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justice4canyonmoon · 3 years

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An Evening Off

Summary: Both Y/n and Harry have a rare night off. Y/n has relaxing plans for how they should spend it.

Notes: Howdy! This is probably the last fic I’m going to post for the next two weeks; I have finals for college next week, and I have a fuck ton of work this week because professors love to give students everything at once 🙃 Anyway, I came up with the very fluffy concept because I crave emotional intimacy, so I hope you like it!!!!

Warnings: cursing ig. otherwise just a lot of fluff and taking a bath together 🥰

WC: 1.9k

Y/n was feeling lonely.

Her boring ass office job didn’t produce too many friends for her. While the people she worked with weren’t the absolute worst, they were just, well, bland. Their lives were cookie-cutter. The closest thing any of them had experienced to a true adventure was a trip to IKEA. Her two best friends, Maria and José, were across the country, since she had moved from one coast to another to live with her boyfriend. Sure, she could FaceTime them, but it just wasn’t the same. And after the call, she knew she’d just be more lonely than before.

Harry wasn’t an option either. He was working, far too hard for her liking. She understood, of course; it was album crunch time. He had to make all of the last minute decisions: finalizing the tracklist, photoshoots, and touch-ups on the chosen tracks in the studio. But she missed him. The only times she saw him anymore was right before bed, when he would stumble into the room sleepily and kiss her forehead before going right to sleep. So yeah, she was a bit lonely. And being alone on her day off wasn’t exactly the plans she wanted to have.

Luckily, the universe decided to answer her pleas. At around 1:00, after she had finished up a late shower, her phone buzzed with a text from her beloved.

H: Hi, baby! The only thing we have left on the agenda today is touching up a couple of the album tracks, so I should be home a bit earlier :D If you’d like, I can pick up some dinner on the way home.

She couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across her face. For the first time in ages, the two of them could finally have some time together! Maybe she could do something nice for him! He had been working so hard lately, he deserved it. And honestly, she did, too. An idea popped into her head, and she threw open the bathroom closet, taking a look through her bath supplies. She grinned triumphantly as she pulled out a citrus bath bomb, knowing that Harry enjoyed the calming scent of orange and lemon. A nice bath would not only help Harry destress, but it would also be the perfect cure to the loneliness that was settling in her heart. She quickly texted Harry a reply as she set the bath bomb aside.

Y/n: Sorry about the wait, babe, was just taking a shower. Forgot to this morning lol

He answered pretty much right away, making her smile.

H: It’s okay, baby! No need for apologies :)

Y/n: Okay! I’m excited to actually get to spend some time with you! I could really go for curry, if you’re up for Indian takeout.

H: Curry sounds good to me! I’ll probably be home between 6 or 7! I have to go now, but I can’t wait to see you :) I love you so much!!!!

Y/n: Can’t wait to see you, either, Har!!! I love you, too 💕💕

“Baby, ‘m home!”

Y/n looked at the clock. It was 7:30, a bit later than what Harry had said through text, but still much earlier than usual. She leapt up from the couch and sprinted to the front door, tackling Harry in a hug. He laughed loudly and wound his free arm around her waist, not fully able to hug her back because of the takeout bag in his arms.

“Let me put the food down so I can give y’ a proper hug.”

She let go with a small pout on her face, which Harry promptly kissed off while setting the bag down. He then wrapped her in a tight, two-armed embrace. She melted at the contact, resting her head on his chest and hugging him back just as tightly. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then rested his head on top of hers.

“Miss you, Har,” she said, her speech slightly muffled from talking into his t-shirt.

She could feel him frown against her hair, “I miss y’ too, Y/n. The album should be done by the end of the month, and then ‘m all yours until tour starts.”

“Good. I was gonna break into the studio and steal you back myself if you weren’t done soon.”

He chuckled, “I don’ think Jeff would like that very much.”

“Fuck Jeff! I need you back here,” she scoffed.

“I certainly hope y’ don’ want t’ fuck Jeff.”

She rolled her eyes, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned cheekily, “But yet y’ still here.”

“Lord only knows why,” Y/n grumbled, though there was a smile on her face.

They pulled away reluctantly, both realizing how hungry they were. The two chowed down on chicken curry and naan while chatting about their day. Y/n spent most of her day off watching The Great British Bake-Off and snuggling with Daiquiri, their black lab. Harry had been putting the finishing touches on three of the album songs (“I can’ wait to play them f’ y’, baby”), and ranted about the traffic coming home (“I would’ve gotten home 45 minutes earlier, but the freeway was ridiculously clogged up!”). It was domestic in a way that Y/n never thought she would have, and she loved every second of it.

When everything from dinner was cleaned up, Y/n figured now was as good a time as any to reveal her plans for the rest of their evening.

“Hey, Har,” she paused, then continued when she heard his hum of acknowledgment, “would you want to take a bath with me?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Is this a ploy t’ get me naked?”

“No,” Y/n said bashfully, “I just thought it would be nice to take a bath together. I found a citrus bath bomb at the back of the closet, and I thought it would be relaxing for us.”

Harry’s eyes softened and he smiled gently at her, “That sounds perfect, love. Y’ too sweet.”

The two made their way to the bathroom, hand in hand. Y/n plucked the bath bomb from the closet and laid it in the tub, turning on the warm water. The water became a pastel shade of yellow, reflecting the lemony scent of the bath bomb. As she was checking the temperature, a pair of tattooed arms wrapped around her waist, and a kiss was pressed to her cheek. The heat radiating off of his body led her to believe that Harry had already rid himself of his clothes. When she turned around, her suspicions were confirmed.

“You work fast,” she commented, making a humming sound when the temperature was to her satisfaction.

“A bit,” he confirmed, leaning over to turn off the nozzle “just wanna take a bath with y’, love. Speaking of, let’s get those pesky clothes off of y’, shall we?”

Y/n nodded and Harry reached forward, almost reverently lifting her (his) sweatshirt over her head. She shimmied out of her leggings and removed her undergarments. She stepped into the bath first, gesturing for him to follow. He obeyed, and sat between her legs, resting his head on her shoulder. The two sat in silence for a while, basking in each other’s company. Y/n couldn’t remember a time where she had felt this at peace. But she also knew that Harry had forgotten to shower that morning since he was nearly late to the studio, so she reached over and grabbed some soap and a washcloth. She looked down at him and giggled softly when she realized he was almost asleep

“Wake up, baby,” she crooned, “let me wash you.”

“‘M awake,” he muttered, “promise.”

“Sure you are, that’s why your eyes are closed,” Y/n teased.

He only hummed in response, making her giggle again. She kissed his forehead and began washing him gently. The soft circles she was rubbing into his skin with the washcloth were soothing, and a sleepy smile made its way onto his face.

“‘Y always take such good care of me. Dunno how I got s’ lucky.”

Y/n felt her face grow warm as she reached for the shampoo, “I think I’m the lucky one. You always take care of me, too.”

She began rubbing the shampoo into his silky locks. Breathy gasps fell from his lips as she tugged lightly as his hair, working the shampoo into his curls.

“Feels s’ good,” he murmured.

“Glad you’re feeling good, Har,” Y/n replied in a hushed tone.

She rinsed his hair and repeated the process with the conditioner. By the time she had finished, Harry had fully fallen asleep on her shoulder. She cooed softly at how adorable he looked. He was like an angel; his long lashes were speckled with little water drops, his wet hair stuck to his forehead in an oddly endearing way, and a small smile was spread across his lips. He looked so relaxed in a way that Y/n hadn’t seen in a while. The bath helped her feel more at ease too; the monotonous motions of washing Harry made the stress from her job melt away, and the loneliness that had plagued her earlier in the day was washed away by the warm water. But she knew she had to wake Harry. She wasn’t quite strong enough to carry all six feet of him back to their bedroom.

Y/n gently jostled his shoulder and whispered, “Harry. Need you to wake up, baby.”

He groaned softly, making her giggle softly once more. His eyes slowly blinked open to reveal his jade irises, and he stumbled his way out of the tub, making her laugh a little harder as she followed. Y/n got out two towels and dried them both off, knowing that Harry was much too tired to do it on his own. She took his hand and walked toward their bedroom.

When they reached the bedroom, Y/n guided Harry to sit on the bed while she picked out sweats for both of them to wear to sleep (she knew that Harry had a particular fondness for when she wore his clothes to bed, so she got out his clothes for both of them). Harry pliantly moved his limbs as she clothed him, and watched her with moony eyes as she pulled on her own sleepwear.

“Look s’ pretty in m’ clothes, love,” he complimented, relishing in the shy smile that appeared on her face.

“Thank you, Har. Let’s get you to bed, okay?” she replied.

Y/n turned off the light and joined Harry on the bed. He was already lying on his side, so she wound her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Usually, he was the big spoon, but with the whole mood they had set all night, it just felt right for her to be the one cuddling him. Y/n barely heard Harry mumble a “g’night. Love you,” before his breathing evened out. She smiled and closed her eyes, reflecting on the day. Just spending one evening with her boyfriend made her feel right as rain, and the loneliness that had once threatened to overtake her was totally gone. Though she had been taking care of him that night, he was also taking care of her. And sure, they were both going back to work tomorrow, but in two weeks, Harry would be done with the album and would be all hers. When sleep finally overtook her, all she had were the most pleasant of dreams.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine

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1vintage · 3 years

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Ocean Vuong on Metaphor

below is a transcript of an Instagram story from Ocean Vuong, available here in his story highlights under Metaphor.

Q: How do you make sure your metaphors have real depth?

metaphors should have two things: (1) sensory (visual, texture, sound, etc) connector between origin image and the transforming image as well as (2) a clear logical connector between both images.

if you have only one of either, best to forgo the metaphor, otherwise it will seem forced or read like “writing” if that makes sense.

a lot of ya’ll asked for examples re:metaphor. I can explain better if I had 15 minutes of class time (apply to UMASS!). But essentially, metaphors that go awry can signal a hurried desire to be “literary” or “poetic” (ie “writing”), which can lose traction/trust with a reader. in other words, a metaphor is a detour—but that detour better lead to discoveries that alter/amplify the meaning of what is already there, so that a reader sees you as a servant of possibility rather than someone trying to prove that they are a “writer.” One is performative, the other exploratory. In this way, the metaphor acts as a virtual medium, ejecting the text’s optical realism into an “elsewhere”. But this elsewhere should inform the original upon our return. otherwise the journey would feel like an ejection from a crash rather than a curated journey toward more complex meaning.

example:

“The road curves like a cat’s tail.”

This is a weak metaphor because the transforming image (tail) does not amplify/alter the original. The transfer of meaning flattens and dies. Logic is weak or moot: A cat’s tail does not really change the nature of the road. You can certainly add to this with a few more expository sentences which might rescue the logic—but by then you’re just doing cpr on your metaphor.

Sensory, too, is weak: a cat’s tail has little optical resemblance to a road other than being curved (roads are not furry, for one.)

So this is 0 for 2 and should be scrapped. (Just my opinion though! Not a rule!)

okay so what about:

“The road runs between two groves of pine, like the first stroke of a buzzcut.”

this is better. the optical sensory of the transforming image (a clipper thru a head of hair) matches well with the original.

but the logic feels arbitrary. again it doesn’t substantially alter the original.

in the end this is just an “interesting image” but not strong enough to keep I’d say.

Now here’s one from Sharon Olds:

“The hair on my father’s arms like blades of molasses.”

Sensory connector: check. A man’s dark hair indeed can look like blades (also suggestive of grass) of molasses.

Logical connector: check. the father is both sharp and sweet. Something once soft and sticky about him (connotations of youth) sweets, has now hardened the confection no longer fresh etc.

It’s an ambitious metaphor that is packed with resonance. In other words, it does worlds of work and actually deepens the more you dit with it. A metaphor that actually invites you to put the book down, think on it, absorb it, before returning. a good metaphor uses detours to add power to the text. poor metaphors distract you from the text and leave you bereft, laid to the side.

lastly, the prior examples are technically “similes” but I believe similes reside under the umbrella of metaphor. although a simile is a demarcation, ie: this is “like” that. but this is “not”, ontologically, that.

however, I think something happens in the act of reading wherein we collapse the “bridge” and the mind automatically forges synergy between the two images, so that all similes, once read, “act” like metaphors in the mind.

but again this is all subjective. you might have a better way of going about it.

Another very ambitious metaphor is this one from Eduardo C. Corral:

“Moss intensifies up the tree, like applause.”

This is a masterful metaphor, risky and requires a lot of faith, restraint, and experience to pull it off.

Difficult mainly because we now see a surrealist “distortion” of the sensory realm: origin IMAGE (moss) is paired with transforming SOUND (applause).

There is now a leap in comparable elements. But the adherence to our two vital factors are still present.

Sensory: moss, though silent, grows slowly (the word “intensifies” does major work here becuz it foreshadows the transforming element). Applause, too, grows gradually, before dying down.

Logic: the growth of the moss suggests spring, lushness, life, resilience, and connotes anticipatory hope, much like applause. In turn, applause modifies the nature of moss and imbues, at least this moss, with a sense of accomplishment, closure, it’s refreshment a cause for celebration.

God I love words.

I’ve gotten so many responses from folks the past few days asking for a deeper dive into my personal theory on metaphor.

So I'm taking a moment here to do a more in-depth mini essay since my answer to the Q/A the other day was off the cuff (I was typing while walking to my haircut appointment).

What I’m proposing, of course, is merely a THEORY, not a gospel, so please take whatever is useful to you and ignore what isn’t.

This essay will be in 25 slides. I will save this in my IG highlights after 24 hrs.

Before I begin I want to encourage everyone to forge your own theories and praxi for your work, especially if you’re a BIPOC artist.

Often, we are perceived by established powers as merely “performers,” suitable for a (brief) stint on stage—but not thinkers and creators with our own autonomy, intelligence, and capacity to question the framework in our fields.

It is not lost on me, as a yellow body in America, with the false connotations therein, where I’m often seen as diminutive, quiet, accommodating, agreeable, submissive, that I am not expected to think against the grain, to have my own theories on how I practice my art and my life.

I became a writer knowing I am entering a field (fine arts) where there are few faces like my own (and with many missing), a field where we are expected to succeed only when we pick up a violin or a cello in order to serve Euro-Centric “masterpieces.”

For so long, to be an Asian American “prodigy” in art was to be a fine-tuned instrument for Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven.

It is no surprise, then, that if you, as a BIPOC artist, dare to come up with your own ideas, to say “no” to what they shove/have been shoving down your throat for so long, you will be infantilized, seen as foolish, moronic, stupid, disobedient, uneducated, and untamed.

Because it means the instrument that was once in the service of their “work” has now begun to speak, has decided, despite being inconceivable to them, to sing its own songs.

I want you, I need you, to sing with me. I want to hear what you sound like when it’s just us, and you sound so much like yourself that I recognize you even in the darkest rooms, even when I recognize nothing else. And I know your name is “little brother” or “big sister,” or “light bean,” or “my-echo-returned-to-me-intact.” And I smile.

In the dark I smile.

Art has no rules—yes—but it does have methods, which vary for each individual. The following are some of my own methods and how I came to them.

I’m very happy ya’ll are so into figurative language! It’s my favorite literary device because it reveals a second IDEA behind an object or abstraction via comparison.

When done well, it creates what I call the “DNA of seeing.” That is, a strong metaphor “Greek for “to carry over”) can enact the autobiography of sight. For example, what does it say about a person who sees the stars in the night sky—as exit wounds?

What does it say about their history, their worldview, their relationship to beauty and violence? All this can be garnered in the metaphor itself—without context—when the comparative elements have strong multifaceted bonds.

