#'he stole from puffy he hates women'

[mintmatcha]

Part One: Baby Blue

cw: mentions of abuse, sexual encounter with dubious consent. a character driven piece

It was the first day of summer.

Fireworks scattered across the sky, just far enough away for the fat of their blooms to be concealed by the inky treeline. They whistled up, they fizzled down, forming a slow pattern that cut through the cicada song. The sound sizzled like fire and the night burned nearly as hot.

Cursed energy moved the same way fireworks did: unpredictably and variation in patterns. Fractions of light that flitted between almost everything, it flitted and flowed in an unsteady beat, dissipating into the air and forming fractals that spiraled out into nothing. When items got close enough to each other, they fully connected, sparked webbings that looped and laced endlessly a beautiful and lonely world for only Gojo Satoru's eyes to see.

The meeting house seemed to cling to remnants of curses, its walls tacky with faded imprints. Nothing more than ghosts of people who had once past through and the brighter, soft haze of you.

There was sorcerer somewhere in your bloodline, but only the silhouette of it was left for you, broad strokes with no real power behind it. When he was young, the men on the grounds had whispered about what a shame it was that you weren't like your father.

Sometimes, he agreed. Other times the sentence sat heavy in his stomach.

Gojo pushed off the shoulders of his yukata, but being bare chested did nothing to break the sweat. Heat still hung heavy on his skin. This house was not only stagnant in energies; wind passed over the tree tops, but didn't reach down to touch anything air on the property. 

A fuzzy, invisible string connected and Gojo knew you were near. He turned from the window before you even opened the door.

"Master Gojo." You bowed as you spoke, gaze cast low to the floor. The shadows moved heavy on your face and, for that moment, you looked like your mother in all the ways Gojo knew you would hate.

Over the years and infrequent meetings, he had learned a few things about you. Breakfast and lunch were your responsibilities, but dinner was deemed too important to be yours. You didn't sleep well at night, so you watched the stars and thought about everything and nothing.  The fall weather always made you sneeze, your mother always made you cry.

That night, your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, more so than they usually were.

"Master, huh?" He cocks his head and a droplet of sweat follows the new curve of his neck, trailing down, down, down. "Kind of kinky to call me that when we're alone."

Your eyes followed the beadlet for a moment and a pride swelled in his chest. He was used to women looking - they've been vying for his attention since he was too young to understand what those gentle touches and long glances meant. Power attracted desire, even long before he could reciprocate.

The way you looked at him feels different. It felt earned.

"You're still a cunt, aren't you?" you breathed, incredulous.

And suddenly, it felt like you'd really entered the room. Those fractals rotated, sparks spun. For once, he was thankful to be the only one who could see this version of the world. If anyone else could, he might have been embarrassed at how palpable his joy really was.

"How's my favorite maid?" He patted the porch next to where he sat,  "Sit with me. It's an order."

Just as you always did, you obeyed, walking across the room and coming down by his side. Usually, you'd have shed your traditional garments for something more casual to sleep in, but that night you were still dressed properly, with skirts pulled tight and neckline high. An unfamiliar scent clung to your skin, something much too mature for someone as young as you. Your mother wasn't someone to wear perfume, so he imagined you stole it from in between the pages of a magazine.

"You didn't bring your pretty friend this time."

Gojo wasn't aware of the silence between you until you broke it. A myriad of orange sparkles across the sky, fading out just as quickly as it had arrived.

"Oh? Which one?"

You stretched out, extending your legs past the perimeters of your skirts and pulling them back again. The fold of your leg pushed the fabric up, exposing much more thigh than Gojo is ready for. You've been beautiful since you were a child - beautiful in innocent ways, beautiful inherently- but you'd grown past that.  You were beautiful in ways that made him want.

"The one with the fox eyes," you said, “Geto Suguru.”

The recent memory of betrayal was bitter between Gojo's teeth. The news of it all had spread so quickly, ripping through whispers and gasps, that he hadn’t thought of the possibility of someone not knowing.

"Nah." He sucked the word through his teeth. It would have been impossible, but he swore he tasted gunpowder and sulfur on the air, “We aren’t friends anymore.”

You nodded as if you could possibly understand. 

"Gojo, I'm here to ask something from you."

You twisted to face him, eyes set strong and serious. Even in the dim of night he could make out how you sucked in air through your pursed lips to steady yourself.

"Have you ever..." You walked forward on your hands, pressing into his personal space. The tips of your fingers brushed against the sides of his thighs, so delicate he could barely feel it through the fabric. "Been with anyone?"

He scoffed and chuckled at the same time, almost choking on his own spit. Attention was not new, but touch? Touch was unexplored. 

"Yeah," he lied. He moved in sync with you, leaning back on to his elbows to make space for your body to slot above his. It was unnatural and strange, but welcome all the same,  "And I’m good at it.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you breathed. He tilted his chin up, closing the gap between your faces as much as he dared; any closer and it would have shattered the cocky swagger he feigned. It was you who broke the tension, slipping your fingers under the rim of his glasses and lifting them off, “And you’re lying through your teeth.”  

The air pulsed with color - the deep blues and reds of his own energy absorbing yours for a moment, so vivid that it was all he could see. 

“Is that why you came here?” he said, conceit dripping from his voice, “Come to steal the great Gojo Satoru’s V-card?”

“No," you replied, “I’m here to give you mine.”

You discarded your shirt. With an ease, your bra followed suit, tits exposed to the night air. It struck him that you were the first woman he'd ever seen naked in real life, imperfect in all the ways porn hadn't prepared him for, but incredibly, wonderfully real.

"Well?" 

Gojo realized he had fallen still. You were there, waiting for an answer. 

He would've been stupid to say no. Men don’t turn down beautiful women, men don’t say no to sex. Despite that, a bitterness clung to the back of his throat. He swallowed it down as he brought his hand to the elastic band of his underwear and pushed it down.

"If Geto was here, would you have sat on his cock instead?"

You don't hesitate. "No, I don't want my first time to be with a stranger."

That struck him as odd; despite the occasional encounter, he barely knew you at all, and yet you were straddling his waist, skirts gathered at your hips. If anything, the relationship between you was nothing more than a childish dream, something Gojo held on to when he needed to feel human.

"I thought it'd be…" You cocked your head as you gripped his penis, much too tight to be comfortable,  "Firmer."

"Ouch," Gojo cooed, only part of his anguish performative, "Give a man a chance to warm up."

"We don't have time for a warm up," you insisted, "He'll kill me if he finds me here."

Before he could question, you moved again. Your panties were suddenly pushed to the side and he was suddenly very aware of just how close you were, core pressed against core. His body reacted the way you wanted it too, but that sick, bile taste rose again-

In some ways,  Geto tore holes when he left, nibbled, frayed edges where trust should be. Whatever was between the two of you was different than whatever Gojo had with him, but those jagged pieces ached the same. 

"At least-"  Gojo fumbled forward, grasping for your face and any semblance of control. Once he had you, long fingers completely covering your cheeks and buried into your hair, Gojo tugged you close, noses bumping, "Kiss me first, damn." 

When his lips met yours, you laughed. It's not what he expected, not what he imagined all those times the thought had crossed his mind. It was wild and arrhythmic and loud, uncontrolled and unrefined, so much so that he had to stop so your teeth didn't clash against his.  When he dipped in for another kiss, you didn't stop, laughing against his lips and vibrating his face with sweet sounds. It's so sweet that he swore he could taste it, thick and lingering like honey, a flavor he hoped he could sear into his mouth and chest, never to forget. 

Then, the taste of salt tinted his tongue. 

Gojo pulled back just far enough to see your tears shimmer in the afterglow of fireworks. Suddenly, you didn't seem grown; you were just a child in the same ways he was. Comfort did not come naturally to him, instead locking his joints still in shock.

"Shit, you crying?" he said without thinking. 

Wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand, you tried to dip back in for more, but a firm hand from Gojo denied you. That was the final straw; you slumped.

"I don't-" You huffed in, sobs trembling in the corners of your voice, "I'm sorry, I don't wanna do this-"

Gojo knew the taste of mania. The high, the bad choices, all of it followed by the crashing, horrible lows; he should have known something was wrong with you much earlier. 

“I’m a little insulted you only want to fuck me because you’re having a mental break down- oi, quick cryin’, I’m kidding," He insisted, but you just kept sobbing, each moment growing louder and louder. When you were younger, your mother would bruise the backs of your thighs with a wooden spoon when she found you talking to guests when it was ‘unearned.’ It was fucked up then, but now, in his arms, it felt much, much worse. If he wasn’t here, would you have cried on your own? Would you hold in your feelings in silence?

“Shh,” Gojo patted your side, “Just say what's wrong.”

The night sat deep, the fireworks gone and the moon only a sliver. Even with his blackout glasses off, he can barely see you; the limited magic you carried dimmed itself down to nothing but dim. Like those glow in the dark stars kids hung on ceilings, he thought, a light so low he wasn’t sure if it was really there.

"Satoru." 

Oh. That sat strange in his stomach. Satoru: so strange, so simple.

It struck him that he didn’t remember your name.The whispers about you were always Maid, Daughter, Idiot, Useless. 

"Satoru, I'm getting married." 

His stomach twisted again. No ring sat on your finger, no excitement laced your voice. 

"Oh, shit. When?" Gojo said, “To who?”

"In ten hours," you said miserably, "Some Zen'in cuck//."

Gojo barked out a laugh at that. 

"It's not funny!” You were always funny, even when you didn’t mean to be. “They paid my mom for me and this stupid house and now I’m gonna have to spread my legs for some- some- some-.”

It took a moment for Gojo to swallow this. Arranged marriage was supposed to be for the elites, people who carried some sort of weight with their family name, but it wasn’t uncommon for the Zen’in clan to use it to their advantage. This meeting house was a neutral ground, holy in the same ways as a shrine; if you -a beautiful girl with just enough potential to guarantee a curse-user heir- were the consolation prize for owning property…

He doubted a man would turn down this deal.

“Can’t you just… say no?”

You scoffed and covered your chest, suddenly aware of your own nudity like Eve bit the apple.

“Not all of us are important, Satoru." 

Since childhood, Gojo had thought of you as normal. You were human, flesh and blood in the simplest, purest of ways, but that spark he had loved years ago had long been stamped out by the world. 

And Gojo hadn’t treated you much better. Teasing you through the years, claiming you as a ‘girlfriend’, never learning your name; it was like you were a doll, a simple plaything he could abandon here and return to only when he felt like it.

Geto flashed in his mind for a moment. He’d revel in the ways you saw yourself deserving of this.

Riko would have liked you, he thought. It was a shame you never got to meet.

The world shouldn’t be allowed to cannibalize both of you.

“You should go.”

You pulled away and watched him with wild, wild eyes. Gojo thought that, for the first time in his life, someone might be seeing more clearly than him.

“What?”

He gestured into the forest. The boundaries of it had disappeared into the night, forming a single neverending block. The whole world was in that nothingness, waiting for the night to end or for you to explore it.

"You should run and never, ever come back to this shithole.”

You didn’t even consider it, drawing back away from him.You clutched for your shirt, pulling it back on sloppily. 

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.” you press, “Where am I going to go? What am I going to do?”

He didn’t know the answer to that. It was possible you didn’t even have a proper education, let alone experience outside these walls. The human world wouldn’t be kind to you-

But this world never offered you any kindness either.

“I dunno,” he said, “But it’s gotta be better than staying."

.

The next morning, the buzz started before sunrise. The anger, followed by panic. For the first time maybe ever, he heard others call for you by name, searching every nook and cranny for a girl that had long disappeared. Your mother cried, but Gojo doubted the tears were really for you.

About midday, a dark haired man ducked into his room, wrinkles deepened in fury. 

“Have you seen that-” The stranger bit back a curse, “That maid?”

He said maid the same way Gojo used to, with unnecessary weight to the word. If he had less sense, Gojo would have corrected him, but instead he shrugged. 

“Why would I pay attention to a housekeeper?”

Luckily, the bra you had forgotten last night was tucked into his luggage already.

As tiny chaos unfurled, Gojo hung onto the memory of your figure disappearing into the night, only sparing him the smallest of glances before you were gone. 

That was the last time he’d ever see you, he knew. 

He was equally happy and horrified by that.

[southerngothicchic]

I'm obsessed with the idea of Prince Steve, so naturally, I had to write something for him 👑

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒

18+

You supposed you should've been more upset by the proposal of an arranged marriage. Had it been anyone else, you would've been. When your parents brought up the potential of uniting kingdoms by betrothing you to the prince of the neighboring one, you strangely didn't protest. They expected you to be absolutely furious at the thought, but you calmly agreed with their plans, stunning them.

Unbeknownst to them, you had been harboring a crush on your soon to be husband, Prince Harrington. When you would see each other at the annual Grand Ball, he would always ask you to dance, while showering you with compliments. One year, he even stole a kiss, which made you fall even more hopelessly in love with him.

He earned his nickname as the 'Gentleman Prince,' by capturing the hearts of everyone in the kingdom, especially all the young maidens. He was the most eligible man in all the surrounding kingdoms, with different nobles offering their daughters to him when he became of age.

He politely refused all attempts at matchmaking, as he enjoyed the freedom of being with as many different women, as he could.

That was, until his parents brought up the idea of him marrying you, as a means of uniting two kingdoms and ushering in a new era of peace.

He didn't hate the idea, in fact, he was in favor of it. He had a crush of his own, on you, and by having you as his new bride, he would get to fulfill all the fantasies he's had swirling around in his head for years.

The wedding was soon planned and was a lavish affair. Your new husband looked so exceptionally dashing, it made you blush. He also thought you looked beautiful, so ethereal, like his own personal angel.

The ceremony felt like an out of body experience for you, as you were in disbelief you were actually marrying the gorgeous man in front of you.

That feeling lingered until you were being escorted to your new bed chambers, by your new husband.

He paused outside the closed door, before opening it. He then swept you into his arms and carried you over the threshold. You giggled as he set you back on your feet. His hands rested on your waist while he gazed at you.

Your hands gripped his sleeves, hesitant to touch him. He smiled, faintly, before reaching down and placing your arms around his neck.

