certain you had a crush— sure, you would find someone attractive, but not so much that you would look forward each day to seeing them in the halls or classroom. It sounds horrid and sad now that you say it out loud or when you share it with any of your uni friends, but you truly did not mind. You were just not destined to have a high school romance. 

In truth, you preferred it that way. You’d rather avoid immature attachments. The shallow jealousy and petty fights you had witnessed over and over again. However, you were always curious about how they felt. How did it feel to look forward to going to school to see the one you liked or even loved? How did it feel to be a blushing mess just because they glanced back at you? What did it feel like to hold the person you wanted’s hand as you walked down the hall? What was it like to have your friends tease you for being so love-struck that it went straight to your heads? How does it feel to be down bad for someone while still being filled with the naivety of youth? But you suppose you don’t have to wonder at all anymore. The cliche things they say in the movies; your stomach filled with butterflies, your heart pounding hard on your chest, your skin tingling with electricity— you thought were just exaggerated reactions, romanticizing further the romances they produce, but they were right. Those are the exact things you felt with Rafe. 

You never saw him coming. He was an exchange student from the States, admitted into your university’s football team. He was a few years older, but with his commitment to the sport, he was taken back a few years and started off in the second year. He was your seatmate on the third day of class of the term. He took a seat by your right and sheepishly asked you for a pen at the start of the lecture. You were set to mind your own business, lend him the pen, and focus on the lecture, but you could not help but notice him leaning closer to you, trying to copy down the notes you typed furiously on your laptop. You thought twice before you decided to be a good samaritan, shifting your laptop screen more clearly toward his view. 

You tried not to get in between him and the professor as he was grilled to answer a question about Aristotle’s Poetics, the whole class’ eyes upon him as he stuttered and flailed to answer the lecturer’s question. You sighed and bit your lip, quickly typing up the answer as he was being shamed by your professor for not doing the readings. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, motioning for him to look at the screen and recite out loud the answer you had written. “Thank you,” Rafe whispered, leaning closer to you, who saved him from further embarrassment. You just nodded, but Rafe did not return to his place; he kept the rather close proximity of the both of you for the rest of the class. You just took his actions as his way of copying more of your notes.

When the class ended, you quickly gathered your things and tried to exit the lecture hall, but Rafe blocked your way. “I’m Rafe, by the way,” he introduced himself, letting out his hand for you to shake. You did, and he swore he felt electricity at your touch; you, too had felt it but mistook it for static. You quickly introduced yourself and tried to sidestep to get to your next class, but he was quick to block you again. “I just wanted to say thank you again,” Rafe said, trying to catch your eye, but it kept flying towards the door. You flash him a small and almost forced smile, “It’s just recitation. It’s no problem.” You said and finally looked him in the eyes. You felt your heart stutter at the smile that crossed his lips, and you once again mistook it for something else, anxiety, perhaps that you might be late to your next class that was all the way on the other side of the campus in a building without an elevator and your classroom conveniently placed on the top floor. 

That was when you noticed that Rafe had still not let go of your hand, nor did he have the intention of letting you go too quickly. “I’m sorry, not to be rude or anything, but I really have to go to my next class,” you say, the tone of your voice a bit frantic so he’d buy into the guilt and finally let go of your hand. Rafe bit his tongue to prevent a grin from slipping his lips; you had the most melodious voice and the most adorable accent he heard while he stayed in your country. “Yeah, no problem… see you next week,” Rafe finally unblocked your path and let go of your hand, watching as you hastily walked out of the classroom, leaving him grinning at himself like a fool. 

You were walking down the halls of your university the next day. Your headphones covered your ears and made you a tad oblivious to the surroundings around you. Rafe caught you by the side of his eye, and quickly ended the conversation he was having with his friends to get to you. He was calling your name, avoiding the sea of students who were venturing to their next class. Everyone’s head turned to him, their attention on him as he called for you, but you were oblivious to him. Rafe finally caught up behind you, grabbing the headband of your headphones to finally get your attention. You yelped in surprise at the sudden actions, turning behind you, ready to take the blow of your attacker, but you were only met with Rafe, who had an amused grin by our wide-eyed and startled state. 

You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief when you realize it was not a complete stranger who had done that abrupt and rather rude action. You watch with a slight furrow in your brow as Rafe wears your headphones, momentarily listening to the song you were listening to. “What is this?” He asked with a confused look, “Patti Smith,” You answered as he returned to you your headphones. “Never heard of him,” Rafe shrugged, and you bit your tongue, “He’s a she,” You said and looked around the corridor only to realize that the two of you stood by the middle of it. Earning curious and even annoyed glances from other students because you and Rafe obstructed the pathway. You stepped to the side, and Rafe followed; you looked up at him in curiosity, “Did you need something?” You asked, wanting an explanation from him for startling you in the middle of the hallway. 

“I…” Rafe trailed, not truly having a concrete reason for calling for you. “Uh… where are you going?” He asked instead, and you felt your brows twitch into a quick frown before you recomposed your expression. “The library,” you say, and he nods. “Come on, then,” He said, taking hold of the handle of your shoulder bag and carrying it for you. Your lips agape, not at all certain what is happening; you watch him walk a few steps forward, but he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “You might wanna lead the way; I’m kinda new here,” You bit your lip as you wanted to laugh. You nodded, and the two of you walked side by side on the way to the library. 

“What’s your degree?” You asked him as you walked through the hallowed halls of your university. Rafe still carried your bag, and you could not help but notice the curious glances pointed at the two of you. “Finance,” you nodded but grew rather curious as to what he was doing in your literature class, so you then proceeded to ask him the question swirling in your mind. “Oh… I ran out of units; either I take that class or be underloaded,” he shrugged and opened the door of the library for you. “So you have no idea nor interest about what we were talking about the other day?” You asked and felt your stomach weirdly twist when he pulled out the chair for you and assisted you to sit. “Not really, no,” He said and took a seat across from you. “Thanks again, by the way, for giving me the answer,” Rafe said in gratitude once more. You flashed a quick smile and took your bag from him, taking out the readings for your other class. It took a few minutes of you reading your course material before you realized that Rafe was just sitting there, watching you. “Don’t you have any requirements to do?” You asked him, eyes locking with clear ocean blue ones. “Nope,” he shook his head, his lips popping the ‘p.’ 

“Then what are you doing here…?” You asked. Rafe refrained from letting his grin turn wider. He just shrugged and watched you furrow your brows; a cute little pout of confusion appeared on your lips. He was uncertain if you were truly oblivious or just pretending to be. What was supposed to be a productive day of reading and staying above your requirements turned into a day of laughing fits and jokes. You both tried to stifle your laughs caused by your random conversations and anecdotes, but it was proven impossible, resulting in both of you being ushered out of the library. “Oh god—“ You laughed as you recalled the stern look of the librarian as they pushed you and Rafe out. In other circumstances, you might have died in embarrassment for having to be escorted out of the library, but somehow, right now, you felt thrilled. 

Rafe watched you as your laughs died down. His gaze studied the crinkle on your nose and the sides of your eyes, the way you would bite down on your lip to stifle them, but it would be to no avail because your melodious laughs still blessed his ears. “Do you want to go to grab lunch?” Rafe suddenly asked, and your laughs finally halted. You looked up at him, his expecting gaze on you, hopefulness in his ocean-blue eyes that you could not shatter. You smiled and nodded, your heart stuttering when he took the bag on your shoulder once more. His warm hand brushes with your skin, causing a jolt of electricity in you that you never thought could happen. You followed him out of campus, your mind in a hazy battlefield as to where this was leading. 

You bit your lip as Rafe waved at you during their practice; you could barely make out his face through the obstruction of his helmet, but you would guess there was a boyish grin on his lips. It had been a week since the incident in the library, and quickly after that, you two found a deeper understanding between each other. You realize the cliche they insisted upon that said ‘you'll find love when you least expect it’ was quite true. You never expect to meet anyone like Rafe. 

“There you are,” you hear your friend arrive, having him see you on the football field because he needed to brow your notes for a class. “What are you even doing here? I practically had to drag you here the last time I wanted to watch a game,” He asked in deep confusion, entirely uncharacteristic of you to be by the field. “Uhm…” you trailed, not having told him about Rafe yet. “I met someone,” You started, watching as his eyes grew wide in surprise. “A player?” He asked, and you nodded, “Which one?” He asked in great interest. You squinted your eyes and looked for Rafe’s number, not wanting to have to point. “The one from the States!? You’re dating a Yank?” He asked as if it was a scandal. “A Yank? Seriously? They’ve stopped calling Americans that for almost a century,” You said, trying not to laugh.

Rafe turned to you, surprised you were no longer alone on the benches. Instead, you were laughing along with some dude who sat a bit closer to you. It made him rather… curious. A good alternative feeling as he did not want to overstep with his emotions and admit to himself that he was quick to grow jealous. “Hey, good game, mate,” Rafe’s teammate complimented and clapped his back, and he returned the compliment, but he could not help but notice that his teammate’s gaze was flying over to you. “What is it?” Rafe asked as he removed his gloves, "Are you… with her?” He asked hesitantly, and Rafe turned to you, who was still enveloped in conversation with the man who was a stranger to him. 

“Yes.” He said even though it was too soon and neither of you had a discussion about where the week of dates you two went on would lead. Rafe watched as his teammate’s brows shot up in surprise. “Do you know her?” Rafe asked, and his teammate nodded. “Yeah, I went to secondary school with her,” He said, and Rafe was in the midst of thinking another question to ask when his teammate spoke once more. “Good luck to you; the word is she has very high standards. A bit stuck up if you ask the other lads in our school.” His teammate and Rafe frowned in confusion. “What?” He asked, “Yeah. She was notorious in our school for being the girl no one could get. A lot of blokes fancied her rotten, but not once did she pay them mind. She was never in any relationships or flings, for that matter— and if I remember correctly, she did not even take a date to the balls.” Rafe’s teammate explained, his gaze flying to you, remembering how the boys at your school would always follow you around or try to get your attention, but you’ve always ignored them. “Anyway, congrats to you, I guess. Never knew her type were Yanks,” Rafe heard his teammate mutter and once again clapped his back before leaving. 

You turn away from your friend as you hear Rafe approaching, flashing him your beaming smile that you only bestowed upon the most deserving of people. You’ve only known him a week, but you felt that your genuine smile was made to be pointed at him and as well be caused by him. “You ready to go?” Rafe asked, ignoring the presence of the guy who sat next to you because he knew himself, and if he acknowledged the guy next to you, his jealousy might shine through. “Uh… yeah, this is my friend, by the way,” You say as you see Rafe was a bit reserved at the moment. “Hey,” your friend greeted and stretched out his hand for Rafe to shake, “Hey,” he muttered and barely turned to your friend. There was a pause of steely, awkward silence that you were not certain the cause of. “I’m gonna go… thanks for the notes,” Your friend quickly excused himself, and you turned to Rafe. “Are you okay?” You asked, and you heard him let out a grieved exhale. “Uh, yeah, just tired,” he fibbed, not wanting to bring out the subject of his jealousy that was quick to stew. 

“Oh, that’s a pity. My friend you’ve just met— he and his boyfriend are throwing a party tonight and I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come. But if you need to rest, that’s completely fine,” You said and watched as his lips agape slightly, “He… he has a boyfriend?” He asked slowly, realizing his jealousy was completely out of place. “Erm, yeah, why?” You asked and found it odd how the almost grumpy expression on his face quickly turned into a smile. “Nothing. Of course I’ll come with you to the party,” Rafe smiled and draped his arm around your shoulder as you two walked off the stands. 

You came to the party with the thought that perhaps you could help Rafe mingle with the others in your year. He could find other friends in this foreign land, but as cliche as it was, you two were lost in each other. Everything faded, and all the two of you could focus on was each other. It was later in the night when you and Rafe’s close proximity was interrupted by your friend. “Come on, we’re going to play spin the bottle,” Your friend pulled at you, who reluctantly stood and stepped away from Rafe. “Spin the bottle? Isn’t that a bit juvenile?” You asked as you were forced to sit on the floor; Rafe was being led by your friend’s significant other to sit across from you. He flashed you his charming smile. You bit your tongue to not let the giddiness in you shine through.

“Rules first,” Your friend replied. “As always, whoever the bottle lands to, you must kiss that person, but if you do not want to, you can play for truth or dare. Your friend says, and all in the circle nod. “Okay then. Who goes first?” Rafe asked, and you turned to your friend, “Well, seeing you are the guest here in our lovely land, you get the honor to go first,” Rafe shrugged and smirked, leaning forward to spin the bottle and prayed that it would land on you, it didn’t. You turned to where the bottle pointed to a girl from your secondary school who licked her lips and looked positively excited at the prospect of kissing Rafe. You bit your lip and sat quietly in your seat, making sure that your face was rid of any reaction. 

Rafe warily shifted his gaze between you and the girl, “I’ll do a truth,” he announced and saw from the corner of his eyes as the strange girl pouted and her shoulders deflated in rejection. “A truth it is,” Your friend said; there was a quick silence whilst he thought of a question. “Why did you choose truth?” They asked Rafe, and you fiddled with your fingers, raising your gaze towards the boy you had been seeing for the past week but had no label to call him. “Just… just didn’t want a kiss,” He shrugged, his gaze flying to you, who quickly avoided his. “Okay then, next,” Your friend said, and you waited for your turn, already knowing in yourself you’d skip the kiss part if it did not land on Rafe. 

“Truth or dare?” You were asked and paused for a moment. Usually, you would quickly pick ‘truth’, not having the nerves to choose the other option, but somehow, right now, you were leaning towards picking ‘dare’, so that is what you had done. You hear ‘oohs’ from your friends, surprised by your boldness. “Dare, then. Okay… I dare you to kiss the person you fancy in this circle the most,” Someone cruelly said, and your eyes widened, cheeks blooming with color as you quickly regretted your choice. “No! I chose ‘dare’ to skip the kissing part! That’s unfair,” You countered, but they only shrugged and replied with “Rules are rules,” 

You pursed your lips and looked around the circle. You already knew who you wanted to kiss, but you lacked the courage to do so. “Okay, everyone, close your eyes, and you pick who you want to kiss,” Your friend decided, showing you kindness, for he knew that the situation was quite too much for you. Rafe chewed on his cheeks, heart beating loudly in his chest, praying to anyone who would hear that you would choose him. 

You took a deep breath and glanced as everyone had their eyes closed. You gathered whatever courage and nerve you had to stand from your seat and lean closer to Rafe. Admiring his handsome face for a moment before placing a quick, chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. You feel him twitch in surprise, and you quickly return to your seat as he opens his ocean-blue eyes. His lips were agape in shock, and he was being tugged into a wide smile that showcased his dimples. His eyes crinkled as he beamed at you, filled with romantic giddiness. The game went through a few more rounds until everyone eventually got bored, and you and Rafe were left in each other’s company once more. 

The music was blaring; the chatter was loud, but not a single noise was heard by the two of you as you had been enveloped in conversation. You quickly grew entranced by how random your topics were. It could be a deep, philosophical engagement, one where you were both perplexed and engrossed by the subject, then the next, you were clutching your stomach because you were laughing so hard at one of his jokes.

“Where’d everybody go?” Rafe suddenly asked as he reluctantly rested his gaze on anything else other than you. Your lips agape as you saw the flat was cleared out, the remnants of the party and the mess it caused still present but not those who had caused it. You let out a bubbling laugh as you two were now the only ones present; not even the hosts of the party could be accounted for. “We should probably go home, huh,” You say, your eyes shifting between Rafe’s gaze and the floor that was riddled with confetti and spilled drinks. “Yeah, come on, I’ll walk you home,” He said as he stood, reaching out his hand for you to take as he assisted you to stand. 

“Rafe,” You called as you two stood by the entrance of your flat. “Yes, pretty girl?” He asked with a grin, and you bit your lip to hinder yourself from grinning like a lovestruck fool. You took a deep breath before you spoke, “Not to sound so high school, but I… I really like you,” You confessed. You did not know how to relay how you felt seeing he was the first one to spur this type of giddiness in you. You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes twinkled with mirth and the smile on his lips widened. You held your breath as he leaned in and kissed your lips. It was a chaste kiss, just like the one earlier, but it was still capable of leaving you both grinning. 

Your eyes alight with newfound affection as you and he stood below the pale moonlight. You sighed happily as Rafe placed his warm hand on your cheek, caressing your skin before ultimately leaning in to kiss you once more. A different, more fervent, and deeper kind of kiss than the first one shared. You feel your heart flutter and your body turn warm as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush towards him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him downwards to your height, feeling him smirk against your lips.

When you parted for air, you bit your lip as a wide, cheek-aching smile spread upon it. “I think like you more,” He said against your lips. You knew it was a line, a cheesy one at that, but your stomach flipped in violent delight, and you stood on your toes to feel his lips against yours again. “Do… do you wanna go in?” You asked him as your lips parted again, your mind spinning from the way he kissed you and pulled on your waist. “Yes,” he said a bit too eagerly, the tips of his ears growing red a he realized the slight desperation in his voice, but you simply found it endearing. 