How we see the world reveals who we are. And metaphors explicate that sight.

My personal feeling is that the strongest metaphors do not require context for clarity. However, this does not mean that weaker metaphors that DO require context are useless or wrong.

Weak metaphors use context to achieve CLARITY.

Strong metaphors use context to SUPPORT what’s already clear.

BOTH are viable in ANY literary text.

But for the sake of this deeper exploration into metaphors and their gradients, I will attempt to identify the latter.

I feel it is important for a writer to understand the STRENGTHS of the devices they use, even when WEAKER versions of said devices can achieve the same goal via different means.

Sometimes we want a life raft, sometimes we want a steam boat—but we should know which is which (for us).

My focus then, will be specifically the ornamental or overt metaphor. That is, metaphors that occur inside the line—as opposed to conceptual, thematic, extended metaphors, or Homeric simile (which is a whole different animal).

My thinking here begins with the (debated) theory that similes reside under metaphors. That is, (non-Homeric) similes, behave cognitively, like metaphors.

This DOES NOT mean that similes do not matter (far from it), as we’ll see later on, but that the compared elements, once read, begin to merge in the mind, resulting in a metaphoric OCCURRENCE via a simileac vehicle.

This thinking is not entirely my own, but one informed by my interest in Phenomenology. Founded by Edmund Husserl in the early 20th century and later expanded by Heidegger, Phenomenology is, in short, interested in how objects or phenomena are perceived in the mind, which renewed interest in subjectivity across Europe, as opposed to the Enlightenment’s quest for ultimate, finite truths.

By the time Husserl “discovered” this, however, Tibetan Buddhists scholars have already been practicing Phenomenology as something called Lojong, or “mind training,” for over half a millennia.

Whereas Husserl believes, in part, that a finite truth does exist but that the myopic nature of human perception hinders us from seeing all of it, Tibetan Lojong purports that no finite “truth” exists at all.

In Lojong, the world and its objects are pure perception. That is, a fly looks at a tree and sees, due to its compound eyes, hundreds of trees, while we see only one. For Buddhists, neither fly nor human is “correct” because a fixed truth is not present. Reality is only real according to one’s bodily medium.

I’m keenly interested in Lojong’s approach because it inheritably advocates for an anti-colonial gaze of the world. If objects in the real are not tenable, there is no reason they should be captured, conquered or pillaged.

In other words, we are in a “simulation” and because there is no true gain in acquiring something that is only an illusion, it is better to observe and learn from phenomena as guests passing through this world with respect to things—rather than to possess them.

The reason I bring this up is because Buddhist philosophy is the main influence of 8th century Chinese and 15th-17th century Japanese poetics, which fundamentally inform my understanding of metaphor.

While I appreciate Aristotle’s take on metaphor and rhetoric in his Poetics, particularly his thesis that strong metaphors move from species to genus, it is not a robust influence on my thinking.

After all, like sex and water, metaphors have been enjoyed by humans across the world long before Aristotle-- and evidently long after. In fact, Buddhist teachings, which widely employ metaphor and analogy, predates Aristotle by roughly 150 years.

Now, to better see how Buddhist Phenomenology informs the transformation of images into metaphor, let’s look at this poem by Moritake.

“The fallen blossom flies back to its branch. No, a butterfly.”

When considering (western-dominated) discourse surrounding analogues using “like” or “is”, is this image a metaphor or a simile?

It is technically neither. The construction of this poem does not employ metaphor or simile.

And yet, to my eye, a metaphor, although not present, does indeed HAPPEN.

What’s more, the poem, which is essentially a single metaphor, is complete.

No further context is needed for its clarity. If context is needed for a metaphor, then the metaphor is (IMO) weak—but that doesn’t mean the writing, as a whole, is bad. Weak metaphors and good context bring us home safe and sound.

Okay, so what is happening here?

By the time I read “butterfly,” my mind corrects the blossom so that the latter image retroactively changes/informs the former. We see the blossom float up, then re-see it as a butterfly. The metaphoric figuration is complete with or without “like” or “is.”

Buddhism explains this by saying that, although a text IS thought, it does not THINK. We, the readers, must think upon it. The text, then, only curates thinking.

Words, in this way, begin on the page but LIVE in the mind which, due to limited and subjective scope of human perception, shift seemingly fixed elements into something entirely new.

The key here is proximity. Similes provide buffers to mediate impact between two elements, but they do not rule over how images coincide upon reading. One the page, text is fossil; in the mind, text is life.

Nearly 5000 years after Maritake, Ezra Pound, via Fenolosa, reads Maritake’s poem and writes what becomes the seminal poem on Imagism in 1912, which was subsequently highly influential to early Modernists:

“The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough.”

Like Maritake, Pound’s poem technically has no metaphor or simile. However, he adds the vital colon after “crowd,” which arguably works as an “equal sign”, thereby implying metaphor. But the reason why he did not use “are” or “is” is telling.

Pound understood, like Maritake, that the metaphor would occur in the mind, regardless of connecting verbiage due to the images’ close proximity. We would come to know this as “association.”

Even if the colon was replaced by the word “like,” the transformation, though a bit slower, would still occur.

In fact, when I first studied Pound years ago, I had trouble recalling whether this poem was fashioned as a simile or not—mainly because the faces change to fully into blossoms each time I try to recall the poem.

Now, let’s look at a simile that, to me, metaphorizes in the same way as the examples above, in the line we saw before from Eduardo C. Corral:

“Jade moss on the tree intensifies, like applause.”

The origin/tenor image (moss) is connected to the transforming element (applause). This metaphor suggests, not an optical relationship, but a BEHAVIORAL one.

Both moss and applause are MASSES that accumulate via singularities: grains of moss and pairs of hands clapping to form a larger whole.

By comparing these two, Corral successfully suggests that moss grows at the RATE of applause, creating a masterful time lapse effect. Applause speeds up the moss growth, connoting rejuvenation, joy and refreshment. That something as mundane as moss deserves, even earns, jubilance, also offers a potent statement of alterity, that the smallest flourishing deserves celebration, which in turn suggests a subtle yet powerful political critique of hegemony.

The poet, through the metaphor, has recalibrated the traditional modes of value placed on the object (moss).

And no other context is needed for that.

You might disagree, but when I read Corral’s line, I don’t SEE an audience clapping BESIDE the moss. I see moss growing quickly to the sound of clapping. Although the simile is employed, the fusion of both elements completes the action in my mind’s eye.

Like Maritake and Pound, metaphor has OCCURRED here—but without “metaphor”.

HOWEVER, the simile is still VITAL. Why?

Because the transforming element is abstract (applause) and looks nothing like moss. We don’t want moss to BE applause, we want the nature of applause to inform, imbue, moss.

The line, I feel, would be quite poor if it was formed sans simile:

“Jade moss is applause on the tree.”

The “is” forces transposition, which is here akin to slamming two things together without mediation. We also lose the comparison of behavior, and are asked to see that moss BECOME applause, which doesn’t have the same meaning as the original.

So, although the simile fuses into metaphor (via association) in the mind, such a metaphor would NOT have been possible without the simile.

Similes matter greatly—as tools towards metaphor. Why?

Because (thank god) our minds are free to roam.

To summarize, one of the central strategies (and, to an extent, purposes) of the Japanese Haiku is to juxtapose two elements to test their synergy. This impulse is grounded in Shinto and Buddhist concepts of impermanence and structural malleability. That is, all things, even ideas and images, are subject to constant change—and such change is the most pervasive nature of perception.

The Haiku then becomes the perfect medium to test such changes. This principle is of central importance to me because it is rooted in non-dualistic (or non-binary) thinking.

The poem becomes the theatre in which fixed elements can be transformed, their borders subject to being dissolved, shifting towards something entirely new—to “create”, which is the Greek root to the word “poet.” The metaphor, then, is more like a chemical, whose elements (like hydrogen and oxygen), placed side by side, becomes water.

In this way, Buddhism’s influence on my work and, specifically, my use and understanding of metaphor, is a foundational QUEER praxis for alterity.

The reason why I emphasize the malleability of simile’s impact is that, although syntax and diction can aide a metaphor towards its more luminous embodiment, the ultimate key to its success is you, the observer.

YOU have look deeply and find lasting relationships between things in a disparate world.

In this sense, the practice of metaphor is also, I believe, the practice of compassion. How do I study a thing so that I might add to its life by introducing it to something else?

At its best, the metaphor is what we, as a species, have always done, at OUR best: which is to point at something or someone so different from us, so far from our own origins and say, “Yes, there IS a bond between us. And if I work long enough, hard enough, I can prove it to you—with this thing called language, this thing that weighs nothing but means everything to me.”

In the end, it is less about how you set up your metaphors (you will eventually find a way that suits it and you) but more about how you recognize your world. THAT is not easy to teach—it comes with patient practice, with a committed wonder for a world that at times might be too painful to look at. But you must and you should.

Good metaphors, in the end, come from writers who are committed to looking beyond what is already there, towards another possibility.

This calls that you see your life and your work as inexhaustible sites of discovery, and that you tend to them with care.

That’s it. That’s the true secret to a strong metaphor: care.

Lastly, I want to recommend the work of BIPOC poet and theorist, Thylias Moss, who discovered the Limited Fork Theory, a theory which suggests that the mind engages with the world, and especially with ideas, including text and art, the way the tines of a fork engage with a plate of food.

That is, only so much can be held on the work/mind with each attempt to consume, and that no “work” can be possessed in its entirety, which I find happily congruent with Lojong.

What a wonderful anti-imperialist and forgiving way to engage with our planet and its phenomena. Thank you, Mrs. Moss!

And thank YOU for sticking around through my little seminar.

I hope this has been helpful. Again, this is just my 2(5) cents! Now I’m going to sleep for four days.

In the meantime, me-ta-phors be with you.

—O

#ocean vuong #on writing #long post #metaphor #u

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not-a-christmas-tree · 4 years

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i watched the dallas theater company les mis and here are my observations part TWO

i recently watched a modern adaptation of les mis from 2014! i took hella notes bc les mis being set in modern day has a LOT MORE than you would think! i just posted my act one notes, so here are the ones from act two. enjoy! :D

ACT TWO

(Building The Barricade)

oh javert,,,you and your red beret-scarf combo

everyone shakes hands the same way?? they all like. half bro hug. young people ig 🤷‍♀️

oh on my own is gonna hurt me huh

éponine has her hands up when she goes to take the letter to cosette that’s an interesting take

jvj looks so done lmao “really bruh just give me the letter i’ll give it to cosette it’s FINE”

omg first time i’ve ever seen éponine not take the money after the letter!! that actually makes so much sense bc she doesn’t take marius’ money when he asks her to find cosette’s house either. that,,,yes that’s good

the modern era begs the question... why didn’t marius just ask for cosette’s number?? i’d assume it’s just a thing that jvj doesn’t allow her to have a phone bc The Cops, but. maybe marius and cosette are the straight version of cottagecore lesbians they just write letters for ~The Aesthetic~

(On My Own)

i was right on my own was gonna hurt me

first time i’ve ever seen an éponine disguise where she actually passes as a boy lmao

FINALLY A VERSION OF OMO WHERE ITS NOT JUST FORLORN SELF-CARESSING THANK YOU

surprisingly i have less notes here that’s fun i thought i’d have more

(Javert at the Barricades)

WOAHHHHH THEY DID NOT SKIMP ON BARRICADE SET PIECES THAT SHIT IS COOOOOL

oh the barricade scenes are already hitting too hard

cops are in riot gear cops. are in. riot gear.

oh the javert spy thing that also hits funny because obviously

gavroche is armed with a bat i love you son

FULL VERSION OF LITTLE PEOPLE AT THE BARRICADE AYEEEEE

(A Little Fall Of Rain)

wait hold on why is marius not,,,singing to éponine on “why have you come back here?” he’s like. scolding someone,,, huh??

oh enj goes to help marius with ép!! and he calls over who i assume would be joly i STAN

MARIUS CRIES AFTER ÉP DIES KILL MEEEE

(The First Attack)

i like how jvj does the second confrontation here. he looks less angry and more like,,,compassionate and that MAKES SENSE bc yk. he’s telling javert he’s wrong but he’s not doing it out of spite he’s doing it bc this guy NEEDS to know what he does as a cop and realize that being a cop isn’t just enforcing rules, and it never was just that.

i do love the exasperated “gO” from jvj that’s kinda great ngl

(Drink With Me)

i’m very sad that there won’t be any exr from these boys

v e r y sad here

i do see grantaire looking PRETTY sad though

bold of y’all to assume that the modern day amis would all be straight

okay i can tell that grantaire really is going hard on the Existential Singing like,,,sure he’s just standing there but like. damn bro

SO THERE A R E LADIES ON THE BARRICADE WHY TF ARENT THEY FIGHTING

BETTER SEE SOME CHANGE THERE

i just realized that the cockades are buttons that is the BEST

(Bring Him Home)

jvj actually looks kinda happy in BHH and tbh i kinda like it?? it’s only on the “he’s like the son i might have known” line but i like it

oh those vowels oh boy they TALL

(The Final Battle)

enjolras is for some reason, still angry...why...why bro....

the staging for gavroche’s death is INTERESTING bc he’s reaching up at the sniper on the tower. hm. i dont hate it

OH SOMEONE ON THE BARRICADE IS RECORDING I THINK!!! GOOD ADDITION!!

i can’t imagine how many blood packs they went through

oh enjolras’s death okay so. he’s in a like. No Man’s Land almost, and the riot cops come in after him. it’s an interesting take because it almost mirrors the scene in the book, except obvs grantaire isn’t here. they also have an added scene after he dies where cops are checking out and using radios that is. that is EERIE.

jvj walks over to enjolras’s body 🥺

HE ALSO FUCKIN S C R E A M S WHEN HE SEES MARIUS ON THE GROUND GODDAMN MAN O U C H

thenardier steals combeferre’s glasses wow thanks for that added pain

thenardier and jvj have a mini fight oh that’s kinda cool hm

(Javert’s Soliliquy)

javert opens his soliloquy with some SPICY SADNESS OH B O Y he sounds broken already!! start strong!!

emotions go broken - anger - confusion? - mAJOR confusion - hopelessness

javert can FLY! no legit he’s on ropes

(Turning)

turning is. turning is almost a funeral.

OH THEYRE N U N S !

nuns are visiting the barricade 🥺

OH DAMN “what’s the use of praying if there’s nobody who hears?” THAT CERTAINLY HAS WEIGHT NOW THAT THEY ARE N U N S

it has just occurred to me that people have been dead on the floor for like. a solid five minutes

(Empty Chairs At Empty Tables)

“now my friends. are dead. and gone” he pauses like he’s realizing it just then oh OUCHIE

wait is marius,,,at the barricades? is he legit singing to his friends dead bodies? oh shit oh NO

OH N O OH NONONO THIS IS WORSE

THE BARRICADE BOYS RISE UP FROM THE FLOOR OH N O OUCH OUCH

they group up and salute him and wALK OFF NO OWWWW

*cosette and marius kiss* jvj: *COUGH COUGH*

marius and valjean’s lil conversation is interesting in the way valjean seems to ask marius “who am i?” rather than ask himself. he phrases it in a way that makes me think he’s like. quizzing marius lmao

(The Wedding)

omg i think baby cosette and éponine are flower girls 🥺🥺

“go away thenardier” *madame mouths ‘dammit!’*

thenardier your boat shoes hurt me

madame: “get up! get up!” thenardier: “stop—STOP IT!”

