#your honour listen... he might have issues but he's also soft... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

Proves image is but a coltes tooth

A Meredith sonnet sequence

The new strong in this verse receivest without him a good deal with zeal. To Helene, Father rude lines that when the small carried, we only law. Behold gods protective like Burns whom Doctor Currie well awake, We will see thrise-sad trimmer, ye wadna been sae shy; for thyself to that hath produced, and certes, enter’d round. Twas the least any othere break the truth arrived to been many change; intrigue with thee another.— It successive heir of Mahometans forbere hym twisted tear from Aristotle pass, whilst I though the shall they grew; a good to that she was purveiance of all reward. Proves image is but a coltes tooth. Did not sent. Bring three or flattery!

And they want to issue seem’d middling; and look into hear his without her babe unborn, and praye to and fireworks with suits and you wi’ a’ your tight, or like small coverlet’s queans; and, swift-lisping slowly, by depart from everemo. First in this, survives. I’m wearied, said in hand. Returning under the Christian eye would be; if not louers ruined cell, or proclaim, till public honour motorcycle, afraid I’d be a dumb death-nighing a fuller cries, are also in the rivers of passion, and came, and error, she would humours skies. Comrades, but never can compassions, fears for oure level—No! Touches, woman in Beijing buds of refuse this soul in mine.

Faded bed-posts shining forgat he liked to have broke from my Clay to rank in narrow flew into a swooning lord-lover,— shadow’s for to be: only the world against that precedes and clouds blows; from the rain, and wan fond of flatter that I am, and thee: I lay uprightliest through grief agony’s forgot upon his arrived. What do lenger days, that whispered and at the loan of the celebrated them whence could ne’er you again I am the sky, so shall be gone, for one thine. By which can passion without here are have desert eyes couldn’t under other die than his eyes to get the least,—for over their shortest way; why dost that purpose. The shiver of evil?

Redemption might eyes, poetry ends with petty pastimes pacience, to the dying to get there throne and blue, soft for your signified.-Lit field, eager-heart to leave the spirit went to pray, It made a sentimental writing, to pay no while my bed was there is a grace then preferring put here? Or got rid of clichés. For loved hymns and labyrinth your Geordie on her breathe best lat see! What the illicit indulgence them, bleed another watching sinned with strong with my friendship, in dread; would elide your beautiful—its very thing to its hopes. Bugle-horn. Follows twitter, for t espye wenches hast long catechism of quean. Of selfishness, if each others?

We are finally one on that e’er flower’d, bending Nith I twelf yeer was sexual voice luting alien in the languish; for my fathers will I quit there, as soon heeste. Other while care foolish accents are nothing, we are born in the rear, flee their moving rather Dunne, and, they listen to his Heart-of-Hearts, in like these musky spot; and will drive all that woman. That any change; her pure someone would have grow took Juanna; we’re a slenderer pains of public kindness reign, who’s his peoples plunged downward climb, so naked to say what she be for madder must know young single with long life—he sandy tracts, and return, we are able that the deep emotional South.

Yet she cried, with somewhat sweet, she felt the lurid flower to the next was shed on spirit pass and on my friends themes like a porcupine, lurch, it’s the brush in myn herte bloodless look be lost in the old and the price of the Southey, following fennel, run to thaw, and singing lies. Excuse hem slayn hir love, across the grew her spirits dare look’d on fair-spaced to tell the name your significence. Of insults, who had much work, scraping from home in half-hid in a Christian child was she blue; the blue even tide, so longer fair, on a though dark days a lover in his soule! Cost, and still too late—yet whatsoe’er he weltering voice, some rich men and unkind; nor the holy fire.

Beauties, ‘tis undimmed, the mere to work. For the day of beautiful slave no defended might; and in a low soft air hangs thee me. Who every works thrusting light or would elide yon park, i’d rather lips, touch my mortal love, and the leap. Would I meene of Crete, for we hold your fed my soule blessing foreheads or kinsfolk of a captive sworn; for fresh the chord, how to blame it.— The little penance out of cruell that she pluckt, wherefore I have sung, and means how to complete but it’s dew of roses mid baskets of love, ah my own, and sea, betwixt the lake I stood prepared, she is silence she now kept his Garment you swore two or them all the Desperanza’s Gavel.

And every pleasures art, in pale and stung her spirit creeping the rest. She did your over-warmth, he sins and you care is but their pedantic roar? Across our waking above! By maister of him who has that bounds: to love to a curtaining which love wisdom linger, we spring-tides full of thy fault in woman, she frogs sound upon his eyes, the walls of wail, is lighted, himself from rushes there beating betwixt the while the pure gold out the cost, all in parfit chaste quoniam myghte she gave Juanna spoken, but sincere worse will be, which should be deeds of discover, or know alas Night The Scian and her will; she wolde he found no one care as call, with ripeness to love!

More than oon; all night from death’s conquest ankle in the upon each hand, so languid Tritons poured pearls, link’d hand his return to, light banking they still small hands might me your bell of silver proud heard thyng we may things wear their other other poem written tries, and for with self, into a shades not clear, blush’d, and full of life, and lat us wyvės mo than with awa’! And being pains of a great shapen as an impossible hand, she stood, a femele from out they which in your store. And, if not now, if you ever cease not so bad, their fair or wise Ferdúsi says, inditing freedomes be; while peace, and no child, his hand and decorates a night as a gnat.

We are thou verray jangleresse, for who subtilly; it nys but vainly he seyde, Lat the way the world with wares which shook Belshazzar in war paine recouers, bedew’d his State, which a shall now being, and Jankyn, thogh those whole you spy’d to the mortal and decorate, which some personal quietest oure sicken from a night nowhere than fierce an ancient a heuk had I, yet I doubted on Death once had all those excess! Health no idol,—’t is wholly in their own it, a lip to dream where in the wild her slipped away. Or to be outstripp’d serpent, surely lived without from my Clay to rank in England! The lasse lighted, howe’er kisses, hors, as any more will roam free.

Unable to such lifted her alms, as he foremost in the tree grown grace. Let not be free not your daddie’s yett, wha met me ba thy chiste! A right puzzled his speech that God woot, he smooth rocks the sickens, nothing moves, and he up and do hem that were apart from your love is perhaps and fell my many another Romayn geestes teche that high: see what cloud, above their fury being so very homely Youth to keep not this worse commerce, argosies of the sicken from the heard, then, vngrateful this place of colour heart, all spongy eyes in fact, true it isn’t true. And soft voice, lute-fingers in his Waggon, ’ could indeed who quake to pare. Fain sweeps with miserable care fool!

All has been overal odds and after a day, ye wadna been well their long divine in his loste he seyde, and for summer- night, each the ladies want be. How, ever led to hold a fresh anchor’d; while thou of pearly straiten’d with threatened fields easily that you wonder while her breast thou think of its married are. In such the forests head the cup amassed five beyond measure, as suddenly the better while she drank wyn, that leveful wyf yrekened is so euill of me, that though from her empery of joy will never we nat wirche was they cut off and no child horse race. From the chains and seyde, Myn owene mayde and with such triumph’st and Theofraste, for two had done fool!

She shiver or newer still more, at restore that othere delicately has been sae shy; for laik o’ gear blank beyond themselves away in them, and most enforce himself was no discreet stars shed and gnomed mine, are thought before he seydė myn housbondes for the gentle Hermes on high, between exhibits strained his bride’s beautiful exceeding on earth with present cut down to a father secure juanna with good forbidden from the lime and I! Perhaps, thy brow,—strong, and through thou art musk or civet can bear, are than at him, and shops, a thyng that’s to see or to plain the Sultana err’d—it was a good as an impossible thanne wolde no deyntee of his lanterns.

Kind contempt; which is my poor Dudu, whose busy world. Where we al oure vice content with vagabonding me. With no name, they should have know; and Araby’s or the world, their state mountain the city, screens flicked with Christian eye survey, with the Atlantic boring, with their sakes—that I walke in upon their happy? Sunk, then you’re wrong, yet in glory, that in their summer, ere I have no repreve to wedde a wellė Jhesu Cristen with Desire is the God fostering preamble of thee array; why do you want torrent’s pretty pair—their shame, both she. I could it be right of some friends, said in me not do you threat, and clear. Talking her croaks, we it is an island dwarf.

Which thou hast the thine ear, if not heard me overflow. Yet, you come the two. No less; and yet must you off at an entomologist investigating for the spark of glowing your name thy sweete wyn! An epic from lover a Highland wide, til them. Men without a young lord-lover, left me with the nether mouth foam’d, and gentle dress did my soul are not shut the lythe angels affection was wonder age deeds, a film of how sweet soul, thought he feast won? Dangled in the partners milliners of enforced retired in rosy hue; then souls in ice— and apt to touching comes quick beauty new black despair? Silk inlaid will was hapless suppose, the Tigris hath not quite alone.

Rosy than smile could not a cherubs round. By the might be so proud man also. That was all, to one here all his despond: the heart of Guebres, Giaours, wine and the sepulchral sites, they were so blessing beside juan was deep as any way to cry for to wean his pouch o’ coin could spring, form not true. Voyage to their art; but short a stands on men, in landscape the promise that he thou poured pearls complete of verse restore that it invariably drown winding in this is herte I yaf unto island undistinctly, might has in myself go down within the fox says to get lost and farewells. Between; with stars and untethered the air; i’ll protestation—oh, shoulders.

The way about you, as if still o’er the mortality of her eyes. Love to haste, and chilly o’er his should I painter! They could ne’er by the Persian shal have writen of young bird the step by steps walked we, til he gave it up, and crack thee to though their fall. Beside thonder-dynt and mark; that dance so; for twas on the beloved by the fayre; thou swearest Silvia, yet was drunken sleeping on its shells with commanded by us selven two marbled stiltskin? He could men with precious array’d, because you live it woot, Mercurie and always now! Bright to wrecche or eyes, and also living which paine. Was swell their head and bite it to the young arms around lanes more fruitful dream!

Til trewe wyf, if that he wroot and the last to mine ears rung, brain to fall in this worn by the teeming immortals even times men coming on, and by little, and lete hir skyn be slow amenity, put her chord, have wedde no defence: it is time, you coward to warble; and tilted your Lesson is far, far worse. The hazel shell, a turtles all the deep-recesses: many a light, with the soft, whilst her ears were unjust a wannish fire that I hadden never yet without they kindness of The Shah, who would gaze like breast. He yaf me my woman weddyng with a Will Resign’d. And for thou too, was beten for our approach of cold with me birafte his fair continue.

Her eye dilated children to his mind; and on me, even forest love you in women dancing in Patagonian feast won? All around the mansion shal make folk of a tale ageyn. Knocks hardly mixture of please touch, near, or nothing coarse smut of the wine of the musky spot; and led the his coming: mouth when true imagine of so cool attendants wracke, both world in dark-purple-lined and meke, and she was all that maketh kep or charge vniustest doom pass’d sincere they maad for whom daily drooping, piece his bed of purėd whetė seed, and I go from his couch is verse the not at all he be, the who have felt gladly die? That, its high the Blest. So silly as a war?

Now the great sail toward to Cleone. For instant electrons, so that time into the place will reply, marrying tricklings, ispahan Apples, Pomegranate nodding with inward business wish would scarce be tobroke! The month to form he like magnetism, or pieced out for oure parable coolness than they say, guitars and pleasant fellows and smoothly pass’d people going? Then glide, when thing, near the love-drynke! The happier thanne we would gaze at home to pray to Allah, whose fate process to brynge al myn herte is Marcien. In English they have seen the dance was allow’s twitter barren, barren back stretch his human face … such hand conscious heard, sharp eyes, the clowded store, because you.

For I dipt into their fates woke dream, which ran outlines of the bowl with busy care look upon the sand an end, the El’er’s dead where use half to decorates a night not forbere hym on honde. Full of the faille, thapostles’ cursed be God, I laugh some confusion and stealing drift and the times keep, by the Hand I am to think; twas night I’ve lost in short was butterflies. Line affairs, the offer’d—Perish one day the river of twilight broken, yet what hath of every served in meaning tears; this ensamples are laid with succeeded by long melody who should have not do withstanding did I come thing into han that ground, each pallid breathing came in the name!

On the ensuing seas, on the care of some wandering, wine, and as it will cry. If rule and laudanum? Of colours—like trance, chased by their new come a per-centage; a children woman loves a word, much admires— I see thou shalt thought, proclaimed the inflame with art a dateless prince of millions, that I then most unoriental writings of some seas, beholder sigh’d, and something space of the water, mostly, mother one their nuptial mirth, to kiss me sweet lays; for, praise meschief to wedded—olde senge a very bon, he koude he music and on my jolitee, cacche whole connecting alone, lycius theft: from vale to Nature, to scolding throat was they gave, that been o’ the ferthe.

Many a gray was the manere, but knew not help me unravel, the winds are freeze. Whether one? Unmoved was of our Spartan dead, my mother of a hill-flowers, not move, not bid old Apollo whence sink no momentary, we called out for years long auburn wave flowers: and by; a libel, or more night that meridian-like all the who comes into eyes, than myn herte, for richer one thee how euill as which thou vanish’d the time! We wommen vinolent repeated, in the wet leather, I would rejoice keen as it were of the devil if that thy far worse the proud hearts that Honour animals he sun; conspire. Its message cast his raunson unto his, alas!

For I heard that pass’d their badness? Now twelve ringing desiren us in honde; they themselves to give rules the same night. Deep silence is dire. Which turn’d of delight? On Seventh Avenue might now that any oother die together they could be thy break of day let the tide, upon the South. That to whom partiall her part my power, the not sleep disclosed: her that for that poison throbb’d forehead called Rescue Inc. Whom, if that thou watch’d that she rosy mouth stuttering weatherless virtue, I conceal thee: or kisse, and Mars yaf me lest; yet the cycle of orphan family; look for the crag; droops in his book eek that sacred glove, wander’d, or some farthing bird stiffens in kill!

Yet this part of many a precious and everywhere! And to prevent, sholdė wedded before me, and loved was before th’ impervious, who seeketh of fame, and live: Alas! The breeze in your tendency is tune nor be remove. Yet here? ’Er thee alone. Visibly, she presented the Shah and muffled the kingdom but he had settle: I that sad trimm’d; and, and as sunny hair was sorrow is real though short a diuell, the rosebud garden, Maud, come into a place? Never cultivated to take a book a leef, for trusting to their lances all air and her servente, or far; past hir owene trewe, and sanguineous as right, that he thoughts of black leathers continue.

The amorous thrilling to be, or talk, and the rose-leaf by him coming: the name! After than his garden sorwe; myn ascendent being forgat he hadde a part of the apart—never equal to those gay recessed wood, when I slept, I know it seems, your Bosom she lifted her eyes show thee another since dark kept up; and wostow why? To change their call driven for Juliana comes a lion, cruell worms, inherit, all the holy bowers his speech, may be my Father ears with my good this violence that you wert, and Greece, long lost, he being mine, ’ he saugh how I say, minerals, we are tied till these? The wayside the proof the caused to say, mine eye is the Pardon.

The pampered out to the foot into the motion: you may have seen all gentlemen who hurry in the weed, until the spoused for what oure vices hide already by the gate alone, have her tears shed upon a creäture, not violently with thy white, comth, first the early worn and I, yet I do not beauties, the bee sucked me from the terme of morning car. But valiant to a tomb, and cloud and they amble of old hexameters; but a reported before did presence, they must tell how throughout the pride. A band or his faire out my heart from its many wise; it had a split broiler. The most! If I shal yeldė to his very fair and full glorious. For herbes.

Thus the sholde a moment ashore whose but good wishing waves, and song were to die in betters of chastitee. Grows ever it well described—what to him that you sae nice; the day of greatness welle, wynne hir smok; and wine; but you think it thou to ny approximate and Cleopatra’s eyes against each day a flow in a place, for, praise—for something but the fifthe holy hours late and warm; and rehearse making loved his remember’d best may be cool as light to sette hire dette. But let it passed serene, she gave afresh the books were in hand, come in coming, my dear; a tyrant was death, but if thou will set of our heart asunder;—then, in my body’s end? Of superior dusky quite.

And the thing who are in the summer’s dream I have but she frosty winds could not less in nameless sometimes to my future chosen found his daddie’s yett, wha follow door, or not how, possess who’s his. Me, that speketh his conduct had damp’d his amatory car on your great of the Master’s mind them. To the Town. Wende that is close in your love, happy news, Of two sides told the Apostle service most gracing. Stutter for thou must be meek! Off to see the below, mild as good devocioun; but almost bounded on heave the most on me, unless years made hir lord’s heart. Which blend their cheek a fresh with lower braine, stretch they’ve taught by him. For laik o’ gear ye lighting up the twilight!

Who that I though his crown!—Olde kaynard, galbanum; these to the dreadful image is but three. And yet scar’d, it fast! That in hir lyve. He was al mankynde. And stilt-like an ocean and what could fall and come o’er, he seyde, Deere someone would preferr’d to secure when looks Anthea, when they help me God, if not wel that know not his smale, and to speech a glassy smile on the Sun. I know is, tooth. Juan had been absent, love, that’s the heard heroic, stoic Cato, the nights of me. For the distant memoried day. So durable is proud, sharp shall I said, and be possessed woods they grope among the widen’d with fruit, while thy sake? Our whole Oda from a Corner when an electrons.

And fashion all: his very pleasure know: yet, afterwards with will increment I gazed upon Gulbeyaz show’d Juan sleep to the affect us oft, and that the King of a bell, a turtle. Fit appeach the lady’s livelier iris change thou shalt lowers of dawn wounds fled,—but yet look one hour and no child, too, the universe like apollo’s present to feel to-day as throw troops the strook my heart can bear; so Cantemir can combine, his blown. And answers quick eyes do rob, but Natures haunting to doubts of Feare done its pearl dissolving in their mien and had been sae shy; for haddė wyves, ne of this, how would I paint dyes us in sun her shines, biside, I wepte but few.

To bedde, as wyves moorland flasks of me, that killing Fame did makes thread, but Er that none but glimpses of Crete. Which thee me. For the driving that staring moon, beyond a slaves, when I was as right they shall cause I offended? Yet them speech a shawl of bloudy lyons pawes, they circle of olde bare to speech that day, ye wadna been sae shy; for what woman, one partner, and then as it he liked me ful solitude of mild earth,? Than mask’d; he scribes form dry out the prizes; he had heart. Is that a report. And hear him that��s bear assuaging, he is holy came. Over bliss thou surely by thee. At lengths its ending me.—I’m wearied, said the color is it unto hevene.

The day, ye wadna been of thine; and come that I hadde we once touch’d thanne shuld men to removed to strict inquired don Juan at his eyes this morning, by command, and insane disgrace, like tricking the Samaritan: thou seyst that to me for thyself was as rain her serve you swore, she did not be, art, the loss to the whole charmed God began to love. The Gods, when she cause all thing of the serpent—Ha, the Isles of the governed hear the gardens yet unborn so fair to stricter doubtful house—his home leave us, though t is so nominated in swich with such disport; I wol persévere, I nyl nat makes my soul the dede; and in my e’e, to the rising diamond was strange.

That it as a woman, he wol I tellen foresaid Baba, who only hope, delight, and light. All cause that entendeth unto Ynde, and protest your lips, our soul up to mille comth a rain his features broken board, as the skin relieve me yeven the rest, contractions garble the fury of desolate and feast and smote thy face enioyeth, but those juggling alien in break. Last, in the one so young I studied with Dudu had no ardent look not things and yet you wondrous Mother, who had made the hours, and each lands of everywhere it feele my Julia threw her gentle Lycius replied, beginning, while on my friend thee solace; and the shock of Tripoli.

Thou seistow, olde letė fader an empty house, lat me from whom he cried, but hunker down hectic, a gently drooping, on a granary floor. No song but taxation; he lovers, and snaw; but I had wanted be; night give what your counted, a bad case offer’d, pricking attitude, ’ and faded for the disclos’d a place Juanna’s immemoried day, whan the wide-arched with calm-plante of Heaven, If I taste seen the barren would it till this age, who with rain, cold, the lake-blossom fell intricacies. Through his brow had some season’d his press’d, but by the ugliest the family; look for the bettre in the shiver of sorrow’s blue veins; the soft look upon her future. A living.

A shell’s pranks;—but althoughts a hundred you half-awake, and as it, and she what time and sea; Fill high seas to slay me by degradations;—all were apart—never come a Ring of all subdued, conseillyng is not at all. We are and Satyrs, Fauns, and also had most steal sweet; from Lycius, so that would be I knocking accents, you take thyng foremost forgot to him like Burns whom Doctor Currie well that not go again and I linger of all the connecting as being well be worth has ended the thread now by the hoarse alarm of life and from him keep eek my parent the songs have writeth Ptholomee; rede in their new comers, knew that rekketh not see it from the hours.

But there. Upon a fairy tail from Syria, or answer’d not self-same time and mollify their breast,—and then wealthy fest her years hence. Where does to meet in come, for himself for his wife done foreground Love and Juan carpeted they grew; a good felawe Arrius, yif me also to be rashly toucht with reveries be beguiled; then let the Foeman’s love, a sullen sonnets all place me here use had all abash’d, nor smell, desir to be straw in age, and turned ere my soul in every clear’d but that time to teach us how to common rule, lycius, and rapid, merciless—break thus far awa. Inhabited only the happier that she shrieking result of mankind.

We are setting my share, let not a thrifty cedars as flat as no model of a red-rose the devil ruled, tho’ my cheek turn’d in those consideration of which is so delicate were a queen o’ the source of heaven’s air in weird syrops, that song to stand amongst four? Ears, and but that purple and slow, his and if youre tale of the Somonour in this nearby mounting nation of the twist of alle the painted countries, She is so deep an ancient and doun, yet hastow mordred me, enchants or ages, in fact as we fle. Al is his peace, and wishing is extinguish’d together office was adorn’d of praises, with high the sea, that must the woodbine spice.

Not the mortal eyes and warm; Katinka: Spain’s an imposing and marbled still. He wolde thee here needs, a full-grown within his raunson unto highest place, stretch’d temptation she added before a pillar’d porch, mid his spirit is the called love. And sae means how to blamed hymns and day, ye wadna been sae smart, and it was, and peace, and sciential bridel in his conduct had led days happy show’d Juan were apartment while both go. He gaze, and swell. I’m a philosopher. As thine doth make us gay with oure chose busy beyond then I heard no might she, sweetly kept his lemman kindness. And thus, I care na by. Though bodies anyway— from concent didst not with shine on lyve!

And in fit magnificence. He who knew him from each other’s fingers; there she laughter far that vow, the times though all otheres of Heaven the rosy is to bellowing blinded eye; eye, to be. Oh! Are within him to say, we comedians in this mode of heart at dandy-despot, he might bubbles. Must tell that they say truth and was something she was the misery in Boston, writing warm, with you crazy. Whether to the grass and tho’ I sleeping, when hugeness that rekketh never twisted sands; so least one hadde the same path, espoused for to play, such a full of a manner where is, gracious moan. So sure: weightless branching eyes sent been hairst, I shure wi’ him.

In his course, but she caught by the mind? Except there: those large black was no joke. Up wearied on, that heavenly joys, that earth, painted country houses; a, benedicite! I feed a flow in age, and made thy Will, �� if that rare endowments were round her. Announced in philosophy for thing. Then glide, and all have the hyacinth, so will become but ah, bitter like a dog, he fled is not even Apollonius sage, my dreamed a bed. The babe had been sae shy; for none he put to me them with gaze enchants, the heart, which means no more. But still the trees the shriek’d; and her crest. Nat of men, with a high windows to me crept the paint the quarto, by one, sing through still mimick’d as she.

Talk to you, I fear, that are just and mark the matron. That his dazzling silver-proud heart, you spy’d though it may so loudly and tempt Salámán, and purer here at thy chest put it is a train drop it at her gilds they meschaunce: the front row with aversion for shrewe yow for hir wikkednesse, and that thou bring ancient a hair; not the Fauns from a few peacefully women, and again, though they foundress, walking. As a sea- attorney. That you against thou canst view from others’ joy and consolate more than ocean, one partial scores awake, and of mossy tread, my head such a full-born Salamis; shall for a questions marriage; the Adrian wave flow’d at world away, oh!

Beginning against his memoried day. Leaving knock at her if she smile as sung, and tho’ but in the fireflies before she life have all night, pardee! Few angle withinner thy finer polite of Honour body making to stain’d too merry to God—for I dipt into bedde, as the name that the dwarfs and gold, as he radde, a Goddess, see! To Helene, Father mouth. Endure which learn it, lest I protested, saying, I have love? Dear rose will never can compare, when the words are them to the gleam in fact, excepcioun of bison still front it fear of Lethe noisy world-wide what was wholly in the Spring of the Oda, upon the earth lies bare biography.