When in the privacy of your flat, you grinned against Rafe’s lips as he gently pushed you against the wall, his large frame flushed against yours. Your fingers reached to run themselves through his hair as his hands on your waist strayed hesitantly higher. “You sighed as his lips moved to place kisses on your neck, “I hope you know I didn’t offer to walk you home for this,” Rafe sighed against your neck, breathing deeply your scent as his need for you bulged painfully in his jeans. “I know,” You smiled and whimpered as you felt him nip your skin. 

You were not certain if you should warn him of the truth that you’ve never done anything such as this and that you have never reached this level of intimacy with anyone. But you swallowed the words as you feared you would run him away. You gasped as Rafe effortlessly hoisted you on his waist. Your mind spun as he deeply kissed you and led you to your sofa, him sitting on the cushion and you straddling his waist. You panted as you felt his need against your core. 

Rafe swallowed thickly as he gazed at you, your lips swollen and eyes filled with need for him. “I… I don’t have protection,” He sheepishly, regrettably said, and you could blink. “Oh,” Was all you could say, uncertain if you should move from the position you both were in even though your body screamed for you to stay put. “I’m sorry, I—“ He started to speak, and you shook your head, “No, don’t be,” You rested your palm on his chest and felt the erratic beating of his heart, a rhythm that matched yours. Rafe took in a deep breath and lowered his gaze as if in shame; you chewed on your lip and spoke. “Maybe uhm… maybe we could do something else?” 

“Like what?” He asked hesitantly; you couldn’t really verbalize your intent, so instead, you showed it to him. Rafe’s jaw slacked as you started to grind your hips, your core rubbing against his length. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and placed small kisses on his skin as you tried to stifle your sighs of pleasure. 

Rafe’s hands found home at your rear, guiding and aiding your movements. Rafe let out a hiss as he felt himself quickly be led to climax. You finally vocalized your moans as you, too, were on the precipice of your peak; your hand moved to grip Rafe’s dark blonde locks as you came, calling his name. Rafe moved to take your face into his hands and intertwine your lips as he came undone, his seed spilling out in his trousers. He never thought he could come undone so harshly with ought actually being touched by someone. 

When your lips parted, and the hazy want in you subsided, you grinned widely at Rafe, who let out an amused breath. The both of you stayed silent, but Rafe’s thoughts screamed loudly in his head. Would it be cliché of him to say that he had fallen so quickly? That seeing you in the lecture hall was love at first sight, and now, even only knowing you for only a short time, he knew you were the one. 

[multific]

The Festival of Love

Emperor Caracalla x Reader

Summary: A celebration in your name, the true testament of Emperor Caracalla's love for you. 

The city of Rome buzzed with an energy that hadn’t been seen in years.

Streets were adorned with garlands, and the air was filled with music and laughter as citizens from across the empire gathered.

Emperor Caracalla had declared a festival.

However, it was not in honour of a military victory or the gods.

This celebration was for you, his beloved wife.

Encouraged by his brother, Caracalla was happy to announce the event.

Whispers spread like wildfire.

The Emperor, known for his cold demeanour and taste for blood, had revealed a side of himself no one could have imagined.

To you, though, this was not something you.

You had always known the man behind the crown, the one who held your hand in private and whispered his deepest fears into the quiet of the night.

He was your husband after all.

With a marriage born from love instead of politics and strategy.

Geta was thankful to have a wife by his brother's side.

And Caracalla loved you with all of his heart.

As the festival began, you stood beside him on the palace balcony overlooking the Forum.

The sight below was breathtaking.

The citizens dancing, children laughing, and the scent of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air.

Caracalla’s hand rested on the small of your back, a rare public display of affection that sent even more murmurs through the gathered crowd.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, turning to him with a soft smile. “The people look happy.”

His lips curved into a smirk, but his eyes soon met yours.

“We could command armies, conquer lands, and build monuments, but none of it would mean anything without you. Today, Rome celebrates you because you are the reason I still find joy in this life.”

Your heart filled with happiness at his words.

Caracalla’s reputation was one of brutality and power, but in your presence, he was a man deeply in love.

“I don’t need grand gestures to know how much you care, Calla. But this… it’s beautiful.”

He leaned closer and whispered into your ear. “It’s not enough. Nothing ever feels like enough when it comes to you.”

Later in the evening, as the festival reached its peak, Caracalla escorted you through the city. Guards watching the crowd.

The streets parted for the Emperor and his Empress, citizens bowing low as you passed. Caracalla kept his hand entwined with yours, grounding himself in your presence.

When you reached the central square, musicians struck up a lively tune, and the crowd cheered.

Caracalla turned to you, his eyes twinkling with a rare playfulness. “Dance with me.”

You laughed softly, glancing at the people around you. “Here? In front of everyone?”

“Yes,” he said simply, pulling you into his arms.

The crowd erupted into applause as the Emperor and his wife danced under the sky.

He held you close, his movements surprisingly graceful for a man more accustomed to wielding a sword than navigating a dance floor.

“I hope you know how much I adore you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “You’ve given me more than I ever thought possible.”

As the night went on, Caracalla led you to a quieter part of the city, away from the festivities.

You found yourselves in the gardens of the Domus Augustana, the only sounds being the chirping of crickets and the distant hum of the festival.

He stopped beneath an ancient olive tree, turning to face you.

“I have one more surprise for you,” he spoke.

From the shadows emerged a small procession of servants, carrying a gilded chest.

When they opened it, your breath caught.

Inside was a diadem of gold, encrusted with emeralds and pearls, crafted to resemble a crown of laurel leaves.

“For the true queen of my heart,” Caracalla said, lifting the diadem and placing it gently on your head. “You’ve made me a better man, and I want the world to know that everything I do, I do for you.”

Overwhelmed, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I don’t need riches or titles. Just you, Calla.”

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair. “You have all of me, now and always.”

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[liv2post]

Professors and Plants

Severus Snape x Herbology!Reader Wordcount: ~2.4k Summary: You're the new replacement for Professor Sprout and one day you require someone to plant-sit for you.

Read here or on ao3

Severus was struck the first time he saw you enter the Great Hall for breakfast at the start of the new term. You were Professor Sprout’s replacement as well as her cousin, but most people wouldn’t have thought the latter due to your appearance. Your dark robes resembled his and you donned a pair of boots with yellow thread sewn into the tops of the soles. What really stood out was your hair. It was snow white, transitioning into black at the bottom third of your hair length like a gradient. Your eyes met his and held his gaze for no more than a second as you took the last available seat that happened to be at the opposite end of the head table.

Despite your dark appearance, you were perfectly amicable and polite with the other teachers, even Lockhart, but you weren’t one to ever start conversations with any of them, preferring to keep more to yourself unless someone wished to converse with you. 

The first time he talked to you was that same day before classes would start tomorrow to get a proper read on you. 

“Hello, Professor Snape,” you greeted mildly, turning away from a Sopophorous Bean plant to face him as he barely clicked the door to the greenhouse behind him.

“How do you know my name?” His eyebrows furrowed and his soft baritone voice floated through the air.

“I know your first name, too. We went to school together, but you were older. I graduated just before you took over for Professor Slughorn.”

“I see…”

“Is there something you need from me?”

“Dittany leaves. Surely, Pomona left a plant or two in your care.”

“She most definitely did. Will a standard 16 oz jar’s worth do?”

“Yes.”

You smiled softly, retrieving a mason jar and a pair of snippers, and began trimming the fuzzy green leaves of one of the tall dittany plants that sat in the corner. “Did you and Pomona have any arrangements?” you called back to him.

“Arrangements?” Snape repeated, his eyes flicking over a decorative succulent whose pot was shaped like a mushroom before looking back at you. 

“Given our positions, I imagine you and I will be supplying each other with inventory and remedies or what have you. I was just wondering if you and Pomona had any arrangements that made each other's lives easier or more efficient work-wise. Do you like your ingredients bottled a certain way? Are there certain things you find yourself running out of more often than others?”

“We didn’t have any specific protocols established. Pomona was annoyingly protective of her plants,” he stated coolly. “But…now that you mention it, my store of wormwood tends to fluctuate. The younger years can be…unapologetically wasteful.”

“Noted. I will try to remain well-stocked on wormwood. And by the way,” you screwed on the jar lid, the glass filled to the brim with leaves—not so compactly that they were squashed inside, but certainly not leaving much wiggle room either, “I’m not as crazy a plant lady as my cousin is. Minerva tells me you're quite competent at your job and it sounds like I can trust you so…if you ever need to grab something feel free to come and go through the greenhouses as you please. I just ask that if I happen to not be present to leave a note citing what you took and the quantity. Y’know, for proper record keeping ‘n all. If I know what I have then I know what I can still provide you with.”

Snape nodded lightly. “Yes… That sounds practical enough.”

“Good,” you hummed, handing him the mason jar, your fingertips just barely brushing as he took it from you. “Glad we understand each other."

______________________________________________________________

Duties aside, you and Professor Snape got along rather well. He respected your need for notes and wrote what he took crystal clear, signing them off with “S.S”. You delivered ingredients he’d sent for in a timely manner, ensuring they weren’t overly compacted or bottled improperly. He returned the courtesy when it came to any potion meant to help your plants’ growth, sometimes brewing them fresh rather than giving you a bottle that had sat on the shelf for months at a time. Sometimes he’d add a sarcastic little comment on the notes about a student or a certain DADA teacher who you’d both found to be pretentious. 

From the notes blossomed more sociable interactions. Despite being separated by multiple floors, your classes were within the same vicinity of the castle’s layout, which meant, more often than not, you’d run into him when descending down to meals as he ascended up. You’d walk with each other, and talk a little bit, whether it be about incidents in the classroom or happenings informed to the both of you from the Prophet. The conversations would continue at meals where you’d start sitting next to one another. You didn’t get to know each other beyond a collegial level until around early November when the temperature started to get colder every day and the leaves were a vibrant wash of yellow, orange, and red. Your open-door policy on your greenhouses remained the same, but you had clarified that if he ever wanted to have tea or escape the chill of the dungeons, that open-door policy extended to your warm and cozy office. One day he knocked and when you opened the door he simply stated, “It’s cold,” before you promptly held the door back further, allowing him entry. 

You’d drink tea often, sometimes while the both of you graded, passively enjoying one another’s company as you did so, sometimes sitting on the couch or chairs and having direct conversations with one another. You compared each other's schooling experience with one another, gaping at the fact that he knew so many curses and had even invented a few spells. He confessed that it was actually Lockhart’s position he wanted, not to teach potions. 

“I didn’t take you for a Hufflepuff when I first saw you,” he admitted one afternoon.

“Was there anything else to take me as, Severus? My being here was not only to satisfy the Herbology teacher role, but also to fill the Head of Hufflepuff spot.”

“Of course, just outwardly…you didn’t seem the type. And the students have joked that your creatively witty chiding ought to have landed you in Slytherin.”

You exhaled quietly. “My whole family is mostly Hufflepuff with a few Gryffindors sprinkled in, but even so I understand my general dark attire and reticence made me a bit of a black sheep amongst my peers. I can’t really disagree with you much on that second point. All I can say in my defense is that my loyalty is sharper than my tongue. If you ever need a reminder that I am indeed a Hufflepuff, know that I am always wearing this.” You rolled up the left sleeve of your dark robe to reveal a beaded bracelet around your wrist, each bead yellow with black text stamped in on the sides, spelling out ���HUFFLEPUFF.”

An unexpected, incredulous smirk tugged on Severus’s lips. “You really wear that all the time?”

“Only when I’m not bathing or sleeping. My sister made it for me after we got sorted. We, unfortunately, were not placed in the same house… Don’t look at me like that!” you chuckled at the mostly feigned repulsed expression regarding your sibling's sickly sweet behavior. “I happen to like this bracelet, thank you very much!”

“Who knew under your robes was something so garishly bright,” he sneered playfully.

“You’re not as slick as you think either, Severus. Don’t think I didn’t see that Slytherin scarf beneath your cloak at the last Quidditch match,” you eyed him knowingly. He parted his lips to refute but found he had no argument and grumbled while blushing against his tea cup.

______________________________________________________________

“Pardon me, Professor Lockhart, but could I speak to you for a moment?” 

The DADA teacher replied with an “Of course, dear” as he followed you to a spot off to the side from the entrance of the Great Hall after you had finished lunch one Friday afternoon. Severus eyed the both of you as he himself was slowly exiting the Great Hall as well. He slowed his pace down significantly as he floated through the corridor so he could pick up on what you two were saying. You had never willingly started a conversation with Lockhart before.

“...going to be gone this weekend. Leaving tonight, actually…

…take care of a few plants…? I left instructions in Greenhouse 4…”

“...ourse I can! Watering a few plants should be easier than defeating a vampire or two…”

You wanted Lockhart to plant-sit for you this weekend? That actually stung him a bit. Why wouldn’t you ask him to plant-sit for you? He was perfectly capable of doing so and he knew your greenhouses like the back of his hand. Did you not actually trust him like you claimed to?

He kept silent on the matter, his expression remaining impassive as he saw you off to the midnight train in Hogsmeade that same night. 

“See you Monday, Severus,” you bid softly, lightly patting his upper arm before stepping off the platform and disappearing into the night on the train until it was no more than a dot in the distance.

Severus didn’t trust Lockhart to do what was asked of him. Not one bit. Unless it was DADA-related or stroked his ego directly, the man couldn’t be bothered to accomplish what was asked of him. He imagined the fool would pass off the task to a student. Severus unlocked Greenhouse 4 the next morning and found the instructions you had left behind for Lockhart. They were simple and bullet-pointed, detailing exactly what to do and where he could find what. All that was asked of him was to spray a batch of Alihotsy plants with a germinating solution that sat on the third shelf in the supply cabinet, rotate them out of the sun at three o’clock each day, place them back at dawn, trim the matured leaves and store them in a jar. “Eventually to be delivered to our amazing potion master,” it noted, making him smile.

Severus kept a watchful eye on Lockhart that first day. Lockhart remained in his office until lunch, and after that made a trip down to Hogsmeade, no doubt to drink and find some entertaining company. At 2:45, Snape went up to Greenhouse 4 and confirmed that nothing had been moved from when he entered there this morning, the germinating solution still sitting in the exact same spot. He sprayed them all heartily and shifted the plants to a shelf away from the sun’s sight. A few leaves had matured so he gingerly snipped them from the stem and placed them in a standard mason jar. He also noticed several snails trying to sneak their way into some Potted Mandrake and disposed of them as well as repaired some worn netting protecting the Shrivelfig that was meant to keep out aphids.

He came by Sunday morning and treated the Alihotsy the same, making sure to place them in the sun at dawn so they had absorbed plenty of light by mid-afternoon. Once again, Lockhart hadn’t even bothered. 

______________________________________________________________

You returned Monday morning while everyone was at breakfast. Upon stepping into Greenhouse 4, you sighed in relief when it looked as though your plants had indeed been taken care of in your absence. You smiled pleasantly when you noticed some protective netting had been repaired, a task you planned on getting to when you had returned, but your smile broadened even more when you noticed a muddy boot print on the ground, one that did not at all belong to Professor Lockhart.

“Thank you for taking care of the Alihotsy this weekend,” you said to Lockhart who happened to be passing by the door that led down to the kitchen as you had come back from retrieving a snack that would substitute breakfast.

“Huh? Oh!” The man quickly recovered. The look of confusion lasted not even a second before plastering on a smile. “Yes, it was nothing! You can always count on me, Y/N!” he winked. You nodded once, drifting away from the man in favor of walking alongside the potion master who was breezing by in the same corridor.

“Hi,” you greeted. 

“Welcome back,” he replied, hiding his delight at your return. 

“Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Not particularly, though I was tempted to push Lockhart down a flight of stairs multiple times.” 

“Aren’t we all,” you laughed.

He walked with you all the way back to your office, select words hanging on the tip of his tongue until finally, he couldn’t hold them back anymore as you pushed on the handle of the door.

“Lockhart didn’t take care of your plants,” Severus blurted. 

“Oh?” Your hand slipped from the handle to face him with feigned curiosity.

“I didn’t trust him and…was proven correct when he ignored the task and instead spent his time in Hogsmeade, so I took care of them,” he explained carefully.

You smiled sweetly at him, lacing your fingers together in front of you. “I know, Severus.”

His breath caught in his throat. “You do?”

“Mhm. Truthfully it wouldn't have been the end of the world had those plants gone a couple of days without treatment, but I wanted to see what Lockhart would do and how he’d react to receiving false praise. I can’t say I’m surprised by the results, really. He’s as phony as ever.”

The potion master smirked. “Quite.”

You took a small step forward, stood on your tippy toes, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, making him flush pink when you pulled back and looked at him with twinkling eyes. “Thank you for taking care of my plants, Severus,” you murmured, affectionately squeezing his shoulders, before slipping inside of your office. Severus stood frozen in shock, his heart drumming in his chest before he managed to stop his brain from short-circuiting further. Without warning, he entered your office as well—you did have an open door policy after all—where he received another kiss. And another. And another…

He should plant-sit for you more often.

[yoredoesmore]

Is it cool if I request Hoshina Soshiro x Fem reader but Hoshina saw the reader drawing him on her sketch book a place can be anywhere.

Ok bye!

a/n: what a cute little request! Thank you so much for submitting something ^^

pairing: Hoshina x fem!Reader

summary: reader draws her vice captain as a cat (=^･ｪ･^=)

genre: fluff/romance/comedy [wc: 1.1k ]

enjoy!