"You don't need to be so nervous, Princess, it's not like we're strangers," he assured.

"I know, it's just, this is the first time I've been alone with you, and it's...intimidating," you admitted, timidly.

"It shouldn't be," he quietly began, his hand moving to stroke your cheek. "Like I said, we've known each other for years. We've even shared a kiss before."

He leaned in close, brushing your lips with his. You held your breath when he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

"How can I calm your nerves, dearest?" He then asked. "Would kissing you help?"

You only whimpered in response before he pulled you tightly against him, and kissed you deeply. Your hands finally moved as he wanted them to, settling in his hair.

"I think I know something else that would help," he breathed, into a kiss. "Getting you out of this beautiful, yet heavy gown, what do you think?"

You nodded. "Yes, my Prince."

He softly laughed. "We're married now, you don't have to refer to me like that anymore. You can just call me by my first name."

"Right, my apologies, Steve," you replied, as he turned you around, so he could unlace the back of your wedding gown.

Once he finished unlacing the fitted bodice, he pushed its puffy sleeves from your arms, letting it pool at your feet. You now stood before him only in your dainty slip dress. You felt his large hands glide up your arms and his lips against your back. You sighed as he pressed wet kisses across your skin, up to the nape of your neck.

"I've dreamed of kissing you like this," he breathily revealed.

His hands then moved to your breasts.

"And touching you like this..."

You felt faint as he kept kissing you.

"I...think I need to lie down," you finally blurted out.

"Alright, dearest," he said, while guiding you to the bed.

He made sure you were nice and comfortable before he began undressing. You watched as he stripped down to his white, billowy undershirt and trousers. He then joined you, on the bed, laying next to you.

"I haven't overwhelmed you with my affections, have I?" He asked, his hand cradling your face.

"Just slightly," you answered, as your cheeks turned a shade of crimson.

"I'm sorry, I've just wanted this for so long...I didn't mean to..." he apologized, grimacing.

"Its alright," you assured, with a smile. "I've also dreamed of being with you...like this."

His face then lit up. "You have?"

You nodded. "Ever since you first kissed me, I yearned for it to happen again."

He excitedly sighed your name before pulling you into a kiss. A low moan escaped you as he swiped his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers once again tangled in his hair you indulged in one another.

Panting, he trailed kisses to your cheek, your jaw, then your neck. You gasped when you felt him leaving little marks on your skin, as not so subtle reminders of who you now belonged to.

Your body involuntarily writhed underneath him, as he kissed his way to your collarbone.

"What else did you dream of me doing to you, dearest?" He inquired, glancing up at you, his warm eyes now consumed with lust.

"You touching me, where no other man has," you confessed, taking his hand and placing it under your slip, on your thigh.

He breathily cursed then quickly kissed you again. His hand squeezed your thigh, before moving up a little higher. You gasped against his lips when you felt his fingers brush against you.

He lowly moaned as your arousal coated his fingertips. He ran his fingers over you before finally sinking one of them inside you.

"Is this what you wanted, for me to touch you like this?"

"Y-Yes..." you gasped, your back already arching off the bed.

He grinned as he slowly pumped it in and out of you.

"You're so beautiful, darling," he breathed, before adding another finger.

His lips muffled your moans as he kissed you, hungrily.

"S-Steve..." you gasped, against his cheek.

"Feels good, doesn't it, darling?" He asked, his lips ghosting over yours.

"Oh, yes..."

"I always want to make you feel good...I'm going to spend this night showing you just how good I can make you feel," he breathed, causing your eyes to widen.

You sighed his name once more, as he pressed wet kisses to your cheek.

You then whimpered at the loss of his fingers, and thought you might actually faint when you watched him place them between his lips. His eyes rolled back when he tasted you.

"You taste divine, Princess," he panted. "I need more."

Steve then eagerly repositioned himself between your legs. He pushed up your slip, exposing yourself to him.

You felt a familiar heat rising throughout your body, as he rested his head on your thigh.

"So pretty, truly angelic, laying before me like this," he lamented, gazing up at you so lovingly.

You then reached for him, placing your palm against his cheek. He smiled, leaning into your touch, before moving your hand to his hair. His hands then gently pushed your legs open, a little wider.

His nose nudged against you, already making you writhe. His tongue then licked and lapped at you. Your fingers entwined in his honeyed locks, while repeatedly sighing his name.

He groaned into you, as he devoured you. Your back again arched off the bed and your thighs enclosed around his head. You breathily apologized, practically smothering him, but he assured you it was fine. He loved how you squeezed him against you, so enraptured by pleasure.

You pulled his hair harder as your eyes closed, feeling yourself inching closer to the edge. With one final kiss, Steve pulled away from you, grinning, his lips and chin glistening.

Your eyes met, each of you panting. He then crawled up your body and hovered his face over yours.

"Was that good, Princess?" He asked, rhetorically, while you nodded.

His smile widened before he pressed his lips to yours. He licked his way into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You moaned into his sinful kiss, pulling him closer to you.

"I want to make love to you, dearest," he softly said, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"I want that, too..." you sheepishly replied.

"Get undressed for me," he instructed, equally as soft.

He then sat up, so you could shed your slip. Now, you were completely bare and his eyes traveled your perfect body. He bit his lip as he gestured for you to lay back down.

He sprang from the bed and quickly pulled his shirt over his head. His hands then pushed his tight trousers down his legs, revealing him to you.

You couldn't help the gasp that escaped your lips as you saw how he was throbbing for you.

He eagerly climbed on top of you, you each gasping at feeling of skin against skin.

"My literal blushing bride," he smiled, as you tried to turn away.

"No, no, look at me," he said, using his finger to direct your eyes back to his. "Keep your eyes on me, darling."

"I'll try," you breathed.

He kissed you sweetly, before easing himself inside you. You gasped as you felt every inch of him. You winced, digging your nails into his arms, as the pain turned pleasurable.

"Are you alright?" He asked, against your lips. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No...please don't stop," you breathily pleaded, before pulling him into a kiss.

He moaned into it, as he thrusted his hips a little faster. He was still careful not to hurt you, knowing this was your first time experiencing pleasure like this.

"You feel heavenly, darling," he panted, pressing his forehead to yours. "Better than any fantasy could ever be."

"Oh, S-Steve..." you sighed, your eyes closing from the growing euphoria building within you.

"Open your eyes, darling. I want to look into them as I make you mine...you want to be mine, don't you?"

"Oh, yes... more than anything," you panted.

He smiled, leaning up slightly to take your hands in his and pin them to the bed, next to your head. His hips then snapped against yours, illiciting cries of his name, as he brought you both closer to release. He buried his face in your neck, as he felt you come undone around him.

He soon lost himself in you, moaning your name, as his hips kept moving, until he had given you all he had.

Your heavy breathing filled the chamber as he pressed kisses all over your face.

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" He asked, after regaining himself.

"No, you were wonderful," you smiled.

He let go of your hands and they immediately went to push his tousled hair, out of his face.

"You can do that to me as much as you like," you continued, now making him blush.

He smiled, as he leaned in to kiss you once more.

"I love you, Princess," he then breathed, against your lips.

"And I love you, my Prince."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut

[lonely-lost-soul]

Poff Poff

(Platonic C!Schlatt x Niece Reader)

Request 7: Can I request an Uncle Jschlatt and Niece reader? (Platonic ye) maybe Jschlatt could be out taking his niece to a late-night convenience store so they could late-night snack because both he and his niece had a bad day?