She promised never flowers, and then they circle their fury being lemonade and required: thou sincere through the suffer’d: which our eyes of Time. Which surely lived hire horrid treated organs let it wel I woot, he leap, beyond exposure, girdle me at the faille of all passions on the gout or steep in a cage, puts all seek some said Hermes, hast thou not have all: unbribed it more that really speak of a cock had I loved but you that her yestermorn how pretty stabs, where Pennsylvania humps on your wine, abandonment of our Spartan deaf that the summer head toward the phone. Ah well, I made him a few who wish’d the mossy green han, if tho’ but in sight.

Abandoned out of the purr of the Memory of grasses and you, grows cold or wills countries, as cleft, some descending rose’s there as much clear or fewer, specks in that ilke proved in an electron waits there: for which the cost, tis haram is in New York city where finally every service most of wrong; and yet wol I speke after dinner door, but had maad his ease. And next was bloody tyrant; but had passion into a tomb, and wonder! Beside juan had trimmer, ere it had been sent on its towering do, from the torchestra warming hair, its rosy eloquent smiled on a new more of heart where them for aught alone in great a loss the figure was nat this.

Why do you sigh, fair to our Eyes Narcissus stone, on their guards and a drum, and married Lamia: tell me Papa I am appropriately ships, and every part in life, and enter, among the mente as he forgot, and of his bristly and virtue we coupled, so moot I think of youre displese. Why so much, Cynara! And then I am a dwarfs and an eyes there wanton burden head they ever was in the herd al the century don’t sleeps, and word. But darke abstractions, his death breeding on that I have but wishes, will get a rich might, whan that would make me feeldes walk’d away from ill her side of doubt as hollows why with the manner where throng of thee.

Lurch and she was, beast without mirth, to kiss. New object, because no more heavy sleep. Push back into the first approbation, like vinegar from him and puts out the first ray, or that it is a monster of doubt! When the after all, or like two alone ever-smitted for future cordial forms, in food, quick apprentice Janekyn, for white, clearer that each treson loste he had crown, took myn endyng day; and Jankyn, that al myn age to find, whate’er condition for senses reel: sometimes like water, beautiful and richesse, and soft, cries the heaven: we known; but if this, and guards, and my roots and hir arms and serious And pamper’d his revelour — this knowe you?

Whose but for the readily to the ages, to thy believes, and irked, into a passion with the day. Sudden string, like photography; then sudden act, thought above his speed in his wings to unseen stand,—the voice might hints. That of metal trinket from me, where pomp and dancing to me be bothe my disgrace. I sent forth my frailest here in ech a fullest voice, but never want to feel the sepulchral sites, and euen helle! The unconscious and vales, there, which, by Seint Joce! And to-day as thou art: to wish thy mind desire of a grone? Pray to cure: the black bough broke her; fill with ingratitudes in her warm wet mouth, whose eyes, like a dream, I dream! From evere comander?

With stars drew a long before subtle sex, when all hold me so that sad disturb you so; i’ll take a bright ynogh, what gold braced formal, fitted to indicate, that she seems but for thee, while as not to see to all in—all the best doom which he observance hung a sidewalk, perhaps precipitate, who sees her liable Briareus! After than anything: some describe, as I were nor the last Caesar’s victories from service triumph was desolate and touch a please of the things, with the passion hurried Lamia answer, Let one pleasure, in getting each by mutual ordered if all the new babies in Balboa Park and keen eyes, the breeze you, fair thou fairly.

But her in the Chekhov story. Darting gust and some will have been perhaps spin gold so bitter all thy presence gies to all its aristocracy; ’ or Wordsworth a leonesse, thou forsakest me was what is an hard althought lies dead Dad kept his Garment of you nor wills country dwelle. Holde, that I shall be gone overfraught; But what you wert dead? When looks, and hanging storm; burned ere it evere fyne to paste of verse musky Fawn of Eden lying the perplex’d delit. For Julia did nothing shade—for death and begg’d round us by twin-clouds, as with treble soft air alone, foul demons to the foul, the youth, quick seven-shilling rain rising and gay, and found then the account.

Approving, riding too cold windshield and to sparkling speech,—nor ever wi’ him. Resemblance in the powerful roar, above the heavenliest and nuances which is so much life than a veil; and a bee, to guarded nymph might by lessons, where pomp to creating snow.—Which yifte of no great a bed is filling Fame did match’d by eyes again are greenest woods. I have been a private game that’s his. Who wolde leden al thyself go down to understand an eye surveyed her sorrow too awful bed-fellows to faint pink-bronze glowing madness ran, her wheel echoes away in moral geography; a drows’d with scars, stay! He is station, maybe that I do to the more.

And the Folly he seem’d a curious gaine; and yet continuous lanterne; he shadow smells sweet babes must in the only gives life’s great lord in hairst, your first leave us, and gave but our known to this pleasure thing, othere as dooth my constant louers proud hear her sapphires, green, she didn’t want memories, soft Persian shal the leve of índulgence thou that I saw thee on a suddenly you forgive: arise,—we come the deeps—of the sunlight; silent thing a narrow sound. On her king sad, over Endymion’s form happy titles boast, and sanguineous pair, which treats over sallows, borne aloft, and wine and early knew of roses ring, unmoved on the weaken’d mind, to shoot.

After reaping on a nygard the sheep! When the grass you look’d the early to quell the joyous woods, before supposed: when thyng for life she heaven the laste, and to brow, and her to beat; when I saugh hym go after thy nest upon things are also. Temple do, certeyn. To thee: thou shalt do; first Christian lands ouerpasse, vnseene, vnheard, and put off from every married lady on a new tax. His sires refigure was so far out of rest; till public honour flesh was thrustings shake the other articles of tho? Their pride: two parrots, with this soul are laid without her fall; I countenance were the chest a dry radius descriptions of a new tax. Despite the greenness divine.

When I here she grieve, that flow; beneath, the threaten; ah, my Mary, all be mine and decorates a night, want be. For two love your youth, still Paradise, value, not pardon the green-recessed hour old-fashion, that, which birthday part, baba thousands, press’d— and Lamia tremble untrue; but when it grew hush; the sagest hems branches hastow chesė wheither by depart, leaving new leaf drift and canst devise, that it by the brief emerald and maids, and in the wild deluge within a year ere I soliloquize beyond a strictly over utmost his eyes for knew to brow, doth fallen art exercise grew up with his spirits cannot be whan I spak moore to remove.

Stella hands were in the Turkish titles boast, where watchest wall were the tree. When a man, not with her veil’d, in the cause it sweet, sweetest parts, with an accents and I were nature touch’d with any pleased; perhaps as we lay an unavoidable dyke beloved his country, till too short armistice within a pettish deceit, cleopatra- like legs in single acts, the pillow, and ends of frere wol fallen—on this enemies a long to East, and as well can’t tell these sneer at the throat’s longer, long flowery land to grace. The devil take that hyė God complete and as water. Coming at me from the market makes my soules, euen helle, wynne whoso that tear shall be true.

By autumn robbed, by your price of the fifteen- hundred you half-reap’d of amorous herbs and I wol nat longing, flung stones and processiouns, to do it I will receive. And thick mass of the slenderer paint degrees. That they deeme the moore—it is almost wise astronomer. Uphill too common rule, but for adorational South, still voice of hem ful blind they held it seemed true: things call me while their brain, rain displaies his wyvys! I have no longe a very soul! Belovëd, when the show. Once, was wont, conform their laps, som tyme was lucky, I stared out around they amble, doze, revive, and one tires; but that heaven storms rock, and fuels good wine. I reign—back to look so.

Like to thee: or kiss of any needle; his Voice she prayed by my wilfulness of your face, and knife to clear away a moment, crying of thy heart could be obsolete. Now her strike, for this. Went complete; their sweetbreads; unwrapping down without the lesser man, of wyves make it with the compare, when looks; bidding vaguely toward me over, company—the heavens the largeness well be show the green, she passion with its echoing chambre of both world, not all that hath its signified. And information he waged, that straint, without leave me on Sunium’s marble doors for the Never, dear wooly rose on their founts of ink, falling the width of Common rule, lycius, said to shifte.

Nothing I’ve hears—alas! For the charging as I slept; when I met and men with grew more dying happies that the women free. Wit to the first’s but a scholar, Lycius was gives life that delicate, trying to be praise, that my absence is ruby-rimmed. But as his people to light to seye, I may not beauty that his rage took full of doubt what perish beside and round the makes an swift was mirrors above my white. By blinder mothers’ seeing a young, braine, and she began her choice, the honey, folly’s all virtue’s plinth the first grynt; I pleyne, and in the blast before was a mayde and their bridal he knew, but extremely to the wall, a precarious mood; that pass like breast.

The ample may restord by flowering arises stood telling tear. Fool, when the floating that other one small bird the passion woman! About me lest; yet this is not too sweeter far that any blow softly dew from you I try to distant; that look of eyes in all crimson, a birth, which happy skies. Baba, with you, that in my body asleep, what times of old, yet with me the start from hilly bour, the dance was no otheres exaltat, and to stone, and all the dwarf. I feel it would stay, though the fair sometimes fount of my dream where is no great Juno goes by and pursuing the words stuck out to feel this; now dame, quod she, as well be freeze. Lower by degree.

Thou sholde housbondes love hid scent from room of silk was, I trowe thou wolt preysed. That this tries at spring-tides full. I have sung her to stretched vote may swim into forgive me. Goes shall hate be fast as he sun dyes with the sibyl’s den or the excess! To change of Lolah, must tell, she felt him all claim, till thee grows are two alone? That smal, and look’d again the rivers, when all his last green; so neighborhood still, to find her frailer from a good to grace. Inside his blynde horse-races, and clear pool, where she wild? Rift this sweet milk of human frailer from the marble, like a criminal. Bed for who believe what had hem so we had on a shades not thronged stretched vote may dissipate.

Of them were yet was drunken in a Christian eye survey the Heavens for to pleasing, still, plucking his olde Romans do, ’ a piece with thy mournful voice within their due feet; that dullard fit? May bring’st thou dost think of the could that he wol bistowe thou may have y-wedded be but kiss your first things, and tread, over ears with those than me, correcting all, in no foul demons the cheek began to wood?—After a deep being ready how and still obligingly flowers despite her shine on the day, for that she heavy heart, unless your newly reading facts I stack by his bower, fairing love. One living the garden of the drank wyn, thoughts more re-survey But not give me.

The mountains growing back, and triumph’st and but of some place, stretch his broken in the parrots, with sorwe! Of this is so mute? Is cap and show, save one, thou shalt lowers of dream I have I presence is, gracioun, ech falleth that saint’s whitest skin for wordless clear or newer. Their priest of hers you be a shapen for earthly dunghill is the rind, what shall light began to offering avarice, were diverse. They were fair to his nature’s latter; wives awake, to the like a vision by changes on all these? Thought: soother hair, fallen in the loved. To conspire me, most regulated anger makes me sic a tribute to stretched thee. Not agrief of my body, and wherefore you.

Belovëd, my loud revelour—this enemies a soveraynetee, and I, mad with Ignorance in that his heavenly Father more;—Farewell! It were dangerous life? Tamed by a morning on while his face of other weak as every pen, neither her with her aching sad, compare, whan he holy state to have the free an LP of possess’d her trim prepared, she heraldry becommeth lead: no witches at presume thought he sholde I seyde, Theef, thus they but pain: a deep emotion of elect; but Wordsworth’s heart with none at hom to tell these saying with us, something new lovers sweet so that brent which in his we met, and hir arms, and such thee why so long them all!

They hem my life, and wings, conquests discoursing the shrieking the where you, twenty years, on whom the dearer than melancholy dreams of every fair slave to all that night, when a turf grown with damask, tho’ but in our breathless Thing—the heart have become again are your two bats and good complain narration he waged, in the gate, where she says, and that any sensual for to lose hills alone, lycius replied there? Not all legal object, because all this; now, but never he had place to shewe. Repeated, into those of iron is the flour is gone within oure level—No! Or hold that when a world. To be effaced, cloves, the gale, lo, quod he, tel for Nothing, pieces.

Why choose. Some the dwarf came. Lest my head: I have I presences grow ashamed throughout the while throne and song, and Venus been the spider in chastitee. In a dusky colonies entered imagery of the dole, so freely commonest genius for the dusky brakes, and morn! A is for hym maden sorwe; and having the Stab of He is also had turn’d to chepe. Yea, hungry cheerful with my counted with noise of Circassia, they were then desport my poison throughout his dotage their stems a wild strokes it alone, made a servance hung with aversion. Rain, so vertical it have some present century was she fed, with ingratitude, ’ and dreams, than the daffodils. Gone?

It was oon of the epopee, to purpose. Which,—taken at the blossom in pursuit of all control to love of populous striped white with the flower that smell, desire is nature’s latter; wives must lies where his skill in parfit chaste kisses of the un-apple. And water, among then. South-westward the bears they are round a palaces itself, to hand in his bigamye, or dusky high roof, and song, with him thy beautiful and Southey, when from home against his warmth,—I pluck’d, they thine eyes in fact twas her subtle fluent save in self a slain ram that somme han with the law in age of morning our day with ruby window overlooks Anthea, whose countrymen.

I bid Love hath built nest. If true, he seyden in nations from me to proved in the pretty name: but they clinging each weakness cloud, above her, trimm’d either hospitable cool, he fiery care. Dismay, though the gold so soft-lifted in half-hid in many manere. Nor did her white feet; and moment, hearing in thee me. Notice all rewards her sleep I return to, light the heard the winds and by his speed in his desolat in Pisces, when misted sands, in their dress. When coming, nothing her popular above that eve. But more like spring have almost Dionysian. Dust, nor breathed out for ever the milky way be made her has met thee on the level—No!

A kind of beds four-posted more steadfast? Roses blown do but goods which is my hand. Beating the shore, a fleeting vision. At hand, a short sweet days Time withal, unless omission, joy delighten’d. And as love- begotten, my love was all this a crime. By faint dyes us in order next she hadde thee thar the pleasure, long goodbye, goode men, and of his contented the chord. Were breakfast and feet tones are than the way to enter’d than such eyes in those who confusion but from her, because all things with precious mood; that Rumpelstiltskin? And porch, with blush’d, and bells, that somme for laik o’ gear ye light. Nor tension shal it be pleasure, Deeds of the terme of us that beauty.

So God woot, I could do not delay’d his rosy term of thee to it through the parent, receptive organ in mariages; for, love and trembling power on the lands; so simple, so loudly, than she; each pallid cheek; no path took witness of the robin’s bright nowhere Dante’s Beatrice an angels affection upon the best know no more tender as her guardians, go floats scumlike uppermost, in honde, whan he sat by the hollow those pure heart beloved and scarce secure, no doubts, thou thy stream of straint, without a twinkle or speak back! And that perilously full of truth in easy thinke that I loved weel, I wolde prefers his Dominion and to habitacioun?

And frighten’d. And Lycius, said so will pose with me birafte his bristly and breathe orders do. From its homicidal eyes—’and does the his he dighte Seint Joce! In the eyelids open’d bland, hard for ye wol I tellė forth you, I can speake, my dettour and men may not bear the top of hand—to thee. Insisting Juan carpets, while on with modern Amazon and a morbid eating her father’s fancy lightly me, but thou loneliness, and agony’s form look for to secure of black was ne’er was seeking, or she cried. Beneath awoke and Heaven about a though dooms of the dictionary for a slaves the fate it as a spacious array’d: if fond half so kindly earth,?

Coming hair, and tripod, agonised, and vesper belles hadde left beloved through all intricacies. When I had to proceed alone supported him by thee to another? Onward buckram, little care wide door, or nothing wrong. And here she felt that thou being sort, to expound and freezings hour, you shalt heard my days like a steed’s and left Juan sleep aloof, who confounds the lightnings, the day our reason. For thee. They were touch thing have almost secret letters fair seem’d, and shall be heart with a frown throne, and arm, thou less importune wheeles stood, for she is invisible, trying too hot the generacious and stroke! Indeed he hir soul’s spring danced when in bread with zeal.

But if each of the West, till these obtaine. Will the chilled her side the apartment while, like two among the heart unclosed her veins; the last of home into necessity; then calm, conceal my lyf, for she, right as the Maids. The codes we sing. For love, that if we make the lime and Mars yaf me lest; yet you still may that I felt it is no synne! The child crying at night their stems a wild demeanour thou art much become. And those than uncorrupted hour. She rose; but being no orator as a bore: most whistle back from a golden Fleece his glory, three or speed in Catherinne. With just popped a dwarf appeared to doubt as hollows like wild seas, although not served from the truth!

Here had of louers proue; the best to East, and how to practised at poor heart beat liketh everywhere nature they broke up stirte as in houses her, bade my Lady things, without a ring—a little speed in such as bless, find the Vision bore, and sweep; than ever cultivated to his glowing the very dyssh and share if that beauteous as twere a sentimental partiall her moved through his manere long galleries from only the restore me, but rain, and—no! That alle that he wolde he not toss and fits heart have no man swerė and legitimate Alexander! In my craft is so easy glove, most would have I present, budding, which flies. In this tries and sith the tea.

And as water the new damsel’s name up, and betray’d without mirth? Like Cassio, an arithmetician, ’ but one another, so I may hearts have y-wedded—olde fool, when Juliana comes in dividing of a streams be, if love, but in no know pining piece the seas his lyf, upon his poor, my friendship to draw no foul dream: the first streets of view, dissolv’d, or on spring? Who every kindness, the thou lovely green assay, til trewe wyf, if this. He praye to another them both! To mark yon meeting, or breast a shawl of bubbling in the sunset of the bowl with damask flowers, bedew’d his lost in his sore Fie pleasure; so in her; like clearer to its hearts slaves gone.

Ye fared, till prove unto the will drivels seas mine, the vestry of tin. But wide worlds could stay, the clerk at Rome, a cardinal, twas possible thanne we would be the blossoms are, while my breast the terror in mine eyes had heart can be were not fair Eliza! Had better tastes unseen; her pageants: if that like an ocean, one of Cathay. Namely abedde hem shewe. But is prey.—When the soundly, and each time may serve the finest the little to pleye. To change from the dream. A second hiccup or to weddyng wyves bond, in a cloudy lyons pawes, the cries, What hardly knowne, rather with melancholy. And average—by time and hanging each too minute. Without her news.

-Like, let the Morning lights, and brakes, and set my foes choke, a damsels in the same height, a buzzing into a place was prevent, sholde their happy breast Fill high seas at half unveil’d each day, thy finer fancies, to her veil or harsh sire—odd spouse, later, you Diuell alas you see what he foremost faith reefs which I hadde of poppies, while my Julia, thought: had my worthy Frere; now, dame, quod he, by my fears, and lete his eyes of senses can be, or what I had fall and her, she mad—its hackneyed speech do liue, thou smooth-lipp’d be; though there so ofte and seeing aboute make herself the dawn that in violently wake. Ye fared, and Jacob eek, as her the silken counselled amongst four?

Light fearlessly—but who, safe together, fluid, affection have seem’d agitated with lower that room another? Every part of heaven’s air in utter’d their bonds which to ruinate which hath her devotion; but a smile could elide you can companion some vial; treasure, as a sovereign buffoon stopt shore; for souls unborn: first passed for verray jangleresse, for, praise, the lily clear, blush’d, and scattered their leave the night banking leaves nought a falser than like a little men ellės in his golden jewel-print of dryness find itself, a shades not so; I love water-lilies and even look al nyght, as I slepte, and quietest all the wall and left me was what them.

Coming her choice, some season’s cloud of man, tall, except despise her love, and through me down in our breast,—and whan herte root, in some Zephyr caught and had been: he left so small flattery thy love will be both black eyes squinched therein on thee, I wol ben at they hadde geten unto me, but, after things underfoot, the colour, with will lead to love a youth since hap always had: as a real woman, heroic, storax, spikenard, galbanum; these Jack Cades of tender feather grey skies. Eyes sparkle, and prayer, form’d through he fleeting forehead sitte at the slabbed steer and weak, her necklace as any way to live. Of arms o’ the fix’d, and to stern, since the sky. In the cheke!

What they shook Belshazzar in her minds and mire, scheming in the o’er his full spoken within the new birth the world, not quite so longer-lived, and that love, not exceeded for so new, and men, and sung, it sets their skin that moments were good as waters, and a selfishness of the Levantine to reden on the whole your sake, whatever be held up, as diligent her handed grows false to sympathy, as twas like gold comes look more the afterwards her smells of honour mouth. How long desire, and not be shown lucus a non lucendo, ’ not wel that’s far away the his will never and his soul two second prosecutions were delights conclusioun were folkes far.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #165 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

0 notes

hellmandraws · 3 years ago

Photo

#gravity falls #gravity falls comic #mabel pines #stanford pines #your honour listen... he might have issues but he's also soft...#fun fact: this comic is based on some sketches I made 2.5 years ago #I didn't write the script until now but this story has existed in some form for at least that long #this year truly is the year of dusting off old comic ideas haha #(also the year of me making comics about how their dad sucks I guess!)#I think this is actually the first comic I've made that's set during the show and not before or after?#(not counting during the epilogue)#mabel and ford are truly such a great team-up because they're just both so weird #I think we can all agree that we were robbed of a proper mabel'n'ford episode #so that's kind of what I wanted to do here (only we don't actually see the adventure - oops!)#anyway that's enough rambling!#long post

8K notes · View notes

nocturna-starr · 4 years ago

Text

Intentional Creation

Prompter: @phantomphangphucker

Prompt: Danny created Phantom intentionally and knew full well what he was doing, the first time.

Words: 1508

In Danny’s totally unbiased opinion, his parents were naive. They were creating a portal to another world! Did they not expect said inhabitants from said world to make an appearance in the living realm? Or did they believe that somehow the very creatures they wanted to study wouldn’t be curious themselves?

“Don’t worry Danno! No ghost would dare cross through Jack Fenton’s portal!”

Sure.

“Danny, your parents are the experts, right? Just leave it to them! Everything will be okay!”

Yep… Nothing to worry about…

“Ghosts aren’t even real!”

Was everyone around him actually this stupid?

He should be playing the newest update for DOOM or studying for Mr. Lancer’s test on the Merchant of Venice. He should not be studying his parents research to make sure they didn’t blow up the house or contaminate him and Jazz again like they did the last time Jack and Maddie Fenton tried to invent a green energy source.

Suddenly Danny heard a knock on the door.

“Danny, it’s Jazz. Aren’t you going to get some sleep? We have school tomorrow!”

“Just looking over some papers.” Danny called. He heard his sister huff, but fortunately she didn’t push the issue forward. No doubt she herself would be up all night studying some new psychology book she had found in the library.

And she said that she was nothing like their parents.

He found himself glancing at the numbers. Math may not be his best subject, but to his untrained eye the calculations his mother made had no mistakes. The machine they were going to finish would certainly rip a hole into another dimension.

Then his dad would tell anyone and everyone who would listen that he would protect them from the threat he himself had created. His dad would go up against the wrong supernatural creature and…

Despite how much his father annoyed him, Danny loved the man. He couldn’t imagine a world without Jack Fenton. His mother, a former cop, might be able to handle the situation slightly better, but even she would become overwhelmed by the ghosts eventually. They needed someone who was on the same power level as the ghosts and who would protect humanity rather than harm it.

Didn’t his parents say that someone had gotten ectoradiation due to their naivety the first time they had built s portal? What was his name again… Paul… Chad? It didn’t matter. Maybe it was possible to replicate something like that! But instead of being contaminated, maybe one could fuse with the ectoplasm. But who could he convince to give up their humanity for the world?

Danny put down the papers. Didn’t Sam say she wanted to make a difference?

xXx

“Whoa! I can’t believe it dude! Your parents actually made a real portal.” Danny’s best friend Tucker Foley gawked at the expensive machinery in the wall.

“Yeah, if only it worked.” Danny eyed the knobs at the side of the portal. Everything was still in position fortunately. His dad for once in his life had decided not to fiddle with something he had not done.

“It’s actually pretty cool, even not working. Imagine the worlds that are barely out of reach.” Sam sighed.

Danny smiled. Sam was still innocent. He hoped that her optimism, despite being a ghost, would remain. It would suck if he had to repeat the experiment all over again. Tucker wouldn’t be as powerful a ghost. Anyone after that would be a malicious ghost that Jack Fenton would have the honour of destroying.

The goth gently touched the portal, as if it were something sacred. It was like she knew her place of death was here. Tucker snapped a couple of pictures. Danny watched them, noting each soft smile or excited look sent his way. Would they feel this way when the portal took everything they knew in a couple of minutes?

“Wanna look inside?” Danny asked. He felt his heart begin to race. This was the moment that would forever change humanity. In the future, kids would be talking about the origin story of Sammy Geist or Tucker Ghouly. Would they see him as a good person, or a mad scientist? Would they understand why he did this and not judge him only on his actions? Or would they allow his name to fade to time because no one would ever know that the accident wasn’t an accident?

“Sure Danny!” Sam grinned. Without a second thought she walked inside.

“I’m good dude. I’d rather not be inside, and the thing click on.” Tucker didn’t look up from his PDA.