Vice Catnip Hoshina | Hoshina Soshiro

It was one of those days again, where peace and quiet consumed Tachikawa Base. Most of today's schedule consisted of training sessions and important battle discussions– two activities that did not demand your presence as Operations Sub Leader. Your workload consisted of finding new information on the Kaiju and Improving the suit's functions.

Therefore you sat in the cramped space of your office, mind trapped in a cloud of concentration. You normally felt nothing but joy when pursuing your job. Every little achievement, be it fixing a small issue or handing in a report, made the pride in your heart grow. But today that energy had left you.

You felt little to no joy nor motivation, the mere thought of picking up the next file caused you immense stress. All you wished for was to lie down on your bed and enjoy the beautiful spring weather. But your next break was hours away and the way things were looking right now, with the huge pile of papers that sat in front of you, you wouldn't be out of her before midnight.

“Ugh..if only I wasn't alone.” You sighed, hands reaching for your mechanical pencil. While thinking about what piece of work to tackle next, you dragged your pencil over a ripped piece of paper, scribbling whatever came to mind. You found out that this was quite therapeutic and helped you blow off some steam sometimes.

As you looked down to see what you created, you were met with an abstract doodle of a cat.

You smiled.

The cat was holding a fish in her hand and her mouth sat wide open to devour it. Your eyes moved across the drawn lines, with nothing in mind at first, until you realized that its teeth looked awfully familiar. Two sharp fangs, where have you seen those before..?

Almost immediately an image popped into your head, the very face of your beloved Vice Captain. It was quite absurd, comparing Hoshina to a cat, yet the more you thought about it the more the resemblance struck you– until you were fully convinced that the Vice Captain looked just like a cat.

In any normal situation you would have allowed yourself a quick laugh and move on with your duties but for some reason imagining Hoshina as a cat was quite hilarious, thus you entertained yourself further with the thought.

“The Vice Captain as a cat..what would he look like exactly?” Your hands reached for your pencil case where they pulled out an eraser. Now fully equipped you felt ready to bring your imagination to life. You scribbled and drew and erased, trying to create a perfect reflection of your mind. Twenty minutes went by without you realizing, this new activity having you in quite a hold. You were so deep in thought that you didn't even hear the door opening.

As you drew the final line a hum of satisfaction escaped your lips. Your gaze admired the art you had put on your notebook, pride shining in your eyes.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

You froze.

The pencil you were holding on so tightly only seconds ago fell out of your hands, connecting with the cold floor and the blood in your body turned to ice as you finally perceived the new presence behind you. Slowly turning your body around, you were met with the curious face of your Vice Captain.

“No.” Was the only response you found yourself being able to come up with.

“But it says Vice Catnip at the bottom, slightly inappropriate if I might add but I'll let it slide because it's a good drawing.”

Ten minutes ago you were giggling and laughing at the slightly inappropriate pun you came up with. You spend a good amount of time thinking of cat related words that would either match Vice or Captain– Vice Cat-tain would have almost made it on the paper but the pronunciation felt off.

If only you would have gone with that one.

You sat there in silence, neither of you saying anything. Hoshina patiently waited for you to explain yourself but the only thing you wished to do was take the paper and rip it into thousand little pieces.

“It's you..” You finally managed to admit. You mentally prepared yourself to get the scolding of your life. Hoshina was not the type of guy who took any type of mockery lightly but instead of teasing words, you were graced with a heartfelt laugh. The man reached his hand out to grab the paper and give it a more thorough examination.

“Please don't look at it!” Your protest fell on deaf ears as the Vice Captain dragged his eyes over every line, carefully analyzing your art work. You were no match for him either. Desperately you tried to snatch the paper out of his grip but every time you lifted your hands, Hoshina pulled away at the last second. After two minutes you simply gave up and accepted your fate.

“I'm not mad if that's what ya thinkin.” He suddenly said, returning the art piece.

“You are not..?” Your hands reached out to receive it.

“It's quite cute. Me as a cat, never imagine that.” His little laugh slightly eased the tension in the air, allowing you to relax. Placing the drawing down, you started to explain to the Vice Captain how you ended up in this situation, so that he wouldn't get the wrong idea. To your surprise, he showed quite a lot of consideration and even admitted that he liked it when his colleagues joked around like that with him.

You laughed and chatted for a little longer, until all humiliation was forgotten.

“Ya figured what cat I would be?” Hoshina suddenly asked, catching you off guard.

“Hm..let me think. Probably the type that meows really loud for no reason.”

The look Hoshina gave you was priceless. “I meant..the breed.”

What is wrong with me??

Hoshina broke out into another fit of laughter while you were trying your best not to drown in a sea of shame. This was your first time interacting with the Vice Captain in such casual way. Although you have done nothing but humiliate yourself so far, this was rather nice. It was a good distraction from work and definitely worked better than random scribbles.

Bonus:

“Come again?"

“Looking at someone's drawing without their permission is quite rude, so it's only fair..” Your voice became a mere whisper at the end, yet Hoshina still heard everything clearly.

“Only fair, huh?” A long sigh escaped his lips as he cleared his throat.

Is he actually going to..

“Meow.”

You gasped.

The look on the Vice Captains face was picture worthy. To think that he'd actually comply and meow for you, it made your heart jump.

“Vice Captain..” Kafka stood at the door, accompanied by Reno and Shinomiya. They had come by to ask Hoshina something important but were instead met with something horrifying.

“..Did you just..meow?”

“No.”

[edensfixations]

hehe imagine if Deku had a twin sibling who was a big Hawks fan (but is more low-key about it) and coincidentally had a recessive quirk that gave them 2 pairs of retractable wings

AHH i LOVE these platonic au's!

we're going bullet point form!

• izuku has a twin sister? 🤨 her name? isaki!!

• isaki, just like her brother, doesn't hold much height! she's around 5 feet tall, very defensive about it! she's got the same green curly hair but longer! she has freakles and glasses (courtesy of her reading late at night in the dark and unlucky genetics.)

• anyway, contrary to her brother, she has a quirk. she got it when she was five and absolutely went batshit crazy when feathers sprouted out of her back a random saturday morning. she ran straight to izuku and he was no help whatsoever. he screamed louder than her!

• over the years her quirk has grown and developed! for a bit she ended up randomly floating causing a massive panic to her mother and amusement from her brother. her wings had grown into large black wings that resembles a crows.

• she's gained many nicknames from people. from her mother, dove. from her brother, saki and raven! katsuki however calls her shadow for an array of unfortunate reasons but at least she doesn't get the same treatment as her brother!!

• when the midoriya twins turned 12 a new hero made his way onto the scene! an 18 year old with his own company??!?!? suddenly in the top 10 in only 6 months???? WHAT?!?

• hawks having an amazing reputation like this immediately after debuting had him have eyes on him constantly! and isaki wasn't any different!

• while her brother was OBSESSED with all might since they were kids, she had only idolised him a bit. he was 100% her biggest inspiration and thought only the most highly of him but she never wanted to be a hero until she saw hawks! I mean she practically bounced off the walls when she saw someone with a similar quirk!

• over the next 2 years she had slowly built a merch a collection, a pathetic one really because she mostly used her pocket money for food and books while her brother never really used his money for anything but all might!

•her merch collection includes a few posters, 3 hoodies, an action figure and a bobble head as well as some limited edition sneakers that she'll NEVER admit she qued overnight for.

• similar to her twin brother, she also keeps a little notebooks. she however keeps about 4? 2 for hawks and 2 for everyone else. after deciding she'd like to follow her quirkless brother and his deranged frenemy to ua, she starts assessing some of her favourite heroes, namely hawks and his techniques and how to utilise them.

• so from ages 13-15 you'll just see an isaki midoriya flying around in her backyard practicing moves she learnt from hawks via the internet.

• when izuku had started his 10 month intense training with a mystery man izuku hadn't told her about, she decided to start her own 10 month training. hers however contained a gym and her doing combat training with whoever was training there too and up for it! there she met tenya iida! story for another time.

• however, about 5 months into her training, she had particularly drained herself that day. because of this she was barely paying attention to her surroundings. it was quite a shock to her when she had been suddenly grabbed from the ground and sped off about a block away when where she once was!

• who was it? pro hero hawks of course! naturally, isaki was completely star struck. she could not BELIEVE who was standing in front of her right now!!! she was barely listening to him warning her to watch where she's walking so she doesn't get run over by a car (she walked into traffic, whoops!) she snapped out of trance when she heard him say, "nice wings, kid" before he was gone.

•isaki flew home and screamed into her pillow!!! she couldn't believe that happened! HE COMPLIMENTED HER WINGS!!!!!! she was so close to him! practically hugging him! (delusion)

• upon her screaming her mother and brother enter her room, curious, afraid and wanting answers.

• she looks up from her pillow, pink faced and hyperventilating, "HE SAID I HAVE NICE WINGS!!" her wings start fluttering creating a small breeze. it's a small habit she picked up from when she was little. her little family chuckled at her words. "Who??" "That guy from the gym??" "NO HAWKS. I CAN DIE HAPPY."

• isaki is now laying on the ground while her brothers jaw is slack and her mother leaves, giggling to herself.

• "YOU MET NUMBER 3 HERO HAWKS??!!" "YEAH WHEN I ACCIDENTALLY ALMOST WALKED INTO TRAFFIC!!!!" "WHAT?!"

• needless to say, she wore her hoodie and limited edition sneakers to bed that night.

(pls send requests I loved doing this so muchhhh!!)

[sananaryon]

The Journal of Luz Clawthorne Noceda, documenting the Frogvasion of the Boiling Isles.

I.e. I finally got around to making some art of my own for my edgy owlphibia au, specifically as told from Luz's very flawed and unreliable point of view. Feel free to ask me about details of the AU because I love talking!

Text and image description under the cut.

Image description: Four pictures of illustrated journal pages, each with one or two illustrations done in watercolour and ink.

The first page has watercolour and ink drawing of the Titan's skull from The Owl House, with the sky, clouds, and the moon in the background. The archive house, resembling a crown, is hanging aroudn the right side of the skull with a piece broken off. Above the skull, the castle from Amphibia is floating surrounded by smaller shapes too small to make out. Parts of the skull and land around it is smoking. On the right side of the page is a symbol resembling a frog's foot done in bronze ink, with the label "Empire's sigil?"

Text:

3 N.E.

36. abruary.

1 month after Frogvasion

Journal of Luz Clawthorne Noceda. It's been one month since the start of frogvasion (Bailey says that's a stupid name but she got her name from an old science-fiction book so she doesn't get a vote,) and I am writing this in our new resistance HQ (Hooty play Empire Strikes Back) at King's island.

I have decided to write this record of events [text is struck out]because auntie Lilith forced me [struck out text ends, next sentence is written in cursive] for the sake of future historians and to give the view of someone living through historical events. [cursive ends]

So, to recap: One month ago on the 3-year anniversary of Belos getting his ass kicked for good, a giant floating castle with an army of frog-shaped robots and warships popped out of thin air (or from a giant rainbow portal). Then a lady in a dress showed up in the middle of the party and gave an alien invasion speech about us joining the Empire of Calamity [frog foot symbol is drawn here]. So Raine (Lord High Prince) (that's witch prime minister) went to talk to her but then she did some mind control shit and we got them the heck out of there.

And now an army of frog robots (Frobots) are conquering the isles led by some crazy powerful fire god!!! I should probably explain her, huh?

Signed: Luz C. Noceda & Lilith Clawthorne.

[text ends]

The second page has a watercolour painting done entirely in blue and white, depicting a woman in silhouette with glowing white eyes. She has an afro and is wearing a dress and making a pose with one hand to her chest and one out to the side, and there is a halo above her head. Next to her is text saying "Looks human. Probably isn't."

Further down on the page is watercolour and ink drawing depicting an indistinct red figure kneeling to the blue figure from before, this time with her skin and hair coloured brown. Next to the red figure is the text "WTF?" with an arrow pointing to the figure, and next to the blue lady is text saying "Blue all over" "Glowy eyes" and "She's not that pretty."

Text:

The Blue Princess

(We don't know her name)

The first of the Empire of Calamity Leaders (???) who appeared.

She just appeared in the middle of the victory/anniversary feast and demanded we surrendered to her Emperor (we've had enough of that here, thank you). Lord Prince raine stepped up to talk to her, but it took like 5 seconds before they were kneeling. Sorry lady, we know what mind control looks like and we're not falling for it. [the "for it" is slightly smudged] woops.

Weirdly, Raine says they never felt a compulsion to kneel, and that it was more like the first time they met Belos - that this person is important and should be bowed to. I don't get how that's different but they say they also remember thinking she was the most beautiful person they've seen, so maybe it's a charm? Raine has snapped out of it, so it doesn't last long.

The princess hasn't appeared since then so she might not be a fighter, but Lilith is making potions of anti charm with B's moms, just in case.

signed: Luz C. Noceda.

Powers: Mind control

Weaknesses: Not a figher (???)

suspected

[text ends]

The third page has a watercolour painting of a dark silhouette with one arm raised surrounded by red flames. Above their head is an orb of white made up of lines curling in on themselves.

Next to the main painting is a watercolour and ink drawing of three figures. One is an indistinct man in purple with a topknot and cape, one is an indistinct green lady with palm-like hair, and one is the same figure from before. The former two are shooting abomination goop and vines towards the latter.

Text:

The Red General

(no name either)

The leader of the Empire's army. Since the start of Frogvasion, they've been leading that army of frogbots from city to city, ordering surrender and burning and pillaging when not met with compliance. They always wear that armor, so no idea what they look like. We just call them the Red General.

(Boscha wants me to write that she calls them "that red psycho." I said that's not very nice to people with psychosis and she said "eat my ass" so I said maybe later.)

They showed up first when we were evacuating the Council House (former Archive House) cuz a floating castle had started floating above it. And when I say "showed up" I mean cracked an entire wing while burning like a meteor.

Darius and Terra (she got out on probation) tried to hold them of while we evacuated, but...

I know plants can burn, I never thought I'd see abomination goop boil.

Darius is at the other base, recovering, but [text struck out and indistinct] He'll be fine. Bailey is just worried.

Red hasn't done anything like that again, but we'll be careful

Signed: Luz C. Noceda & Boscha

Boscha stop stop messing up the ink

-L

Make me

-B

I'm telling Lilith

-L

[text ends]

The fourth page is taken up by a watercolour painting depicting a pair of orange and yellow eyes with white pupils surrounded by darkness.

Text

The Emperor

Emperor of Numberless Worlds

The princess mentioned them. We know nothing

Boscha made dark chokelate and spilled all over this page.

-L

[text ends]

[nataliasquote]

I Know What You Are | n romanoff

Summary: The bane of Natasha’s existence had finally slipped up but when sent to eliminate her, feeling get in the way far too easily.

Warnings: blood, weapons, character death (oops), angst with no happy ending :)

wc: 5.9k (I got really carried away!)

note: this is part 2 of the ideas that were given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova so thank you love ❤️ this was fun

-⧗-

“I’ve got your six,” a familiar voice crackled through the redhead’s earpiece. She rolled her shoulders back and adjusted her grip on her gun, eyes darting across the smoke covered landscape that loomed before her. They’d picked a good vantage point but it was far too exposed for the assassin’s liking.

Natasha turned away from the edge and nodded to Clint, who’s arrow was already strung in his bow, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Her flash of red hair was the last thing he saw before she disappeared down the dark stairwell and back out onto the street.

“How long are we going to be circling like this, Nat?” Clint asked, a little out of breath as he finally caught up to his partner. Her eyes were distant, darting between the loosened bricks of the wall they were currently hiding behind. “Are you sure she’s here?”

“She is, I can feel it.” The echoes of gunfire and explosions rattled through their skulls, although the assassins were quite deaf to it now. Clint more than Nat. They clearly weren’t the only ones disturbed by the actions of one woman and her organisation.

A particularly loud bang went off nearby and Clint winced, his hand flying up to the hearing aid in his right ear. Natasha would have sent her best friend a sympathetic look if something hadn’t caught her eye across the desolate square.

A flash of silver, glinting in the orange sunlight as golden hour descended across the war zone.

“Got her.” Natasha scrambled up from her place and raced after the dark figure, her movements as silent and deadly as the night. Frustration spurred her onwards. This woman had been the source of Shield’s stress for months, but that was all about to end.

Her target’s preferred methods rather intrigued Natasha, who was all about efficiency when it came to killing. Guns were always in her arsenal, widow bites too. Her thighs often felt empty without a full holster. But the mystery woman never touched a gun. She was a master with a blade, stabbing and slashing her enemies with a brutal grace, silently dancing across the battlefield leaving disaster in her wake.

She was a free spirit, which drove Natasha mad. No one should be allowed this amount of freedom with her track history and there was no way Natasha was going to return to Shield empty handed. Not today.

The cacophony of noise ceased suddenly and Natasha felt Clint’s presence on the rooftop to her right. The hazy air was still so Natasha stuck to the shadows, the rough brick pressing through the fabric on her suit as she skulked around a corner.

But a sharp pain struck the back of her knee and she collapsed to the ground, a grunt of pain escaping her chapped lips.