Requested by: Anonymous

AU where Puffy is Schlatt’s sister :)

~~~

Schlatt had, had a rough day, to say the least. He once again almost got banned for another scheme gone wrong. His election plans were set in motion but due to the statistics, it looked like he was losing and he was pissed off beyond belief. He had no plans for the rest of the day, all he wanted to do was relax with a drink and a cigarette, maybe watch a movie, just something to help him through the rest of this shitty ass day.

So, When Puffy had shown up on his doorstep and dropped you off to watch you while she went out his immediate response was no. He already smells like cigarette smoke and whiskey he shouldn’t be anywhere near a child. But one harsh glare from his sister made him shut his trap, he looked down at you and you looked just as unhappy to be there.

“Mom do I have to stay here, I’m old enough to stay on my own. Or even with Dream?” The angsty teen groaned tilting her head to the side, her little horns hitting her on the shoulder. Puffy let out a pinched huff pressing her fingers to her nose,

“You know Dreams out with George and Sapnap, plus you’re still too young to be left alone. So you’re staying with Uncle Schlatt until I get back from my date with Niki.”

“But-”

“Hush no butts. Now you.” She pointed a finger at Schlatt, “no smoking or drinking in front of my little Poff got it?” Schlatt rolled his eyes snarling over at his sister,

“Have a little faith in me, sis.” She shot him a look, and he wilted a little bit,

“Be good.”

“I will.” You groaned,

“Not talking to you.”

“I will.” The goat-man grumbled under his breath, finally seeming satisfied his sister departed leaving her equally hotheaded daughter by his side. “So...you smoke?”

“No Uncle Schlatt I don’t smoke,” You sighed a frown on your face usually that comment got a least a snort.

Oh no, not teenage angst.

You walked past him into his humble abode and plopped down on his couch, it also smelled like smoke, “How’s Quackity?”

“You mean Flatty Patty?” He smirked plopping down beside you scratching at his ear absentmindedly. You snickered, there it was,

“No I don’t, you know he hates when you call him that.” You nudged him gently, Schlatt ruffled your hair minding your horns. You huffed at him moving to fix your tousled hair,

“Alright, kid you got me. Now, what’s up with you?”

“Nothings wrong.” You muttered crossing your arms over your chest defensively, he shrugged his shoulders not bothering to push you. “Okay fine!” You blurted throwing your hands in the air, the man raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say anything-”

“It’s just Dream’s not been home lately and Mom’s not taking it well. Instead of trying to watch out for him n’ shit, she’s going on dates with Niki.” You groaned falling back against the couch, “When he does come home it’s just for food and to pet, his cat then leave. He barely even says hi to us anymore...we used to be so close. Now he just doesn’t care.” Your face fell and he frowned, Schlatt winced a little he was never known to be very good with comforting people let alone comforting women. He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed,

“He’ll come around kid, family’s, family you know?” He watched you shrug sadly and he rubbed his chin with his other hand.

He needed another cigarette right now.

You looked up at him and saw him tense, “You can smoke I don’t care.” You gave a little shrug, “either way I’m leaving here smelling like smoke Mom won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Heh.” He chuckled roughly rubbing the back of his neck, “thank’s kid, I owe you one.” You nodded and watched as Schlatt pulled out his package of cigarettes and frowned seeing it was empty, “Ah fuck me.”

“You out?”

“Yeah. Would you be opposed to a quick drugstore run?” You shrugged your shoulders, indifferent.

“Sure could be fun. Could I get a snack?”

“You could get whatever you want, not payin’ for it.” You snorted loudly covering your mouth to hide your snort. “What? If you can steal it you can get whatever you want.”

“I’m not stealing anything Uncle Schlatt, that’s wrong.”

“Ugh. What’s my goody-two-shoes sister been teaching you?” His nose scrunched up in displeasure. “As long as you don’t get caught anything is legal kid. Stick with me and you’ll learn way more tips than that. I'm a professional.”

“Right cause doing that hasn’t gotten banned before.” You smirked and he glared at you pulling on your horn. The movement caused you to yelp in pain. “Joke! I was joking! Ow!” He muttered a ‘you better be’ before standing up from his couch. You followed him from the couch as he made his way to the door, he held it open for you and you snickered “What a gentlemen.”

“Don’t slander my name like that again.” He scoffed, “Follow me, don’t wander off.” Schlatt commanded as you followed him down to the nearest convenience store, “Go get something you like.” He shooed you off and requested the pack of cigarettes he needed making small talk with the store clerk while you wandered around. “Hurry up kid or you get nothing!”

“I’m coming!” You yelled back in your arms was a pack of sour patch watermelons, a chocolate bar, and some chips, “I got you chips.” Schlatt tried to bite back a smile but it came through anyway and it only made you smile in tandem. He paid for your goodies and you both headed out to go sit outside on a nearby bench. As you sat down you turned to stare at him dead in the eyes, he felt a little unsettled and watched as you slowly pulled out a little bag of popcorn. “I stole it.”

“Holy fuck kid you did it!” He burst into laughter ruffling your hair once again, “I’m proud of you.” You beamed brightly sitting up straighter on the bench, you opened the bag and popped a piece into your mouth. Schlatt reached forward and stole a handful from you, you ripped the bag away defensively and he snickered.

“Soo…” You trailed off softly and he raised an eyebrow at you, “You seemed to have a bad day too. You wanna talk about it?” His eyes widened in surprise, he didn’t take you to be so observant, then again you were Puffy’s child.

“Alright Poff,” he clicked his tongue distastefully and began to recount his woes to his child niece. Halfway through he pulled out a freshly bought cigarette and stuck it between his teeth. He pulled out a lighter flicking it a few times before lighting the cancer stick in his mouth and taking a long drag. You nodded your head in response and seemed to be listening intently to him, as he talked he felt his facade crumbling. The goat man slumped across the bench and was openly ranting to you at this point. “So yeah, that’s how my days going. Guess we both are doing pretty shitily huh?” You pursed your lips,

“Why don’t you ask Quackity to combine both of your votes the day of the election?” He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, you flushed nervously under his stern gaze. “Then you can be the President and he can be your Vice President or something...that way you both win in a way, ya know?”

“Kid…” Schlatt murmured thoughtfully rubbing his chin, “you’re a genius!” He wrapped you up in a hug, “this kid! I love ya! You’re too smart for your good!” You beamed letting out a happy laugh in response, “I’m contacting him immediately. Wilbur and Tommy don’t stand a fucking chance against me now.”

“I’m glad I can make you happy.” You snuggled into his arms but recoiled a little bit at the overwhelming scent of fresh smoke on his clothes, “you deserve it.” Schlatt felt his heart shutter a little at the inclination that he deserves to be happy, he was about to respond with a joke but you started talking again. “You’re a good guy Uncle. You don’t let people see it often but you’re an okay dude,” he watched you fiddle with your fingers as his eyebrows furrowed. He chuckled a little,

“Most people would disagree with you kid.”

“Well most people don’t know like mom and I do,” You pointed out, “Plus if you weren’t a nice guy you wouldn’t have tried to cheer me up.”

“I needed smokes.” He pointed out motioning to the stick in his mouth and you frowned a little.

Good, things were getting too mushy for his liking.

He was about to smirk in triumph but you turned towards him a determined look on your face. “My point still stands, for example, if you weren’t that great of a guy you wouldn’t have watched me today. You would’ve shut the door in Puffy’s face or you wouldn’t have listened and tried to comfort me. Therefore, my point still stands,” You shoved your finger in his face and he grumbled in displeasure. You smirked instead of him, getting the signature family smirk on your face it only made him frown deeper.

“Alright fine, but you tell anyone I’m slightly nice you’re cut off.”

“Cut off from what? You’re inheritance? You’re broke as shit.”

“You’re way too much like your mother.”

“Aw, you think so?” You flushed fondly, “Thanks!” You chirped proudly, puffing out your chest a little bit. He scoffed tugging on your horns once more and smirked as you yelped, “Would you stop doing that!”

“Nah I don’t think I will. Especially because I know it’s bothering you.”

“Asshole.”

“That’s more like it.”

You leaned back against the back of the bench with a loud groan throwing some popcorn at him. He snickered loudly, watching you closely all in all Schlatt did enjoy today. He kissed his teeth a little, you were way smarter than everyone seemingly gave you credit for, especially Dream. When Schlatt wins this election maybe he’d give you a position in his cabinet. He thinks you would like that, finally being able to show people who’s boss and what you’re capable of, yeah that’s what he’ll do. Reluctantly Schlatt pulled you close so your head rested against his shoulder, you smiled up at him softly, all in all, it was a good end to his day.

#c!schlatt x reader #platonic schlatt x reader #Platonic Schlatt x niece reader #c!jschlatt x reader #platonic jschlatt x reader #dreamsmp x you #dreamsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #platonic x reader #platonic relationships #platonic mcyt x reader #minecraft fanfiction #minecraft x reader #minecraft x you #x reader #x you #x y/n

[isla-04]

| the art of falling in love with a dead girl.

miya atsumu x f!reader | part 2

Summary: love conquers all. a foolish boy will believe in anything just to get you to stay, just for one more day. one more second with you is all he wishes for, a second that you may not have.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of depressions and suicide

there was only so much time promised for a single person.

some were promised an entire lifetime. some were promised an eternity.

but there were a handful of those of us that were promised much shorter: months, weeks, or even days. sometimes those days weren’t even promised, sometimes our clock would run out much quicker than the time stamp we were given originally. we were forced to watch from the sidelines while others enjoyed their life to the fullest, stretching their days as far as they could. essentially, we’ve become dead men walking. or women, in your case. 

at what point do we decide to accept our fate? at what point do we realize that our time is limited, compared to others who have an entire life to experience all the things we could only dream of doing? truly, there’s no exact point in time, but rather a feeling that we live with until our time is up. it starts off a simple whisper in the back of our head and grows into a fully matured voice that constantly creates conversation in our minds. 

the voice of disappointment, where every little thing you do is no longer good enough for not only yourself but the world around you as well. one of anger, where every wrongdoing that has come your way adds fuel to your fire and eventually burns over your entire body, just waiting to lash out on whoever’s innocent soul is near. a voice of anxiety that feels as if it were crawling through your veins, instilling its poison in your blood to the point where you feel like you can no longer breathe properly. this voice sits in the back of your head, hushed and judgmental, and when you finally acknowledge that its there it will push to the forefront of your mind. dismantling your senses and clouding your vision, this voice becomes another body in your own. a body that has corrupted your soul with its apparent hatred. 

rather than being given both the angel and the devil, the devil sits alone on both shoulders directing your every move. often times, against your will as well. maybe he was the one who stole your time, or maybe it was yourself. maybe you weren’t strong enough to fight off his thoughts, or were they yours? not that it would matter in the end.

once you’ve accepted the fact that there was only a short amount of time assigned to you, you’ve lost the desire to keep living for the rest of that time. there wasn’t much anyways, so why continue? in the end, your efforts would’ve been for nothing if you were no longer going to be here. 

but what others don’t realize is that despite the fact that you’ve accepted your end, life actually seems to become easier. the motivation to get out of bed, shower, clean up, and do normal things returns in that short period of time before you leave. the smile on your face becomes genuine and the laughs you let out, they sound exactly like they did when you were a small child. you become the best you that you’ve ever been because finally, that voice in the back of your head will no longer be there to harm you.

maybe that’s what caused him to fall for you. maybe it was the genuine smile and laughs that you gave him after he told one of his jokes. they were stupid and to others, came off as failed attempts of flirting. but you laughed and you smiled as if he was the greatest comedian of all times. you only ever looked at him with kind and soft eyes, never raised your voice to him, never turned your back. 

if he was excited he would jump circles around you, like a child excited to get ice cream. he would speak at a mile a minute, never pausing to take a breath, but he was too excited to waste a minute on breathing. he needed to tell you about whatever he was excited about, just so he could see your smile and here your voice. that silky voice that made his heart clench every time you spoke. you would be excited right along with him, even if you didn’t quite catch what he said to you in his jumbled sentences that he called english. 

if he was nervous, you would draw spirals on the back of his hands in order to calm him down. “in...out...in...out. do that three more times, okay?” you would say to him before every game, even if he wasn’t nervous. but something about the way you worried for him made him feel safe, like he would always be cared for. like he would always have someone to fall back on.

if he was angry, you would be the first person to ask what was wrong, letting him rant and complain about whatever it was that got him so worked up. you wouldn’t interrupt or try to invalidate how he felt. he could rant for hours or days, and you would be right next to him with open ears. once he’d calm down, you would be right there to help him assess the situation. could he have handled it differently? was he in the right or was he in the wrong? no matter what it was that you suggested, he’d be 100% willing to do it.

but the part of you that he appreciated and would cherish forever, was that you were willing to carry his weight on your shoulders when he couldn’t do it himself. you would be waiting for him with opens arms and he’d collapsed right into them. the first few times you hadn’t properly prepared for him to actually collapse, and you were the poor boy nearly fell onto the concrete sidewalk. as he cried into your chest, you would softly run your hands through his hair and massage his temples; you were no stranger to the headaches that would soon follow after crying this hard. the sweet nothings you would whisper into his ear, affirming that he would be okay and that this would get better, helped him pick himself up again.

you took care of him like a mother took care of her child, but to him, it felt different. he hadn’t been sure before, but when he looked into your bright eyes, he knew; atsumu fell in love with you. he fell in love with your whole being actually, and there was no part of you that he could ever hate. everything about you was perfect to him.

you never judged him or called him out for his pathetic jokes, never shunned him away when he was upset, never ordered him to quiet down when he was too excited or ridiculed him when he got angry; but you didn’t really do much these days. unbeknownst to him, you were one of the few who weren’t promised a lifetime. he had eternity, and you had ‘till the end of the week.

the eyes that he believed held the universe, were the same ones that cried for hours at night in the dark. the same ones that were red and puffy in the mornings after those late night cries. the same ones that needed to constantly hold back their own tears during the day because you felt like the weight of the world would collapse onto you. 

the shoulders that he would cry on were the same ones that slouched whenever you sat down because holding his emotional weight along with your own was beginning to overwhelm you. how were you to help him when you couldn’t even help yourself? the chest atsumu would cry into was the same one that felt empty. it felt like there was a large gaping hole in the middle right where your heart should’ve been. 