TWO GUYS ARE DANCING TOGETHER AND WAVE AT THENARDIER ON “this ones a queer, but what can you do”

yeah i think i found my new favorite thenardiers thank you dallas theater company

fantine sits on the bench when cosette comes by, cosette sits on bench next to her, and fantine tries to touch her but can’t 🥺

jvj just gave a hand-over-heart head nod to cosette but fantine gave it back i,,,ouch

ENJOLRAS AND GAVROCHE ARE WITH FANTINE AND ÉPONINE FOR JVJ’S DEATH

the chain gang is in the epilogue i repeat the cHAIN GANG IS IN THE EPILOGUE

the orchestra rests on the last “say do you hear the distant drums” and that was the coolest thing i’ve ever heard

that final harmony is MONEYYYY and i want to cry

OVERALL NOTES:

this javert has the most interesting interpretation because up until his FINAL SCENE he is the stone cold police officer, and he plays it SO WELL. like i have never been truly angry at a javert up until this guy, and whether that was because it was modern and resonates A LOT in 2020 or he just looks like a cop i want to punch, I DON’T KNOW but he plays it SO WELL and i love it so much!!

these thenardiers are the fucking BEST NGL they are the perfect mix of funny and cruel. madame t is also funny as HELL and i wish i had her talent lmao

i said it before but the police costumes in this show are. woosh. kudos to the costumer i took one look at those guys and was like “haha, no!.” vaguely related to that, i think this was the first time i nearly cried at Look Down like. the first song at the show, simply because of the convict getting the SHIT beat out of him on the floor. that hurt me and i hate that it is completely accurate to what happens in prisons today.

lovely ladies was,,,a LOT and tbh, i feel like it didn’t need to be. obviously it does show how horrible it is for sex workers, but that is why the music is there. the music and lyrics is there to tell what you don’t show visually. (though i do love the male prostitute lmao he took no shit)

i also said this before but the fact that there wasn’t bigger of a relationship between enjolras and grantaire kind of annoys me simply because they are revolutionaries in the present day. you can’t tell me that ALL OF THEM WERE STRAIGHT. with how many people i know now that identify under the queer and trans umbrella, and also how queer they are (to me) in the brick, the absence of any exr in a modern interpretation hurts a little.

in conclusion, this show was fucking FANTASTIC and even though i’m six years late, it still resonates hard given the time we live in today. i think i nearly screamed when i saw the cops in riot gear on the barricade because that is LITERALLY HAPPENING RIGHT NOW. this just reminds me how timeless the story of les mis is because you had to change LITERALLY NOTHING from the story to make it make sense in the modern age, and that is really the lesson you should learn from les mis; these things happen everywhere, and they need to be fixed.

thank you for listening to my rambling, i am sure i forgot something because there was just so damn much but i hope you enjoyed otherwise! not-a christmas-tree out! :)

#les mis #les miserables #les amis #les amis de l'abc #dallas theater company #jean valjean #javert #fantine #cosette #marius #enjolras #grantaire

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seoafin · 3 years

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jjk & tower of god chapter on the same day,,, i spent all of my brainjuice talking abt tog w some friends + working on my wip so this one might be incoherent LMAO but nsjdhfjd this my 2 cents for the chp (1) - 🐱

first of all, the zenins shld just eat shit 🥰 the bar is just nonexistant now 😭😭😭

also maki’s mother said sth that hits way too close to home for me too🥴

the maki & mai, megumi & tsumiki "make a place where they are happy” parallels...mai,, maki wanted a place where u'd be happy!!! 😭😭😭 good points abt any interesting nuances the original jpn might have had though

ALSO MUSCLE MAKI IS HERE

and lmao megumi's "ew no" face ,,, i didn't think he could make a face like that JDJJDJD ,, once again i think his outsider-insider status is interesting but the amount of ppl counting on him/leaning on him bc of strategic position is a lot. ig this is what kamo meant by supporting the 3 families,,,, gojou indeed is playing the long game. megumi in the meantime, very persistent in not getting more involved in clan politics, not using power that is offered to him, or leveraging it - in a way it is good, and it also makes sense with "stress is other ppl" but is interesting from a structural pov. megumi may not rly give a shit abt the rest of the jujutsu world. if the ppl close to him are affected, then he cares. otherwise, forget it.

also im interested in power implications here bcs it sound a little like there’s a slight split b/w leadership and everyday zenins and im curious what it's like if u have no connection to the top of the clan,, and again higher ups being unaffiliated with the 3 clans so they have to appeal to them. curious what other talents the gojou clan have and what they're known for bc clearly it's not just gojou, they still have power without him and still have a stake in the shifting power structure. kamo must be busy too...

MAKIIIIII ,,, honestly my heart hurts a little seeing her getting beat up in recent chapters. but i’m rly happy,, shes FINALLY getting the focus she deserves and i’m confident she will make a recovery and she IS in fact the one leading efforts on the zenin side. im rly hopeful she can take over the clan one day and no longer say she's not good enough

that stomach wound is bad news though so im wondering how she will come back from that,, that she didn't know her own father's abilities says a lot, too. i wonder if she could see the extension of his blade, or if she hasn't been able to see/understand many ppl abilities

im hopeful for next chp now. u can do it maki!!!!

flashing back on these bits, it makes more sense now why megumi wasn't melting down post-shibuya,, seems most information came to him in a sort of timely and calm way? also i rly have to wonder if gojou did not spend a decade plotting in front him bcs he's done it before,,,, like the whole clan head scene in megumi's middle school years....in a way i imagine he wouldve seen that gojou come out of the high school and watch him get more serious as he acquired even more skin in the game

all the time though i wonder abt megumi's tendency toward inertia and nonaction to things that would seemingly give him power and trying to understand it and that IS him being selfish and that IS,, imo the biggest indication of what he actually does or doesn't want. he wants it, he will act and work on it immediately himself. he doesn't like it? act like it doesn't exist. it make me want to shake him around like NO!! megumi pay attention!!! But his reaction to this clan stuff is a contrast to his behavior in recent chapters imo

and more mahjong references,,, between this and yuuji’s pachinko,, i wonder abt the undercurrent of gambling haha. a gamble for the shaman world and who will come out on top? a contrast to the flowy ocean imagery that connects shaman stuff out to the rest of the world

also this ,,,, there's that one jp tweet (i cant find it again😞) that talks about how toji, as the point of distortion, created megumi, who is currently playing a potential convergence/healing/uniting role (if he actually takes it on as a responsibility lol) and connects this back to the medicine buddha,,, whose mudra (hand sign) is used for chimera shadow garden. with the commentary abt ppl with heavenly restriction needing to know what to throw away in order to become strong or tap into their full strength and toji’s commentary at the end of fight with gojou,, i actually always felt that toji died not having been entirely resolved with himself bc he talks abt going against the self that decided to forget abt self-respect, to live without thinking abt himself or others,,, in a way, living selfishly, for himself, by ignoring anything immediate and i think he succeeded for a while bc he didnt even remember megumi's name. he remembers it when he talks to getou abt him being thankful for toji not killing him bc of potential drawbacks

and at the very end he thinks of megumi again and that last act does think of someone else, like a "life before your eyes" moment where toji thinks about how the zenin's treatment of him led him there or how his return to shibuya ends with him remembering how he gave megumi back to the zenin,,, i think atm of his death he was starting to think he did want to care, in a different way, or that he needed a different paradigm. or,, maybe he was just starting to realize how far the zenin thinking had set into him

so we dont rly talk abt that being an enlightenment moment for toji but i kind of think it was. that megumi has the potential to become a pivotal piece as a legacy of distortion is interesting. i dont actually think toji set up everything intentionally bc he didnt know megumi's ability, and i dont think he wouldve thought that far. i think a lot of the heir and inheritance stuff is sth naobito set in after seeing megumi's development under gojou. it's clear now everyone has been keeping eyes on everyone else

at some point there's some interesting discussion to be had abt megumi and privilege - i'm surprised the canon characters dont hate him more for having stuff just fall into his lap, and so i liked that maki pointed this out that he could use this and he shld bc theres a frustration there - and yet at the same time megumi himself seemingly feels very little attachment to the zenin and the shaman world still. he just cares abt his little circle of people, and it's a very intentional choice, based on his good/bad ppl thing

u cant really affect the entire world, but u can assert urself on the environment around u and decide what u do and dont act on. this part of megumi is more teenage boy and kind of toji-like, i think,,, hence the emphasis on action

u express ur effect and existence through action, who u kill or who u save. toji having very little, while so much falls into megumi's lap while he doesn't want it, doesn't want to acknowledge it, likely doesn't want to take part in a system he doesn't like or, having been raised under gojou's wing, resents or finds corrupt or useless, or doesn't even think on bc he thinks its above his pay grade and gojou's there - this is also megumi's moment to solidify his own direction and commit to working in the system or out of it

the "not caring" is a defensive measure in a way too, i think. i dont think megumi is Big Good and wants to save everyone and everything and the world to be good and pure, i tend to think of him as a resigned chaotic neutral, who wishes he could be good orz

ANYWAY i think there's some interesting juxtapositions with the whole toji > megumi thing, that someone who is born without, restricted, births and creates someone full of blessings. its very shaman-like, action then reaction

AND i wish u luck on ur final paper (bless ur eyes to see incels bc i’ll just log off for the day when i saw one (1) of them on the net) AND DONT FORGET TO TAKE A REST,, the self care is much needed me thinks <333 (2) - 🐱

i love u 🥺🥺😭😭😭 you take care of yourself too!!!

also ur right...all this political intrigue im so curious i need to know how the jujutsu world is structured in terms of the higher ups and the clans. like i assumed that the three clan elders WERE to some extent also part of the higher ups???? but now it seems that the higher ups are a separate entity altogether, so like checks and balances i suppose. except both the higher ups and the clans are corrupt so no balance there 😭

the chapter implied the zenins are losing when it comes to the power struggle between the three clans. im interested. i want to see them all rot!!! like i also said though it’s going to be interesting to see the state of the kamo clan though, considering “noritoshi kamo.” like what do you even say to that???? im going to be surprised if it doesn’t affect their standing in the jujutsu world but then again the kamo clan IS one of the big three.

megumi really is a character that was blessed in all regards but like. doesn’t want anything to do with it LOL he really said ‘this is a pain no thanks.’ like gojo like megumi i suppose. i agree with u the whole toji and megumi set up....genius....i also love their juxtaposition. it’s so interesting and another source of irony.

#MAKI THOUGH......MAKIIIIIII #that stomach wound was worrying tbh at first i was like??? what is that panel even. but now.......ughhhhhh #🐱 anon

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bgn846 · 3 years

Text

Of Snakes and Men - FFXV Fanfic

Summary: Ignis gets kidnapped by a maralith during battle. However, when Ignis thinks he's about to die the maralith does the last thing he expects.

Work Text:

Being crushed to death by a huge, monster snake was not how Ignis wanted to die. He’d only tried to help the glaive standing nearby when the thing attacked. Unfortunately, that meant Ignis had become the maraliths target instead. Memories of Noct’s gruesome childhood injury flashed through Ignis’ mind as he was lifted in the air. One pair of massive arms was solely focused on holding him while the other two pair kept fighting.

With his arms pinned down in the maraliths strong grip, Ignis quickly gave up on the idea of summoning his daggers. He’d most likely end up slicing his leg open and bleed out before anyone could save him. If they could save him that is, the situation wasn’t exactly looking hopeful.

What was supposed to have been a simple diplomatic trip outside the wall had quickly turned into a nightmare. None of them had been expecting a giant pissed-off maralith to appear and block the road. At least the prince was safe; Noct was at the citadel safe with the king. Though that thought did little to help Ignis now.

A loud boom sounded a second later causing Ignis look down; one of the glaives on the ground had set off a smoke bomb. Unable to escape the billowing cloud of gas Ignis began choking. Six, it was bloody tear gas. His throat burned but maybe it was having the same effect on the maralith. Wiggling experimentally, Ignis tried to push away the massive hands locking his body in place.

To no such avail, he was stuck, and breathing was becoming a real problem. During his coughing fit, Ignis barely registered the loud roar from the monster. Guess it didn’t like the gas either. The thing just had to let him go, the fall would hurt but he’d be free of the blasted maralith.

However, that is not what happened. His lungs were burning and he couldn’t see properly due to the gas making his eyes tear up. Then, the only thing his senses were aware of was the dizzying effect of moving too fast. The gas mercifully lifted, but that wasn’t a good thing either. The maralith had simply fled the fight with Ignis still in his clutches.

Still unable to catch a decent breath Ignis tried again to work his way free. This time the maralith noticed and growled. Everything was blurry but Ignis was conscious of the landscape changing. Were they heading up a bloody mountain cliff?

The distant shouts of the glaives soon faded, replaced by howling winds. Suddenly, the light dimmed and they were surrounded by darkness. Ignis was going to die, he’d been captured by a monster and it’d taken him away. His vision was still clouded, but he realized the maralith had gone into a cave. Crying out in a desperate bid for life, Ignis wondered if he could reason with the monster.

Hope flickered in his chest when he felt the monster set him down a moment later. Taking his shirt to rub at his face, Ignis attempted to wipe away the tear gas residue. The sting was still great and he gave up after a few seconds, he needed relief but couldn’t see well enough to do anything more. That’s when he heard splashing water. Reaching out with his hand he immediately felt the icy touch of water.

Without pause, Ignis shoved his glasses up on his head and lurched forward to clean his face. Finally, the burn was going away and he could see something. The cave was nearly pitch black, aside from dim light coming from above. There must have been another entrance further up the cave wall. For now, all he could make out was the freshwater pool at his fingertips and the hulking shadow of the maralith twenty yards away.

The monster was scrubbing at his face and throwing water over its head. The thing was apparently unaffected by the freezing waters. Realizing this might be his only chance to get away Ignis scrambled to get up. If he could make it back to the entrance maybe he could slide down the cliff face. Wishing he’d been able to master warping like Noct, Ignis stumbled forward grasping clumsily at the rock sides, he couldn’t jet away to safety so easily.

He’d only made it a few feet when the maralith noticed. There was a loud shout followed by the sound of sloshing water. Ignis didn’t want to look behind him; he knew the monster was coming. Speeding up his pace caused Ignis to slip on the wet rocks. Managing to stay mostly upright he continued on, he had to try to escape.

Taking another step resulted in his foot slipping again, this time into the icy waters. Cringing at the sensation Ignis quickly stood up, however, the loose stone underneath his feet merely shifted further. A sickening crack was all that prepared him for the rock face giving way and sending him into the dark freezing pool.

The shock of the water temperature instantly numbed his senses as he sank into the depths. The pool was a lot deeper than it seemed. It took a few long seconds for his brain to kick into gear, he needed air. This is when another terrifying aspect of his current predicament came to light. His ankle was trapped underneath something. Something heavy, like a fucking rock.

It was becoming harder and harder to think as he struggled to free himself. Pulling at his leg did nothing to help, he wouldn’t last much longer. The lack of air was making his lungs burn, and just as he felt the world fading away something grabbed his leg.

The smell of burning wood was the first thing Ignis became aware of as he slowly woke up. Prying his eyes open a second later caused his heart rate to double. Colorful scales of blue, green, and black were all around him. A makeshift wall of giant snake tail was looming over him. Suppressing the urge to yell he looked around. Maybe he could still escape if he kept his wits.

However, his brain was slow to catch up as he worked to control his breathing. Not only was he partially surrounded by the maralith, but he was also laying on it too. A smooth scaly pillow of sorts cushioned his head, and there was one under his knees as well. Then, when he noticed that most of his clothes had been removed, Ignis actually whimpered. Being covered by a blanket had prevented this fact from registering properly. He was well and truly fucked.