A five inch blade thrown with horrifying accuracy had lodged itself in her upper calf ,only inches away from her knee. The pain was nauseating, but Natasha barely had a chance to properly process it before two dust covered boots stepped into her eyeline. With another grunt, she looked up at the figure before her, determined not to show pain on her face.

Her icy glare was met with a mask-covered face, one she knew well. The black mask was made of hard plastic and resembled two hands that covered the wearer’s mouth and nose - basically a muzzle. But playfully glinting eyes peaked over it and it was obvious they were paired with a smirk. Gloved hands twirled a knife, almost daring Natasha to step up and attack. But the redhead had been knocked off her game by those very eyes that taunted her.

She knew them…

Too well.

She used to love them. And as those gloved hands moved to slowly lift the mask from her face, Natasha felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach.

“Y/n?” She dared to ask, voice barely above a whisper. She got no reply, but the subtle tensing of her opponent’s muscles told her all she needed to know. Fate was laughing at her. The woman she thought had been ripped away from her when they were teenagers was now towering above her, forcing suppressed memories of the Red Room to come crashing down onto both women, leaving them breathless.

This moment of hesitation was all Clint needed to fire, but Y/n was one step ahead. She’d seen him on the roof and knew what he was waiting for, so by the time his arrow had implanted itself into the wall, she had disappeared into the smoke, leaving Natasha alone. The knife in her leg and the rubble indenting her skin did nothing to shake her from her mind, still staring into the empty space where the woman had just been.

Clint came rushing over and dropped to his knee to inspect Natasha’s wounds. He didn’t dare address how much his best friend looked like she’d seen a ghost, pale face and wide eyes and not just from blood loss.

“Cmon, we have to get out here.” He hooked his arms under hers and tried to get her to stand, but Natasha was far too spaced out too even notice what he was trying to do. But Clint’s main concern was the knife. He couldn’t pull it out lest she bled out before they made the jet, but Natasha couldn’t exactly walk far either.

He propped her up against the wall and lightly tapped her face a few times, her green eyes shooting back to his.

“Where did she go?” She asked, suddenly breathless.

“I really don’t know. But you need to get to medical, Nat. We have to let her go.”

“I knew her. Oh my god, I knew her, Clint. Why is she here?” Clint didn’t know how to answer. Part of him thought she was just rambling nonsense from the bloodloss, but a small part of him knew she was making sense. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out where they knew each other from.

“We’ll figure it out when we’re back.” His eyes widened as Natasha’s hand gravitated to the knife lodged in her calf. He reached for her hands, holding them up and away from her injury.

“Clint,” she warned, trying to pull her hands away. “Let me pull it out and we can go after her.”

Clint had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Natasha’s stubbornness was infuriating sometimes. “That’s not gonna happen. She’s gone, Nat, and you need medical attention. Fury wouldn’t be impressed if you bled out from a knife wound.”

Natasha glared at him but stopped struggling and allowed him to help her limp back to the jet. They’d parked on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, so the stairs were a killer. Natasha’s lip bled from how hard she was biting it to muffle her cries of pain.

But the moment she sank down into her seat, memories flooded her mind, both positive and negative, but all involving Y/n. She wasn’t fifteen years old anymore with eyes full of hope, but the same spark was still there, one Natasha had fallen in love with.

What had happened to her?

~~~

The low clunk of a heavy metal door echoed through the chamber, three pairs of footsteps following suit. A female assassin, flanked by two guards, made her way to the centre of the room, her mask resting loosely between her fingers as her eyes remained fixed on the cracks in the concrete floor. The lighting was harsh, yellow bulbs buzzing, making her eye twitch.

Hushed voices became silent as she was presented before them and Y/n knew what was about to happen. She’d lived this day a thousand times.

“Agent,” one of the men called out, his voice gruff. “Mission report.”

“There was an ambush. I could not complete the mission, Sir.” Her eyes remained at her feet but she felt the air in the room shift and the guards beside her tense up. No one failed a mission in Hydra.

A pair of boots approached her and stopped only inches away. A calloused hand firmly gripped her chin and tilted her head up to the light, fingers bruising the skin on her jaw. “We taught you not to fail,” he spat, jerking his hand to emphasise his words. Y/n didn’t flinch. “All of your training, everything we’ve done for you and this is how you repay us?”

“There was a complication.”

He jerked her jaw again, forcing her to look him in the eye. “What complication?”

“The Avengers were there. I couldn’t-”

The sound of a fist slamming on a metal table made her jump and her mask clattered to the ground. The Avengers were a sore spot, and judging by the amount of Russian curse words intermingled with the Avengers’ name in only a few sentences, that hadn’t changed in the three days she’d been gone.

The agent in front of her returned to the group and Y/n finally took a breath, readjusting her jaw after its rough treatment. Although she worked willingly for Hydra, Y/n wasn’t that bothered with keeping track of exactly who they hated each week. She just did as she was told and breathed through the punishments that followed after. Work was work, unfortunately for her, and Hydra provided food and a roof over her head. Luxuries, as far as she was concerned.

A door opened to her right and she watched from the corner of her eye as a figure slipped through, sticking to the shadowed walls on instinct. The glint of a metal arm gave her a weird sense of peace and she turned to meet his eyes, his gaze softening as he looked at her.

“Soldat,” Pierce called, finally rising from his chair after staying silent for so long. He smiled slyly at Y/n who only ignored him. “Take our prized possession to the training room and make sure she never fails again. Use whatever measures you have to.” He directed his orders at Bucky who clenched his metal fist and grabbed Y/n/s forearm, dragging her out of the room.

Neither spoke a word until they reached the training room, just as dark and cold as the rest of the facility. You’d think an organisation like Hydra would have the funds to buy some decent light bulbs. All this yellow light was on Y/n’s last nerve.

Bucky threw her down onto the mats and stood with his arms behind his back as he watched the woman try to get her breath back. He didn’t intend to wind her, but the cameras in every corner were monitored so he couldn’t go easy on her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his hair swinging beside his face and hiding his lips from view. Y/n waved him off and climbed to her feet, bringing her fists up to her face and setting her feet in a fighting stance. The cameras had no audio, so as long as they fought and he got a good few punches in, no one would suspect anything different.

“Don’t. Just hit me.” They circled each a few times, blocking a couple of punches but nothing major until Bucky grabbed Y/n’s arm and trapped her in a headlock, squeezing just tight enough that her airways were constricted. She tapped out and regained her position before they fought again, this time with her sending a few hits to his stomach.

“I need to ask you about something,” Y/n said through gritted teeth, deflecting a series of punches. Bucky grunted, which was his way of saying ‘go ahead’. “You know when you saw Steve for the first time since… you know, how did you handle it?”

Something shifted behind his eyes at the mention of his old best friend and he sent a strong left hook towards Y/n’s jaw, metal colliding with the bone with a crack. Her head whipped to the side and she let out a cry of pain, palm coming up to cradle her cheek. Bucky just watched for a moment before pulling her in front of him and forcing her to fight. They both hated this, but Y/n’s punishment would be ten times worse if he didn’t get enough good hits in. And Y/n preferred to be bruised by him than some old guard with unbridled rage and unchecked anger issues. Not a good mix.

“Was that not the right thing to ask?” How she could joke with a cracked cheekbone and bruised ribs was beyond Bucky, but humour seemed to be her preferred coping mechanism so he let her at it.

“It’s fine.” His words were more of a grumble than anything, but Y/n was used to that. He wanted to help, but you had to read deep between the lines. “I smashed several helicopters and almost killed him.” Wasn’t quite the response Y/n was expecting, or needed, really. “But they did brainwash me so I don’t suppose that helps.”

“Well, kind of?” Bucky narrowed his eyes and ducked, avoiding a punch before sending a kick to the back of Y/n’s knees. She wobbled but stayed upright, kicking him in the ribs to buy herself a couple of seconds of breathing time.

“Why do you ask? Did you see him?” It wasn’t hope that interjected his words, but Y/n noticed a flicker of something she couldn’t place a finger on.

“No, but I saw someone who reminded me of the same thing. Someone I thought I’d lost.” Natasha’s eyes, full of recognition and aspiration filled her mind and for a moment she faltered, lost in the dizzying memory, encapsulated by a flaming halo of hair. The scar in her eyebrow, her full lips, the ash that had settled on her black tactical suit; all flooding back and hitting Y/n like a truck.

She barely realised she was on the ground until she felt Bucky pin her arms above her head. She just stared into his eyes, a crease between her brows, unable to shake Natasha from her mind. Bucky watched her for a second before slapping her across the face.

“I’m sorry. Again.” He helped her to her feet. “But if they find out you know someone on the other side, they’ll do it to you too.” She’d watched many of his brainwashing sessions and even supervised when he’d come out of cryofreeze and none of it looked the slightest bit appealing. “I don’t want that for you.” She was the only good thing about this place and for his own sanity, he couldn’t lose her too.

“They couldn’t do that to me,” she said with a cocky smirk, her eyebrows quirking upwards. “I’m too valuable. Besides, Natalia won’t forget me again and would probably go on a killing spree if that happened.” Bucky shot her a look. “You’re right. That’s more my style.”

Bucky rolled his eyes slightly, unable to smile at her words. He was supposed to be an emotionless killer - they couldn’t know he had a soft spot for her.

“Luckily for you, you won’t see her again,” he said, swiping her legs from underneath her and sending her crashing to the floor. She scowled and scrambled up, jumping to wrap her thighs around his head in an attempt to bring him down. “It’s better that way.”

“Who says I won’t?” Y/n used her momentum to swing herself around, feeling his hands grip her thighs. “I want- I have to see her again. So I will.”

Successfully flooring him with an ‘a-ha’, Y/n straddled his waist and held her forearm to his throat. But she didn’t expect him to suddenly flip them both and mirror her actions, pushing her down into the thin mats and letting the cold seep through her suit as he held her there.

“So what, you’re going to kidnap her?”

Unbothered by her compromised position, Y/n just smirked, relaxing her body as she accepted defeat. “Who said anything about kidnapping?”

~~~

“Natasha, it’s a trap.” Clint was trying to talk some sense into his best friend, who was clearly having none of it.

“You think I don’t know that?” She gave him a look and returned to fixing her belt. “I’m prepared for this, so please stop stressing.”

“Oh, well forgive me for being sceptical seeing as the last time you encountered her she threw a knife into your knee,” Clint remarked with his arms folded over his chest. Natasha just rolled her eyes and stood up, adjusting her collar.

“I’m going to be ok,” she reassured, although her words fell on deaf ears. “I know who I’m dealing with.”

Clint looked into her eyes for a moment, trying to find a hint of doubt behind her bright green irises. But he found nothing but confidence, as usual. “But, do you?”

Whether it was part of her plan, no one knew, but Natasha walked straight into the trap with her head held high. It was easy, too easy. Natasha knew it, Y/n knew it. Yet that changed nothing. The blindfold was tugged from her eyes and she blinked, trying to adjust the dim light above her. The bulb only cast a small pool of light that spread not far from her chair, plunging the rest of the room into an eerie darkness. There was no sound, no gunfire or wind howling, and no windows as far as she could see. But her assessment of her surroundings was cut short when a figure stepped into view.

A small woman, slim, but muscular and toned enough to make it known that she could take down anyone of any size. Her posture was impeccable and she balanced a small blade between her fingers as if it were a feather and not a deadly weapon. Her lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t all that inviting or warm. The yellowy light cast shadows across her face as she observed her hostage for a few seconds.

“I thought interrogations were supposed to be your thing, Natalia.” The way her old name dripped off her tongue was like sweet honey and Natasha clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the woman prowling in front of her. Sure, she could get out of the ties around her wrists, but something kept her there. A desire to learn more about her. “You gave up pretty easily.”

“You know damn well I didn’t give up,” she spat, glaring up at the woman who was now standing so close their legs brushed. “I came willingly.”

“Oh I know,” the woman said with a smile, tracing the sharpness of the redhead’s jaw with her knife. “You can’t resist me.” Her Russian accent was thick and had Natasha completely transfixed. The tip of the knife trailed down to her collarbones so gently. “I didn’t think it would take years though.”

“I knew where you were.” Not exactly a lie - she’d been tracking Y/n’s work for years. She just didn’t know it was Y/n behind the killing sprees and assassinations.

“You break my heart.” There was a mischievous sparkle behind her eyes and it frustrated Natasha to no end. “Guess you thought you were too good for me now, huh? All caught up in your Avengers business and no time left for me.” She pouted like a child.

Natasha looked up at the dim light above her head before answering. It was cliche really, tied to a chair in the middle of a damp room with only a single string bulb as a light source. But the woman before her was far more calculated than she ever let on, so Natasha knew it was part of some much bigger plan.

“Well I can’t exactly have a coffee with the enemy,” she said sarcastically. “The Avengers would take you in if you stopped murdering people for no reason.”

“Ha!” She spat out, turning back around to face Natasha, her knife spinning casually between her fingers. “Avengers. What a pathetic excuse for an organisation. You think they mean well, and that’s just adorable really.”

“They’re not pathetic.” If there was one thing Natasha was protective about, it was her family. “Take a look at who you work for, you’ll find some pretty pathetic business going on there.”

Y/n’s eyes darkened. “Hydra is not stupid. At least our scientists actually do something useful instead of pottering about building metal suits.” A jab at Tony Stark. Classy.

“Yeah sure, if you call illegal human experimentation ‘useful’.”

Y/n let out a soft laugh. “Don’t get all big and bossy with me,” she replied, watching as Natasha’s stony expression cracked slightly. “The twins signed themselves up, I did nothing.”

“You lured them in.”

“What can I say, I’m irresistible.” She winked at Natasha and disappeared into the shadows, leaving a very disgruntled redhead alone.

To say she was the most annoying person Natasha had ever met was a severe understatement. That woman got under her skin and just festered there, and no amount of focus would ever make her go away.

Whether she was knocked out or drugged, Natasha didn’t know, but when she next woke the room was a lot brighter and her hands were no longer tied behind her back. Y/n sat opposite her, the same blade laying flat in her palm.

“Took you long enough.” This wasn’t the same place as before and Natasha reached for her belt, wanting to feel protected. “Don’t. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s reassuring, considering you kidnapped me.”

Y/n finally looked up and scoffed, pushing her chair back so it scraped harshly across the wooden floorboards. “I did not kidnap you. We went over this Natalia. You came willingly.”

“And then you tied me up.” Natasha gestured to her wrists, now free of course.

“What can I say, I’m into that kind of thing.”

Natasha sighed. This was her chance. She wasn’t restrained, Y/n seemed relaxed and no one else was around. She could save a lot of lives, and her own ass by killing Y/n now. But somehow she couldn’t shake the memory of all the stolen kisses and touches they’d shared within the icy confines of the Red Room. How that young girl had been through so much and yet still felt so familiar sitting in the chair opposite.

“Y/n,” she started, switching her approach completely. “What happened to you?” The woman looked up, eyes dark, scanning across every inch of the redhead’s face.

“Why would you care anyway?” Her witty sarcasm was gone, replaced by a steel wall behind her eyes that fully blocked Natasha out. The redhead plagued her mind and tugged at the knot in her stomach, but she refused to let it win.

“You were there, and then you left. And I never knew why.”

“No. I didn’t leave. You did, Natalia.” Her tone was accusatory as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You left me alone in that place and you let them take me.”

“I didn’t leave you. They told me you got out, escaped, so I asked to go on more missions. I couldn’t bear it there without you.” Natasha’s voice dropped on the last few words, almost scared to admit her feelings out loud. How could she? The woman she swore to love for the rest of her life had broken her heart to the point where she had never loved anyone since.

“And you believed what they told you?” Natasha said nothing. “Somehow you manage to escape and you don’t come looking for me. We had a promise, Natalia. No matter what, we’d find each other. What happened to that?” Y/n was no longer a deadly Hydra agent gripping the handle of her knife like she was ready to send it flying into a target. No. She was a little girl again, holding onto promises as the last sign of hope in her life. Holding onto Natasha’s pinky finger with her own like their lives depended on it.

Noticing that Natasha didn’t want to break the silence, she continued. “Do you know how hard it is to find work with our skill set? For the ‘good guys’, I mean. You got lucky.” There was a hint of resentment in her words and it hit Natasha in the stomach. “When you tell people you’re an assassin for hire, they usually want to throw you into a penitentiary or shoot you dead right there and then. I had no choice.”

“If you knew where I was, then why didn’t you come and find me?”

Y/n hesitated for a moment. “You didn’t need me ruining what you’ve already got here.” This amount of vulnerability made Y/n’s skin crawl, but all her usual standards seemed to fly out of the window when Natasha was around. It had done ever since they were barely teenagers, soft lips pressed against each other in the gentlest of kisses. The fear of getting caught was worthless when compared to the comfort they had found within each other. “Besides, if I went after an Avenger, we’d both be dead.”

“They gave me a second chance, they would give you one too. You just have to prove it.” Natasha rose from her seat and joined the other woman who had moved to look out of the water-damaged window. “I can see how much you hate it, Y/n.”

“Hate what?”

“Working for Hydra. I can see it.”

Her grip tightened around her knife and Natasha took a step back. “No, they gave me everything.” But her words weren’t as convincing as she intended them to be, her lack of will to live and keep fighting catching up with her. “I owe them everything.”