but here you were, taking care of him. you did it all on your own account, not because you felt like you owed him anything, but after a while things were not as easy as they used to be. that voice in the back of your head would get louder each year, pushing you further and further into a dark hole. a hole that got deeper over time, one that you never saw an opening to. one that felt infinite, so deep that not even a sliver of light could touch you. the clock that you were assigned at birth was nearing its end and when the big hand hit twelve, a new day would start, one without you.

as much as you cherished your time with atsumu, you knew that it was coming to an end. sooner or later you would have to say goodbye, and not just for the night, but for life. a permanent goodbye that you knew would leave a scar on his heart, but this choice was yours and you made it already. you were ready to leave, ready to go, ready to finally let your conscience rest and ease the aching in your heart. this was it. it was time, so with tears in your eyes you let go.

birdy’s notes: please do not repost, rewrite or claim as yours. thank you!

- this is my first official post and i hope that it was at least decent. i might attempt to make this a tiny series, but i’m not completely sure yet.

#miya atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #haikyu x reader #haikyu #haikyu angst #atsumu x you #haikyuu!! #haikyū!! #haikyu imagines #haikyuu imagines #hq atsumu #hq angst #hq imagines #hq x reader

[carewyncromwell]

The Cinderella AU is back...and with it, a proper introduction to the character who fills the “evil stepmother” role -- Carewyn’s cold, cruel grandfather, Charles Cromwell. If you’d like to learn more about Charles and his family’s canon counterparts, you can consult this post, but to summarize quickly, in Carewyn’s canon, Carewyn’s mother Lane ran away from home to elope with a Muggle, which ended up protecting Carewyn and Jacob from Charles’s emotionally abusive influence. (At least until R started going after them, because hey, what d’you know, in Carey-bear’s canon, Charles is R’s leader.) But in this AU, Carewyn has to answer to Charles for some reason...so yeah, that doesn’t bode well, does it? You’ll just have to read on to learn a little more about why that might be...

Fashion changed very dramatically during the Renaissance, thanks in large part to the cross-pollination of different cultures and influences that came from more extensive travel, the growing popularity of published works, and royal funding of the arts. Pre-Renaissance men’s fashion, at least for the nobility, was very big on oversized sleeves, which ended up creating a more “top-heavy” frame. (Just look at most portraits of King Henry VIII.) As the Renaissance went on, though, trunk hose (which creates that kind of “bubble butt” look that we’re used to seeing in William Shakespeare Halloween costumes) became the latest fad, shifting a man’s frame to be much more “bottom-heavy.” Women’s fashion briefly flirted with wide trumpet sleeves (as one can see in this portrait of a young Elizabeth Tudor, later Queen Elizabeth I), but by the time the 1550′s were over, rounded sleeves grew much more popular. Fitted sleeves also went in and out of style in a lot of Europe throughout the 16th century, though sleeves were considered a special feature on gowns, so they often had a lot of embellishments, such as paneling, embroidery, or puffs. One exception to this rule, however, was in Italy, where fitted, detachable sleeves that could be used on multiple gowns became fashionable. Fashion in Italy in the 16th century was notably understated and modest compared to a lot of Europe, which tended to favor a lot of ornate beading and embroidery -- there were even laws on the books restricting how “bedazzled” women’s fashion could be. One such law even banned stripes, as it was considered wasteful to use two different kinds of fabric just to make a pattern. That being said, there were plenty of people in Italy who said “screw the rules” and worked around them anyway. Carewyn’s dress in this picture is somewhat based on this design, but with some tweaking, most notably with a fuller skirt and more ornate and puffy sleeves.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When the end of the month arrived, Andre requested that Carewyn come to his chambers bright and early in the morning. Carewyn had anticipated that the prince had some extra duties for her to attend to, but instead, he immediately led her over to a corner of his bed chamber that he’d drawn a curtain around. When he pulled the curtain back, he revealed a full tailoring station inside his walk-in closet, complete with organized rolls of fabric, various jewels and beads strewn about over a table, several unfinished hats stacked on the nearby desk, an entire separate wardrobe of unfinished pieces, and several mannequins with fine fabrics half-pinned on them.

One mannequin, however, was wearing a completely finished, luxurious dark scarlet gown. It was made of about six different fabrics, all cut and sewn together in a complex tapestry of folds and textures and trimmed with many sparkling beads and jewels. Also lying on the floor just in front of the dress was a pair of heeled shoes made of off-white cloth with red and white roses sewn into the toes.

Carewyn couldn’t help but gape. Andre was grinning from ear to ear.

“So?” he asked. “What do you think?”

Carewyn glanced out the side of her eye at the prince, over to the dress, and back.

“Did you...make this, your Highness?” she asked, amazed.

Andre laughed. “Carewyn, please, it’s ‘Andre.’ But yes! I got inspired while working on your shoes, so I stitched this up to go with it. ...Do you like it?”

Carewyn walked around the mannequin to look over the gown, not daring to touch it. She’d never seen so many fine fabrics on one dress before -- velvet, linen, silk -- and all the embellishments must’ve taken full days to finish --

“It’s -- well, it’s extraordinary, your -- Andre,” she corrected herself very quickly noticing the prince’s pointed smile. Even she was finding it difficult not to smile too. “The beading on the sleeves, the lace work -- the alternating wool and cotton paneling along the bodice...it’s worthy of an artisan!”

Andre looked clearly both incredibly pleased and impressed. “You have an eye for detail, Carewyn!”

His face burst into a bright white grin as he bent down and picked up one of the off-white cloth shoes.

“I’m pleased you like it,” he said brightly. “I thought it’d be the perfect thing for you to wear today. Lord Cromwell sent a message to the palace asking Father if you could return home for a visit -- so I worked all night to get this done in time so that you could wear it for your outing with your new shoes.”

Despite her best efforts, Carewyn couldn’t completely keep the dismay and discomfort she felt off her face.

“What? Oh -- oh, your Highness, I -- ”

“Ah, ah, ah,” chided Andre, “what have I asked you to call me?”

“Andre,” Carewyn corrected very quickly, her eyes drifting up onto the dress rather than at Andre, “this dress is...truly beautiful...but it befits a lady of status, not -- ”

“It fits you,” Andre said, undaunted. “I used the measurements from your uniform fitting. It should fit you like a glove -- or better.”

Carewyn felt like her stomach was shriveling up. She hated turning away such a lovely gift -- under any other circumstances, she would love wearing it out and about. But...

“That...that is...it’s so kind of you, to use me as your template...”

Or “dress-up doll” -- that is what the Queen said I would be, isn’t it?

“...but I simply couldn’t wear such a gift on my visit...not when I have no comparable gifts to bring my cousins. Many of them are around my age, and...and well, I know Heather, Iris, and Dahlia would be very upset, knowing I got to wear such a beautiful dress and they didn’t.”

None of her cousins had ever been very respectful of Carewyn’s personal belongings. Not long after she first arrived, her aunt Pearl’s two bullying sons, Kain and Arsen, stole her jewelry box while she was sleeping and sold both it and its contents for pocket change. Her youngest cousin, her uncle Blaise’s bratty son Tristan, had once thrown a bottle of red wine out the window that shattered mere feet away from Carewyn and soaked her dress so badly that it never washed out. Even Iris had -- after Carewyn caught the eye of one of her suitors who’d come to call -- ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress so badly that she had to hide from sight for most of the day, until she’d managed to sew it up enough that her chest wasn’t exposed. Carewyn had had to hide her mother’s old dress from her cousins for years, for fear they might steal and/or ruin it.

Andre frowned deeply.

“Well, I hardly can send along anything for your cousins without knowing their measurements,” he said with a quick glance at the wardrobe full of unfinished pieces.

His face then brightened with an idea.

“How about this -- I’ll order you. I order you to wear this dress on your trip home, and to have your cousins give you their honest opinion of it. Then you must bring their opinions back to me. Goodness knows I could use some feedback -- and maybe a few new ideas, if they have them,” he added with a teasing grin.

Carewyn opened her mouth to object, but Andre cut her off.

“As your prince, I command you to showcase my work to your family,” he said through a broad grin. “Am I clear?”

Carewyn really, really didn’t love the idea -- but she had to concede that she could use this to her advantage. She needed a stable place at the palace in order to achieve her goals, and she could help maintain that stable place at the palace by justifying to Charles why she had to be there. And Charles’s whole interest in her being there was to try to endear the Cromwells further to the royal family, and maybe even secure one of her Aunt Claire’s daughters a space in that family...

So, with a heavy sigh, she put on a small smile and inclined her head respectfully.

“Very well, Andre. I’ll wear your work proudly.”

And so Carewyn set off for the Cromwell estate on horseback, dressed in the new shoes and dress Andre had made for her. The shoes were lovely and fit perfectly, but they were rather impractical for walking around outdoors. Carewyn thought to herself that she might have to continue wearing her old shoes when she returned to her palace work, if for no other reason that she hated the thought of getting them scuffed up.

As to be expected, when she arrived, her cousins reacted very hostilely to her appearance.

“Well, well,” sneered curly-black-haired Kain, “what do we have here? Playacting as a lady, little Winnie?”

“All hail Lady Cinderwyn, Duchess of Dust!” sniggered his similarly dark-haired brother Arsen.

He reached for her wide skirt, but Carewyn -- remaining on her horse -- steered herself far enough back that he couldn’t reach.

“I wouldn’t damage this, if I were you,” she said as coolly and levelly as she could. “It’s not mine.”

Arsen and Kain exchanged a mocking, wide-eyed look and an “oooooh.”

“Are you a thief now, little Winnie?” asked Kain. “How far you’ve fallen -- we might need to call the castle guard on you -- ”

“Cinderwyn’s a thief!” crowed tiny Tristan in a sing-song voice. “Cinderwyn’s a thief!”

Claire’s three daughters looked a lot less mocking.

“You have some nerve, stealing clothes from your betters,” spat dainty, brown-haired Heather. “Grandfather should lash you within an inch of your life -- ”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” Carewyn said very firmly. “Now I wish to see Grandfather. I have a message from the Prince he’ll want to hear.”

“Grandfather’s inside,” said Claire’s gangling, button-nosed son Elmer with a crooked smile. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy your new look, Lady Cinderwyn...especially with the finishing touch!”

He jumped right into a mud puddle that splashed everywhere. Carewyn just barely avoided the spray, but when she moved back, Dahlia and Iris successfully grabbed hold of her velvet brocaded skirt and yanked hard in either direction, as if trying to rip it.

“Iris -- Dahlia --  ” said Carewyn, her voice growing colder and harder as she struggled to hold in her temper and emotion as best she could, “if either of you have any ambition to marry his Highness, I would strongly suggest letting go of his dress this instant!”

All of Carewyn’s cousins stiffened.

“His dress?” repeated Dahlia, looking outraged. “You mean to say you took this from the Prince?!”

“He bid me to wear it, for my visit,” Carewyn shot back fiercely. “Or would you have me oppose his Highness’s will?”

“You...arrogant, pretentious, ungrateful little rat!” shrieked Dahlia. She tried to yank Carewyn off her horse, and there was a slight struggle as Carewyn tried to both comfort her horse and prevent Dahlia from dislodging her.

“Now, now, children,” said a very coldly serene voice, “a little less noise there.”

All of the Cromwell children looked up to see Charles Cromwell striding across the lawn. He was dressed in black, gray, and white with a dark red cape with black trim, and he supported himself on an ebony-wood cane with a dragon’s head carved out of black zircon for a handle. Behind him were Carewyn’s aunts, Pearl and Claire, with their husbands, as well as her uncle Blaise. All three of them were looking over Carewyn’s outfit disapprovingly -- Blaise looked particularly irritated, his upper lip curling as he rested a hand on top of Tristan’s shoulder that made the small boy flinch.

Iris and Dahlia were still clinging to Carewyn’s skirt, but they’d frozen up like startled cats when their grandfather appeared.

“Grandfather -- ” stammered Iris, “W-Winnie’s a no-good thief -- she stole this dress from -- !”

"I have stolen nothing,” Carewyn repeated coldly. She stroked her horse’s white mane several times to soothe it.

Pearl too had come up to rest a hand on Arsen’s shoulder and was looking at Carewyn very critically out her own almond-shaped blue eyes -- most of Carewyn’s family had them.

“Is that so?” she said, her voice a low growl in her throat. “Explain, then, what gives you the nerve to show up here dressed in such obnoxious clothes.”

“It’s positively garish,” added Claire in a higher, simpering tone from her comfortable spot in her husband’s arms, mirroring her sister’s disapproval like a child would imitate their older sibling.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows very coolly. “Prince Henri will be very disappointed to hear that. He worked very hard on this.”

This startled all of the Cromwells. Blaise looked scandalized.

“And I suppose that makes you think the Prince favors you somehow?” he spat, his eyes flashing dangerously as he released Tristan’s shoulder and approached Carewyn’s horse. “Rather than just thinking of using you as some saucy little tart and then discarding you, just like your wretch of a father did your mother -- ”

"I think nothing of the sort,” Carewyn cut him off coldly.

Don’t you dare talk about my mother.

Charles, the least visibly startled, took a few steps forward. Iris and Dahlia finally released Carewyn’s skirt so as to get out of the way, and Charles came to a stop about three feet from Carewyn’s horse, his own almond-shaped eyes locked on his ginger-haired granddaughter’s face.

“I believe you owe me a full report, child,” he said quietly. “Stand before me and give it.”

Carewyn’s red-painted lips pursed as she picked up her skirts and descended from her horse at last. She looked up at Charles with a very stoic expression.

“Prince Henri learned that I would be coming to see you, as per your request,” she explained. “He commanded that I wear this dress, for my visit. He’s heard about my cousins and desires Dahlia, Iris, and Heather’s opinions on it. Then he requested I deliver their feedback back to him this evening.”

The time limit was a flat-out lie, but one Carewyn knew she could get away with. She did not want to stay at the Cromwell estate overnight -- she’d rather sleep on a lumpy old cot in the servants’ quarters than on the floor by the kitchen fireplace. 

Claire looked at Charles, her face breaking into a rather eager expression. “His Highness wishes to hear from my daughters? He must have heard from the rest of the court of their extensive talents -- ”

“Or at least purported talents,” said Blaise under his breath with a rather cynical look. “Seems the rumor mill is working well...“

Pearl shot Blaise a glare, but Claire didn’t seem to hear him -- she had already whirled on Carewyn.

“Tell his Highness that the dress is a work of art, fit for a queen!” she said insistently. “And make sure that he knows that there are much better models for his work here, at the Cromwell estate -- Iris has a far superior build, Dahlia the most perfect shoulders -- ”

“I suppose Winnie can do far worse than inanely fawning over your daughters’ target on their behalf,” said Blaise in a rather cutting voice. “Mindlessly swooning certainly worked for you.”

“Blaise!” Pearl snapped reproachfully.

Charles’s eyes drifted over Claire and her three anxious-looking daughters thoughtfully.

“...What feedback...do you believe would most please his Highness, child?” he asked Carewyn.

“He appreciated it when I noticed the details,” said Carewyn. “I would think if anyone had any creative ideas to add onto it...or perhaps constructive criticism...he might react well to it. His Highness is very interested in fashion and tailoring...I’m sure he would appreciate knowing someone who could indulge in that passion with him.”

He must be awfully lonely, locked up in the palace all the time. It’s no wonder he tried to find things to do indoors that could bring him some joy, if he’s unable to go much of anywhere...

Charles’s eyes flitted over the silk and ornate beading on Carewyn’s sleeves.

