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kayxleeee · 3 years

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Steve Rogers: The Man Out Of Time (Steve Rogers x Reader!)

Warning: NONE! FLUFFFFFFF Just Sad Steve and a moment of a nosey Romanoff .

A/N: Love this one to death! Still contemplating on if I should make a second part.

Summary: After the teams attempt to try and stop Ultron and failing horribly, you all find yourselves at the Barton’s Family farm. Steve is shooken up about his vision, and is reflecting on the life that he will never have. This was a side of Cap you never really seen before, he had never been this venerable with anyone. He was the one who held the team together and called everyone out on their bullshit. You find yourself consoling him, possibly blossoming a friendship into something more.

Word Count: 1k+

“Hey you.” You say standing in the doorway of the Barton’s spare bedroom.

“Hi.” Steve says lowly not looking up at you. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, visibly upset looking down at his already folded hands.

“What happened out there ?” You say referring to the squabble he and Tony had while breaking down wood for Laura. Steve got pretty pissed very quickly, which was kinda unusual for him, since he has always been the level headed one.

“It was nothing, I’m fine.” He sighs not breaking his focused gaze from his hands.

“Oh yeah, I can totally tell you are Steve. Just a typical ray of sunshine.” You say sarcastically hoping to lighten his mood.

The situation with Ultron was spiraling out of control, and that witch bitch only made matters one-hundred percent worse. From the visions, to the ambush, to the media buzz, you weren’t sure if the avengers would even recover. It was obvious that this new mission to stop Ultron was too much for even the strongest of the bunch, which was understandable, but still alarming.

“Come on.” You sigh leaning against the doorframe crossing your arms trying to examine his face. “You can talk to me, you don’t always have to be the most levelheaded one in the room. And plus I won’t leave you alone unless you tell me what’s up.”

“Now that I can believe.” He huffs out a small chuckle looking up at you, then takes a deep breath. “It’s all just a bit overwhelming.” He admits.

“Yeah I know this all may seem like a lot, but Tony meant well by building Ultron. He—“

“That’s—that’s something we can fix.” He says shaking his head. “I wasn’t, I mean I’m not that worried about Ultron because I have faith we will win that fight.” He says this then looks back down at his hands in his lap. “We just gotta figure out how.”

You sigh as you look at him confused hoping that he’d continue and share his thoughts. You were relived that he was ready to fight Ultron, together, and glad he had faith that the team would win; But if it wasn't Tony creating Ultron that bothered him it was something so much bigger.

It was the vision.

This made you gravely concerned about what he saw, what could be making him react this way, so solemn and hot headed. You walk all the way into the small farm house bedroom and sit next to him on the full sized bed, putting a hand over his own.

“Steve, talk to me.” You encourage him in a soft voice, giving his hand a squeeze.

This was all very knew territory, so you were shocked when he looked up at you through glossy eyes, before opening his mouth to speak again.

“I just can’t get it out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“About what Steve? The vision? Because that’s what they want, the twins, Ultron, they want us all to be off our game Steve. None of what you saw was real.” You say reassuring him by caressing your thumb over his hands.

“That’s the problem, it wasn’t real...but it- I’m the man out of time.”

“The man out of time?” You question repeating after him. You frown at the dumb catch phrase everyone seemed to use to describe Steve as. “What did you see?”

“I was with… with, her.” He sighs getting up from his position on the bed and walking over to the window. “It’s this, this whole secret life Bartons been living.” He pushed the cream colored curtains aside slightly gazing out the window. “I just wish that things could be different, that maybe I could… be happy like them.”

It dawned on you finally why he was upset. Steve never got the opportunity to live his life, in his time. He was so busy trying to prove himself or be the person everyone else wanted him to be. When he finally got a chance to show what he was made of— well he obviously got he short end of the stick. And now, well he’s so busy saving the world he’s barley even gotten a chance to live it now. He has told you about Peggy once or twice and how he fell in one with her, but you never thought he’d be so upset now.

“Steve…” You say not necessarily knowing what to say. You get up from the bed and walk over to him putting a hand on his shoulder. You turn your gaze outside the window to see Laura and Clint cuddle up on their yard, watching their children play.

He lets out a sigh. “That witch, the girl, the vision she gave me. It just felt so real,” He takes a deep breathe and turns to you. “I’ll never have that and the vision, it just made me think of just how much I missed… how much I’m missing.”

You sigh and decide to pull him into a hug immediately. You couldn't even try to pretend to know what he was going through. He doesn’t hug back right away, but in time he does. He rest his chin on the top of your head and holds you tight taking a deep breath inhaling shakily as you rub circles around his back. The two of you stay like this for a moment, while you gathered the correct words that you wanted to say, without making him feel worse. You hoped he didn’t mind your silence and hoped that maybe he needed this quiet and this closeness, just to feel someone was there with him.

After a few more moments you finally speak still holding on to him.

“Steve, you’re not a man out of time, I really hate that saying. It literally makes no sense to me because - not the point. What I am trying to say is you have multiple people here in this time who care about you and want to see the best for you, myself included.” You finally say as you pull away from him slightly so that you were able to get a good look at his face.” I think I’m the one rooting for you the most.”

It was true, you heavily looked up to Steve, and not just because he was taller or because he was the leader... But because he was truly a good man and always had good intentions. You would follow him into the trenches if he told you to, that's how much you trusted him and this is why it hurt you to see him so distraught.

You continue to speak. “I love you Steve, I really do, but your problem is you put the needs of others before your own.” You look at him as he looks at you, his blue eyes peering into your own as the wheels in his head begin to turn. You continue, “Honestly tell me, have you ever asked yourself what you wanted and just let yourself have it?”

He’s now looking at you in shock or confusion, either way his eyes were peering hard into yours as he thinks for a moment.

He frowns and shake his head no, then says, “I guess not… I’ve been so wrapped up in saving the world, I never really got a chance.” He says this with his hands still comfortably wrapped around you.

“Well I think you oughta think about that one mister.” You say giving him a smile and a quick peck on the cheek, about to pull him back in for another hug—

“Oh there you two are.” Natasha says as she peeps her head into the door way. You both turn to her still very close to one another. Her face goes from flat, too surprised, then back to normal. The two of you let go of each and move apart. You were calm, while Steve looked embarrassed.

“Don't stop on my account love birds.” She says with a smirk.

“ Everything alright Natasha?” Steve says clearing his throat trying to ignore her comment.

The smirk never leaves her face and she shakes her head “Fury is here, meeting in 5.” She says popping her head out just as fast as she popped in.

“Love birds? Jeez you’d think men and women can’t be just friends.” You scoff shaking your head looking at Steve who was turning red.

“Well… that’s Natasha for you.” He says kinda sounding awkward.

You continue, “She’s one to talk, have you seen the eyes her and Banner have been givin each other ? It’s gross.” You laugh.

“Yeah, we better get out there then…” He drifts seeming as if he wants to drop the conversation entirely.

“We should.” You say now feeling uneasy at Steve’s awkwardness, but decide to backtrack quickly before heading out of the room by saying, “ Hey listen, I still want you to think about what you want Steve. Really think about it and then just go for it!” You say emphasizing the word you.

“Thanks for this (Y/n), I think I have somewhat of a idea of what that is now.” He stares at you for a moment more, then looks away. Which surprisingly gave you butterflies because he had never looked at you that way before, it was different.

“Well- that, that was easy enough.” You fumble on your words before taking a deep breath and gaining your composure. “ Will you share with the class anytime soon?” You say trying to ignore the feeling as your face heats up.

“Maybe later.” He says with a sincere smile. “Sometimes it’s just nice to know I have people here for me.” He shoves his hands in his pocket and nods his head towards the doo. “Let’s go.”

“Of course Steve.” You nod feeling relived, that he was feeling better. You walk towards the door with him close behind. “Maybe we can set you up with a secret farm too.” You chuckle a bit.

“Oh shut up.” He says throwing his head back with a chuckle realizing you were what he needed.

“Do you like goats and stuff?” You laugh.

“(Y/n)!” He chuckles again as you both walk down the hallway into the living room where the meeting was being held.

Thoughts, Comments, or Opinions :)

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #one shot #Steve Rogers one shot

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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pel!ivan and fedyor went through a lot of ups and some downs from the end of pel and 2021 but they also celebrated 10 years together 🥳 i hope fedyor shoved cake into ivan’s face and also you know, im sure they were mushy like the saps they are

Ivan was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago – actually, at this point, more like twenty – but the clients are still fucking talking, and if they keep it up much longer, he’s going to add it to the bill for “initial consultation.” Drew has a man-bun and unbearably hip black glasses, and works as a developer for some start-up app that he’s tried to convince Ivan to download at least twelve times. (What does the app actually do? Don’t know don’t care.) Mia is thin, blonde, waifish, smells like essential oils, and has been flitting around with her smartphone the entire time, getting in Ivan’s way as she snaps perfectly filtered pictures of the “developmental process” and posts them nonstop on Instagram. They both have a lot of opinions on how they want the energy of the space to feel, and a preapproved list of ethically sourced suppliers. They have paid some ludicrous price for this converted loft in Prospect Heights and chose the location for its proximity to the best farmer’s markets and hippie coffeehouses. Did Ivan die? Is this hell?

Somewhat ostentatiously, he looks at his watch. “Okay,” he announces. “I think that wraps up. You have work number, so – ”

“Oh, just one more thing!” Drew has recently read one (1) book on home design and thinks he’s an expert, so Ivan is forced to suffer his idiotic opinions about the kind of tile they want to use on the kitchen backsplash. Somehow, he manages not to roll his eyes directly out of his head, for which he should be commended. Ivan has discovered that the secret of successfully dealing with people, especially clients, is to smile and nod at everything they say, while mercilessly mocking them in your head. Amazing, the things you learn as a small-business owner in Brooklyn in the year of our lord 2021. Especially when it comes to renovating overpriced tiny gentrified apartments for insufferable techno-douchebags and their vapid influencer girlfriends. And people think Ivan might want to live like this more often? No fucking thank you.

Finally (it’s another ten minutes after that, this is definitely going on the bill), they more or less wrap up, except for the fact that Mia then wants a picture with the three of them. “It’s just so important to us that we’re supporting the immigrant community,” she explains earnestly. “After all, being open, tolerant, learning from our neighbors, people who are different from us, that’s what life is all about. We just love that you’re foreign. The energy feels so right, you know?”

Ivan wonders whether to inform her that he has lived in this country for eight years and been a full citizen (passport and voting rights and everything) for three, then decides that this would venture into sharing-personal-information territory and he is having none of it. His English has improved to the point where he can handle almost all business transactions by himself, but feigning incomprehension can sometimes get him out of them when they turn really stupid. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option here, and so he diligently leans into the frame, smiling half an inch, while Mia snaps a picture of “us and our adorable Russian contractor!!” Ivan informs her of the correct flag emoji to add to the filter, decides that he’s going to add an extra fifty bucks just for that, and finally, finally, makes his escape.

It’s rush hour, and the Q is crammed as Ivan heads into midtown. So much for social distancing and not getting too close to anyone, which is the only thing from the pandemic that he wouldn’t mind keeping. Only about half the crowd is wearing masks, including him, and so he gets off at Times Square, dodges the latest lunatic standing on a soapbox and shouting about how it is all a hoax, and walks several blocks uptown, just to get some space. He finally reaches the restaurant, where he has to flash his vaccination card to get inside (Ivan, who remains Russian to the marrow of his bones, is a little irked that he couldn’t get Sputnik here and had to settle for Pfizer) and climbs up to the open-air rooftop terrace. It is only when he spots his husband, waiting at a table that overlooks the glittering evening lights of the city, when Ivan pulls off his mask and allows himself to properly smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “They are the worst.”

“I figured it was something like that.” Fedyor musters a smile in return, though his eyes look permanently tired these days and Ivan would bet that he’s been scrolling through more depressing emails on his phone. Technically Fedyor is on a two-month sabbatical from work, but he can’t stop himself, and Ivan has had to pry it from his fingers on a number of occasions. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Ivan nods stoutly, they are furnished with the drinks and appetizers list, and when the waiter asks if there’s any special occasion tonight, tell him that they are celebrating their ten-year anniversary, albeit somewhat late. This was supposed to happen last spring, but obviously, nobody in New York was going out to a restaurant in the early months of 2020, and Ivan himself had barely gotten home from the hospital and still could be knocked over in a strong breeze. They’re celebrating a lot of things tonight, in other words, even if it’s now been eleven years, not ten, since the day Ivan marched into a Red Square coffee shop and engaged in – well, Fedyor has made sure to inform him that the first date didn’t go nearly as well as Ivan always thought it did. But it worked, didn’t it? Here they are, wedding bands on their fingers, a couple of successful American urban professionals who have built a nice life for themselves and are, if anything, even more madly in love than they were when this whole nutty adventure together first began. So really, if you ask Ivan Sakharov Kaminsky, it went just fine after all.

The waiter congratulates them, gives them two drinks for the price of one, and they both relax and start to talk, fully at ease in the way they only are in each other’s company. Ivan does his Mia impression in an extremely convincing falsetto (after all, [NAME REDACTED] has practice at this) and Fedyor almost dies laughing. They hold hands on the table – no need to hold them under the table – and gaze into each other’s eyes all they want, order dinner and dessert, and take a long time about it. They raise several toasts to this, to them, to ten years, may there be many more. Ivan pays the bill, his treat, and they walk slowly back to Times Square, hand-in-hand, Fedyor’s head nestled on Ivan’s shoulder. It’s New York. Nobody cares.

They ride the Q home, in all its smelly, secondhand glory, taking an hour to bang out to Brighton Beach and descending the elevated stairs into the familiar down-at-heel comfort of their Russian-American neighborhood, neon Cyrillic signs glowing in windows and somebody shouting about how if Sergei ever shows his face here again, she is going to cut his dick off. Ivan and Fedyor look at each other and snort, resisting the urge to shout up and ask what exactly Sergei did, and walk a few more minutes to their building. They climb up three flights of stairs to their apartment, unlock the door and the deadbolt, and step inside.

The instant they are home, Rasputin shoots out of nowhere, yowling as if he has been neglected for months, and curls himself around Ivan’s ankles (he is still liable to give Fedyor evil looks when he feels that this interloper has been stealing his human too often). Ivan sighs, trudges to the kitchen, points out to Rasputin that his food bowl is still half full, gets a wounded look in return, and adds an extra scoopful. Once the cat is happily snarfing down, Fedyor pulls Ivan by the hand, into the dim living room with its blowing curtains. “Come here, my love,” he says. “Hold me.”

Ivan does as ordered, because it’s his favorite thing in the world: cuddling Fedyor close, nothing but the two of them in all of time and space, swaying slowly in the blue hour with fingers and arms and hearts entwined. Ivan kisses Fedyor’s temple, and Fedyor nestles even closer, melted into his embrace. “I love you, Vanya,” he mumbles against Ivan’s collarbone. “I love you so much. I love you more than anything in the world. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Fedya.” Ivan leans down and kisses him properly, sweet and slow and lingering, as they continue to waltz in stately time to a music that nobody except the two of them can hear. “I’m still not always sure why you married me, but I am very glad you did.”

#heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #ivan x fedyor #a phantom in enchanting light #pel asks #anonymous #ask #(in repayment for the pain i have inflicted on you with the lighthouse au)#(ahem)

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dennou-translations · 4 years

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Violet Evergarden Booklet 1

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That day was a special one for me, but to the rest of the world, this was not the case.

Ann Magnolia and Her Nineteenth Birthday

There was a number of things I had to do on the special day called today.

I would wake up in the morning and check the weather. As if a tale were beginning, I would turn the curtains over and look outside the window.

The radiant daylight shone on my eyes. Today was sunny. Knowing that made me happy. That I had woken up enveloped in sunshine. That I didn’t have to worry about my letter getting drenched in rain. It was almost as if the truth of these facts was blessing the day.

——I’m happy.

Very happy.

I didn’t usually say this, but I felt like saying it today, so I whispered as I laid back down, “Good morning.”

Husky with wake, my voice echoed through the quiet bedroom. I wandered around in search for someone to have a conversation with from the words “good morning”. However, I couldn’t find anyone to hear them, so they pointlessly vanished somewhere.

If you were just by yourself, words would die as soon as they were born. I knew that as the truth of this world. Like flowers that withered without changing colors, like small birds that couldn’t endure the coldness of midwinter, my words would promptly die. After all, words were tools for people to communicate their intentions. So if there was no other party, they would all but die. That was evident.

There was no one who would reply to me with a “good morning”. There was no one in this house that would do a morning greeting, so if anyone were to say that this much was obvious, it sure was. But in my memories, someone whose voice I had already forgotten would return my words. In a warm and soft voice that was probably how my mother sounded, they would be returned to me.

“Good morning, Ann.”

——Good morning.

“Today is a special day, huh.”

——I know; I’d been counting them with my fingers.

“Your long-awaited birthday.”

With a nod, I stood up.

Today, I was turning nineteen. Twelve years had passed since I had been left all by myself when I was seven years old. I reflected thoroughly upon that reality alone and proudly.

I left my bedroom still wearing a negligee, heading to the spiral staircase. There were portraits hanging in rows from the staircase’s wall.

“My, you’re going outside dressed like this just because you’re at home?”

Decorated with pictures of family members, the wall used to be terrifying for me when I was a child, but it became less so after my mother was added to them. I would go up and down those stairs countless times every day, but the only spot that I would end up directing my gaze to for a few seconds was the portrait of my mother and my childhood self.

If, by any chance, there was strength to the thing called “love”, I thought, if there was a force residing within love, wouldn’t this image start moving one day, since it was the only one I looked at as if I were yearning for something?

I would end up embracing such fantasies.

“I won’t change, no matter how much you stare at me. By the way, doesn’t my complexion look a little bad in this portrait? I should have had more paint put over it.”

Of course, it was just a fabrication.

Having come down the stairs, I went to the front entrance, its door a little worn-out. I should call a repairer. The house was a living being just like me, and since it was already quite old, it was always broken somewhere.

“I also want you to tend to the garden. When was the last time you held a broom?”

As I came outside, I could see this place’s whole scenery. There was nothing but lush grassland and tree-lined roads. The idyllic sight was awfully boring, but above that, it was beautiful, so if you made a frame with your fingers, you would immediately have a scenic picture. In this entire area, there were no other houses in sight. Of course. This territory was under the control of the Magnolias, hence this view belonged to me, the family head.

As long as I didn’t sell or give it away, this landscape would never change. And, same as the previous family heads, I didn’t wish for it to change. Neither did I wish to leave this place. Even if I was all by myself.

“Ann, let’s take a look inside the mailbox.”

I took a look inside the mailbox. Perhaps because it was still early in the morning, there was nothing in it yet.

“It’ll surely be coming soon.”

Today was the day when I, Ann Magnolia, was born. Every year on my birthday, I would get letters from my late mother. Letters from my mother, who by now had become a portrait, would be delivered to me.

“There is no such thing as a letter that needn’t be delivered, Milady.”

To be precise, letters with my mother’s feelings blown into them and ghostwritten by an Auto-Memories Doll would be delivered to me. It was a strange story, but a true one.

“Auto-Memories Doll”. Long had passed ever since this name caused a stir.

The creator was an authority in the field of mechanical dolls, Professor Orlando. His wife, Molly, was a novelist, and all had begun with the posterior loss of her eyesight. He then invented a machine to perform ghostwriting for his beloved wife and named it Auto-Memories Doll. Nowadays, people who worked as ghostwriters were also called Auto-Memories Dolls.

When I was seven, my mother, who was plagued with a serious illness, summoned a beautiful blue-eyed Auto-Memories Doll to our manor. She made her write several letters and hired a postal company to deliver them to me even after her death. She had been secretly planning out a few decades worth of birthday messages for her beloved daughter.

The person who had made this request was an oddball, but the ones who had accepted the job were quite odd themselves. Had they not imagined that someone would abandon it at some point? Had they sealed the contract for such a heavy, troublesome work without any refusal because they were horribly bad at their business, or was it because they were too nice? Having grown into a creditable lady and come to understand the world to a certain extent, I would ponder about such things. Surely, it was because they were nice. Thanks to them, even though I didn’t have a single relative now, at least on my birthday I could recall what being loved by someone felt like.

Just like that, I stood fidgety in front of the mailbox. Closing my eyes, I cleared off the dust on the box of my memories.

——I remember. That she had come around. That she would be over there, quietly writing letters. I remember the figure of that person and of my smiling mother. Surely, until I died...

That few-days’ time had been seared into my mind. Back then, my... Back then, Ann Magnolia’s frizzy hair was still short, and she was selfish and pretended to be taller. She was a helpless child. A very young one. How old she was? Seven years old. An age where one would still long for their mother. Her mother was the center of the world. If her mother died, she wouldn’t even be able to breathe. She was that kind of child. She was aware that her emotions were unstable and that she tended to act a little rashly.

Most people would treat someone like me nicely, and that was it. People who had their eyes on my fortune attempted to get close to me, but once they noticed that I had no intention to let them do so, they never showed their faces to me again.