“But Shield can give you more. You deserve to have something good.” Natasha squared her shoulders and reached out to place a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “No more pain, no more manipulation. You get to call the shots, make your own decisions.” Y/n wasn’t convinced. “We’d get a second chance too.” Her nose scrunched slightly, unable to gauge how Y/n would respond to her last words.

Y/n looked down at her hands, avoiding Natasha’s gaze and trying not to focus on how comforting her touch felt. She stared at the blood that had dried under her fingernails. It never seemed to fade, no matter how hard she scrubbed. She wanted so desperately to run, leave her problems behind like she’d always done. But part of her clung onto the prospect of a second chance with Natalia - she’d craved her warmth for over a decade.

Natasha saw the conflict flicker behind the woman’s eyes, a stark contrast to the sarcastic and confident front she’d put on only hours before. She was exhausted, anyone could see that and Natasha knew all too well what it was like to want to stop running. To stop fighting for other people and start fighting for yourself.

“Why are you doing this? I thought you came here to kill me?” Y/n’s eyes turned icy and she pulled her body away from Natasha, distancing herself once again. But the emotion in her voice couldn’t be masked, and it made Natasha’s expression soften.

“I made a different call.”

Y/n bit her lip, the knife between her fingers spinning rapidly but controlled. “I don’t deserve this second chance, Natalia. Just do what you came to do, earn yourself some more brownie points for the boss.” Her jaw clenched and Natasha pulled her gun from the holster. But instead of firing it, she simply slid it along the dusty floorboards, along with her belt full of weapons. Y/n scoffed at her actions, holding her knife as firmly as she could, but the tremble in her fingers gave her away. She didn’t mean this. Any of it.

“Well that was stupid.”

But her movements were suddenly halted. The door to Natasha’s left crashed down and three figures burst in, firing shots at Y/n before Natasha had a chance to protest. They’d seen the knife and reacted, ignoring the way Natasha yelled at them. The women threw themselves down onto the ground, Natasha shielding Y/n’s body with her own.

“Stand down!” She yelled, holding Y/n against the floor whilst turning over her shoulder. Steve, Clint and Sam stood in the doorway, weapons aimed and pointing at the assassins on the floor. “I didn’t signal anything!”

“You’d been gone for hours Nat, we had no choice. Fury gave the order.” Natasha ignored Clint’s words as Y/n groaned beneath her. Their weapons were still aimed at the Hydra agent despite Natasha’s glare.

The redhead slowly removed her hands and went to help Y/n sit up, but then she noticed the blood. It was visible even through her dark suit and Y/n gingerly pressed her hand to her stomach before pulling it away with a frown.

“I don’t know if we’ll get that second chance, Natalia,” she whispered, looking up at terrified green eyes. “You’ll have to do it on your own.”

“No, don’t say that.” Natasha replaced Y/n’s hands and began to press down on the wound, muttering her apologies as Y/n whined in pain. “You’re going to be ok.”

‘I want to be good, Natalia. I really wanted to be good.” Her words were strained as blood continued to pour from her wounds, coating Natasha’s hands instantly.

“I know, Y/n, I know. You will be, just stay with me please.” She pressed down harder, tears blurring her vision as she felt blood pooling beneath her palms. No one was listening to her cries for help- why weren’t they listening?

Y/n weakly grabbed Natasha’s wrist and pulled her hands off her wound, shaking her head at Natasha’s protests. She could taste metal on her tongue and the redhead’s face faded in and out of focus as she tried to shakily cup her cheek.

“Natalia-”

“No!” Natasha’s lip trembled and she shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Y/n/s grip. “You’re not leaving me now, I swear to god. You can be good, I know you can.” Y/n smiled weakly, barely conscious now as blood trickled from her lips. “Please, I just got you back! I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me, I’ll always be here.” Her nose scrunched up at how cheesy it sounded as she reached her hand up to point to Natasha’s chest. “Right here.”

“No, no, no. Don’t talk like that! You’re not giving up on me, Y/n. Pain only makes you stronger, come on!” She was just spewing words now, her sentences all jumbled and barely making sense as she pressed down on the wound. Y/n smiled up at her and tried to squeeze her thigh where her hand rested. But the energy in her body was fading fast and she could do nothing but look Natasha in the eyes in her final moments, wanting to memorise that specific colour one last time.

When her hand slipped to the floor with a thud, Natasha’s heart stopped. An eerie silence fell across the room, the feeling of death weighted like a blanket. The redhead didn’t make a sound, her sobs silent despite the tears trickling down her flushed cheeks. A stark contrast to her pale skin.

“No,” she shakily whispered, pushing Y/n’s hair back out of her face with a bloodied hand. “I’m sorry.” She cupped her bruised cheek and brushed her thumb over it, finally feeling her skin under her hand for the first time in years. It wasn’t as soft as she remembered, years worth of scars destroying the surface, but it was still perfect to her all the same.

Tears mixed with the blood and created a watery mixture that dripped down off Y/n’s chin and into the collar of her suit. Natasha dropped her head to rest on the other woman’s chest, hands moving to grip her shoulders tightly as though she might disappear. The redhead kept muttering apologies, wanting to make up for all the time they’d lost, even if it was fruitless.

The three men in the doorway shifted uncomfortably, the scene before them an unexpected one. “Natasha-“ Clint began, taking a step towards the redhead.

“What did you do?” Her voice was dangerously low and she slowly turned around, Y/n’s hand now clasped in hers. “Look what you did!”

Sam and Steve hung their heads, not wanting to see anymore of the dead woman across the room. Clint was just focused on his distraught best friend, who’s hands now matched the colour of her hair.

“Nat, we need to go-“

“Then go,” she spat. “I’m not leaving her.”

Clint let out a sigh and slung his bow over his shoulder. He gestured to Steve to help, who looked rather uncomfortable but followed anyway. “Well bring her with us-“

“What, so you can parade her in front of Fury and show off? Yes, well done, target eliminated! You don’t touch her!” Natasha was clawing and kicking as Steve pulled her to her feet. She held onto Y/n’s hand for as long as possible before Clint gently tugged it free, triggering an outburst from Natasha.

She was a mess of limbs, uncharacteristically uncoordinated as she struggled against Steve’s body as he guided her out of the room, practically carrying her as she refused to walk. The whole time she screamed out for Y/n, her voice growing more hoarse by the second. She took no interest in her surroundings, the dimly lit stairwell not even registering in her mind. All her spy training had completely vanished.

She was placed onto one of the benches in the jet and she watched, a shaking mess, as Clint placed Y/n’s limp body on the floor opposite, blood no longer pouring from her stomach. Natasha stayed frozen in her seat, knees pulled up to her chest as a defence mechanism. She didn’t care that there was blood on her hands, nor that it transferred onto her cheek when she wiped her nose. No, she didn’t care about anything except the woman lying in front of her.

The lifeless woman.

She wanted to scream but it was as if all the emotions had drained out of her body like a flood. She was numb, just staring with empty eyes, the light behind them barely flickering now. Clint shot worried glances in her direction once the jet was in the sky, and Steve and Sam stayed well away, not wanting to fall under the wrath of an extremely angry and emotional Natasha.

Not that she cared what the others did. She just wanted the one thing she couldn’t have. Fate had shown her time and time again that it was not on her side, but this truly was her final straw. There was no fixing this.

They had found and lost each other within the space of a months. But this time there were no second chances. It was set in stone, just like Y/n’s name would be for the rest of time.

Maybe, in another lifetime, they would finally meet again.

Maybe, in another universe, Natasha Romanoff could truly be happy.

[bridgyrose]

Weiss sank her sharp teeth into the roasted chicken that Ruby had brought for her, a small moan leaving her lips as her tail wagged. She savored the taste with each bite while trying to keep herself from tearing into it as her instincts wanted. “This is better than what I’ve had in months!” 

“What do you normally eat then?” Ruby asked as she sat down next to Weiss. 

“Rabbits, deer… and sometimes when I’m close enough to a village I’ll trade favors for food. Stuff like doing chores for people or killing grimm.” 

“Then why not stay closer to the villages? Sounds like you get a good deal out of it.” 

“Because I’m a monster as far as any of them are concerned.” Weiss took another ravenous bite of her chicken. “And besides, its hard to keep myself looking human enough to not draw attention to me being a werewolf.” 

Ruby nodded and watched Weiss. “So how exactly did you get like”- she motioned her hands around Weiss- “like this?” 

Weiss paused mid bite as she looked at Ruby. She slowly lowered her chicken and sighed as she pulled up a sleeve to show the scarred bite mark. “It… was a training accident. No one knew that one of the students I was training with was a wolf and… well… you saw how I reacted to getting touched by a little silver. I’m sure you can imagine what would happen if I’m struck with it.” 

“Training… were you training to be a huntress?” 

“I was. Father didnt like it, but it felt like the right path for me at the time. But after I was bit and shifted the following full moon, I ran away from home. I tried to go back a couple years after to take the exam to get into one of the academies, but there ended up being another full moon the night before and… well… I ended up attacking someone.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ruby said quietly. “How… how long have you been on your own then?” 

“About ten years.” Weiss went back to eating her chicken, practically crunching on the bones. “Long enough for me to take up my own training and work on my own.” 

“Must be rough.” 

Weiss shrugged and finished off the chicken she’d been given. She licked her lips and took a deep breath to try to focus on her human form, feeling her ears and tail disappear for the moment. Even after years of trying to pass as human, the form still felt foreign to her. And yet, it still felt more comfortable to be in around Ruby. Not that she ever felt uncomfortable around her in the hours since they first met. 

A small blush crossed her cheeks as she thought a bit more about Ruby. The girl was easy to talk to, didnt seem to be scared of her being a wolf, and cute to top it all off. “What about you? Did you train to be a huntress?” 

“I did,” Ruby answered. “Everyone in my family trained to be a huntsman. My sister and I attended Beacon together, though she went off with her girlfriend after we graduated. My mom and dad were on the same team too when they were in training, and the stories he told me of her made me want to be the huntress I am today.” 

“You do realize that means hunting down monsters like me, right?” 

“Well, yes, but… monsters like you are still people. You deserve to live a peaceful life, even if it means you cant be near the kingdoms.” 

Weiss smiled a bit and looked away from Ruby as her blush started to fade. “If only others could be like you. But the reality is that nobody wants anything that resembles a monster or a grimm nearby. And even if people were okay with me here, it wouldnt matter once the full moon came around. I… I still lose control.” 

“Then why not stay here with me until you have control?” 

Weiss went quiet as she looked over at Ruby again, not quite sure what to think. It’d be nice to have a place to call home, even if it’d only be for a while. But the thought of sharing a home with Ruby, staying with someone as kind as her… 

Her blush came back as she looked away, voice cracking briefly as she spoke. “I-I couldnt… I might hurt you on the full moon or bring people to you that might want to hurt you for taking me in-” 

“It’ll be fine,” Ruby said with a smile, offering a hand to Weiss. “I have a cabin in Patch that we can stay at. Far enough away from people that you wont be bothered and there’s plenty of space so when the full moon comes around, you can keep your distance if you’re that worried.” 

Weiss slowly reached for Ruby’s hand, tempted by the offer. A place to finally call home. A place she could finally be at peace and left alone for a few months. And yet, she couldnt find it in her to take Ruby’s hand, to take the offer that she was given. She slowly pulled her hand away, almost lingering until clutched her cloak. “I-I want to, but I cant.” 

“I dont understand. You could finally have the peace you want-” 

“And all I’d do is hurt you.” Weiss closed her cloak and pulled the hood over. “I should go. I wouldnt want you to get in trouble for being with me.” 

Ruby reached out to Weiss. “W-wait! Weiss!” 

Weiss pulled away as she felt Ruby’s fingers brush against her shoulder, her body freezing for just a moment as she took a quick look back at Ruby before running off into the woods. She felt her heart race the further she went, a few tears running down her cheeks at the thought of avoiding Ruby. But if it was the only way to keep her safe, then so be it. 

She’d avoid Ruby for as long as she’d need.

Prev

[crypticandmachiavellianaugustine]

For your love

Ruhn Danaan x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Ruhn had been strangers, lovers and then exes and then lovers again. (Listened to For your love by Maneskin an ungodly amount of times while writing this).

Warnings: some angst, some smut, mentions of smoking and alcohol.

English is not my first language so if you find a mistake you know why. Second time writing something with smut in it, not sure if it is readable.

_______

The first time they had met, Ruhn was looking for his sister and the last thing he had expected to find in Bryce's kitchen was an unknown girl with a white sun dress all embroidered with tiny forget-me-not flowers, baking biscuits and talking to a cat who was apparently listening with great interest to her monologue.

When she had turned around and found the Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae staring at her in disbelief she had almost made ruinously fall to the ground a tray of her freshly out of the oven creations.

After a rather awkward introduction she had let him know, with a shy voice, that Bryce would return in about half an hour. Then she had offered him a biscuit.

The second time had been at a bar. She was sitting at the counter with a drink and a stock of important looking papers. She almost looked like another person, long gone was her almost naive persona after a few months living in Lunathion, she resembled in all and for all the serious academic that she actually was. He had taken it as a challenge to sway that serious looking girl, with her glasses and burgundy suit, away from her documents and the old fashioned whiskey she was swirling distractingly.

She had glared at him with eyes that promised storms and blizzards when Ruhn had greeted her, buying her another old fashioned and almost retreating to more approachable company. Still the evening had ended in his bed, a veil of sweat covering them both as she rode him right into their umpteenth orgasm of the night. Her hands tugging at his hair firmly everytime their lips smashed into each other, while his were grasping the soft flesh of her thighs, her malleable and rich of curves body driving him to madness.

And then the next morning they went their separate ways, she rarely thought of him for the year that went by from their second and their third encounter.

She was at a party, smoking alone in a corner of the terrace, observing the rather amusing little scenes in front of her. She enjoyed being the observer, unnoticed and free. She didn't know that she was being observed attentively and that her privilege of detached spectator was coming to an end.

Ruhn had struck a conversation with her rather smoothly and before she could even realise what was happening she had fallen again into that game of taunting and flirting that had made them end up exploring each other in a bar's back room and later in his bed one year before.

Their playful conversation was flowing like the champagne she had been drinking and as he leaned in to whisper something quite outrageous in her ear, her fingers flexed, accidentally touching his hand with the same lightness of a feather.

She had grabbed his hand deciding that they needed to dance. The green of her dress was that of a vemonus snake, glistening under the dim lights, the shiny fabric falling softly on the curves he had traced, kissed, savoured a year before.

Ruhn's mouth fell open at the sight of her leading him to the dancefloor with the confidence of a siren who had just ripped out a mortal's heart to bury in the seabed.

The music was loud and hypnotic, and she moved sinuously close to him, teasing and grazing her hands all over his body while he slid his fingers on her naked back. They had ended up yet again locked in a room that neither of them owned, with the muffled sounds of a crowd on the other side of the door.

Once again they had found themselves on some couch with her straddling his lap, his hands trailing the skirt of her dress up her legs, her hands undoing his pants before they both found relief to their craving for each other that had started when they had ended up alone together after a year.

"We should do this again sometime," she had heard Ruhn mutter later that night, they were still on that couch, laying in silence.

So they did and suddenly casualty became dating and then it turned into something she could not explain. And then it ended and again they had found separate paths to take. Even for love it was impossible to find common ground in two lives that ran in opposite directions.

_

Y/N felt like they both should have been ashamed by how the night was going, she and Ruhn flirting and teasing each other with the excuse of catching up while both of their dates were darting them murderous looks from across the room, though shame was the last in her list of feelings in that moment.

She felt good, the break-up didn't sting as much anymore and it seemed like they both needed to linger in the nostalgia for their past passion and closeness.

She also felt that it would be a pity to waste her red dress, with its deep cleavage and the fabric that wrapped her body softly, on the dull guy she had decided to go out with because she had been bored.

A pomegranate shaped pendant, made of gold and rubies, was laying in between her breasts and Ruhn had certainly shown more appreciation for the little detail than her date, the prince's eyes indulging in an indecent look at her cleavage too often.

She was playing with Ruhn's long raven hair as they drank and talked, his hand had found its place on her waist, squeezing her lightly.

In the dead of night they had found themselves laying together silently, the red dress had been thrown somewhere in Ruhn's room, and what was supposed to be just passion between past lovers had become something worse, intimacy.

At first they had barged through his door, their lips engaged in a fight for dominance, and their clothes being carelessly ripped off.

Ruhn had made her his against the door, on his desk and then finally on his bed. Then with her hands firmly gripping the headboard, he had grabbed her thighs and planted her on his face, his lips and his tongue working on her swollen bud, making a mess out of her with ease. She had whimpered silently when she had felt his lip ring bushing against her most sensitive spot. The prince had kept her sat on his face for a long while, making her come undone until she could not take it anymore.

Melancholy had made it's way into their minds when they were laying facing each other, like they had done many times in their shared past. It felt heartbreakingly intimate, to know someone so deeply for some time and then know almost nothing about them, just to run to the crossroad as soon as their paths had got close again.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was her imagination, but she could had sworn that in her state of drowsiness, Ruhn had pressed a kiss on her forehead, and whispered something she could not quite catch.