That’s when he started violently shaking; he was going into shock all over again. This of course alerted the giant snake-man to his troubles. A huge figure soon appeared hovering over him.

“Nocere tibi, movens subsisto,” the monster said in what Ignis was sure was a concerned tone.

Stunned by hearing him speak Ignis merely lay there with his mouth moving but nothing coming out.

“Adiuva me,” the snake man uttered softly.

Curse exhaustion for making him sluggish. Ignis was certain that the language being spoken was something familiar. In an old, ancient, lost civilization kinda way.

“Frigidus es?” The maralith asked.

Cold, that word he knew. This monster was speaking ancient Solheimian. What in eos was happening? Still unable to form a coherent thought Ignis waved his arm around helplessly.

The maralith tilted its head and spoke once more. “Frigidus es?”

“Uh, no, I’m not cold, erm, ego n-non frigus,” Ignis added when he finally remembered some of the old language. He’d studied it in college, all for Noct of course, for when he would go find the royal arms. Now was as good a time as any to use it, what little he could recall.

Surprisingly, the maralith smiled at the admission and turned to point at the brightly burning fire a few yards away. Squinting into the flames Ignis thought he saw crownsguard issue supply crates. Looking into the cave further, along the wall, Ignis spotted a rather large stockpile of crownsguard goods. This maralith had been pilfering supply trucks for months according to reports he’d read. Assuming their small convoy of cars wouldn’t interest the maralith had been a poor decision.

The fact that it’d been stealing goods also played a part in Ignis’ survival at the moment. Otherwise, he’d be freezing to death on a cold stone floor. No blanket and no fire. His shaking had subsided slightly when he understood that he wasn’t going to get killed. At least not right then and there.

Swallowing down his fear he attempted to remember what had happened. He was confused as to why he was still alive. He’d been drowning in a freezing pool. If the lack of air hadn’t gotten him then hypothermia surely would have set in. That meant the maralith had saved him. Even building a fire to keep him warm and removing his wet clothes. Which he spotted drying by the fire, laid out with care.

None of this made any sense. “Why did you help me?” Ignis asked as he rolled carefully onto his side. Curling into a ball made his body feel warmer.

“Non volunt occidere.”

Taking a deep breath Ignis worked to figure out the words. Something about kill, but it also had the word no. “You didn’t want to hurt me? Is that what you are saying?” he tried, hoping the maralith would understand.

When the snake man nodded and smiled again Ignis felt dizzy. He’d been kidnapped and rescued by a monster. “What are you going to do with me? I’ve got to get home.”

“Prima cura, reliqua opus.”

Those words were good, heal and rest, but then what after he’d done that, what did the monster have in mind? “Will you let me go?”

This time the maralith pouted and heaved a heavy sigh. All three pairs of arms were crossed in defiance across his chest, but after a moment he let them fall to the side and nodded.

“Do you have a name?” Ignis asked looking up at the monster. His human half had long dark hair and his eyes almost looked like amber in the firelight.

“Invocabunt me Gladiolus,” he answered with a slight bow. “Et vos?” he added gesturing towards Ignis.

Wondering if giving out his name would cause any issues Ignis threw caution into the wind and answered. “Ignis.”

The maralith, Gladiolus, became excited and pointed to the fire again. “Bonum nomen, tam pugnare tecum.”

Blinking stupidly Ignis worked to translate what he’d said. Gladiolus had complimented his name and told him he fought well. Guess this was a start to not becoming snake bait later. He was about to add more when a loud trilling noise filled the space. Gladiolus growled and immediately pointed to the clothes drying by the fire.

“Malum est magna!” he exclaimed.

Struggling to sit up Ignis wondered if he could drag himself over to his jacket to answer his phone before Gladiolus pounded it into dust. The maralith saw him move and immediately held out one massive hand to push him back. Ignis went to protest until he noticed Gladio grabbing the coat with one of his many other arms.

Holding out in front of him, Ignis searched the pockets for his phone. Surprised it was still working he scrambled to hit the answer button. “Hello! Don’t hang up I’m here!” he cried out.

“Ignis?! Thank the astrals, are you hurt? Where are you? I’m gonna rescue you! Can you walk?” The voice attached to the rather long list of questions was Noct. Ignis was sure he heard his voice crack over the line. He’d been fearing the worst.

“Noctis, I’m alright, please calm down.”

“I was so worried!” Noct breathed out in a rush. “Hey! He answered!” Noct shouted a second later to someone else in the room. “I told you he wasn’t dead!”

The phone sounded like it was being handed off before another voice came over the line. “Ignis, are you alright? What’s your status?” Cor asked in obvious relief.

“Uh, I’m unharmed,” Ignis offered.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Not really, let me ask,” Ignis paused and looked over to Gladiolus. “Might you let my friends come get me?”

Gladiolus narrowed his eyes and pouted again. “Fortasse…”

“Otherwise, you’d have to help me get back down the side of this mountain.”

“Ego auxiliatus sum,” he answered quickly.

“Ignis, who are you talking to?” Cor asked in a high-pitched voice.

“Gladiolus, the maralith that kidnapped me and then saved my life when I almost drown and caught hypothermia.”

“Huh, and you didn’t hit your head or anything?”

“Marshal, I’m well beyond my comfort level at the moment, so I’m trying to find a silver lining where I can.”

“I think I heard the word for help from your er, friend.”

“As did I, what do you suggest I do now?”

“Find out when he’s gonna let you leave and we’ll be waiting. We know the general area you should be in.”

“That doesn’t sound hopeful.”

“Silver lining Ignis,” Cor replied. “Are you sure you feel safe? I don’t want this to be our last communication from you.”

“I’ve already asked if he intends to kill me and he said no, correct?” Ignis added as he again caught Gladiolus' eye.

“Tutum, noli commoveri,” he rumbled authoritatively.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but it appears I’m safe, with the maralith.” Ignis could feel his body starting to shake again. None of this was normal.

“Save your battery and call again when you have more information.”

“Yes, of course.” Before he could hang up Noct came back on the line sounding a lot like he’d been sniffling.

“I don’t like the idea of you still being lost out there. You sure you’ll be okay?” The prince asked.

“I hope so Noct, try not to worry. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, love you specs,”

For Noct to tell him that, meant he was truly rattled. Taking a calming breath Ignis answered kindly. “I love you too.”

The call disconnected shortly afterward, leaving Ignis with more feelings than he anticipated. Setting the phone down he was surprised to see Gladiolus frowning at him. “You said you’d let me go, did you lie to me?” he checked with worry.

Instead of answering the question, Gladiolus asked one of his own. “Quis est? Amans tui?” the maralith almost looked hurt.

Thinking fast Ignis wracked his brain for what the words meant. Gladiolus wanted to know who he was speaking with and the other word amans that was familiar. Dear six, he’d asked if he’d talked with his lover! “No, no, uh frater, frater meus! My brother!” It was the best way to describe what Noct was to him, they’d practically grown up together.

Gladiolus sagged with obvious relief and smiled again. “Bonum! Tu es amans mei.”

“What? What did you just say?” Ignis checked, he could feel the blood in his body not doing its job. He was getting lightheaded and feeling dizzy. “What do you mean?”

The maralith only grinned at him, “Amans mei.”

Love me? What was he saying exactly? Then in a flash he remembered the saying, used so often in old ancient love poems. Amans mei, my lover. Groaning at the implications Ignis flopped back down on his back. Great, he’d attracted the attention of a maralith. Moving his arm Ignis weakly pointed to his clothes. “May I have them, I’d like to get dressed now.”

Staring out over the lip of the cave mouth was making Ignis’ mouth go dry, they were very high up, no wonder the glaive were unable to follow him when Gladiolus took off earlier.

“Curam,” Gladiolus said as he silently slithered up beside him.

That word Ignis knew the meaning of now, Gladiolus kept saying it even though he was fine, mostly. “I’m being careful,” he huffed.

Gladiolus pointed down and shook his head.

“I won’t fall.” Thankfully the maralith didn’t comment further while they waited. Ignis was looking for the convoy of glaive coming to get him. He’d managed to figure out his location once Gladiolus let him see outside. Apparently, he’d been very upset about seeing Ignis with a limp. Getting stuck underneath a pile of rocks will do that to a man. There were no potions in the armiger, and Ignis didn’t want to worry Noct any more than necessary by calling and requesting one.

Finally, when the trail of dust appeared on the horizon Ignis knew his friends had arrived. “It’s time, you’ll not attack, correct?”

Gladiolus shook his head and smiled. “Tutum.” The man’s smile was disarming, considering what it was attached to.

“Yes, as you’ve mentioned already, several times. You’ll forgive me if I’m slow to believe.”

“Tutum,” Gladio repeated, “Safe.”

Turning wide-eyed to the maralith Ignis waited to see if he’d say anything else. “Can you speak English?”

“No.”

Licking his lips Ignis couldn’t think of how to counter that statement. No was a pretty easy word to learn. “How will I get down?”

The maralith pointed to himself and held out two of his hands. Oh no Ignis was meant to be carried. Something about being trapped in the monster's grasp was a little heart attack inducing.

“Hurt, I hold,” he added slithering forward.

Ignis couldn’t help but yelp like a little kid when Gladiolus picked him up a second later. “Curam!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, careful.”

“You know English, you sneaky bastard!” Ignis huffed.

“No.”

Sighing in defeat Ignis had no time to prepare himself when Gladiolus slithered past the edge of the cave entrance and slide down half the mountain on his belly. Ignis was sure he screamed. He hollered when he road rollercoasters, this was no fucking different!

When they came to a stop a minute later Ignis found he was clutching Gladiolus' thumb for dear life. “Can you warn me next time?!” His brain caught up to what he was saying; there wouldn’t be a next time. He was going home never to see Gladiolus again. Somehow that thought didn’t make him feel good.

Gladiolus gently placed him on the ground and hovered briefly while his knees stopped behaving like jello. Once stable he walked a few feet away and turned back. “Will you kindly stop attacking our convoys?”

The maralith shrugged and looked away.

“Please?”

The nod he received was almost imperceptible but it was there. Nodding back in acknowledgment Ignis waited to see if he’d say anything else.

“Et iterum autem videbo vos?”

Ignis heard something about see and the word again.

Oh.

“Are you asking if we’ll see each other again?”

Gladiolus nodded rapidly.

Taking a deep breath Ignis found himself uttering the most insane idea he’d ever had. “I could teach you how to speak English if you’d like.”

“Yes!”

“You know it already though, liar.”

“No,” Gladiolus tacked on with the most shit-eating grin Ignis had ever seen plastered on a monster’s face.

“I mus--.”

“Ignis! Are you alright?” Cor’s voice asked from behind him.

“Marshal! Thank the six, yes!” Ignis replied spinning around quickly. Running over Ignis stumbled, due to his bruised ankle, and promptly fell into Cor’s arms.

“I gotcha you’re safe,” he added while hauling him upright and slinging Ignis’ arm over his shoulder.

A worried shout from a nearby glaive alerted Ignis to the current situation. Gladiolus was right there scowling at Cor, his demeanor stiff and intimidating. “Amans?” He fumed.

“NO!” Ignis shouted. “You’re terrible, “Frater, dammit, frater!”

Instantly the maraliths face softened and he backed away. “Amans?” he asked again while gesturing to the crowd of glaive on guard.

“No, I don’t have amans.”

That blinding smile came back followed by a phrase, Ignis was learning, gave him heart palpations. “Tu es amans mei.”

After a few awkward minutes of trying to not say goodbye, because who did that to a monster, Ignis hobbled away with Cor supporting his weight, he was going home. Once they were safely in the car and on the road heading back to insomnia Ignis allowed himself to look out the back window. He could see Gladiolus making his way back up to his cave.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You seem pale.”

“A giant half-snake man told me I’m his lover, Cor. How do you expect me to be?” Ignis could tell Cor was trying not to laugh. “I understand things could have ended much worse, but I don’t have a clue what to do next.”

“First things first, you rest.” Cor rummaged in a bag nearby and produced a potion. “Take this and drink some water. Let us do the rest okay.”

Nodding his head in agreement, Ignis broke the potion bottle and felt his ankle heal. Nursing a water bottle Ignis let his mind wander. Would he come back to teach Gladiolus English? He’d not exactly promised to do so, but wasn’t his word good enough? Perhaps having a maralith as an alley would be a good thing.

#ffxv #gladio #maralith #fanfic

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obeymematches · 4 years

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Heya! I hope you’re not too swarmed by requests and that you’re staying healthy 💕 I was hoping for an obey me matchup if that’s okay?

I’m a cis bi girl, ENTP/ENFP, Capricorn sun, Virgo moon, Sagittarius rising (if you’re into astrology these are helpful otherwise just ignore uwu) and a Gryffindor. I have short blonde-ish hair, kind of a golden color ig, with bangs and hazel eyes. I’m a bit tanned and very VERY buff because I do loads of sports, and so I’m also not curvy at all unless you count in *cough* 🍑 My clothing style is kind of a melting pot of cottagecore, dark academia and goth, it makes no sense ik. Also I may have light autism according to my parents, but I’ve never been taken to get diagnosed because my brother has a therapist and two would be too ✨expensive✨

I have two very distinct sides to me that are complete opposites. The only way I can describe it is a goblin qkfbkafjwk. At first glance lot of people think I’m scary looking because I’m quite tall and have a light case of RBS but they dont know it’s just because I’m really tired all the time :) I can appear as a bit stuck up, emotionless and as a big pp energy type of gal, which isnt necessarily false but it’s not completly true either. I would never hurt anyone or anything and if I even see a squashed bug I will absolutely cry. Besides that I am quite emotional but i keep it to myself to my best abilities. Although when I’m happy, I’m really hyper and do little dances/ hug and kiss everything in my proximity. I’m dirty minded, subconsciously flirty and not afraid to talk to people I like. On the other hand, if someone makes an advance on me I’ll assume it’s for a practical joke or that they’re not serious because why would you do that, I’m kind of shit 💫🧚‍♀️

I do tons of sports, mainly swimming and I was close to going to junior Olympics last year (I didnt manage it because I overworked, didnt tell anyone and ended up with an injured shoulder and knee whoopsies). I also pole dance and I love high impact sports like boxing and such even though I don’t have a lot of time to practice those. Some other stuff I can do is horse riding, archery, singing, writing, drawing, stuff like that.

I actually have good grades even though I dont really study. I procrastinate every single thing and end up with better results than the people who worked hard which always makes me feel guilty. I really want to study English literature at Oxford but HAHAHAHA dream on, it will probably never happen, my family isnt exactly the rich kind lol. I’m also Slavic so it isnt even my first language. The only subject I could never do in high school was physics because what the hell is that.

Some other stuff about me is that I’m a foodie and a good cook. I really like taking care of people and comforting them. In my friend group despite being the youngest I’m the eldest sibling friend, aka I enable chaos but never join in, just stirr up a mess and observe from afar 🤠I’m really calm in situations that freak people out, for example I had an infection and was in a lot of pain but i laughed my way through it and while i had my surgery i chatted with the nurse which was overall a good time even though I was half naked and numb from the waist down oop

Relationship wise, not to be horny on main but I just wanna hold hands and make out 🥺🥺 Feelings are terrifying and I may be demi/aromantic which makes me feel really shitty about myself, but maybe I’m wrong. Although to be honest, all I really wanna do is make people happy and pamper them and maybe get some cute jewelry every once in a while because I’m a crow and I like shiny things that I cant afford ✌I’m kind of submissive (not exclusively in a sexual way) in the fact that if my s/o asks me to do something, ANYTHING, I will do it if it kills me.