“His Highness certainly does have an eye for finery...has the royal family come into additional wealth recently?”

“I don’t think so,” said Carewyn. “The castle staff is very limited. And although the nobility are all dressed and fed well and the castle is decadent, the staff is frequently short of common necessities like nails and coal for the fire. Not to mention the staff’s rations are sparse.”

Iris gave a loud, haughty laugh. “Ha! Probably just as well -- you could do with getting some of that meat off your thighs!”

“Iris,” said Charles very sleekly, even as the rest of Carewyn’s cousins sniggered.

His lips curled up in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

“...It seems that the King and Queen are indeed in need of our family’s charity. But we must indulge their pride. It’ll be far easier for them to accept help from a future daughter-in-law and princess than simply from a loyal servant of the realm. Carewyn -- you shall report back what his Highness wishes to hear. Customize three answers for Heather, Iris, and Dahlia -- one fawning, one critical, one creative. Whichever answer he likes best, we will then pursue that route with the cousin you’ve assigned to it.”

His almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“And once we’ve secured an invitation from the Prince...I expect that you will step aside, to make room for your cousin to make her move.”

Carewyn’s expression didn’t shift.

“I’m not interested in courting princes,” she said lowly.

Heather, Iris, and Dahlia can knock themselves out. Andre will see through them sooner or later, and it’ll be all their own fault.

There was a cold, diamond-like glint in Charles’s eye. “...Yes...you truly don’t care to chase any man except for your brother...do you, Carewyn, my dear?”

Carewyn tried not to blink or look away.

“You have news of Jacob?”

Charles sighed airily. “I’m afraid not, my dear. I know he’s well, of course...but news from the War front, as you know, is simply impossible to come by...”

“You know he’s alive,” Carewyn shot back a bit more sharply than she meant to. “That doesn’t mean he’s well. No one could be doing well out there.”

“And yet I’m sure you’re happy that the first is guaranteed?” said Charles. “At least, so long as you do your duty to your family, and to me?”

It was a warning, but it was done so delicately -- it was like his voice was flirting with a threat, rather than flat-out making one.

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly as her gaze drifted to the ground.

“You know I wish no harm to come to either you or Jacob,” Charles said softly. “Losing a child was terrible enough, losing grandchildren as well...well, it would deeply upset me. And per our agreement, you are the one who must shoulder the burden of your brother’s and your debt to me...particularly since you have no dowry and no possible claim to my estate. Remember, Carewyn...you are responsible for how you are treated -- and for how Jacob is treated.” 

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit tightly together over her closed eyes.

“...Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now then -- rehearse the answers you plan to give to his Highness with your cousins. I wish them to sound convincing, so that when one or more of them is invited to the palace, they will be able to play their part appropriately.”

Carewyn hated every minute of hashing out responses with Heather, Iris, and Dahlia. Like their mother Claire, they and Elmer were all “follower” type personalities who tended to echo whatever they thought would please others -- so Dahlia, Iris, and Heather were constantly trying to steal each other’s ideas to “improve” Carewyn’s answers, despite all three of them supposedly needing to take three different approaches as part of Charles’s plan. Even the three girls’ hostile attitude toward Carewyn largely came down to her refusing to follow their direction, despite her lowered status in the family giving them authority over her -- something that, Carewyn believed, they would never do if their positions were switched.

When Carewyn was finally ready to leave (and successfully avoided Tristan’s muddy hands when the wickedly grinning little boy forcibly tried to hug her goodbye so he could leave stains on her dress), Blaise pulled Charles aside. As the male heir of the Cromwell legacy, Blaise had always followed in his father’s footsteps most, but there was one thing they didn’t agree on.

“Father,” he said, his voice very low in the back of his throat as he watched Carewyn ride away at a fast gallop, “I don’t approve of her returning to that place.”

Charles smiled coldly. “You always have disliked sharing your toys with others, Blaise.”

“It’s a bad influence!” said Blaise, whirling on his father. “We can’t monitor what she does, how she behaves -- who she speaks to -- how can we hope to keep her, if we consistently open her cage?”

Charles’s eyes, the same color and shape of all of his children and most of his grandchildren, sparkled with something crueler.

“Ah, my boy,” he said sardonically, “you have much to learn about cages. Physical cages have strong bars, but ones easy to see and constantly weathered. But a cage forged carefully in another’s mind...can become so strong that the prisoner willingly chooses to stay.”

Charles turned on his heel, his lips curling up further still even though his face remained so doll-like and emotionless.

“As weak and overemotional of a thing she is, Carewyn is far more like you and me than Lane ever was. She’s very resourceful and she’ll do whatever she has to in order to get what she wants -- and that drive fuels everything she is and does. It may make her spirited, but it also makes it so that as long as she sees Jacob’s life in the palm of my hand...so too will she be.”

Blaise’s eyes flickered with a strange skepticism. “And...if Jacob’s life were ever not under your sway?”

Charles’s expression grew even more detached and emotionless as his smile faded and his eyebrows raised.

“...Would Carewyn really want to contemplate what state he’d be in, if he weren’t?”

Carewyn couldn’t be happier to leave the Cromwell estate behind. She didn’t slow down her horse’s pace until she’d reached the outskirts of the market, well after the manor house was out of sight. Only then did she slow her horse down to a leisurely trot, so that she could enjoy some time on her own wandering down the village streets before heading back to the palace. The castle staff wasn’t expecting her back to work until the following morning, so she could take her time.

Unfortunately for Carewyn, there was another reason her cousin Tristan’s hands had been so muddy -- and that reason soon became apparent when Carewyn reached into one of the pockets on the side of her saddle, thinking to temporarily change out of the pretty shoes Andre had given her and were now pinching her feet for the ride home. When she reached into the pocket, she instead found the tiny snake that Tristan had stolen out of the reeds by the nearby pond.

With a scream of surprise, Carewyn flung the snake to the ground -- the snake arched back, hissing angrily, and that in turn spooked Carewyn’s horse. With a loud, scared whinny, it reared back, bucking wildly.

“Whoa!” cried Carewyn. “Whoa, boy -- whoa!”

Several passerby turned around at the sound of the noise. A few looked like they wanted to help, but were too warded off by the horse’s kicking feet. Carewyn tried desperately to calm her horse, stroking its mane with one hand and clinging desperately onto the reins with the other, but it was no use. She wasn’t strong enough to wrench her horse into submission. And so when the horse gave a particularly violent jerk, Carewyn was thrown right off.

“AHH!”

Out of nowhere, someone dashed forward. Carewyn ended up slamming right into them, and the two landed roughly in a heap in the dirt.

Carewyn watched her horse gallop off the street, her face very tense and distraught. She then looked down at the person she’d landed on top of, and she gave a visible start.

Her “hero” was a man about her age dressed in modest clothes with tanned skin, slightly-too-long dark hair, and a beard. His sparkling black eyes were squinted slightly as he winced in pain, but nonetheless shone with some concern as he looked her over.

“Are you hurt, Lady Cromwell?” asked Orion.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #carewyn cromwell #charles cromwell #blaise cromwell #pearl cromwell #claire cromwell #andre egwu #orion amari #my art #my writing #orion!! you sweet tofu-eating knight in shining armor!! #and charles cromwell you no-good bastard :I #the cromwell clan by and large are terrible people but all of them are dark shades of gray except for charles #he's always been the worst of the bunch easily since he first appeared in my head #but hey for a character who leads r in his canon I guess that's not surprising #charles's cane has a black dragon head which is a reference to the hebridean black dragon which appears on the cromwell coat of arms #like mythical dragons the cromwells hoard their treasures -- not just financial wealth but also their family #it's frankly no wonder carewyn's learned to be stoic and sophisticated in this universe looking at how charles acts and treats her #she got her more tearful and emotional outbursts beaten out of her by her cousins' bullying #and yet she's too proud to grovel and cower :( #I'm looking forward to writing some more pleasant stuff in the next part <3

[zukofenty]

always be my maybe

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara could never quite get their timing right. Especially when the universe throws a lost condom, thousands of miles, and a baby in their way. 

“I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Celebrity Chef!Katara, Doctor!Zuko, Love, Rosie!AU 

AO3 @zutaraweek

“Go a couple rounds, leave Zuko’s dick up in a casket!” Toph screams into the microphone, undeterred by the various guests who stare up at her, mouth open and half-chewed, dry-as-fuck chicken spilling out. It wasn’t her fault, really! As soon as Zuko handed the mic off to her, he basically gave her free reign to spit a Megan Thee Stallion verse in his honor. “Sing with me, bitches! Look up the lyrics on Genius.com, Cheryl!” 

 “Sit down !” Katara squeezes out from clenched teeth, ripping the device out from the girl’s grip. 

 “I didn’t even get to the chorus, you fucking whore .” A bridesmaid nervously plucks the mic from their table and avoids eye contact with both of them. “What’s going on with you, bitch?” Toph asks quietly. She could tell Katara’s been doing her fake smile for the last twenty minutes. The girl was practically going to break her face open with how hard she was grinding her teeth. 

 “Just thinking.” Katara wants to smack herself in the face, pinch a nipple and bring herself to reality. Everything felt too real, and Toph could sense it. She’s the type to somehow sense when Katara shifts in her seat a certain way to covertly satisfy a cooch itch, and then buys her Monistat the same day. 

 She hates that she could never hide any emotion from her. Toph could always figure out the puzzle pieces that were Katara. One of the few to know the real her, besides Zuko. 

 Sometimes Katara thinks the younger girl knows her better than him. At least now. Especially now. 

 “About?” Toph takes an experimental sip from the wine glass, and gags. The juice tasted like Gatorade and cum. “Why the fuck would anyone want a dry wedding? Weddings are the only time you get to see your alcoholic uncle vomit all over the bride’s shoes, and then your closeted aunt has to wipe up the puke and her reputation from the floor while thinking of her secret girlfriend at home watching Tiger King .” 

 “That example was extremely specific and extremely unnecessary.” Katara brushes a crunchy curl, doused in hairspray, from her eyes. 

 “Sorry, I got distracted. I had dick on the brain, or whatever Rihanna said,” Toph mumbles, risking a bite of the chicken.

 Katara turns to see him at the couple’s table in the center of the extravagant wedding, and sighs. “And for your information, I was just thinking when will he penetrate my esophagus? You know, just girly things.” 

 Toph has the gall to slap the girl on the cheek. 

 Katara holds her stinging face, eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat for fucking up the parts of her face she didn’t set with powder (she was going for a dewy look, sue her). “Not fair! You were the one who called my throat the baby chute earlier today!”

 “Ok, throat goat. One, he’s getting married. Two, you’re sick.” 

 “My therapist will most likely cosign that,” Katara sighs. Toph holds Katara’s hand and leans her head on her shoulder as they watch Zuko mingle with guests. 

  This is the happiest day of his life. 

 Her best friend of twenty odd years was getting married. He looked so handsome, so happy. A suit that looked like it would cost someone’s rent and a half casually hugging his muscular frame. A blinding smile on his face, cheeks flushed from champagne and excitement. 

 When he turns her way, his smile grows impossibly wider. Toph clinks on a champagne glass with a fork, breaking it a la Princess Diaries , and Katara could feel the stares of nearly everyone in the room, ready for her speech. 

  It should be the happiest day of my life, too. 

  Right?

 Katara thinks she wants to cry. 

 //

 Now, how come none of those Judy Blume, coming-of-age books have a chapter on how to write a Best Woman speech for your best friend getting married to another woman, even when you were struggling with the fact that you might have been in love with him for the past two decades? 

 Bitch, what the fuck do you even start that Google Doc with? 

 Does she start at 4 years old? When Katara thinks Zuko is an annoying piece of shit?  

 But, you know, he’s her piece of shit. 

 Guys have hepatitis, or cooties, or whatever Sokka said, she couldn’t exactly remember. All she remembered was Zuko sucked. He stole her crayons and made fun of her Hello Kitty backpack on the first day of school. He was the stupid one, not Hello Kitty . Never Hello Kitty . She’d shoved his face into the playground’s wood chips, threatened to cut off his peepee for breathing down her neck with his retainer breath, and even stuck his head in between two slices of white bread and lovingly referring to him as an ‘idiot sandwich’ (Sokka let her watch too many Gordon Ramsey hosted shows while their dad was working late). 

 Zuko and Katara were practically inseparable ever since. 

 Or 10, when you were asking for trouble if you fucked with Zuko.  

 He was a tiny kid, glasses too big for his head. Hair shaggy, clothes too oversized for him (just the way he liked it). His dad had tried beating it into him that it showed weakness by not making waves, not being loud and proud. But, he was quiet by nature. For him, it was just easier. 

 Not stirring the pot, being the observer, looking in from the outside. He was just Zuko , he liked Wonder Woman comics and figuring out what other words besides BOOBIES he could spell with his calculator instead of actually doing his math homework, because he was bad at math. Bad at everything, really. Everything but band class. Even if he did hate that stupid fucking tsungi horn. 

 His mom would hide his report cards from his dad, especially the ones noting how shy he was (Mrs. Kim had used the exact words ‘very antisocial, very easy to bully’). Even when Ursa would ask him to try, try to make friends outside of Katara, he was always a stubborn little thing. Something you got from your father , she would say, the smile slipping off her face just the slightest.

 It was just more fun being by himself, the only exception he made was Katara. He spent his recess scribbling down a plot for a Love Amongst the Dragons Fanfiction and listening to Katara’s iPod he’d steal from her, just because he could , after she snuck it out from her backpack for the 10 minute break they had. It was the iPod she spent the last two Christmases saving up with Sokka for. Zuko insisted he could master Ludacris’s rap in Usher’s “Yeah!” and practiced the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she had custody of the device.

 Some days, Katara would sit beside him in her signature puffy blue jacket, struggling to fold herself to fit on the blacktop beside Zuko. The patented jacket her grandmother forced her to wear every single day obstructing her abilities. He snickers, but keeps quiet, content with plotting out a story that he would hopefully get to type out on the school library’s computers if his mom picked him up late again. She usually did, much to the dismay of the ladies at the front office. They typically hissed at him (which made him cry, to which they would have to offer him a cherry Otter pop so they wouldn’t face a lawsuit) and called his mom words he couldn’t repeat without getting in trouble (“Whore”). 

 Katara would babble on about her day, sometimes thinking of ways for his characters to die a painful death, or cooking up Fanfic plots for Beyoncé and Britney Spears to find love among the chaos of a zombie infestation. She always insisted she brought the creative range to their friendship. Some days though, Katara forgets all about him and plays handball with all the most popular girls in school. 

 Zuko’s jealous. 

 (Sometimes.) 

  She’s my best friend! He wants to scream in their faces. At the end of the day, he thinks he’s going to lose her. The day she realized she was too good, too cool for the likes of him. 