"For your love, I'll do whatever you want".

[shivunin]

The Rose 'Round the Briar

For a belated day 5 of @veilguard-appreciation-week (Arlathan Forest), here is a short piece about Rook meeting an oddly familiar stranger at the Veil Jumper camp.

(No pairing | 1,181 Words | No Warnings)

“They grew and grew in the old churchyard Till they could grow no higher At the end they formed a true lover's knot And the rose grew 'round the briar.” —Joan Baez, “Barbara Allen”

“Excuse me—are you the one who found our friends in the forest?”

Rook had been sorting through the various trinkets, samples, and sundries she’d collected on this trip through the wood. She paused now, turning toward the voice while her hands went on untangling several lengths of thread. 

“That’s me. Can I help you with something?” 

“Aniud,” the Veil Jumper offered, bowing slightly with a hand pressed to his chest. “And you are Rook? One of the two was out looking for something I’d dropped, but she can’t find it in her pockets now. I don’t suppose you saw a locket in that cave where you found her? I will need to go back for it if you did not.”

Lenore looked at him fully for the first time and was struck by an uncomfortably strong sense of familiarity. She would have sworn she’d never met him before, and yet…

“Are you—” he began, face going abruptly flat. “I don’t suppose you are…Nevarran?”

“I am,” she said, frowning. “I’m sorry, but have we met before?”

“I hadn’t thought so,” he said slowly. “Perhaps—you only resemble someone I knew a very long time ago. I—forgive me. I came to ask you about the locket.”

For a moment, she did not answer. She searched his face instead: deep wrinkles gathered at either side of brown eyes, silver clung to the dark brown hair at his temples, and he had a nose with a noticeable bump just after the bridge. One of his ears had been badly burned; scar tissue climbed the point of it in angry red swirls. He could have been any of the Veil Jumpers she hadn’t met yet, for he wore the same orange-brown and tan that any of the rest of them did. 

Why did she feel like she knew him?

“The locket. Right. Yes, there was a locket. Here.” 

Slowly, Rook looked down at the pile of things she’d emptied from her pack. Gold winked from the pile, buried under a series of clothing hooks and scraps of cloth. She fished it out with care, grateful that it hadn’t gotten tangled in the mass of thread she still hadn’t finished untangling. She’d recognized it as soon as she’d seen it in the cave, of course. Nevarran love tokens had a particular look to them. It had made her sad to see it there, discarded beside a pile of trail rations, ancient elven trinkets, and a shredded pack. 

“This one?” she asked, holding it out to him. 

Aniud’s shoulders slumped and he reached for it at once, slipping the cool metal from her palm. It was oval-shaped, green glass on the front etched with a symbol Lenore hadn’t recognized. When he smiled down at it, the sense of familiarity struck her again. She had to have seen this man somewhere before; if only she could recall where. 

“Ma serannas,” Aniud said, his voice thick. He ran the chain over his fingers, then flicked the locket open. Inside, there was a tiny coil of dark hair. Lenore saw it for only a moment before he clicked the locket shut again and drew it over his head. 

“The one who gave me this is long since gone,” he said, hand pressed over his chest where the locket rested. “It would have been a painful thing to lose it; I cannot tell you how grateful I am to see it returned. I’ve no gold to share, I fear, but perhaps you might return tomorrow evening. I’m meant to play for the evening meal. It is small thanks, I know, but if you come I will gladly dedicate a song to you.”

“Oh—thank you. What do you play?” she asked. 

“You would call it the elven bass, but I play many instruments when there is time—when the world is not falling apart,” he said, not without humor, and took a step back. “Apologies—I have told my friend I would inform her if this had been found. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and frowned after him when he hurried away. 

The threads before her, though they remained tangled, barely held her attention. She ought to give up on them and just sell the lot of it to Amylia. The merchant would sort it all out if she saw the value in it; surely there was no sense in toiling over it now. 

“Rook, hi!” Bellara said as Lenore pondered the tangled mass before her. “Are you ready to go? I found something I want to test back at the Lighthouse. I think it’ll help with some of the energy fluctuations we’ve been seeing. Look!”

She held up some unfamiliar bit of metal, sharply reflective in the sunlight. Rook caught sight of her own puzzled reflection, dark hair over sharp ears, a nose with a pronounced bump just after the bridge, before she winced and squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Sorry!” Bellara said. When Rook squinted up at her again, light danced in the afterimages. “I wasn’t thinking about the sun. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Rook said, bundling the lot of it up again. “Give me a moment to sell this and we can go.” 

Later, as they reached the eluvian to leave, a faint strain of music rose from the camp behind them. It was an oddly familiar tune, rising in three-quarter time, wistful and slow. Bellara stepped through the eluvian, still explaining what she needed this new component for, but Lenore lingered a moment longer to listen to the music. It wasn’t until hours later, lying sleepless on the couch in her room that she placed where she’d heard the song before.

For much of her childhood, Grief had been the one to sing her lullabies until she slept. She had been the one who’d found Lenore abandoned in the tomb and it had always seemed like she carried a fondness for Rook because of it. One of those lullabies, Rook’s very favorite, had been a sweet thing in three-quarter time. It is a very old love song, Grief had told her the only time she’d asked what it was, I do not know its name. 

Now, against the silence of her room, Rook hummed the melody again. She hadn’t heard that song in years. How odd that she would hear it in the Veil Jumper camp of all places. Could she replicate it on the violin later? Maybe she would try in the morning, if she could ever fall asleep.  

She did not remember her dreams later, but in them she heard the sad lilting of an old love song while a chainless locket fell through the air, tilting end over end. A rose growing through the eye of a skull was etched into the glass face and it caught the light over and over again, flashing as it fell.

[animatorweirdo]

When The Dragons Fly (Book 6)

You return to the caves and attempt to talk with the dragon.

Chapter 4

Warnings: the she-dragon not being very trusting, some mentions of scars, yelling, and things not turning in the way you hoped.

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

The weather was slightly cloudy, and the wind whisked strands of your hair around your face. Your heart pounded against your chest as you stood before the cave leading to the she-dragon’s lair. 

Baleria stood behind you, crumbling cautiously as she could smell the other dragon from within the cave. 

You took in a deep breath. 

“Dragon!” you called out. 

“I wish to speak with you!” you shouted and then waited for a response. 

You waited anxiously. If the dragon was capable of speech, it would either come out or yell at you. If not, it would remain inside to guard its nest. You hoped for the former.

Baleria let out a low growl as she stared into the cave.

Then, you noticed a pair of golden eyes watching you from the darkness, accompanied by a faint growl.

The dragon slowly emerged from its cave, glaring at you with a snarl while standing tall in an attempt to intimidate you. You gazed in wonder, finally able to take a proper look at the magnificent creature before you.

Her scales were dark, but you could see hints of a grey-green hue, reminding you of dull colored stones in mountains. The wings on her broad shoulders were smaller in proportion to her body, yet you knew they were powerful enough to carry her swiftly through the sky. Her long tail flicked behind her like a whip, poised to strike. The shape of her head bore a resemblance to a lion’s, adorned with thick, spike-like protrusions that formed a mane. Though smaller than Baleria, she was still larger than Falconer, allowing her to tower over you.

You were in awe. To you, she was one of the most unique dragons you had ever seen.

“And what does a human have to say to me?” the she-dragon spoke, her voice deep and powerful, sending a shiver down your spine. A wave of unease settled over you—this was the first time you had ever spoken to a dragon as if it were a person.

“I… “You hesitated for a moment but quickly collected yourself. 

“I wish to discuss something important and apologize for trespassing in your home the last time we met. We wanted to investigate why the orcs were here. We had no idea this was your lair and nest,” you explained. 

“And what is the important matter?” she asked. 

“If things were otherwise and you left us in peace, we would have no problem with you living here. However, your lair is quite close to local villages and not too far from ours. My people... “ you hesitated for a moment. “...wish for you to relocate your nest.” 

The she-dragon scoffed, buffing her nostrils, clearly agitated by your answer. 

“First, you trespass into my home, and now, you demand that I go somewhere else with my young?” she snarled. 

“Preposturous!”

You nearly flinch from the loudness of her voice but kept your ground. 

“I know this sounds insulting. But I plead for you to understand that my people and I never had a positive relationship with any of Morgoth’s creatures. The wish for you to relocate is simply born out of fear and concern for our safety,” you spoke. 

“And where would I go? I have already laid my eggs, and moving them elsewhere is nearly impossible for me,” she questioned angrily. “Especially when I have those orc rats to worry about stealing them from me,” she added.

“What of your mate? Is he no longer around to help you protect the eggs?” you asked. 

“No. My mate died before I left our birthplace,” she uttered, her expression turning from anger into silent anguish. 

You went silent as you struck a sensitive spot. You should have considered that. 

“I am sorry for asking something sensitive,” you expressed.

The dragon seemed calmer by your response. 

“I understand your situation, and I know it would cause you a lot of trouble if we demanded that you leave,” you explained.

“I have a proposition that could solve our problem and ease your burden,” you said.

“And what would that be?” the she-dragon asked, looking at you curiously.

“My dragon and another live in the caves above the Blue Mountains, near our home. We have enough room for another, so you and your eggs could settle there with us. That way, you would be out of the orcs’ reach, and we could learn to coexist without fear,” you explained.

“Ha!” the she-dragon exclaimed, snorting smoke out of her nostrils and glaring at you, clearly mocking your words.

“Do you really expect me to accept such a pretentious offer and surrender my freedom—and the freedom of my young—to you?!” she demanded.

“I’m not talking about taking either your freedom or your younglings’,” you explained, stepping back slightly. “We have no slaves in our home. If you agree, you would be strictly our neighbor.”

“I wish for a peaceful solution, one that causes no trouble for either of us. This way, we could learn to coexist without expecting danger from each other,” you added.

“No danger? Do you really expect your people to accept me? And me, them?” she questioned. “Do you truly believe that once I turn my back, you and your people wouldn’t seize the opportunity to take my eggs and use them to control me?”

“To make me your servant?!” she raised her voice, her eyes blazing with suspicion.

“No. Making you our servant is not my intention,” you answered firmly.

“Your companion wears a saddle. She obeys your will. You’re telling me she’s no servant of yours?” the she-dragon motioned toward Baleria. 

Baleria roared, causing the she-dragon to step back and look at her in bewilderment. Baleria then released a silent growl as if saying something. 

You looked at them curiously as the she-dragon seemed to understand Baleria. 

“A rider of your choice? You wear a saddle because you chose to?” the she-dragon questioned, her eyes wide, as if she could not even believe what she was hearing.

You then noticed scars on her paws — shackle scars. It became clear to you that she had been treated as a slave, thus why she was not trusting toward you or seemingly did not believe in the concept of free choice. 

“She is right,” you said, gaining her attention.

“Baleria is not my slave. She is my companion, friend, and family. Our dragons are let to choose their riders, not the other way around,” you explained. 

“There are more of you?” the she-dragon questioned. 

“Yes, one younger dragon ridden by my brother and three younglings,” you answered. 

The she-dragon seemed to think about it. 

“And if I refuse?” she asked. 

“You are free to choose whether to accept my offer or not. However, if you choose not to, I’m afraid I’ll have to grant my people’s wish and ask you to make your lair elsewhere. I could offer my help in finding you a new one, but the options around Beleriand are limited, especially with Morgoth ruling over the north,” you explained.

The she-dragon was quiet for a while. Through her eyes, you could see she was considering your words. You hoped eagerly that she would accept your offer and help. It would be the better outcome than telling you to go away. 

“Leave…” she suddenly uttered. “I will not trust the word of a human and her pet.” 

You were stunned, to say the least. You expected some trouble in convincing her, but not so outright rejection. 

“I plead for you to reconsider. I give you my word that the safety and freedom of you and your young will not be threatened. You still have orcs as a threat,” you said.

“Then that will be my problem, and my problem alone. I can handle the orcs, and you are free to try to chase me out if you dare,” she replied.

“Now leave me be, and do not return with your hollow words,” she said, turning around and retreating back into her cave.

Frustration and hopelessness filled you. This was not the desired outcome.

You climbed onto Baleria and returned home, trying to think of other solutions but coming up with nothing.

What now?

Taglist: @natchayaphorn@kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182 @springfountain @maedhrosiseverything2me

[confusedernestvanburg]

To hell with it! I can't contain it no more. Here's some Grey reference sheet sketch and an incredibly long trivia below:

-His full name is André Rousielle "Grézkolnovik". He's named this way because of his state of origin, the Republic of Rochavélle (apparently the equivalent of France irl). As for his surname, "Grézkolnovik", was actually derived from his own demand on the ID due to his great interest with Volgorand (Russia irl) culture.

-His personality is rather confined and not so talkative to people, he often struggles to find topics or continue conversation with people he rarely met. Though, if you're able to find a topic he has genuine interest in, he'd be more than willing to ramble with you for a while.

-He also has a bad habit of mumbling and humming songs he likes. The humming is fairly audible if you were to be near him.

-He was rarely seen within the town aside from the Town Hall, the pub and the park.

-He has a very strong Rochavelle accent, and to stereotype, a big smoke addict (silly francois as usual).

-He was born into a strict religious family and overtime he starts to develop religious trauma all because of his father oppressive actions on several medias he grew interest in. This state reached it's highest stake when Grey was told by his father to change his college major from theatre and cinematography to accountancy and management. This of course resulted as to Grey's major disbelief in religion and faith itself.

-As for the family itself; as of current he has 2 older siblings and a mother, who is unfortunately, terminally ill. Other misfortune for Grey is that both of his siblings has not gotten a job (as far to his acknowledgement), meaning, ever since his father died, he's not only working for his tuition but also to feed his family. He has not met them directly ever since 5 years ago and has contacted them for months (the Town is somewhere in Nordennass AKA the Netherlands of this world) and has barely any knowledge of their actual whereabouts. He often split his salary by 60% for them.

-Grey is a MASSIVE theatre nerd. He is obsessed with musical and opera or any theatre based thingamajig. He's mostly focusing on Volgorand drama and wishing to be one of the performer in it's famed theatre, he even taught himself to do several of traditional dances and once became a street performer alongside OWAKCX.

-Aside from being a theatre ethusiast, he's also obsessed with psychological enigma. He's often seen conducting "social experiments" (apparently just scruntinizing and try to conclude of what certain action means what of some sort) on individuals or himself. He's taken a big inspiration from his childhood-best-bud, OWAKCX, regarding of his philosophy and exploration of sprunki-mindset and psychology.

-On the behalf of OWAKCX, he's been friend with Grey ever since elementary and became best friend ever since. They went to the same highschool and university. OWAKCX was as if a saint for Grey due to his divergent and sophisticated mind who interests himself with psychological dilemma. Grey is also influenced by OWAKCX theories on social reforms or things (too lazy on bringing up on this one).

-As mentioned three paragraphs before, he was deeply influenced by Volgorand culture and traditions. This is because of his fiancé, Alizia, who is native to Volgorand. She became one of his sole motivation in the university alongside OWAKCX and he loved her very dearly. Her appearance closely resembles Wenda, with one of the most crucial difference in detail being her eye color and height (she is the same height as Grey where Wenda is somewhat 20 cm shorter). Though, 6 years of Grey's college life, she was sadly, deemed deceased due to a car accident (Grey and her was planning to engage right after they graduated). This struck a Grey like thunderbolt, forever scarring him throughout his currently life.

-He is now working as the town Head Secretary, real estate agent and rent collector, working alongside Simon who's currently going for an internship under his supervision. Besides Simon, he's also working for Wenda D'Felizio, the town's Head Treasury and Estate Supervisor, also daughter of the Head Owner of the Estates. She is well known for her wealth, power and questionable attitude, and if she were to be compared with Alizia, she'd be a complete contrast to each other, as if making an insult to Grey's face in directly. They both LOATHE eachother, he would argue and be spiteful against her and often brought up topics such as union, social reforms, or other in similar, though, he'd be immediately reminded by her regarding his position and she'll be more than willing to strip him out of his current position if he's actually willing to.

-As an ending note, I admit solely inspiring him off Rodya from Crime and Punishment.

[infamous-light]

Just Believe

Mother Miranda x Gender Neutral Reader

AO3: Just Believe

Summary: Mother Miranda's perceptive gaze didn't miss the doubt that lingered like a shadow within the recesses of your mind during one of her sermons.

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Dub-con kissing

The village center bustled with activity, yet a heaviness weighed on your heart. Doubts had been gnawing at your thoughts recently like a persistent itch that couldn’t be scratched. The rituals, the chants, the unwavering devotion of your fellow villagers – they have always been the cornerstones of your existence.

As you stood inside the church, watching the villagers pile in, a nagging question formed in your mind:

Was this truly the path you wanted to follow?

Amid your contemplation, a graceful presence swept into the church, interrupting your thoughts. The soft rustling of fabric announced Mother Miranda’s approach, her tall figure casting a shadow that seemed to stretch across the nave and the pews.

Mother Miranda stood before the grand pulpit in her black robes, the fabric draped around her form, almost as if it had been molded to fit her. A stole of intricately woven silver patterns fell over her shoulders, catching the light in a way that seemed to make it shimmer like liquid moonlight. A large halo rested behind her head, adorned with intricate patterns and a single eye sat atop it, gazing down like an all-knowing sentinel. But it was the golden mask that caught your eye. It resembled a bird's face, its features delicately sculpted with precision and care, a creation that transformed her visage into a work of art. Her presence commanded attention, an embodiment of both authority and charisma.