That person—that person... Violet Evergarden. That Auto-Memories Doll was a bit different from other people, I thought...

Whenever I wondered what was so different about her, I would find myself thinking.

Back then, Ann Magnolia had fallen in love with a mysterious girl who had come around all of a sudden. It was a little girl’s romantic love out of adoration. She both hated and liked the Auto-Memories Doll who had come around out of the blue and stolen her time with her mother.

——What was it that I liked about her?

She was a taciturn and unsociable. A silent porcelain doll. She seemed extremely adult-like. But looking back, she often reacted like a child who knew nothing. Even when I gave her dolls, she didn’t know how to play. Neither did she have any knowledge of how to solve riddles. Even when I made her touch bugs, she never ran away like my mother or our maid. Whenever I invited her to join hands and spin around, we would do it to no end.

“Fufu...”

She was a weird person. Yes, a weird one.

Children would look at adults and measure them by whether they were scary or foolish, would be their allies or enemies, would give them candy or not, and other such things. They would stare very, very fixatedly and judge the grown-ups.

She... that beautiful Auto-Memories Doll... Violet Evergarden was not an adult.

——Yes, she was... how should I put it? She was Violet Evergarden.

Which was why I had snuggled up to her, the same type of person as myself, just like two cats nestling close to each other, I thought.

She was a beautiful child. A beautiful beast. I found her eccentric self to be cool, so I liked her.

Where was she now and what was she doing, I wondered.

I was turning nineteen, but back in the day, she must have been younger than I am now. For her to have prosthetic arms, it wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened to her at the time, when the war had just ended. But surely, there was no doubt that her life had been full of many more ups and downs than the story I had in mind.

Did she not express her emotions enough because she was carrying some sort of wound in her heart? She was such a beautiful person, so she must have won over the heart of some wonderful person by now...

I shook my head left and right. I mustn’t have unjust suspicions of her. I shouldn’t prod into how I was back then – into the Ann Magnolia of back then – and taint it. Even if it was just me with myself, I mustn’t do that. Because all of the joys and sorrows from that time belonged to the old me, who had endured those days. Having become an adult, I shouldn’t have any say over the mental landscape of my old self, as a third party.

Having grown up, I observed my own land, which spread out endlessly. The scent of gently swaying grass and flowers, the chattering of birds, the clouds that moved slowly in the blue sky. It felt like they would be here just like that for a hundred more years.

“It’s not coming, huh. Let’s go eat breakfast.”

Since the postman wasn’t showing up, I had no choice but go back into the manor.

I had been working at home lately. I used to go outside and enjoy the world when I was a student, but I realized that, in the end, I liked being in my house. Maybe this was a Magnolia bloodline thing.

As for my from-home job, I worked with legal counseling. When I was little, I had experienced disputes amongst my own relatives over me and my assets. That was the reason why, if I had to give any.

My mother had left me with a talented legal advisor. A person of outstanding character, who still concerned himself with me even now. As a young child, I excelled at catching insects that I had never seen before, but I didn’t have the means to oppose to the people who wanted to steal this land from me one way or another.

I had started off working at the city’s legal information center, introduced to me by the legal advisor, who had taken me in, and only recently had I become independent. Living in the city had made me realize many things. That there were many people in this world who weren’t protected like me. And that this wasn’t something those people themselves wanted, but things had turned out in such a way due to the environment they were in.

The ascension of the ghostwriting business had a similar background. Children would be made to work like adults, unable to go to school, so when they grew up and had to sign any documents, they couldn’t even write their own names.

People like that, who had been raised in environments where no one helped them, weren’t a rarity. I had heard that the literacy rate was currently rising, but it would still take a long time for this to become something unusual.

Just like with ghostwriting, one could become somebody’s ally through the law. It was especially necessary for children who had been thrown out like me and younglings who were about to enter the world of adults, I believed. Because they could earn completely different futures as a result if they acquired knowledge.

“The law is a weapon,” my legal advisor would say. I agreed with that. My property had been protected by this weapon many times. Some people would say that education was the weapon, but the situations for putting it to use were too limited. Weapons exerted their true value exactly when you had to protect yourself from falling victim to unjust acts or insults.

If possible, I wanted to be someone who could protect others. I wanted to tell people who didn’t know what to do and had become incapable of even walking on their own, “It’s all right; I’ll be your ally”. Because I wanted someone to do that for me back when I was alone.

My reason for choosing law was rooted in this kind of self-righteous way of thinking.

Since I worked from home, I didn’t earn much. To be honest, people would think that being a professional was a pastime for a landowning wealthy lady. I was fine with that.

The people who came to visit me in this remote place were generally in critical situations and had nothing. Those who had something would go to the city. They would go to the city, bow their heads to some famous person, be served a fine brand of tea... and have a graceful conversation while drinking it.

If I could, I wanted to get close to people, just like her. Just like the Auto-Memories Doll who had told me on that day that it was okay to cry. Even if for self-satisfaction.

Speaking of which, I thought as I checked the calendar. Today was my birthday, so I intended to wait for the postman the whole day and hadn’t scheduled any appointments, but a client was coming tomorrow. I should clean up the reception room at least a little.

“Hey, Ann. It is your birthday, so how about going outside with your friends and having a meal with them?”

I had to sweep the floor, take the garbage off the carpet and dust the dirt on the furniture.

“Even just eating something tasty is enough, Ann.”

Right, I should bake some sweets to serve to the costumer tomorrow. It could also be used as celebration for my birthday.

“Ann, aren’t you lonely all by yourself?”

If I was certain, that person had eaten the sweets I baked when we first met with relish. He had a sweet tooth.

As I recalled the figure of that young entrepreneur eating, looking embarrassed and delighted, a smile surfaced naturally. Out of the people that I was currently engaging with, he might be the one whose visit I looked forward to the most. I did think that men were frowny and sullen creatures, but he was adorable.

I rolled up my sleeves with an “all right” and headed to the kitchen.

“Delivery.”

As the front door’s bell rang and the voice of a visitor ensued, I frantically flung away my bowl and whisk and ran. This is what happens when you distractedly make sweets for about an hour. I was covered in flour and looking unbecoming, but there was no helping it.

“Yes, I’m coming.”

I opened the door in high spirits, and standing there was a postman wearing the uniform of the city’s post office, which I was familiar with. I was disappointed enough that even I myself would think it was a bit childish of me. The other didn’t see my facial expression as he requested my signature for the express delivery without looking at me, but I wound up having an impolite attitude.

——It wasn’t the CH Postal Company.

My mother’s birthday messages were being kept by the CH Postal Company, a mail company that had its main office located in Leiden – the capital of Leidenschaftlich, a southernmost military nation. Therefore, if a different company had come, then the mail wasn’t from my mother.

“Thank you very much.”

I had received three packages. One was a table clock from my legal advisor. The others were accessories and a shawl that were trending in the city from my friends.

There were people getting married and having children upon turning nineteen. All of my closest friends had been quick to marry. Both my opinion that secluding themselves in their homes was a waste in this era of professional women and my envy at the fact that they had found themselves a partner in an early stage of their lives coexisted in the depths of my mind.

“You don’t have to hurry; if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to.”

Having lost my mother, with this vast land and this manor of excessively elegant exterior in my possession... I couldn’t think that having a family wouldn’t be a good thing.

——Family... family... family, huh?

Did I want a family? Did I really? Those genuine questions surfaced in my mind first-thing.

Welcoming a family would mean welcoming that person’s life. It was an extremely heavy choice. “In health and sickness,” people would lightheartedly say. I believed there were actually few people who properly understood it.

My friends who had married. The people who walked around the city. Lovers and family members from all over the world – everyone. Did they all truly understand? They only looked on the happy side, so could they endure it when a sad scenario arrived upon them? Wouldn’t they end up thinking that not loving the other person would have been better?

“Human beings are creatures that love others in pursuit of happiness, Ann.”

In my experience, since I had seen off the person who was most important to me, the truth was that I didn’t want to go through it ever again. Being told to do it one more time was too hard. Even twenty years later, painful things would be painful.

I brought my consciousness back to reality.

Colorful ribbons, extravagant wrappings and wonderful gifts. As my social disposition was coming to a slight halt, those people were irreplaceable to me. I had to write thank-you notes right away. For these kinds of things, the faster, the better. Because it conveyed sincerity.

I should go back to my bedroom and look for the stationery and envelopes. They were surely somewhere there.

“Ann.”

——Aah, but was it a pretty stationery?

Maybe I should choose a different one, fitting of these wonderful presents.

“Ann, listen.”

They were surely items that took a while to be picked, so I should respond to the other party’s feelings the same way. There were many things to be watchful of here. I had to do it quick. I had to do it soon.

“Please listen.”

Nobody else was going to do it; I was the one who had to. No matter what, I had to do it. I had to taste joy and sadness all by myself and end it fast. Because I was alone. Hurry. I had to hurry and do it.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t move.

“Ann.”

I was in the middle of making sweets, and writing thank-you notes required some preparation. Above all, I couldn’t calm down until my mother’s letter arrived.

Giving several reasons, I made up several excuses not to move.

“Ann... it’s okay.”

I suddenly felt exhausted. Everything became a bother. Even though hands were covered in flour and I was still wearing an apron, I lay on the couch, rolled into fetal position and scrunched down.

Although I had received such marvelous gifts, the feeling of happiness didn’t last. Even though it was something to be grateful for to the point I could be in a good mood the whole day, the feeling of happiness didn’t last. It didn’t last.

“Ann, it’s okay.”

Today was that kind of day.

“Ann, don’t force yourself; I’m sorry.”

——I’m sorry.

“Sorry...”

——I’m sorry.

“Ann, I’m sorry...”

To me, my birthday was...

“...for leaving you behind when you were so small.”

...not my day. It was my mother’s.

——Mom. Why? Just why? Why, Mom? Why did you die sooner than the mothers of the other kids? What is it that went wrong? Did the fact that I was born itself become a burden to you? If so, then I shouldn’t have been born.

I loved you, Mom. Did you know that? I liked you a whole, whole lot. Tired of hearing this? But you didn’t know it, right? Even if you knew, you probably didn’t understand how much I liked you. I’m sure you had no idea how much.

When I realized it, I had more time seeing you in a grave than otherwise. But you’re everywhere in our house. On the sofa that you often sat on. In the music that you enjoyed. On the bed that still smells like you. In myself, who resembles you more and more with each day.

Mom, Mom, Mom – you keep reminding me of how much I loved you. When I was little, you were the world itself.

Mom. You loved me. I know that. But I loved you too. I was the one who... I was... I was... I was the one who...

Aah, Mom. Mom, there are so many things I want to tell you. But if I can say it, there’s just one thing.

Mom, you died without knowing how much I loved you, right?

I loved you much more than you could’ve imagined. I really, really suffered when you died. Enough that I couldn’t breathe.

People often say that time heals all wounds. But I really hate that saying. Rather than things being solved, we forget about them, don’t we? People’s voices, facial expressions, gestures – we forget these kinds of things. Yet I remember them in unexpected times. Like, “Oh, yeah, Mom used to like this”. “Oh, yeah, Mom used to hate that”. And then I blame myself vehemently for forgetting them. Like, “How could you have forgotten? She was your whole world”. Like, “How could you have forgotten? She was your only family”. The loop of agony has no end.

I adored you, Mom. I loved you. I loved you, so for just as much love as I had for you, it feels like my heart will break. It feels like my heart will break every time my birthday comes around. Feels like it will break. It’s painful and there’s no helping it.

Tears slip down my cheeks as I laid on my side. I was looking forward to today so much that I didn’t know what to do with myself, and yet I wound up crying again this year. I would’ve been great if I could welcome it with a smile.

A birthday was a special day.

It was nothing to the rest of the world, just an ordinary day, but it was a special one for me. Because... Because it was a day when I could feel Mom coming back to me. I looked forward to it so much that I couldn’t help myself, but at the same time, I was also helplessly sad. Because I felt my mother’s absence more than anything. Because the truth that she wasn’t here was thrust onto me.

Destiny spoke to me. Either that or God did. “Hey, your mother’s already dead. How long you gonna be crying? Stand up. If you’re alive, stand up.”

Since the world was so merciless, all I could do was nod at those words and say, “Yes, yes, true.”

By entrusting my body to hecticness, I was able to remain as someone who could stand on her own feet, just like Destiny and God wanted. I normally didn’t feel loneliness. I didn’t cry. After all, twelve years had already passed. It was weird to cry like this on and on forever. It was weird, right? I wasn’t a kid anymore. I shouldn’t cry too much. That would make me a bad girl. A girl wasn’t suitable to be the family head of the Magnolia household. I had to become a person who my mother could be proud of from within that portrait.

Wasn’t that right? I couldn’t prove the worth of my existence by doing anything else.

But on this day when I was aware that my mother loved me, I was no good. No good. I’d turn into a mess. The seven-year-old Ann Magnolia would come back to me. She’d say it all. She’d end up saying it. Always, always, always. She’d say what I was holding back from saying.

“I’m lonely”, that is.

I had as many ways of spending my birthday as I had birthdays. Surely, there were millions of people in the world whose birthday was today. How were all of them spending it? Were they spending it in a fulfilling way? There definitely were also people who lived their lives either not knowing when their birthday was or forgetting about it.

So I wasn’t miserable. Nor was I comparing myself with them. That wasn’t it. Because there were certainly people somewhere around the world who were feeling as lonely as me.

There was another thing that I had learned during the time I worked in the city. That loneliness wasn’t something only I had. Many people would come to the law firm and ask for advice regarding their troubles. Everyone was burdened with problems of their own. And everyone was a bit lonely in some aspect. It wasn’t just me, so I didn’t feel lonely.

That person too, and that one, and that other one. Everybody was sad in one way or another.

“I have to get up.”

I had stopped doing what I would do by accident – stopped throwing myself into a sea of sadness. The sea of sadness in my head was a real nuisance, yet it was also comfortable as it enveloped my body in gentle waves of self-pity. But I shouldn’t go too far. Or else I wouldn’t be able to stand up again. It wasn’t like food and sweets would materialize from my sadness.

I counted the things I had to do. Bake sweets. Clean up. I had a number of torn aprons, which I would remake into rags. And then... And then...

“Madam Magnolia, are you home?”

A real-life happening immediately pulled me out of my reverie. I ran toward the front door, from where the voice had come. As I opened the door with much vigor while making extremely improper heavy-feet noises, I found two visitors.

“Hum?”

One of them was... Aah, I was waiting for you. It was a postman wearing the CH Postal Company uniform. He was holding under his arm a letter and a package with what was most likely the gift that my mother had arranged for today.

“Aah, excuse me. Please go first.”

The other was the customer who had made an appointment reservation for tomorrow. A stray young entrepreneur. His finely tailored clothes were easy to recognize as something not order-made and that he didn’t like but was wearing regardless.

Had he mistaken the appointment day?

“Erm, then...”

The two had bumped onto each other at the front gate and both had some business with me, so they were probably conceding the turn to one another. Having been granted it, the CH Postal Company’s postman stood before me, politely giving me the letter and present with a slightly tensed-up countenance.

“This is the CH Postal Company. I have come to bring your delivery... You might be already tired of hearing this vocal message so many times, but happy birthday this year too, Madam Magnolia.”

That was a postman I had never seen before. It was a different person from last year.

“T-Tired, you say... There’s no way I would ever be.”

Still, the fact he was saying these lines meant that the demands commissioned by my mother were being properly kept and protected by that company. That was it.

“Thank you very much. For every year, truly... truly. Please tell this to your chairman too.”

“Y-Yes! Our president is the kind of person that gets very happy at inputs from the clients, so I’ll make sure to tell him!”

I had never met the president of the CH Postal Company, but for someone so young to be talking about him in such a familiar-sounding way, he had to be a wonderful person.

“I’m taking it.”

I signed the acceptance document. The postman laughed as if relieved. Also relieved, I finally looked seriously at him. He was a very young postman. Perhaps from about the same generation as me. The freckled boy looked even younger when laughing.

“I became in charge of it this year. It’s a big area, so I ended up getting a bit lost... I made you wait a lot, didn’t I?”

“Eh, no, no.”

“But you came running as if you were eagerly waiting for it.”

“Yes.”

Recalling the surprised faces of the two young men the moment I had opened the door, I trembled with shame. I was supposed to behave elegant and beautifully as the head of the Magnolia family. Yet I was covered in flour, my hair was disheveled because I had been lying down and I had showed up with footsteps that sounded like the ones of a large man.

Touching my cheeks, which were most likely growing red, I said, “I apologize for showing you an embarrassing sight... No matter what, I always wind up restless on this day.”

“Absolutely not. I’m the one who is sorry for coming late. I have already perfectly memorized the way, so please treat me well next year too.” The postman bowed with a “well, then” and ran toward a parked motorcycle.

After seeing him off, I directed my gaze at the other visitor that had been waiting for me. He, too, slowly looked my way.

“Hello.”

The morning sunshine had disappeared, a dazzling midday light filling up for it. It seemed that quite some time had passed while I was sulking on the couch. With a season of fresh green colors as the background, he was supposed to be a foreign body for me... and for this world of mine, yet he blended appallingly well into it.

“Hello.” My voice sounded a little shrill. “Isn’t there any flour on my face?” As I said this while rubbing my cheeks with the sleeve of my dress, he took a handkerchief from his jacket and handed it to me.

Not minding me as I stiffened up in shock, he said with an earnest attitude, “There is, right here.”

“Ah, all right.”

“And here too.”

“I’m sorry. I was making sweets...”

Wiping myself with the neatly folded handkerchief, it almost seemed like I had gone back to being a child. It was the second time today that my cheeks were dyed red.

“Well, what is your matter...?”

“Aah, that’s right. I was nearby and... hum, I heard from Mr. Robert, the one who introduced you to me, that it was your birthday today, so... though it’s presumptuous of me, I was thinking about celebrating it...”

Robert was the law advisor who had been protecting me since my childhood. Now that he had mentioned it, I remembered that he was introduced to me by Robert. The budget wasn’t compatible with the case, so it had been passed over to me.

——“Nearby”?

Finding a strange point in a part of his story, I said timidly, “This whole area... is my land... You had business near here?”

Silence.

“You’re also seeing Mr. Robert even though you’re working with me...?”

He raised a hand my way as if to ask me to wait and averted his face, looking embarrassed. Had I said anything bad?

“I take it back.”

“All right.”

“I lied... I wanted, hum, to spend time with you somehow...”

“Haah...”

Perhaps having become unable to look at me in the eyes, he kept his face turned away and continued speaking to the direction of the day after tomorrow, “Mr. Robert is a teatime friend from a café that I already frequented... He introduced you to me as a favor... And I heard from him the other day that today was your birthday. Also, I did not just happen to come nearby. It’s impossible to come here without a car or carriage. I do not have much money, so I ended up walking the way here. But it was no coincidence; I came here because I had an objective.”

As I asked, “What’s the objective”, he turned over the palm that had been telling me to wait and showed it to me. That “it’s you”.

I was perplexed. This kind of thing hadn’t happened in my life very often. When it did, it was usually people aiming for my fortune, so I vaguely wondered if he was the same as them.

“Want to come in? If it’s just drinking tea together, then...”

In any case, as the head of the Magnolia family, I had to entertain the guest. After this thought worked its way to me, an alarm sounded in my head that he might deem this as an invitation. That wasn’t my intention, so what should I do if he believed it was?

——What’s up with me? I don’t know if I’m happy or scared.

Aah, my heartbeats were so loud. My cheeks were so hot it felt like they were burning.

——Anyway, I have to say something.

“Hum.”

As I hesitated to speak, he shook his head. “Ah, no. I will have to come again tomorrow, so I’m going home. I have already accomplished my objective.”

“Is that so?” I was a tad out of tune. A little – very relieved.

I observed him while he didn’t try to look at me even a bit. His hands were trembling. Even though he gave off an easygoing impression, he was the type of person who couldn’t hide what was inside.

“I really just came here because I wanted to wish you happy birthday. Just before coming, I hesitated a lot on whether to go today or not... I also don’t have... any presents worthy of a lady like you, so I wanted to at least say these words.”

That sentence surprised my already stunned self even more. “At least these words”, he said. Were there any words that could make his goodwill more obvious?

“I’m sorry. I should have at least arranged something for you, right? Really, a broke man like me showing up out of nowhere... I’m sorry...”

“No, I don’t want material things that much... I prefer this feeling of... wanting to celebrate because it’s my birthday... much more...”

The words cut off midway. What happened to me? Right now, pain and joy were squeezing my chest tightly. It was suffocating.

The easily perceivable love of this person in front of me, as well as his kindness, his sincerity and all these other soft and warm things were appearing in the lonely parts of me and causing me to feel dizzy.

“Ann, can you hear me?”

I had to regain my sanity; I would surely be sober again tomorrow. I shouldn’t open my heart so easily now.

“Ann, please, listen.”