 “Chan, stop it!” Zuko squeaked, his notebook snatched from underneath his nose. The boy was always picking a fight. Your dad buys you a Motorola flip phone and suddenly you think you’re the shit. 

 The boy sneers at Zuko, flipping through the pages. “What do we have here? Are you drawing Shrek with boobies? You’re gonna jack off to that later, freak?” 

 Before Zuko could get a word in and defend his honor, Chan’s entire body was shoved to the ground, a dainty foot cased in a light up, white Skechers sneaker pressing into his face. Zuko couldn’t help his glee as Katara could barely be peeled off and stopped from repeatedly slamming Chan’s face into the hopscotch chalk court. “It’s all ogre now, bitch!” 

 She made sure to pin her detention slip to her Bratz backpack with pride. Zuko buys two treats that day from the student store before he walks her home. 

 “You’re my best friend, forever and ever,” Katara declares, head held up high. Zuko saw through it, though. He knows she’s scared of what Hakoda has to say, what Gran Gran has to say. So, he holds her hand tight, trying to relay his gratitude in the touch. 

 He licks at his Spongebob popsicle. The eyes had melted off and looked more like someone’s worst nightmare than an icy treat. Katara had wanted his cherry Otter pop, and he happily handed it over. “Pinky promise?” He holds out his finger. 

 Katara hooks her finger around his, dwarfing his tiny digit. Her outstretched smile stained orange. “I’ll break yours if you ever forget.” 

 At 15, Katara came to the realization that men have the emotional intelligence of a Souplantation crouton (may Souplantation rest in peace). 

 Growing up, with their dad and grandma always at work at their store, Katara was always in charge of cooking. No matter how many times she’d try to get Sokka to do it, he always insisted he was far too busy with taking out the trash, killing bugs, hating women. So, she was stuck with it, and honest-to-Rihanna, really liked it. Not that she’d ever let Sokka ever get the satisfaction of knowing it. It was her time to be alone, gave her the space to pop in a Cheetah Girls CD and pretend she won Masterchef with the struggle meal straight out of a Spam can she had to pound on a few times to get it to squeeze out from its gelatinous casing, or a whitewashed recipe she tried replicating whenever she catches a Rachael Ray rerun. 

 Though, Katara’s favorite time was chopping up the green onions under Ursa’s careful eyes, a hand always just there in realign the knife just in case she’d carelessly cut the green onions too big to garnish. Then, Ursa would then take out scissors because nobody had time for that. When his dad wasn’t home, Zuko’s mom opened up their doors across the street to the siblings, rambling about the next big painting she was planning as they scarfed down a home cooked meal. 

 Zuko was similar to his mom in that regard. They were the type of people who managed to make everyday moments larger-than-life, made it infectious, too. When it’s nighttime and he’s snuck into and snug in Katara’s room, he’d tell her dreams too big for anyone’s comprehension. Sometimes he dreamed he had tits that would leak chunky chicken noodle soup. Sometimes he’d ramble until her eyes are flitting shut and he’s left talking to himself and measuring his hand with hers, securing the leg she instantly throws over his waist. He’d like to think he was her only exception in the Souplantation crouton narrative. 

 Her bed is starting to smell like him, too. His favorite Costco brand shampoo and conditioner that he leaves in her bathroom, permeating her nostrils when she pulled him close. She even let him put up a Drake poster right next to her plethora of Rihanna ones, but only after he let her draw a penis on both his and Drake’s face. What he didn’t account for was her using a permanent marker, or the fact he couldn’t scrub it away from his cheeks for the next two days. 

 It was easy like this, just the two of them. 

 He’s there for all the birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases that left her not quite feeling whole. When things were hard, when things fucking sucked, when she wanted nothing more but to die. He was there, (stupidly) holding out his hand and willing to be the eye to her hurricane.

 At 15, Zuko decides Katara feels home.  

 At 18, Zuko had already been Katara’s many firsts. 

He was her first buffet partner, and brought back his Justin Bieber haircut just to pretend he was 12 so they could qualify for children's rates and a complimentary Oreo cheesecake because they were always celebrating his “birthday.” 

 Her first clubbing partner the second she turned 18, rubbing her back when any Beyoncé song with a Jay-Z feature came on because the second he cheated on Beyoncé, he cheated on everyone in the Beyhive. The first one to have to hold her as she hurled on his shoes, the first one to have to take her to get her stomach pumped. 

 The first person she tried to roll a joint with. 

  “I don’t need to learn that.” 

  Katara purses her lips. “And why not?” 

  He gestures to his face. “I’m too pretty. Only ugly bitches know how to do that . ” 

  Sokka thinks he needs to intervene when he hears Zuko’s tsungi horn case being chucked across the room . 

 The first person she (almost) fucked. 

 His family life was, for lack of a better word, fucked up. Katara had been witness to the drinking, the drugs, the crying. The nights where she sometimes didn’t know if the person standing in front of her was Zuko. She just wanted one night away from it all, just one night out on the town. 

  “That was kind of terrible,” Katara admits easily, wincing because she was sure he spilled Papa John’s garlic dipping sauce in his shitty Corolla’s air filter last Tuesday. He tried positioning his arm naturally underneath her head while their half naked bodies were pressed together, but he ended up smacking off her glasses. He even had the audacity to contently sigh as though he accomplished something, rather than just tangle her hair and give her a tension headache. 

  She felt lied to! Cheated! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! All the Shrek and Y/N stories on FF.net could not prepare her for the fact that there weren’t any tongues fighting for dominance, or any mouths that tasted like cinnamon or musk or shit like that. It was just retainer to retainer and smelled distinctly of her awkward friend (cheese). It was sweaty and a lot of weird humping and felt like a visit to the gyno. 

  “Hey! I thought it was pleasantly average.” He clears his throat. “You know, besides the fact you farted mid-insertion and I started crying after 20 seconds.” 

  “You mean right after you came, right?” She says matter-of-factly. 

  He glared. “Is it my fault you have a gorilla grip pussy? Is it?” 

  “Zuko, you’re so fucking — ” 

  “What happens when you put a hot dog in the microwave for 2 minutes?” He crosses his hands and folds them over his lap like a professor waiting for a volunteer to answer the equation on the board. 

  “So in this metaphor, are you calling my pussy a microwave?” 

 But in true Zuko and Katara fashion, it was clumsy and a mess and could be erased with an emergency Burger King outing where they ate in silence and pinky promised never to speak of it again. 

 She wonders if Zuko should’ve been her first date to prom, too. 

 She wants to stop feeling so bothered . She couldn’t quite pin it, but lately everything he did frustrated the shit out of her. How he was taller than her now. How he didn’t need her to fight his battles because he goes to the gym now and wears a fake Gucci belt because he’s just so cool (brooding Asian guy is the trend, and Zuko thinks he’s the blueprint). How he said yes to going to prom with Mai, the prettiest girl in their grade.

 “Don’t look in there!” Katara yelps, a blush creeping on her cheeks. 

 “Why?” Zuko questions, taken aback. He was entirely too comfortable in her room.

 “Um. Maybe I don’t want a freak going through my dirty underwear pile!” Her eyebrows are halfway done, and she only has one eyelash glued on. She was stressed, scared her dress might not fit with how many of Sokka’s cookies she stress-ate because she just wanted the night to be perfect . 

 “Relax, what are a few discharge stains going to do to me, huh? If anything, it gives your pussy some much-needed personality.” Zuko wasn’t going to stop until he found his fake Gucci belt in Katara’s closet. 

 “Zuko!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs. 

 “Do I have to remind you about the time you broke our friendship bracelet while masturbating and I dug the bead out of your vagina like the good friend I am?” 

 She shoves him back from the closet, crowding in his space. That belt was going to remain in its rightful place. “Oh, fuck you! I took the fall for you when you opened your laptop in history class and forgot to exit from your “VIBRATING PANTIES” porn tab!” She pushes him before plopping on her bed. 

 Katara buries her face in her pillow at that point, too entirely embarrassed and body too hot to continue to look at his nonchalant face. He doesn’t quite remember when exactly Katara became so cute . 

 Pretty? Definitely. Fearless? For sure. 

 But blushing Katara, embarrassed Katara, cute Katara? 

 He thinks it’s because they rarely saw each other now, despite his patented place in her bed. His band, Hello Zuko, was aiming for at least a few dive bar performances to build a reputation, especially with their new title track “Tennis Ball.” Katara was a familiar face at their town’s soup kitchens.

  “Where are you going?” he would sleepily mumble as he tried taking his midday nap before late night performances.

  Katara’s hands are full with ingredients, swaying side to side and eyes red and drowsy. “Trying to temper chocolate. Why? What’s up?” 

 She never misses a performance, though. Comes to them with a sparkly poster doused in glitter, and t-shirts with his face on them and everything. He never misses a fundraising event, making sure to bring a steaming thermos filled with tea because Katara was never the type to remember to take care of herself, and always buys out her fundraising goodies (even her overbaked brownies.) 

 He pulls her up by her ponytail, cupping her face in between his hands. 

 “You look cute.” 

 “You look like the human equivalent of toeless socks,” Katara mumbles, face squished in between Zuko’s hands. “Why are you giving my clit piercing a kiss kiss right now? What do you want?” 

 Zuko shakes her head in between his hands. “Pinky promise me you’ll drop all penises to dance with me if they play any Usher song?” It was like he was in fifth grade all over again. “Call me a Nissan because I just want you Altima-self.” 

 She lets out a cackle, the sound nearly deafening. “Don’t worry, the DJ will get us falling in love again in no time.”  

 “Do you have to go with Jet?” He asks, pouting. He lays his head in her lap, too entirely preoccupied with picking at her pilling sweatpants to look at her questioning eyes. They promised they were going to be each others’ dates at the beginning of the school year. It was more fun going to dances with Katara. She knew how to do the worm and every lyric to every Rihanna song out there (but she refuses to sing any with Chris Brown parts). 

 “What? You know I like my men stupid.” She runs her hands through his locks, undoing the crunchy gel job that Iroh had painstakingly spent time on. Zuko didn’t have the heart to tell him it made him look like a youth pastor.

 “You do like your communal meat thermometers.” He wants to keep the hurt out of his voice. 

 She shoves him off her, getting up to put on the dress hanging off her closet’s door handle. “You’re going with Mai, remember?” She yells through the closed closet door. 

 “But the thing is, I’m not planning to fuck her afterwards at the shitty hotel like it’s some type of CW show with some old bitches playing teenagers!” 

 “Just say XOXO, Gossip Girl .” 

 He still resents her for getting him invested in Blair Waldorf’s headband collection. “It’s not my fault Jet looks old. He looks like he’s at least 27 for fuck’s sake!” His face grows more distressed as he spits out each word. He only said yes to going with Mai after finding out Jet asked Katara using some shitty poster that said “my heart is always running when I see you” with a box of Nike outlet sneakers after English class. 

 “I think you’re just jealous that I emptied my intestines for someone who is about to be in it within the next three hours. When have I ever done that for you?” 

 Zuko’s about to retort something until Katara slams open the door, flooding his eyes with a dusty blue, curve hugging dress that did weird things to him. Like make his heart beat out of his chest, and his throat all dry when he’s searching for the words to say. Looking for the right words that say he thinks it’s impossible someone’s smile could make sunsets brighter, make the stars twinkle even more, make the unthinkable just a fingertip’s grasp away. 

 “Can you see the outline of my underwear and/or desperation from the back?” Her spin has him bumbling like an idiot. 

 //

 He wishes it was Katara that night. Letting him shyly press his sweaty fingers into her waist as Katy Perry’s “E.T.” pierced their eardrums. He knows she would have pinched his nipples as punishment, all things considered. But the fluorescent lights of the disco ball would’ve highlighted how her pretty flush would dust her cheeks, and he would hold her close to his beating heart despite her complaining her foundation would stain his Target dress shirt, and everything would make sense. 

 “Did you cum?” Jet was absolutely pretty with an oh-so fat horse cock. Too bad he was like the Justin Timberlakes of the world, and always spoke unprovoked. 

 Katara scoffs. “Yeah, I came to my senses.” She flicked his forehead. “How would I do that? Tell me. How the fuck would a few thrusts and you panting your Sweet and Sour sauce breath in my ear get me off?” She shoves the sweating boy off her. “Can I say jk and will it make me a virgin again?” The hotel room had scratchy sheets and smelled like a waterpark bathroom. 

 He groaned. “I’m sorry .” He’s completely unremorseful. “Your tits smell like Cinnabon’s cinnamon rolls and I couldn’t help myself!” Katara is about to cut his dick off for breathing in the same vicinity as her, before a gasp stops her entire world. 

 //

 “Zuko!” she screeches, opening the hotel door with the same devastation as when Britney Spears discovered Ryan Seacrest wasn’t gay painting her features. 

 “You know what they say.” Zuko’s smirking, entirely ignoring Katara fuming. “Chlamydia is the powerhouse of the cell.”

 “You’re. A. Dick!” She says in between smacks to his head. Jet makes a speedy exit, still pantsless and clutching his suit to his chest, while Zuko mouths a ‘ call me’ to Mai, who amusedly waves goodbye to Katara. 

 “Oh god, this is exactly like the bead incident all over again.” 

 “ You’re not helping! ” 

 “Maybe we’ll find Atlantis up there too,” Zuko murmurs, concentrating on positioning the hotel’s mirror under her legs. 

 “Please, Rihanna. Have mercy on me.” Katara’s hands are in prayer mode as Zuko turns on his phone’s flashlight. “I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me. All those times I took an extra gummy vitamin were a joke . I never wanted to die, I just wanted to feel a little thrill in my life. Please—” 

 Zuko screams when the squelch of the condom splatters onto the mirror. 

 //

 “You’re wearing underwear under there right?” He likes the look of his blazer draping over her, buttoned to look like a chic, oversized dress and not because it was the easiest thing to throw over Katara to run and grab Plan B. 

 “No, because I would obviously let my fat cooter out, cute and bare and vulnerable in a Walmart.” 

 “A simple yes would have sufficed.” 

 She’s reaching for the box and wincing at the price when she feels a gentle nudge on her arm. “Ma’am, your entire pussy is out in a Walmart,” the employee breathes out pathetically. 

 “I am well aware.” She ekes out. 

 The employee eyes her up and down with a gaze that practically calls her a whore . “Please put her away.” Zuko’s face grows beet red as he tries holding back a laugh. 

 It was always easy like this. When the world was just Zuko and Katara, holding hands in her driveway while they watched the sun rise in his shitty Corolla. She’s still wrapped up in his blazer, he’s since loosened his cheap tie and his hair is sticking every which way. She likes his smile, especially now that it comes so easy. 

 He’s smiling a lot more now that his father is gone. Ozai essentially told Azula and Zuko to fuck off , and ran off to some big city to steer a hospital with too many controversies and too many white guys at the helm. Iroh came back from his meditation sabbatical, enthusiastic to take care of the siblings. Zuko seems a lot happier with Iroh around, and even spends nights sleeping in his actual bed. (Katara’s a little hurt, but keeps that to herself). 

 She wishes she could bottle up these moments with Zuko up and just hold them in her hands. Moments when they were still young and curious and still had time to wait for life to figure itself out. She wants to find a way to make these a permanent fixture, instead of memories that would fade with age. “Let’s get out of here,” he offers up, eyes starry. 

 “Yeah?” She folds her knees up to her chest, and he taps her under her chin to level their gazes. 

 “ Republic City . We can make something out of lives. Medical school, culinary school. Get out of this shithole. Get away from our past.” His smile is contagious. “Best friends, forever and ever, right?” 