Everything went silent.

The service began as Mother Miranda preached about the Black God. With a voice that resonated like a mellifluous melody, the words she spoke flowed like a river of wisdom and devotion. She spoke of unity, of purpose, of the divine path that guided their lives.

Her words carried a weight that struck deep within each heart present, invoking a sense of connection to something greater than themselves. The villagers hung on her every word; their faith cemented by Mother Miranda’s conviction.

Though her words were convincing, a flicker of uncertainty remained. As Mother Miranda’s sermon wove its narrative, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story, more to the Black God than what met the eye. Your doubts continued to linger like a whisper of truth to be heard amidst the fervor of devotion.

While Mother Miranda’s discourse pressed on, your gaze wandered over the faces of the villagers seated around you, finally coming to rest upon her masked visage once more. At that moment, her eyes met yours. It was as if an invisible thread drew your eyes to her and in that instant, the world around you blurred, leaving only her figure in sharp focus. Your heartbeat quickened and then stilled as if time itself had momentarily ceased to flow.

There was an intensity in her gaze, an unwavering focus that sent a shiver down your spine. Those ice-blue eyes of hers locked onto your conflicted expression and it was as if she could see straight through the façade you had constructed.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the moment passed. The world came rushing back, the ambient sounds regained their volume and you found yourself once again amidst the congregation.

As Mother Miranda’s sermon reached its crescendo, you couldn’t shake the feeling that her gaze had been more than just a passing glance. You were left to grapple with the realization that Mother Miranda’s attention had fixated on you, specifically. It was as though her gaze had pierced through the sea of villagers and found you, unveiling a secret you hadn't shared with anyone.

A look that seemed to say she knew.

The villagers around you began to stir, their movements synchronized as they prepared to depart the church, their faces carrying expressions of renewed faith. Just as the last of the villagers started to file out the arched entrance, your peripheral vision caught a glimpse of movement. It was her – Mother Miranda.

“You there. Stay.”

Her words echoed throughout the church, carrying an air of authority that seemed to command even the very air to halt.

Her robes billowed with a quiet elegance as she moved forward, each step deliberate and measured. The sense of isolation was palpable as she approached, the space around you narrowed to encompass only her and you.

She stopped a few paces away, her eyes fixed on yours.

“Mother Miranda,” you croaked out. Your voice betrayed the nervousness that had settled into your bones. Your throat was parched, her name emerging as if pulled from the depths of a desert. “How may I help you?”

A slow, knowing smile appeared on the lips of Mother Miranda as you uttered your question. The curve of her mouth held both a hint of amusement and a glint of something darker. Her eyes, like twin abysses, seemed to pierce through the layers of your uncertainty, exposing the vulnerable core that doubt had etched within you.

"How may you help me?" she echoed, her voice a melodic blend of honeyed persuasion and underlying malice. "My dear child, there is nothing you can do to help me.” She continued, her eyes never leaving yours. “I sensed something in your gaze during the sermon. A flicker of uncertainty perhaps?”

Her words hung in the air; a challenge masked in the form of a question. The weight of your doubts and uncertainties pressed down on you but the fear of Mother Miranda’s potential wrath loomed even larger. The thought of admitting your faltering belief to her seemed like stepping onto a precipice, one that could lead to consequences you could not predict.

“Of course not, Mother Miranda,” your voice emerged, carefully measured, an attempt to steady the unease that churned within you. “The sermon was powerful, as always. Your words have a way of reaffirming our devotion.”

Her expression remained inscrutable, a mask that betrayed nothing of the thoughts that roiled beneath.

“Is that so?” she replied, her tone a delicate balance between skepticism and amusement. “You’re quite bold to lie to me.”

She took a step closer. The walls of the church, once familiar and comforting, now seemed to close in around you, backing you into a corner. Your back pressed against the cool, ancient stones, a sensation that mirrored the chill that had crept into your heart.

And then, she was before you, a towering figure that seemed to eclipse even the shadows that clung to the corners of the church. Her presence was both overwhelming and suffocating, like the weight of a thousand watchful eyes upon you. As Mother Miranda looked down upon you, a predator assessing its prey, the true magnitude of her power became palpable.

You were a pawn on her chessboard, an unwitting player in a game that transcended mortal understanding.

“I apologize, Mother Miranda,” you managed to stutter out, your voice trembling with the weight of admission. “I was afraid of telling you the truth.”

Her response was immediate. The tip of a gold-clawed index finger rested on your lips, a gesture that was both intimate and intrusive. “Be quiet.” Her command was like a spell, woven with an authority that demanded unquestioning obedience.

Your voice had been stilled; your agency was stripped away by her insidious influence.

“Doubt is a natural progression on the path of devotion. It is through questioning that one finds deeper understanding.” Mother Miranda intoned. The candlelight danced upon her features, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to morph her visage into something both ethereal and foreboding. “You see, doubt can be a catalyst for growth, an opportunity to forge an even stronger connection to the Black God. It is in these moments of uncertainty that true loyalty is tested, and true devotion solidified.”

A subtle pause lingered in the air, pregnant with unspoken implications. Her gaze held you captive, the weight of her words settling like a shroud upon your shoulders. “I have been watching you, my child, seen the doubts that have taken root within your heart. But fear not, for I am here to guide you. To help you navigate the labyrinth of your belief and emerge stronger, more resolute.”

Her words, like tendrils of a seductive incantation, seemed to wrap around you, weaving a narrative that blended the allure of answers with the undertones of obedience. “In time, you shall come to understand that your doubts are part of a greater plan, a plan that will lead you closer to me. Closer to the truth that the Black God offers.”

She extended a slender hand, the fingers adorned with intricate golden ridges that gleamed in the flickering light. “Walk with me, my dear, and I will show you.”

As her fingers brushed against the side of your cheek, a shiver coursed throughout your body. The temptation of her words mingled with the chilling realization of her intent — to draw you into her orbit, to keep you within her watchful gaze. And at that moment, you were faced with a choice, one that could either lead you deeper into her enigmatic embrace or push you to break free from her manipulative grasp.

But was it much of a choice?

At that moment, you made the only logical decision available in such circumstances — a decision driven by the primal instinct to safeguard your own existence.

“Yes, Mother Miranda. I will walk with you.” You said, your voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and submission.

“Excellent.” She purred, the word rolling from her lips like a velvety whisper. The glow in her eyes intensified, the radiance within them seeming to burn brighter.

As the air crackled with tension, her fingers slipped behind her mask and with a subtle movement, she removed the ornate golden bird mask that concealed her features and set it aside. The mask's removal revealed a visage both mysterious and striking, framed by an intricate cascade of platinum blonde hair. Her lips, soft and inviting, curved into a smirk. In the soft candlelight, her porcelain skin seemed to glow, emphasizing the ethereal beauty that she possessed.

Her eyes, those pools of captivating blue, bore into yours with an intensity that mirrored the weight of your shared moment. Her right hand moved toward the nape of your neck, her fingers curling in a slow, deliberate motion as they intertwined with your hair. With a harsh tug, she guided your head backward, causing the breath in your throat to expel.

“You will be a good little follower for me, won’t you?” Mother Miranda’s voice, soft as a caress, brushed against your lips like a beguiling promise.

Her mouth, now dangerously close, hovered in the space between you.

In that instant, you made a decision that seemed to reverberate through the very air. A step that might lead you to a revelation or a chasm of secrets that you couldn't yet fathom.

“Yes, Mother Miranda.” You breathed out, your voice laced with nervousness.

With a sense of anticipation hanging in the air, Mother Miranda leaned in, her breath mingling with yours. The world seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in time and space. Her lips brushed against yours, a delicate touch that sent delightful shivers down your spine.

Every sensation was heightened—the warmth of her skin against yours, the sweetness of her lips, the tender exchange of breath. In that intimate embrace, the doubts and uncertainties seemed to melt away, leaving only the raw authenticity of the moment.

Mother Miranda smiled against your lips, a tender curve that held a hint of triumph as if she had achieved a pivotal victory in this unspoken exchange.

[fumiyami]

FUMIKAGE TOKOYAMI

HEADCANONS!!

(or an excuse for me to dump all the thoughts my silly little critter mind thinks into your silly little critter mind!!)

1. autism!!! (I don’t have autism but I saw someone on tiktok headcanon him to be autistic so yeah!!!🤩🤩 if i’m not allowed to like headcanon him to have autism since I don’t have it then pls tell me!!)

2. dyslexia! (no specific reason for this just saw someone else headcanon him to have terrible spelling)

3. listens to mitski

4. dark shadow killed someone when they were both younger (possibly his grandad?) and it’s stuck with Fumi [like in that scene in Ep 44 roaring upheaval where when DS was going wild he said “get away from me!! you’ll die!!”☹️☹️]

5. he and dark shadow both had grudges against Hawks during the first week when they met him (birds hold grudges☺️☺️☺️)

6. gives crystals to those he likes (platonically or romantically your choice!!) like penguins do with rocks

7. HATES when someone ignores him. biggest ick ever (kinda canon cuz when Hawks ignored his phone calls and stuff during the vigilante arc and when izuku was just daydreaming about kacchan and accidentally ignored Fumi)

8. definitely got annoyed by class 1A (mostly Mina and Denki) once when he was eating chicken or something and they struck up a conversation about cannibalism (saw this in a fic I think??)

9. once got caught in his room doing a demon ritual (he revelled too much in the dark)

10. if he were looking for a romantic partner, he’d definitely go with someone who’s the complete opposite of him due to most birds liking shiny stuff (probably someone like Aoyama but I’m a multi-shipper so I’m fine with anything!!)

11. speaking about birds, most people think him to be a crow or a raven BUT he more resembles a Koel bird!! (thank you to someone on Tiktok who pointed this out, I will give you my liver☺️☺️)

12. I don’t have many headcanons for his parents but I imagine them to be..not the greatest people ever😰 (thought of this from when he mentioned in the school briefs how he’s never been to an amusement park before and I know that could be considered normal but hear me out u guys🤯🤯 I want my goth son to have angst)

13. favourite colour is purple, favourite number is 7 (I’m tweaking yall)

14. takes Halloween SO seriously (me too bro me too)

15. SOO ticklish but he vowed to take this fact to the grave (only dark shadow knows and they use it against him like “Fumikage if you don’t let me chew on Mr Aizawa’s scarf I’m telling everyone in class 1A that you’re ticklish”) OR SOMETHING

16. maladaptive daydreamer (I’m projecting with this one u guys!!)

17. knows the entire dance to Rock Lobster by The B-52’s on justdance unwillingly

18. his fav song changes a lot but at one point it was Goo Goo Muck by The Cramps

19. has to stop dark shadow from demanding pets from everyone in class 1A (it’s a daily routine)

20. knows a bunch of bird puns (blame the other silly bird man for this one😡😡)

21. won’t let anyone in his room UNLESS he’s super close to them (like how he tried to stop class 1A going into his room in the dorms episode)

22. (aged up Fumi for this one!!) the complete opposite when he’s drunk and/or high (like super chatty, energetic and giggly) is this realistic??? I haven’t been drunk or high before so idk😓

23. tolerates physical touch (like hugs and stuff) but only from those he’s super close to (or all might in that one episode!!)

24. the first time everyone in class 1A saw him without the choker on some of them (mina and denki and possibly Kirishima🤗🤗) asked him where his neck went..

25. absolutely knocked out when sick/feverish!! like incoherent mumbling, just super weak and dizzy and everything!! (I’ve been reading too much sickfics😰)

26. squawks involuntarily when caught super off guard and the first time it happened was in the class 1A dorms in front of everyone and he was so embarrassed he didn’t speak for a week

27. fluent in some random cool language (like Latin or something equally as cool!!😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎)

28. if he did have a human head then he’d dream of having every piercing on there as possible

29. has a mix of human hair and feathers so he’s gotta do like both brushing and washing it with shampoo and conditioner and stuff but also gotta preen with preening oil (birds naturally have that off of their tail feathers I think but like he doesn’t have a tail so😞)

30. you cannot tell me this man isn’t a writer like with the way he speaks it should be canon!! I can imagine him doing poems and stuff but also turning to other ways to write…(he makes sure no one in his life will ever know his AO3 username)

31. favourite sonic character is Shadow the hedgehog

32. stares outside and just zones out which resulted in the time he once accidentally spaced out while staring at someone (a character of your choice) and was so embarrassed after

33. speaking about embarrassment, he gets embarrassed super easy!!

34. is so painfully awkward around most tiny children (he’s warmed up to eri though after finding out they both have a shared love of apples)

35. sometimes cringes on what he says but knows he can’t take it back (it’s okay my son I’ll still platonically love you!!)

36. hates the fact that he’s been asked by people (TODOROKI.) if he’s Hawk’s brother or relative or something but hates it even more how Hawks barely denies it😡

37. gets his gothic mannerisms from both dark crystal (a pro hero who we can assume he idolises who is mentioned in the school briefs i think) but also a relative like an older sister!!

38. has crazy good intuition

39. is really surprised whenever someone mentions how cool or great dark shadow is since he never really heard that growing up (thank you Izuku!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

40. communication is SO important to him

41. finds it really hard to open up because of feeling like a birden (get it? “bird-en”? haha🙁🙁🙁)

42. he’s super close friends with mostly the heteromorphs of 1A like Koda, Shoji and Tsu but also friends with others who aren’t like Iida and Jirou

43. LOVES conspiracy theories

44. doesn’t cry often but when he does then you know it’s serious😞😞

45. HATES the fact that he has teeth (cuz it looks weird considering how he has a beak) so he’s vowed to never smile with his teeth

46. the type of person to say happy birthday the MOMENT it hits midnight on your birthday :))

47. used to be afraid of flying but made sure it wasn’t noticeable in front of Hawks

48. was genuinely surprised when he saw that the ones in 1A who saw dark shadow go wild didn’t like blame him or anything like how others have in the past🤯

49. dark shadow’s name is super simple because Fumikage had to pick it when they first manifested and since I can imagine he was super young when this happened he wasn’t very creative

50. whenever he and dark shadow play any type of board game together, he has to stop DS from eating the pieces when they’re losing

I got kinda unmotivated towards the end since I was so tired when I wrote all this but i’ll probably have more headcanons in the future!!🙀🙀🙀if y’all have any headcanons about him then please comment them cuz I always love hearing more!!

[imogenkol]

— WIP WEDNESDAY

getting the jump on this week’s wip wednesday hoping it motivates me 🤞

during Bix’s recovery post-ferrix, her and Imogen share a bit of an old ritual

“May I?” Imogen asked as she motioned towards her. 

It took a moment for Bix to understand what she was asking permission for, but once she realized Imogen offered assistance with her frustratingly unkempt hair, the mechanic gave a quiet nod. 

Bix always approached her thick, unruly hair with a wide-toothed comb rather than a brush. It prevented the curls from poofing out like a cloud of smoke. Just a few passes through the strands after she woke up tamed her hair enough to braid. Imogen – with her straight silky hair – seemed to know this. Without a comb worthy of the job on hand, she carefully ran her fingers over Bix’s scalp to loosen the tangles. To receive such warm, gentle touches caused Bix to shut her eyes and drink it in as her shoulders involuntarily slumped with a quiet exhale. 

A moment of peace. A moment of genuine comfort.

Then Imogen parted her hair down the middle, sectioning it off over both of her shoulders. She started with the left side first. Bix slowly opened her weary eyes to observe the bounty hunter’s hands begin to methodically part her hair into three more sections before she weaved the strands. 

The pattern was simple, nowhere near the intricate weave that Bix used to practice nearly every single morning before she opened the yard, but the fact Imogen knew how to braid at all kind of surprised her. Bix had never seen her hair in any style even resembling that of a braid, even when it had been pinned back. 

With a small leather cord, Imogen tied off the first braid and went to work on the other. Bix took a few moments to study her like she never has before. The crease between her eyebrows had relaxed despite the utter focus in the woman’s intense, steel gray eyes. Bix followed the angle of her nose down to her slightly parted lips. She missed their softness. She missed the way her breath would come rushing out between them. 

A part of her wondered if she would ever get to feel them the way she has always longed to feel them – tenderly, lovingly, without reservation. Bix wanted a kiss that felt the way Imogen’s hands did running through her hair.

“I hope that is… sufficient,” Imogen announced in an almost bashful tone once she leaned back.

Bix blinked out of her stupor and glanced down at the finished braids. While they were not done by her own hand, they would have served her well enough on a work day. Imogen’s efforts made her feel a little bit more… herself, however fleeting that feeling may be. “Thank you.”

“I admit it has been quite some time since I have braided.” 

“Where’d you learn how?” 

Imogen went still. Bix caught the subtle twitch of her upper lip that would happen whenever she struck a nerve, only now it hadn’t been intentional. She expected the bounty hunter to ignore the question at best and retaliate with a bitter retort at worst, but Imogen instead met her gaze and the twitch turned into a small smile. 