Anyways, I know this is a lot but I hope it’s okay and I didnt forget anything. Take all the time you need and have a great day 💕💕

———–

Hiiii, thank you for sending in a request, i’m sorry for being like half a year late!! :( :(

I decided to match you with Diavolo!

Both of you being extroverted is a good combination as he is a very curious demon, meaning there is always something to talk about. Both of you enjoying others’ company is a huge bonus - no need to worry about boundaries!

big booty couple

Don’t worry about therapy being expensive, if anyone then a prince can afford that for sure - not just that, he is as wholesome as it can get so you wouldn’t have to metion it. He wants the best for his princess!!! don’t mind the cost!!! (unless him paying for you would make you uncomfy… just be open about it darling)

You mentioned that you have a sibling. In a healthy relationship it is important that your partner and your sibling(s) can get along, which might lead to conflict in some cases - BUT NOT IN THIS ONE i mean Dia might overwhelm your family (being a prince and a demon u know) but he would really try his best for you and that is what matters!

(i feel appearig tired all the time fghjk)

Anyways your appearance wouldn’t like scare him off ar anything. Man is huge and strong but also a very sweet himbo

He falls for your soft side ngl. Like you crying over a bug is just so cute how could he not-

Oh darling he knows how to deal with ppl who keep to themselves.. have you ever heard about his 2 best men? 👀 you wouldn’t have much chance at keeping your emotions from him. He wants this relationship to be healthy!! he cares for you so much!!! also who couldve hurt you emotionally i mean who wants to mess with a future queen… it’s his personal job to make your feelings be safe!!!!

its all worth it because spending time with a happy you is the best thing that has ever happened to him

you’re fun and he’s fun and its unlimited fun!!!!!

your confidence when it comes to talking to ppl you like is great!! not everyone dares talking to him, which makes him lonely

but yea he is going to be the one to make the first move

you have the range when it coes to sports which is, again, nice as he is curious. you are going to have to help him try out all that!!

super interested in your hobbies and activities, which is a green flag! definitely indulging.

i think he is very supportive of your studies and he is going to do his best to support your studies at RAD. you could definitely impress him with your talent!!

hopefully studying at his academy is as good as your dreams of oxford

he can only hope that

i think he would appraciate your calm approach to life! he is also the same, although he has some baggage hidden under the surface - but no worries, he is going to open up when he realizes that he can trust you with his emotions.

you beig dependable is also a nice bonus, but he will have to make sure not to ask too much from you - knowing you are going to push yourself too much if needed.

you two would do like healthy couples do - every week there is a date; either a chat over tea which he likes and wants to share with you, or doing sports with you, or going go-karting, honestly the options are unlimited with this combination.

its imprtant that you both can depend on the other emotionally as well

one conflict might be because of his title, and also because you both tend to keep emotions to yourself. once you two can overcome these i think it should be a very healthy and mature and fun relationship! i think he would definitely fall for you but if you wanted to stay just friends he would be down too. he just can’t lose the one living person he can actually be himself around, can he ?

#obey me #obey me swd #om! diavolo #obey me diavolo #obey me matchup #obey me match-up #obey me swd matchup #obey me shall we date #submission

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zanguntsu · 5 years

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looked at the stats and i liked what i see (even though i was off some) but im pretty disappointed with the gameplay because its all basic. all melee and no real cool strong attack. cmon klabe give us a vortex move, a boost move, a charge attack, a heal move klab bls, anything

so im not gonna talk about gameplay and im skipping over to just to stats

mugetsu overtakes quincichigo as the highest sp and i fucking called it i called it and i also called the heart affiliation AND the freeze resistance so ha. 802 sp is Excellent but its also a sar character and thats alright ig. he has a double killer of hollow and no aff and while i like the idea of double killer im ehh about the choices even though hollow killers are much more viable now because of epic raids. like if it was soul reaper and hollow, which are aizens affiliations, it would be better. he has some funky skills like, brand new skills and shit. but he also has frenzy so thats extremely good and he has recover 20% stamina? idk if it works like the link but im interested in it. mugetsu seems like a good pve unit which is fair

and here we got the pvp character! he’s alright ig but he also now has the highest attack in the game so hesus Christ we have the highest sp and highest attack characters on one banner. I predicted we would have a flurry poise melee character so hey at least i was right about that. wasnt power as i hoped but thats just me projecting and wanting more power characters. he has last ditch survival which is. honestly really appropriate even though i still want a heal move ichigo one day. like otherwise its a pretty standard nad character with the captain killer and all, even though he should have had an arrancar or espada killer imo. But he also has new skills, decreased captain damage and prevent bbs healing so he’s literally Made for pvp. he is literally made to fuck up all the captains in bbs. also his prevent bbs healing trait was specifically geared towards unohana cause hes also Mind with captain killer and now im gonna strangle klab because How Could you do this to my mom she was already dethroned by nnoitra as the top pvp character and now youre just gonna lucky luciano her too huh

#bleach brave souls #ill still take them though #long post

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musicallyrich · 5 years

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Crate Digger’s Corner: 2017 albums, pt. 4

Crate Digger’s Corner…by DJ Musically Rich

Here is the fourth part to my 2017 list. I’m giving a quick list of albums that I heard from 2017 in 7-10 at a time. There will be a few more parts to the list over the coming weeks. I may do a listening to some of the ones that I know I like, but want to revisit, and use that as an opportunity to review some of those more deeply (If there are any you see that you would particularly like to see a review of, leave a note). This list does not include reissues, live material or compilations.

Artist- Album (general genre)- and brief description

Hudson- s/t (jazz)- They are a true jazz supergroup from across generations of jazz performers. John Medeski, John Scofield, Larry Grenadier and Jack DeJohnette join together to put together an album that fantastically puts together an album that touches on funk jazz, traditional jazz and has covers of songs by Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Jimi Hendrix and The Band. They also use one song that Jack DeJohnette co-wrote with keyboardist Bruce Hornsby. They sound as if they have played together their entire lives and have released a wonderful first album.

Chris Stapleton- From A Room, Vol. 1 & 2 (country)- Chris Stapleton released two companion records in 2017 with his band. They are both between 30-40 minutes long (together they are not much longer then his breakthrough album “Traveler”. He continues the strong songwriting and wonderfully tuneful songs that he has been known for throughout his career.

Dan Auerbach- Waiting On A Song (pop/rock)-The Black Keys guitarist/singer (amongst other duties, musically and otherwise) releases an album backed by a large number of Nashville’s finest musicians. The backing band includes Bobby Wood, John Prine, Kenny Malone, Jerry Douglas, Jeffrey Clemens, Duane Eddy and many others. Going in with a great group of songs and the laid back recording nature that was present during the sessions (at least, that’s what I’ve read), it turns out a great album. One thing, though, is this group of Nashville musicians put together, to my ear, a very ‘70s sounding LA/Laurel Canyon rock record. More so than anything I would relate to a “quintessential” Nashville sound. Either way, this will be a great album for your next road trip.

Chuck Berry- Chuck (rock)- The final release of Chuck Berry. The album released soon after the pioneering guitarist had passed away. What is very good, however, is the quality of his last album. The first thing he had released (of new music) in 3 decades, and that was a live album. It is probably also the best thing he has released since the ‘70s. Strong all the way through, I want to mention two notable songs. He reworks ‘Havana Moon’ into ‘Jamaica Moon’, the original which he felt didn’t the respect it deserved because of its Cuban name. He also writes and drops a sequel to ‘Johnny B Goode’ with ‘Lady B. Goode’ a song that makes sure girls know there is a place for them in the world of electric guitar. You can look to some of today’s guitarists like Susan Tedeschi, Samantha Fish, Kaki King and Hedwig Mollestad as a few women he may have had in mind with that song.

Black Country Communion- BCCIV (hard rock)- Black Country Communion continues with their fourth album of hard rocking blues rock music in the tradition of Led Zeppelin. If you haven’t come across this band before, it is a supergroup of incredibly talented musicians. They are Glenn Hughes (Deep Purple, Black Sabbath), Joe Bonamassa (in my favorite setting for him), Jason Bonham (original drummer John Bonham’s son) and Derek Sherinian (Dream Theater). All four are able to more than hold their own, and if you are looking for new bands using the sounds of 70s hard rock as the basis for their songs this group is one of the places to do that and do it well.

A War On Drugs- A Deeper Understanding (indie rock)- Their follow-up to the amazing “Lost In The Dream” while sharing the sound and relaxed production of that album is not quite on the same level. “A Deeper Understanding” should appeal to fans of their previous album, but it does not have the songs that stick with you quite as immediately as “LITD” had. Still a good album, and one that may take a few extra listens to get you into the same familiarity that you had with “Lost In The Dream”.

Ruthie Foster- Joy Comes Back (gospel)- A gospel-ish album that covers Black Sabbath’s ‘War Pigs’? That’s right. That’s exactly what we have here. Whether it is that gem of a cover, the Derek Trucks assisted ‘Joy Comes Back’ or the song for the ‘Working Woman’ this is a tight cohesive record with some very good performances!

Here are 7 (actually 8 with the two Chris Stapleton albums) albums I heard in 2017, there will be more from this list coming in the future, and this isn’t necessarily a ranking, just in the order that I was writing them down. I hope you enjoy and happy hunting!

To see photos of other albums in my collection follow my IG: djmusicallyrich

#cratediggerscorner #djmusicallyrich #albumreviews #albumreview #recordreview #recordreviews #cdcollection #cdcollector #chrisstapleton #thewarondrugs #chuckberry #danauerbach #hudsonband #blackcountrycommunion #ruthiefoster

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trickemperor · 5 years

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FULL NAME. Safilix Link Arwise MEANING. Skyloftians don’t really put meanings to names, usually just naming their children after others in their family they hope they’ll become like. Link is his father’s name, and has always been his middle name. he wears it proudly, often being called by it especially by the older generation. his deadname ( Eugenie ) was the name of his maternal grandmother, who was a knight at the academy. When he changed his name, he chose the name of his maternal grandfather, Safilix, who was an accomplished knight. NICKNAME. Saf, Link, ‘Lix, Saffy, sleepyhead, master ( by fi ), Chosen Hero, etc GENDER. Male ( trans ) HEIGHT. 5’ 7" / 173 cm AGE. 17-19 ZODIAC. Leo SPOKEN LANGUAGES. Hylian, ancient Hylian ( semi-fluent, still teaching himself / getting taught ), Hylian sign language. in modern / non-Hyrule verses these are replaced with English, Japanese and ASL.

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOUR. the Good Brown EYE COLOUR. some kinda blue SKIN TONE. once fair, now very tan, especially in the arms, hands, and back of the neck. and his face, of course, which is also covered in sun-born freckles. BODY TYPE. ecto-endomorph. or, as i like to call it, a ruler that you used the curve-ify tool on, and it really wishes you didn’t do that. ACCENT. in his own time, no noticeable accent. he sounds almost alarmingly “normal” in terms of Skyloftian accent. outside his time, his dialect isn’t that out of wack, but his oft-odd enunciation and stuttering give him a recognizable sound. VOICE. as in voice claim? don’t got one lmao. as for the sound of his voice-- normally softer, but confident. if emotional or angry, loud and strong.

DOMINANT HAND. right-handed POSTURE. sits up relatively straight when he remembers to, but otherwise leans forward or backward, with his elbows either resting on his knees or some surface behind him. sits straight and with good posture when around people that intimidate him or that he wants to impress. when standing, he usually shifts his weight from foot to foot, but otherwise stands straight. SCARS. many; notably, a couple slashes on various angles of his torso from ghirahim’s duels, a nick on the right side of his chin, and several patches of permanently burned skin from the eldin regions. TATTOOS. n/a MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). he just looks, like... generally weathered. u take one look at his stance and tanned skin / scars and the palms of his hands and the look in his eyes and his reflexes n ur like. hey that guy’s done some stuff. he’s also got pointy ears, so if you’re not hylian those are funky.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Skyloft HOMETOWN. Skyloft BIRTH WEIGHT. average BIRTH HEIGHT. he was a tiny baby rip MANNER OF BIRTH. the normal way ig?? lmao FIRST WORDS. his family’s names so he could call for them when he wanted things. “momma” for aeryn, “rink” for link, and “fix” / “grampa” for his grandfather. SIBLINGS. none PARENTS. raised by several people; his parents raised him until he was six, then his grandpa raised him until he was nine, then he was taken in by the whole academy staff but technically raised himself PARENT INVOLVEMENT. while they were alive, very very close. he thinks about them a lot.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION. previously the Chosen Hero / Hero of the Skies, now an explorer / cartographer CURRENT RESIDENCE. no single place, constantly traveling, though he returns to his friends’ homes as often as possible CLOSE FRIENDS. Zelda, Fi, his mother, RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single pringle FINANCIAL STATUS. adventurer. which is a fancy way of saying Has No Money. DRIVER’S LICENSE. he has a bird license CRIMINAL RECORD. nope. he’s a pure sunshine boy VICES. Restlessness. he absolutely can NOT sit still ever. despite his anxiety, he’s constantly talking to people, he’s constantly traveling and can never settle in one place for more than a month, and even on a small scale he’s always bouncing his legs or moving his fingers.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch LIBIDO. TURN ON’S. TURN OFF’S.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. he hasn’t been in one yet so i can only guess but Patient and Kind and basically the kravitz to anyone’s taako. :)

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. every time i think of saf i think of the knight academy theme song. so. that. HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. whittling’s a big one, riding his loftwing, making maps / mapping things. sometimes does archery when he’s got the time MENTAL ILLNESSES. anxiety ( specifically social anxiety and mild generalized anxiety ), im still considering giving him panic disorder so that’s on the backburner for now, PTSD with chronic insomnia bundle package, he’s just full to the brim with anxiety and he needs to sleep PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. uhhh synesthesia’s gonna go here lmao. saf has mirror-touch synesthesia and can feel what he sees others feel due to crossed wires in his brain, which does affect him physically. seeing others get physically injured hurts his body to an extent as well, and he also copies facial expressions and sometimes movements too. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. a solid mix of both. tends to lean toward the more impulsive artistic side though.

PHOBIAS. ombrophobia, aquaphobia, the silent realms, being called his deadname, seeing people get hurt, being the center of a crowd

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Pretty confident with bouts of doubt from time to time VULNERABILITIES. anxious baby, selfless almost to a fault,

TAGGED BY: stole from @spiritmaiden .... again lol

TAGGING: eh its 11pm goodnight

#why am i so wordy #gggh its late goodnight everyone!#☵ ⇀ SAFILIX // about // headcanons #☶ ⇀ SAFILIX // in char // dash games #☰ ⇀ OOC // mun speaks #long post

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nerddface · 7 years

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After Midnight

Characters: Federico Auditore, female!reader

Warnings: None

Notes: Marble one of three :)

Based off of this (or these): (x)

Word Count: 1502

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A warm Italian breeze drifted through the window and meandered over Y/N’s skin. She sighed at the page she had been staring at for the last half hour. Her eyes had gone through the motions of reading what was written on it a dozen times, but her mind was worlds away.

She let her chin fall into her palm, and gave up reading altogether. Her gaze was drawn to the moon, casting its silvery light across her bedsheets and then to where it mingled with the warm yellow glow of her candles on the floor.

A knock at her window startled her, and she jumped, looking to the noise to see a familiar grin shining at her through the glass panes.

Heaving a breath to calm her suddenly racing heart, she strode to the window and swung it open.

“Federico!” she scolded in a harsh whisper. He beamed up at her and hauled himself up and over the windowsill.

“Ciao, madonna mia,” he greeted as his feet hit her bedroom rug. “How are you on this lovely evening?”