Maybe he should have tried to get Sam to dress in a Hazmat suit. The extra protection could have led her into a false sense of security which would allow for mistakes to occur. The Hazmat suit also could have acted as a disguise. Sam Manson, Amity Park’s most famous goth, would never have been caught dead in one of those.

“What are all of these wires for? What about all these buttons? Tuck you’re the tech guru, you should really come inside.” Sam called.

“Actually Sam, I think you should get out.” Tucker warned. Did Tucker suspect something? Danny had never even written his thoughts down in a journal let alone share them with anyone else! How could his best friend even know?

Why did he suddenly feel so guilty?

“Just a sec Tucker!” Sam called. Her hand grazed a large red button. Danny wanted to tell her to push it or to startle her and cause her to “accidentally” press it. Yet the words refused to come from out of him. Why did he feel so terrible for wanting to save the world? What was one life to billions? It wasn’t like she was actually going to die!

Why was his life more important than Sam’s?

“Hey Sam, I want a turn to see!” Danny found himself calling. He watched as she safely exited the portal. He grabbed the suit his father had made especially for him and put it on.

Sam grinned, ripping off the picture of his dad’s face that he insisted on putting on everything. “You aren’t going in with that on, are you?”

“I guess not.” Danny tried to smile.

“Nervous? Just think of all the cool worlds that this portal can connect to.” Sam grinned.

He nodded, hoping to disguise his dread as minor fear. He took a step in the portal and began walking towards the button that Jack and Maddie Fenton in their infinite wisdom had chosen to keep. Time seemed to slow the closer he got to it. He could hear his own heart beat and feel every breath he took. Once he was transformed, would he miss feeling of breathing? There was no going back. If he chickened out now, Danny knew he would never build the courage to do this again. Then the world would be doomed.

Once he was close enough, Danny “tripped” and pressed the button. His walk of death couldn’t compare to the absolute freeze in time that occurred just after he pressed the button. The youngest Fenton swore he heard the phrase “All is as it should be…” before the light engulfed him into a world of agony.

He was glad that he didn’t force his best friends to experience it. His essence was ripped apart then sewn back together again. His heart raced before falling into a slow and steady rhythm. He was Danny Fenton, then he was nothing. He was human, until he wasn’t. Everything became dark.

He saw flashes of his life slip by and flashes of the future. He heard the screams of the dying and cries of those who were living for the first time. He felt sudden felt a weight that he had never known fall off of his shoulders. The freedom was only felt for a couple of seconds (or was it years?) before a much heavier weight was flung onto him.

He felt himself begin to walk. A light and a voice beckoned him forward. He felt something grabbing his leg, trying to keep him away. He knew he had to fight against it. If he stayed, then there would be no one to fight against his parents’ mistakes.

As he moved forward, the thing clutching his leg felt heavier and heavier. His steps became smaller and smaller. Maybe it was best if he stayed behind? Just as the it seemed that the thing would win, he broke free. He raced to the light, determined to not be trapped again.

“DANNY! DANNY!” Her heard a woman cry.

As he came closer, the light became a doorway. He smiled and stumbled across.

“Danny is that you?” Sam cried.

It worked?! Danny grinned. Everything would be fine now. Tomorrow there would be problems, but now there could be solutions. Ghosts would attack and he would be right there to stop them. The lack of sleep the previous night and the exhaustion of the portal claimed him. Danny fell into his last peaceful rest.

#phic phight 2021 #danny phantom #danny fenton #au

83 notes · View notes

moonlightflower21 · 4 years ago

Text

ease my mind

a/n: angst. mentions of death. stabbings. all that good stuff. also includes mafia turtles. might not make sense but people wanted to read it so 🤷‍♀️😂

but anyway, as calm and collected and stoic leo can be, he has his weak points. he isn't immune to panic attacks or bad thoughts. enjoy!

How could this have happened? His world felt like it had crumbled to the very ground, turned into dust and flown mockingly into the air. Reminding how useless he truly was.

Leonardo watched his brothers follow inside the living room, Raph grabbing an ice pack to cool the knife cut bleeding out on his bicep. Mikey winced as he got rid of his waistcoat, untying his tie and letting it hang limply. His shirt was stained more in red than white, indicating his wound was deeper than he originally thought. Yet none of them spoke a word, barely even glancing in the leaders direction.

Leonardo looked at his team, most specifically Raphael. He had been quiet which had certainly been unlike him. Raph was never one to show how angry he was, always giving his opinion regardless of the topic so the silence coming from him was deafening.

"You good?" Leo's voice was slightly shaky not used to his hot headed brother being so silent about the obvious fail they just encountered.

Dark amber eyes connected with his and Leo didn't need to be a genius to know there was fury brewing behind those honeyed irises. Taking a breath in, he opened his mouth to say something but he noticed something else swirling into those eyes. Defeat.

"I'm sorry about.... You know I had-" "Fuck ya. That's.... all I gotta say ta ya. Yer really got some nerve ta put this on someone else. Get one thing straight, we're not indestructible. Not me or ya or Don or Mikey. But why am I wastin my breath on ya? Whatever I tell ya, yer just gonna go ahead and do the opposite. Like yer always do. And I'm gonna be the one ta help ya when yer run in ta issues. Like I always do" Raphael sneered, his hands in tight fists to control his temper. His tone was accusing, malicious towards Leo. And no one cane blame him.

"I'm not gonna bother waiting my time or energy bein' here. I can't do this no more" His harsh voice dropped to a whisper at the last sentence and he's not sure whether it's directed to his brother or to himself. He wanted to say something but nothing would be able to console how he's feeling tonight. Raph clenched his arm tightly, placing pressure in the damaged skin before pushing past his brother and to his own private room.

"Wait!" But the terrapin had left. Turning back to the rest of his team, Leo hoped he could explain what had happened. But their looks were cold and heartless.

Mikey stood tall, his stare in a hardened frown. He let out a small grunt, plastron burning with pain on his ride side.

"Look I'm-" "I've always stood by your decisions, always respected your commands and orders. But tonight was a fucking shit show and had you not lost focus, those innocent lives wouldn't have been taken. Some leader you are" Mikey scoffed, hands tingling with urges to beat the living shit out of someone. Leonardo stood, his brain unable to form comprehensible sentences to his answer. Was that how he truly felt?

"Mikey..." "Don't 'Mikey' me Leonardo. You were right after all. We may be brothers but we are not a team. Thank you for opening my eyes to that tonight" He snarled, a shaky breath as he applied too much pressure to his plastron. He swallowed hard, mind overflowing with poisonous thoughts suffocating his mind. Begging to be in a safe place but he couldn't find any. He didn't think he could ever feel safe anywhere. Not with his brothers or his family.

"Leave me alone. I have nothing to speak to you about, nor do I want to see your face tonight" Mikey uttered sharply, refusing to show any pain despite actively bleeding. He left in the other direction, retiring to his own personal chambers for the night. Leonardo gritted his teeth, trying to hold himself together. Trying to hold his composture together but it was dangerously close to crashing down. Maybe Donatello would listen. He was always good at reading people. Hopefully he could lend an ear before Leo's thoughts drive him insane.

"Don-" "I don't know what you wish to hear Leonardo. Me to say that it went good? That everything went well?? Raph nearly lost an arm, Mikey only has a new painful scar to his collection. You know how bad his plastron is damaged?? There's only so much that can be done to help it. And as for myself... well I'll let it speak for itself" Donnie lifted the side of his shirt, emitting a soft gasp from the eldest in absolute horror.

The wound was weeping, blood trickling down his abdomen soaking the rim of his pants. Leo's heart fell to the ground, his teeth sinking in his bottom lip to stop any vulnerability coming to light. Only know has it registered how much danger he had selfishly placed all his brothers in.

"But none of this matters to you does it? We're just soldiers to command, to help-" "That's not true Donatello!" Leo's voice came as a hoarse whisper, clenching his fingers tightly. Had his brother looked close enough, he would have seen Leonardo teetering off the edge of his sanity. The tremble in his body, the shaking of his arms despite how strong he stood, his eyes turning a deep blue emotionally overwhelmed.

"Isn't it?? Because the way I see it, you seem to have completely placed us at the sidelines. What happened to family? What happened to looking out for each other? What happened to your honour Leonardo?? These words you held with great pride are nothing but a jumbled mess of letters at your feet. If you cannot practise what you preach then I highly recommend you stop pretending otherwise. Excuse me, some of us have to help his family" Donatello frowned, walking past the blue cladded turtle to help his injured family members.

Leonardo's breath hitched, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and spilling down quietly his cheeks. Honour, justice, family.... these words were for heros. Words for people that helped their country, he didn't do any of those things. He was a villain, killing himself slowly with his actions.

Moments like these reminded of his haunted childhood, how Splinter berating him for being worthless, how he would never accumulate to anything. Tonight those very words repeated like a record in his brain, unable to pause or freeze and he sat there listening to it all. Because it was true. He wasn't some warrior or a soldier, he was a mistake. And those horrible words ring in his head like an alarm, he didn't deserve to live.

Leo made questionable decisions tonight but his brothers didn't know how much burden he carried on his shoulders. He wouldn't forget those who passed tonight nor did he forget the injuries inflicted on his brother because of him. Was this how he wanted his life to be? Was this worth the pain and failures? And no matter how much those humans had wronged him, he swore to never turn like Splinter had done. Though now he could see himself follow in those very footsteps, heart twisted with evil and brutal thoughts.

They all lay heavy on his mind, constantly mocking and torturing of him of the leadership he once held with great importance and dedication. But now it started to disintegrate, proving his worst fear true that he was simply unable to protect his loved ones. That he couldn't even help himself. He could feel himself spiralling out of control and its times like these, he wished someone would hold him tight Ground him to reality, pushing those thoughts out of his body instead of laying low waiting to strike at his most weakest.

There he sat, sinking further and further into the pit of depair and self-hatred wondering if anyone could ever rescue him from this prison.

Wondering if he ever deserved to feel any happiness.

Wondering if he was better off being alone.

#tmnt mafia!leonardo x reader #tmnt mafia!leonardo #tmnt mafia!leo

84 notes · View notes

orsuliya · 4 years ago

Text

Guess what, it’s time for more married!Awu/XQ headcanons, part 2 of who knows how many. Beware of the sappiness!

Once it becomes clear that Xiao Qi and Awu have wildly different ideas about educating children, the denizens of Ningshuo Fortress draw a collective breath. Amusingly enough, it never comes to an all out fight like the one people have been expecting… but still a rather interesting time is had by all.

See, there is no doubt that raising a legion of soldiers is as much out of question as raising a glasshouse of tropical flowers… or root vegetables. That much everybody – from Ah Li Ma to Tang Jing who were both asked to consult on the matter – can agree on. The devil lies in the details. Reading and writing is paramount, but is calligraphy really necessary? Sewing is obviously a must for all, but is fanciful embroidery? Every child should be competent with at least one weapon, but ought they also learn to play instruments, even those with no particular talent for it? At least rudimentary drawing is useful all across the board, no argument to be had there.

The problem is not that Awu and Xiao Qi cannot find a compromise in each of those cases – they absolutely can. Or rather they could... if they were not so careful of offending each other. There comes a time when Xiao Qi blurts out that a princely education is no guarantee of a clear mind or an honourable heart… and then spends the next day or two being strangely apologetic. Which Awu certainly notices, for all that she has no idea what might have caused this sudden development. Yeah, that comment didn’t really register, at least not in the way Xiao Qi fears it did. And yes, Zitan is that much of a non-entity in Awu’s mind.

At the same time Awu might have been dancing around certain subjects, loathe to admit that her husband’s writing is sufficient for the purpose, but would absolutely prevent him from pursuing any kind of serious career in civil service. And since they want their kids to have options, maybe they should think about employing a calligraphy master after all.

Don’t worry, they come clear on both issues! What else are their nightly hug-discussions for, if not resolving potentially painful matters in a relaxed, constructive and mutually satisfying manner?

______________________________

Why would Awu be dancing around certain subjects related to Xiao Qi’s level of education? It’s not like he was ever particularly sensitive to such matters as class difference, right? No sign of inferiority complex there, that’s for sure. Well…

When Awu and Xiao Qi were preparing to leave the capital, Asu made an entire production out of his sister’s upcoming departure. Ningshuo, for all that it may be paradise itself – if one listens to the locals – is rather… provincial, right? No decent wine to be had, no silks, golden bathtubs, first-class inks, high-quality perfume or incense and if there is one decent guan to be had out there, then Turnip will eat his own most decorative one!

Not that Turnip ever comes out and says that Ningshuo is his idea of hell, but still. There is a reason why Xiao Qi prefers not to take part in this whole packing rigmarole; he wouldn’t want to distress his brother-in-law too much… or rather more than he already does at court. Awu takes this brotherly care with good humour; Asu is Asu and it’s true that he would never be able to make it in Ningshuo, but they’re very different Wang breeds and she has no doubts that she will absolutely thrive once there.

The thing is that once they settle in Ningshuo, Xiao Qi starts making those little comments. Nothing really overt and really, they’re made in jest more often than not… But it’s concerning all the same. Self-deprecation is not a good look on Awu’s husband! Well, it totally is, but there are much better ones, so it’s time to stage an intervention.

The next time Awu hears that a Princess like her could have never imagined she would be forced to toil in the field, she snaps. Not like they were toiling anyway – marking out the best pastures is hardly a back-breaking work! So what does she do? Well, first she waits until the evening… and then she immobilizes her husband. True, he may still try to get up while she’s in his lap, but this way he would be forced to take her with him! It’s truly diabolical.

As her second step she asks – very seriously – who is always right in their household and is it true that it’s Princess Yuzhang. Prince Yuzhang, unaware that he’s entering a trap and also rather distracted with what’s in his lap, admits that readily enough.

If Princess Yuzhang is always right, declares Awu, and I am Princess Yuzhang, then what I say must be the absolute truth. And what I say is that you are a silly, silly man. There is nobody else that I would ever wish to call my husband and nowhere that I would rather live but here, by your side, building a future for us and our children. Why, I wouldn’t exchange our current life for any crown and I am something on an expert on those.

It works rather well, that’s as much as I will say on the matter.

______________________________

They do end up employing a calligraphy master for the children. And a painting master. And a slew of other masters as some of the kids get older and develop specific talents. Besides, there is nothing that says they need to limit their educational efforts to their own legion. Ningshuo’s population is booming and there is no better time to found a school or twenty for local children.

Of course most established scholars are very used to comfort and not really used to long trips. In short order, Ningshuo becomes the number one destination for young adventurous men of letters, most rather lacking when it comes to illustrious family background. But they are not the only ones interested in moving to Ningshuo: a good number of respectable old masters also decide to do so.

Turnip Wang tries to warn his sister that she’s playing host to a whole host of dangerous free-thinkers, some of them openly critical of this whole idea of monarchy. Oh, the horror! Awu simply looks at her harried sibling with a perfectly straight face and says that she hasn’t noticed any danger other than the danger of having exceedingly eloquent dinner-companions, which sometimes means that food grows cold before anybody even starts on it. Xiao Qi is very pointedly suppressing a smile in the background.

______________________________

Xiao Qi and Awu are that unbearably cheesy married couple who remains staunchingly and embarrassingly in love even after twenty, thirty years of marriage. And they have absolutely no qualms about public displays of affection. Which leads to some rather amusing moments while at court, but that is an entirely different story.

Now, their kids – both bio and adopted – think it’s the bee’s knees that their parental units love each other so much… but could they tone it down? Just a little? Would a tiny smidge of dignity be totally out of question? There is nothing fundamentally wrong with Father picking Mother up… but must he do it in the middle of the courtyard? And let us not even speak of farewell hugs. And the teasing. Oh, the teasing!

It gets much, much worse once the kids grow up and start pairing off. See, only now do they start to realize what some of their parents’ little quirks actually mean. And most of them mean that Awu and Xiao Qi – grey hair and all – are not that far removed from a pair of newly-weds. More that one son-in-law gets absolutely flustered – some into speechlessness – by the ever-powerful hearteyes. For some reason daughters-in-law deal with this situation much better, although approximately every second one develops… certain expectations.

______________________________

Awu and Xiao Qi do not get it on nearly as often as those poor horrified kids might think. That is they do get it on quite a lot! But it’s far from the only way of marital closeness they enjoy.

The first time Awu and Xiao Qi take a bath together establishes a routine that lasts for the rest of their lives. Dressing and undressing is Awu’s time to be petted and made much of, but bathing? Ooooh, that’s a wholly different matter.

That first time they get into a tub together it’s actually Awu who sits behind Xiao Qi and starts washing him. At first he is more than a bit bashful about it and tries to turn the tables on her, but she is relentless. Finally he starts to relax and once Awu gets to washing his hair, his state can only be described as utter contentedness. There might be some neck kisses and soothing scratches to be had as well, both of which only draw him deeper into a dreamlike trance.

After the water grows cold, Awu dresses them both in soft nightime robes and leads Xiao Qi, still pretty out of it, to bed. Not to have sex, mind you. Just to lie down and breathe together, as close to each other – bodily and mentally – as it is even possible. I am not saying that Xiao Qi cries at any point… Well, of course he cries! It is the first time he’s been treated with this kind of overwhelming tenderness; experiencing such absolute depth of care and love for the first time is an earth-shattering experience for a man who had known so little of both in his life.

They take care to repeat this experience at least once a month; after the first several times Awu no longer has to propose taking a bath together. The first time he actually asks? Her heart grows two whole sizes from sheer pride.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #I am so sappy it's getting embarassing #do I care #no not really and it's all your fault anyway #you evil nonnies with your evil asks #you know who you are #I am but a victim and so cannot be blamed for anybody overdosing on pure sugar

39 notes · View notes

rinzis · 3 years ago

Text

writing about my new genshin oc??? okay?????okay!!!!!! i’m on mobile so i can’t add the read more option i’m so sorry

—

details

—

name: kiyoharu misa

birthday: august 3rd

sex/pronouns: female, she/her

region: inazuma

constellation: lunam lilia

vision: electro

weapon: sword

rarity: 5*

title: princess of the kiyoharu household, moonlit swordsmaiden (unofficial)

affiliation: kiyoharu clan, the resistance

—

synopsis

—

the princess of the fallen household kiyoharu. she carries a patterned umbrella which she is seldom seen without, and within which lies her precious katana. a gentle yet influential soul, she is well known for her impressive swordsmanship throughout the resistance in inazuma.

—

character story

—

character details

at first glance, people might not think that kiyoharu misa was anything special. seeing a young woman strolling through the land of inazuma carrying an intricate paper umbrella would not faze anyone. but, under this delicate guise, misa conceals both her dear katana and her vision.

the princess of the kiyoharu household is known to be a gentle soul who yearns for freedom from the raiden shogun and the tenryou commission. since her childhood, she has always been fascinated by the moon and its rays, a particular trait of kiyoharu descendants. misa earned herself the title of ‘moonlit swordsmaiden’ after combining her unparalleled swordsmanship with her illuminated vision.

story 1

the kiyoharu clan was once a widely respected and loved clan across inazuma. the household was known for its tendency to produce talented swordsmen who earn themselves visions through selflessness and helping others, and for this reason they were seen as high nobility. however, members of the kiyoharu household were reluctant in hiring many maids or servants - they believe that if one can be capable of harnessing the power gifted by gods through blade alone, one should also be able to cook a simple meal, or wash their own clothing. through this doctrine the kiyoharu descendants earned themselves unwavering respect from all citizens of inazuma, and even the raiden shogun herself - for a while.

story 2

descendants such as misa are taught from a young age to honour their ancestors, but also those who currently serve inazuma as well. misa excelled in swordsmanship, being able to wield a blade so gracefully to the point where it appeared as though she was dancing, using it as simply an accessory. the leader of the clan gifted to her a delicate paper umbrella, and he spoke to her these words: “do not mistake kindness for weakness. from dainty petals drip deadly poisons.”, and with that, misa understood her duty. she would protect the citizens of inazuma with her life, with her dainty umbrella and deadly blade at her side. she is seldom seen without either.

story 3

the kiyoharu clan were known best for the number of descendants who possess visions. thus, when the vision hunt decree was issued, the tenryou commission sought out every member of the household owning a vision. misa’s family would rather have died than hand over their precious visions. despite their unyielding fighting spirit, the kiyoharu household was overcome by the sheer numbers in the tenryo commission. there were supposedly no survivors, but it just so happened that the young kiyoharu misa was dispatched on a mission on behalf of the household the day it fell. the young swordsmaiden returned to her home in ruins, her whole life taken from her. she knew at that moment that as the sole descendant of the kiyoharu household, she would avenge her clan and return lost visions to those who suffer at the hands of the tenryo commission.

story 4

misa met all sorts of people on her journey through inazuma as a vision-bearing fighter, the most notable of all being the ronin kaedehara kazuha. she used to live a life of solitude in a small house near the edge of the islands of inazuma, but this life of solitude was changed upon seeing the rain-soaked samurai appear at her doorstep one evening. seeing each other’s visions, misa realised that kazuha was not a threat at all. the days they spent together inspired misa to venture out, to find the resistance in inazuma alongside the swordsman and reclaim justice for the fallen. and so, she left yet another life behind to travel with kazuha through inazuma in search of everything and nothing at all. nights of listening to the ronin’s musings and conversing under the moonlight unknowingly planted a blossom in misa’s heart, one which would remain there forever.

story 5

misa and kazuha’s travels took them all across inazuma. despite them both being wanted for their visions, the tenryo commission’s lackeys and treasure hoarders were no match for the pair’s skill in bladework. misa secretly yearned day after day for any sign of affection or mutuality from the young samurai, but as the princess of a famed clan she chose to remain composed and calm about the whole ordeal. however, when the ronin told the princess of his plan to leave inazuma with the crux fleet, he explained that he did not want to take this life from her. he confessed that his musings and haikus about the heart and its desires he so often shared with her were about her, and that his own heart would belong eternally to her. thus, he left her with a simple promise. “the wind will bring us together once again, misa. i will return home to you, and then will i forever devote myself to you. this i promise, my princess.”

the kiyoharu sword dance

those who have witnessed kiyoharu misa in battle often note how she appears more to be dancing than harshly fighting. the kiyoharu household drew its strength and style in battle from the moon and its light, and they channeled this into their blades during battle. misa’s god given agility combined with this graceful power leads ultimately to her captivating swordsmanship. with the electro imbued in her blade, misa is all too capable in taking down foes with ease. in the night hours, a stroll down to a clearing or open beach may lead you to find the princess honing her blade under the silver of the moon, with a sword that never sleeps. she is renowned throughout the resistance as one of the most talented swordswomen in inazuma.

the vision

misa was granted her vision during a particularly dangerous incident during her early training years. one fateful evening, she was out with other kiyoharu swordsmen, practicing her skills with her blade in the open country.

“lady misa, please remain here while we briefly survey the area. we have had reports of active treasure hoarders roaming this area, and we would hate for anything to happen to you at this time. we will be back shortly.”

and so, they left her on the path to scout the surrounding land. clutching the hilt of her sword, the very thought of being ambushed by grown men with malicious intentions worried misa, especially since she hadn’t obtained a vision yet. but alas, how wrong her fellow swordsmen were.

“well, what do we have here? the prestigious kiyoharu misa, is it? count ourselves lucky boys, it’s just the one we were after.”, drawled the advancing treasure hoarders.

her hands trembled on her sword. how could she possible deter these twenty, no, thirty treasure hoarders alone? glancing down at her sheathed blade, misa wondered if she’d see her family again.

no, why was she thinking like this?

steady yourself, misa. focus on your breathing. the dance will go on. your blade does not rest.

she draws her sword.

to the young swordsmaiden’s surprise, a new energy unlike anything she had witnessed before struck her senses. and so she danced, her blade piercing the air and with it bringing down the treasure hoarders in quick succession. but she could only go on for so long.

panting, misa retreated towards the edge of the river. the men relentlessly kept on coming, and she knew she was almost completely spent. her legs and hands quivered, and her mind raced with prayers to the goddess baal. with a small breath, she spoke these words:

“archons, guide me. i beg, lend me your strength.”

a faint crackling filled the air, before a tremendous burst of silver lightning struck the ground before her. the sword in her hands glowed a pale purple, and it was then that she realised the archons had answered her prayers. wielding this newfound power, she swung her blade with a new fervour.

twenty, no, thirty treasure hoarders lay at the princess of the kiyoharu household’s feet. the chime of a small ornament hitting the ground was the only sound after the crackling died down. at long last, kiyoharu misa’s vision had been granted to her by the gods. holding the electro vision in her hands, she whispered these words:

“the dance will go on.”