Because the world was cruel. Even if I fell in love with him, sad things were bound to happen.

“Okay? If you’re listening...”

It might be a calculated love; he could just be pretending and was actually a horrible person.

No, I had to wonder about that. It was indeed true that he came the way here on foot. After all, his shoes were dirty with mud. There was grass sticking to it as if he gone through an animal trail.

“If you’re listening, grab onto it.”

Aah, Mom. From now on, I would surely keep questioning you over and over during times like these. Asking you questions in my mind. “Mom, is this correct? Is this the right path,” I would ask. Because you were the only one who had given me love without second intentions. So please, give me an answer.

“Believe in yourself, Ann. Don’t be afraid of love.”

I was sure that the vision of my mother had whispered this to me.

I reached out with my hand. I reached out and grabbed the hem of his jacket.

“I’m going to bake sweets now. Today is my birthday, but I don’t have any plans, so if you’d like, why don’t we eat the baked sweets together outside? I don’t need anything. If you’re going to give me something, then I want just a bit of time for us to celebrate my birthday together,” I told him.

“Thanks.” He was not unkind to my wheat flour-covered hand, grasping it while his face went bright red. “That’d be great,” he said three or so times. The phrase “I like sweet foods” was probably said five times.

I... I found it so funny that I laughed.

That day was a special one for me, but to the rest of the world, this was not the case. But I put in a little effort. I tried making it special on my own. From this point onward, I would definitely keep doing that. I would. I was all alone in this manor. But I was the most special girl in the world to a certain person. It was okay to indulge myself at least on my birthday. I thought this once again reading my mother’s letter later.

Ann, congratulations on your nineteenth birthday. I can’t imagine how you’re doing at nineteen years of age. I really wonder how you’re doing. Are you well? Aren’t you going hungry? I wonder if you became a wonderful lady. Aah, I want to see it. I truly wanted to see it. You have no idea how much I love you, do you? You see, Mom loves the nineteen-year-old you. I’ll love you even as you turn a hundred years old. I can’t tell you face-to-face, so I’m properly writing it here. I love you. No matter what anyone says, I love you. You have the right to be loved. My Ann, be free. My Ann, laugh with joy. My Ann, be happy. My Ann. Don’t be afraid of love.

—From Mom

“There’s no such thing as a letter that needn’t be delivered, Milady.”

#violet evergarden #veedit #fyeahvioletevergarden #kyoani #kyoto animation #ann magnolia #clara magnolia #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #novel #my translation #violet evergarden booklet

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evakuality · 3 years

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Mia, episode five

1. One thing Druck is super good at is these aesthetic shots. This whole opening bit reminds me of the scene with Amira when she’s praying in her room. Lots of beautiful shots of the room, curtains and stuff, which are just super pretty with a few hints of colour. I dunno, this is just an aesthetic I like and I appreciate that Druck caters to me. Mia is so cute, too! Like both the way she looks and also how kind she is. She still doesn’t really like Alex a lot (though you could see in that montage from the previous night that she’s warming up to him) but she still feels like she should leave things looking nice. These little post-it notes are sort of cute too, and you can see that she thinks they’re sweet. I don’t like this Bjorn though.

2. Interesting that we get a clip specifically one week later. I have no idea how that must have felt while this was live, and I’m really glad that I didn’t have to live through these long gaps in any of the things I did watch in real time. This one was reasonably low key though, so maybe the wait wasn’t as agonising. If you didn’t know who Bjorn is (I’m assuming the Niko character) then nothing in the last couple of clips would have felt all that alarming. But Mia’s so flirty here - that one conversation at his house must have really charmed her. Pity we didn’t really get to hear a lot of it because he still hasn’t charmed me!! And actually that ‘show a montage of how things are going while a song and/or other conversation plays overtop’ is a huge thing Druck does, I think. I feel like in some cases (Matteo and David after their first pool kiss moment, for example, or Hanna and Jonas breaking up) work quite well. But here, I think we needed to hear more of Alex to actually believe that Mia would be this flirty with him. For me, this is too big a turnaround from her very cold manner with him at the piano and an actual proper look at that conversation might have helped. But also, I am super biased because William and so maybe a more reasonable person might like it okay. This bit with Linn is weird. Genuinely creepy, and I’m not sure why they’re setting her up to feel like this. Maybe some sort of hint of the creepiness to come with Bjorn (I’m assuming it’s coming, anyway).

3. I don’t get this bit with all the pictures at the school. I assume it will become obvious later but I’m not sure what exactly they were trying to do with this. You’d think they run the risk of having the whole Abi chaker clan thing shut down - if this happened in my school there’d be so much trouble. A groups of kids once put post-its all over one teacher’s room and they got in SO much trouble for it, and that wasn’t obscene like this is. This thing here seems so targeted at the Abi thing, using their plan specifically, that it feels like someone outside the group wants them not to be allowed to run their theme. Or someone in the group who wants a different motto maybe. I don’t know, but it feels very mean and very specifically directed at this group of people.

4. Hmmm, I’m with Leonie on this one. I’d be giving Carlos the super evil stare too. It may be ‘funny’ to some of these people, but given that there are younger kids at this school (I assume, right? They still have classes running for the smaller ones at the end of Matteo’s season, allowing their prank to go ahead) this is sure to go down really badly with the school itself. I’m rolling my eyes at the ones who are outraged that the school is considering reporting it - what did they expect? Also, surely they can figure out who was doing it - people were literally throwing handfuls of the pictures over the stairs. Surely they could work out who it is. It’s pretty clear that Alex still thinks this is funny and I’m losing patience with him. Every time it seems like maybe he’s getting less gross he goes and acts like this again. Bleh. I’m not often rooting for Leonie and feeling for her, but wow today I really am. This is shitty and she has a right to be angry.

5. Ew, Alex, why are you stalking Mia again? She’s made it pretty clear she’s not happy with you. Turning up out of the blue like a creep isn’t a good way to go about winning her over again. His ‘we were drunk, what can you do?’ is so... stupid??? They’ve lost money from this, the school is really angry, they could easily have some pretty bad consequences and he’s all ‘meh, it was a drunken prank’? I know money isn’t an issue for him, but there are issues here beyond the money. I’m also kind of annoyed that everyone keeps suggesting she’s upset because she’s jealous. I’ll be really annoyed if the show carries on this way - this isn’t just a silly little prank, and people have every right to be angry and annoyed. Diminishing it to jealousy isn’t cool. Is Leonie also jealous? The people who are angry and upset they’re being blamed and their money has been taken?

6. I do love scenes where the whole girl squad is together. They make me happy and I miss seeing them together so much. But OMG, Alex is blackmailing Mia again???? I mean I guess it worked the first time so why wouldn’t he? But this is seriously shitty behaviour. Honestly, in clip one I was mildly starting to warm to him with the post-its and all, but he’s managed to speed run right back into ‘asshole’ category. This was the problem in the og as well - William was such an asshole, that in order to make him likeable, we had to see a much more genuinely villainous character. Alex is still super dislikeable and so we need someone ‘worse’ to make him look palatable, which I assume is coming. We’re halfway through - we should like him by now. I dunno. Maybe some people do? But he still has done nothing to make me think he’s nice or someone who Mia might be attracted to.

7. Oh a long Friday clip? Almost half the episode? I guess it’s going to be a rough one for Mia then. More reflections again - her whole face in the mirror now, but it’s surrounded by graffiti. I’m always fascinated by the way mirrors and reflections work, and it’s fun to see Mia slightly obscured in her mirrors even now. It’s not as disjointed as it was at the start but it’s not a fully clear reflection either. I may not like the way Noora/Mia’s story goes but I do like some of these things which show the progress.

8. I feel kind of sorry for Jonas, because that break up wasn’t his choice. But seriously, he seems to be blaming this on Hanna a bit and like ????? He chose to make her feel small and unworthy through her whole season. She’s allowed to try to figure herself out outside of him and his wants and needs. Eh, I know he’s hurting and all, but that’s actually his issue and he shouldn’t be pushing it on her.

9. This scene with Mia and Alex bothers me. He still seems to have no idea why she might find his actions (selfish and self-serving and filled with blackmail) offputting. ‘I fixed it, so we should totally be together now’ is such an immature and childish take on this. These types of guys need to grow up and learn that they can’t just buy and/or coerce their way into whatever they want. I like the way they decide to have Kiki walk past just as Mia has to choose whether to say she doesn’t want Alex or not. It adds a poignancy to it and Mia obviously chooses to stick by her friends. I do wish it felt more conflicting, like if Alex genuinely had changed or had shown he has depth or something it would be a bigger ‘wow she’s rejecting him for her friend’ but instead he’s still such an unpleasant character that I don’t care.

10. I’m not sure why Mia does the brushing off of the makeup - I feel like it made more sense when Noora did it (I mean I watched it once a very long time ago so who knows, but my memory is that it was her way of trying to reject being ‘pretty’ and having guys liking her because it was messing her up). With Mia, I don’t understand. Someone help me out?

11. I still don’t get what Mia sees in Alex. Again, I know I have a really big bias against him because of William and I know it was always going to be tough for him to be someone I care about. But even so, this feels like a huge whiplash when she says of course she likes him. I’d get it if we’d seen any of his development, but every time he took a mini step forward he shoved himself right back into dislikeable territory. Once again, I mourn the actual conversation between Mia and Alex. This all feels far too fast, and the fact that this is suggesting his blackmail is all good is very worrying. All the post-it notes in the world can’t make me think he’s nice enough to want to kiss.

Overall, I didn’t really like this one. I feel like the pacing is still off; I don’t believe the speed at which Mia has fallen for him and honestly it hasn’t been very long since Kiki was with Alex and had her heart broken. The fact that Mia even saw her and told him she doesn’t like him only to turn around immediately and change her mind is strange to me. Mia has always come across as a caring person who tries to do the right thing and help out her friends. That she has apparently no qualms at this point is difficult for me. They’re acting the hell out of this, but I can’t buy it. Unfortunately. Sadly, because this is based on a very flawed original, I don’t think it’s going to make me enjoy these two. There are things that I’m interested in seeing as we go forward but most of those have zero to do with Alex.

#druck #mia - episode 5 #didn't like this one #update on feelings about Alex - still don't like him #honestly I don't see why Mia goes after him #none of this makes sense to me

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fly-me-to-neptune · 3 years

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A new home (1: Arrival of the birds)

―Just throw me. I can break it.

Three seconds later, a loud crash shatters the monotony of the murmuring noise of the city. The apartment is now filled with broken glass and the smell of burnt wood. Aquamarine prepares to enter through the smoking hole in the window.

―Be careful, the shards are very sharp ―advises her partner from inside the building.

She raises her eyebrows. But she shouldn’t be surprised, even less so flattered. After all, the gem with whom she's been fusing, researching human culture, and plotting revenge for the past few months is a ruby, therefore, protective behaviour is to be expected.

―Evidently ―she replies, flying delicately inside.

It’s very spacious, like all the other human residences she’s seen. It’s always quite perplexing to her. “Why is nothing adjusted to their size? Do they dislike having the ceiling close to their heads? Do they usually stretch their arms when walking through a hallway?” she usually wonders. The beryl still can’t fathom the thought of such a big area being a strictly private space. Back in homeworld, only high class gems such as herself would get anything more than a hole in the wall to rest in.

Ruby gives her one last glance before turning away from the window. The blue gem does feel grateful for her companion’s attentiveness, so she silently approaches her and begins to remove the shards that have been tangled in her hair. Not noticing this gesture, her comrade takes her first, cautious steps in what is to become their new home...

No.

Their new hideout. "Homeworld will always be our only true home", the blue gem reminds herself.

Hours earlier, they had come to the conclusion that finding a place to stay, a shelter to train and get stronger as Bluebird and to learn more about earthly customs would be the next step in their plan to get revenge. They had flown here and there, looking for the best place to settle, but they had been incapable of agreeing on any... Until they stumbled upon one of the buildings known as cinemas, of which Mydad had talked wonders about when Bluebird watched movies with him.

―I want to see more of those movies― Ruby had said―. Let’s live here.

―It is true that they are very didactic. One of the most useful things that can be found on this planet, I’d say― Aquamarine replied, not wanting to admit how entertaining she found them as well, even though Ruby was aware of it and even shared her liking for those strange recordings―. However, this is clearly a public space. It’s best if we get one of the residence destined areas around it.

And so they had done.

Aquamarine lets a eager smirk form in her face. Once the right place’s chosen and accessed, any gem will instinctively know it’s time to conquer it, and they’re more than ready to kick out any pesky earthlings that dares to oppose them.

She removes the last fragment of glass from Ruby's hair. The faint sound it makes when it falls to the ground causes the red gem to jump a little and give her a questioning look.

―No need to be so tense ―murmurs the beryl, drawing away and crossing her arms instinctively―. This will be easy. A few organics can't compare to us.

―What’s taking them so long, anyway? ―Ruby summons her chisel and takes a few more steps―. We haven't exactly been stealthy. They should be here by now.

―We might have scored an empty residence compartment.

Ruby’s next reply is barely audible:

―That, or we’re about to be ambushed.

They inspect their surroundings once more, not needing to say another word.

That’s when they notice it. Something distinct from the chaotic noise of cars and voices in the streets can be heard coming from beyond the hallway. Different sounds following the same rhythmic pattern, concurring notes of varying pitches and instruments harmonizing into what is perceived as a single melody. It’s music. Bizarre, terrestrial music, but music nonetheless.

“I never thought about it before. Music is just like fusion, isn’t it?” muses the blue gem, before immediately having to shake off the swarming memories of the time spent with Ruby as Bluebird Azurite.

They advance through rooms of floral wall paper and light wooden floor, filled with all sorts of unfamiliar items, until they reach what, structurally speaking, appears to be the main area. A room much wider and nicely illuminated. It’s where the music is coming from.

And there’s a human, right there, humming along.

She’s sitting in a rocking chair that creaks every so often, undisturbed by the smoke dancing in the cold air current that now connects the invasors’ entrance hole with one of the windows in the room, open by a narrow gap. She’s absorbed on a enigmatic task involving colored fibres.

What’s with her lack of reaction? The music isn’t loud enough to have concealed the crash, not even close! The gems share a puzzled look. The smaller one feels a sudden urge to laugh, but she stops herself in time and just makes a quick grimace to try to express her exasperation at the ―oh, so erratic!― behaviour of Earth’s organics. Ruby smiles widely in response, appearing to be repressing a chuckle herself.

Oh.

Aqua still hasn’t gotten used to seeing her smile. It somehow makes it harder for her to breathe, even if only for a couple of seconds. Perhaps it’s because she would never have expected to see such a gesture coming from who, at first, seemed like a tough, stoic, emotionally closed off ruby soldier; even less so, directed at her. Yet, it has been happening quite often.

She looks away. She wants to breathe like normal again, not think about her companion’s entrancing, dark scarlet eye.

Suddenly feeling impatient, she flies across the room to reveal herself to the human. “Let’s get this over with” she thinks, forcing herself to focus, “I’ll just distract her so Ruby can get the upper hand”. With an acceptable amount of grace, she lands on a small table near the window and, as soon as she turns to directly face the organic, she confirms with a sly glance that the red gem has understood her intentions and is already sneaking towards the creature. The beryl smiles.

―Greetings, human.

No reaction. Again.

Despite its seeming convenience, it’s starting to get annoying for the aristocrat. Be it a positive or negative one, she enjoys getting a reaction out of others, and she’s definitely not used to just being ignored like a simple pebble. Not to mention that the way someone reacts always gives her a lot of valuable information about what could be their usual behaviour, their current state of mind and about how she can assure a position of psychological superiority.

What can she conclude out of this lack of response? She’s not sure. And she doesn’t like not being certain about where she stands in. She detests it.

But she’s not alone against the strange creature. Ruby jumps to the organic’s seat, grabbing one of the wooden bars of its structure to secure a high position and, efficiently as always, points her chisel to her neck. The chair rocks and creaks violently, as if complaining about the roughness of the gem soldier.

Confident in that she isn’t gonna be tuned out this time, the blue gem clears her throat and announces:

―I think you’d be interested in knowing that, from now on, we are taking possession of your cute little residence hole.

―It’s a pretty big one though ―The red gem murmurs, impressed by Aquamarine’s assertion. Tsk, tsk. That’s not the point, Ruby! The point is to make the unresponsive human feel insignificant and intimidated... which seems to still not be working, in any case.

A few awkward seconds pass by.

―I was under the impression human beings were territorial.

―Yeah. This is weird. Besides, she’s not screaming―. Ruby squints as she looks the organic up and down.― And they always scream.

The two gems wait a couple minutes, in which only the music is heard. But the strange creature is really not reacting to them, she just keeps trying to imitate the melody with her own feeble voice as her hands tangle the colored fibers.

Aquamarine finally loses interest. She decides to hover around and examine the objects that catch her eye.

It doesn't take her long to get to the record player.

―Finally. I was getting sick of that noise ―her fusion partner celebrates when Aqua removes the disc to inspect its material.

―What a waste of resources. Look! This barely contains a few minutes of melody,― she explains, running a finger over the markings of the record’s surface―. Why not just use a living human for auditive diversions? They would surely have room for more variety.

Ruby shrugs, not too interested. She continues to grip her chisel, staring menacingly at the organic, who still hasn’t stopped humming despite the interruption of the record’s music.

―Well, y’know. Humans don’t do that. Organics don’t devote themselves to a purpose. ―The frown on Ruby’s face deepens as a gust of wind shakes the curtains and brings in the distant laughter of children―. They just wander around aimlessly.

―Well, if they usually sing this poorly, I suppose that’s for the best ―she giggles―. I’m not made for singing, but I bet I could do it a thousand times better.

At last, she’s caught Ruby’s full attention. She’s looking at her with curiosity shining in her eye. Not that that’s a good thing. She should continue keeping watch of the organic while Aquamarine explores around. There’s no reason for Aqua to sing the earthly melody that’s got stuck on the back of her mind, no reason to try to impress an already agreeable comrade. Right?

And so, the blue gem averts her gaze yet again and both of them fall back into their roles.

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leporellian · 4 years

Text

how i would rewrite warrior cats: into the wild

rewriting the entire series is a big Thing in the warrior cats fandom, and i don’t have the time to do that. however i have been having Ideas about what i would do if i rewrote the books, and the changes are... drastic, to say the least, so i figured i would write them down in a bullet-point style List Thing to see what happens.

- we open on henry, an old wise sage-type kittypet, telling two kittypet kits- rusty and smudge- about the forest cats and their legends, primarily that of how the clans were born

- there were always little groups of cats in the forest, and they were originally very hostile- except for a lush spot full of prey, herbs, just about anything needed for survival. this spot has had many names and is referred to by a different name for each clan but universally, it’s called fourtrees, because there are four grand oaks that guard the area. this spot was something of a truce area where all the groups could get along

- however tension slowly boiled throughout the forest until there was a massive war at fourtrees. lots of cats dead and even more wounded. their spirits joined together to form starclan, who told the cats to unite or die- and as punishment for breaking the fourtrees truce, they set the whole thing ablaze. it’s no longer the survival spot it was

- however, the spirits say, the four oaks will grow from their charred remains again, as will the rest of the area. everything will be as it once was in time. starclan themselves cannot last, and must be reborn every 600 moons (or some other large number) from the midst of celestial battle. however, every time this happens, the spirits say, the coming of the ‘end of the stars’ will always and only be heralded by a heroic cat in a flame-orange coat, as a nod to the fire that started the clans to begin with. so it’s kind of like an avatar thing

- anyway 6 moons later there’s a battle at sunningrocks that kills redtail and oakheart. bluestar and spottedleaf, while discussing who will replace redtail, see a comet across the sky

- every falling star means a warrior has faded in starclan, and it means they are to be reborn- and something wonderful is on the cusp of beginning, says spottedleaf. spottedleaf also notes that according to the calendar system kept by the medicine cats the ‘fire alone’ cat should have arrived about 6 months ago, so everyone’s worried about what’s going on w/ that, Where Are They. she does note however that a lot of cats think the calendar had a miscalculation at some point and that the ‘fire alone’ cat is shadowclan’s new leader

- anyway rusty, the kittypet, decides to enter the forest. the twoleg nests here are Not A Good Place for cats to live, bc there’s constant fighting between the kittypets and everyone has their own boundaries and it’s very chaotic. there is a group that tries to monitor it called the blood brothers, but they’re usually in the city so their guidance isn’t often There. so both rusty and smudge want to Get Out and join the clans

- like in the original books he meets graypaw, who’s always interested in outsiders, and then bluestar, lionheart, and tigerclaw. lionheart is graypaw’s mentor, bluestar is thunderclan’s leader, and tigerclaw is bluestar’s nephew who is kindly yet determined, and has become deputy after redtail’s demise. again like in the originals he’s accepted into thunderclan fast

- smudge feels Betrayed. for some reason the writing takes special note of the glimmer in his striped collar- it’s all kind of colors, purple, red, blue, yellow. it’s very distinctive...