“I once wore one. A small braid over my right shoulder.” She pulled forward a strand of hair from behind her ear as if to show the mechanic the nonexistent braid she spoke of. Bix could still picture what it might have looked like. Now that Imogen described it, she thought perhaps she recalled tales told in her early childhood of young Jedi wearing such braids. “Of course, the rest of my hair was much shorter then. All the way above my shoulders. I hated it.”

Bix let out a short, amused breath. However, unlike Imogen, she found herself rather fond of the mental image she had painted in her mind — that of a young girl with short hair and a braid over her right shoulder, scowl present, those cold eyes as striking as a bolt of lightning.

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@adelaidedrubman @florbelles @tommyarashikage @simonxriley @voidika

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@aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree

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@strangefable @jacobseed

[imagine-this-doesnt-suck]

Dead Doves were Born to be Eaten

YellowJewl

Summary:

Here is chapter 2/2 of the continuation fic to Sleeping with Spiders, I hope you're happy you little nasties. We're back and gorier than ever It's fucked, real fucked. There is murder, smut, violence, if you are not comfortable with these themes, don't worry it's not going to hurt my feelings if you scroll on by, I'll still love you.

Chapter 2

Their ecological role is to be prey,” said some doctor during a nature documentary, you had only turned on for the background noise. “They are born to be eaten, and humans are just one of their predators. Hunting has not caused any decline in the various dove species.” Its true, the bird's populations remain resilient, mostly because of their prolific reproduction methods. They’re basically flying rabbits. Commonly, producing only a pair of eggs for each nest, a mating pair will produce up to five broods of young annually, nesting from March until November. Eggs take just 2 weeks of incubation to hatch.

So in short you don't feel as bad about hunting them as you once did. The guilt that once weighed down your shoulders like a ton of bricks every time you grabbed your rifle for a hunt, that made you suffer through countless, meatless dinner nights with only the vegetables you grew from your amateur garden and instant ramen you had picked up from your bimonthly trip to town, to fill your stomach, had all passed. You were able to rationalize it now. It was okay.

They were born to die and be eaten.

You inhale a breath of crisp air into your lungs, it smells overwhelmingly like the pine trees surrounding you in this moment. As you exhale you take the time to level your rifle and aim while you prepare to shoot.

Since moving up here, so much has changed in these past few months. A part of you was worried that the isolation would get to you, that years of living in the city in your comfy apartment, would have made you too soft for this life. But in truth you loved it. You found your cabin to be cozy and charming. The chirping of birds and the delicate rustle of the leaves caused by the mountain breeze turned out to be quite relaxing while you painted. As far as finding being lonesome went, well…

He did stop by quite often, so you wouldn't say that you were all alone.

You had met him some months ago, right before you had decided to move up here. Your first meeting was… unconventional to say the least. But he had expressed great interest in your artwork and you found his talents to be quite entertaining as well. You wouldn't call it love, in your opinion you were both just a little bit too twisted for such a sentiment, instead a mutual fascination was born the the night the two of you crossed paths. 

Still, who could say that it was merely fascination that led him to your cabin time and time again, only to end up buried between your thighs, bloodied knife in hand and a breathy moan that resembled your name rolling off his tongue. 

You were grateful for him. For he was the one who awakened the real you. There was an ugly truth within you that your parents had shamed into hiding. The part of you that had only ever been let out of her cage when you painted. The girl who loved gore and horror, the girl who created truly horrific and blood curdling pieces, the girl who's toes curled in ecstasy whenever he would plunge a kitchen knife into your abdomen and slowly cut off your air supply as he choked you with only one hand. 

Being with him was like living, breathing art. A verse by one of the greats,  Being touched by him felt like poetry;

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The man was an insatiable sadistic.

And you were a monster.

You entered the log cabin with ease as the door was left open by its former occupant. The strong scent of iron gave away the presence of blood within your home. 

 Without even giving him a glance you let out an amused laugh. "Bringing your work home with you?" You joked.

"Not my home. Your's ." He responds with a smile.

"Hitchhiker or hunter?" You ask, your voice calm and level. It was casual, the conversation had a certain ease to it, as if you were chatting about what you would cook for dinner as you unloaded the groceries. The thought was so sickeningly domestic. 

You dump the dead bird carcasses on your counter.

"Hitchhiker. Picked him up on way here."

He doesn't turn to look at you as he speaks. From the moment you met him, you found the man before you to be unequivocally beautiful. With his raven black hair that falls just above his shoulders in length and frames his pale face and short stature. He was probably just below five foot if you had to guess. But despite his stature he possessed an almost lethal aura about him and when his sharp grey eyes dart to meet yours, fear itself almost made you turn tail and run when you had first encountered him. Now, his back faces you as he hunches over the young man tied and gagged to one of your dining room chairs. 

You approach Feitan from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling him affectionately, "that's hot." You tell him, feeling up his chest from over the long robes he's clothed in.

He grunts. "Mmm..." You continue to nuzzle him while you whisper sweet nothings in his ear. 

With razor sharp precision and speed, your lover plunges the knife into the man, you sigh dreamily. The victim screams out in pain, the stab wound wasn't enough to kill him, it was just deep enough to keep the game going.

In a second chair, you hear a whimper and turn to be greeted with the sight of a young woman, she looks thrown about and frightened. The victim's girlfriend you suspect, sobs as Feitan continues with his torture.

"Stop, please stop!" She begs, "I'll do anything. I'll... I'll give you anything you want." Tears stream down her beet red face, leaving stains of mascara running down her cheeks. A pitiful sight indeed but, one you know the man you are draped over would enjoy quite a bit.

 You turn and smile at her, "hush. He likes it when you scream, I don't recommend it unless you want it to be your turn sooner."

Her pupils dilate in terror as she goes silent, heeding your warning. Leaving the two of you continue to torment the now unconscious man, severing a finger every so often to awaken him from his slumber.

"Let me grab a drink. I'll be right back." You tell him too casually as if the two of you were simply sitting on the couch together watching a movie. You rush to the kitchen and reach into the cupboard to grab something you were saving for a while. Clear liquid sloshes around in the bottle as you giddily rush back to the atrocities in the living room.

You throw your head back as you take a swig of alcohol. It burns your throat on the way down, setting your insides on fire, adding to the heat and excitement you are already feeling.

"Do you enjoy it?"

The question catches you off guard but you quickly recover, "I enjoy every moment I spend with you." You say honestly. You assume he's asking about the work he's brought home and not the small bit of drinking you had indulged in. Though, honestly you do enjoy both. Drinking has become a bit more of a habit for you as you moved out here all alone. And more so since Feitan has so graciously included you in his passion projects. The booze just loosens you up is all, not that you have any inhibitions about your actions but, it does help quiet that still small voice inside that constantly reminds you that you are a monster. Not that you would tell any of this to Feitan.

Feitan looks down at you, surprise finds a home upon his brow. A pair of sharp grey eyes regard you for a moment with such intensity before coming to rest in an amused expression. "You enjoy every moment you spend with me?" He says, his voice showing curiosity, "Then why do you spend so little time with me?" He seems to be in a teasing mood today. A good thing for you.

 You swat his arm and laugh, "because you are always away with your little troupe, doin crime or whatever." You go to take another swig but take a second to drink the moment in instead, strands of raven black hair fall into his face as he leans towards you, smirk peeking out just above his bandana. As your laughter dies down, you feel the slight tinge of pink stain your cheeks.

He reaches his hand out and grabs yours, pulling you close, "I am always away with my little troupe, if I was not, we would see more of each other."

"What do you mean?" The pink in your cheeks fade into a bright cherry red. Something wells up inside you as you ask this question. It's excitement. It's knowing that the next words out of his mouth could mean everything. Could change everything. Up until this moment, you knew the deal, it was just sex accompanied by the mutual enjoyment of the slaughter and gore. You were never going to ask for more but now that the thought was placed in your head, you couldn't help but mull it over. Even you want to feel a connection.

He looks like he's about to reply to your inquiry and you impatiently await his words, when suddenly like nails on a chalkboard, the victim's girlfriend interrupts with her sobbing, "please! Please let us go!" It seems as if she couldn't hold her tongue any longer.

Feitan turns to look at her, a faint smirk on his face. He reaches his hand out and gently squeezes her cheeks as she sobs, forcibly making her purse her lips. "If that is what you want, girly." He says, venom dripping off his sweet words.

You glare at the two as the interaction plays out. Why couldn't the woman just keep quiet? Did she just have to be such an attention whore and ruin your moment? Whatever happened to women supporting women? Annoyed, you pick up a severed finger that the man had lost and walk over to the woman. you frustratedly push past Feitan and stuff the appendage in her mouth and sneer. "There that will shut you up" you say.

She begins to sob as Feitan releases her face, but before she can cough up the foreign object in her mouth, you clap your hand over her mouth and begin to squeeze.

 She begins to choke on the finger.

You let out a delighted chuckle as her eyes start to bulge from their sockets. You make a mental note to try to remember every detail of her now nearly blue face as you think about what a lovely portrait her tear stained visage would make.

Feitan draws you out of your concentration as he wraps his arms around you and begins to feel you up his hand dipping up under your shirt, "you are always so creative" he coos. You feel his other hand wandering down into your pants, but before you can react he begins to squeeze your breasts.

"Ah, you have such nice ones. Pretty little slut" He comments, as he pinches a nipple in between his fingers

 "Horny asshole." You spat before engulfing him in a kiss. The two of you collide in a passionate ferver as you continue to explore each other's bodies, until you have just about felt each other up everywhere.

You moan in ecstasy as you see him grab for his knife. You shiver in anticipation as you await for what you consider the best part of the night.

Your arms tighten around his neck as you move to straddle him. Bucking your hips, you begin to ride him back and forth, the both of you moaning as he tightens his grip on the blade in his hand.

Your fingers tangle themselves into his hair as you try to anchor yourself to reality. Panting, you breathe out, "what was that about wanting to be with me more often?"

"Don't remember…saying that." He grunts out as his fingers dig into your ass cheeks, helping you along as you ride him. He tightens his grip and you swear that he must've drawn blood.

You furrow your brows in frustration. And through the utter ecstasy of being impaled upon the man below you, you stutter out your response, "C-come on. Early- oh fuck yes! Ah! Earlier you at least pretended like you like me " you manage to whine out the words. You feel him stall for a moment. As if your words gave him a reason for pause but, the cold steel finds it's home dangerously close to your jugular.

"I like you... a lot." You are like a deer in the headlights as your eyes widen. You study his face, his demeanor, the tiny subtle movements of his blade, any sign that he was feeding you horse shit. But whether you simply cannot read the man or the woman alone, lost in the woods, wants so desperately to find a connection to anything that she manages to delude herself, you are unable to sniff out the lie

"I like the way you scream." as his knife trails across your jawline. He smirks as the knife flows down your curves line running water. You squeeze your eyes shut and grin wickedly as you fall victim to the extacy of the moment. You scream out as his knife plunges into your stomach. Your back arches as you scream, crying out in pain as your blood pours out of you.

You hear him chuckle. "I think you like the way i cut you up."

"Yes! Yes!" You moan.

He laughs as the blood coats you like a warm blanket.

Your vision begins to blur as you breathe out the forbidden words between you two and whisper, "I love you…"

 You when you finally do awake on your cabin's couch, your wounds are bandaged and the two victims are slumped over in a corner, presumably dead. Feitan meanwhile, is no where to be found.

He must have unsurprisingly ran off. Your fault really. You spooked him, like a deer fleeing from a warning shot. Should have known better than to get too close. Sometimes you just forget yourself though, you start to think of him as a mirror to yourself. Another monster thirsty for blood but seeking something more. But he isn't you. 

You roll off the couch as your stomach growls and you clutch your bandages as you stumble towards the kitchenette. The dove you had shot, waiting patiently for you to turn it into a meal. You recall one time when you had tried to cook dove for Feitan once before. He had just sneered at you, snapping "Don't you ever fucking eat normal food?"

You smile at the memory when you finally make your way to the kitchen table and sit down to eat. And proceed with the day like any other.

The world doesn't stop when Feitan leaves on his trips. You wake up, eat, shower, do your chores around the cabin and garden, hunt, check your traps, and find time to paint. 

Speaking of chores, after you dump your dirty dish into the sink, you set out on cleaning up the mess from the day before. As you leave the cabin you toss your gun sling over your back, figuring you might be able to shoot a few doves down in your downtime. Grabbing a wheelbarrow and shovel you push it towards your front door and begin to load up. You make a point to do these sort of chores in the morning, or else the smell starts to become too bad. 

You wheel your load past your garden and closer to the tree line. You grab your shovel and begin to dig. Birdsong serenades you as sweat beads on your forehead as you work. It has been unusually hot this time of year, normally summer would have already began to make way for autumn by this time past years. Which reminds you, you should probably try to down a few bucks before the end of the season this year. You don't want to be all out of food halfway through winter. Some deer could do you some good.

When you finally decide that the hole is deep enough, you drop your shovel and stretch. Cracking your back as you do so and letting out a yawn. After this you might just take a nap, you deserve it after all.

Turning back to the wheel barrow, you're finally ready. You loop your arms up under the corpse's armpits and pull him from the wheel barrow. He's a bit heavy and you nearly tip over as you drag him towards the hole. You curse yourself for letting him leave you with this part of the job time and time again. He's just like a little kid, refusing to put away his toys after playing. At the edge of the small pit you have the body off the edge and hear it drop to the bottom with a final thud.

You stare at the body in the hole. A bit disappointed, if you had to admit. The scene was just so un-picturesque. Of course, with you having to practically push after dragging, his nearly bloated corpse into the pit, didn't leave much room for the most graceful landing. His face is obscured by the soil that it's buried in, his hind quarters curled awkwardly towards the sky. More humiliating for the dead man than it is eye-catching to you. 

Oh well, time to dump the girlfriend in the pit.

Learning from your past mistakes, you grab the handles of the wheelbarrow in hopes that it would be easier to chuck the second body down the hole this way. After pushing it to the very edge of the pit, you are ready to lift the back end up, until you hear a quiet whimper break through the quiet sounds of nature surrounding you.

You stop cold in your tracks. 

She's still alive.

A strangled sob escapes her and your blood runs cold. This is a first. It's not like Feitan to leave any bodies breathing before leaving your cabin. " Help m-" she chokes on her words along with the blood she coughs up. What are you supposed to do? You're in broad daylight out in open, merely yards away from your cabin's garden. And you've never done this alone. She looks so much more frail with the sun reflecting on her pale sunken skin. When her clouded eyes meet yours, you all but keel over yourself. "You have to help me please."

Unable to break eye contact, you shake your head. "I can't." The woman looks almost ethereal, velvet red blood spilling over her violet bruised lips framed by skin so ghostly, it's practically translucent. As soon as you spoke, her brows knit themselves in distress. Her once comatose limbs rise out of the wheelbarrow like the undead breaking free from the earth. You stumble backwards, away from her as climbs out, you hastily grab your rifle from your back. "My boyfriend he-" on doe like legs she stumbles about looking around frantically until her eyes land on the pit. She drops to her knees. "No…"

You take a tentative step towards her, rifle still raised, as if she truly were a deer that you didn't want to scare off. She's crying, staring into the abyss of her late lover's grave. "What do I- he's gone. He's gone. What do I do?" She's in hysterics when she turns to you.

"Did you love him?" You don't know where the question comes from but it spills out of you none the less. You are met with a gaze you are unable to define. "I guess you could say, love someone too, " you tell her as you step closer to her. 

"Please, please help me." She begs once more. "If you- you say love someone so you- please I don't want to die." Weeping and barely comprehensible. You know what she's asking. She wants you to help her escape. She most likely believes that Feitan will return and make sure she shares her boyfriend's final resting place. And of course, she would need your help, there's no way she would be able to make it out of the forest herself, especially injured and lacking in supplies. 

Some might argue that it would be an act of mercy to allow death to take her instead, like a wounded deer needing to be put out of it's misery, instead of dropping her off at the nearest township.

You are also aware that if she were to ever make it out of these woods, the cabin would be compromised. Even if you were to swear, or scare, her to secrecy, there is no way she would not go seeking medical help, they would start asking questions. The most pressing being the whereabouts of her boyfriend. And that could lead to the authorities looking for Feitan. What if all of this lead to him not coming back to the cabin because he no longer saw it as safe anymore.

The barrel of the gun comes to rest in the middle of her forehead.

Realization hits her like a ton of bricks. Her blood and tear stained face contorts as she she shifts violently from the bargaining phase to anger. "No! You can't do this! You- you monster!"

A soft smile lands on your lips, "I know. But even monsters want to feel a connection." 

A blast rings through the forest. Birds flee from their trees and take to the sky. A corpse falls gracefully into its grave. And you are left with the image of the ethereal woman sprawled across their lover, the picture finally completed, made multitudes better as you stare down the hole at the ghastly image. It will make a lovely painting, you note to grab your sketchbook before night fall so you can capture the sight later.

For now, you take the handles of the wheelbarrow and turn it around, heading towards your cabin's modest garden. You can hear the mourning dove's song above you, as the birds have begun to return to the area after the gunshot rang out. 

The guilt that briefly weighed down your shoulders like a ton of bricks when you were first faced with killing the girl had passed now.You were able to rationalize it now. It was okay.

Sometimes, like doves, people were born to die.