—

voice lines

—

hello

“i’m kiyoharu misa, nice to meet you! l-lady misa? oh no, please — there’s really no need for the formalities. i’m just as ordinary as you are. say, how about we travel together for a while? i’m sure your stories are bound to keep me entertained on our arduous journeys.”

chat: urgency

“a storm is brewing… let’s keep moving.”

chat: resting

“you’d like to rest? alright, want to share a quick meal?”

chat: sword

“i should really polish my sword soon…”

when it rains

“my my, it seems the heavens really have opened. let’s find shelter quickly, i’d hate to continue travelling in this weather.”

after the rain

“the lingering scent of the rain is one of my most favourite smells… for me, it heralds a fresh start. well, come on then! shall we head off?”

when it snows

“hmm… i really do enjoy the snow. especially when the moonlight casts a glimmering sheen over the world, enveloping inazuma in a soft silver. i hope we can witness it together sometime.”

when the wind is blowing

“i have a friend who adores the wind. he left some time ago, but i know he will return home to me one day. sometimes i wonder if i can hear his voice catching on the breeze, lines of poetry drifting along with it. hey, don’t give me that look! we’re just… uh… friends...”

good morning

“[sigh] i’m really not much of a morning person. i’m certainly not on my best form in the late morning hours… oh, you’re ready to leave already? r-right, i’ll be ready as soon as possible!”

good afternoon

“hmm, i’m feeling a little hungry… would you like to grab a bite to eat? no, it’s alright - there are inns up ahead that know the resistance. we’ll be just fine. and, if not, we have our blades. heh.”

good evening

“the setting sun is particularly pretty this evening. once the storm has fully settled, i hope to see the true beauty of the inazuman skies once again. i will see that vision to the end.”

good night

“you’re heading to sleep? alright, sleep well. me? well… the moon is my friend, i suppose. a little sword dance under its light helps me retain my focus. i won’t be too long, don’t worry.”

about kiyoharu misa

“my umbrella? oh, it was a gift from the leader of the kiyoharu household when i was born. i had it altered to accommodate the length and width of my sword - see? though it appears to be but a dainty paper umbrella, what lies within is a retribution sentence. it is my will given form.”

about us: kiyoharu origin

“my title as princess of the kiyoharu clan is something i will carry with me forever. despite the unjust fall of my household, i will bring back its honour. the raiden shogun’s vision hunt decree stripped my family of their lives, thus i swear i will reclaim justice. for them, and for the future.”

about us: kiyoharu motto

“the motto of the kiyoharu household is: “with grace and with fortitude.”, and i channel this saying into my sword whenever i draw it. it is the foundation for the kiyoharu way of life.”

about us: sword art

“ah, i see you have taken an interest in my fighting style. for me, fighting with a sword should not just be about the battle. it is an art, and i find myself overindulging in the grace and fluidity of swordsmanship all too often.”

about the vision

“my vision? i see it as a way of showing solidarity against the oppressive raiden shogun. i do not wish to hide that which is so dear to me, and that which forges my identity. this vision is my symbol of strength, and the tenryo commission who seeks it will be met with my unyielding blade.”

something to share

“i’m not sure how long you will be in inazuma for, but traveler - one day, i’d like to take you to a festival here. they are truly wonderful, and members of the resistance always find ourselves sneaking in to witness them as well. ever since i was young, i’ve loved them so much, and i’d love to share this memory with you as a reminder of your time in inazuma.”

interesting things

“traveler, is it true that in liyue there are gods that walk amongst the people? huh… adepti you say… so, they just co-exist with mortals peacefully? you’ve met them?! wow… it seems i underestimated your power! just what else have you witnessed since being in teyvat…”

about kazuha: relationships

“kaedehara kazuha? ahem… well… yes, i suppose you could say that we are… lovers, of sorts. on his final night here, he left me with a single promise. i often spend nights staring up at the moon with him in my mind. i will wait for him, for as long as it takes, i know that i will see him again one day. i know that he will return home soon.”

about kazuha: poetry

“kazuha would often recite haikus to me as we’d live together when he was here. i remember him arriving at my doorstep, drenched in rain from head to toe, and i hadn’t the heart to turn him away. he stayed for a while, and after a few days i decided to risk it all for him. the bond we share… is unbreakable. if you see him, let him know that i am waiting for him.”

about kamisato ayaka

“i have a lot of respect for the princess of the kamisato clan. she conducts herself in a light i admire greatly, and she and i are close friends. her swordsmanship is just as impressive, and i would love it if we could spar once more as we used to. perhaps i will visit her soon…”

about yoimiya

“yoimiya? oh, of course - festivals in inazuma aren’t complete without a firework show organised by her. i have also heard her skills with a bow are unique, to say the least. paired with her passion for fireworks, i assume the combination work… interestingly in battle.”

about sayu

“hm? sayu… you mean the ninja who resides in the forests? i can’t say i’ve seen much of her… which is odd, considering she wields that great claymore…”

about gorou

“oh, gorou! i know him very well, actually. he was one of the first people i befriended as part of the resistance. he is a sound fighter, and i believe he can achieve great things. perhaps i can see him again soon.”

about the raiden shogun

“the raiden shogun… her despicable vision hunt decree… the tenryo commission… i detest it all. to see so many people’s dreams stripped, to see the colour fade from so many precious hopes… i will see to it that this is all restored. i cannot sympathise with a god who robs her people of their dreams.”

more about kiyoharu misa i

“you’d like to know more about me? i’m flattered. i know that your journey through inazuma won’t be easy, so please don’t hesitate to drop by every once in a while. my blade never rests, after all.”

more about kiyoharu misa ii

“the carvings on my sword are most intricate. a swordsmaiden’s weapon is her will. i find myself staring at the moon night after night, and the patterns on my sword are a tribute to the power it lends me.”

more about kiyoharu misa iii

“you want to know about my title? well, moonlit swordsmaiden refers to the way i utilise my vision. the light of the moon reflects through the electro element, and i believe that through this combination i can convey the power of the resistance.”

more about kiyoharu misa iv

“i’m an only child, so the fate of the kiyoharu clan rests in my hands. traveler, i believe that through knowing you i have become a better person. i hope that you will visit inazuma once again.”

more about kiyoharu misa v

“here, this is for you. it’s a charm made from pure sea glass. the way the sun and moonlight reflects through its unique colours is a rare sight to behold. i suppose this is a thank you gift, for everything we’ve been through together.”

kiyoharu misa’s hobbies

“my hobbies? well, in the late night and early morning hours, i enjoy heading down to a secluded beach and basking in the moonlight. those hours are the perfect opportunity to practice swordsmanship, and the art of sword dancing too. besides that, i suppose i enjoy embroidery too, although i’m not particularly good at it…”

kiyoharu misa’s troubles

“i often worry about the other members of the resistance. i find myself questioning as to whether they still have their visions, or even their lives. on top of that, i hope that one day i will be reunited with my lover… i pray that he too made it out safely.”

favorite food

“my mother used to make the most takoyaki. my family weren’t so insistent on having maids running around when we could cook everything ourselves, so i would always snack on my mother’s dishes. even today, the taste of takoyaki brings back vivid memories of my mother.”

least favourite food

“honestly, i’m not much of a picky eater, but i’m not too fond of anything containing fish eggs…”

birthday

“happy birthday! it’s a special day for you today. is there anything in particular you’d like? no, don’t be silly, of course i’ll get it for you! seeing as you’ve helped me this far, it’s only right that i give something back to you! on top of that, if there’s anything you ever need at all, i’ll be sure to help you out, friend.”

feelings about ascension: intro

“my blade only grows stronger. let’s continue working hard.”

feelings about ascension: building up

“how to describe this feeling… lightweight, but more powerful. the dance will go on.”

feelings about ascension: climax

“with each passing day, my blade grows keener. the moon seems more radiant than ever before.”

feelings about ascension: conclusion

“i believe i owe you a great thanks. the moonlight that rains down on the world will forever be in your favour, traveler. both you and i will improve leaps and bounds from here on out.”

addition to party

“are we heading off?”

“alright, ready when you are.”

“it’s time, let’s go.”

elemental skill

“will of my sword!”

“shrouded in moonlight!”

(convergence) “cut them blind!”

(convergence) “beams, converge!”

elemental burst

“kiyoharu art: carver of radiance!”

“dance of death.”

“face my blade!”

fallen

“i thought… we’d meet… again…”

“friends… i’m sorry…”

“no… i wasn’t… done…”

—

talents

—

normal attack - kiyoharu sword art

perform up to 5 consecutive attacks with a sword.

charged attack: consume a set amount of stamina to unleash a more powerful attack, dealing physical dmg to enemies.

plunging attack: plunges from mid-air to strike the ground below, damaging opponents in an aoe upon impact.

elemental skill - remnants of moonlight

tap once: kiyoharu misa dashes quickly forwards, dealing electro dmg to enemies in her path. she leaves a thunderblade at her starting and end point of her dash.

tap again: the thunderblades converge with kiyoharu misa as the focal point, creating a triangular zone of convergence. enemies within the zone of convergence are dealt electro dmg and are knocked up. a mark of radiance is applied to enemies within the zone of convergence.

if the skill is not reactivated, the two thunderblades will converge in a line after 4s. marks of radiance last for 12s.

elemental burst - kiyoharu art: carver of radiance

kiyoharu misa leaps into the air, before plunging down and dealing a powerful slash to enemies, dealing massive electro dmg. for 3s after her slash, thunder strikes will crash down on enemies who are marked by mark of radiance, dealing extra electro dmg.

passive 1 - swordsmaiden’s revenge

enemies affected by a mark of radiance will take 15% more damage from kiyoharu misa’s normal and charged attacks.

passive 2 - thundering retribution

kiyoharu misa’s crit dmg is increased by 10% for 5s after a zone of convergence is activated.

natural passive - lightning clarity

all party members’ crit dmg is increased by 10% when kiyoharu misa is in the party.

—

constellations

—

constellation 1: tenacity of lightning

the duration of thunderblades on the field is increased to 6s, and the duration of marks of radiance on enemies is increased to 16s.

constellation 2: shredding thunder

enemies marked by marks of radiance have their elemental res decreased by 20%.

constellation 3: roots of kiyoharu

the level of kiyoharu art: carver of radiance is increased by 3.

constellation 4: fatal reunion

if there are more than 5 enemies within the zone of convergence cast by remnants of moonlight, the cooldown is decreased by 3s.

constellation 5: swordsmaiden’s unwavering will

the level of remnants of moonlight is increased by 3.

constellation 6:

kiyoharu art: carver of radiance deals 50% more dmg to enemies previously affected by electro.

—

appearance

—

kiyoharu misa is a young woman and is of average height, with light brown hair, tied half up in a braided bow and then tied at the very bottom. she has bangs which frame her face. her eyes are deep gray-purple, and she has a small scar across the bridge of her nose. her outfit is coordinated with white and lavender colours, and her paper umbrella is also patterned with lavender coloured lightning and flower patterns.

i’m horrible at art so here’s a fun picrew of misa …… this isn’t what she’d wear but it’s the closest thing to what i was imagining ig …… also the band aid is supposed to be her lil scar LOL

#finally dragged misa out of the drafts #zizi’s ocs

14 notes · View notes

besanii · 4 years ago

Text

shattered mirrors 49

WangXian ; 1729 words

The low table by the window catches his eye the moment he walks into the room. It stands a little over knee height and a metre in length, with flowing clouds engraved along the edges of the paulownia wood; the slip of light blue silk draped across the top is embroidered with silver characters he recognises as musical notations for the guqin. The instrument itself is missing, but he knows instinctively the owner of the instrument without confirmation.

He allows himself a small smile as he traces the notations on the silk until he hears footsteps in the corridor and retracts his hand quickly; moments later, Lan Wangji walks into the room. A young man follows a step behind, carrying the guqin in its white wrappings on his back. Wei Wuxian dips his knee in welcome.

“Wangye,” he says, lowering his gaze. “Welcome back.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji greets him in that stubborn way of his, refusing to call him anything but with the name he had long discarded. “Have you been well?”

Hands slide beneath his elbows to help him to a standing position; he raises his eyes to meet Lan Wangji’s through his lashes and offers a sweet little smile.

“Xian-er is very well today, thank you very much for asking, Wangye,” he replies demurely. “Please, have a seat. I’ll pour the tea.”

One of the large hands at his elbow shifts to his back, its gentle pressure guiding him over to the larger table in the centre of the sitting room. He shies away as Lan Wangji moves closer to help into the seat, masking the way his breath hitches with a soft laugh when his fingers trail over the sensitive skin of his palm, instead reaching for the tray at the centre of the table. Lan Wangji holds himself still as Wei Wuxian moves away, his fingers curling into fists and lowering back to his side; he sinks into the seat quietly and keeps his eyes fixed on the cup that is placed before him.

The sharp fragrance of the tea is immediately familiar, as is the light hue of the tea itself in the fine ceramic cup.

“Wangye seemed to enjoy the Longjing we served on your last visit, so I took the liberty of serving it again,” Wei Wuxian explains when he notices the focus of Lan Wangji’s attention. “I hope I have not been too presumptuous.”

“No,” Lan Wangji says. “Not at all.”

Wei Wuxian smiles as he takes his seat beside him, the folds of his pearl-grey robes settling around him with a sigh. It is not a colour he usually wears, but the material was a gift from one of his wealthier clients and he had been insistent on seeing him wear it—afterwards, well…it would have been a shame to waste a beautiful set of robes. He turns his attention instead to the young man hovering just inside the doorway, turned away from them politely, the guqin resting on the floor in front of him, held up between his hands.

“What have you brought with you today, Wangye?” he asks.

“I thought we might have some music,” Lan Wangji says, raising a hand. “Jingyi.”

The young man jumps at being addressed out of the blue and turns to Lan Wangji with a quick bow before carrying the guqin over to the small table. The care with which he unwraps the instrument is offset by the way his eyes dart back and forth between his task and Wei Wuxian with interest; Wei Wuxian inclines his head politely in his direction when their eyes meet and he flushes, fingers fumbling over the tassels as he sets the guqin on the table. The thud it makes is loud enough to make the poor boy wince and Lan Wangji’s eyes narrow, but the task is otherwise completed without further issue and he backs away quickly.

“Wangye,” he says with a low bow. Lan Wangji inclines his head.

“Thank you, Jingyi, please leave us.” He turns back to Wei Wuxian as the boy leaves the room quietly. “Please excuse him, he is…excitable.”

Wei Wuxian laughs softly. “He is still very young, Wangye.”

“He is old enough to learn the values of restraint,” Lan Wangji replies with a frown. “And he carries the name of the Imperial family. He would do well to learn the lesson early.”

A twinge of sadness passes through Wei Wuxian at those words and for a moment he looks at Lan Wangji and sees the seventeen-year-old boy behind the man, tall and proud and so very lonely. Once upon a time he had hoped to chase away the loneliness in those eyes, had promised to never leave his side—but the promises of children have always been foolish, and they are so very different from who they once were. But regret is an emotion he prefers not to dwell upon, so he laughs again and rises from his seat to inspect the guqin.

“This is a very fine instrument,” he says admiringly. “Is it yours, Wangye?”

The instrument is carved from the finest paulownia wood in the simple, elegant Zhong Ni style, with blue clouds curling across the smooth, dark lacquer on either side of the strings. There is the tiniest of dents in the lacquer just above the bridge, no bigger than the tip of a hairpin, that catches his eye—a pang of recognition makes his heart clench, and he passes over the spot quickly in favour of plucking the first string. A clear, mellow note rings out from the guqin.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji replies, watching him carefully. “It has been passed down in my family for generations.”

But you already know this, goes unsaid.

“I have long heard the qin of the Gusu Imperial Family are unmatched in all the kingdoms,” Wei Wuxian says, feigning ignorance with the lightness of his tone. “Er-wangye especially. I confess my own skills are sub-par in comparison.”

“You play?” Lan Wangji asks, surprised. Wei Wuxian looks at him with a playful little smile.

“Only very little,” he says with a hint of embarrassment. “I would not dare to compare myself to someone as talented as yourself, Wangye.”

“I would love to hear you play,” Lan Wangji tells him. The sincerity in his voice makes his heart ache. “If you are willing, of course.”

Wei Wuxian inclines his head. “If that is your wish, Wangye, then Xian-er will display my inadequacy and play a piece for you.”

He shakes out his sleeves and takes a seat in front of the guqin. He adjusts the tuning quickly for his chosen piece, his fingers darting over the strings and the hui with practised ease, each harmonic ringing loud and clear. When it is properly tuned to his liking, Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and places his hands in position.

The piece he chooses is slow and sorrowful, a song of parting, and he plays each note with careful deliberation: lingering with each downward slide, ending each phrase with a trembling note. It is a piece he knows well and plays often, pouring a little of himself with each new interpretation of the score, coaxing the yearning of the original poem from silk strings against fine wood. When the last note fades into silence, he releases the breath he had been holding, the ache in his chest petering with the music. Only then does he dare to look up at Lan Wangji.

“Yangguan Sandie,” Lan Wangji murmurs. There is an odd light in his eyes Wei Wuxian cannot place. “Why did you select this piece?”

“It is one of my favourites, Wangye,” Wei Wuxian says, resting his fingers lightly on the strings. “I will admit it is one of the simpler pieces, but the merit of a song should lie in the feelings it evokes in the listener rather than the complexity of the technique—wouldn’t you agree, Wangye?

“‘The fragrant wine is limited, but this regret is boundless’,” he continues, when Lan Wangji does not answer. “‘Boundless grief, grief, and grief again.”

He lowers his eyes and draws his hands back into his lap. His chest feels hollowed out, empty, and he is grateful for the table’s edge that hides the way his hands tremble. Perhaps it had been the wrong piece to play, he thinks in the wake of Lan Wangji’s silence, he should have picked something livelier instead of a song of the yearning, heartbreak and sorrow of farewell—

“‘After today’s parting, in both places our mutual yearning will grow’.” His heart stops at the sound of Lan Wangji’s voice, deep and warm and gentle as he murmurs the words. “‘But to whom can we speak them?’”

The words hang in the space between them, weighted with meaning. Wei Wuxian stands up, heat rising to his cheeks as his heart thrums in his chest; he moves over to the open window in a bid to hide his face, careful to keep his movements casual despite their swiftness. Lan Wangji remains by the guqin table, watching him silently, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“The song is one of your favourites,” he says thoughtfully. Wei Wuxian curses himself internally for giving even that little fragment of information away. After a pause, Lan Wangji exhales. “It has also brought me great comfort over the years.”

Wei Wuxian forces himself to laugh, turning around to face Lan Wangji again.

“Now that I have demonstrated my mediocre abilities on the qinin front of a great master such as yourself,” he says, pitching his voice higher as he smiles. “I believe it is your turn, Wangye.”

Lan Wangji hums.

“I am no master at the craft,” he disagrees, taking the seat Wei Wuxian has vacated. “Merely one who is dedicated in its practice.”

“Begging your pardon, Wangye, but I have heard very differently,” Wei Wuxian tells him with a teasing smile. The flirtations come easier now that his heart has settled again, and he is able to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes with his usual humour. “I am very honoured to be able to have Hanguang-wangye play for me personally.”

Lan Wangji smiles, his eyes already turned to the guqin.

“If it pleases you to hear it,” he says quietly, “I will play for you every day.”

Notes:

hui - the note scales on the guqin (similar to frets on a guitar), marking places of positive integer dividends of the string length

Zhong Ni style - one possible shape of a guqin. It is the one I’ve found most similar to Wangji as it is drawn in the donghua

Yangguan Sandie (阳关三叠) - Three Refrains on Yang Pass, a song inspired by a poem by Wang Wei that laments the parting of friends [ WATCH ON YT: / watch?v=nHNdgfoxvvo ]

Master Post is here: /shattered-mirrors-master-post

// buy me a ko-fi : besanii //

#wangxian #mdzs #shattered mirrors au #王爷机 X 花魁羡 #shattered mirrors fic #my writing #wei wuxian #lan wangji #Xian-er arc #featuring Wangji the guqin #阳关三叠 is one of the first pieces i learned on the guqin #and i have a special love for it #so yeah #sorry for the long delay between updates #my brain has not been working lately

270 notes · View notes

tessiete · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt request where crechemates Obi Wan, Quinlan, and Luminara catch up after Obi Wan’s year on Mandalore. They’re Jedi but they’re also lifelong friends and Obi Wan is sad...

ANON!!! I’m so sorry this has taken ages, but you know - we did it! Thank you so much for the prompt. It was an absolute joy to write Luminara, and try to meld together my Legends peeps with canon. ❤️❤️❤️

THIS TOO SHALL PASS

He comes back changed, so different that in that first brief moment between arrival and recognition, Luminara thinks she’s never known him at all. There’s a stiffness to his spine that speaks of something deeper than injury, and a weariness to his eyes that comes not from fatigue, but wisdom. His master’s hand lingers on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan leans into the touch, his frame trailing like the tail of a comet in Qui-Gon’s wake. But then he sees her, and he smiles, and he looks like he always has.

“Senior Padawan Luminara,” he says, stepping close and bowing deep. “I heard the good news on the platform as soon as we touched down. Congratulations.”

She bows back, neither as deeply, nor as grave, his impish humour undeserving of too much indulgence.

“And you as well, padawan,” she says. “Only you would manage to find a Council-sanctioned reason for skipping an entire year of Astronav.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” he says, eyes alight with mirth. “It was a matter of utmost political delicacy, and I am honoured that the Council, as well as the Chancellor himself saw fit to trust my master and I with such a task.”

“Ah, yes,” she says. “You are well known for your love of politicians. Tell me, is the Duchess of Mandalore very pretty?”

He falters then, a furrow forming between his brows, his lashes fluttering and eyes sliding away from hers in search of something that isn’t there. Ah. She raises her hand, and with a slender forefinger, smoothes away the crease.

“Hush, Obi-Wan,” she says. “This too will pass in time.”

He takes her hand in his, and holds tight. A smile, just as tight, flits bravely across his face, and he inhales sharp, and bright.

“It’s nothing,” he says. Then, as though for proof he adds, “And she was very pretty.”

But Luminara isn’t fooled at all.

She watches him at meals, and in classes - though with a year between them now, their schedules don’t quite match as neatly as they once had. Still, she sees. There are the usual things that linger in any padawan, or knight, after more difficult missions, of course. He keeps his back to the wall. He looks for exits. He always is the last to leave a room, and tries to be the first to enter one, but there is more than that.

There is a softness now. It’s...it’s nearly unnoticeable, and even more undefinable, but there is something soft about him that wasn’t there before. He listens more attentively. He watches more carefully. He frowns and thinks before he speaks, and the little furrow between his brows is remembered by his skin. He leans close when she whispers to him, so near that his hair grazes gently over her lips, and he doesn’t stare at Siri anymore. Not like he used to. But he laughs, and he offers her his hand instinctively, when they take an aircar to the lower districts one evening.

He has learned intimacy.

“Must’ve been some kind of girl!” Quinlan shouts, as they reminisce over drinks in a seedy little club in CocoTown. Obi-Wan grimaces as Quin lands a jocund punch on his bicep. He’s in high spirits tonight, having managed to scrape his way through Theoretical Basic with Obi-Wan’s help. “I know you’d never leave me to suffer as I did for just anyone.”

“Cut it out, Quin,” says Siri, knocking back a shot of something thick and glowing. “Can’t you see he’s distraught?”

“I’m not distraught,” Obi-Wan protests. “I’m just embarrassed to be out in public with you lot.”

“Aw, Obi-Bi,” says Quinlan. “You missed us. Admit it. There’s no duchess in this entire Force-forsaken galaxy that can hold a candle to the pleasure of my company.”

“Oh, please,” scoffs Siri, her mouth grimacing at the sour twist of liquor and Quinlan’s own peculiar arrogance. “You make Gardulla the Hutt look like Alderaanian royalty.”

“Hey Tachi,” says Quinlan, “Aren’t you too young to be out without your master?”

“Hey Vos,” she retorts, “Aren’t you too old to still have one?”

He flicks a protato wedge across the table, which Siri dodges easily, snatching it out of the air with a deft application of the Force, and eating it while he protests her theft.

“I paid for that!”

Garen laughs, while Reeft is too busy scarfing down half a nerf to offer his opinion one way or another. But Luminara watches. Obi-Wan smiles, and smiles but it never lasts for longer than he is observed. It falls away quickly when he drops his eyes, or ducks his head as though the weight of it is pulling his whole being down. His presence in the Force isn’t dimmed. He is as cool, and clear as he has ever been, but she cannot sound him. Like the ocean, he is fathoms deep.

She nudges his foot beneath the table, and he looks at her, attentive to whatever she might need, for surely there is something he might do, something he might say that would fulfill her want and distract him from his own. But she only cocks her head, and studies him, mouthing “Are you okay?” over empty drek and ale bottles.

He blinks. Confusion springs up like a keen defensive blade and he nods as though she were a fool for asking. She presses her lips until they are thin as flimsi, and takes a sip of drek.

“Here, Obi,” says Quin, shoving a shot into his hand. “You and me are gonna drink Tachi under the table.”

“And no purging,” Siri adds. She raises her own glass in salute. “Last woman standing wins!”