- next morning, lionheart and tigerclaw lead rusty to the thunderclan camp. all is well and good until longpaw and sandpaw roll up

- longpaw and sandpaw are twins and look exactly alike. they’re also the children of redtail and are both very competitive with everyone and each other (although they are very close) because they want to be Like Their Dad. both are taking redtail’s death hard

- longpaw is like ‘i wanna beat him up’ and given these are two 10 year olds basically everyone’s like ‘well rusty can fight too so Bet.’ it’s an even fight, longpaw gets his ear torn and rusty gets his collar ripped off

- this fight proves rusty is capable of being in thunderclan, and he’s renamed firepaw, which is a nod to the ‘fire alone’ thing as a ‘hey isn’t it funny he came right after the clock lined up for a fire-cloaked savior? strange lol’

- anyway firepaw is introduced to some Other Characters besides everyone i’ve mentioned thus far: - ravenpaw, medicine cat apprentice. he was a loner kit found abandoned on the territory and he’s constantly nervous and jittery. he’s also kind of clingy and a tad annoying because he’s constantly worried of being abandoned again, but he Is endearing - graypaw and darkpaw, twins similar to longpaw and sandpaw (although unlike them they have an ‘opposite twins’ kinda thing). both are the sons of willowpelt and a shadowclan tom, but both deal with it differently: graypaw is a dreamer who constantly is interested in cats from outside thunderclan ‘like him’, and darkpaw wants to try and overcompensate for it by being nothing but loyal- especially to his mentor, tigerclaw, who’s a father figure to him. dark isn’t mean but he is very sardonic and sarcastic, and it’s also made increasingly obvious that he Knows Something and is very nervous about it. weird - (yes, longpaw and sandpaw are annoyed that they’re the only ‘fully clan’ cats in this batch of apprentices.) - spottedleaf, thunderclan medicine cat. kind of a ditzy aunt type, it’s joked that she acts like a stoner bc she’s inhaling all the Herb Scents all day. fully enables all of the kids to do Dumb Things - the elders, who dislike all these new apprentices bc besides long and sand none of them are fully clan-blooded. the most vocal about this is thistleclaw, an elder always trying to start shit, and tigerclaw’s father (altho tiger is embarrassed by thistle’s outbursts). - and finally, cinderkit, who always tags along w/ the apprentices although she isn’t supposed to. she is however very smart and the apprentices don’t mind her tagging along. she’s made an apprentice like 1/2 way through here

- anyway at the gathering windclan is MISSING and NOBODY seems to know what is going on, but both riverclan and shadowclan are acting shady about it.

- also brokenstar, The New ShadowClan Leader, seems like a nice guy, a Poster Boy type. his fur is bright orange so everyone’s like, ‘yea he’s the fire that’ll herald feline gottdammerung’ but nobody wants to THINK about feline gottdammerung yet because like, That’s An Upsetting Thought! it’s also noted that he’s way young for a leader

- anyway the apprentices (and cinderkit) are like. ‘we gotta know what's happening and why windclan vanished’ and everyone is involved (although sand and long keep their distance). it’s a very ‘up at midnight at a slumber party’ kind of aesthetic. everyone in shadow and river also has a motive, and at points there’s even evidence that something caused windclan to die out. lots of red herrings

- eventually yellowfang comes into the picture like she does in canon and they figure out shadowclan drove windclan out and that windclan is Alive and Out There somewhere. the evidence is enough that spottedleaf and tigerclaw (who's like the Cool Resident Dad) agree about it and so a spy patrol is sent to sneak in on shadowclan

- anyway everyone discovers how fucked up shadowclan is behind the curtain (what with the elder abuse and child warfare) and is like ‘holy shit we gotta stop these guys’ so there’s a big fight like in the original book and brokenstar is dethroned like he is in canon and brought to thunderclan

- thunderclan saves the day, yellowfang joins spottedleaf in the med cat den, and the apprentices all get names (save ravenpaw who’s a med cat apprentice)- firepaw is fireheart, graypaw is graystripe, darkpaw is darkstripe, longpaw is longtail (in honor of redtail), and sandpaw is sandstorm. it’s noted darkstripe looks super uncomfortable when tigerclaw is mentioned to be deputy. long and sand have a humorous argument abt their names and who got the Cooler One

- however everyone’s like ‘ok so brokenstar wasn’t the Fire Savior so who IS’ and fire is dismissed out of hand bc he’s a kittypet and all the past fire saviors was clanborn. ravenpaw however tells fireheart in private that he believes fireheart is the Fire Alone, and that Shit Is About To Go The Fuck Down

- meanwhile, darkstripe asks if he can see fireheart alone, and fireheart obliges. darkstripe sits down and, very quietly, says ‘i have to tell you about what happened to redtail.’

- and it ends there lol that’s book one.

#warrior cats #warrior cats rewrite #rambles

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fireflaked · 3 years

Text

Even More ATLA Fic Recs!

if she seems as lonely as me by @jade-of-mourning : “Where’s your brother?” It’s the first sign of expression Iroh’s seen on her face — a flash skipping across impassive brown eyes, twined fingers twitching ever so slightly, before they go as still as the curtains in Lu Ten’s uncombed room. “Did they not tell you? He’s dead,” Azula says. or: azula is fourteen when she becomes an only child, leaving her in the unasked-for aftereffects of zuko’s calculated suicide.

if you want to feel pain this one will fuck you up. TW for suicide, child abuse, and self-harm. This is quite dark and messed up, and i will be thinking about it for the next 3-5 business days. I may have cried while reading it. the gaang adopts azula but it’s obviously more complicated than that.

blade of silver, forge of blue by @mikkioftheanbu : “Blessed Spirit, we thank you for the gift of this child’s life. We are forever in your debt.” The whole village is kneeling now, even the tiniest toddlers flopped down on their stomachs doing their best approximation of a bow. “Please, won’t you give us a name to call you? We would like to properly express our gratitude. ”Oh. Well shit. (Where Zuko saves a little Earth Kingdom girl from drowning, the villagers think he's a Spirit, build him a shrine, and long story short, a fake story about the Blue Spirit who dances with dragons suddenly becomes very real.)

in which zuko literally becomes the blue spirit.

smoke & mirrors by @seraluci : Katara doesn’t know exactly what will come of her vigilante adventures with a masked counterpart in Ba Sing Se, but what she does know is that there’s something magnetic about him; and something that’s almost comfortingly familiar. Even if the mysterious Blue Spirit, enemy of the Fire Nation, doesn’t speak or show his face. Blutara AU.

katara learns swordfighting from the blue spirit. 10/10 would recommend

love & war: Katara has escaped her imprisonment in the Fire Nation. Prince Zuko has defected. Now, they must navigate their muddled relationship while traveling through treacherous enemy territory, and they must find Katara's friends once more if the Fire Lord is to be defeated once and for all. Sequel to Smoke & Mirrors.

this fic lives rent free in my head and it won’t leave. every update i need a few days to recover from it.

your hands protect the flames (from the wild winds around you) by @bluespiriting : He can’t stop it. Aang sees it happening, but there’s nothing he can do. He hadn’t even expected Zuko to be there, though maybe he should have, because Fire Lord Ozai is his father and he would want to keep his son safe during the eclipse - if they were anything like family should be. But they aren’t, and it's not him that Ozai’s lightning strikes. It's Zuko.(aka, zuko joins the gaang during the eclipse)

if you like zuko angst then oh boy is this the fic for you.

#these are the main ones i've been reading recently #atla fic recs #fic recs

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bonesofapoet · 4 years

Text

Aphrodite’s Kiss

[matt murdock x you]

author’s note: back on my vigilante bullshit for the foreseeable future, I guess!! one of those ‘oh no, my significant other is daredevil and now we get to Work That Out’ things that everyone is trash for. blood/injury mention, explicit language

word count: 1362

ao3: here

It was a warm day in June.

{thursday, 11:12 am. from: Karen Page

Good morning! I thought we could grab lunch at that corner diner we always go to? Haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, just want to check in.}

The sun was shining with reckless abandon, it spared absolutely no one from it’s merciless rays of ultraviolet fire. There was a shimmer that hovered above the cement if you looked close enough, looked hard enough, or just simply spaced out with your eyes staring into the grayscale void.

{thursday, 2:47 pm. from: Karen Page

Fine. I’m coming over.}

Your only saving grace was a cool breeze that blew through the wide open windows of your apartment, curtains whipping and snapping during the sudden, aggressive gusts of wind. It almost made you forget the sun was scorching and relentless, this ebb and flow of balance.

It was your excuse, nonetheless. Why you hadn’t left your apartment in two days. Or answered your messages. Or acknowledged that your phone existed in any manor, really.

You had finished a book though, cover to cover. A mediocre three star piece of prose that left you feeling worse than you had when you started it, which, in hindsight, was a spectacular accomplishment in and of itself. Maybe you should have given it four stars instead. The book in question had just found a home on your bookshelf when a knock at your front door stopped you mid-reach, heartbeat picking up speed each second faster than the one before.

For fuck’s sake.

“Because of the heat,” said Karen Page, shoulder propped against your creaking door frame. Her tone was accusing, expression disbelieving with a twinkle in her eye that screamed she knew just what kind of shit you were full of. The ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “Right.”

A sigh escaped from deep within your chest, and you invited her in. Both of you chose to ignore the comfort food of the day spread upon your coffee table mingling with dirty dishes – and, honestly, they weren’t even all real dishes – and most definitely pretended not to notice the take out containers you haven’t gotten around to throwing away.

At least you were eating. At least you weren’t watching Pride & Prejudice on repeat to cope.

Not yet, anyway.

“It’s known to make people less active than normal, you know.” you replied, voice carrying on the innocent tone you chose to wield. You knew Karen saw through your cover – she was without a doubt using her incessant journalist tactics on you, but you were committed to run just a little while longer.

It was bittersweet, the avoidance. Easy.

“And less likely to pick up the phone?”

“That involves activity, you see.”

A laugh escaped her, filled the quiet room with the first real breath of life you’ve seen in days. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “You could at least let him know you’re okay, if you won’t speak to anyone else.”

It struck you as odd, why you should let Matt Murdock, of all people, know how you were doing – whatever the hell that meant – when the last time you saw him. . .

That was the thing.

Silence filled the air, took refuge in your home, your lungs, stole your breath and all the ones you planned to take. You looked away from her to an open window, watched people live their lives as they passed by your building. Blissful in their ignorance.

“I’m fine. He should understand if I need time to myself to – whatever this is I’m allowed to do. Not talk to him. Sort through – things.”

“To sulk, you mean,” Karen corrected. Her eyes had lost their glint of suspect, her features had softened, opened, relaxed.

You huffed a breath. Refused to lie to her.

“He left me, Karen.” you made a vague gesture to the world beyond your windows, your living room, the old t-shirt you lived in when you needed something familiar and kind close to you. “Am I supposed to be doing anything else?”

Broken fragments whispered behind your eyes when you closed them, even just to blink. That night muted in monotones of slate grays, deep navy, midnight black. The cold, damp rain that soaked through your shoes, your clothes, pierced your skin and clung to bone. Thin, icy fingers wrapped around your heart to squeeze, squeeze, squeeze as Matt Murdock – no, Daredevil – stood in front of you, bloody and dripping and wearing fucking devil horns and crimson, armored leather -

She didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree. He’s not okay either, she told you. Just go see him.

So you did.

It was still stifling hot when the moon rose.

The stars whispered to be careful, watch your step. He’s broken glass, they told you, all sharp edges and red stained hands.

The change of scenery hadn’t made it much better, the hallways were still stuffy with oppressive, stagnant air. Humidity still peeled away cream-colored paint, bubbled the cheap carpet and made your clothes cling to your skin like the words he whispered to you when-

The chipped wooden door to his apartment opened before your courage slithered back to nurse your wounded pride.

Be careful, the shadows whispered. You stepped over the threshold, bathed almost immediately in soft pastel pink and washed out blues. It was the afterglow of comfort you had begun to associate with your nights in Hell’s Kitchen. Before you were, unceremoniously, left in the rain. It made your chest tighten, your fingers fidget with the fabric of your clothes. You could still feel those ice-cold fingers around your heart. Still felt the rain cling to your skin in desperation.

Matt said your name with care, like he was dancing around a wounded, wild animal that had been cornered into a cage.

You turned to face him, both of you cut open and bleeding your hearts all over the floor, voices raw as they slipped and slid in the thickness, the heartache, the fears and confessions that littered the very ground you stood on.

He’s cosmic fury; danger: do not cross, the soft breeze trilled in your ear. It followed the path down, down, down your jaw, down your neck as Matt crept closer and trailed his fingers in it’s wake.

You shivered, the chills all over your body screamed at you to walk away – this was uncharted territory, and you had no more room for surprises.

Matt Murdock, the brilliant lawyer you had fallen for, was, apparently, Daredevil. Had been this whole time. You discovered the hard way. The inconvenient way. The dangerous way. Matt Murdock did not want to ruin you, but that was not his choice to make.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, hands falling away from you. You wondered if he meant it, but everything about him said he was.

“I know,” you answered, voice quiet in the dark. Your fingers trailed their own path along the line of his jaw, his shoulder, held his hand when he, too, shivered under your electric touch.

Neither of you particularly liked where the chips had fallen, crushing both of you under their impossible weight. In that moment, both of you wished for an easier life. A better life. One without constant bloodshed and paranoia and extra precautions for walking down the street. Wished for a future when you didn’t have to memorize contingency plans for if This then That.

But that’s all it could be for now. A wish.

A soft cascade of rain began to soak the city beyond the windows, the soft pattering against glowing windowpanes the soundtrack to a night that felt like home, felt like the beginning of something else. New. Exciting. Questionable.

You hadn’t forgiven him, but you were not going to be pushed away. He agreed in-between hard won kisses that left your lips swollen and your stomach giddy with butterflies that chased away the fear threatening to nestle in your heart.

The stars whispered to be careful, watch your step just before dawn broke; Matt curled warm around you in the mess of sheets and blankets. He’s got the devil in him, sinister and tainted and vile.

Good, you whispered back. I can take him.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #daredevil oneshot #matt murdock oneshot #matt murdock #daredevil #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #kas writes

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

Text

Lamb

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Summary: In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos.

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it.

C/N: 18+ only; mythology AU; implied genocide; physical violence; self harm; bloody bloody blood

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here I am again, and here we go again. Please take the content warnings seriously because I am not a nice girl; and herein, may lie not-nice-girl things.

This is my first foray into world building, and I welcome all feedback, critiques, and comments. :)

Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump and @bexterbex for helping me develop this idea and get it ready for sharing.

***

In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos.

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it.

You ran your fingers over the intricate gold leaf pattern on the book’s cover, remembering your lessons as a child. This Scripture, your grandmother’s most treasured possession, was the only part of your life you’d brought on this crusade. It was the only thing you couldn’t bear to abandon, even in the face of certain death.

You exhausted every avenue before taking on this last of your options. You demanded justice from the law only to be told you should keep your mouth shut. You went straight to the throne, but it shut to your caste, your people too low to deserve even an audience.

Selling every item of value, you had barely scraped up enough for the one-person craft, but it served its purpose. You were here. You landed the shuttle on one of Chandrila's famed rolling hills, overlooking The Demarcation. You exhaled, shallow and nervous, and looked out over the horizon. The pilgrimage to this place, this day, was long and harrowing, but the sacrament itself would be quick.

Your fingers quaked as you shucked everything identifiable about yourself: blue pants your mother bought for your birthday; green shirt that belonged to your brother, found in the rubble of what was your family home; jade hair clip handed down from mother to daughter for generations. None of it would serve you now, and it would only be in the way. Trading the vestiges of civilization for religion, you donned your grandmother’s ample amethyst robe, lacing the silk ties that held it together, and grabbed up the athame she’d bequeathed to you at your initiation.

She enveloped you, your grandmother, and you buried your nose into her sacred garment to inhale the lingering scent. They were your world, lovely and loving, ground to dust beneath the machine of a war none of you pledged to fight. The Resistance descended upon your planet like a plague, and they left a great nothing, a slate wiped forcefully clean in their wake.

It was for them you made this trek, that you abandoned all logic and reason for faith. They raised you to share their doctrine, but it never served a single purpose for you in life. Your grandmother and mother believed everything they’d ever taught you about the Twin Fathers. They wove the fabric of their lives, and yours, around it; and now, you clung to their prayers, your last hope in the face of something horrible and wholly dismissed by the universe.

There was no one to remember them, their faithfulness and devotion, but you.

Fathers, we pray. Bless this our food to the nourishment of our bodies that we may be strong in your service. Bless these our hands that we may share your great instruction with those in need. Bless our hearts that we may find the balance you have so righteously set for us.

Their prayers spilled over your dry lips, the only eulogy they would ever receive, and every holy word strengthened your resolve.

Clutching book and blade in one hand, you punched a series of numbers into the keypad nearest the bay door, extending the ramp. When it finished descending, you issued another command, the tiny keys lighting up with each pressed digit.

“Self-destruct sequence initiated.” The robotic voice vibrated the tiny craft’s walls. “Confirm.”

“Confirmation,” you cast one last look around the shuttle that had been your home for a month, “Bravo Echo 2-4.”

“Countdown 2 minutes.”

Sunlight, warm and inviting, welcomed you as you stepped off the ramp. Squinting into its brilliance, you recalled the way your brother would read to you on lazy afternoons and how your family would picnic on similar grassy knolls. The beeping over your shoulder grew faster with each passing second, and you lifted the cumbersome dress around your knees, wasting no further time jogging down the hill.

You were out on the flat land for just a second before the shuttle exploded into a fiery ball. You watched the blast shoot debris and columns of soot into the perfect sky. In another life, it would have scared you, shying you away from the destruction. Silent, stoic, you tracked plumes of grey smoke and the fall of ashes, comparing it to the devastation you found after the Resistance found your planet.

Days after the attack, you roamed fallen buildings and picked through still warm rubble. You had been too late, too far away. Knowing you could have done nothing to stop the strike was empty consolation.

You could have died with them. You would rather have died with them. Now, all you could do was die for them.

On bare feet, you crossed the flowery field, taking in the array of purples and yellows. You lingered on the blue-green grass, feeling the soft stick of it underfoot, and you basked in the wispy clouds overhead. This was life, teeming with vibrant colors, but it all felt hollow, dampened. You wondered if everyone who came here felt this way, grateful that this beauty would be one of their last memories but unable to fully appreciate what they saw.

Pressing your lips into a determined line, you steeled your will and turned to The Demarcation, The Great Divide.

Grandfather Sky Walker tasked the twins with creating and maintaining The Balance. One would usher life; one would usher death; both harbingers of fate.

It was striking, a sudden upheaval of vitality in deference to darkness. Tendrils of fog mingled with melancholy dusk, and you spent a long moment admiring the space between one and the other. This spot, this one impossible convergence, was balance. It was what every man strived to achieve, and no man could boast.

On the other side of the billowing veil, where you were coaching yourself to go, was The Ren’s territory. People far and wide spun countless tales about the land and its Master. It was a bottomless hole, they said, that would swallow you up steps past the boundary. It was an unending bog, and all who journeyed there were lost. All of its structures were built from the bones of the dead, and The Ren was the vicious king of an unforgiving wasteland.

Your grandmother, however, believed The Ren to be a merciful father, wise and misunderstood. He was the bringer of ends who did not differentiate between rich and poor. No creature was safe from his touch, and that made every creature equal in his eyes.

Whatever that land may be, whatever The Ren may be, there was nothing on the other side of that shroud that could compare to what you’d already endured. It was the way forward, your only way, and you bid yourself to go forth on deliberate steps.

Mirroring the track of your life, a balmy day gave way to a wintry gloom as you moved through the gauzy curtain, passing from one kingdom to another. The living world fell away, replaced by slender black trees that shot up to winking stars and stood adorned with wide, scarlet leaves. A ghostly breeze blew, shaking the leaves to delicately fall and blanket the spongy ground. You trod upon them carefully, uncertain what might lurk beneath the crimson carpet.

You took your time on the winding path, drinking in every otherworldly detail. Light pooled from a clandestine moon, and the very air shimmered under its grace. Midnight-colored blossoms dotted the road, mingling with swaying ferns. The stars shone so bright you could almost hear the twinkle, a delicate song tapped out to echo against the trees. Every inhale was laced with morning mist and rich earth.

The stories were wrong. This was no forlorn place. It was luminous, hallowed. Absent the touch of civilization, this land had bloomed unharmed, untainted.

This world felt more real to you, more easily understood. Colored with variations of shadow, it was peaceful in its ashen palette.

Reaching the altar, you stared, both reverent and curious. How many had come before you to lay their lives down for The Ren? How many had died as a sacrifice? Surely, its ruddy color came from generations of blood spilled in offering.

It was a chalice to which you would soon be adding.

The stone was cold and damp, raising gooseflesh on your nearly naked form. It curved down in the very center, a macabre cradle for all those laid here. A blending of emotion and chill cast your skin in shades of flush and set every digit to trembling. It was as though the thing waited for you impatiently, its very existence demanding an offering.