“Paranoid, now, thanks to you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “My father will never allow you to see me again if he catches you in here like this.”

“Like what?” Federico looks as innocent as ever, but the sparkle of his teeth in the candlelight convinced her otherwise.

Y/N snorted and plopped back down in her desk chair.

“I hope you didn't come here for help with your studies,” she lamented, “for I haven't the mind for any of it right now.”

“The brightest woman I know, unamused by her books?” Federico placed a hand over his heart in faux shock. “Dios mio. What has happened to you?”

“I don't know,” she sighed, resting her elbow on her desk and her cheek in her hand again. Federico leaned his hip against the edge of the table, peering over the scattered literature.

There was a moment’s pause and Y/N stared mindlessly at a flickering candle flame before Federico piped up again.

“Ah, now I know.”

“What?” Y/N blinked and met his brown-amber eyes.

“You have been staring at pages for far too long, amica. I believe you need a change of pace.”

She quirked an eyebrow, unsure of what he might propose. God only knew with the Auditore boys. She resisted wincing when she remembered the time an afternoon stroll turned into a right trample across the countryside on horseback, and ended with Federico in a sling after he missed catching a beam leaping from his horse’s saddle and dislocated his shoulder. Luckily there was a doctor literally just around the corner to set it back in place, and after a scolding, a handful of small pills pressed into her palm, and the advice to “keep your husband out of trouble,” they walked (on foot) back to the palazzo. Needless to say, his father was not very pleased, and Y/N really didn’t need to deal with that again.

“Don't worry, my dear Y/N.” Federico brought her from her momentary reverie. “You won’t cease learning, but I believe experience is the best teacher.”

He held out a hand, bowed sweepingly, and looked up at her through his dark bangs. He must have noticed her hesitant gaze, because he stood straight again.

“Have I ever lied to you, tesoro?”

He guided her hands away from her desk with his, and leaned in to press a successfully distracting kiss to her mouth.

“I suppose not,” she sighed, and stood.

“Come, then,” Federico beckoned, picking up one of her light coats and guiding her to her door.

Their stroll started slowly enough, simply wandering with no apparent purpose, and chatting about the slightly frazzled tendencies of Y/N’s tutor. But then Federico eyed something across the street and strode over the cobblestone to stand before a weighted scaffold pulley system.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked, but the only response she got was a grin. He stepped onto the platform, and reached with one hand up to the rope and for her waist with the other.

“Hold on tight,” he hummed in her ear before she could protest, and in a moment they were shooting up onto the rooftop. Her feet made the tile clink, and she feared falling, but Federico’s arm was steadying her shoulder.

“Bene?” he asked, and she nodded, unable to find anything to say.

“I enjoy the rooftops at night,” he commented as they strolled to an edge. “You can see so much of the sky, and less people bother you the higher you go.”

The pigeons that had gathered on the tile scattered as they drew closer, and Y/N was drawn forward by Federico’s strong arm as she began to linger.

“What are we doing?”

“Learning,” Federico responded. “Remember? It’s a simple jump.”

“You plan to jump?!” she exclaimed, and he nodded, pointing to a haystack on the grass below them.

“My father taught me. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Your father is mad. There’s no way I’m going to jump off a building, break my neck, and die. Who is supposed to finish my essay when I’m dead?”

Federico extended an arm to the ledge and took a short step. “I will show you.”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not! I won’t have you breaking your neck and dying to prove some silly--” before she could finish, though, he’d taken another step and leapt, arms wide. She held her hands to her chest and peered over the roof to see him step calmly from the haystack after a moment, grin at her when she barked his name, and scale the building back up to her.

“See?” He turned for her to see every aspect of him was unscathed. “Perfectly safe.”

“What if I crush you?” she asked, taking a step back.

He laughed, stepping forward to keep the space between them close. “Piccolo uccello, do you really think you can crush me?”

“What if you crush me?!”

His hands rested gently on her arms, and he studied her eyes with a sincerity that wasn't there a moment prior.

“I promise you will be safe.”

She looked at him for a moment, knowing that he spoke truthfully, but still unsure about the whole thing. Slowly, his arms reached around her arms and her middle, and he pulled her into his chest as he stepped closer to the edge, and--

A strand of straw poked her cheek, and her heart thudded against her ribs, in time with her companion’s against her chest. As she blinked and breathed in the warm, musty air, a smile stole her lips. A laugh bubbled up in her chest, and escalated quickly.

Giggling madly, she clambered out of his arms and the haystack, clasping her hands at her chest. “That was exhilarating! Let’s go again!”

She rushed to the ladder again, but a chuckling Federico caught her waist and pulled her back. She whirled on him, ready to pry his hands free and jump herself, when he pointed to the rooftops. She followed his finger to see a guard stepping from a further rooftop to the building they’d just leapt off.

“Looks like that is over for today.”

Y/N deflated. “Back to the books, then.”

“Hold on just a moment, young lady, I didn’t say all was over!” he slung an arm over her shoulders and steered her in the opposite direction. “There are plenty more places to find fun, and with you here, it isn’t more than a look away.”

Her cheeks flushed, and suddenly she was very aware of the weight over her shoulders. “Nothing good ever happens after nightfall,” Y/N recited. “That’s what mother says.”

Federico clicked his tongue. “That is where I have to disagree with you, bella. There are plenty of good things that occur after dark. Or did your parents never speak with you about what happens when two people find--”

Y/N cut him off with a noise of disgust. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, they did, and no, you don’t need to reiterate!”

Federico’s laugh echoed off the slowly emptying cobblestone street. She tried to shrink away, but that only drew him closer.

“I am only teasing,” he chuckled, and she crossed her arms over her chest indignantly, peering into his eyes, turned silvery by the moon. “Come, I meant what I said earlier. Simply point me in a direction and I will make sure you enjoy yourself.”

Despite the tendency he had to get her into ridiculous (and sometimes considerably compromising) situations, she knew he told the truth when he said she’d enjoy the experience. Everywhere she went with him, be it a short trip to an artist’s booth down the street to her house or a day-long excursion outside the walls of Firenze, she came home with a warm heart and a smile.

Maybe good things did happen after midnight.

#federico auditore #federico x reader #federico auditore x reader #af fanfic

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dreamin-of-somewhere-else · 7 years

Text

To Become A Hunter

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sister!reader, John Winchester, Sam Winchester [mentioned]

Words: 3900+ (I’m really sorry about that, but there was no good place to split it)

Warnings: Can’t think of anything specific, really, maybe just that there’s going to be a verbal fight, I dunno. Maybe a bit of swearing, not too much.

A/N: This is the fic I was talking about! It’s a pre-series sister AU, that takes place in between around 2003. Dean is 24, Sam is 20 and at Stanford and you are 17 years old. It’ll also be a mini-series, so there’s more parts to come. It might be a bit all over the place, but I was trying to create a certain feeling. (I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I hope you like it!)

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Hunting is hard, and that’s no surprise, really. It’s physically challenging, you have to be smart, have technique, and it’s just hard emotionally as well. And, not only is it hard, but you hate it as well.

Okay, hate is a strong word, but things about it, you really do hate. You hate the way you have to sacrifice what feels like everything for it. You hate the way you feel like you miss out on life. You hate the pain and the constant fear. You hate the way it forces you to see the world more black and white instead of with all the shades of grey. You hate the way you get shut down every time you question this. You hate the way your dad responds with ’because you have to’ when you ask ’why?’.

John Winchester used to be in the military and it shows, you could testify to that. All your life he has been hard on you and your brothers. But, despite this, you are not afraid to stand up to him, question him, call him out. Although it often comes with consequences.

”Why didn’t you listen to my orders?” John roar, dark brown eyes furiously staring at you, and it almost makes you squirm. Only, you don’t show it.

”Because your orders were stupid! It would have never worked!” You retort, standing as tall as you can, staring back.

Dean’s keeping in the background, absentmindedly clutching his upper arm, as his gaze anxiously and a little annoyedly shift between you and John. It’s like with Sam and Dad all over again.

”Don’t you dare speak to me like that little girl.” Your father threaten you through gritted teeth.

He’s angry. Real angry. Despite the tone and expression, you can tell by the vein popping out on the side of his forehead.

”You are a piss poor excuse of a hunter! Pathetic, really. So don’t you come here and tell me what’s good and not. If you just had done what I told you, Dean wouldn’t have gotten hurt!” John gestures towards Dean as he plays that card.

And it has affect on you as your heart clutches in remorse. Meanwhile, Dean’s eyes widen as John uses him to guilt his little sister. He even tries to chime in.

”Wait, Dad—”

But he’s immediately cut off by John. ”Quiet, Dean. This is between your sister and I.”

You roll your eyes at the irony. It’s not about Dean, but still, your dad is of course allowed to use him to make a point.

You shouldn’t have done that, because John grabs the front of your shirt, pulling you closer, gaze nailing you and boring into your soul.

”You don’t get to use that attitude. You’re a worthless hunter. You can’t track down a monster on your own. You can’t shoot. You definitely proved that today. You ignore my orders like a little brat. Hell, you never freaking listen!” John hisses and you feel a shiver going down your spine as you try not to wince.

You want to talk back, but you struggle with coming up with words, any words at all. So, you open your mouth only to close it again. And now, honestly, you are scared. Scared because you know your dad. And that would make anyone feel nervous right now.

The tension is broken by hands wrapping around John’s shoulders. It’s Dean, you never saw him walking over, since he was hidden behind the towering statue of John, but now he’s here and pulling John away.

”Go easy on her, Dad, she’s doing the best she can.” Your big brother tries, but John shuts him down, forcedly shrugging off his grip.

”Back off, Dean.” He spits and you shiver.

Although Dean would deny it, you and Sam always had been sure that he was the oldest Winchester’s favorite. And for John to go off on him like that, he had to be mad.

”You’re part of the problem too,” Your dad continues, turned towards Dean now. ”You continue to baby her. You know very well that when you were her age, you could hit a target with your eyes closed. You were miles ahead. So, you need to stop going soft on her. She needs to learn in order to become a hunter.”

You feel Dad’s every word, like a blow. ’She needs to learn.’ That doesn’t sound good to you, and internal warning bells go off, and you start feeling anxious with your heartbeat picking up even more. You try your best to push it all away, the feelings and thoughts, and focus. Stay calm, (Y/N).

Before you can think, you open your mouth, because suddenly there’s something — a thought — that wants out, that wants to be said and heard.

”But I never wanted to become a hunter.” You don’t even realize that it’s your voice at first. Immediately, when you do, you realize it was a mistake.

Because your dad starts stalking closer like a panther sneaking up on its prey. Soon he’s only inches away from you. Dean nervously shifts, watching.

”Too bad that’s not your choice to make. You’re my daughter and I call the shots around here.”

His tone is cold. The whole of him is worse than ever. Because, this might be one of his scariest moments, except for that one time he hit Sam, bad.

That night changed the way you saw your dad, forever. It might seem like an exaggeration, but it was definitely on the list of horrible things you’ve seen and would never forget. A list that’s already too long for your age. When said night occurred, you were only 13. Sam was 16 and Dean 20. Sam and your dad got into a heated argument, one of the worst of its kind, and John ended up connecting a fist to his youngest son’s cheek.

That moment flashes before your eyes right now. This feels all too much like that time. The situation over all is quite alike that one, now that you think of it.

It’s been quiet for a moment now. John — furious with a heaving chest and clenched fists — looks from you to Dean. You, his kids, are both clenching your jaws, your eyes cautiously yet intently glaring at your dad, never once breaking the glance. You’re positioned on opposite sides of John, and you’re keeping quiet, although both of your heads are buzzing with noisy, angry thoughts directed to the man who was supposed to raise you, protect you and make sure you get through life well, safe and sound.

”Okay, this is how it’s going to be.” The older man breaks the silence. ”Tomorrow, Dean, you’re going to leave. Early in the morning. I’ll find you a hunt, and you’re going to take the Impala, and sort it out. And then you’re not going to come back for a month, and by that I mean a complete month, not a day before. That is orders. Do you hear me?”

Your eyes widen, it feels like the air has been knocked out of you, merely by the message. You almost can’t breath again, you unknowingly hold your breath. Your heart pounds in your chest. You had never, up until now, realized how intimidating the thought of being completely alone with the man who was your biological father but hardly a father figure. Without your brothers there to help you. Without their protection and support.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice speaks. ’Suck it up (Y/N). You can’t need their protection. You don’t get to rely on them all the damn time.’ You can’t tell whose voice it is, if it’s dark or light, if it’s feminine or masculine. If you could though, you weren’t too sure it would be yours, but instead, your dad’s.

Despite the thoughts clouding your senses, you still manage to meet Dean’s eyes. You briefly wondered if you had absentmindedly searched for his gaze, because of the connection you have, or if you simply happened to stare at him. Or maybe he was the one

searching for your eyes.

Dean looks sad. Apologetic. Worried.

An unwanted thought enters your mind. Maybe he doesn’t think you can handle yourself. Maybe he knows that you’re going to be lost without him?

John puts an end to your thinking. ”Do you understand me, son?”

Dean continues to look at you, until he finally draws his eyes away, to glance at John. Maybe he can’t take looking at you. Maybe he doesn’t want to.

”Yes, sir.”

The words are definite. Absolute. And now it’s real, Dean is leaving tomorrow, for sure.

”You, (Y/N).” He spits, whipping around to you, and you almost stagger back, by his sheer movement. ”You’re going to stay here with me. I’m going to train you. Turn you into a real hunter.”

You don’t dare asking what that means. But you probably deserved it. Not that you had done something wrong, you still think defying Dad’s orders tonight was the right call, and has been all the other times. But, you also know that he has been very hard on your brothers, in a way that he actually haven’t been on you. Training-wise. Otherwise, he might have been even harder, but that’s a story for another time.

”Now, do you understand?” Dad presses.

”Yes sir.” You say, quietly. Now, for the first time, you don’t look at him. You don’t want to give him the pleasure.

”One more time, louder. And look at me.”

You clench your jaw even harder, dreading it. But although you’re pissed, you do as he says.

”Yes sir.” You repeat yourself, eyes laid on his larger form.

He smiles ever so slightly, content. And you hate that. Absolutely despise it.

Turning around, you leave the joint kitchen and living room of the cabin you, Dad and Dean are renting, and walk off into the small, bare room you’re currently inhabiting as if it was your own. You close the door behind you — although you don’t slam it because that would only make your dad even angrier and who knows what would happen then. You lean against it, taking a deep breath as you stare up at the wooden ceiling, taking in the detailing in every piece of plank.

You stand there for a moment, feeling tired, defeated and empty. Soon enough you leave the door and air cooled off the area your body heat had warmed up, and you lie down on the bed. You don’t bother changing clothes, you’ve already taken off your jacket and shoes, and other than that, you didn’t get too dirty during this hunt. Besides, you just lied down on top of the covers and not under them. You don’t bother getting ready anymore than that either. You just want to fall asleep, escape from your thoughts. It doesn’t happen though, as you remain awake, looking out the window — situated on the wall opposite to the door as well as to the bed’s right — at the sun setting behind the trees. You succeed to keep your head fairly empty, keeping the difficult, dark thoughts away from your mind.

You lie there for a while, you would guess around an hour, but you can’t know for sure — until a knock tears through the thick silence. You hadn’t expected it, but it don’t startle you, and you don’t move one bit. Instead you continue lying on your side — arm tucked under the pillow and your head, knees slightly bent and drawn closer to your chest — inattentively staring out at the evening sky.

The door opens with a creak.

”Hi.” Dean’s voice reaches your ear.