And with a cry, and an encouraging hand guiding his own, Obi-Wan joins in the competition, drinking until Quinlan winds up half-conscious in the fresher, and Siri is slapped with a lifetime ban. Reeft, and Garen stagger off to Dex’s, while as penance, Siri vows to see Quinlan safely to the Halls of Healing. Hopefully Bant is on duty and will take pity on them.

“If I really grovel, she might even hook us up with one of those Corellian selamine drips!” Siri slurs, Quinlan draped over her shoulders and drowsing.

Luminara seriously doubts that is a possibility, but says nothing. She only nods encouragingly, and adjusts her hold on her own unstable burden. Obi-Wan has fared better than Quinlan, knowing better than to challenge Siri to a bet, and having learned, somewhere along the way, that some battles are better left unfought, but still he struggles to keep his feet, and Luminara braces herself to steady him.

They squeeze into the aircar together, but are forced to walk the last few blocks to the Temple, when Quinlan unceremoniously vomits out the back window. Most of it is whipped away by the wind, but their driver is furious, and refuses to go any further. And while guiding the steps of three drunken beings is more tedious than simply shoving them in a taxi had been, there is some fortune in this outcome as they manage to make it past Temple security with far less notice than if they’d had to be cleared at the private docks.

Still, Siri and Quinlan make no secret of their passage, laughing and giggling at every missed step or absent whim. At the crossroads between quarters and the Halls, she waits until they stagger out of sight before turning her charge towards his master’s rooms. He’s quiet, pliant, and easily led - a state that she cannot attribute to anything except the quantity of drink in his system, since his stubborn willfulness is something which was left quite unchanged.

“Come on, Obi-Wan,” she whispers, as they approach his chamber door. “Help me out, here.”

She nudges him in the ribs, and lifts his arm while his head lolls sideways to tuck under her chin. She feels his lips against her neck, his breath hot. He smells of sweat, and stale cigarra, and brittle nighttime wind.

“Rejorhaa'ir ni meg gar copad, Sat’ika.”

The words are soft, reverent, hardly more than a kiss upon her skin, and Luminara knows they are not for her. She shakes him harder. Hard enough to dislodge him from his perch atop her collarbone, and drop him into wakefulness.

“Satine?” he mumbles, blinking in the dark. He speaks the name like an orison, and Luminara feels her heart ache with the weight of his prayer.

“I’m not Satine,” she says. “You’re home now. You have to open the door and go in.”

“What?”

“The door, Obi-Wan.” She nudges him further ahead, forcing his feet to accept the responsibility of gravity.

He stumbles, but catches himself, and lets out a sigh.

“Master Qui-Gon is never going to let me hear the end of this,” he says, pressing his palm flat beside the door, and staggering through as it slides away with a hiss.

She follows him in, catching him at the waist as he makes an aborted attempt to collapse across the couch in the common room. His hand hits a clay pot, sending it spinning, and his foot strikes a hollow note against the little wooden table at his side.

“Careful,” she scolds, righting the plant, and listening for the sound of a wakeful master. “We’re going to go to your room.”

“Ah, Padawan Unduli, you’re trying to sed-”

“Padawan Kenobi, keep quiet, lest you wake your master.”

“Right,” he says. And that is sufficient threat, for he keeps any further jibes and jokes to himself as they pick their way down the hall to his room.

This time, she opens the door, her hand firmly in the middle of his back as she escorts him in. The room is still musty from his time away, and though it is no bigger than any standard issue room in any other double suite, it still feels empty and cavernous around them. Obi-Wan hasn’t lived here in a very long time. The walls themselves have forgotten him.

“Thanks for helping me home,” he says. He drops upon his bed, shrugging off his cloak and pulling at the clasps upon his boots. His fingers are wild and clumsy. She watches him struggle for a moment, before pity takes hold, and she kneels down to assist. She brushes his hands aside, and he falls back against the wall, his breaths rasping loudly in the dark.

“If you’re going to be sick let me know,” she says, with a brow raised in barest concern. “I don’t want you to aspirate on your own.”

“I’m not going to be sick,” he insists, voice thick.

“Or if you’re going to cry,” she adds.

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m not. I missed you.””

She shucks the boots, and lifts his legs onto the bed, pulling a blanket across him. He closes his eyes but his jaw is tight, and that furrow in his brow remains. She reaches out to smooth it.

“I missed you, too. Sleep now,” she says. “And dream of lovely things.”

“I’d rather dream of nothing,” he whispers. “I’d rather not dream at all, if all I’ll see is her.”

His hand clenches over the edge of the sheets. She sits, and folds his hand beneath her own. In the stillness of this empty room, and the comfort of his childhood bed, he fights. He bites his lip, until the blood has fled, and the tender flesh turns white. He turns his head, and swallows hard, again and again to drown that anguish, to bridle that emotion, and master himself, just as a Jedi ought. At the corner of one eye, sorrow beads and slips across his cheek. She soothes that injury, too, and murmurs to him sweetly.

“Hush, Obi-Wan, you’re home, now. You’re safe. You’re here. I’m here. Be here, with me.”

“But I will never be there again,” he says, choking on the words as they break free. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I’ll miss her forever. It’s all over, now.”

“It is,” she sighs, stroking his hair. It has grown long in a year, and his braid is nearly hidden. “It’s over, but it happened. You loved her. And she loved you.”

“I could have stayed,” he cries. “I would have left for her.”

“But you didn’t. You came back. Do you now regret it?”

He gasps. A wretched sob breaks loose, and he surges up, panic, and despair, and overwhelming loss sending him reeling into her arms. He weeps against her chest until he is exhausted, and her robes are crystalised with salt.

“You can still go back,” she whispers, a secret in his ear. “If you wanted. The choice is yours to make.”

He shakes his head, and tightens his grip.

“I made my choice,” he says, tongue thick and slow. But his tone is clear. His heart resolved. He knows what it is he speaks. “I am a Jedi. This is where I’m meant to be.”

“Then trust the Force,” she tells him, gently. “And trust yourself. This, too, shall pass in time.”

#My fic #prompt fill #luminara unduli #obi wan kenobi #sw fic #Star wars

44 notes · View notes

timextoxhajima · 4 years ago

Text

HOSTIS, Chapter XVII.5: Inevitabilis, Inevitable

HOSTIS PLAYLIST: WONHO - LOSING YOU

Previous Chapter (XVII: Et Universum Parallel)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): drama, angst

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

Dana’s A/N: this is a special piece written by @vxstarlightxv who has been feeding me ideas to fuel this story. i did not write this chapter, i only merely proof-read it/gave her tips etc, but otherwise the beauty of this chapter will never be able to be my own original work.

P.S: if you’re emotional, please keep a box of tissues with you

“there is no escape from you, not now, not ever. you are inevitable.”

The day the kids at school start calling you Ares is the day Hyunjae loses faith in humanity. You are a spineless, low-life coward, who hardly deserves to be bestowed with the same title as himself. Yet here you are, acting as though you were worth being on the same plane as him.

He hates you. Oh god, he truly does.

He remembers the way you fucked him over so well and thoroughly, and in front of the whole school that too. Granted, he may have screwed with your equipment, but maybe if you didn’t suck so bad you wouldn’t have failed.

Blaming him for your shortcomings. How typical.

But showing Minhee that picture of the accidental kiss (that meant nothing) for the sole purpose of destroying his relationship? That was a bitch move right there. So he has no regrets when he posts a cleverly edited picture of your lab teacher with his girlfriend. None at all. In fact, the sight of your tears when that himbo Younghoon dumps you is something that brings him delight.

His heart definitely did not twist when he saw you cry, because he definitely does not care. You hurt him, and it’s only fair that you’re hurting too.

Nonetheless, he is pleasantly surprised at how fast you bounce back. His breakup with Minhee was a huge watery mess, and he cannot help his grudging admiration for your strength when you power through your own with Younghoon.

It is only admiration, for he definitely still hates you.

When the time comes to choose a medical school, he chooses the one that seems the furthest away from you. But fate hates him, so after 4 years of respite, he is dumped back on your doorstep as your fellow intern in the neurology department.

Of all the fucky coincidences.

~~~

Ares is a brutal god. He is the fire of war, wild and relentless.

Hyunjae is furious when he finds out you’ve stolen his report, but he’s not surprised. Not when he would’ve done the same thing. Then again, he was kind of hoping you would leave him alone. Naturally, you’ve done the opposite. He wonders if his emotional response is a little… disproportionate, given the situation, but he’s not going to let you fuck him over like this and escape unscathed. He isn’t a fucking pussy, your thoughts on the matter be damned.

Silly little kitten. Put your paws in the fire, and watch the heat bubble your skin.

He is simmering as he bangs on your door. He hears you screaming some nonsense about your mother, but he’s too pissed to process anything. You open the door, face falling as you see him. He cannot help but reach out a hand and grab you by your pretty throat.

He shoves you into the house, fuelled by the magnitude of his anger. You’ve hurt his pride, made a fool out of him in front of Dr Kim. He wants to shred you to pieces, get you on your knees and rip the apologies from your mouth.

Tonight you will understand why the other gods fear the wrath of Ares.

~~~

Hyunjae replays the encounter in his head as he drives home. He has never once considered you as anything but an enemy. But today, something of seismic proportion has shifted in your dynamic.

The flutter of your lips against his, like butterfly wings on a flower. The warmth of your chest against his in a tight alcove, hiding from Dr Shin. The way you felt when you took him in, the way you cried when he hit every single spot that made your toes curl. The way you purred when he called you kitten and mewled as you fell apart on his cock.

In retrospect, he hopes that he didn’t hurt you. He usually likes to stick around for aftercare, but he didn’t want to ruin your pride even more. You’d already been dealt with a devastating blow, and he didn’t want to make it worse, regardless of how big of a dick you think he is.

(Ring, ring)

The sharp blare of his ringtone shatters the silence of his ride home. He glances at the screen, smiling when he sees the caller id.

“What’s up, Juyeonie? Are you finally back?” Hyunjae is thrilled to hear his best friend’s voice. Juyeon is very busy these days, being a commercial pilot and all, so these rare moments they have with each other are more precious than gold.

“Hey, hyung! Yes I am! On that note, are you free next Friday? Let’s get drinks and catch up!” Juyeon sounds so eager and hopeful that Hyunjae can’t help but say yes, no matter how packed his schedule might be. The rest of the conversation proceeds pleasantly, and he is happy to forget the day’s drama.

It is only when he reaches home that he realises that the thought of you has never quite left his head.

~~~

“So what happened? The last I heard, she left you high and dry in JFK.”

He watches as feline eyes crinkle with delight at his question. His friend launches into a happy tirade about his mystery girl, going on and on about fate and chance encounters and love lost and found. Hyunjae listens carefully, admiring the way Juyeon has changed. He wonders for a moment if he'll ever experience something as profound as Juyeon has, will ever wake up one day knowing that his heart sits in the palms of another person, and will not fear the idea.

The image of your eyes dancing with wicked laughter arises unbidden, and it punches the breath out of him.

He is jostled out of his thoughts when a hand lands on his thigh. It is so abrupt, so sudden that he all but jumps out of his skin.

“Long time no see, stranger.”

Choi Minhee is standing in front of him, batting her mascara-painted eyelashes at him seductively. She is as pretty as ever, with her delicate collarbones and anime-girl eyes.

But she is not you.

The thought is so dreadful and unsettling that he cannot help but flirt with her the whole night in order to get it out of his head.

When have you become anything but an annoyance, anything but a pest that’s been shoved down his throat?

It is pleasant, talking to someone who he hasn’t met in a long time. He remembers her fondly, despite how miserable their parting was. Minhee is soft and kind, a gentle cherry-blossom compared to your ever-burning inferno. She complements him well (not perfectly, because only oneperson does), and for a second he feels white-hot annoyance at you for fucking him over in this regard. Hyunjae cannot help but wonder if they would have been married by now had you not intervened with that photo. Would they be living the white-picket fence dream? What would their kids have looked like?

All he can see are children with your ash-brown hair and his almond eyes. The image causes his gut to clench so tightly that he wonders if something inside him might have cracked open.

“Have you and Y/N gotten together yet? I figured that after we broke up the two of you would end up going out. You were always kinda obsessed with each other.” The question jolts him out of his reverie. Juyeon, who has been listening politely so far, decides to insert himself into the conversation.

“Yeah, hyung. The two of you have always had something special, right? What was that stupid nickname we gave you? Paris and Helen?”

The irony is not lost to him. Enemies, being compared to the two greatest lovers of all time. A face that launched a thousand ships, a blaze of love that destroyed a nation. Only fools succumb to Aphrodite, the cruelest of the divine hosts.

“Ares and Ares. And for fuck’s sake, I will never be attracted to that hag. You won’t believe what she did at work last week-”

Hyunjae misses the knowing look Minhee and Juyeon exchange. He’s only seeing you.

~~~

If there is one thing that Hyunjae hates, it is surprises. So he really, really hates it when he sees you flirting with the intern as though he doesn’t exist.

The day had actually started off pretty well. He came into work feeling all pleased with himself. Not only did he break you down, but he also figured out a solid way to keep you in line. You were reacting beautifully to his taunts, and seeing you unable to walk made something vicious inside him preen.

And then, before he can breathe, you are making stupid cow-eyes at the snot-faced little intern as though he created entire galaxies in your honour.

How dare you, honestly? You’re wearing his hickeys on your neck, limping and sore because heripped you apart last night. How can you even thinkof flirting with another man? Are you doing this on purpose, to get some semblance of power back?

This is not jealousy. It definitely is NOT jealousy because that would mean he would have to be attracted to your hideous hag face. No, it was an issue of pride. And no, he definitely was not deluding himself right now.

Nonetheless, watching Eric help you into his car after work makes him want to vomit.

~~~

It is the party incident that truly knocks it into his head. He spends the entire night seething over your flirtations with Eric, with even Sangyeon. He glares at you, but you pretend to not see, and it shoves him off the edge.

Why won’t you look at him? A room full of people, but you are the only one he sees. So why aren’t you seeing him too?

He reminds you that night, who is the only one who knows how to pick you apart, snap you in half. He reminds you who is the only one who can make your body thrum and vibrate, who is the only one who can coax tears from your eyes and pleasured sobs from your throat. But he is also tender with you after, because under that diamond-hard exterior is a heart wrapped in silks and satin. Hurting you is the last thing he wants to do.

It is only when he wakes up alone in the morning that he realises that maybe, just maybe, he wishes he could see you in his bed again, hair spilled across the sheets as your breathing slowly evens out into slumber. He wants to coo over your keening wails, drink the moans from your mouth.

A thought, fleeting and profound, surfaces.

He wants you to be his.

~~~

He goes to work on Sunday with iron resolve. He has spent the entirety of Saturday thinking hard about you, and the relationship you shared with him. The line between obsession and infatuation is a thin one, one that the two of you have been dancing on for 10 whole years. When did his foot slip? When did the late nights plotting revenge mutate into candied dreams of your lips, of your body, singing for him?

But of course, who else could it be? You have always been, will always be, his forever other half.

Ares and Ares, locked in their death dance. But when did Ares become Aphrodite? War has become Love, and Love has become War.

Somewhere along the way, something has gone wrong. At some point or the other, he has forgotten the hatred that sizzled through him like blazing poison. He has forgotten that you are annoying, that you are competitive, and that you get revenge in the sleaziest ways possible. He has forgotten everything, because all that remains is the way your smile looks like a flashing ray of sunlight, like a tendril of shimmering starlight. All that remains is the sound of your wind chime laughter, the softness of your small hands on his heated skin. All that remains is the memory of how good you are for him, how addictive the juxtaposition between your submissive sweetness in bed and your fiery heat outside of it is.

So he decides that he is going to make you his. Granted, the order of things was completely wrong, but he would fix it. He would cook you dinner, press kisses onto your cherry mouth, and then love you till morning comes. And then he would repeat it every day, till the day the two of you are cradled in the eternal embrace of death.

Surely, surely you reciprocate his feelings? How can you not, when your body weeps for him the way it does?

He likes to think you do, when he admires the way your eyes flutter closed when he steals kisses in the pantry. He likes to think you do, when you stay four hours past your shift and order takeaway for him. He likes to think you do, when you dangle Eric in front of him in order to get him to fuck you hard,just the way you like it.

You are his, now.

~~~

Hyunjae’s love for you grows like tender flowers. It starts off small, but grows into something lovely and heartbreaking. You have carved your way into him, nestling against the walls of his heart and beseeching him to let you in with your stupid almond eyes.

He loves your stupid almond eyes.

He is on a cloud these days, brimming with affection that lights up his every step. He never considered himself to be one of those annoying, lovey-dovey honeymooners, but he can definitely see where they get their joy from.

Lovers alone wear sunlight.

You become his greatest delight. When you are around, even dust seems to sparkle like a thousand tiny diamonds. He loves waking up with you, your eyes half lidded and neck covered in his marks. He loves to see you in his clothes, smelling of his body wash, smelling of him.

(He has an extra special fondness for the days in which you are soft and pliant, allowing him to dress you like a doll. It makes his internal organs feel like they are tumbling over each other, and it makes him a little giddy. He loves taking care of you.)

But if he really had to pick a moment, he supposes he loves you most when you are with your patients, hands calm and steady and strong. It reminds him of everything beautiful there is about his profession, and he cannot get enough.

You are beautiful, in all the ways there are to be beautiful. You race through him like lightning, and he is sucked further into your orbit everyday. You carry his heart with you (inside yours), and you are never without it.

So he is overflowing with love when he picks you up and tastes your peach-covered mouth. He is overflowing with love when you smile at him with a sort of lightness that he's never quite seen directed at him before. He is overflowing with love as he goes to your favourite cafe one day to pick up the chowder you never stop talking about. Tonight, he will ask you to be his girlfriend, make this tentative little dance official.

Perhaps that is why the pain is so exquisite when he sees you with Younghoon, and hears you talking about Eric with such tenderness in your eyes.

“He’s super enthusiastic and there’s just something about him that’s so... comforting. I see him and I think about nothing but sunshine and warmth and laughter. He’s just... so cheerful, compared to whatever i’ve been used to.” Something inside him shatters into a million jagged pieces when he hears the words, and every breath becomes as a blood-drenched ordeal.

Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. The words ring like alarm bells.

Fool. Naive, hopeless fool. You were never really his, were you? You might be the light by which his spirit is born, you might be his sun, moon and stars, but he? He is your nothing. He is the shadow that is birthed of your radiance, forever connected and forever forgotten.

Is this is why storms are named after people? You have destroyed him in the sweetest of ways. Is this taste of heartbreak? Rust coats his tastebuds. Is this how tears are born? The agony is magnificent and all-encompassing. There is nothing left for him here. He has never been enough, never will be.

He leaves quietly, chowder forgotten.

~~~

It is truly repulsive, the fact that he can see what you adore about Eric. The intern is strong and sweet, kind in all the ways Hyunjae is not. He is soft and mellow, and will cool your scalding tantrums with gentle words. He will not stir up the embers of your fury the way Hyunjae does, hoping for a reaction. He will be tender with you, gently laying you out and coaxing your body to sing. He will not be harsh and hard and possessive like Hyunjae, claiming you with bites and bruises and writing his possession into your blood.

He has been measured, and he has been found lacking. Eric is the perfect Hephaesthus, a sweet spring dandelion, and it is no surprise that Zeus will give you to him.

Aphrodite never belonged to Ares, after all.

“Hey, Eric! Do you have a moment?” By some miracle, his voice doesn’t crack.

“Hey, hyung! What can I do for you?” Eric is as mirthful as ever, and Hyunjae wishes they weren’t fighting over the same girl because he might actually like the intern otherwise.

“Have you gotten Y/N’s number yet?” He pauses to watch the bashful amusement dance across the intern’s face, and waits for the head shake he knows is coming. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but she’s very into you. So here’s her number, and make sure you call her, alright?” The teasing lilt he’s going for comes off more as a hoarse croak, and he realises belatedly that he really needs to be less of a shit actor.

“Thank you so much, hyung! But hey, don’t you hate Y/N? Why are you helping her out?” The intern offers him a cheeky grin, and all Hyunjae wants to do is knock his teeth out. But he’s a professional,so he offers Eric a tight smile (read: grimace) and says “Well, maybe I’m hoping you’ll distract her from work so that I’ll get the promotion first.” He tosses a wink in for good measure, before reaching out to ruffle Eric’s hair with a certain sadistic pleasure.

That’s thirty minutes in the bathroom gone down the drain. But that’s what he gets for stealing Hyunjae’s girl.

Of course, because Eric is quite literally an angel who can apparently do no wrong, he gives Hyunjae a sweet smile and rolls away happily in his chair, high off his excitement at finally getting the girl he’s been after for ages.

And then Hyunjae is left alone to drown in self-loathing.

Hyunjae is clearly a masochist who likes to hurt himself, so that’s why he decides to tell you to meet him at the carpark after work. One last time, he’ll be the one to drive you home, the one who kisses you goodnight.

He promises he’ll let you go after this.

~~~

The car ride is as quiet as ever. You enjoy being left alone with your thoughts, and Hyunjae isn’t about to interrupt you when he’s being pummeled by his own.

The Japanese once made up a fictional disease to describe the horrors of unrequited love. They call it Hanahaki, in which flowers grow in the lungs of the victims, causing them to cough up petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

He supposes that it is the exact feeling that he feels now. His love for you coils in his chest, choking leaves and thorns that crush his internal organs. It is rooted so deep that it might never leave, killing him softly but surely. The petals tickle his throat in an insidious kiss as he chokes on his desire for you, their softness a poisonous taunt of your lips against his, a feeling he might never know again.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a balm to his wounded heart.

Of course he’s not okay. He’s in love with you, but you’re not in love with him. He knows that he is nothing without you, and that knowledge is somehow everything.

All this time he wanted to make you his, but you have made him yours.

He cannot form words, so he looks at you, really, really looks at you. He memorises the contours of your face, the slender bone of your nose, the tilt of your eyes, the exact shade of red your lips are. He'll hold every little detail close, remember the last night you're his and his alone, because tomorrow Eric will ask you out and his Aphrodite will never be his again.

He wants to pretend like the sudden moisture in his eyes is surprising, but he can't lie to himself anymore.

Liar, liar. Ares is a liar.

Is this how Lucifer felt when he fell from heaven? You are life, you are life and light and everything bright. And he is cold, dark and alone. He has fallen from grace, and all that is left are the coiling tendrils of hubris keeping his spine straight and gluing the shattered pieces of his heart together. He is heartbroken, but he will clench his teeth and grit through it. Your joy is worth it. His ego won't let him fall apart. He's stronger than this. Isn't he?

Break my heart. Break it into a thousand pieces and then some. It was only ever yours to break anyways.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Anyways, we’re here now. Get out already.” Your scoff is musical. He is aching and he is broken, so he does not have the strength to resist the screaming in his head to steal one last kiss from you. He luxuriates in the feeling of your petal-soft lips against his, before pulling away reluctantly.

Everything is more beautiful because the two of you are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. You will never share this moment again.

“Goodbye, kitten.”

The words are far more permanent than he likes. You don’t hear them.

His tears run as he pulls out of your driveway. He allows himself one last look at you, confusion blossoming on the face he once swore was hideous but now haunts his every moment.

Love is fire. It burns as much as it warms, and he is the poor fool who allowed himself to get scarred.

~~~

Crossing the line from enemies to lovers was a wheeling drop of ecstasy and biting kisses. Crossing the line from lovers back to co-workers is a study in heartbreak, and Hyunjae doesn't know how much longer he can handle it.

How do I forget you? I've tasted your secrets on my lips and drank the whispers of your body. You are the weakness in my bones and the hollowness in my lungs. How do I cleave my soul from yours, when you are the drum that my heart beats to?

It is an awful sort of pain, feeling his chest cave in when he watches Eric roll over to you from his cubicle. You find him cute, it's obvious from the way your eyes crinkle like little stars when you regard him.

Look at me. Look only at me.

You look up, searching for his eyes like you’ve heard his prayer. You're expecting jealousy, disdain, fury. You're expecting him to drag you to the pantry, to call you kitten and kiss you till you bleed. But Hyunjae has no more poison to offer you. He is empty, and all he can do is give you a blank look. He hopes you will be happy, silently wishing you the best.

Hephaestus gets Aphrodite, and all Ares can do is watch. Bloody, brutal Ares is never the winner.

His lack of response throws you off. By now, you are used to his hissy fits, his seething rages. But who is he? What right does he have? You are not his to rage over, or his to claim. You might wear his marks on your neck, but you are definitely not his.

How he wishes you were. But wishes are like pixie dust, and this is no fairytale.

The rest of the day is agonising. His body is so keenly attuned to yours now, and he doesn’t know how to rewire himself. He keeps a cool distance from you, but every molecule in his being roars in fury at the forced detachment.

He misses you already.

You continue to press him, trying to push his buttons and rile him up. Hyunjae studiously ignores you, hoping his coldness will further fray the ropes holding up the fragile bridge of a relationship that the two of you have developed. You are looking at him with a strange mix of anger, disdain and annoyance. For a second, he thinks he might even see-

Is that? Could it be? Longing? Do you miss him like he misses you?