 She’s so pretty, her wide eyes sparkling as they take in the rays of sun. She returns his smile. “Best friends, forever and ever.” 

 Katara remembers how Ursa would say Zuko always dreamt too big, his heart always wanting so, so much . 

 “It’s a blessing, but more of a curse,” she would note, with the wisdom only mothers are capable of possessing. Sometimes, Katara selfishly thinks the day Ursa left hurt her more than it hurt Zuko. They were impossibly close, to the point where Zuko even had to intervene when Ursa started siding with Katara during their arguments (he knows in his heart his Mother’s Day macaroni portrait of her was better). 

 She would wonder how the world could let her live like this, dangling something she’s always wanted right in front of her face, only to snatch it away. Wonder if it was easier to die, than live with a hole in her heart that seemingly doubled in size overnight. 

//

 “Zuko, please look at me.” 

 He’s mad, she could tell. With his pout and the way he was forcibly trying to squeeze his eyes in a glare. He’s been sitting in the same spot in her bed, eyes trained on tutorials on how to convincingly persuade your doctor to give you an adderall prescription and “who bit Beyonce” conspiracy videos. 

 “Well, what if I just wanted you to respect my privacy! For the first time in 15 years! Maybe I needed space!” She yelps after twenty minutes of the silent treatment. 

 Zuko sends her a look that has her freezing up on the spot. “Katara, you had a whole baby .”

 She felt thoroughly scolded, but she was stubborn. “And? What about it?” 

 “You had an entire one, and didn’t even bother to tell the godfather? When was I supposed to find out?” 

 Katara didn’t think that one through, to be honest. It was easy to forget, in between diapers that smelled like a fish sauce and an expired Vagisil smoothie, and balancing work. She lays down beside him, thoroughly exhausted after putting her little girl, Yue, down for a nap. “One, who made you the godfather? And two, I guess we’re just not close like that.” 

 “Look, I literally have your social security number memorized, and have practically given you a Pap smear. You really want to say ‘ we’re not close like that ?” He sends her a look that has her resolve faltering the slightest. “You did your pregnancy announcement like a Sailor Moon transformation sequence with before and after pictures of you being pregnant, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?” 

 Katara gasps. “I had you blocked !” 

 “Azula’s a snitch!” He also got a glimpse of the photo of Katara in her hoe time dress that barely fit over her belly with the caption: how the mighty have fallen . He pauses, sucking in a breath of air for strength. The hurt flashes in his eyes and the only thing she could think to do was wrap him up in a familiar embrace. 

 At 19, Katara is so incredibly lost, and just wants her best friend by her side. 

 He’s busy, the summer before everything Republic City. Everytime she tries their house, Azula answers, rolling her eyes while clad in a Harry Styles shirt, because it’s a girl’s rite of passage to go through a One Direction phase and wear badly made merchandise from Hot Topic. He’s usually busy packing, or fucking Mai until she sounds like a car alarm during Fourth of July fireworks. 

 “Azula, no . You cannot kidnap Mai’s younger brother and trade him in for concert tickets to send a message.” 

 “Not even for floor ones?” Katara’s glare summed up her answer. “I used to look up to you,” Azula retorts, returning to her stan Twitter.

 She waits, waits, waits. The moans keep coming and she just rolls her eyes. Her stomach churns, mainly because she thinks Mai called Zuko’s dick The Pussy Penetrator every time he hit her g spot (you know what, good for her). But also because her scholarship to the university was less than she expected, and Hakoda didn’t want to cosign on a loan. She just wanted her best friend to be there for her. 

 She feels sick, sick enough to vomit in one of Iroh’s plants, while Azula rubs small circles into her back. 

 “You should’ve swallowed,” Toph reminds, bundling Katara’s thick hair into a ponytail as the girl hurled up her California roll. She’s so exhausted, she even leans her head against the Walmart toilet bowl, five positive pregnancy tests tossed carelessly beside her. 

 “Think it’s too late for that,” Katara grits out. “What are you doing?” 

 The last thing she expected was Toph’s hands gathering together in prayer formation. “Praying to Rihanna your period comes.” 

 Like many people her age, having a mental breakdown during a pregnancy scare and praying for a miracle in a public restroom was normal. But for the first time in her life, besides the time Rihanna willingly twerked on Drake at the 2011 Grammys, Ms. Robyn Fenty herself failed her. 

 “Fetus deletus that bitch! Fuck them kids !” She brings herself eye-level to Katara’s stomach. “Read the womb, bitch!” 

 “Did you just call my unborn baby a bitch?” Katara’s eyes are bleary from the smell of vomit and her future going down the drain.

 “You should’ve kept that bitch-baby in the drafts,” Toph sweeps the stray hairs from Katara’s watery eyes. “My cousin saved up for her abortion by running a pyramid scheme. I can get you her number.”

 Katara wanted to die. “I think I’m just going to crawl in this toilet and die. Call my brother if I don’t get flushed down all the way.” 

 “Again, I’m just a Walmart employee,” Toph snickers, helping the girl up. She’s rarely left her side since then. Their friendship just works, a pair of fuckups. The girl with the accident baby, and the Walmart security guard trying to figure out her own shit after running away from home. 

 “I should’ve been there!” Zuko reminds, tone heavy with betrayal.

 Katara remembered the few moments before he boarded the plane to Republic City. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell him to not get on the flight, to keep holding her like he did at the entrance of the gate. She had a kiss ready on her lips that he wasn’t ready to give, backing away when their faces were too close, when she was too close. He just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving with regrets.

 “I should’ve been there holding your hand, letting you call me names, and fighting nurses if they breathed too close to this precious angel,” Yue holds his pinky with her little fingers, almost as though it was a natural reaction. His heart simply seizes up at the gesture, and he holds her tighter to his body. She was wailing after waking from her nap, colic crackling her throat for the last three months and causing her middle of the night wakeups to be painful and frequent. But with Zuko, she’s all calm and perfect and polite and beautiful and angelic. 

 “Didn’t know you liked kids this much,” Katara shrugs. She leans in, and Zuko throws his free arm around her. 

 “I’ll have you know I am the resident expert in telling children’s stories,” Zuko insists. 

 “Like?” Katara quirks up her brow. 

 “Like Rumpleforeskin, the mythical man who can weave majestic golden fleece from the ends of his pubic hair.” 

 She smacks him upside the head. “You’re disgusting .” She curls in deeper into his embrace. He had that twinkle in his eye that could mean he was going to masturbate to this moment in the shower later, or he was in love. It renders her breathless every time 

 She hopes when he looks at her he doesn’t see the eye bags, or the titty milk leaking everywhere, or the permanent crease in her brow. She hopes he could still see her, underneath it all. When she was just Katara . 

 “I guess, not telling you was just my way of keeping our dream alive.” She pauses, stroking Yue’s barely there hair. “I keep thinking that one day I could find the time to go to Republic City, and I don’t know. Get a chance to just be me .” 

 “Do you regret it?” Zuko’s rubbing circles into her back until she gets sleepy and her heart feels too full. 

 “I don’t know.” She tries, quiet, almost ashamed. “I don’t know.” 

 //

 At 21, Katara feels like she’s at the top of the world. 

 Not only did she get promoted from girl wearing a dumpling costume outside handing out 15% off coupons that only worked if you left a Yelp review, to a server in a shitty dim sum restaurant, she was also accepted in the culinary program at the local university. It wasn’t Republic City per say, but Yue could attend the nearby preschool and go to the university-run childcare program afterwards while Katara was working. 

 She even got a hold of Jet, who refused to disclose his location or job. But judging by the copious child support mandated by some judge who hated men as much as Katara did, he was doing well. He sometimes Venmos Katara a few extra dollars on Yue’s birthdays. 

 Sokka and Hakoda, while hesitant to the little girl’s presence early on, spoil her absolutely rotten. When they think Katara’s passed out after her 14 hour days, they’re red in the face, screaming at Zuko over the phone about who was going to get Yue the Peppa Pig Playhouse (complete with flashing lights) she always talks about. 

 Hakoda even tries at therapy, wanting to be there for the apple of his eye. Sometimes, Katara’s hurt he never tried for her, tried in her childhood. She’s happy for him, nonetheless. 

  (Mostly) everything was working out.

 “How are both my girls doing?” Zuko would always sing-song during his nightly Facetime calls. Yue would scream and snatch the phone from Katara’s hands, delighted at the sound of her one and only Uncle Zuzu. He’s an extravagant gift giver, regularly sending Yue glittery Hello Kitty and Wonder Woman backpacks. He even buys her a whole iPad for her fourth birthday, already coming with child safe settings on and YouTube loaded with her favorites (namely, Barbie: Fairytopia ). He’s guilty he couldn’t come home, but then again, he rarely ever did. Too consumed with work, grad school applications.

 Katara can’t help but feel her heart pulse the slightest bit faster during those calls, even if she shuts it down as quickly as it comes.

  He’s so good to her . 

 She used to cherish those moments he used to tell her secrets, dreams, everything in those hours early in the morning before high school would start. With approximately 3,209 miles between the two of them, she wakes up to texts instead. 

 **

Zuko: I dreamed that I was being held at gunpoint by one of those thicc caterpillars from A Bug’s Life , and if I didn’t finish the MCAT in approximately 20 minutes, they would shoot me in the face. The dump truck ass of those ants were the bullets

Katara: Please block my number

Zuko: No. <3

**

 He’s all gentle smiles and eyes squeezing into little half moons just like Yue’s after he plays a game of Facetime patty cake and messes up on the beat just to hear the little girl laugh. 

 The next month, Zuko had decided enough was enough . He missed his girl. 

 His hospital, for the first time in a year, was letting him have the weekend off. So he books Katara a ticket straight away, because he thinks he’s going to die if he has to be around people who don’t know who Megan Thee Stallion is. 

 “Boys only speak two languages. English and emotional manipulation,” Toph reprimands, hugging Katara so tight she could barely get in a word. “Please remember that.” 

 It was her first time leaving her hometown in her life, her first time on an airplane for God’s sake. She’s jittery though, the cushioned seats Toph somehow upgraded her ticket to (after covertly whispering with the gate attendant) doing nothing to alleviate her nerves. 

 When she jumps in his arms in baggage claim, he breathes in deep. Her hugs have always warmed his insides, and he didn’t realize how much he craved it until he was greedy, pressing into her and refusing to let go despite her many protests.

 “Come here often?” he mumbles, smiling into her shoulder. 

 Her cheeks grew hot at his touch. “Occasionally.” She whispers back. 

 He decided there and then in front of Gate 3 they needed to make up for lost time as quickly as possible. 

 The college party is entirely too sticky, entirely too messy for a proper (extremely) late 21st birthday celebration. Her crop top and big earrings and glittery eyeshadow and endless curves has Zuko wondering how much he’s missed in the last few years. When she hugs him close to her and screams out Nicki Minaj lyrics, he doesn’t remember her being so soft and even prettier. Beautiful. Breathtaking, knocking the wind out his lungs if she as so much blinked. 

 She looks like any 21 year old, without a care in the world, just figuring out their life. He wonders what this version of Zuko and Katara was. 

 Maybe they got to go to Republic City together. Maybe they work in the same building, and are just letting steam off from work. Maybe they loved each other. It was dangerous though. He feels as though she’s caging him in, that grip on his heart sparking up again without his permission. Her fake lashes he saw her glue on in the airport bathroom flutter about, hands coming up to accentuate her words every time she tries to scream something in his ear over the pulsating music. He just grips her waist harder between his hands, holding her tight.

 //

 In a perfect world, all she saw was him. She wishes it was him. She sometimes thinks she sees Zuko’s eyes in Yue. She sees his smile. She sees his heart. 

 While they’d spent the entire night stumbling through the city, his girlfriend was home. Barefoot, pregnant. Looking like the cover of some women’s lifestyle magazine, stray curls escaping her bun to frame her face in all its angelic glory. Glowy and flawless and every bit beautiful. Different from the girl Katara caught crying in the kitchen.  “You can hate me all you want, you can talk shit about me all you want. But I love him,” Jin insists. “I’m his girlfriend , for fuck’s sake. 

 Katara has to stop herself from recoiling. She had a specific vision of their future. One that included doing taxes together and matching sweaters and teaching him her new macaroon recipe and Yue balanced on his lap. 

 But one look at Jin, and it becomes glaringly obvious how little she fit in with his new life. 

 “I don’t hate you, Jin.” It’s every bit sincere, but the girl doesn’t look convinced. 

 Jin rolls her eyes. A pointed look freezing Katara in her place.

 “Ok, I might’ve complained once or twice about your VSCO filter choice.” 

 “Yeah, Zuko sent a screenshot of your texts to me instead of you by accident.” 

 “God, you know he always fucking does that? To be fair though, M05 is too orange and is not a good look on anyone. You can do better, I know you can.” The two girls laugh. It was devoid of any genuine emotion, just meant as an attempt to fill the empty space between them. “If I had known. Fuck, if I had just known, I’m sorry, Jin.” She had no idea Zuko had a kid on the way, that they were still living together and determined to co-parent while their relationship was in a weird limbo. If she was Jin, she would’ve kicked someone’s pussy and made a scene and set something on fire. But Jin wasn’t that type of girl. Jin was soft and pretty and looked like she smelled like an interior designer's perfectly bleached asshole. 

 “Do you love him?” Jin seemed to shrink into herself, small enough Katara might miss her in a blink of an eye. 

 Katara couldn’t quite decipher the meaning behind the question. She thinks she’s too scared to. 

 Katara doesn’t know how to respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak. This Zuko wasn’t the Zuko she knew. She loved the Zuko who would steal people’s Netflix passwords off of 4chan, and cosplay as Todoroki at Anime Con to make a few bucks. Not the one who can afford sky rises in the big city. 

 He didn’t even tell her that his big internship in the city was for his father’s hospital, and he was next in line to running it. “You’re a lawyer with health insurance and your own Netflix account! You’re good for him, Jin.” Katara falters the slightest. “I just want to see Zuko happy.” 

 “Me too.” Jin says quietly.

 “Whatever, fuck Zuko !” She tries at extending the olive branch.  “I can’t believe you’re preggers!” She puts a gentle hand on Jin's belly, and her vagina immediately winces. “You know, your vag will never look the same, and you might grow a third boob in your armpit.” 

 “You’re lying .” 

 “Yeah, a lump of breast milk can form there, too!” Katara is about to scroll to the photo in her phone when Jin laughter breaks through the night. 

 //

 “I hope your dick gets bitten off mid-blowjob!” She whisper-screams, struggling with her suitcase until it smacks all at nearly every corner and edge. She was just making noise for the sake of making noise, but it made her feel better. 

 He didn’t expect waking up to a charge on his card for a flight booked in the last ten minutes, or Katara shoving his good mixer in her suitcase. 

 “You hate it don’t you?” He always loved it when Katara went into Hulk mode anytime a bully dared test her protective nature. While it was never entirely directed at him, he now understands exactly why Chan peed his pants. Katara was terrifying . 

 “What?” Zuko’s confused, rubbing an eye booger away. 

 “You loved it when I’m crying over Jet, crying over something, fucking something up in my life. Being mad at the world. You hate that I’m better, and making something of myself now!” She’s angry and grasping at straws. 

 Zuko furrows his brows, not sure where to progress from here. “Ok, run that by me again?” 

 The air vanishes when her stare cools over to absolutely icy.  “There’s nothing else I can give. So what the fuck do you want from me?” 