Your skepticism at your grandmother’s faith dwindled when confronted with an exact duplicate of the altar upon which you’d taken your initiation rites. It was larger, but the ridges were the same. The slab of your childhood did not bear such a florid hue, but the sacrifices it received had been sugar, water, bread.

This shrine’s very construction felt haunted, a cauldron of souls made solid.

Hoisting yourself up onto the behemoth, you arranged your tools in the very center. You set the athame at your right and spread the weighty purple velvet over the shrine, laying the fabric and yourself out as you would for a lover.

Your lips trembled. Your knees knocked together. The cloak barely covered your body, and the little satin bows lent an air of innocence you could hardly claim as truth. You hoped, swallowed a handful of prayers, that The Ren accepted sacrifices as the stories told. Today, confronted with the reality of this place, you believed it more.

Tenderly, longingly, you ran your fingers over the tome once more. You lifted it and pressed a gentle kiss to its cover. It would lie beneath your head during this last of your chores and for however long your body would remain here.

Closing your eyes, you conjured memories of your grandmother bearing witness to so many dead over the years and how you, filled with doubt and agony and hate, had failed to do the same for your family, your friends, your people. It had been too great of a thing, too much sorrow to compact into a single prayer.

The words came easily now, having been swirling and growing in your chest for weeks.

Into thy hands, Great Fathers, do we commend this soul, departed from the body, in payment for the souls still yet to come. We pray that you welcome her, keep her, and enter her into the great Balance so we may again feel the light of her love.

Swallowing your grief, you gripped the wicked blade tight. You had no more tears to cry. You brimmed with an awful energy, this ceaseless anguish bubbling up from your very marrow.

“Dark Father,” you brushed fabric away from your right leg and sliced a deep gash into the supple thigh before you could change your mind. “Hear my prayer.”

You hissed at the burn but smoothed your features into a stolid mask. You would do this for your family and people, who received no warning, no choice to convert or flee. You would make your entreaty to The Ren; or, you would die here and reunite with them. Whatever the outcome, this was your end.

“I commit my body to your hands. As your brother has given it to me, I give it now to you to use as you will. Grant me the grace of your ear that I may plead my case.”

Your breath stuttered, and you fought back the roaring in your ears so you could concentrate and carry on. Fixing your eyes upon the trickle of blood, you watched it turn to a pool and hurried to match it with another slash at your left forearm. Benumbed, you tracked the redness as it crested and spilled in every direction.

The callous cold seeped into your very bones, and you fell back against the altar with a gasp, fingers grasping for the book’s corner. You blinked, heavy lidded, as your face fell to one side, staring into the great forest beyond.

In your delirium, you thought you could see them, smiling and holding each other. Tears you thought you no longer had rushed forth, and you shook. Weakness or acceptance broke open the gate on your heartbreak, releasing a torrent of sobs and screams. There was no one to hear, to care, to chastise you for its futility.

You heard her voice, your grandmother’s tone the same that had been soothing your fears since you could remember, rubbing over you like a comforting balm.

More than yesterday, beloved. Less than tomorrow. Find me in the Balance.

“Nona, I’m coming.”

Your fit rode your wounds and bled away to faint sniffles and glassy eyes. You stared up at what you felt had to be an eternally night sky and pushed your fingers through the growing sticky puddles.

This was death, and you welcomed it. You would slip away into a dreamless sleep here in such a place as you never knew existed. Fatigued, breathing slow, your face fell to one side, eyes unfocused but still dancing from beauteous flower to leaf to timber.

He was a charcoal smudge, nothing more. His movement was so subtle your addled brain took him for a tree, black clad and too tall to be a man. He stepped through the maze, and what little tenacity you had left drained away.

He came to sit upon the side of the altar where you lay dying, tilting his head to look at you. You stared, bewildered and confronted with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen when you had been expecting The Ren, the great storied monster. He passed his hand over your face, and the sting of your wounds abated. The heaviness of your limbs lessened, and the burden of your body eased.

Feeling and consciousness and awareness flooded back into your senses, and you bolted upright. Understanding dawned, and you gaped at him, struck dumb by every mesmerizing feature. Ebony tresses crowned him brilliantly, and he looked back at you with deep, glittering eyes. His fair skin was sprinkled with twilight constellations, and his lips were full, lush, slightly pink.

This was The Ren.

Troubled by the absence of death, you surveyed your situation, shaking both tense hands into fists. The ritual robe clung to the altar more than it did to you, swirling lurid with your blood. Blood that still flowed, you realized. Wide-eyed and amazed, you studied this unnatural phenomenon. The wounds at your thigh and wrist still wept; they should have killed you, but there was now a sanguine loop wrapping each injury around to feed into itself.

“Why have you called me here?” His voice was gravelly, as though he hadn’t used it in millennia.

“Am I dead?” It was a staggeringly stupid question, but it was the only clear thought in your head as you stared at the vermilion ouroboros around your wrist.

“If you intend to answer every question with a question,” his enormous hand shot out to capture the flesh just above your forearm laceration, “you will be soon.”

He squeezed the wounded limb until you shrieked and tried to tug away. Deciding that he would not let you go until you appeased him, you licked dry lips and worked your mouth into a measure of moisture.

“Why did you come?” Your query shocked even you, and you snapped your mouth shut hard enough to hear the clap of your jaws.

True to his word, The Ren’s hand connected with your throat so fast you couldn’t say for sure he’d moved. In one moment, idiotic inquiries filled your muddled mind; and in the next, you were choking at the end of his arm.

“Your howling,” his fingers tightened at your throat, thumb rubbing into the pulse almost delicately. “The next question will be your last. Why are you here?”

Licking your suddenly too-dry lips, you studied him, wrapping both of your small hands around his wrist. This man, this deity, was walking death, and that he sat here with his hands upon you changed the very foundation of everything you believed to be true.

“I-I came to ask your favor, Dark Father.”

He shoved you away and stood from his perch. Death’s gravity pulled you down again, and you whimpered, reaching for him as though it would prolong the inevitable. Your mouth worked on a plea, but none came.

“You’ve wasted your time. And mine.” He turned away and spat the rest over his shoulder. “Sparing virgins their lives or the lives of their lovers lost its allure long ago.”

Glancing back, he must have seen something, perhaps the abject apology in your face and on your outstretched fingers, because he snatched you from oblivion in a blink. You broke into wretched sobs, each lung-full of air quaking and painful.

“I came here so you’d come for me.” You dug bloodstained fingertips into your eyes to staunch the tears. “And to ask for your help.”

He was ethereal, his presence just a step out of sync with the rest of the universe, and it was difficult to look upon. You turned your face to one side and tried to compose yourself. You were battling the significance of your loss against the staggering truth that The Ren was real and here.

“You come to ask favors but cannot even look upon the beast?” He closed the gap in a blur, and you shrieked, leaning away. “How do you plan to beg if you will not even open your eyes?”

Crowding in aggressively, he leaned over and braced himself with both sturdy hands on either side of your head, an effective cage. His gaze traced over every curve of your face, and you couldn’t move under the oppression of his scrutiny.

“You think you will make demands of me?” His voice changed, dropping to a malicious whisper as he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, tracing it to its origin in your hairline.

He would eat you; you were sure of it. Razor-sharp teeth hid just behind those beautiful lips, and he would tear you to pieces. Bolstering yourself, you drew in a shuddering breath and looked up into the galaxy-filled eyes. You had to say the words. You had to tell him what brought you here, but you weren’t sure you could do it.

“The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.” His suddenly gentle tone belied his impatience and interminable power. “Tell me why you are here; or, I will leave you to die.”

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, losing yourself in his resplendent gaze. It was like staring straight into the sun, and every part of you felt branded by him.

Your reasons for coming here meant little to him, you were certain. You pictured your family again and the horror inflicted on them.

The tension in your body loosened as purpose flowed through your veins once more. Your trembling lips blew out a steadying breath, which seemed to please him. He traced your lower lip with the very end of his thumb, waiting for you to speak.

“Retribution.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #lamb #here we go again

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mahlergeek · 3 years

Text

At the Heart of a Calendar Experiment

Love is neither quantifiable nor finite. Time is both quantifiable and finite.

That’s the problem at the center of my current calendar experiment that has me floating between two houses, a polyamorous nomad who splits time somewhat evenly between my wife and my girlfriend for two months.

There are risks in doing this, not the least of which is how it could impact our children. We don’t want my kids to feel abandoned or neglected by their father, nor do we want to leave the impression that we’re blending families at a most awkward time, right as our children are preparing to leave the teenage shipyard and slide down greased rails into the choppy Bay of Adulthood.

At the conclusion of our grand experiment, we’ll all compare notes and evaluate whether or not it was a success.

How will we measure success? By how much we learn. So far, just a week into the evaluation, it’s looking successful from my perspective.

OPENING UP

I’ve come to realize that the risk of silence about my unconventional relationship outweighs the risk of opening up about it. If someone stumbles upon my reality — say, seeing me holding hands with a woman I’m not married to — I lose control of the narrative. I become the victim of assumption at that point, and it’s entirely possible that I won’t even know that people saw me and are now drawing unsavory conclusions about me. The fictional tales they write in their own heads about my sleazy, shameful lying and cheating could become the dominant story when I’d prefer people know the more mundane truth: I’ve consciously picked an unconventional relationship structure in the most ethical way I know how with the full consent, and occasional prodding from, my wife of 20 years.

And let’s be real. By “unconventional,” I mean something that is extremely common but, for reasons that will likely always remain murky to me, is not considered a social norm. The longer I live, the more I realize monogamy is almost nonexistent. It’s a fantasy, yet that fantasy has become the social expectation for generations of Western people who hook up, swing and cheat while hoisting the monogamous banner.

The most honest people among us, of course, realize and admit that fact of humanity. I prefer calling them honest or observational rather than non-judgmental, although both labels frequently overlap. It’s those honest people who I’m very reluctantly opening up to.

CLOSE FRIENDS

“Are you guys free for dinner? I’m here with my longtime girlfriend, and my wife says you should meet her.”

That’s the out-of-the-blue text I sent my friends who I knew were at the same art festival we were mutually visiting. After a long pause — we figured they needed time to shit themselves, then more time to clean up — we made dinner arrangements at the kind of trendy, upscale restaurant that always serves as stark contrast with my middle-age, awkward, plaid-shirt frumpiness.

They thought I was punking them. I was not. And after three hours of lovely conversation over mind-blowing mushroom cakes, sunchoke pâté and gnocchi, we’d deepened our friendship with the closeness that only brutal honesty can bring.

The next night, we repeated the process over a dinner we prepared ourselves: bruschetta, corn salad, grilled scallops and peach melba trifle. Our guest was my girlfriend’s close friend, who opened up about some current relationship struggles she’s dealing with.

It was beautiful. We’re all human, trying to figure this stuff out. Giving and receiving raw truth — not for validation or approval, merely for connection — feels absolutely wonderful.

The food was a hit, too. Our guest described the dessert as an “orgasm in my mouth.”

EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH

One of the hardest parts of dealing with a somewhat long-distance relationship is the emotional explosion that happens when you say goodbye.

I felt that feeling bomb go off when I was leaving home, saying goodbye to my wife and kids for a week away. The fact that I was leaving wasn’t unusual, as I travel all the time for work and fun solo trips, but this time felt different. Driving away, I experienced a sad longing sensation, the kind of nostalgic melancholy that I only noticed in Brahms’ symphonies after I had some age under my belt.

Before the return trip home, it felt even more intense. It was Stravinsky sadness this time, shocking and maddening. I ugly-cried all alone after saying goodbye to my girlfriend after a blissful week, not because things ahead were so bad, but because things behind were so good.

The emotional high of opening up to a few close friends surely contributed to that, but it’s not the only reason. This roller coaster of intense highs and lows has been a continuous thread in the years since opening our marriage. It comes with the territory, I suppose, of having to say goodbye and hello so frequently when you deeply love more than one person.

Part of my sadness, though, came from a realization: I can’t have what I really want.

My fantasy life involves peace and stability. I dream of a quiet, tiny, neatly kept cottage where I socialize at the Quaint Orchid Growers Society and cook meals from the heirloom vegetables I grew from seed in my garden. My nights are filled with smoky Scotch, burning incense, silky jazz and long, thoughtful, introspective conversations with my brilliant, beautiful, monogamous wife who can’t wait to unleash her sensual side when the curtains close.

That’s the dream.

It’s not possible for that dream to become my reality, though, and not just because it’s ridiculous.

For one thing, I couldn’t ask my wife or my girlfriend to give up their other partners, any more than they could ask me to do the same thing. It’s impossible, at least, if you really love someone. Secondly, even if I had my minimalist/monogamist dream life, I would miss the freedom and excitement that polyamory provides. I’d agonize over the love I’m potentially missing out on, knowing what I know now about how great it can turn out. Even though I’m not looking for someone new to date now — the calendar forbids it, and the monogamist clinging inside me doesn’t really want it — the ever-present possibility of serendipity isn’t something I’ll easily give up.

My emotional side craves something that my cognitive side knows is impossible, but the craving for that fantasy is still very real.

CHANGE, LIKE NATURE

The stability within my fantasy is especially appealing during a stage of life, and a current experiment, where I have to check my smartphone to see where I’ll be laying my head every night.

I’m a creature of routine. I want my Quaint Orchid Growers Society meetings every Wednesday at noon, my Scotch-sipping friends every Friday night at 7, and my head in the same bed, with the same person, every night. We’ll sip chamomile tea by the fire at sunset and share coffee by the garden window at sunrise.

Again, that’s the fantasy, whether it’s my own brain wiring or my conservative religious upbringing at fault for it.

That fantasy is a black-and-white snapshot; my current life is a color IMAX movie. It’s ever-changing, larger and much more vibrant than the small, still life in my dreams.

If there’s a solution to be had, I suspect it will involve learning to appreciate the changes in my life for their own unique beauty. I’ve already got a good allegory for it: Alaskan wilderness.

On our trip to the far north a few weeks ago, one of many things I marveled at was how different all the scenery can look day to day, moment to moment. The light changes. The weather changes. The tide rolls in and out. The wildlife comes and goes.

If I took 10,000 snapshots from the cabin porch, every one of them would be different. There’s a beauty in that, of the constant change, and it’s telling that nothing in nature stands still. The universe itself is growing, pulsing, creating, destroying. We’re part of that.

When relationships change in their infinite ways — growing, pulsing, creating, destroying — it’s not something to be afraid of, which is a default reaction for many of us.

Instead, change is the most natural thing we can do as humans, mirroring the very nature we see all around us. We’re not meant to be static beings. We’re meant to change, just like everything else in existence.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Night

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst.

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Alrighty. So I wrote the next part at last. Our odd couple are still on the run. Also, this chapter will reveal a lot about the time period :)

Please let me know what you think and reblog if you can :D Thank you all again for being amazing and here’s your helping of angst.

You left the train behind. Kept away from the tracks and to the brush as the soldier, or James, led you into the unknown. You were content as long as it was away from Hydra. As long as you were moving. You traveled by night and rested a couple hours only before you kept on.

Food was scant. You kept away from cities and towns. Unseen, perhaps lost. James would leave you to hunt a rabbit or some other meagre creature. Sometimes he returned with a box of oats or a can of stew; sometimes more. You knew it was stolen food but your stomach ached too much to care.

Luka devoured you after each meal and in between. His own hunger was apparent. He cried at times and you worried he would draw unwanted company. James waited while you quieted him, as you let him suck at your sore breasts; almost barren now.

Yet he continued to grow by the day, despite your shortcomings, despite your exhaustion. His little body grew heavier with each step forward. Some days, James carried you until he found a place to rest. He kept watch as you slept, only an hour for himself as you ate and tended to Luka.

Still, he was silent. You didn’t know if it was because his words were still buried deep or because he didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know either. So you carried on into the winter nights, fleeing the unseen pursuers.

You reached the German border at dawn one day. It was weeks since you’d chased the train down the rails. The sun was hidden behind cold clouds and the sky pale with the threat of snow. Luka was wrapped in a thick wool blanket James had found and nestled in the front of your coat. You clung to him to keep both of you warm.

James walked a foot ahead of you as he always did. He left the rifle by the train, not wanting to draw unwanted attention. He kept his hand by the pistol on his hip, your own hung just above your thigh. He emptied the chamber sometimes and showed you how to load it, how to aim it. But shooting air at trees was nothing like firing metal into flesh.

“Where are we going?” You asked at last.

He didn’t answer and kept walking.

“Please, James, I’m tired. Luka’s tired.” You pled as your boots grew heavy on your feet. “If we continue on, I will die.”

He stopped and turned back so quickly you nearly collided. The air puffed from his nostrils into a frigid cloud before him. He stared down at you, his eyes wandered to the little bundle against your chest.

“West,” He said. “We must continue west.”

You frowned as you thought. You were far from the small Russian village where you were born. Far from the facility where your life had been torn from you, but never far enough from Hydra. You couldn’t speak German or English. Even if you could, you knew you couldn’t stay.

“The border…” You began.

“There will be many guards but there is away. I remember…” He paused and looked around the frozen field. “When I was...When Hydra...I remember crossing.” He lowered his head and sighed. He turned his back to you again and fell back into step. “We go west. We’ll find a way across the line.”

You kicked yourself after him, carefully not to catch your toe on the divets in the ground. You rubbed Luka through your coat as he fidgeted. His breaths were even still. He dozed as he did most days.

“And we will rest soon.” He said over his shoulder. “When we find cover.”

It grew harder to avoid the towns and cities. Germany was much smaller than Russia. Your nights were spent walking and the days spent hiding. A week into your trek, James brought you a change of clothes. A pair of jeans, a tee, and a loose sweater. A jacket and boots too. They fit much better. He even found a proper onesie for Luka.

He changed as well. He hid his gun under the faded green sweater that fit a bit too snug at the shoulders. His beard had grown thick and his hair was starting to even out. He gave you a hat to tuck your hair into and you almost looked normal again. Almost.

“I got a car,” He announced as he sorted through his bag. “We can make the border in a couple of days.”

“You stole it?” You asked. He rarely spoke first, if at all.

“Not from someone who can’t afford it.”

“This is Soviet territory, no one can afford it.” You argued.

“Would you rather walk?”

You stayed quiet and tickled Luka’s stomach as he laid on his wool blanket. “No. We need to go as far as we can.”

He neared and looked down at you and Luka. The little boy was more alert these days. He smiled and blinked at the things he saw. He grabbed onto your finger and tried to pull it to his mouth. He was hungry as ever. James lowered himself to sit beside you, not close enough that you touched but enough to feel his warmth.

“He is well?” He asked. You looked to him, his blue eyes sorrowful as he watched the child.

“Healthy, despite everything. Big,” You turned back to Luka. You reached down and lifted him. “You should hold him.”

“What?” James eyes widened as you held Luka out to him. The baby peered up at the man wondrously and reached for him. “No...I don’t want to hurt him.”

“He is strong,” You assured him. “And he’s your son. You hold him.”

You stared at him. His jaw tensed and his nostrils flared as he thought. He swallowed and finally took Luka from you. Stiff at first, he cradled the baby in his right arm and carefully rested him against his chest. Your lips threatened to curve as you watched his little fingers dance in the air.

James’ brow furrowed as he felt the child move against him then slowly, the tension left his face and his long lashes flicked up and down. He peeked over at you, surprise and calmness smoothed his features.

“You can’t hurt him,” You said. “I know you can’t.”

He looked to Luka and brought his other hand up to let him grab it. You felt a knot in our chest as James held his child and you slowly stood. James quickly glanced to you and you waved away his concern.

“I’ll make dinner,” You explained as you moved around the crooked shed. “I found a can of something. No label. It will be a surprise.”

He nodded and returned his attention to Luka. You watched them a moment before you turned away. Usually, you felt so cold, so incomplete without Luka on your chest. Not this time. You felt safe, even in the midst of uncertainty.

Night time. The sky was black; the moon hidden in its silky depths. You waited a week for the lunar beacon to whittle away. James counted the days and his anxiety grew more obvious. Your own twisted your stomach and wrenched your chest. You’d have one chance and failure could mean all your lives.

You knelt in the ditch as James peeked over the top. You could hear the guards, hear the tinker of their guns as they held them at the ready, see the glare of their muzzles beneath the border lights. Luka was quiet, almost frighteningly so. James knelt again and pointed two fingers behind you.

“Away from the outpost, not far, that’s where I crossed.” He pressed his lips together and looked down at Luka. “Through a river. Just beneath a bridge.”

“The rivers are frozen.” You whispered.

“Hopefully.” He walked hunched over past you and waved you after him. “It’s our only hope. There’s too many down there.”

“We could go back for the car.”

“They’d shoot the tires out.” He didn’t wait for you to catch up. “Besides, it doesn’t go much faster than a lame horse.”