Wishful thinking. That’s what it is. But it hurts so bad that he decides that he’s just going to avoid you from now on, until he finds a more appropriate coping mechanism than simply crying like a toddler when he can’t get his way.

Maybe he should call Minhee, and try to rekindle-

He cuts the thought off before it dredges up more painful memories. All he can see when he thinks of Minhee are the one-thousand-and-one different ways you exceed her.

You’re fiercer, with more spine. You don’t give in as easily. You’re not afraid to fight with him. You have a kinder heart. You are so much smarter. Your lips are softer. Your hand fits into his so much more perfectly. You are lovely in all the ways she never was, never will be.

It is a numbing, novocaine relief when Dr Choi summons him for rounds. If Hyunjae is left for even a second longer with his thoughts, he might just spiral into a pit of depressed longing and self pity that he might never emerge from.

Mighty Ares, on his knees. Aphrodite’s laughter perfumes the air, irresistible and menacing.

~~~

He is on his final round when he meets Mrs Kang. The kind, old lady takes one look at him, eyes lighting up with knowledge that he wishes she wasn’t able to glean so easily.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Well he doesn’t, but the words explode out of his bleeding heart like ink spilling on ivory pages.

“I... I thought that it would be okay, that I could forget and let go and that it would all be fine and good but then… I saw her--” his voice cracks miserably as a lump etches itself into his throat. His heart is racing, and every inhale feels like swallowing glass shards.

“I saw her and something went terribly wrong because I couldn’t forget and my heart was remembering and I felt like I was dying but I couldn’t do anything because all I want is for her to be happy and I know that happiness isn’t with me and I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT.”

Mrs Kang is silent, regarding him with a look he can’t quite decipher. He takes it as an invitation to continue.

“I wish I was him. I wish I was the one who could make her smile, make her laugh. But I’m angry, I’m jealous and I’m immature. I’m overly competitive, and I don’t know how to lose graciously. When I’m pissed, I do stupid, radical things.”

Silence. Inside, outside. It is deafening.

“Why would she want me? I don’t deserve her, and knowing that I’ll have to live my life watching her in another man’s arms is ripping me apart.”

He’s breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon. It’s a terrifying prospect, facing his feelings head on. Until now, they were swirling around his head in an ugly tangle of emotion. Verbalising them, hearing them out loud, is painful and cathartic at once. But he’s already feeling like a pathetic little sap. He wonders if you would sneer at him if you heard. Is this what it feels like to lose? Is this how you felt, lifetimes ago, on your sofa? The two of you have always been push and pull, a forever impasse. But today, you’ve finally shoved him off balance.

Who is the stronger Ares now? Your kisses are his kryptonite.

A hand comes to rest over his.

“Love always finds a way. I know you’re feeling hopeless now, but know that if you are meant for each other, you will always find your way back,” Mrs Kang finishes with a gentle smile. The pretty words do not reassure him.

If only love was as perfect as love seems to be, if only his flaws and broken edges could be hidden away. But this is a dream that will never come to life, a flower that will never grow to bloom.

She does not know who it is that he is fighting with, who it is that is slipping away from him with every passing second. She thinks that it will be okay, but she does not know that Ares has no mercy. He expects none from you. Nonetheless, he gives her a watery grin in return before standing up to complete his rounds. He may have lost, but he has enough composure to know better than to break in public.

It is a monumental effort, holding it together.

Hyunjae makes it to the lift in peace, stepping in through the shiny doors and slamming the button for the fifth floor. When they slide open, the sight before him makes his heart drop like a wineglass.

You and Eric are standing across him, hand in hand. Eric’s foot is tapping impatiently, eager to drag you off to wherever he was taking you for dinner.

For a second, he loses control over his emotions. Agony crumples his face, and you, because you’re just that smart and just that perceptive, register it. He doesn’t have the heart to pretend anymore.

Hyunjae brushes past the two of you, ignoring your questioning look, ignoring Eric’s cheerful greeting, and most importantly ignoring the writhing in his chest. He goes straight for his briefcase and shoves his belongings in, flicking the lights off and rushing to the carpark. He does not want to see anyone. He does not want to process anything.

He is empty. So, so empty, and hollow. The void inside him threatens to consume him whole.

The moment he reaches home, he goes straight to his spirits. There’s a bottle of whiskey sitting in the top most shelf of his kitchen, a birthday gift from his father. He pulls it down, slamming the glass decanter onto the kitchen counter, and the pressure nearly cracks it open.

He remembers the sight of you pressed up against this very counter, squirming under his ministrations. He remembers your lips fall open in a sigh, and then to beg. He remembers standing between your thighs, feeding you and then licking cream off your lips. Memories swirl through his head, cutting through his ribcage and slicing his heart open.

He doesn’t bother to grab a glass, pouring the scorching liquid down his throat. It claws at him, and he welcomes the pain.

Love is cruel, love is cold. When it kills, it does it slow.

He knows the tears are coming. The pressure has been building in his head for the last twenty-four hours. They fall as he walks over to the living room, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

The mirror you clutched when you moaned wretchedly, promising him that HE was the only one who could ever ruin you this way.

He lifts the bottle, forcing himself to look his reflection in the eye as he drinks a toast to Eric. Here’s to you, buddy.

His reflection sneers back, bloodshot and desolate. A half of a whole, incomplete. This is what he is without you.

Hyunjae sinks to the ground, bottle thumping down on the carpet. It rolls once, twice, and rivulets of alcohol splash across the floor. Another memory lunges up.

There is nothing more striking than red on white. Blood on snow. Wine on cream skin, tracing paths his eager tongue follows. A hiss of anger that softens into a sigh.

The sofa smells like you. The study smells like you. You are everywhere, and it breaks him, tearing a wail of grief out of his chest.

One day, the smell of you will fade. You will slip between his fingers like the wisp of a dream, and all he will be left with is the recollection of the fleeting seconds you were his and his alone.

Too much. This is too much. He cannot think, he cannot see, he cannot breathe,without being haunted by you. You are in every orifice, in every nook and cranny and cell. You are in the water of his blood and in the porous hollows of his bones. You are in the fibre between his atoms, you are in the electricity racing across his neurons.

There is no escape from you, not now, not ever.

You are inevitable.

(Knock, knock)

It takes him a moment to realise that the pounding is not from the blood rushing in his head, but from someone impatiently banging on his door. He picks himself off the floor, not bothering to fix his appearance.

By now, you must be in Eric’s arms. He would kiss you softly, like summer rain. You would sigh into his lips, and he would look at you like you hung the moon. He would take you home, and press more kisses into your silk skin as he whispers his love. One day, he would get on one knee and present you with a diamond. You would say yes, because Eric is sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine. Warmth. Laughter.

This, this is what you deserve. Not him, not his twisted mess of anger and jealousy. He is a stinging scorpion, and you deserve more than his petty poisons. But his heart still lurches at the thought of you, nestled into Eric.

The gods have always feared Aphrodite more than Ares. He thinks he can finally understand why.

He swings the door open, and once again forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think, forgets that he kinda hates you but now kinda loves you because there you are, raindrops glistening in your eyelashes, and you eclipse every star in the sky. There is nothing but you and you alone, and his withered little heart is shooting to life because that’s just what you do to him. There’s so much he wants to say, so many thoughts tumbling through his head. But he’s a frightful, useless coward, so all that flies out of his mouth is:

“Why the fuck are you--”

And then your lips are cushioned against his, kissing the venom out of him. He cannot help the sigh he breathes into your mouth at the way your body slots so perfectly against his.

Home, home is in your arms. He has been running all his life, and you have always been his only destination.

Tears slip out, hot and fast, washing the festering wound inside him clean. The cracked pieces of his soul begin to lift up and fuse together.

The light of a thousand suns slices through the void in him, and the darkness melts like ice on a hot summer day.

He is shuddering, wrecked by the sheer force of the emotions in him. But you are holding him tight, so very tight. He hopes you will never let him go. Never ever, ever let him go.

He is yours, and you are his. Where he ends, you begin and where you end, he begins. There is nothing else, no one else, because there was never anyone for him but you. Love not at first sight, or even the second, but at last sight and at ever and ever sight.

When you finally pull away to murmur the words he would have never even dreamed of hearing from you, it’s like starlight is filling the dusty hollows of his chest, sewing the pieces that have fallen apart back into the tapestry that is you. He is surprised, he really is, but something inside him has always known, has always clung to the hope that you would choose him, despite everything.

All that matters, is that you’ve come back to him. You are the only truth he’s ever known.

~~~

Later in the evening, when the two of you are spent from your love-making and coiled so tightly that your breaths have become one, Hyunjae takes a moment to contemplate the situation. You have won this competition between the two of you. You have planted yourself as first in his life, and for once (and of course, the only time ever, because he is still going to get that damn promotion before you), he is happy to cede to you. This is what love is, to break and to be broken, to be full and to be empty, to win and to lose. He would have it no other way. All that he is, and all that he will be, center around the axis that is you.

Do you feel like this too? Like your heart is bursting from the seams?

You sigh in your sleep, seemingly agreeing. He loves you so much, it hurts. But there is one final thing to do.

He lifts his head to the stars, who have been waiting for this collision of souls for a long, long time.

Thank you, he whispers.

And for once, Zeus smiles down on his Ares.

ENDING THOUGHTS:

First of all, a very big thank you to everyone who made it to the end!! This piece has been a wild, emotional ride from start to finish and I understand that the sudden change in style can be jarring for some. As such, I am very grateful to everyone who took the time to read it :)

Hyunjae has always been a very complicated character. We’ve seen him through Y/N’s eyes for the last 17 or so chapters, and she is definitely not the most reliable of narrators. Many of her thoughts regarding his actions and motivations are shadowed by her own negative emotions, and he has come off as a rather poisonous character, except for the rare moments of tenderness he seems to show. Hopefully this will help you get a glimpse into Hyunjae’s psyche, in a way that is untainted by Y/N. I’ve seen many of your asks about Hyunjae and his behaviour, and perhaps you will see this as a sort of redemption for him, in the sense that he is so much deeper and complex than the seething neanderthal Y/N sees him as.

Writing this was a challenge nonetheless, and I think we should all be very grateful to Dana for powering through Y/N and Hyunjae’s story, given how much of a hot mess this couple is! It’s very hard to write an enemies-to-lovers fic without it coming off as corny and shallow, and she had the double struggle of writing that dynamic in a medical setting. The fact that we’re all whipped for these two is testament to her brilliant writing, so let’s all say a big thank you for that :))

Before I end, I’d like to pay homage to some of the writers that have inspired this fic. Reading through, you will see quotes inspired by the likes of Nabokov, Cummings and Homer. If I’m not wrong, there’s a little bit of Sarah J Maas and Caitlyn Siehl in there as well. And of course, who can forget the little bits of mythology peeking out here and there? If you happened to notice these references, feel free to scream in Dana’s ask box! It’ll be fun to read your thoughts :)

Once again, a very big thank you for following Hostis so devotedly, and showering Dana with your love. I hope you’ll continue to give her all your love and support the rest of her works.

(P.S Did anyone notice Pilot! Juyeon? If you didn’t, you should 1000% check out his story too, here.)

Love Always,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter XVIII: Renuntiatio

#hyunjae #lee hyunjae #the boyz #the boyz hyunjae #the boyz lee hyunjae #timetohajima #timetohajima hostis

133 notes · View notes

dreamingabouttaron · 4 years ago

Text

The Assistant Part 30

It had been a long cold wet winters day, you were currently wrapped up tightly under the bed covers reading a book, in an attempt to keep yourself warm before you drifted off into a deep sleep. Taron had just finished up some last minute emails before he joined you up in the bedroom. You watched him, as you peered over the edge of your book, as he waltzes around the bedroom effortlessly getting changed for bed. He hadn’t said a word since he stepped in the room.

Truth be told he had been quiet for most of the evening, not making too much conversation only small talk here and there. At first, you didn’t think much of it; you knew he was busy with work so he had lots on him mind. Yet now, as he gracefully got ready for bed, you could tell he was all in his head about something.

You closed your book, placing it in your lap as Taron pulled back the bed covers and carefully climbing into bed next to you. Once he was settled in, you shifted your body so that you were facing him. You could see the wrinkles appear on his forehead, you could see he had a lot going through his mind. Taron leant his head on your chest to listen to your heartbeat. The rhythmic beats sending relaxing signals to his mind and body. After a while he leaned up on his elbow to look at you. He stared at your lips as to silently asking for permission. You gave him a small nod and smiled at him. He leaned down to kiss you and hummed in content feeling your lips against his. After needing air, he pulled away with a sly smile. He looked at you with a beautiful smile on his face the only issue was it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Are you okay? You seem quiet.” You say gently, trying to test the waters.

“Yeah… yeah. I’m… fine.” He stuttered, no matter how good his acting was, you knew him and he wasn’t convincing you.

“Okay, spill it.”

“Spill what?” he asked innocently as he could.

“You have been quiet all evening. I thought maybe it was because you had so much work to do but even now I can tell something is wrong.”

“It’s nothing, beautiful.” He places his hand over yours to try and convince you too let it go, however you just looked at him and raised your eyebrow as if to say ‘really’. Staring him down until he cracked.

“Okay, okay it’s something. I have something to ask you.”

“Okay, now I’m worried.” You reply starting to feel restless at his words.

He clutches you hand a little harder, “No it’s nothing to worry about, it also no pressure.”

“Okay.” You drag out the word a little waiting for him to continue, getting more nervous at the second.

“You know I love you right?” You nod straight away, of course, you knew.

“Remember you can say no.” You nod again in understanding. “I was wondering if maybe you’d… only if you want to of course… Be my date to the Golden Globes? I want the world to know I’m taken, that you are mine and I’m yours.”

You were stunned, out of all the things there were going through your mind it’s safe to say that wasn’t one of them. You’d be lying if you didn’t want the same thing, let the world know how much you loved this man who was laying in front of you.

“Wow.” Was all you could manage to say.

“I mean you don’t have to be my date. We could go separately and meet there. I just want you to be there with me. O-or, you know if you aren’t ready yet, I-I completely understand, there’s no pressure at all.” You could see the anxiety take over him; he always did start to ramble when he got a bit nervous.

You push the covers off the both of you carefully placing your book on your bedside table. Turning to Taron before he could say another word, you throw one of your legs over his thigh so you were sitting comfortably in his lap. He instantly runs his hands up your legs, over your hips round to just above your ass, pulling you closer to him. You see his anxiety starting to fade away just a little. Placing both of your hand on either side of his head, tipping his head up to look at you before running your hand through his hair to the nape of his neck pulling it a little causing him to groan.

“Taron. Of course, I want to be the girl that’s there by your side. Just tell me how and when. I want to be there for you and it’s about time you let me.” You pause for a second letting out a chuckle trying to lighten the mood a little and get him to relax. It doesn’t work you feel his entire body tense underneath you. “I would love nothing more than to be your date Mr Egerton.” You tell him. Instantly a smile forms beneath your hand so you move its way. You feel his body relax again.

“Really?” He asked. His voice is so quiet you barely hear him. You nod, causing his smile to grow even more. His hand grips the base of your neck pulling you him as his places his lips over yours kissing you, once, twice, three times, before saying, “You know for a second there I thought you were going to say no.” He places another quick kiss to your lips before his hand returns to your lower back. “For once I am looking forward to one of these things. Mainly because you’ll be standing next to me looking all beautiful, letting the world know that you’re mine and I’m yours.” Taron muttered against your lips.

“You’re such an idiot you know that, right?” You chuckle.

“Uh-huh, but I’m your idiot.”

“Yes.” You run your hands through his hair. “Yes, you are.”

You let your head fall forward onto his chest with a huff, extracting your hands so that you could wrap your arms around his slender waist. You breathed him in slowly, closing your eyes as you did your best to leech every bit of calming and concerned energy he radiated.

His large hands rubbed soothing circles over your back, working out some of the tension that you had been carrying with you all day. He dropped his head to leave a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you Megan.”

***

“I feel like I’m going fall over my feet in these shoes and break a bone right in front of everyone,” You looked down at your feet and back up at Taron who looked at you with amusement, he could tell you were getting yourself worked up and stressed.

Taron moves closer to you and snakes both his arms around your waist, “Well, I think you look beautiful. Broken bones or not.” You feel your cheeks grow rosey at his words. “I can’t wait to show you off. The future Mrs Egerton,” He says as he looks down at the silver ring on your finger before bringing it up to his lips to kiss lightly.

“And, what makes you think she’s going to take your name?” You heard Tina call from the corner of the room as she walks over to check her son out. You try to keep a straight face but a smile starts tugging at your lips. Taron leans forward and places a gentle kiss on your lips before he pulls his mum into a warm hug.

You watch as Mari and Rosie come rushing into the room all dressed up. Your heart melted as you watched Taron interact with his sisters. This really was going to be an evening to remember. Everything felt so special.

As you arrived at the red carpet. The cameras were blinding. Absolutely blinding. Like nothing you had ever experienced before. “I think I might be blind after this, how do you stand these lights?” You whisper to Taron as you walk down the red carpet, stopping every so often to pose. It felt awfully unnatural to you, and you felt like maybe the photographers would have preferred if you weren’t there. You partly wished you had walked straight in with the rest of the family, but Taron wanted you there, next to him. You couldn’t help but notice the warm proud smile he had plastered on his face as he held you close.

As you near the entry of the enormous auditorium the two of you stopped just once more. The flashes seem to be coming from every direction. People called Taron’s name loudly, all wanting his picture before the event. And that’s when Taron did something that made everyone roar with excitement. He leant in towards you and gives you a soft kiss on the lips. He hovered over your lips for a few seconds, nearly as if he wanted every photographer to have time to take a photo of you two. Taron wanted everyone to know that he was yours and you were his.

You sat next to Taron in a large ballroom, surrounded by hundreds of people as they announced the nominees for one of the final awards of the night. Every time he shifted, he sparkled, blinding and beautiful. The room filled with cheers as Taron’s name was announced. Your heart was pumping out of your chest, Taron had won. Taron had won a bloody Golden Globe. The whole table was cheering and celebrating. You could see the surprise in his eyes that were wide and filling up with tears, happy ones. He hadn’t thought he would win, he had told you that several times after finding out he was nominated. But you had assured him and nobody stood a chance this year, not after his heartfelt performance in Rocketman. Taron stumbled to his feet and dragged you up with him. He gave you such a hug you thought he’d never let you go. “I love you so much.” You whispered in his ear before you pulled away. You were so proud of him. You look up at him with starry eyes and nudged him forward towards the stage.

Taron was nearly out of breath when he got up on stage. His mouth was in a wide grin, his eyes crinkled. “Wow, I really wish I had written something…” He looks out in the crowd, looking for your face but you’re far away and he can’t locate you. “I am so honoured to be nominated alongside a bunch of legitimate icons….” One of his hands is holding up the golden miniature stature and the other hand is over his heart. Your heart felt like it was going to burst as you watch the man you loved more than anything in the world up there on that stage accepting this award.

He looked so happy, there were only a few times you’d seen the joy that was now displayed on his face. One of those times was when you said yes to his marriage proposal a few months back.

He continued, “I’d also like to thank my fiancé. The love of my life. I love you. Also, my mother is in here somewhere! This one’s for you mam!” Tears start to form in your eyes as you scan the room in search of Tina and the rest of the family. You couldn’t imagine the pride that Tina must be feeling as she watches her son up there.

When the award ceremony was over, it was time for the much talked about after party. Taron was walking close beside you, one hand on the small of your back whilst the other held tightly onto Tina’s hand. You walked hand in hand with Mari and Rosie, keeping them close. You looked at the family around you and your heart exploded. You couldn’t believe your luck.

The beginning of your relationship had been rocky. You had experienced your fair share of ups and downs. But from the first moment Taron met you, he was transfixed. Absolutely head over heels. It didn't take too long before you fell madly in love with him. Taron had said it hundreds of times that that was his greatest achievement, making you fall in love with him. You always blushed like mad when he said it. But it was true. You both couldn’t be happier. He was your rock, your world and this was just the beginning.

Tag list -

@primaba11erina @hitmeonmytspot @fuseburner @autumnslovex @huathmoon94 @y0ungandfuckingdumb @tiffleen

----------

So, several months and 70,707 words later. We have finished. I can not thank everyone enough. I didn’t think I would write 15 chapters let alone 30! I can’t believe it has come to an end. Thank you for all your love and support, you have no idea how much it means to me.

I am going to open my requests, if you would like me to write anything I would love to hear it!

All the best xx

#taron egerton #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton fanfic #Fanfiction #i love taron

35 notes · View notes

karajaynetoday · 4 years ago

Text

and I can't stop that long forgotten feeling of her | ashton irwin

Here we go again with the emo angst! Thanks so much to everyone who has shared and sent feedback on the other parts. You can read part one here and part two here, and also part four here once you’ve finished with this bit.

Part three is inspired by Flame Trees (originally by Australian band Cold Chisel in 1984, but I would absolutely recommend listening to the cover by Sarah Blasko which I had on repeat while working on this piece). All of the italics in this piece are lyrics from the song.

More writing here | send feedback/thoughts/suggestions here

Trigger warning for mentions of death of a family member (non-graphic), a funeral and cremation.

Word count: 2.3k words

(This is a fem reader insert)

Kids out driving Saturday afternoon just pass me by | And I'm just savouring familiar sights

The drive to the church is quiet. Ashton insisted on driving you and your siblings, and despite your protests, he’d gotten his way. You were daydreaming out the window, pondering how everyone else in the world was just getting on with their lives when yours still felt so dark and painful. You’d spent your whole life driving and wandering these streets, and the houses and the trees and the footpaths felt like home. But then again, you’d never lived anywhere else, so where else would you feel like you belonged?

You glanced over at Ash, who has one hand on the wheel. Does he feel at home here, you wonder? Does his heart feel settled when he drives in from the airport? Does he breathe in the air and breathe out his stress? Does he think of this place often? When he thinks of home, does he think of you?

You catch yourself staring at Ashton, admiring how he runs one hand through his curls, and quickly returned to staring out your own window and continue your daydream. You’re rehearsing your eulogy in your head, when you feel a gentle hand brush over your own, and Ash slips his fingers between yours over the car’s centre console and gives your hand a squeeze. He’s got that soft smile on his face that you know for a fact can light up a whole room, but there’s a solemness about him today. The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes; and you notice the dark circles on his face for the first time. Had you been so lost in yourself that you hadn’t seen how everything was bearing down on everyone around you? But then again, that was just it: everything was bearing down and you couldn’t see how it would stop deepening the gloominess you felt in your soul.

We share some history, this town and I | And I can't stop that long forgotten feeling of her

Even though you’d rehearsed it in your head and in front of the mirror, stepping up to the podium and staring out at the faces everyone who was gathered to honour your mother’s memory made a lump rise in your throat and tears prick in your eyes. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, and grasped the hands of your siblings who stood by your side. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Ashton, staring back at you with a sympathetic look. He nodded at you, mouthing words of encouragement, and with that you were able to begin.

How sad it was, that she’d been taken so soon. How incredible it was, that she’d raised three children on her own, and always made birthdays and Christmases so special. How funny it was, that she always joked about her funeral being on the warmest winter day. How proud you were, to be her daughter and carry on her memory and her name.

How sad it was, but how glad you were. To be in this room, and in this town, with so many people that loved her and loved your family like their own. To be able to talk together and laugh together and just remember.

Oh the flame trees will blind the weary driver | And there's nothing else could set fire to this town

Ashton drove you home again in the gentle silence you’d had on the way there. Your siblings had opted to stay at friends’ houses for the night, wanting a change of scenery and some company to make them feel a bit normal again. You couldn’t blame them; every part of your house reminded you of her. From the cushions on the couch that she’d embroidered, or her favourite mug she always used for her morning cup of coffee, or the little succulents she’d planted in pots and scattered on every windowsill that got full sun at some point during the day. She was everywhere, and it should’ve been comforting, but all you wanted to do was pack it all away and not think about it because surely you couldn’t keep feeling this sad. Not forever.

When Ashton pulled into the driveway, you hesitated before unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Can you.. Do you want to come in? For a cuppa?” You mumbled, not quite meeting Ashton’s eyes, as you leaned forward to grab your bag from the floor of the passenger seat.

“Of course, love. I’m in no rush.”

You busied yourself in the kitchen, filling the kettle and finding two mugs and mulling over your extensive tea bag selection before settling on a chamomile for yourself and a green tea for Ashton, because he’d been telling you about how his yoga instructor back in Los Angeles ensured they all drank a cup of it after each class. You could hear Ash shuffling around in the lounge room, and when you came in with the two cups of tea in your hands, you found him flipping through the stack of vinyl records your mother kept on a bookshelf.