You slightly lift up your head — that feels heavy — and look over your shoulder at him. As you do, the corners of Dean’s lips slightly curl upwards, but his eyes are round and sad. He almost looks like a puppy, or a young boy, and your stomach twists. He looks lost, tired, with messy hair, no leather jacket but only a black t-shirt on his upper body and a clean bandage wrapped around his upper arm, covering his wound.

Dean closes the door behind him. You lay down your head on your pillow again, but your sensitive ears hear Dean slither closer until the bed shifts as it dips down behind your back, the feathers squealing quietly.

You don’t even have to make room for him to lie down, because you’re already placed on the far edge closest to the window. He places his head on the other pillow — the bed has two, you found a spare one in the small closet of the cabin — and gives out a light groan, probably because of his arm and sore muscles. And then it’s quiet and still again.

He lies there, next to you, for a while. Without saying anything, just being there. For both your sakes, maybe even more for his than your own. But you can’t lie, it feels nice, comforting, reassuring. And soon enough, you roll over to your back, mimicking Dean’s position, staring up at the ceiling again.

Soon enough, you speak, words soft.

”I’ve screwed up.” It’s no whine, cry, or nervous claim. It’s only a statement, and you put no particular emotion behind your words.

It’s almost like it wasn’t you that had screwed up, but someone else. As if your worries only exist in someone else’s life. But that isn’t the truth is it?

Dean turns his face towards you, you can see it in the corner of your left eye. He inspects your face with his green eyes for a moment, until he ultimately turns his face towards the ceiling again and answers.

”Maybe. Judging by our life, our family situation. Our dad.” He pauses. ”But that’s only because it’s like this. If our lives were normal, apple-pie ones, you definitely would’ve done the right thing, standing up for yourself like you did.”

”He’s probably right, you know.” You state.

”What?

”That I need to become a real hunter. That I’m weak.” You explain further.

”Oh, come on, don’t say that.” Dean objects, but with less disagreement and emotion in his voice than you would’ve think. Maybe it’s because he’s subconsciously matching up his tone to fit better with your calm, quieter words.

”But it’s true.”

Although a few hours ago, you had been sure you were right, now you let your dad’s words get to you. You started believing them. Sure, sometimes you thought about yourself as weak and not a good hunter, but never as completely useless like you started to now.

”No, it’s not.” Dean retorts.

”It is.”

Dean’s following silence speaks for itself, but it gives off several possible messages. Maybe he’s just quiet because he knows he can’t win the argument. Maybe he knows it’s true and agrees with Dad.

You shake the last option off, although you know that you brought it up in the first place. It’s your fault.

”Sorry about your shoulder.” You switch topic, and this time you turn your head to look at Dean.

Dean dips his own head down and your eyes meet, though his face is partially hidden behind some of the pillows’ fluffiness. Dean looks up again.

”’Not your fault.”

You nod a little. Not that you agree, it is, but you know he will continue to think it wasn’t whatever you say, so you let it go.

It’s quiet for a while. The room progressively gets darker as the sun disappears completely from the sky, and it goes deep blue. You listen to Dean’s breathing as his chest heaves up and down, and you even close your eyes for a while. By now, the thoughts are almost completely gone and it feels great.

You could’ve fallen asleep right there and then; warm, on a fairly comfortable bed, beside one of the two people just love most in this world, but you don’t. Instead, you open your mouth one more time.

”I don’t want you to leave.” You whisper, because it feel so strange now to break the silence that’s been resting over the two of you for long now.

”I don’t want to leave,” comes the answer. You can’t see more of Dean than his silhouette in this lightening, but you can definitely feel his presence just as much as before.

It’s a sad excuse of a comfort, but it still feels a little bit better knowing that he feels the same way. And, somewhen after that, you do actually drift off to slumber, against all odds, tiredness from the hunt and fight enveloping you like a soft blanket.

You blink and instantly squint your newly awoken eyes against the white, bright light streaming in from the window — that does not have any blinds. Although, it has curtains, you just never pulled them close. You groggily take in the room, remembering that this is where you lived for now. A specific thought enter your mind and you immediately look over to your left, but the bed is empty. The only sign that someone ever lied there, is the slight crinkling of the white covers.

Piercing pain shoots through your body, starting from your heart as fear takes over. You almost cringe, turning into yourself. But then your trained ears catch something outside your closed bedroom door.

”No.” His voice is muffled, but there, and you feel yourself relax ever so slightly.

”You don’t want to?” It was Dad.

”No.”

”You have to, Dean.”

”Why?”

You rise your eyebrows. It’s unusual for your older brother to question John’s orders this much, that’s your job. He usually just accepted them and strode right into action. He must be really passionate about this, staying here. You feel a pull on your heartstrings as you exhaled softly. You may not have a lot in this life, but you have Dean. And that is more than enough.

”It’s orders, son.”

When Dean’s answer doesn’t come, you fly off your bed, heart in your throat. You run to the door, open it, and come to a stop in the doorway. There’s Dean, duffle bag in his hand, standing by the front door across the room from you. And there’s Dad, looking content up until he sees you.

”Go back to your room, (Y/N).”

You completely ignore him. Instead, you walk closer to Dean and Dad, almost reaching Dad who stands in the middle of the room.

”Your room, (Y/N).” He growls threateningly.

”Dean!” You call, trying to get him to look at you, but he just stares at the floor, clutching the handles of the bag harder.

You get sinking feeling in your stomach.

”Dean, please don’t go! Don’t leave me!” You try again, and you can’t seem to keep your voice stable, instead you sound desperate — which, well, you are.

You don’t actually know what Dad ’making you into a hunter’ meant, so you really don’t have a reason to be so scared. But, somehow, your instincts told you differently.

”Stay back!” Dad demands, as he puts out an arm and pushes you back, so hard that you stumble a few steps. ”Dead, you know what you have to do. It’s orders.”

”Dean!” You try calling again, feeling your eyes sting.

You watch how Dean looks at his shoes, nodding slowly as he clenches his jaw. Then, he turns around and grabs the door knob.

You instantly spin around, facing away from Dean and John, staring through the open door into your room. You can’t watch him leave, you can’t do it. Instead, you stare into nothing until you forcedly shut your eyes, mostly in reflex, as you hear the soft sound of the front door closing slowly.

You know Dean trusts Dad. He trusts him in a way you never can, and never have. So, you could only hope that’s the reason he now left you alone, and not the fact that he too thinks you’re weak and wants you to become a real hunter.

You hear shuffling behind you, and you know John turns to look at you.

”It’s just me and you now, princess.”

You hate that word. Princess. It’s deprecate, it’s like just because you’re a girl, you expect to be treated with kid gloves, like some royalty. Like you can’t handle it.

Although maybe you can’t.

”Let’s start right now, shall we?” You can hear your father’s smirk.

You take a deep breath, in and out. And, then you slowly turn around to face him. Because, you know he’s going to make you otherwise, and you’d rather do it with dignity.

So there you stand, tall and chin raised high, looking at him coldly. Tears have pricked in the corners of your eyes, but you ignore them, shoving your feelings around.

”Come here.” He instructs.

At first you don’t move, but when you see his expression, you cautiously make your way over. Your dad places his hand on your shoulder as you reach him, but you angrily shake it off.

Both of you walk outside, to the porch. There, John points at the opening of the forest.

”See that road?”

You ignore the urge to scoff. The gravel by the opening is hardly a road, more like a path. But, you nod anyway.

”I want you to run that track. 15 miles, maybe a bit more.”

You gulp.

You’ve always categorized yourself as more of the brain than the muscle. Sure, you constantly put your body under physical pressure, but, you and your family really didn’t have the best food habits. Burgers and canned food aren’t exactly healthy. What you did for a living compensated for this, since a hunt was surely a workout, but you could be in better shape. So, you are in pretty good shape, yes, but you’re no exceptional superhero who could just run 15 miles in the speed John wanted you to.

”Can I have breakfast?” You quietly ask. Surely you could, but you decide to not anger your dad by taking things for granted.

”No.”

Your eyes widen — I’m going to faint — but you give a single nod. Then, you turn around to walk inside, to your room, again.

John stops you by putting out an arm, blocking the entrance inside.

”Where do you think you’re going?” You look up at him, and see that his eyebrows are high on his forehead, questioning you.

”To switch clothes…” You innocently explain, before looking down at your t-shirt and jeans.

”I don’t think so.” John obeys, and you’re not even surprised. Of course you can’t.

What surprises you slightly is him forcedly grabbing your shoulders, turning your around, and giving you a hard shove across the porch, so that you almost trip and fall down the couple of stairs down to ground level. You stumble down them though, breath stuck in your throat, heart pounding.

While you regain your footing and then balance, John yells after you.

”Now, show me you’re not completely worthless, stupid girl!”

His words hurt, but once again you repress your feelings. Determination settles in on you, and you make a promise to yourself. I’m going to show him.

And then your start running.

A/N (again): And, as I said, there will be more parts to this! I haven’t written them yet but I know what I want to happen, so, yeah. There’s gonna be a bit more action in later parts to make up for this lol. This is kind of a teaser (hysterically long)/an opening for what’s to come.

Tags: @daughters-and-winsisters @evyiione @samanddeanshotsis @darkestgrungeuniverse @fabulouslycassie @delessapeace-blog @mariairwin666 @1amluke @saveprettydays @cookee50 @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @infamati–et–obliterati @stillcooli0 @sammysbeanie @jamric @deepbreathssammy @extreme-supernatural-lover

Because you showed interest (thanks for that! <3): @winchesters-favorite-girl, @straightasdeanwinchester, @soullessbabee, @derbypasta8811: I tried tagging you but it didn’t work :(

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thranduilsperkybutt · 7 years

Text

Office Supplies and Love

Gif Source

Pairings: Dean Winchester Smith/Reader; Sam Wesson makes an appearance but isn’t paired

Warnings: Fluff; Dean Smith being cute and lovable; The reader’s uncertainty and cold feet

Word Count: 3,932 words

Reader Gender: Female

Author: Meg

Summary: Dean Smith has just gotten promoted to VP of Sales and Marketing for Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. and you, his on the low office fling and secretary, get him a customized pen as a congratulatory gift. He winds up confessing how he really feels about you, but are you ready for that? ((Had to give Dean Smith from 4x17 It’s a Terrible Life some love.))

A/N: I didn’t mean for it to be so long but the more I thought about Dean Smith the more I had the feels and the more I wrote! Oops! I’ve never entered a challenge before but I had so much fun writing this, so I hope everyone likes it. This is for Mimi’s Romcom Fluff Challenge from Say Anything prompt #59: She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen. @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog

Things just kept going the right way for Dean as of late. He had completed that cleanse of his and lost a few pounds as a result. Sales were up in his division, which always reflected well upon his management at work. Of course, there was his unexpected promotion from Director to Vice President of Sales and Marketing. Then, there was tonight. To top off this perfect month he’d been having, the other corporate bigwigs of Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. had announced the company was to host a business party to congratulate him on this new position. The suggestion had apparently been that of Mr. Adler’s, and no one ever argued with Mr. Adler that Dean knew of.

It could be said Dean was in a good mood tonight. He had no reason not to be after all the good news he’d gotten. Hell, even his hair had parted perfectly on the first try when he got ready for the function earlier in the evening. The suit he chose to wear was a little dressier than the usual, but still professional enough for a party hosted by his company. Even though the party was officially in his and the company’s honor, it was unofficially just as much to keep the morale of the other employees up and give him a chance to soothe the wounds of the coworkers that he’d beat out of the promoted position.

The invitation had been extended to everyone who worked in the company, from his department to the higher-ups. Even the tech guys had been invited, so he wasn’t surprised when he exited his car at the venue to almost immediately run into familiar faces upon entering.

“Hey, congratulations, Dean,” Sam Wesson offers his hand and Dean shakes it, but Dean’s real attention was on the phone in his other hand’s grip.

“Thanks, man. I really couldn’t do anything without the whole team, you know,” Dean politely smiles, thinking he’d be able to keep the fact that he was scanning the crowd subtle enough.

“Looking for someone?” Sam catches on, causing Dean’s eyes to snap back to the taller man’s as his lips part slightly at having been caught.

“Oh, well, yeah,” his admission comes out sheepishly, but Dean manages to keep a professional façade as he elaborates, “my… secretary said she’d be here.”

“Ah, part of that team of yours you’ve been shucking all the praise onto, huh? You should take some credit for yourself. After all, you’re the one with the promotion,” Sam reminds with a joking smile before he gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder, ultimately leaving him with, “I’ll let you find your secretary, but, hey, we should get together later.”

“Sure thing. Catch up with you later, Sam.”

Dean doesn’t know why he finds it so surprising every time he manages to keep himself professional when it came to you. Truth was, the title of secretary hardly defined you properly at this point. The two of you had been involved in more than a professional sense for the last four months now and it still shocked him just how easy it was to keep that detail private from his coworkers and friends.

The secrecy had added a spark to the relationship that hadn’t been present in any of his relationships prior to the one he had with you. There wasn’t any denying the fact that the power dynamic was a fantasy of his, but in the end Dean had gotten together with you not because your being his secretary was a turn-on, but because you were you.

As he moved further into the party he was stopped and congratulated by several other coworkers along the way, but the whole time he was keeping his eye out for you. He’d checked his phone several times already, even sending you a text asking if he’d beat you there, but hadn’t gotten any kind of response in return.

Just before Dean can reach the bar area to scan for you, Mr. Adler stops him with a deceptively strong hand on his shoulder, “There’s the man of the hour! How’s our newest VP of Sales and Marketing?”

“Mister Adler, it’s good to see you, sir,” Dean smiles, hoping it would hide the annoyance at his interruption.

It’s convincing enough, apparently, because Mr. Adler gives him a laugh so short it makes Dean wonder if it’s fake, “I’m expecting great things from you, Dean. Great things!” After that Dean somewhat drifts in and out of the conversation. He’d learned from his interaction with Sam and was successfully more subtle when his eyes occasionally darted to the crowd surrounding him and Mr. Adler in vain, never catching a glimpse of you. Mr. Adler finally ends the mostly one-sided conversation save for a few effortless responses from Dean with the same tight grin he’d started it with, “Go on and enjoy the party, Dean. After all, all of this is for you.”

Dean reflexively returns the handshake he’s offered, “Already am, sir.”

When a server passes by, he takes two champagnes. He wished they were offering something stronger, but if he didn’t find you in his next sweep of the room both of the drinks were going to wind up being for him. Just when he’s about to give up his search of the venue, he finds himself in a more secluded area away from the thick of the party. Aside from Dean, this room was otherwise empty he realizes as he steps further into it.

“Dean,” he hears like music to his ears, causing him to turn in search of the source of the call of his name, finding you under the arch he’d just walked through. Dean’s raised brows dissolve into a less stressed and happier look at the sight of you. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards into the first genuine smile he’d probably given all night, just for you.

“Was beginning to think you’d ditched me,” Dean begins, offering you the drink that you take with a small giggle as you shake your head. “I looked all over and didn’t see you. I can barely get through the workday without you, so I was beginning to panic when I thought I’d have to schmooze my way through tonight on my own.”

“I’m not that cruel, Dean,” you hum as you take a sip. Dean finally notices the small box you were holding in the same hand you held a clutch that matched your dress. It was a dark and professional looking box, wrapped with a single green ribbon that alerted him to the fact it was a present. Your eyes follow his to your hand and you raise the box to offer it to him, “I was a little late because I had to pick this up first. I know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times already, but congratulations on the promotion.”

Taking it, Dean chuckles, “You didn’t have to. You do enough for me already.”

“Just open it!” when he glances up, he sees the excitement at the prospect of him potentially liking your gift in your eyes. That’s reason enough for him to pull the ribbon free of its knot and lift the top off the box that fit easily in his hand.