You followed him, as you always did. He was more talkative these days but only about your escape. Never about what happened, never about where this would end, just about moving on; keep going, don’t stop, we’re almost there…

You walked for forty minutes, maybe more, and he stopped you just away from a stone bridge. Here it was darker. There were two men with flashlights walking along the figurative iron curtain, guns held low, their steps aimless. Their duty meant staying through the night, nothing more. When the reached the bridge, they would turn back and go about their rounds along the stretch of border.

James watched for a while. There pattern was the same, lackadaisical and repetitive. They were local farmers in soldier’s clothes. A job they took to feed their families, not one they would die for. He nodded and turned back to you in the shadows of the barren trees.

“Ice is thin. We’ll break through. We can keep on the shore until we reach the bridge but then...Keep Luka above your head.” He pushed his shoulders back and spun around.

He reached blindly behind him and his hand closed around your wrist. You mimicked his light steps as he led you through the dark, ducking in shadows as boots sounded on the frozen gravel. There were patches of snow but nothing so thick as to muffle your movement. Instead, he moved in time with the guards. Waiting for them to get far enough away before he started again.

He pulled you down the decline and kept you from slipping onto the ice. He turned again and met your eyes through the bleak night. You took Luka from his sling and held him snugly in your arms and nodded. James released you and continued on as you followed his broad shoulders towards the mouth of the bridge.

When you heard the guards again, he pressed himself to the frozen dirt and you did the same. The footsteps seemed to be on top of you before they once more retreated. He pointed two fingers ahead of him and you followed him in a crouch along the water rushing beneath the thin sheet of ice.

Your foothold grew thinner and more treacherous as you neared the bridge. He stopped you as he reached the stone crossing and hoisted his bag from his back. His eyes flashed upwards as the guards boots echoed across the ground. The men greeted each other, chuckled at some indiscernible, and resumed their duty.

James waited until they were far again. He extended his leg to the water and carefully cracked the ice with his boot. He took a breath and hoisted his bag onto his shoulders. He lowered himself into the dark water, the ice at his waist. He turned back to help you down after him and you held Luka above your head.

You stifled a gasp at the frigid water and he made sure you were steady before he let go. He pushed his way through the ice, each crack, each snap, made your heart leap. What if the guards heard? Your teeth chattered as you followed him through the floes and he moved steadily until you were halfway under the bridge.

He raised his hand and you stopped. Listened to the sound of the guards above. They grumbled at each other and their boots tramped over the stone and wood structure. You waited again for their steps to fade into the distance.

James signalled you to move again, your skin was numb yet burned like fire. You crept through the icy depths until you came out on the other side. He lifted you up first onto the dirt, just enough of a path to put one foot in front of the other. He climbed up after you and you looked back as he pulled out his pistol and listened.

Contented by the silence he nodded for you to carry on. You shivered and lowered Luka, carefully not to soak him. You walked and walked until the trees rose around you and he led you up the incline into another line of trees. It was odd how this side mirrored the other. Farcical how a little line drawn in the sand could divide people; divide the fortunate and unfortunate.

“Here,” He unzipped his bag, “Clothes.” He revealed a new sweater and a pair of jeans. “You’ll get sick in those.”

“It’s freezing out here,” You hissed.

“Exactly. So change fast.”

You offered Luka too him and he took him with the same reticence as he holstered his gun. He turned his back to you and you stripped your clothes quickly. You dressed even faster and found boots under the new set of clothes. He spun back as you pulled them out and laced them up.

“Keep your feet warm.” He advised as you replaced the sling over your shoulders. “The jacket will dry quick enough.”

You slipped back into the damp jacket and he returned Luka to his sling. You noticed the way his gloved fingers lingered on the baby’s cheek. He drew away sharply and bundled up your old clothes and hid them in a bush of thorns.

“What about you?” You asked as he zipped up the bag and slung it on his shoulder.

“A little cold won’t get me,” He assured you and peered past the trees into the endless night. “Come on. Dawn will be here soon.”

He didn’t walk ahead of you this time, instead he stayed beside you as you wove between the trees and back to the edge of the dirt road. You glanced over at him, his face hidden in the shadows. You reached over and touched the back of his hand, your wool glove soft against the cold leather.

“James,” You said as he flinched.

“Yes?” He replied gently.

“Will you carry Luka for a while? I’m so very tired.”

He stayed quiet as you continued to walk. A deep breath fogged before him as you poked his hand again. He grabbed your hand and stopped you. He turned you to him, the two of you enveloped in the black of night. For a moment, there was silence, thick, tense, frightful.

“Okay,” He said at last as he let you go. “I can carry him.”

#breach #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #dark!fic #dark!bucky barnes #dark! turned soft #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #mcu #marvel #au #fic #series #captain america #winter soldier #dark!wintersoldier

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cutesuki--bakugou · 4 years

Text

My Dream

a/n: I 1000000% know that unless you’ve read my fic The Dragon Kings Treasure, this is going to be TOTALLY out of context and you will likely have literally no idea about what’s going on or their history. I’ll be posting this little snippet in my AO3 post at the end of the story if you feel like you’d rather read the full thing first before you read this. There’s also a shit ton of spoilers in this, so if you’ve been planning on reading TDKT and haven’t yet, I’d suggest doing that first or you’ll end up spoiling the majority of the story.

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC) (Fantasy AU)

Featuring: Kirishima Eijirou (the dragon Red from the main story)

Story Rating: Mature

Genre: Fluff / Romance / Domestic / Fantasy AU

Story Warnings: | Mentions of: Alcohol, Abuse (sexual / physical / mental), Enslavement, Wounds, Pregnancy | Lots of fluff, supportive and squishy Bakugou, dragon breeding / mating terms, cursing, lots of hugging and kissing

Words: 4,530

Written for the @bnhabookclub ‘s members bingo event!

Crossed off: Fairy Tale AU

Bingo Masterlist

Art in banner by me

“You alright, Koge? You look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

“H-huh?”

Koge was startled out of her stupor by the familiar low growl of her lover’s voice, pulling her gaze from the crowd of people below them to look up. At first, her keen eyes glanced over the ornate headpiece he wore, the jewels and beads flickering with the reflected yellow light of the torches perched up on the walls on either side of their balcony. His crimson glare, softened with concern, gleamed with a similar brilliance, and Koge found herself blushing fiercely just from looking at him. Head tilting to the side a bit in slight annoyance of her having not heard him properly, the blonde fluffy hair Bakugou sported bobbed with the movement, beads and jewelry clacking.

“I asked if you were okay. You’ve been sitting here like an actual statue from the instant we got here.”

“I’m okay… Just… there’s more people than I expected there to be…” Koge fiddled nervously with a lock of her white hair, which spilled over her shoulders in loose curls, styled expertly by servants who pampered her in preparation for this huge event. Well, calling it just an ‘event’ was a huge understatement. In fact, it was her wedding reception, the ceremony having just been completed not even an hour earlier. She knew that she should be enjoying herself, but every moment of the night had been much more stressful than she could have ever anticipated. Bakugou had warned her that it would be very busy and festive, as was the culture she was marrying into, but that still didn’t prepare her for this. Hundreds of people, from commoners, to politicians, to royalty from other countries, all gathered below.

Not only were they there to celebrate the marriage of their Lord and his Lady, but also the recent liberation of their kingdom from the tyrant that had stolen the land many, many years ago. The rightful ruler had returned, and brought with him a lover and heir, and though the boy was tucked safely away from the festivities, just the fact that the child was alive and healthy was to be celebrated. It truly was a joyous time, and still, Koge couldn’t quite gather the courage to be herself. She was sure that everyone in this room thought her odd, and that Bakugou’s choice in marrying her was a foolish one. After all, she was a dragon halfling that had lived in a forest for over three hundred years, on top of the fact that she couldn’t understand a single word of regular human speech. How was she supposed to help rule this land if she couldn’t even properly communicate?

Koge had brought this to Bakugou’s attention, of course, but he was quick to shut down her negative thoughts. She was who he wanted, who he loved, and after having nearly lost her, he refused to even entertain the thought of not having her by his side. How fiercely the two of them had fallen for each other wasn’t something that Koge could easily explain nor really understand herself, especially after all the trauma she had experienced this past year. Being used as a slave the way she was, abused and pushed to her limits had made her feel like no one could ever truly accept her again. Yet here she was, sitting beside Bakugou in their thrones, a brilliant ring on her finger and a fresh tattoo of the country's brand on her right shoulder to match his. They were connected now by more than just love, though nothing could ever be more significant to her than the way she felt for him.

Other people didn’t have to understand it, nor did they have to necessarily approve. They just had to accept and shut their mouths, as Bakugou had put it earlier that day before the ceremony even began. Would he have been better off marrying a princess from another country? Probably. Did he have offers thrown at him like mad all the way up until the day of the wedding? Of course he did, and he ignored every single one, even those that were so brash as to come waltzing up to the palace gates with the proposed bride in tow. It had been annoying, and hurt Koge’s already bruised confidence in the beginning, but each time she heard him snap that he already had a bride, she only fell even further in love with him.

“I had told you there would be a lot.” Bakugou reached across the gap between their thrones to take her fidgeting hand gently, holding it securely with a comforting grip. “Relax. No one will act up if that’s what you’re nervous about.”

“I’m… mostly nervous about when we go down there to mingle, and I won’t be able to understand the conversation… What if someone addresses me and I just stand there like an idiot?”

“I wouldn’t let that happen. I’ll tell you. And besides, you’ve gotten really good at reading lips lately. You’ll be fine.” Bakugou brought his hand up as he leaned over, kissing her petite fingers tenderly. “If you get too overwhelmed, we can take a break.” His lips trailed across her skin until he reached where her jeweled silver wedding band rested, pressing a final, lingering kiss on top of it. “I won’t let this go wrong. I love you.”

More heat rushed to Koge’s cheeks, smiling as she stroked his finger with her thumb. “I love you, too. Aahh, I can’t believe you’re finally my mate!” Koge’s tail wagged about happily behind her, since her throne was specially made with a gap to accommodate the long and slender appendage.

“Tch,” Bakugou’s cheeks flushed behind his ceremonial makeup, his lips pressed against her fingers in his embarrassment. “We’re technically just married in a human sense, we haven’t officially… mated yet. In a dragon sense. Not even sure if we really can.”

“You could always let me do that.” Koge gave him a sly grin, showing off her sharp canines. “Your human side is more prominent than your dragon, anyways! You don’t go into rut like I go into heat--”

“Shh!” Bakugou snapped at her to hush, his face and ears only flushing darker as Koge broke out into giggles at the sight of him growing flustered just by the mere mention of her marking him. “We’ll talk about it later! People will get confused if they hear you call me that, just stick to husband, will ya?!”

“Okay, okay! I just think that calling you my mate is cuter.”

“Ooh, you two finally moving on to ‘mate’ status, are you?”

The familiar cheery voice pulled the couples attention, both of them peering around the sides of their thrones to see a sharp toothed, grinning redhead pop out of the curtains behind them. Koge had been able to smell him approaching, so he hadn’t started her, but Bakugou was immediately frustrated at his appearance.

“You fucking lard, get out of here! You aren’t allowed up here!”

“Hey man, I’m not a lard right now! If you didn’t want me to be able to go where I wanted, you shouldn’t have let me be enchanted or whatever.” Squatting down behind the thrones, familiar reddish-orange eyes glanced back and forth between the couple curiously. “How’s it goin’? You guys good up here on your own?”

“You’re so protective, Red.” Koge gave a small smile, purring sweetly with the presence of her kin. “Oops, Kiri, I mean. You should go enjoy the party instead of waiting around up here.”

“How long have you been guarding us?! That’s not your job!” Bakugou huffed, releasing Koge’s hand as she took it back to herself. “We have soldiers for that, Kirishima.”

“No one’s better suited to guard you than me,” Kirishima’s already wide grin somehow grew, smoke rising from between his teeth in a mild territorial display. “Though, I didn’t come up here just to be annoying. People are wondering when you’re going to come down.”

“Uhm…” Koge reached up to touch her blue crystal headpiece tenderly, making sure it hadn’t moved. “Well… We have been up here a bit, and we already did the speech or whatever. Maybe we should?”

Bakugou’s glare softened as he caught Koge’s pale blue gaze, silent for a moment as he considered their options. “I haven’t brought it up because I wanted to make sure you were comfortable first.”

Koge smiled, her cheeks flushing a bright pink, bringing her white freckles to attention. “If I’m with you, I’ll be okay, Katsuki. Let’s go.” Standing together, she took his arm as he offered it to her, stepping in close with her hand resting tenderly on his bicep. “Just don’t let me trip again, I’m not used to shoes!”

“Right. You klutz.” Bakugou chuckled, glancing at Kirishima as the redhead popped up and vanished back behind the curtains, pulling them open to allow the two easy access to the stairway. Before they went down, he went ahead, his thick, red scaled tale swaying about behind him with each step. It was odd to Bakugou to see his childhood dragon companion in human form, but it had been something Red really wanted, and as a reward for his heroic part in taking back their country, Bakugou awarded him an enchantment that gave him a human body. He could transform at will now, which was both helpful and frustrating, as he often still lost control of his ability when he got flustered or protective, transforming into a giant dragon in a crowded room on more than one occasion.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Koge let out a nervous, trembling breath, her eyes darting this way and that as she observed the crowds. Immediately upon their arrival to the party floor, the entire room erupted in claps and cheers, the more rowdy and belligerent of Bakugou’s people breaking through the polite applause with loud curses and well wishes.

“So loud,” Koge spoke softly, covering her mouth with delicate fingers. “Oh-! That was a sword being thrown over there, did you see it?!”

Snickering, Bakugou gave one of his friends a rough slap on the shoulder as they passed him, making their way deeper into the group. “Koge, the fancy ceremony is over. Now’s the time to let loose. Just don’t let anyone step on your tail.”

Let loose they did. With a mix of their presence, alcohol, good food, and music, the entire huge ballroom was shifted into a rowdy swarm of dancing bodies. The adrenaline, cheer, and pure excitement was contagious, and Koge could barely even hear anyone over the music enough to worry about if she could understand them. Just as he swore to her, Bakugou never left her side, except allowing her to dance with Kirishima. Watching her from the sidelines, Bakugou’s heart felt full to the brim with happiness, just her smile and laughter enough to send him over the moon.

If he were honest, he couldn’t believe that they were actually here in this moment. He could clearly remember just over a year ago, where he was cold, hungry, alone and lost, chasing a dream. But now, he had achieved that dream, and gained a treasure that was more precious to him than any jewel in the world. He had Koge and his son, the start of a family he never thought he’d have, and a happiness he was sure would be eternal.

“Katsuki!” Koge squealed with laughter as she was spun towards her lover, immediately caught and wrapped in his strong embrace. “Kiri is a crazy dancer! Don’t let me do that again!”

Before Bakugou could respond, there was a change in song, one which was an incredibly popular group dance that called hordes of people to the dance floor. Instead of getting pulled in with them, Bakugou was able to weasel himself and his wife out of the crowd, ducking out of the ballroom and out into the surrounding gardens. He didn’t stop until he was sure they were out of sight, letting the little halfling stand as steady as she could on wobbling legs. Giggling with her adrenaline, Koge held onto his arms for support, looking up at him through disheveled hair.

“Why are we out here?”

Unable to resist a snarky smirk in amusement of her appearance, Bakugou pushed her hair back out of her face before caressing her cheeks with both hands, leaning in to kiss her lips. “Koge, you wouldn’t have been able to survive that group dance. You look like you need some air, anyway.”

“I do!” Koge took a few steps back from him, shifting off the heavy ornamental shawl she wore to expose her more dainty lace bodice and chiffon blouse beneath it. Letting it rest on the clean grass, Koge then slipped out of her shoes, sighing in relief as her sore feet met the cool ground. “That feels good!”

Following her example, Bakugou shifted off his cape, tossing it away with her shawl, and his boots were quick to follow. “Fuck shoes. Honestly, I can’t wait to get out of all this ornamental crap!”

“Yes, fuck shoes.” Koge came up to stand in front of him, tenderly taking both of his hands in hers once they were free. Still feeling full of energy, Koge began to sway her arms and hips from side to side along with the music, which whispered across the garden to be swallowed by the moonlight. “It’s interesting how your culture is so focused on jewelry and ornamental things for ceremonies, especially since everyone is so… not fancy.”

Bakugou chuckled, allowing his arms to sway with hers as she moved. “A lot of this stuff has been passed down through my family for a really long time and it’s old as shit. I have to wear the traditional crap, but you get everything brand new.”

“There’s nothing traditional for the person marrying into the family?”

“The tradition is that the person marrying in gets new items and jewelry especially made for them. Usually, depending on if it’s a man or woman marrying in, the Lord or Lady would offer them one item from their time being married in. But… my mother's unique items were lost. All that was left was the shit I’m wearing. Besides, this is the start of a new generation. You deserve all the new and glittery shit.”

Koge purred sweetly as Bakugou caressed his cheeks, pressing his lips against her forehead. She let her arms rest around his torso, her tail coming around to wrap around their hips to link them together. “My Katsuki…” As another soft kiss was placed onto her lips, Koge’s keen hearing picked up on a change in the music, making her turn her gaze back towards the ballroom. “Oh, wait, isn’t that our slow song we’re supposed to dance to? Should we go back?”

“Fuck it,” Bakugou turned her face back towards him with gentle pressure, once again catching her lips. With his affection, he began to sway them to the music, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other stayed firmly in place against her neck. Koge couldn’t resist him, her soft purr rumbling in her chest as she felt cocooned in his warmth, catching his gaze as a smile crossed his lips.

“You sure, Katsuki?”

“I want this moment for us, Koge. I don’t give a shit about all those people watching us… All I care about is you.” Taking a step back with the music cue, it took very little for Koge to realize that he still wanted to do the dance they practiced, so she followed his lead with very little fumbling.

As they danced, barefoot out in the grass with nothing but moonlight to guide their way, Koge began to feel like she had truly found her peace. She never thought that she would see him again, let alone be calling him her mate, and how lucky she was to be here like this hadn’t quite hit her until that moment. With a spin beneath his arm, it was as if her movements turned a lock that she had been refusing to unlatch that entire night in fear of what may come rushing out. Of course, it was an overwhelming mix of happiness, disbelief, excitement, and even a dash of sadness that all of this might not last. With it all came the tears, and though she tried to hold them back, they fell free with a hitching of her breath once she was pressed back up against his body to rock slowly.

“Koge?”

Shoving her face into his chest to try and hide it from him, Koge tried to choke down a sob, her tail once again coming to wrap around them both. “Sorry, Katsuki… It’s… It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” Bakugou stroked the back of her head softly, being considerate of her headpiece and jewelry. “Talk to me.”

His strong grip holding her close calmed and comforted her enough to take a deep breath, though she still couldn’t find it in herself to look up at him. “I’m so happy… I really am. But I just… I worry about what happens next… What if I still can’t recover and I… all I do is cause you trouble. You’d end up sick of me…”

Frowning, Bakugou’s eyes moved to Koge’s horns, which were still cracked and shattered from her recent enslavement. They were a visible representation of how broken she was inside, her months of abuse at the hands of those that had taken her - no, those whom he had sold her to - had deeply embedded trauma and fears that wouldn’t be healed easily. It had been five months now that he had brought her home after rescuing her from the fate he had selfishly forced upon her, and there were so many things that hadn’t returned to them. He had expected her healing to take a long time, he had no right to complain or be upset about the way she acted in certain situations, but that didn’t stop him from craving what they had before, when their love was fresh and uninhibited.

Her worries about upsetting him were justified, however. It was true that things were incredibly difficult, with her constant nightmares and panic attacks set off by something as simple as his hand coming to rest on the back of her neck or the sound of his belt slipping loose from his pants. Kissing without worry was something they had achieved just a little over two weeks ago, but if it escalated too quickly, Koge would pull back and her insecurities of her body would breach the surface. She was too ashamed of herself to still hardly let him look at her naked, let alone touch or make love to her. Her comfort and happiness were very easily crushed, and though Bakugou had done his best to tread carefully, there were times where his brash personality caused a whole new round of issues.

Yes, there were things that were difficult and that made their reconnection slow going, but it was the times that the improvement shone through that made Bakugou feel hopeful. Her sweet purrs at his touch. Her cheeks flushing. A smile instead of a grimace. One less article of clothing when she crawled into bed with him. Her pointed ears twitching in excitement at the sound of his footsteps instead of hunched and fearful shoulders. The courage to be alone instead of panicking without him or Kirishima by her side. How protective she was of their son calming enough to let him carry the child around the castle without her at his heels. All of these things had been nearly impossible to achieve the first month or two of her being with him again, and although most issues were something that anyone else would roll their eyes at, Bakugou couldn’t help but feel over the moon with each little step towards progress.