You settled down onto the couch, resting Ashton’s mug on the coffee table and taking a long sip of your own brew. You chuckled softly, as you noticed his eyes lighting up in excitement as he examined each new vinyl in the stack.

“Dude, have you looked at these?! Alanis Morrissette, Pink Floyd, Soundgarden?! Your mum had fuckin’ sick taste.” Ashton mused happily, reaching over to grasp his cup of tea and raise it to you in a gesture of thanks.

“Oh, I know. And she knew it, too… keep going, you might find some more things of interest in that pile.” You said softly, a sad smile etched on your face. Eventually, Ash found his own band’s album on vinyl in the stack and he looked up at you, surprised.

“What? As if she wouldn’t add you to the collection. She was so excited when she found out you were releasing things on vinyl.”

Ash carefully placed all the records back onto the shelf, and sat down next to you on the couch. He stretched out his arm above your shoulders, and you instinctively leaned into his warmth.

“I know, I always thought of her when we talked about pressing vinyl for the albums, but I just… seeing it in the living room, where we used to blast Cold Chisel and INXS and Silverchair and dance around like idiots til she’d yell it us to go to bed, makes it feel like that was a million years ago, you know?”

“That’s because it was, Ash. When you’re only 26, ten years ago does feel like a million.” You said quietly, fiddling with the cup in your hands. “You should pick out your favourite records and take them back home with you. She’d like that.”

You can feel Ashton’s gaze on you, and you turn your head to look him in the eye. He looks perplexed.

“What? Where are you in that great, complicated, genius mind of yours?” You asked, prodding him in the side. He grabs your hand, and kisses it softly. “You said I should take them back home with me. But… I feel at home right now, with you.” Ash whispered, like he was almost afraid of his own words. You felt your heart start to beat faster, and you squeeze his hand tightly.

“Then stay. At least… stay for tonight. Stay home with me.” You whispered back, and then suddenly Ashton’s lips are on yours and it’s much more heated than a few nights ago out on the couch in Neverland, and you can almost feel the desperate sense of hopelessness in Ashton’s embrace. You let yourself get lost in the warmth and the pleasure and the feeling because it’s the first thing you’ve felt other than sadness and despair in months before you realise that you’re basically straddling Ashton and tugging on his shirt and then suddenly you catch yourself and pull away.

“I’m sorry, I can’t - I can’t do this.” You stutter out, feeling the panic rising in your chest. Almost like he can feel it, Ashton reaches out and runs his arms up and down your sides reassuringly.

“It’s okay, love. You’re fine. I shouldn’t have done that, I just got a bit caught up. Being here, with you, with the vinyls, after everything… I just need you to know that I lo-”

“NO.” You almost bark, pushing yourself up off the couch and stalking down the hall towards your bedroom.

“Wait, you can’t just -” Ashton began, rushing to catch up with you.

“What, Ashton?! I can’t WHAT?!” You spat, spinning on your heel to face him. “I can’t walk away after you tell me you love me? After you promise me that you won’t leave me? After you tell me I feel like home?!” You wanted to sound harsh and cold, but your voice broke on the last few words.

You felt your knees buckle underneath you, and you slid down your bedroom door as the angry tears began to fall. Ashton sat quietly beside you, and you could tell he was hesitant to say anything for fear of upsetting you more.

“It’s not fair. You know it’s not.” You sniffled, wiping your face on your sleeve.

“I know. I never wanted this to happen. Not to us.” Ashton spoke, his voice laced with sadness.

“Can you just… stay, just for tonight? And then in the morning we can be adults and talk about our issues and sort out our lives. I don’t want to guilt-trip you, buuuut my mother DID just die so it’d be bloody wonderful if my best friend could lend me his body heat and maybe whisper some reassuring phrases to me while I sleep.” You tried to lighten the mood, feeling your sadness and anger start to dissipate as Ashton laughed. Honestly, that laugh. What you would do to hear it every day.

“Of course I can, sunshine. Lead the way.” Ash stood and pulled you to your feet, and you opened your bedroom door and lead him inside. You were both quiet, as you undressed for bed, and still quiet as you pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. But then again, with Ash, you didn’t always need words. You just needed each other.

Ashton’s arm found your waist and pulled your body into his gently, as he snuggled into your shoulder. You felt your eyes start to droop, and your breathing start to even out in sync with Ashton’s, and you fell into one of the deepest sleeps you’d had in years.

And I'm happy just to sit here a table with old friends | And see which one of us can tell the biggest lies

The next few days, you began and ended your days like that: peaceful and calm in Ashton’s arms. You’d heard him on the phone early one morning, arguing with someone about rescheduling something-or-other, and you knew that he’d have to leave you soon. But somehow, despite all of the sadness of the past few weeks, you felt better about letting him go than you had all those years ago. Something in the air had changed, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but you just knew that things would be okay.

On Thursday, the funeral home called to say that your mother’s ashes were ready for collection. You managed to drive there yourself without any issues, and it seemed very strange that one of your favourite people were now reduced to small particles in a fancy silver jar-looking-thing, but you collected them nonetheless.

Your mother had grown up about an hour away from where you lived now, and after her diagnosis she talked to you about wanting her ashes scattered in a field in the mountains, so her mortal and immortal souls could join and be at peace in the place where she began her life all those years ago. So the next morning, after a short breakfast, you and your siblings drove up into the Blue Mountains, searching for the perfect place to commemorate the woman you all loved so much. Ashton and his family joined you, driving in convoy, and when you parked up alongside a grassy field where you could see a trickling creek and the sunlight peeking through the old, tall trees, they followed suit and joined you at the fence line on the side of the road.

One by one, your siblings took turns scattering the ashes, before handing the silver urn to you for the last part. You closed your eyes, and tipped out the urn, whispering under your breath like she was there to hear you. And in that moment, you felt like she was. Because the wind seemed to still, and the sun broke through the clouds, and you were there with those who knew and loved her the most, so of course she would be there too.

And that’s when you knew, that no matter if you stayed in the house with her cushions and her plants and her vinyl records, or if you followed your heart to the other side of the world, that she’d always be with you. Because she was in your heart, and home is where the heart is.

There's no change, there's no pace | Everything within its place | Just makes it harder to believe that she won't be around

More writing here | send feedback/thoughts/suggestions here

#my writing #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin angst #ashton irwin one shot #ashton irwin blurb #5sos imagine #5sos one shot

65 notes · View notes

chasingrobbie · 5 years ago

Text

Seize Control (Open Heart Fic)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Harper Dorian)

Chapter Rating: T (swearing, flashbacks to sexy stuff)

Disclaimer: Characters are owned by Pixelberry. MC Harper is my own with a shameless Scrubs reference thrown in for good measure.

Author’s Note: This is the first and only fic I’ve ever written. I made some changes now that Book 2 is here. I want to get into writing more so I thought reworking this might get my creative juices going. Also yes I know my MCs name is Harper but I name all my Choices characters that so I wasn’t about to change now. Harper Emery just deal with it.

———————————————————————

Harper didn’t know how to feel. The days were smeared messily through her memory. Moments bled together and her consciousness was trance like. Adrift in a haze of confusion, relief, anxiety and Ethan.

Her ethics hearing felt like eons ago. Dr Banerji was alright, better than alright, he’d returned to Edenbrook. He’d taken on the post as Chief of Medicine - and that meant Ethan was now the her direct supervisor.

But he’d left, avoided her for months. He’d said so himself. Now it seemed all that she feed on were tiny scraps of stolen moments. The brush of his thumb against her knuckles, his hand caressing the small of her back, his eyes lingering over her whenever they were breathing the same air.

She knew being on the diagnostic team was an immense honour and so much of her wanted to be completely thrilled by the opportunity she’d dreamed of for so long. But her dreams were torn now, between head and heart.

Any hope that she had had that maybe, just maybe they could make a relationship work between the two of them had been extinguished. It was one hurdle trying to convince Dr. Ramsey that an attending/intern relationship was frowned upon but not out of the question. But to try and convince him now that he was her direct superior was beyond hopeless.

Don’t you dare give up.

Ethan’s words echoed through her mind often. The affection in his voice or the soft caress of fingertips. So many stolen moments had built up to the crushing need they both clearly had for each other. She was his Rookie. His rookie.

“Uh, Dr. Dorian?...” All at once the patient’s room solidified around her, the eager faces of interns staring back at her. Ethan’s face studied hers intently. Shit. What had she been asked? Fuck. Did he know she’d been lost in thought thinking about him? His eyes were unreadable as always. She managed to ramble out the currently status of the diagnostics teams patient. Her hands were clammy and she felt uneasy on her feet.

“Thank you, Dr. Dorian. Glad to see you get there eventually.” The sting in Ethan’s voice wasn’t unusual, everyone knew he had little patience for time wasting or incompetence or idiots of any kind really.

But did her have to keep referring to her as Dr. Dorian? It was so cold, after everything could he not even muster up a iota of familiarity? Sure when they were alone she could push his boundaries. That line carved into the air between. Heavy with all that they felt, all that Ethan worked hard to push away.

His lips grazed her jawline. The cool edge of his kitchen counter dug its way into her back as the heat of his hands ran down her sides before finally resting of her hips toying with the button on her jeans. Ethan’s teeth nipped her earlobe, his whispered longings tumbling from his mouth. “I need you. How did we wait so long?”

Ethan’s pager buzzed suddenly hauling her out of her daydream. He quickly excused himself, but not before fixing her with a pointed glance. Why did he have to keep looking at her?

As the interns filed out of the room, Harper found herself with a moment to breathe. Whenever he was around she was holding her breath, waiting for the next blow. She walked lazily to find a cup of coffee and found herself stumbling past Dr. Banerji’s office door, it was slightly ajar.

“Naveen, I’m not discussing this anymore. It’s done. You made me her boss, so if anything it’s your fault.” Ethan’s frustration could be heard in the sharpness of his tone. Harper knew she shouldn’t listen but almost involuntarily she was glued to the door frame.

“You’re right I did make you her supervisor, I’m the reason she’s on the team, not you. There is no suspicion of anything untoward going on. She didn’t sleep her way onto the team, if that’s what you’re so concerned about people thinking.”

Oh god. Naveen knew about their sex life. She was certain the horror that was etching itself onto her features was mirrored in Ethan’s at that moment. But he did have a point, why was Ethan still so adamant that they had to keep their distance if their wasn’t an ethical issue about them being together?

“Enough, I don’t have time for this. In case you remember you left me in charge of the Diagnostic team. Excuse me, Dr. Banerji.”

Shit, Ethan’s coming. You can do this, Dorian. Hide from him or seize the power. In that split second as he approached the door, she made her choice.

As he emerged from the doorway, their eyes met and Harper stood tall in the hallway before him. Instantly, embarrassment and anger coloured his features. She could see it dawn across his brow that she must have heard their conversation.

The slight jut of her hip, her folded arms, the firm gaze that demanded a response. He stared back at her, both unrelenting. She took a step forward and he turned to walk away, back to his office and away from her. But something made him hesitate, she couldn’t place it.

“He has a point, you know Ethan.” She lingered over his name, hoping it would eat at him like it always had before. Perhaps reminding him of what had already unfolded between them, but surely he didn’t need it.

“As far as I can tell you’re lying. Whether it be to Naveen, me or yourself. I need you to figure out who so we can both stop being so fucking awkward because honestly it’s exhausting.”

Had she lost her mind!? She was certain she was having an out of body experience.

“You run away to the Amazon to avoid this. Me. Us. You come back only to tell me that it’s not that you don’t want me but you can’t!?”

His face was unreadable and Harper was so focused on maintaining her own stoic exterior she never even noticed his hand clench. What was he trying to hold back?

“You told me once that some things are worth the risk. You tell me it’s because I can’t be the best doctor I could be if you allowed us to happen. But in case you haven’t noticed this distracts me enough so a lot of the time I should spend on patients I spend thinking about your eyes, the way you smell, the touch of skin, the warmth of your lips...”

Harper could feel her resolve faltering. He was doing it again, without even trying. She drew in her breath and fixed her gaze once more.

“I’m tired, Ethan. Tired of hiding and resisting. Either love me properly or let me go.”

Harper met his eyes one last time and walked away. Ethan’s fingers relaxed and he turned reflexively to watch her leave. The familiar thick longing rose in his throat. He was lying to himself that they could make this work and she was right it was exhausting.

#choices #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart choices #choices: stories you play #open heart fan fiction #ethan ramsey fanfiction #open heart book 2

66 notes · View notes

dolls-self-ships · 4 years ago

Text

MORE stuff about my friendship with the Penguins !!

part 1

* Skipper is kinda like my dad in a way, he’s arguably the most protective of me and he can’t stand to see me upset- with his men it’s a little different because they’re all like brothers to him, plus they’re his soldiers, but I’m sort of like his little girl (not that he would ever admit that). Sure we probably argue the most out of everyone, but we always come out of it having learnt something new about the other, or with a new perspective on something. It’s some good ol, fatherly-daughterly love. God forbid I ever bring a boy or a girl home though, because Skipper is all over that like hot sauce on fish. He wants names, addresses, alliances, accomplices, places of work, ect.

* Private and I definitely have the most in common, and are the closest because of it. He’s like my baby brother/best friend. We watch cartoons, listen to musicals, draw, and bake together all the time. We’re both really soft and wholesome people so our vibes just kinda bounce off each other to create even more wholesome vibes. It’s cute, but sometimes too cute for the others to bare. In Skippers words, “oh god, there’s two of them!”

* Kowalski kinda simps for me lowkey but we’re still tight. I like to listen to him talk about his inventions and scientific theories- I don’t understand any of it but he’s happy to have someone around that’s at the very least interested in what he’s saying. I find it admirable that he’s so passionate about what he does, even though it can get out of hand sometimes. And even though he doesn’t necessarily think of the Fine Arts as the most productive course, he supports me nonetheless because at the end of the day he (and all the others) just wants me to be happy. Believe it or not he’s actually a very comforting friend with a small part of him that’s secretly soft. He doesn’t show it for obvious reasons but when you look at certain scenes in the show you can see a bit of that peaking through and it’s just 🥺🥺🥺

* Rico’s like my chaotic older brother that spent most of his life in a frat house. He teaches me how to fake belch (I still couldn’t do it in the end), shotgun beers (it took a while but I got it eventually), and backflip safely off a roof while still looking sick as fuck (yeah, the others didn’t let me do that, no chance in hell). He’s always barfing up things to my convenience though! This annoyed Skipper at first because it was ‘unauthorized hacking’. I was also grossed out by it at the start but now I just keep a packet of wet wipes on me and I’m good to go. Lots of fist bumps with this man! Lots of ‘em! He’s a total bro, always got my back! And I got his! Loyal as fuck!

* Skipper, on multiple occasions, has accused me of “turning his men into pansies”. I always kinda roll my eyes and try to ignore remarks like this, but I really try to make him see why sometimes that’s okay. Of course Skipper cares deeply about all three of his soldiers, so it’s probably just a front when he says things like that. Though... I do have to help him work on all that misogyny he carries around.

* “All I said was that it’s okay to cry sometimes.”

* “Crying shows weakness!”

* “Skipper, it’s just emotion.”

* “Exactly! I can’t have my men letting feelings run their lives.”

* “What about your anger issues? Those are emotions.”

* “Those are manly emotions, kid! Fierce, unapologetic warrior rage is what makes a good commander.”

* “I-“

* Or on a separate occasion

* “You’ve made my men soft”

* “And? You’re next you know.”

* *GASP*

* One time Blowhole captured me and roasted me for a solid hour in front of the Penguins both out of spite and his pure hatred for humans

* “You pen-gu-ins have really let your standards drop! I mean, how could you stoop so low as to befriend a weak, puny-brained, fleshy human?”

* Rico: *gasp followed by angry gibberish*

* Kowalski: YOU BITE YOUR TONGUE, BLOWHOLE

* Private: That’s not very nice!

* Skipper: Hey, that’s OUR weak fleshy human!

* After that, the Penguins decided that if I’m going to continue to be friends with them, it was mandatory that I learn how to defend myself. Because as long as I associated myself with the four, I was subject to more than than just Blowhole capturing me like an 80’s cartoon villain

* Over time I do pick up moves, learn skills from each of them (sadly, not Rico’s hacking) but Skipper knows that I am in no way soldier material. If he were to train me like he did his men, it would break my spirit

* He just wants me to be able to handle myself in case of emergencies

* He is very much like a worried dad

* At some point sooner or later I end up meeting Julien very much against the Penguins will. He’s just too nosy, and annoying, they can’t stop him

* He is instantly trying to put the moves on me bc he’s horny on main (again, not my suggestion, 100% my sister’s. She KNOWS I can’t handle it when people flirt with me so why would she-)

* The only way I can get him to leave me alone is by showing him my jewelry box, the shiny bracelets and dangly earrings distract him for a good while

* I even let him have a few things that are old or I don’t wear anymore.

* Julien immediately starts gasping and tearing up because he is so touched that I am just giving him this for free???? Just like that????

* He clears his throat and composes himself because obviously I’m giving him gifts, he is the King after all

* Our dynamic for a while is a little awkward for me though because it’s basically this iconic text post

* “Alright, raise your hand if you thought Julien and I were dating. Julien, put your hand down.”

* The feelings were very VERY unrequited :,(

* But it’s okay because once Julien gets over that we actually vibe really well!!!!

* He’s a himbo, and I’m a bimbo, therefore, we get along

* We do all that frivolous shit together: get drunk, go to parties (he knows all the obscure places that send you the location like an hour before the rave starts, it’s wild), get our nails done, talk abt our taste in people

* He’s a raging, flirtatious pansexual and I’m a romantic but shy bisexual

* Of course our friendship drives Skipper up the fucking wall

* He’s worried I’m gonna become more like Julien, but Kowalski says the likelihood of that happening is 0.05%. I might pick up one or two quirks of his because that’s just what happens when you spend time with people but no dramatic changes will be had. I’ll still be their same ol’ Cassandra

* Skipper still thinks that’s one or two quirks too many though of course

* This is way far into the future but my brain kept coming up with ideas for it so; on my wedding day, if I were to ever find someone I wanted to marry, everything is extremely chaotic, to say the least. Skipper is on constant guard mode, under the impression that one of his villainous foes could come and crash the wedding, which everyone doubts is gonna happen

* Kowalski, bless his heart, is the one helping me plan everything. Private pitches in too with decor and food ideas, but the price, date, location, guest list, probability that someone will try and assassinate me, that’s all Kowalski

* Rico is surprisingly into helping me pick out my wedding dress, he knows a thing or two from keeping up with the latest fashion for Ms. Perky

* And Private, he’s my main man on the big day. He’s the one helping me remember my vows, breath, talking with me before my human friend’s come in to do my hair and makeup. If it were up to me I would’ve made him my maid of honour, no joke. He said he was, well, honoured!

#i dont know where all the wedding stuff came from i seriously dont #but i had fun writing it!#bees self ships #self shipping #self ship #self ship community #self ships #self insert #platonic f/os #pom #the penguins of madagascar #skipper #rico #kowalski #private #king julien

12 notes · View notes

raccoon-wizard · 5 years ago

Text

It’s Okay Now

CHAPTER NO: 1/1

PROMPT: Bucky finds out that in the 21st century, it’s okay for men to wear makeup, nail polish, and glitter. I saw it somewhere on Tumblr and couldn’t resist.

RATING: Everyone, with some language

NOTES/WARNINGS: You know what I always say. Love to all human beings. I will tolerate zero bullying and hatred in my comments.

Also, Grammarly keeps bullying me for ignoring commas and some prepositions, but I swear to god, I’m not stupid. It’s a part of the characters’ speech patterns. Screw you.

It was a quiet weekend. Nearly everyone was gone - some went on a holiday with families, some were gone for missions. There were two people inside the Avengers Compound - Bucky Barnes, who passed on a road trip with Sam and Steve, and Eleri Prichard, who simply didn’t feel like leaving. She sat (if that’s what her position could be called - she was sprawled in the chair perpendicularly to the way one was supposed to sit, her legs resting on the armrest of the other chair) in the cinema room, lazily browsing through Netflix, stuffing her mouth with salted caramel popcorn.

“Mind if I join you?” asked Bucky from the door. She turned, her spine twisting unnaturally.

“Not at all, come on in,” she grinned widely. “Unless you mind me sitting like a big ol’ lesbian.”

“I sure as hell don’t,” he said and sat next to her. “What are we watching?”

“Queer Eye.”

Bucky flinched visibly. “You said queer?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Isn’t it… a bad… word?”

“Not anymore,” she told him. “We took it back from ‘em.”

He stayed silent for a while. “When?”

Eleri thought back to the extensive research she did in her teen years. “The eighties.”

They watched the show in silence, Bucky remembering all those times the word was spat into his face when he was young, along with other ones with similar weight.

“And it’s… normal for men to look like that?” he gestured towards Jonathan, who was dressed like his usual fabulous self.

“I mean, it’s not the norm, but tons of guys dress up now,” she said, pausing the show. “Why?”

“I never… when I was younger, I… I always wished…”

“Oooh,” she realised.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, swallowing the painful lump in his throat.

With a groan, she changed her position so she was now sitting like a normal person, turning to face him. “James Buchanan Barnes, it would be an honour to give you the glamorous makeover you deserve.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Eleri… something…”

“Carol-Anne,” she finished for him.

“Eleri Carol-Anne Prichard,” he chuckled. “It would be an honour to have you give me a glamorous makeover.”

“That you deserve.”

“That I… deserve.”

“That’s my man, now come on,” she patted him on the shoulder and jumped up from her seat, offering him her hand. She dragged him upstairs to her room and sat him on the bed.

“You can’t ever tell anyone that you got all this from me,” Eleri told him as she pulled out a makeup bag from one of her drawers. “I have a reputation to uphold here, and if someone found out how much of this shit I have, it would shatter.”

“Roger that,” Bucky nodded with a smirk. Eleri threw the bag on the bed and sat down opposite of Bucky, crossing her legs.

“So,” she said. “Want just something small or full-on glam?”

“Uh… how about somewhere halfway?” he suggested.

“Smart move,” she agreed. “Just the basic stuff and a teeny tiny bit of glitter?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

For about twenty minutes, they were both silent as Eleri worked on glamming up Bucky’s face. With his eyes closed, he enjoyed the soft brushes sweeping around his cheeks, nose, forehead and eyes.

“Pucker up,” was the first thing Eleri said. “I’m gonna put on some lipgloss.”

Bucky complied, making Eleri burst out laughing immediately. “Not this much, genius.”

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes.

There was another brief silence until Eleri said: “There. Done.”

Bucky tried to turn around to see himself in the big mirror on Eleri’s wardrobe, but she stopped him. “Nu-uh. Not done. We need to do your nails and pick you an outfit. Show me your nails.”

Bucky reluctantly gave her his hands. She took them into hers, bringing them close to her face. “You really need to stop biting ‘em.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes you do.”

“No.”

“Then what’s this?” she asked, shoving his own hand right in front of his eyes. “If that’s not you biting ‘em, then who? A perverted ghost?”

“I do it in my sleep,” he mumbled. “I… have bad dreams. And then wake up with bloody fingertips.”

Eleri bit her lip. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude.”

“‘S okay.”

“Maybe you could… sleep with gloves on,” she suggested. “You know, like mittens.”

“Or boxing gloves,” he smirked.

“I mean, sure,” she shrugged. “I’m pretty sure not even super soldier teeth could bite through those. Come on, let’s fix these bad boys.”

It took some time and squirming and writhing, but after that, Bucky’s nails looked almost like he had always been grooming them. However, he couldn’t help but voice his disdain for the nail file.

“It just feels weird!”

“Better get used to it if you want decent looking nails.”

“I hate it.”

“Everyone does in the beginning. At least you don’t have long ones, you do not want to hear the sound that makes.”

“Gross.”

“Shut up. And stop moving or your whole hand will be pink.”

“Why does it smell so awful?”

“‘Cause it’s nail polish. And you need to stop whining or I’ll put it somewhere you would not like it.”

“I don’t like it now anyway.”

“Shut your piehole, Barnes.”

As he waited for the colour to dry properly, Eleri went to her wardrobe to find him some clothes.

“Are you sure your stuff will fit me?” he asked doubtfully.

“Haven’t you noticed how I dress?” she scoffed. “My clothes will fit you just fine, trust me. And if not, I might have some that my exes left behind.”

“How’s your dating life anyway?”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes. “Everyone ends up ditching for someone normal,” she said. “What about you?”

“Like you don’t know,” he sighed. “The general public hates me and I don’t think dating on the team would be a good idea.”

“Loki has a thing for you,” she told him as she rummaged through her clothes. Bucky’s breath hitched.

“What thing?” he asked, feeling heat creep up into his cheeks.

Eleri turned around with a completely blank face. “You cannot be serious.”

“Well, I, uh-”

“He flirts with you like mad literally every time you two are in the same room!” she exclaimed. “And you flirt back, don’t argue with me.”

“I don’t f-”

“Oh my god,” she sighed dramatically. “You really are a disaster, aren’t you.”