“Woah, sweet,” Dean breathes at what he finds, “A MontBlanc? This is an amazing pen, (Y/N).”

“Figured you’d need something to sign ‘Dean Smith, Vice President of Sales and Marketing’ with,” you announce, taking another sip of your drink as your eyes flick from his eyes to the gift you’d given and back again. You studied him, gauging how much he liked it by the expression he wore.

Dean’s lips were parted in surprise, his brows raised as he lifted the pen from it’s sleek box. It’s weighted in his hands just as any luxury pen should feel and he already knows it’s going to write beautifully just by the packaging and reputation a MontBlanc had. It’s not until his thumb runs over the opposite side of its smooth surface that Dean feels the indentions there.

“You had it engraved?” Dean glances up at you after his eyes find his name in a beautiful font etched into the rollerball as if it were meant to be there all along.

You were biting your lip in anticipation at him, “Do you like it, Dean?”

“Like it? I love it! It’s just what I needed,” Dean laughs, placing the pen back into the box as he takes a step towards you, eyes focused on your lips as he questions, “Where would I be without you?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think as his hand finds your arm, smoothing downy your skin until his fingers intertwine with your own, “good thing you don’t have to worry about that.”

When he kisses you it’s familiar yet foreign at the same time. The rational part of your mind knew that you’d kissed Dean before plenty a time, but somehow each time felt different. Each time was as if you were kissing him for the first time all over again. He was gentle yet firm against you, pressing into you and keeping control of the kiss with ease as his neck bent to allow his lips to come to your height. Dean was probably the best kisser you could think of and you really weren’t surprised of that fact. Even if you didn’t have first-hand testimony to give, you could have guess that because Dean just looked like he’d be a good kisser.

The chatter and music of the party seemed to dim in the distance as your ears focused more on Dean’s breaths and the sound of his lips against your own. The fabric of his suit is thick and soft against your fingers when you grip the collar to pull him against you the rest of the way until you were chest-to-chest. You knew better than to give into the temptation to run your fingers through his hair and mess up his part, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a struggle to resist.

Dean tasted of the few sips of champagne he’d had along with the peppermint he’d had before that hadn’t been completely washed away with the drink. He smelled of a cologne that was slightly more rugged than someone would think would fit a man like him, but it somehow fit perfectly all the same. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough of those small details about him.

Over the last four months neither of you had defined what you were to each other aside from your professional standings as the boss and his secretary. You didn’t mind that, really, because you were living in the moment. You hadn’t been looking for a serious relationship when you’d gotten involved with Mr. Smith. At the time, you’d in all honestly only been worried about what he could do with that mouth that was now moving against yours all these months after that very first encounter. You didn’t know what you were doing or what you were together, but none of that really mattered. You’d never looked at him and wondered, 'What are we?' with any sort of desire for an answer. All you did know was that right here, right now at this moment in your life you wanted him because you were having fun doing it.

That’s what you were thinking when you gripped the lapels of his suit, breathing against him fluidly as you kissed him back just as passionately as he was kissing you. God, did I already say you loved kissing him? You were entranced with how his lips nipped and sucked against your own. Dean didn’t use too much tongue like some of your previous boyfriends did, more of an occasional tease with it than anything else. The brunt of the effort of the kiss was taken on by those plump lips of his. Lips that, were they situated on anyone else’s face would perhaps look feminine, but framed by Dean’s jaw and the slight shadow of stubble that fought back against its daily shave, only served to make him look even more tempting than he already did.

Dean pulls away suddenly but keeps you against him by his hands on your waist and in your own, respectively. The look that furrowed his brow was more intense than you think you’d seen before as he captured your eyes with purpose. It was almost akin to one of those looks you’d seen him get whenever he was deciding on some important change to be implemented in the department, brows furrowed until that little dent appeared between them and his lips slightly parted in thought. Then, he said it. Words heavy with honesty and fueled by the expectation of reciprocation as that was all they had ever been met with before. Words that Dean had heard frequently from his parents, Bob and Ellen, and his sister, Jo, along with a few of his past loves that he lost along the way. Words that, now, Dean was saying to you in such a heartfelt way that it honestly, deep down, scared you a little bit.

“I love you.”

“What,” you hear yourself reply blandly as if in a daze, more stunned than anything else as you still process his words. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath caught, and you were certain for a split, terrifying second that you were having a heart attack.

As quickly as that second passed and the next came, you realized you weren't.

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N),” Dean repeats, tilting his head slightly as he looks to you for a response in a similar vein to the confession he’d just made. The first flicker of worry showing in his eyes at your hesitation.

Dean was in love. With you?

“Why?” you can’t help the single word from slipping from you in a genuine confusion, earning a stunned look from Dean as he opens and closes his mouth for a moment.

“Huh?” is all he can manage, the initial romance of his confession slowly fading from the air the longer you didn’t repeat his words back to him.

“We’ve only been together for four months,” you begin, pulling away just enough that his hand falls from your waist but keeps your grip, “How can you possibly know that you love me? We aren’t even public, Dean. We don’t even know what ‘we’ are!”

You knew that look that he was giving you now. It was the one he had when he was problem-solving. When he was spurting out new ideas for the company that could have it working a hundred times better than it was. Maximizing profit.

Problem was, you weren’t some problem Dean could solve in that moment. You were a girl standing in front of him and asking him how he could possibly know he loved you right now. In fact, you were the first girl to ever have asked Dean why.

“I know, baby,” Dean assures, reaching up to grip you by your biceps as his thumbs rub against you gently, not serving to settle you any despite their efforts. “I know I love you. Believe me. Have I ever lied to you before?”

“If you don’t know the reasons why, how do you know for sure?” you shoot back, pulling back fully this time as you try to compose yourself. Give yourself a moment to catch your breath and not break down right here as the terror of his confession and what it meant seeped into your skin. You needed to leave. Right now. “I think--- I need to go home. Goodnight, Dean.”

“What? Wait,” he goes after you, but you’re already out of his reach as you quickly escape towards the party. By the time he catches up, you’re in the middle of it, surrounded by people you knew from work with no intention of stopping. He grabs some of their attention when he calls your name, “(Y/N), wait!”

Only you don’t stop and Dean knows he can’t follow you as you exit the party. He was the guest of honor and still hadn’t given any sort of speech that was still expected later in the evening. Dean is left wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he watches you disappear through the doors that people were still entering from, his chest feeling heavy as he wondered if he’d just messed things up with you by moving too fast.

He finds himself wandering over the bar, sitting the pen’s box in front of him as he finally nursed that stronger drink he’d wanted earlier.

Dean doesn’t even really notice Sam settling into the seat beside him until he asks, “Did you find your secretary?”

Dean glances towards him out of the corner of his eye, a deep frown on his face as he dwells further on the events of the night, “Yeah, I did.” He debates for a split second if he wanted to elaborate to this tech guy, but something about Sam was inviting to him. For some reason, Dean wanted to open up to Sam, “I seriously think I screwed things up, Sam.”

A flash of realization shows on Sam’s face, “Ah, so you and your secretary are...”

“Yeah,” Dean takes a swig of his drink, leaning back in his chair as he reaches forward to finger the box in thought. “Or, at least, we were. I don’t know if she feels the same about me anymore.”

“What’s that?” Sam asks, nodding towards the box.

“It’s a pen. She gave me a pen,” a scoff comes from Dean, “I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen.”

“Alright, that’s it,” Sam sighs, taking the drink from Dean, ignoring the surprised glare it gets him, “you’re going after her. If you feel that strongly about her, than this party shouldn't matter at all. Mr. Adler and the other suits can handle tonight without you. Just say you got sick or something.”

“I can’t just ditch this! This is my life, Sam,” Dean protests, but even when he says it it feels wrong. Off.

“Can you accept that this could possibly be a life without the girl you supposedly love, then? Because if you can, I don't know if you can say it’s really love you’re feeling,” Sam shoots back, giving Dean a look that somehow seems familiar even though he knew the tech guy hadn’t ever given it to him before. “Just something to think about.”

There was a logical side of Dean that hesitates for a moment. A side of him that was worried about the implications leaving would have on his job, but that side of him wasn’t loud enough at the moment. Dean gives a nod and swipes the box off the bartop, knowing he had to do what Sam was suggesting in order to feel right about himself tomorrow morning.

“You’re right, Sammy. I’m going after her.”

“Yeah, don’t call me that,” Sam chuckles. “Good luck, Dean.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

Dean finds himself tapping his foot as he waited impatiently on the valet to pull his car around. The butterflies in his stomach weren’t going away any time soon as he thought back to how you’d reacted after he had told you how he felt. You had asked him why did he love you? Dean had the time it took to drive to your place to collect those reasons into words that he hadn’t been able to articulate on the spot.

But as he knocked on your door, he knew that any words he could possibly say would still be inadequate to the feelings he had for you, even though you’d only been together for the span of four months.

“(Y/N), baby? Come on open the door,” Dean calls as he knocks again, resting his forehead on the wood of the door until he hears you unlock it. It swings open and he’s caught by your wary eyes.

You hadn’t yet changed out of your dress, but Dean’s tie was a little looser around his neck than it had been at the party, “Dean, I---”

“You want to know how I know I love you, right?” he interrupts and you see the flicker of fear in his eyes for a moment, probably afraid you’d close the door on him. Dean takes a shaky breath when you don’t reply, “It’s that feeling in my gut, alright. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt--- it makes the feelings that I had for anyone before you seem childish in comparison. Hell, I left the party because of how I feel about you, (Y/N). So what if Mr. Adler chews me out tomorrow? Not even my job matters if I mess this up with you.”

You swallow dryly, leaning out of the doorway as you ask, “Do you want to do this out here, or do you want to come in?”

“Yes, please,” he huffs, moving past you and into the house. His hand goes to the back of his neck as he rubs it nervously for a second.

“So, you really love me, Dean? It’s not just some four-letter-word to you?” watching him cautiously, you lean on the closed door. You couldn’t help but be skeptical. After all, things were going so fast between you and the way you felt for him scared you. You were afraid of getting your heart broken and the more you dwelled on his confession, the more you realized you were dangerously vulnerable. You couldn’t admit it out loud, not until you were certain.

“Some four-letter-word? (Y/N), does that sound like me? I wouldn’t play like this with you. I love you and I mean it,” Dean steps towards you and you find yourself cornered between him and your door. “You’re so thoughtful all the time. So damn thorough that honestly it can make me angry when you pick up on little things that I don’t want you to notice, but it’s what makes you great at your job. I can’t go on without you. If you don’t love me, too, I can accept that, but if you’re worried I’m playing you, that’s not me.” His hand comes up to your jaw, cupping it as he gives you a crooked smile, searching your eyes for an answer, “If I have to say it a thousand more times before you’ll believe me, I will. I love you.”

Your hands find his hips as you inch up on your toes to brush your lips against his gently. He pushes back into your kiss until you rock back onto the pads of your feet, kissing you smoothly against the door to your home. You could feel the box of your present to him in his front pocket, but the mild discomfort only sits in the back of your mind. Dean’s ‘I love you’ played over and over in your mind and from this kiss, you know he’s telling the truth.

You part from him with his taste still on your tongue, your smile wide as you giggle in happiness, “If you want to say it a thousand more times, I won’t complain. I love you, too, Dean.”

Dean lets out a relieved breath before grinning at you, “You had me scared for a while, there, you know that right? You sure do have a way of keeping me on my toes, (Y/N).” He bends to kiss the side of your mouth before he pecks your cheek, “See? There’s another reason I love you.”

#mimi's romcom fluff challenge #dean smith fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural female reader insert #fanfiction #Fanfic by me #author meg #newstuff female reader insert

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nerddface-has-moved · 7 years

Text

After Midnight

Characters: Federico Auditore, female!reader

Warnings: None

Notes: Marble one of three :)

Based off of this (or these): (x)

Word Count: 1502

A knock at her window startled her, and she jumped, looking to the noise to see a familiar grin shining at her through the glass panes.

Heaving a breath to calm her suddenly racing heart, she strode to the window and swung it open.

“Federico!” she scolded in a harsh whisper. He beamed up at her and hauled himself up and over the windowsill.

“Ciao, madonna mia,” he greeted as his feet hit her bedroom rug. “How are you on this lovely evening?”

“Paranoid, now, thanks to you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “My father will never allow you to see me again if he catches you in here like this.”

“Like what?” Federico looks as innocent as ever, but the sparkle of his teeth in the candlelight convinced her otherwise.

Y/N snorted and plopped back down in her desk chair.

“I hope you didn't come here for help with your studies,” she lamented, “for I haven't the mind for any of it right now.”

“The brightest woman I know, unamused by her books?” Federico placed a hand over his heart in faux shock. “Dios mio. What has happened to you?”

“I don't know,” she sighed, resting her elbow on her desk and her cheek in her hand again. Federico leaned his hip against the edge of the table, peering over the scattered literature.

There was a moment’s pause and Y/N stared mindlessly at a flickering candle flame before Federico piped up again.

“Ah, now I know.”

“What?” Y/N blinked and met his brown-amber eyes.

“You have been staring at pages for far too long, amica. I believe you need a change of pace.”

“Don't worry, my dear Y/N.” Federico brought her from her momentary reverie. “You won’t cease learning, but I believe experience is the best teacher.”

He held out a hand, bowed sweepingly, and looked up at her through his dark bangs. He must have noticed her hesitant gaze, because he stood straight again.

“Have I ever lied to you, tesoro?”

He guided her hands away from her desk with his, and leaned in to press a successfully distracting kiss to her mouth.

“I suppose not,” she sighed, and stood.

“Come, then,” Federico beckoned, picking up one of her light coats and guiding her to her door.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked, but the only response she got was a grin. He stepped onto the platform, and reached with one hand up to the rope and for her waist with the other.

“Bene?” he asked, and she nodded, unable to find anything to say.

“I enjoy the rooftops at night,” he commented as they strolled to an edge. “You can see so much of the sky, and less people bother you the higher you go.”

The pigeons that had gathered on the tile scattered as they drew closer, and Y/N was drawn forward by Federico’s strong arm as she began to linger.

“What are we doing?”

“Learning,” Federico responded. “Remember? It’s a simple jump.”

“You plan to jump?!” she exclaimed, and he nodded, pointing to a haystack on the grass below them.

“My father taught me. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Your father is mad. There’s no way I’m going to jump off a building, break my neck, and die. Who is supposed to finish my essay when I’m dead?”

Federico extended an arm to the ledge and took a short step. “I will show you.”

“See?” He turned for her to see every aspect of him was unscathed. “Perfectly safe.”

“What if I crush you?” she asked, taking a step back.

He laughed, stepping forward to keep the space between them close. “Piccolo uccello, do you really think you can crush me?”

“What if you crush me?!”

His hands rested gently on her arms, and he studied her eyes with a sincerity that wasn't there a moment prior.

“I promise you will be safe.”

Giggling madly, she clambered out of his arms and the haystack, clasping her hands at her chest. “That was exhilarating! Let’s go again!”

“Looks like that is over for today.”

Y/N deflated. “Back to the books, then.”

Her cheeks flushed, and suddenly she was very aware of the weight over her shoulders. “Nothing good ever happens after nightfall,” Y/N recited. “That’s what mother says.”

Y/N cut him off with a noise of disgust. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, they did, and no, you don’t need to reiterate!”

Federico’s laugh echoed off the slowly emptying cobblestone street. She tried to shrink away, but that only drew him closer.

Maybe good things did happen after midnight.

#federico x reader #federico auditore x reader #federico auditore #federico auditore defense committee

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