“That’s not true, Koge,” Bakugou ran a thumb up and down along the length of one of her horns, the smooth glasslike texture cool beneath his naturally flushed skin. “At all. If only you could see things through my eyes. Yes, it can be difficult sometimes, but your recovery is going a lot quicker than you think. Like just this morning, while we laid in bed before Matsuki woke up… You let me touch you and kiss every uncovered inch of you. You’re so damn beautiful, it made me happy just to get to praise you like that. Just to get the chance to adore you.” Cupping both of her cheeks, he used only gentle persuasion to prompt her to look up at him, his thumbs lightly wiping away her tears without streaking her ceremonial makeup. “I will always adore you. And I’m willing to wait an eternity for you.”

More tears replaced the ones he had wiped away, bringing Koge to sniffle as she gazed up at him. “I… thought I had annoyed you? You were happy?”

“I don’t think you understand how fucking happy the simplest things make me. I thought I had lost you, Koge. I didn’t think I was going to be able to find you again… So I treasure fucking everything. Every little touch and kiss. You’re my world. You know that.” Bakugou pressed his forehead against hers tenderly, careful of the jewelry they wore. “You make me feel things I never thought I could feel. If I had even the slightest doubt in you - in us - then things would be different. But here I am, married to your little halfling ass, because I love you. And I sure as hell am not going to give up on you.”

Hiccupping as she tried to contain her emotions, Koge wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself up onto her tiptoes to hug him tightly. Though, she didn’t have to support herself much as Bakugou returned the affection, his arms around her petite torso and hands caressing her body to hold her close. As he did, a deep, low rumbling began in his chest, immediately bringing forth a matching sound from Koge, whose tail began to sway back and forth in happiness.

“Aw Katsuki…” Koge sniffled, nuzzling her face into his neck. “You’re purring again! I thought it was just a fluke during the ceremony but… You really can purr.”

“I think you bring out the dragon in me, Koge. First the growling and the stronger magic… Now I’m purring like a fucking whelp. Mm, maybe we will be able to mate properly one day when you’re ready.” He gave the skin of her neck a teasing light nibble, immediately bringing a soft giggle from her lips as she pressed herself in closer to him, her tail wrapping back around their hips.

“Maybe I’ll be ready by your first rut, which will probably come around my first heat. I… really do miss being intimate with you, Katsuki… I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Releasing him and falling to stand normally, Koge caught his gaze, her cheeks immediately flushing with the calmness of his expression. His usually stern brow had not a single crease, and just looking at him flooded her with such a strong sense of calmness that she felt as if all her fears and worries would flutter away off her shoulders. She wished they would, so she could feel as close to him as she had before, but her demons were persistent. Bakugou was, too, and she knew that he wouldn’t stop until he had chased away every single nasty little imp. “You’re right… You want to know something?”

“Hm?” Bakugou’s response was quiet as his hands caressed her cheeks again, his crimson gaze scanning every inch of her face as if he were in a trace. Koge couldn’t resist a smile, her hands resting tenderly over his.

“I used to dream about this… Standing in the moonlight with the person I loved. Almost every night, way before you were even alive… I spent such a long time alone that I figured it was just something that I was picturing to feel better. But this is really exactly what I used to dream of… Something that I never thought I’d have.”

“I never thought I’d have this, either. I thought it was all lost… My homeland. You. But now I have everything. We have everything. And I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll protect you. Forever.” Another soft and passionate kiss was shared, with Koge resting her body against him as a soft purr echoed from her chest. Though, the sentimental moment was shattered by the call of a familiar voice, making Koge jump as she hadn’t noticed his scent over the smell of the flowers.

“Hey! There you two are! I got worried, why’d you come all the way out here?” Kirishima jogged towards them, coming to a stop a few feet away to still allow them privacy, his reflective keen eyes immediately noticing the clothes resting on the grass. “Oh, wait- are you two-? Like-”

“No!” Bakugou barked, wrapping his arms back around Koge tightly enough to make her squeak. “We just wanted some air from the party!”

“Oooh, did I make you a little winded with our dance, Koge?” Kirishima grinned, calming down from his mild protective panic. “You missed your slow dance! People are asking for you, too. Want me to tell them what’s up?”

“No, no,” Koge peeked up over Bakugou’s bicep, placing her hands tenderly on his sides. “I enjoyed our dance! But I did need some air. We’re ready to go back, though?” She looked up at Bakugou, who seemed reluctant to agree. Still, he gave a sigh and a nod in agreement, giving a flick of his wrist to command his friend away.

“Fine! We’ll be back in a minute!”

“No worries! I’ll just let them know that you stepped out for a bit and you’ll be back! You two have fun under the sun- er, I mean, moon!”

Koge giggled softly as Bakugou groaned in agony of his friend’s idiocy, hiding his face in Koge’s shoulder once Kirishima was out of earshot. “Fuck, I swear, having this new form has just made me realize how stupid he’s always been. It was so much more tolerable when he couldn’t talk.”

“Aw, he’s just concerned, it’s okay. Honestly, I can see how he’d make that mistake, for us it’s very bright out here. Night and day aren’t all that different. Ready to go back?”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Bakugou stood back up straight, caressing her sides gently. “I guess we should. I just love being alone with you.”

“Me too, Katsuki.” Koge smiled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his chest. “But you know what?”

“Hm?”

“We have our whole lives to make time to be alone together. And I honestly can’t wait for every second. Now, my king, let’s go dance and have a little wine!”

“You got it, my queen.”

#bnhabookclub #bakugou #bakugou x oc #bakugou katsuki #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #bnha oc #oc #original character #bakugou x koge #koge #cutesuki-oc #cutesuki scenarios #bingo

60 notes · View notes

precuredaily · 3 years

Text

Precure Day 200

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 Go Go! 02 - “Nozomi and Coco - A Troubling Reunion” Date watched: 4 July 2020 Original air date: 10 February 2008 Screenshots Transformation Gallery Project info and master list of posts

yes, the whole episode is like this

So, full disclosure, the first time I watched GoGo I was kind of only half paying attention to it while I worked on other projects and I don’t remember the overarching plot that well. That may become apparent in my posts about this series. Just something to keep in mind.

If the first episode was a fun but talkative reintroduction to the world, this episode doubles down on the talk and halves the fun. The writing is weak and the art quality is weaker. It still has some heart, and helps to properly set up the conflict of the show, so it’s not a total loss, but these early episodes are missing some of the magic of the previous season. Let’s explore.

The Plot

After a brief recap of the previous episode, the girls admire their new outfits for a moment before snapping back to reality and fighting Scorp. They overpower him with their teamwork and then he declares he’s seen enough for now and leaves. After the dust settles, the girls greet Coco and Nuts and Dream gives Coco her letter, which he half-heartedly accepts and pockets without reading, prompting a silent glare from Nuts. The girls ask what’s going on, and Syrup is still taken aback by the whole ordeal. They regroup at the gazebo at Karen’s mansion for some good old exposition dumping. Nuts explains that the Rose Pact is the key to the Cure Rose Garden, a mysterious place nobody has ever been (so how do the know about it?). The power of the four monarchs of the territories surrounding the Palmier Kingdom is needed in conjunction with the Rose Pact to open the path to the Cure Rose Garden. They further explain why they’re back in the human world: the monarchs were visiting the Pamier Kingdom on a diplomatic mission, when they were attacked by Eternal, and are now hiding in the human world in the form of Palmins.

We cut to Eternal’s headquarters where a purple-haired woman named Anacondy is giving a tour to an unseen but familiar-sounding figure, explaining their corporate mission is to archive every valuable item from all of history (lofty goal). Scorp shows up in her office and explains that he found the Rose Pact, but he was unable to procure it due to the interference of Precure. Suddenly the mystery guest speaks up, admitting he’s scuffled with Precure before, and he is revealed to be none other than Bunbee, preparing for employment at Eternal. He explains how the Precures caused him trouble at his last job, but Anacondy just orders Scorp to go retrieve the Rose Pact with little regard for Bunbee’s words.

Back at the gazebo, the girls start to realize that Eternal is responsible for the attacks on both the Palmier Kingdom and Nozomi, and try to figure out what to do about it. Coco and Nuts need to contact the Palmier Kingdom to let them know what’s going on, so they ask if Syrup will deliver a message. However, due to some obvious friction between him and Coco he declines and flies off, so they focus on finding somewhere to live. Fortunately, Karen has just the place.

Some things never change

It’s not clearly established what happened to the old Natts House location, unless they explain it down the road in future episodes, but this is the new home base, and of course once again Karen presents it as a “small” spare warehouse her family owns, only for the others to protest that it’s bigger than their entire homes. Is it the same gag from last year? Yes. Does it still land? Also yes.

Anyway, the girls want to help tidy up the place, but Coco pushes them away and insists he and Nuts can handle it. That night, Nozomi is standing on her balcony in her pajamas, looking sad, when Syurp pays her a visit to chastise Coco’s behavior. She angrily defends his honor and slams her curtains closed, startling Syrup. Back at Natts House 2.0, Coco and Nuts take a break from cleaning to exposit some more, recalling a story about how the Cure Rose Garden produces both red and blue roses, and a new power emerges when they meet. Nuts surmises that the Rose Pact contains the power of the Red Rose, but isn’t sure what the Blue Rose is. The conversation shifts to their presence back in the human world, with Coco feeling guilty for dragging the girls into the conflict again, while Nuts reminds him that he wanted to see them anyway so he should make the most of his opportunity.

At a later day at Cinq Lumieres we see that Coco has resumed teaching under the guise of Kokoda Kouji. Things are still awkward between him and Nozomi, but she meets him in the library and they have a talk. He acknowledges her letter and her feelings, but stops short of telling her how he’s feeling. Syrup shows up and talks shit about Coco, who just gets sad again, but before they can talk things out, Scorp appears. Coco attempts to de-escalate the situation, but Scorp isn’t interested in chatter and he knocks all three of them back, reverting Coco and Syrup to their fairy forms. Nozomi takes a moment to give Coco the Rose Pact, instructing Syrup to carry him away to safety, and then she transforms. This time, Scorp doesn’t fight on his own, instead he pulls out a yellow and orange orb that he throws into a nearby bookcase, transforming it!

Yes, these are our monsters of this show, called Hoshiina, which means “want” or “desire”. Cure Dream fights the Hoshiina, but it uses books as shields and whips and manages to throw her around. Coco approaches her, not having run away yet, and unloads his emotions on her, explaining how he feels guilty about dragging her back into the conflict, and inadvertently tormenting her by not communicating because he wanted to wait and show off the fully rebuilt Palmier Kingdom to her. She thanks him for being so concerned, and then the other girls turn up, having heard the commotion. They transform and so does Scorp. and they duke it out over Coco’s honor and intentions. Between blows they reiterate that they want to go to the Cure Rose Garden, they decided that themselves without his influence so he shouldn’t feel guilty, but they still want him to lend his power to make it possible to get there. The Hoshiina puts up a good fight with some diverse tactics, but the girls don’t lose faith and they manage to pin it down. Dream implores a relieved Coco that she wants them all to go to the Cure Rose Garden together, and then launches into her all-new finisher: Precure Shooting Star, where she flies directly into the Hoshiina, destroying it. Scorp flees.

Later, Nozomi and Coco have a heart-to-heart outside the library where he says he really appreciated the letter, but he isn’t sure what he can do to help them. Right on cue, Nuts shows up and explains what they CAN do: detect Palmins! There’s one nearby, and Coco guides Nozomi into catching it in the CureMo by taking a picture.

The girls all gather round to see what she captured, and it turns into.... a futon. Coco explains that there’s different kinds of Palmins, they’re not all disguised monarchs, but they may be useful down the road so it’s not a loss. They vow once more to find all the monarchs and go to the Cure Rose Garden together, as Syrup watches from a distance, still a little confused by their togetherness.

The Analysis

Credit where it’s due. In stark contrast to Max Heart, which had no idea what to do for a plot and just kind of meandered about for the majority of its run, GoGo is hitting the ground running. It has clearly and effectively established the objective (reach the Cure Rose Garden to meet Flora while rescuing the four monarchs along the way) and the conflict (Eternal, the company that wants to preserve everything). In fact I might even say there’s too much plot crammed into these premiere episodes. You’re absolutely inundated with information and it’s a lot to absorb, whereas the first series spread its exposition out over all the character introductions. GoGo could stand to slow down a little, and I think episode 3 still has more to give us yet. A lot of the middle of the episode is taken up with explaining who the villains are, how Coco and Nuts got back, and some private conversation about Precure’s new powers. The Precure were upgraded with the power of the Red Rose from the Cure Rose Garden, and the legend says the garden also grows blue roses. The audience has probably deduced that the mysterious girl in the opening has something to do with that, but I’m still going to pretend I don’t know about Milky Rose for a bit.

The dialog at least feels more natural in this episode, but it’s contrasted with the tension between Coco and Nozomi, which I don’t think was necessary except to add a little conflict. However, I can see the reasoning behind it. He cares deeply about Nozomi and everyone and he didn’t want to drag them back into his and Nuts’s battle, he wanted them to continue to be ordinary girls living their ordinary lives, worrying about school and their hobbies and interests. He feels like it’s his fault they’ve transformed again whether they wanted to or not. However, Nozomi and the others explain they want to go to the Cure Rose Garden and are more than happy to help Coco and Nuts out along the way. Knowing that they don’t feel burdened by him helps put Coco’s mind at ease and he cheers the girls on. From the real-world writers’ perspective, it’s a pretty stark reversal of his personality from the first season and as I suggested, is probably there to have some drama. Normally Nuts is the moody one, but his character arc last season was all about opening up and being helpful and taking things in stride, so now it’s Coco’s turn to be the dramatic one, though in his case it’s based on concern rather than past betrayal. They seem to have resolved it in this episode, we’ll see whether it carries forward or not. However, there’s still a lingering mystery about his past with Syrup, as the latter seems to resent him, and that will definitely carry us for a bit.

The fights in this episode are great, especially the second one. The first is brief but to the point, filled with dynamic team kicks to throw Scorp off his rocker. The later fight is for all the marbles, and the fairies get caught in the crossfire. It’s a struggle but the girls come out on top with the strength of their convictions and some fast thinking. Despite being a few months since they’ve been at it, clearly the girls haven’t gotten rusty. If anything they’re faster than before, or maybe that’s just the early animation budget. It’s evenly balanced between physical and ideological fighting as the girls try to convince Coco that they’re not upset at him, and explain to Scorp why they care about Coco. The Hoshiina is pretty creative for a first enemy, using books as swords, whips, shields, arms, and legs at different times. It spins itself around at high speeds to avoid attacks and gives the girls a good fight. For their part, they use a lot of flying punches and kicks to wear it down and Dream gets in a particularly good one-two combo before her finisher. Speaking of which: Dream’s new solo attack! I liked Dream Attack and its successor Crystal Shoot, but Shooting Star is next level. She FLIES DIRECTLY INTO THE ENEMY? It’s like Five Explosion but as a solo attack and it’s totally badass. We’ll get to see more of the others’ attacks in the coming episodes, of course. Once again it’s a while before they get their group attack, so enjoy the solos.

The artwork this episode is, unfortunately, laughably bad. I mean come on it’s only episode 2, you’re not supposed to have the super off-model shots until later in the show. And yet....

These faces are laughable. Misshapen, disproportionate, or just blank stares. It’s not the entire episode but it’s present at key moments throughout and it takes away from the experience. I looked ahead and actually Milky Rose’s debut is also pretty bad so maybe they were in a rush with the early part of this show.

Now, it wouldn’t be Precure without some good old fashioned merchandising, and we’ve got a brand spanking new toy to sell in the Curemo! The extended sequence of Coco walking Nozomi through the process of capturing a Palmin is also promotion for kids to buy the toy and see what they can do with it. It’s a little fancier than the Pinky Catch from last year, taking the form of a pink flip phone, but it also has a swivel hinge, similar to the Heartful Communes from Max Heart.

The top of it has a grid design with depictions of the five butterflies of the Palmier Kingdom, and on the lower left is an emblem of a rose. When it’s opened, it has a blue-green screen surrounded by pink, and the body where the keyboard would be just has three buttons, shaped like a rosebud and two leaves, and some stem designs etched in beneath that. It’s a much more involved toy than the Pinky Catch, at least visually, and I’m here for it. While the Pinky Catch could only open and close, the CureMo also has a rotating screen as mentioned, which lays into the capture gimmick. The user rotates the screen sideways and snaps a picture of the Palmin, similar to a real cell phone, which is then scanned into the device and turns into its true form. It looks neat and it compacts nicely, blends into their world well, so I think it’s effective as a device. I do find it funny how heavily the Palmin capture is emphasized and how blatantly similar it is to last season’s Macguffin quest, but that’s the business, I’m not going to dwell on it too much.

Despite some major hiccups after a bumpy premiere, GoGo 02 is still a pretty good episode overall. The characters are starting to settle into their new roles and we’re learning about the conflict. If the animation smooths out then the show will be off to a strong start.

Next time, Mailpo appears! What’s a Mailpo? Wait and find out! Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 2 kettei!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 Go Go!#YPC5GG02 #PCD200

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dennou-translations · 4 years

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Violet Evergarden Ever After: Prologue

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Should you feel even just slightly lonely after this story is over, by all means, go see the anime’s Violet. Even if the storyline is different, your Auto-Memories Doll will be there. —Akatsuki Kana

Tears spilled down the eyes of a beast. Shedding large teardrops, it wept.

Why was he saying such things now, at this moment? The beast was incapable of understanding. It could not fathom the meaning of those words or his reasons to be uttering them.

A slow-acting poison. The beast had been given it little by little every day, and the effects of said poison circulating its whole body were currently showing. The beast’s crying was proof of that. Never had it known such painful tears.

He whispered repeatedly. It was an attempt to tell the beast words that it had not heard before. This conveyed that they were extremely important, but the beast could not accept them. It did not want to comprehend them now. They were most certainly against the very meaning of the beast’s existence. Should it accept them, the beast would no longer exist for the sake of emerald eyes.

——I hate not being able to protect you. My only wish is to keep you safe. It’s all I can reciprocate. Don’t be saying these things now; I want you to give me orders.

And so, the beast howled while wailing. It howled at its one and only Lord. The most hardly replaceable thing in the world for the beast.

Roses and the Auto-Memories Doll: Prologue

Blue eyes opened.

The beautiful, golden-manned beast had just awoken. Showered in morning light, it sat up without hesitation. Moving its small body, it smoothly came down from the top of a tree and set its legs on the ground. Swallowing the morning dew that had accumulated on its teeth, it picked fruits from the tree to eat. It ate one and, after staring fixatedly at the other for a second, the beast held onto it and started walking.

It was morning. A comfortable morning.

In the environment where the beast lived, there was neither right nor wrong. It might eventually die if it stayed there. It might live on forever as long as it was there.

The beast, which could easily sense and deal with invaders, felt neither desperation at the fact that morning had come to it, nor hope toward the day called today. It did not know such things. As it had never been taught about them, it was not capable of embracing them.

In certain aspects, the beast was overly superior, and in others, it fell so far behind that it was unbearable to look at. It had tremendously menacing fangs and was beautiful to an uncanny extent. It was that kind of beast. It was still that kind of beast.

Silence.

The beast strained its ears. It could hear the sounds of ocean waves from the coast. And also the voice of a man who appeared to be cursing. It then headed toward the sea.

The sky still bore colors that were a mixture of daybreak and nightly shades. The temperatures were warm and perfectly suitable for putting oneself in motion. Spotting the back of the man, who was sitting on the beach, the beast approached him slow and quietly.

Had he been trying to catch fish? Victim to his irritation, a broken, long tree branch was being flung away. A single small fish lay on a leaf as proof of his efforts.

Something heartbreaking must have happened for the man to be in such a situation. He did not seem to have the strength for cooking or eating the fish. With the man in front of it, the beast offered him the fruit.

He was the man who the beast had cognized as its “master” the other day.

Adults were necessary for the beast. Adults who could designate it instructions of some sort. The beast was able to live on its own, yet it needed adults to give it directions. It would be a problem if he died.

After leaving the fruit there, the beast distanced itself a little and sat on the sand. It was waiting for orders. While it did so, something hit its head.

“You monster.”

It was a fruit. He had apparently thrown away the fruit that the beast had gone through the trouble of giving to him. Even though he was hungry.

The man glanced its way. His green irises and raven hair glistened amidst the break of dawn. He was a beautiful man.

“I want to kill you,” the man whispered with a tone that would make one think this was his true intention.

It was a cruel statement, but the beast displayed no reaction. The white noise of the ocean waves drifted between the two of them. As the beast could not talk, the place was quiet when the man did not speak.

An island of one man and one beast. There used to be a mountain of corpses as well, but they had long been buried.

“But if I were asked whether you’re wrong or not, I don’t know,” the man, who would later be identified as Dietfried Bougainvillea, simply talked to it with an exhausted face. “If I were in your shoes and felt danger from those men... from that man who came towards you all of a sudden, then I would’ve probably done that.”

The beast merely turned its ears to the voice of the man. Not that it could understand anything. It was a wild beast and the man was a person. They were unable to establish communication. However, whenever it was spoken to by the person, the beast would look back at him with its unclouded eyes.

“That and whether or not I can forgive you are two different things. I can’t. In the end, I do want to kill you.”