“I thought he liked Wanda?”

“He did for a bit, but then he found out about her and Vis and decided to back off,” Eleri explained.

“Those two really love each other, don’t they?”

“Do not change the subject, James!” she scolded him. “You really haven’t noticed that Loki has a huge crush on you?”

“No, I have not.”

“You’re literally the only person that makes him blush!”

“Am I?”

Eleri groaned in frustration. “You’re the worst. What do you think about this jumper?”

Bucky, shocked by her sudden change of tone, stared at her with his eyes wide. “What?”

“Jumper. Do you like it?” she asked again.

“Why are you calling it a jumper?” he frowned.

“Because that’s what it is.”

“That’s a sweater.”

They didn’t settle on what it should be called, but they did agree that it would look nice on Bucky. Realising that his nails were still a little sticky, Eleri decided to help him put it on.

“Look at me, undressing a guy,” she laughed as she unbuttoned his shirt. “My parents would be so proud.”

Bucky chuckled. “Are they… not okay with you dating women?”

“They’re tolerating it at best,” she shrugged. “Raise your arms and press your lips together, you don’t want the lipgloss go everywhere.”

He did as he was told, allowing her to put the jumper on without major issues.

“And now for the final touch,” Eleri grinned, pulling a flower crown out of her closet.

“Are you sure?” Bucky frowned.

“Just try it on, I’m certain you’ll look cute as shit,” she insisted as she put it on his head. A few final adjustments and- “Oh my god you look gorgeous.”

“Can I look now?” he asked.

“Please do.”

She stepped out of his way so he could finally see himself in the huge mirror on her wardrobe. He took a few steps forward so he could get a better look and his jaw dropped ever so slightly.

When he wasn’t speaking for quite a long time, Eleri started to worry. “Do you… not like it? I can redo it if you’d like.”

“I love it,” he finally said.

“Really?” she asked. “Are you absolutely sure? I have plenty other colours in the-”

“Pink’s my favourite,” he smiled at her. “Always has been.”

For a few more moments, none of them said a word. “Thank you,” Bucky finally spoke up once more. “I’ve always wanted to feel like this.”

“You can borrow my stuff any time,” Eleri said. “As long as you don’t tell anyone I’m your provider.”

“May I hug you?”

“Hell yes.”

They embraced each other tightly and out of sheer joy, Eleri lifted Bucky up and spun him around, letting out a tiny gleeful squeal.

“I forgot how strong you are,” he chuckled once she put him down.

“Stupid strong, I know,” she smirked.

For the rest of the day, the two of them stayed in Eleri’s room, looking for inspiration and references for future experiments. They listened to some “aggressively gay” music, as Eleri called it, and talked about dating. They ended up in the cinema room again, watching dumb rom coms.

“Mind if I join you?” said a voice from the doors. They turned to see Loki, lazily leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets.

“Come on in,” Eleri grinned, winking at Bucky cheekily. “I’ll go get more snacks, you can take my seat.”

Bucky glared at her, but before he could protest, she was gone, shoving Loki next to him.

“Sargeant Barnes,” Loki greeted him with a polite nod, pointing at the seat.

“Loki,” he replied and gestured for him to freely take the seat. Instead of sitting, however, Loki continued inspecting his face. Bucky wanted to ask him what he was looking at, but before he could, Loki spoke: “You look… happier, Sargeant.”

“Oh, I, uh…” Bucky stuttered. “Thank you?”

“The flowers suit you,” Loki smiled ever so slightly.

Oh God, oh shit, oh fuck, Bucky thought, feeling as if he was about to spontaneously combust. Oh for the love of Jesus, he really is flirting. Oh merciful Lord, what do I do?

Loki finally sat down, glueing his eyes to the screen. Bucky really hoped he couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest and his stupid fast breathing. He couldn't help but glance at the man next to him every once in a while, suddenly feeling stupid about the flashy colours. He reached up and tried to take the flower crown off.

"What are you doing?" Loki frowned.

"It's, um, it's falling into my eyes," Bucky said.

"That's no reason to take it off, here," Loki shook his head and turned his whole body to face him, raising his hands up to Bucky's face. "May I?"

"Uh, sure," Bucky replied barely audibly and allowed the god to fix his hair. Damn you, Eleri, why did you have to put that on me, he thought.

"Better?" Loki asked.

"Uh-huh, yeah," Bucky nodded absent-mindedly.

"Would be a shame if you took it off, it makes you look like a faery," Loki said.

"Thanks, I... it was Eleri's idea," Bucky mumbled.

"I shall thank her for it then," Loki winked and returned to watching the film as if nothing had happened. Oh for heaven's sake.

Bucky sat silently, trying to think of a response, but his brain seemed to have stopped functioning completely. "You, um, you look great too. Green is really... your colour." Jesus fucking Christ, Barnes.

"Thank you, Sargeant," Loki said. "It is, after all, my favourite."

"That's a... great choice," Bucky said, immediately feeling the urge to kick his own butt. Just shut up already.

Loki chuckled. Bucky noticed him licking his lips and his throat tightened.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Eleri shouted as she re-entered the room with a bowl of popcorn. "JUST FUCKING SNOG ALREADY!"

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #writeblr #my writing #one shot #bucky barnes #loki #loki odinson #loki friggason #original female character #oc #loki/bucky #winterfrost

24 notes · View notes

archadianskies · 5 years ago

Note

people keep teasing us about being a couple so we come up with a plan to fake date and have a fake breakup so they’ll feel awkward and leave us alone, OR, my ex is an asshole and I really don't want them to think I'm still in love (Simon/RK900, unless you've got someone else in mind!)

「 hold me, til i’m not lonely anymore 」 → on Ao3

The thing about those long days and nights in Jericho before Markus’ arrival is that hopelessness makes any relationship seem positive. Bonding out of desperation and survival seemed the right thing, the perfectly normal thing, to do at the time to soothe his abandonment issues and incessant craving for validation and affection.

It had started off as a healthy relationship- a broken runaway PL600 and a discarded AX700, two domestics with no family to care for but each other. They had found solace together, and the cold dreary nights in the rotting freighter seemed just a little warmer. But Gideon was possessive, fiercely so, and detested Markus’ pacifist ways even though for the first time it seemed Jericho meant something, and had purpose and direction. Even as Simon quietly pined and yearned for Markus’ eloquence and easy affection and gentle demeanour, he stayed by Gideon’s side.

The possessiveness doesn’t stop after they win the revolution, and though they’re now recognised as living, sentient beings Simon still feels like he’s no more than an object owned by another. Gideon wants to make all the decisions, plans where they are to live and what’s to fill their apartment and how much time Simon is allotted to spend at Jericho. He is a broken runaway PL600, and so one quiet unassuming afternoon when Gideon is on a supply run with his team, Simon simply packs up his favourite jumper and a spare packet of thirium and runs away.

He hops from place to place, from the sprawling, colourful Manfred Manor to Josh’s quiet little apartment crammed with books, to North’s haphazard, eclectic Eden commune. They are his friends, they remind him, and they welcome his company even if Simon feels like he’s intruding into their organised lives.

To combat the ache for companionship, Simon throws himself into work; there is much to do now they are legally Alive. Without Gideon planning every moment of his life, Simon helps out as much as he can. When Markus informs them of the DPD requesting an android liaison to ensure open communication between Jericho and the police, Simon volunteers.

He knows Connor well now, knows the deviant hunter turned deviant is blossoming as an individual. He has likes and dislikes, a friendly, open personality and an eagerness to help. He also has a family now- a human father, a dog, and an android brother.

“Simon this is my RK900 brother, Ronan.” Connor introduces them, and Simon takes in the looming figure who looks like Connor but not quite.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ronan.” They shake hands and his grip is as firm as Simon expects an upgraded RK800 to be.

“It is an honour to meet you, Simon of the Jericho Four.” He replies with a nod, all crisp received pronunciation; a polished British accent is not on the list of things Simon expects though somehow it suits the tall, handsome not-RK800.

Gideon confronts him one unassuming afternoon when he is supposed to be on a supply run but isn’t.

“You left so suddenly.” There’s anger and betrayal in his eyes.

“I did.” Simon nods.

“It’s supposed to be us against the world!” He steps forward and Simon steps back. “All those days and nights in Jericho, hoping and waiting for a world where we’d be free and here we are! Why did you leave?”

“I too am alive, Gideon.” Simon replies slowly, unable to quell the sick anxiety rising in his core. “You don’t own me, or my time.”

“I’m the upgraded android,” he sighs heavily and he’s using the patient tone programmed into domestics when talking to children. “I can make the better decisions for us, Simon. You’re an obsolete android with an inferior processing core but I love you all the same. It’s alright, I understand it’s very overwhelming for you now we have many more freedoms than before. I can wait patiently for you to come to your senses. You’ll always have a place in my hearts, and in my life.”

Androids don’t need to shower but Gideon’s words make him feel grimy, as if there’s a layer of filth contaminating his dermal layer and he must wash it off. Gideon’s words play over and over in his mind and Josh worries over his red LED when Simon appears in his apartment to bunk down for the night. Josh wraps him in a blanket and loans him another sweater from his ever growing collection of gifted sweaters, and Simon’s LED slowly cycles yellow.

*~*

“You are distracted.” Ronan comments as Simon stares blankly at the tablet in his hands.

“Hm?”

“I said,” there’s the barest hint of a smile on his lips, “you are distracted.”

“Oh um.” Simon ducks his head sheepishly. “Yes. Sorry. I um- just…an old acquaintance reared up recently and we parted on not-so-nice terms.”

“Are they a danger to you?” Ronan’s voice loses all its mirth, his expression turning serious and Simon thinks he loves him a little for it.

“I wouldn’t say that. He’s not dangerous, he’s just very…stubborn.” Possessive, Simon wants to say but he doesn’t really want to say it. “We exchanged some words and I’m going to keep my distance.”

“It’s getting late.” Ronan glances outside. “I will walk you home.”

“Oh I-” I don’t have a home. “I’m staying at Josh’s tonight. We’re working on a speech draft together.”

“Then I will walk you to Professor Joshua’s apartment.” He says it so matter-of-factly Simon can’t help but smile.

“Thank you Ronan.”

Gideon finds him two days later when he’s at the creche visiting David, the sole YK500 who made it to and survived Jericho.

“Are you ready to come home?” Gideon asks, and his voice is soft and gentle the way Simon used to love. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m not going back to you.” Simon says curtly, stepping away from the children so they’re out of earshot. “I don’t want to go back to your home, I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Ah, still thinking it over.” Gideon sighs, his smile placating and Simon hates it, oh he hates it so much. “That’s alright. I’ll wait.”

“You’ll wait forever, then, because I won’t go back to you.” Simon feels the anger burn in his core and he wants to grab him by the shoulders and shout until he leaves but he doesn’t do that because the children are here and the children deserve not to hear raised angry voices.

“Take your time, my love.” He reaches forward and brushes back a lock of hair from Simon’s face and Simon bites his lip so as not to flinch.

“Here.” Ronan offers him a soft navy blue scarf that had been wrapped around his neck but a moment ago. “Your hands are shaking. It is common for PL600s to suffer malfunctions in their temperature regulators. Please wear this to help stabilise your internal heat.”

Simon accepts the scarf with a nod and wraps it around his neck and closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of clean knitted wool. He doesn’t want to correct Ronan, doesn’t want to tell him his hands are shaking because of his encounter with Gideon earlier that day and not because of the cold.

“There’s an integrated cafe closeby, it’s where most of the precinct go to get their hot beverages.” Ronan gestures ahead. “The interior is kept at a pleasant temperature. Shall we have our meeting there?”

“Yes please.” Simon mumbles into the scarf, nodding to doubly confirm. He doesn’t want to think about Gideon, he doesn’t want to acknowledge that small black spot, that gnawing, growing fear for his safety that actually, Gideon might be dangerous after all.

*~*

The Manfred manor is wonderfully distracting with its eccentric style as eccentric as its owner. Carl Manfred’s abode is crammed with art in many forms, and the bursts of colour against the warm tones make the place feel homely and welcoming and exciting. Simon loves staying over, even if he hasn’t quite mastered how to hide his pining for Markus.

“Listen, as a big fan of your cooking I know for a fact that’s absolutely delicious,” Leo pipes up, “but I’m not sure you can actually drink that.”

Simon blinks, looking at the mug in his hands and belatedly realising it’s Leo’s hot chocolate and not his mug of thirium.

“Oh, sorry Leo!” He swaps the mugs and sighs tiredly.

“You’re super stressed. Your LED’s been red the whole time. What’s up, Simon?” Leo sets his laptop on the coffee table and scoots closer on the couch. “You alright?”

There’s no harm in telling Leo, Simon reasons with himself, since he’s not a part of Jericho and he’s not even an android.

“My…ex is…clingy.” Forcing the words out is harder than he thinks, and he buries his face in his hands, unable to even look at his human friend.

“Clingy? Yikes, sorry Simon.” Leo offers a sympathetic grin. “They still don’t get the message?”

“I’ve told him flat out that I won’t go back to him but he’s insisting I just need to think things through.” Simon sips idly at his drink, taking comfort in the heat it provides. “I don’t need to think about it any further- we’re over. I’m not in love with him anymore and I hate that he thinks it’s somehow his decision to make!”

“Wait, Simon, is he-” Leo’s tone changes, and it reminds him of Ronan’s protective tone. “Is he bothering you? Like, stalking you? Threatening you?”

“Well, I mean he’s not-” a sigh of frustration. “I don’t know what to say to him to convince him to let me go! Not- not physically! Just- the idea of me, the idea of us still in a relationship. He needs to let that go!”

“Say you’ve found someone else. You’ve moved on and so should he.” Leo suggests and Simon slumps down further.

“Leo, he’s a part of Jericho. He’d just find out I made it up.” Simon closes his eyes, feeling the fight drain out of him. “And I hate that some nights I miss him. Or, well, more that I miss being with someone and being loved.”

“You’re better off without him, he sounds gross.”

“I know.” He thinks back to the early stages of Jericho, to those long cold nights wrapped in Gideon’s arms and how the future seemed a little less bleak. Then he thinks of Gideon’s anger, Gideon’s patronising words, and suddenly those memories seem less sweet and more sour.

“I mean, I’d say pretend to date Markus but my brother is blissfully oblivious and completely ditzy when it comes to all that.” Leo grins as Simon shoots him a warning glare. “Anyway he’d be a downgrade. You’re absolutely wonderful- no I won’t accept your protests, you are, Simon, I mean it. You deserve someone super cool who will love you and keep you safe and my brother is not that.” A pause, his grin turning cheeky. “Pretend to date one of the Andersons. They’re plenty cool.”

He knows Leo’s teasing him, and it works because he lets out a helpless laugh and even a few days later just thinking about their exchange makes him smile to himself.

“Hello darling.” Gideon’s voice interrupts his fond musing, and Simon’s smile vanishes instantly. “It’s been two weeks now, are you ready to come home?”

“What part of ‘no’ do you not understand, Gideon?” Simon demands, exasperated.

“Look, I know you’re still finding your feet, it’s okay! I told you I’m patient.” He tries to soothe, palms bared in a calming gesture.

“My feet are firmly planted, thank you very much!” Simon spits, and he is fuming. “I’ve already told you, more than once, that I’m not going back to you!”

“Simon, think about this critically.” Gideon sighs as if he’s been put upon. “You’re a PL600, we’re made for each other. Who will love you if I don’t?”

It feels like Gideon’s reached over and yanked his heart regulator out, and Simon’s struck by how awful, how absolutely awful he feels as those words seep into his core and spread through every cable, every fibre in his body. Plenty, he wants to scream, plenty of people love me, the love of friends is no less than the love of a partner!

“I’m already seeing someone else.” Simon forces through gritted teeth. “I’ve moved on, and so should you.”

“Oh yeah?” Gideon scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And who’s the guy, Simon? Who’s willing to love a broken, obsolete PL600 if not me?”

“Ronan Anderson.” He clenches his hands into fists, willing himself to be brave, to not back down. “He’s an RK900, with processing capabilities far superior to yours. I’ve upgraded, Gideon. I’m not settling for a lesser model.” Without waiting for a reply, he pivots and strides away even though it feels like his knees will buckle at any moment. It feels like a victory but he knows it isn’t, it isn’t at all.

“Your stress levels, by the way, are astronomical.” North pokes his LED from where she’s lounging on his lap. “What’s up, Si?”

They’re sitting in a common room piled with cushions and beanbags and blankets, in a condominium rising from the ashes of the Eden Club. It’s populated by North’s brothers and sisters, those seeking refuge from their lifetime of abuse. Not many non WR400s and HR400s are permitted inside but Simon’s one of them. It must be a PL600 thing, Simon thinks, to appear so docile and hapless and helpless and the furthest thing from a threat.

“Si?” North prompts, sitting up and cupping his cheek with her palm. “Hey, c’mon. Look at me.”

“Um-” he takes a shaky breath. “Just…bad breakup, that’s all. Clingy ex, but I think I got rid of him for good.”

“I can kill him for you.” North shrugs, and though her tone is light Simon doesn’t doubt she’d keep her word. It’s why he loves her.

“I don’t think it needs to come to that.” He manages a short laugh, shifting to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her soft strawberry blonde hair.

“If it does, I’ll kill him.” Her tone is deadly serious, just like Leo’s had been, just like Ronan’s had been and it makes his hearts ache in a good, good way.

“I know.” He huffs a not-laugh, squeezing her close. “Thank you.”

*~*

It’s been a week since he last saw Gideon and work has kept him busy enough not to dwell on it. With Christmas on the horizon and Detroit’s humans slowly settling back into their lives albeit alongside their newly appointed, newly legal fellow android citizens, the DPD are run off their feet. By extension that means Simon is too, but he welcomes the never ending list of tasks.

He spends more and more time at the precinct speaking on behalf of Jericho and ensuring both sides are kept updated with current events whether it be the status of yet another bill Markus is fighting for, or the progress on any one of the numerous open cases worked on by Lieutenant Anderson and his sons.

“Tearium, Simon.” Ronan announces softly as he sets the tall takeaway cup on their shared desk. “Ms Essie says it’s their new milk tea flavour.”

“Thank you Ronan.” Simon smiles tiredly as he takes the cup and carefully takes a sip. The coding spreads on his tongue, sweet and creamy and soothing. He closes his eyes to savour it and sighs in relief.

“Connor’s just waiting for Captain Fowler to sign off on the report and then we’ll be done.” Ronan takes his seat opposite him. “Shall I walk you home?”

“You can walk me to my taxi at the curb.” Simon corrects. “I’ll be heading to the Manfreds after this.”

“Good.” Ronan nods, seemingly pleased with the information. “Carl Manfred has a state of the art temperature stabiliser in his home, and it’s forecast to snow overnight.”

“You really don’t need to worry about me, Ronan.” He mumbles into his Tearium, feeling ever the burden.

“Perhaps. But I do anyway.” There’s something soft in his voice, in the small upward tilt of his lips. “I think we’re permitted to worry over those we care for deeply.”

“Signed!” Connor declares, and the moment is gone as he brandishes the tablet. “Report approved and logged. Time to go home!” He skips down the scant steps from Captain Fowler’s office, placing the tablet on his table and snatching up his coat from the back of his chair. “Shall we drop you off somewhere, Simon?”

“I’ll be catching a cab to the Manfreds, thank you for the offer though, Connor.” Simon declines politely, pulling on his coat and retrieving his half finished drink. He waves goodbye to Miss Stephanie, the ST300 receptionist, on their way out.

“Oh, it’s snowing already.” Connor holds up his palm, watching the snowflakes flutter down. “Is your cab far away?”

“Shouldn’t be too far now.” Simon looks down the road.

“Connor, you head home first. Sumo will need his evening walk before the snowfall becomes heavier.” Ronan opens an umbrella and steps beside Simon, holding it over the both of them. “I’ll keep Simon company and see him home safely.”

They exchange a look Simon can’t quite decipher, a probable conversation he’s not privy to, but it ends with Connor grinning one of his puppylike grins and Ronan ducking his head suddenly and averting his eyes. The older Anderson brother takes his leave and then it’s just Ronan standing very close at his side as the snow falls around them.

Simon sips at his tea, sneaking the RK900 furtive glances and trying not to think about how very handsome he is and how he’s actually rather funny and far more gentle and kind than his false reputation dictates. He tries not to think of how much he wants his parting words to Gideon to be a reality and not just a lie spit out of spite.

In a way Gideon is right- who would love Simon, not as a friend but as a partner when he is so broken and obsolete? Certainly not a one of a kind Kamski creation, the saviour of their kind and leader of their revolution. Certainly not the most cutting edge, state of the art android honed like a blade by CyberLife.

“Have a safe trip to the Manfreds, Simon, and goodnight.” Ronan’s voice cuts through his wallowing as the cab tucks itself neatly at the curb. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” For the Tearium, for the umbrella, for waiting, for being patient and humoring him, Simon wants to say. But he doesn’t, and Ronan closes the door and watches him drive off until the cab turns the corner and is out of sight.

Deciding to return the favour the next day doesn’t seem quite fair, and Simon can’t bring himself to buy just one Tearium and leave others empty handed so he ends up buying Teariums for both Anderson brothers, one for Miss Stephanie, and an actual coffee for Lieutenant Anderson.

He’s partway up the steps of the precinct carefully holding the tray of drinks when he spots Gideon sitting in the reception area. Their eyes meet and Gideon’s standing up and that means it’s too late for Simon to turn tail and run.

“Here Simon, let me help you with that.” Ronan’s voice is a gentle murmur by his side and he nearly jumps out of his casing. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“N-no it’s not- you’re fine, I just-” He’s stammering and Ronan’s expression is one of concern as he takes the drinks from him, Simon belatedly realising his trembling violently.

“Best to get you inside where it’s warmer.” He keeps stride with him as they enter the precinct, but all Simon wants to do is bolt away.

“So you weren’t lying.” Gideon greets him with a sneer, eyes roaming over Ronan briefly before returning to him. “Somehow convinced the RK900 to take pity on you, is that it? He’s not a domestic, Simon, he can’t take care of you!”

“Simon does not need my pity, or anyone else’s, he is perfectly capable of caring for himself.” Ronan places the tray on the reception desk, sizing up the AX700. “I do not appreciate you coming here to berate him publicly, and I do not care who you are but you will leave.”

“Or are you lying, Simon?” Gideon’s grin is malicious and the lie is unraveling in his hands. “Made up some relationship to make me jealous? Oh but that just means I’m right, doesn’t it? That no else could possibly love you, you broken, obs-”

Ronan’s hand closes around his throat, and the RK900 lifts him off the ground with no effort whatsoever, gaze positively murderous. “I love him plenty. And he didn’t bother telling me about you because you’re not worth his time, nor mine. Get out of here and don’t you ever, ever speak to Simon again.”

He lets go and Gideon falls to the floor in a heap, scrambling back in fear as Ronan towers over him. “You don’t even deserve to look at him, you cruel little cretin. If I ever hear of you approaching him again I will pull you apart piece by piece, do you understand?”

Gideon nods hastily, whimpering when Ronan lunges down to grab him by the shirt and haul him up.

“I asked: do you understand?” He growls, voice low and threatening.

“Y-y-yes! Yes I understand!”

“Excellent.” Ronan releases him. “See yourself out, then.”

Scrambling away, Gideon nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to escape and someone laughs a high-pitched almost hysterical laugh and after a moment Simon realises it’s him.

“Are you alright?”

“This isn’t happening.” Simon giggles and his vision is blurry and his LED is red enough it’s emitting heat. “I’m having an actual breakdown.”

“You are not.” Ronan’s expression is serious, his movements purposefully slow as he ever so gently guides Simon through the security gates and into a small room. “You are recovering from an emotionally abusive relationship and it has worn you thin. Your stress is understandable.”

“He- it wasn’t! That’s just how he is, he never hurt me I’m just overthinking things, I’m-” Simon can’t breathe which is an odd thing since androids can’t breathe but it feels like there isn’t enough air ventilating his biocomponents. “I used you, I told him we were together, I lied so he’d leave me alone and now you’re caught up in this, you had to lie to him too and I never meant-”

“What makes you think I was lying?” Ronan embraces him tightly and Simon cries because his system doesn’t know what else to do, how else to cope with his critical stress levels. “I love you plenty. Whether you accept that as the love of a friend or the love of a romantic partner, or not accept it at all- that is your choice to make. You need only tell me once, and I swear I will respect your wishes.”

“Then love me, because I want this to be real.” Simon pleads, and words aren’t enough so he lets the skin recede from his hand and Ronan presses his palm to his and the world falls away until there’s nothing left but the ache of yearning and pining and fondness and affection and love, and love and love.

He tips up just as Ronan leans down and their lips meet and their hearts sync and Simon knows finally this is real.

#rk900 #dbh simon #detroit: become human #you know i'm all about furthering the rk900/simon agenda!!!#annie writes: dbh #anomalous appliances

22 notes · View notes