Having met in the worst possible way, they had not initiated anything yet, but an encounter was a beginning in itself.

“Still, I have some room for pity too... Just what are you? Were you abandoned? Why’re you by yourself in a place like this...?”

As an announcement for a chemical reaction of sorts that was about to occur.

“No, you killed my men. I actually don’t have room for pity... Anyway, just stay quiet and listen.”

This was the start of a grandiose fate.

“I’m thinking with myself about what to do with you. I can’t stand you. I despise you.”

That meeting had served as its cornerstone.

“For now, I need you so that I can survive. You know this territory and can ensure food supplies as my tool to prepare for an escape... to go from this remote island back to Leidenschaftlich. And I really do feel a burning anger for what happened before, so want to punish you. But I have a strong sense of duty, so if we manage to leave this place without problems and if I get a chance to see my little brother’s face at least one more time, he might take interest in you if you do something. I won’t. I myself won’t. I’m complicated. A complicated man. You can’t handle me and I can’t handle you either. If I continue using you, I’ll get fed-up for sure and would indeed feel like killing you, but actually doing that would probably be impossible. You’re tough. I’d lose. No matter how I look at it, I can’t kill you. I don’t know why, but you need me, right? You’re trying to keep me alive and you kill things for my sake. Seems like you can be useful. After all, we’re in the middle of a war. It’d be fitting of someone like you to be used, used, used, used, used, used and used down to every last bit, till you become a worn-out mop cloth. That’s right, it definitely fits you...”

The man continuously spit out outrageous statements for a long while. The beast picked up the fruit that had been thrown away again and left it in front of him.

“Try to save me, monster.” The man bit the fruit, and with an annoyed face, he threw it at the beast.

This time, the beast dodged it. The fruit formed an arched trajectory line, overlapping with the sunrise lights. It was radiant enough for the beast to feel like its retinas would char, and so it closed its eyes as if bringing down a curtain.

Blue eyes opened.

The beast was inside a large sack. It did not know for how much time it had been there. Long had passed since the last time it had been taken to the toilet and told to finish its business. Its throat was dry and it was tired from recurrent battles. While in the bag, it had repeatedly closed and opened its eyelids, falling into a doze, and now it had opened them again.

It could discern the voice of its master. As well as the stench of some burned food that he and the people who followed him were daring to put into their mouths. The beast did not like the odor. It dulled its sense of smell.

When would the master use it? There was no meaning to the beast aside from being put to use. The beast wanted to be used. It had no other way to prove itself.

There were surely people who found it strange. Why was this doll-like beast, who did not show any emotion, so keenly obsessed with being a tool? That was very simple. So simple it was ridiculous, so commendable it was ludicrous.

The beast wanted to be with humans.

It could live by itself. The beast had enough strength for that. It was fine even without anyone around. Yet, it wanted to be with people. It hated being on its own. That much was obvious. Nobody wanted to be in solitude. In true, complete loneliness. That was the desire of people whose mental state had grown tired of interacting with people, but no one who was actually alone wished for it. The beast wanted to be with someone, but could think of a means to do so other than offering itself for use. Which was why the beast was doing so.

It had lost the memory of its parents’ faces, its recollections from before a certain time, everything – yet it knew all but the surge born from servitude and violence. This was the only thing engraved into the modus operandi of the beast’s short life history. It could also be said that it “wound up” being engraved there. If it had been taught any other method, it would likely not have turned out the way it was.

The beast did not yet know what it was about to meet.

“I haven’t named it. We’d been calling it ‘you’.”

As the sack was opened, the outside lights, which were coming in contact with the beast for the first time in a while, shone on its eyes. The beast closed its eyelids once.

And then, it wished to be given an order.

Blue eyes opened.

It was completely dark. Their field of vision was pitch-black, the air cold. However, the body of the beast was swelteringly hot. A slushy heat enclosed its whole body, giving it the sensation of turning into a huge lump of lead.

“Violet.”

Suddenly, light shone amidst the darkness.

That was because the person who had spoken to it had lit a lamp, but also because said person seemed to be shining, as he was the beast’s one and only light. His large hand touched the beast’s forehead, and then caressed it as if to unknot its sweat-drenched hair. A sizzling sound could be heard oozing from the beast’s chest.

“Major...”

The beast had been granted a name, known protection and learned how to speak.

“The fever... hasn’t gone down, huh. Can you drink water?”

Which gave rise to an attachment.

“My apologies.”

The beast had absorbed many new things from its new lord, and they built the beast’s values.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You gave too much in the last battle... It was my mistake.”

Without its lord, even breathing would be difficult for the beast now.

“I am a tool, after all.”

It wanted to live for him.

“I believe you should use, use, use and use every last bit of me, until I break.”

And to die for him.

“Therefore, repairing me is unnecessary.”

Such tempestuous dependence was gnawing at its body.

“You’re human. We need rest if we’re down with a fever, and some also need to be nursed. That’s always been the way I’ve supervised you, ever since we’ve met. So of course I have to look after you.”

Everything was the lord’s fault. He had recognized this golden-manned, blue-eyed beast as a “girl” first of all.

“Do you not have any requests? Something I can do in this state.”

The object of his safeguarding, the wild beast he had to oversee, his weapon. While keeping these categories separated, the lord made use of the beast.

“For you to get well, Violet.”

And out of all things, he grew to love it.

Blue eyes opened.

Tears overflowed from the eyes of the beast. Its visibility was distorted. It closed and opened its eyelids, attempting to expel the salty sea that it was birthing, to no avail.

“Violet, stop.”

The beast wept. Shedding large teardrops, it wailed. Even though it had never cried before, it was doing so.

“...e you.”

Its lord had been severely injured. It had failed to protect him. It had executed its orders, but because of that, it had been unable to protect him.

For the beast, the lord was more important than this mission.

“...ove you.”

As it cherished its lord, it had wanted to succeed in the mission. Since its life belonged to its lord, it had made the mission into a priority. But this rendered it meaningless.

“I love you! I don’t want to let you die! Violet! Please live!!”

There was no meaning in it. No meaning at all. There was no significance in the beast’s life either.

“I love you.”

Besides, why? Why was he saying that? Why was he saying such a thing, now, at this moment?

“I love you, Violet.”

The beast attempted to digest the words its lord had just whispered. It did not comprehend them.

“Violet...”

The beast did not understand. It could not fathom the meaning of those words or his reasons to be uttering them.

“Are you listening, Violet?”

——Are they not, most likely, something special? Those are most likely not words that I should be told. They are most likely not something that you should say to me. If you must say them, then why?

“I like you.”

——Why did you use me? Why won’t you let me save you?

“I love you.”

——Why, why, why, why, why, why, why?

“I love you, Violet.”

It did not understand. It did not understand anything. Not its lord, this world or the words confessed to it.

And so, the beast howled while wailing. It howled at its one and only Lord. The most hardly replaceable thing in the world for the beast.

“What is ‘love’?”

Ironically enough, it was then that the beast accepted love for the first time and became a person.

#violet evergarden #violet evergarden ever after #fyeahvioletevergarden #dailykyoto #kyoani #violet evergarden novel #gilbert bougainvillea #kyoto animation #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #novel #my translation

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

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Kira Vol 2 (1)

The Mistress

CHAPTER 1: Where The Heart Heals

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: A new chapter begins in Kira’s life. Old secrets, new confessions, surprising allies and unexpected meetings. All of them have one name in common. Loki.

Chapter content: soft feels

Warnings: none

Word count: Okay. I’m putting it out there. I wrote this for myself. And that’s what I am trying to do right now. I don’t know how regular I will be with this but I will be writing when I feel it.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

If I could feel this again... The heaviness of your eyes feels like a blessing even when the warmth of the sun is gently stroking your forehead, delicately whispering sweet nothings to wake you up. You know your mother has already woken up for she is the reason the door is open and that chilled winter air is nudging the sun rays to get as much of the playfield over your exposed skin as it can. The teasing play going between the two forces becomes a soothing episode for your nerves, enjoying the lazy winter morning with the sparrows chirping on that one malacca tree still standing in your front yard. The chill draft that swirls to lands on your unaware fingertips, brings with it the familiar dissatisfied woof and one rage-filled yelp, making you smile even with your eyes closed. You can even hear the disgruntled remarks of some boomers out on their morning stroll cursing your poor babies for growing so big and healthy and barking at any stranger that was not welcome in their territory. If I could feel this every single day...

Your eyes finally open from a dreamless sleep, ready to bask in the lukewarm light directly hitting your eyes. The bliss is incomprehensible; to wake up to the sight of the green that is surviving the winter chill in the garden right outside your room. A few sparrows are looking for an early grub in the pots kept right outside your door, seeming to catch a glance or two in your direction when you stir and let your head rest on your hands to watch the life of winter make you grateful for this morning. More grateful when a familiar spotted figure jumps down from the neighbour's wall and passes by your door with the quietest yet graceful gait. "Kitty!" you exclaim without any voice escaping your hoarse throat, making you chuckle at your own failed display of excitement. A long stretch that cracks a few knots and makes you squirm while you squeeze your eyes shut; that is what it takes to finally convince you to get out of the cosiest quilt on this entire planet. It is a task to find your socks under the huge green buffed up fabric but you do not want to step down till you are sure your sensitive feet are secure. Once the pair is found after a round of tossing and turning the poor quilt, you are ready to open your door and step into the garden. And what a sight it is! The balmy morning sun is bringing life out into the streets. Children fresh out of school for their Christmas holidays are riding their colourful bikes around while their parents or guardians spew caution at them. Vendors are out with their carts and wagons, bringing about fresh produce while the riveting bark of the bike that brings the fresh milk for some households waits for the man of that particular house to bring out their vessels. The air has the perfect crispiness of winter twirling all around you. There is no doubt that the sun has colluded with the sweet-smelling chilly breeze to bring the blood to your cheeks and fingertips. The bliss that this simple day can be for an entire lifetime... A whine followed by a protest-filled howl catches your attention in the moment you are taking in this rare morning. Turning your head to look across the fence, you watch those familiar sharp blue eyes looking you with a sour expression. Right. This drama queen. The protest does not stop. "I'm coming," you groan, "I'm coming," you stress as you walk across the garden to open the gate and walk barely five steps across the narrow road to greet the fluffy boy pretending to be mad at you while vigorously wagging his tail. "We literally met last night, you dumb husky!" you coo through your teeth while scratching Ghost behind his ear. "You stoopid loving boi. My best floofy boi." You call out as many names as you can to the huge beast that wants to lick you clean but isn't getting the chance to. So, instead, he decides to take your wrist into his mouth, continuing to whine at the same time, wanting to keep you there till he loses interest in you. "I blame your mother for not training you to respect me, you dumb floof," you state as you make him look you in the eyes, "I fed you and bathed you and played with you when you hadn't even opened your eyes. And this is how you repay me? By giving me scratches and sticking drool all over my elbows?" Growing uncomfortable- and a double chin, the way you are holding his face- he huffs and jumps away from his fence to let you know he is done with you for the day. "Ungrateful bitch," you mutter in his direction while he looks for more leaves to chomp on, "I still love you." Ghost does not even side-eye you. He knows you stand there smiling at him while he goes about eating anything green in his sight, only bothered when he hears the rev of a car pass by. The attention span to that little distraction is short-lived too. "Okay," you sing in a way you think might get on his nerves, "I'm going back then. You won't get to see me till our late night walk." Any little hope that this dog with an attitude would actually look up at you is gone when the same car comes back. Let's see if that car can feed you pancakes. Still looking at the white-furred beast, you are hurt right in your feels to watch his huge paws go up on the fence again to judge whoever sits in the car that has stopped right by the side of your house, the panting paused to scrutinise the strangers in the SUV with tinted glasses. "Really," you nudge his lower jaw as you address him with a simmering gaze, "I get a howl and yank on my hand but some stranger gets a full minute of silence?" You nudge his jaw again, not really liking the point-blank stare he is giving to whosoever is getting out of the car behind you. You are about to nudge him the third time when a voice freezes your hand mid-air. "I guess he does not like my presence that much." The heaviness of the voice with a gravity of its own stops everything around it for an elongated moment. Even with the cold surrounding you, the warmth that engulfs your chest is far more evident over your skin once all the nerves light up at the thought of turning around and finding him standing there. So, you do. And the smile that escapes you is far brighter than this December sun. "Heimdall."

It is heavenly to hear his name from you after what seems like months stretched into ages. What acts as a balm to his heart is watching your face with carrying the same perfection it did the first day he met you; maybe even lovelier. If he had a sister... "Kira," he sweetly announces into the air before wrapping his arms around you for a hug; something that you gladly welcome, and embrace him back. "I missed you," you squirm into his coat, smelling the mildly spicy cologne he is wearing. Heimdall chuckles. "Who's bothering you? Just point me and I'll take care of the rest." You giggle and draw yourself back to look at those warm honey eyes. "I missed you because I hadn't felt like someone was spying on me for the last two months. Almost felt weird." You shrug, pressing your lips to stop the smile from pouring out while Heimdall groans. "I'm never ever going to hear the end of, am I?" he closes his eyes and sighs. You shake your head before snickering. The pleasant meet-up makes you forget about the prying neighbourhood that has eyes everywhere, lurking behind every curtain to look at this strange, well-built man coming out the blue in an expensive vehicle to hug you- a single woman who should have been married by now instead of meeting strange men, according to them. From the rooftop to the eyes that are pretending to buy vegetables and groceries, everyone is centred on this tall dark and handsome man putting all their sons and husbands to shame. "So-" you poke him in his abdomen- still surprised it's hard as a rock- "what brings you here?" A knowing nod and a deep inhale is all Heimdall gives you for a moment, his habit making his eyes wander everywhere to look for anything unusual. "I...uhh...well-" he inhales through his teeth this time- "we wanted to check in on you. Wanted to see how you were doing. Because everyone misses you back home." "Oh." You feel your breath stuck in your throat. Your inner voice is already elbowing the corner of your nerves, wanting to hear you speak the name for yourself. But you just shove her back into the sleepy comfy corner for the moment. "Yeah," Heimdall smiles, "Zair misses you because he, and I quote, 'cannot even with this new temp some boomer hired in Kira's place'." You snicker. Typical Zair. "Yigrette misses you because it's mundane living with men in the house after a while." "Aww," you feel for your sweet keeper. "Fenrir misses you too, obviously. He has made your bedroom his bedroom. And it has been hard getting him to come out of there now." That floofly baby. I miss him too. Ghost hears that thought and the very next moment, his paw comes to tap on your shoulder and look at you with every ounce of judgment his blue eyes can hold towards you. "And Robert too, now that he is all healed and is ready to take more bullets." "Noooo," you groan into your palms. That idiot. You wait and watch Heimdall smile at you, standing there as your inner voice is wondering- with her face resting in her palms and legs in the air- if there is anyone else who is missing you. "Soooo...-" your voice trails away as you wipe your thoughts by rubbing your hands on your pyjamas- "everyone misses me, huh." Heimdall is about to nod before he stops and creases his brows, forcing you to furrow your own brows in return. "Mm...not everyone though." You can feel the little sinking feeling before your heart has even taken a dive from the board it currently stands on. "Hm?" is all you can bear to say. "Oh, it's Loki. I was talking about Loki. He doesn't miss you," Heimdall shakes his head. And your heart doesn't even do a routine; it just takes a sad plunge into whatever waits for it down in the pits of unwelcoming sadness. "Oh," you inhale the cold air to soothe your insides that are simmering now for some reason, "that's...good. That's good. He isn't missing on work. Or cursing me for not being there to do my work." And just like that, you are trailing into a long train of afterthoughts to console yourself. "That means he is doing pretty well in my absence...which is good...for uhh...for the company. Hmm." Heimdall cannot help but smile at the sorry look on your face to think that your boss does not care about your presence- or absence in this matter. Those y/e/c eyes are at the verge of questioning some major emotions as they let the Watcher's words sink in. It takes a lot more than a dig at lips by his perfect teeth to stop him from giving it away. "No," he finally blurts out, grabbing your attention while internally cursing himself to put you through that for a few seconds of entertainment, "you are thinking in the wrong direction." This time you look at him in confusion. "Heimdall, what are you tryin-" "He does not miss you," he continues, still looking at you when his arm extends by his side to open the door to the back seat of the SUV and relish the two-second delayed reaction, "because 'missing' would be an understatement."

The last thing he remembers is the blur of the days that have gone by till he is once more standing at the single path of stone decorated with everything that he declares too delicate for this world. Deep inside he has nothing but love for them. Everything too pure for this universe resides in this little ecosystem at the edge of where his world begins. From the ferns and creepers to the fishes and flowers- every little cell has a story of surviving all those perils to come down the path of evolution as much more beautiful. He stands right there and stares straight down the path that leads to the corner that he had begun to cherish some time ago. He pauses his day there, before every break of dawn and every splay of dusk, waiting. What exactly he waits for, no one knows. Some onlookers think he has gone much more insane after the brawl he barely crawled out alive from. They wonder what he keeps looking at in that corner, watching the sun both rise and set there. Some feel empathy for him. Yigrette walks by the lounge every single day to witness this little ritual of her master. Her soft heart aches a little for she knows somewhere he feels the absence of the one little alum that settled all the dirt inside him till it was present in the murky waters. But she does not know the depth of that emotion, neither does she want to insult her master by trying to measure it somehow. And the last time she sees him, he walks towards that edge in the night. He remembers stepping barefoot on that cold stones carrying the chilly impression of the foggy weather outside that has shrouded the vastness of his estate into one quiet graveyard where even the lights of the city do not reach. The distance- thought not much- feels worth an eternity for him as his heart accelerates. The only thought riding the unstoppable train inside his mind is the ghost of a chance of seeing you there. The lights turn on once he enters the space- they turn on for him to stare at the empty space that was once thought of as a decent wing to match the rest of the house, not really knowing what weight it would hold in the future. And here he stands, contemplating whether this part of his house had ever felt so bland before. So...hollow. He is slowly killing himself on the inside to refrain himself from touching anything for the fear of diluting your essence- or whatever is left of it- and instead, he does what he has watched you do a hundred times over. The tiles are cooler than they were the last time he laid down on them. The only time he entered your abode. That time when he watched over you for endless nights till he has to be forced to sleep for his health and yours. But how could he? You were surrounded by wires and tubes, and beeping machines that scared him even at the slightest beep. He rose up to look at you for any movement of discomfort when he himself was experiencing pain that would have bedridden any other ordinary man. Not wanting to get away from your side, he laid himself down out in the lounge. And then he found out why you did this after a long day. It feels nice to let the cold floor take away all the unnecessary thoughts swinging inside his head. Little fears that crowd his mind dissolve and drain down into the ground. Then, for the first time in the past few weeks, he lets his conscience paint a picture of you drowning in happiness. Even as the fear erodes the edges of his heart- that you are happy somewhere other than here- he finds comfort in your smile that is still fresh in his mind. Even though the dark clouds loom on those waves- the thoughts that tell him you have forgotten him- he still lets your laughter roar through his existence. A delicate experience in the cold of December.

Today sleep comes earlier than he anticipates. His eyes are heavier than they usually are. He wants to give in to the arms of slumber because the last time he slept like a baby was when you were healing. He wants to walk towards the lullaby of this pretty siren till he notices it is the first time he has felt such sleep take over him ever since you have been gone. Hold on a second... He opens his eyes- barely- and gets up on his elbow. "Yigrette," he wants to shout but the name is just a questionable statement as he feels his limbs get heavy. There is a silhouette of a figure patiently walking towards the lounge that is a hazy picture to his eyes. But his brain still works enough to realise he has been somehow made a victim of forced unconsciousness. Feeling his face touch the cold tile of the floor, he vows to take them by the throat- whoever spiked his drinks or meal and made the terrible decision of knocking him out cold. And everything goes dark. Dark...till he can hear a familiar giggle somewhere in the void. Along with a sweet aroma that brings to the surface memories that were feared lost. His heart wants him to reach out for that voice that is beginning to clear the fog inside the dense forest that is his mind. And so the heart does what he does best, it slows down too much to let the brain jerk him awake. The sun shines right over his face when a door opens somewhere, flooding his being with brightness through and through. He has to make an effort to open his eyes after a much-needed sleep, watching the rays hit his smaragdines till they are filtered and washed away by the one face he longs to see for the rest of his life. "Loki?" you call out with the softest emotion on your face as the sun rays reflecting inside the car lets your features shine for him. He blinks; still trying to figure out if it is a dream or if you do stand in front of him. "....Kira?" That voice wants to give all its strength to call out your name, wanting to bring you into existence if you are a figment of his imagination- something that is his worst fear of all. And there you stand with a smile painting your lips for him, taking his first conscious breath in this new morning away. And all he wants is to pray to some force to not let this be a twisted nightmare. "It's good to see you...sir." And that full-toothed smile melts him- front, back and sideways- while the world watches from windows and roofs, questioning Fate and her strings, for better or worse. If I could feel this again...I would want to feel it with you.

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