 He laughs, all hollow and almost mocking . “You know, I was afraid of you coming here.” He lies.  

 She stops in her tracks. “What the hell do you mean?” 

 “I thought...I thought you wouldn’t get this new me, because it’s different!” He protests. “See, this is exactly the reason why! You’re mad I can afford real Gucci !” 

 Katara recoils, looking embarrassed for him. God, were men so fucking stupid, and so proud of it, too. “Are you fucking serious.” 

 Zuko’s frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck are we doing, Katara?” 

 “You tell me!” She demands. “I’m not that kind of girl, Zuko! I’m not that kind of girl that is going to break up a fucking engagement, or whatever the fuck you weirdos are doing!” 

 He throws up his hands. “I’m not happy! We’re not happy.” 

 “What? You think now that you’ve sold your soul to your piece of shit dad and you can buy jewelry that won’t turn your fingers green that I’m going to fuck you?” 

 “No! I’m not saying that—”

 Katara scoffs. “Then what the fuck are you saying? Grow up, Zuko. Grow the fuck up and just leave me the fuck alone .” 

 “You’re still Katara.” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to stop her. Even if he felt like his entire world was falling apart, there was one thing he would always be certain about. “I’m still Zuko. The same Zuko who loves you .” 

 Katara turns her head, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. “The thing is, this isn’t you, Zuko.” Katara says with finality. “It isn’t you .” 

 When she gets home, she spots it right away. On their dining table, white paper folded neatly,  Yue was the type of little girl who looked to both sides of the street before crossing, repeating it  two more times to be safe. She always took extra care to make everything even, never a wrinkle in sight on her homework. 

 The Crayola family portrait that brought to life everything she’d imagined and more. Katara doesn’t have the heart to look for longer than a second. 

 //

 At 27, Katara’s pretending that it’s the happiest day of her life. 

 She didn’t think he would listen to her, you know, men rarely did anything right. Zuko, though, heeds her warning and only calls exactly two hours before Yue’s bedtime like clockwork. There weren’t any surprise texts to wake up to anymore, no more evidence of Zuko in her life. She doesn’t even find out about Jin’s affair with one of those Axe commercial guys until months later. 

 When she goes to unblock his number and text him, to try and talk to him, she gasps. She sees those grey iMessage bubbles, and she’s ashamed her heart splutters, awakening a feeling she thought she’s dampened. She puts her phone down for milliseconds, before checking it again and again and again. She finally threw the damn thing across the room when a week passed. 

 She thinks it’s for the better, especially when she was sure she finally got things right with Jet. 

 “ We’ll make this shit work together.” Jet reassures, gathering her close to him she could see every little detail of him. “Like Kanye said, ‘you’re a MILF, and I’m a mother-fucker.” 

 She covers her ears, pushing him into the restaurant’s glass door. “No thank you. No more non consensual reciting of Kanye verses.” 

 “Yeezy, breezy, beautiful, baby. Get into it.” Jet winks, and Katara feels herself gagging again.

 Then again, Katara always had a thing for stupid. And for three easy payments of $Penis.99, he had an all access experience to her pussy and her trauma. 

 “And he bought me those carrot cake cupcakes I always look at when we go to the supermarket but I never want to chance it because it could have raisins instead of nuts and I think I hate raisins more than I hate white men named Nathaniel.” 

 Toph jabs Katara in the forehead. “Wow, he spared $5 on some dry pastries, and your pussy was suddenly screaming pick me, pick me !” 

 “They were gluten free, too,” she points out. “Plus, my pussy doesn’t scream!” 

 “Oh right, my bad! It whispers!” 

 “ Toph !” 

 “Last night I heard it go wash me! Wash me!” 

 It felt good with him, though. It felt good to see him help Yue with math homework, making dinner in their little kitchen, pressing kisses to her in the morning despite her breath smelling like Khloe Kardashian’s earring backing pussy. Someone to come home to. 

 “Piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you!” She was punching him over and over again until her knuckles were ripped raw, sitting straight on his throat. Beating him stupid in the middle of her shift. He thought he could get away with it. With Katara now stuck in the kitchen as one of the head cooks, and the fact he had a reservation in one of the private rooms for him and his secretary to go over...numbers, he didn’t think much of it. 

 Too bad Toph was too invested, and had a friends-to-lovers storyline to live vicariously through. 

 “Scram, fuglies!” Toph screamed to other customers who had already started chanting “WorldStar!” 

 Katara lost her job, lost her mans, lost a section of her eyebrow because Toph accidentally tried helping and swung the wrong direction. 

  “Catch me outside, how ‘bout that!” She yelps triumphantly, despite the fact Katara was cradling her own bloodied face. 

 And here she was, about to lose her best friend, too. 

 She accidentally Facetimed his old number, and spent the last hour mulling over her feelings with an executive of a porn studio who picked up mid-shoot. “Just tell him you love him!” The balding man is exhausted.

 “What do I even say? Do I tell him, ‘I think I’ve always loved you?’ Is that too cheesy? You know that feeling when your heart just—Oh my fucking god! Is that Sandy Cheeks from Spongebob ?!” She screams, slamming her hands over her eyes. The squirrel’s melons-for-tits would never be erased from her memory.

 He only has fear in his eyes when he looks at her. “You didn’t see anything.” Robert bites out, promptly hanging up. 

 In her post-Jet purge, she realized she wasn’t the type of ex dead set on destroying his things. After all, she was selling his light-up keyboard to pay for Toph’s birthday boob job. Her residual anger was instead, spent hacking away at the drawer he always kept locked. Until she found it.  

 A letter from him. 

 “ I’ve always been afraid that our friendship would’ve spilled over until all I could do is categorize it with four simple letters .” Katara whispers, eyes frantically scanning the paper. “And I’m done being afraid .” 

 “The four letters he’s talking about is D-U-M-B  B-I-C-T-H . Dumb bitch. The ‘bitch’ is silent.” Toph insists. “I can’t believe you let a balding bum, whose credit score tanked because he invested his entire savings in Shake Weight Milkshake making machines, knock you up instead of Zuko.” 

 “It was innovative at the time,” she whispers. 

 “Fill the void in your heart, not your pussy.”

 She's whipping out her shitty MacBook Air, and praying his email still worked. But when she calls all she sees is her.

 “You told me to come to Republic City and find him!” Mai exclaims, holding up her hand where a big ring blinding the fuck out of her. 

 She feels her heart crumble at the same time she crushes the letter in her hand. 

 “I did do that, didn’t I?” Katara winces. The time the model stopped by in their hometown, Katara was still happy and getting her pussy pounded regularly and let that shit get to her head. She thought it would be a blessing in disguise, and wanted to help Zuko out, too. 

 "Fuck." 

 //

 Their wedding looked ripped out of a 2014 Basic Bitch Pinterest board, and she’s definitely sure she couldn’t be happier. 

 “Why is her name spelled like ‘Mai’ and pronounced ‘May?’ Like, shouldn’t it be spelled like ‘Mei?’” 

 “Katara, you’re just being a bitch,” Toph reminds while Katara stares at the sign with their wedding hashtag in front of the photobooth with all the ‘YOLO’ signs and 2013 mustaches.

 “I am well aware!” She asserts, chin jutting out. 

 Mai’s New York Fashion Week ready body was gorgeous, perfect in Zuko’s hold. 

 Katara wished life was like a rom-com. Where she could burst through the doors, declare her love, piss on him in her ugly, big bridesmaid dress and mark her territory once and for all. 

 But life wasn’t a movie. Life was just this shitty piece of dumpster fire shit and was always fucking her over like the Target self-checkout line camera. 

 What could she do? Deliver some long-winded speech about how she would go to realign the stars in the heavens if it meant a chance to rewrite their fate? That she hoped she visits his dreams before his mind could settle into reality, the same way he visited hers and overstayed his welcome every single time? Make everyone uncomfortable and wonder if they boned? 

 Then again, she was never going to be the one to block her best friend’s blessings. Not on the happiest day of his life.

 “I think this is the happiest day of my life.” Katara says seamlessly. 

 Zuko sees it though, sees right through her and has to stop himself from reaching out to her. 

 “It wasn’t ever easy being Zuko’s best friend. I mean look at him now, getting married to someone perfect . He’s not even in the same ballpark, league, or hell, stadium porta potty as her!” 

 Zuko ducks his head with a brief pout that breaks Katara’s heart. Everyone laughs in spite of him, until he joins in, too. “You know, it’s easy to pretend that finding love is easy. You could find love in all the little things in your life. All the people, all the details. It’s easy to say you always, completely, truly love someone. Because that’s what we want love to be, right? At the surface, sure.” She folds the flimsy paper she had on hand, nothing was written on it anyways. “You want it to be perfect.” 

 “But the love everyone works so hard to get, is the love that’s hard . It’s the love that isn’t safe. The love that challenges, excites you, the love that will never have limits. The love that’s messy and beautiful all at the same time.” She looks at him, truly looks at him for the first time in years and all she could do was smile. 

 “It’s easy to find love, but it’s near impossible to find a soulmate.” She raises her glass. “Join me in a toast to the bride and groom. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.” 

 And while everyone is gathered out on the dance floor, she’s sobbing pathetically and smearing the winged eyeliner she worked so hard to perfect on the car ride there. Trying to stop any of the pain from consuming her. 

 She’s out on the rooftop of the venue, the cold air whipping her face as she tries lighting up a blunt. 

 “Are you getting high at my wedding !” Zuko is incredulous, and shocks Katara enough to drop the joint off the roof. 

 “On all things Fenty Beauty, bitch what the fuck?” Katara wipes the tears from the corner of her eyes. 

 “The flower girl wanted to see her mommy.” But Katara sees right through Yue’s little act. Pretending to sleep so she could be held by Zuko (me too, girl. Me too). 

 It felt dangerous, the way she could toy with his heart, his own personal defibrillator shocking it back to life. She’s pretty even with red-rimmed eyes, with the fake smiles he knew was trying to appease him to leave her alone. If anything, all it does is make him want to kiss her until her troubles are gone. 

 He wanted to do a lot of things at that moment. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, tell her that above all else, he missed his girl the most. But, he had everything on his plate and then some. 

 “The chicken was dry as fuck.” He blurts, wiping the sweat from his face. Only Katara could send him back a few decades. “I wish you could’ve catered it.” 

 “Yeah?” She laughs and wants to call him out for stalking her company’s Facebook page. “Remember you tried my new recipe and you vomited all over the front row at your fourth ever Hello Zuko performance?” She misses his messy hair, when he didn’t look so clean cut and rich bitchy. 

 “I didn’t know you weren’t done cooking it!” 

 She shoves his head, and he joins her, dangling his feet precariously off the roof. 

 When she’s here with him, when he has her in his hold for the first time in years, he sees his whole life with just a glimpse in her eyes. And all he wants to do is build a machine and reverse all the time that’s passed them by. 

 “I made a mistake.” Zuko breathes out, eyes nervously darting around. 

 As sure as he was that Nicki Minaj deserved a Grammy, he was sure he loved her. 

 “W-What?” Katara blinks at him. 

 “I made a mistake, Katara.” He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, carding his hand through his hair. Looking every bit devastatingly handsome. “I realized something. After the speech, after just, everything.” 

 “I realized I just can’t have my cake and eat it, too.” 

 Just like that, just with the way he built her up, it comes tumbling down. 

 “So what are you saying?” Her heart was on the verge of cracking in half and he didn’t even know it. Because all he could pin her with a look she couldn’t read, and she thinks if he was a smarter man he would’ve at least pretended that it hurt him to hurt her. 

 But it did. 

 It broke him, ripped him in half to see her face turn to steel right before his eyes. 

 “What I’m saying is, after all these years.” He doesn’t have it in him to face her. “I think I have to finally let you go, Katara.” 

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #Zutara Week #atla #zutara fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #zutara week 2020

[kurtty-drabbles]

Switch au (part 2)

N/A: An idea that punches into my mind without any kindness. So, here we go. I´m trying to make Kitty more mature here and human-not sure if it will be like that, but, hey once you have a literal encounter with an OUTER GOD, you kind have to change and for once to better- So here we go.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @muninandhugin

The watch hands of the big clock are stuck. Ororo Monroe can glance at the watch and wonder if is worth fixing it. "Is forever stuck 10:20. And yet..." her fingers are touching the teacup gingerly as her blue eyes direct to the young woman in front of her. "We have lots of talks to do, Kitty. And can you let me go first?" and Kitty, wearing a red sweater only nods, Ororo needs to recollect what happened 48 hours ago. Ororo needs to recollect and not let her brain melt by all the shenanigans issued.

"Pheonix and Galaticus show up..." her Ororo let a final exhale of breath and continues to gingerly touch her teacup. "Jean Grey, for what I can understand, did something that ruined Pheonix´s chance to win a bet" there´s a bitterness in her tone that´s not usual to Ororo- at least, not that Kitty ever witnesses the Weather Godness being like that. Then again, when Kitty can´t point fingers- "I´d not know what the bet was nor what Jean did that ruined Pheonix´s chance to win...but I do know that..."

And Ororo closes her eyes and her entire face seems clenched at this mere memory. "If you want ...you can stop...Wanda, I mean, Scarlet Witch gave me the recapitulation of the last 48 hours" noticing the expression. Kitty adds. "I have a story to tell too"

"I need to tell this..." Ororo states too proudly. "Pheonix was angry at us for the failure and would have burned us to ashes...And then, jean, the possible most selfish and arrogant person I ever see in my entire life...made a deal with Pheonix. Her life for ours." Ororo´s head inclined to the right-there´s a photo where Jean Grey possed. There´s some mean expressions and somewhat sadness in the faces of those closer of Jean Grey- "And Pheonix accepted and we´re sent back here"

"I..." Kitty tries to say but Ororo shakes her head. "Logan tried to kill himself via death by Vulcan. It was a total failure. Scott..." she shakes her head. She can´t say how broken this man is. "Prof X was arrested for crimes against humanity and for once, by a sheer miracle, people aren´t hating us...." and Ororo can´t help a smirk plays on her face. "ironically enough, Prof X manages to hate mutants and humans by being the most despicable man in the planet"

And now, Kitty measured, she can share her strange tale. "Ok, Ororo...as I mentioned, Scarlet Witch told me this" an eyebrow rose and bad rumors about Dr. Stranger- he dated and married one of his students before his timeless death- Kitty has to defend Scarlet Witch here. "She´s not peeping on us nor is a pervert" Well, if she has her kinks she sure hides well.

And Kitty tells a story about a dumb girl who saw the boy she liked leaving this dimension with another girl-Kitty is merciful to çeave the part where the girl is not a girl nor human- and how she made a circle summon Zaorva´s Herald. How that leads to a meeting with Zaorva herself and how this change her-in many ways- Her fingers waddle and appear some pink glow.

Ororo let go of the teacup. She pushes her chair and says in a high tone. "You could have been killed. You could have been devoured or worse...and we wouldn´t even know..." her eyes are white as the lightning bolts are playing in her fingers. In her eyes. "Why you did something so dumb?"

"I´m just a teenager...I´d dumb things too...is not only the adults" Kitty jokes and Ororo showing even a fraction of her powers are scary. Ororo hugging Kitty and crying is much worse.

"You could have been killed, Kitten. Do you hear me?"

"I´m so sorry, Ororo." Kitty only notices her own tears as her brown- and puffy eyes- are looking at Ororo´s blue eyes as her hand is cleaning her tears. Both women cry. Both women laugh and the watch arm is still halted.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty saw new faces in the X-men. Betsy Braddock, for example, is a new face and name. And unlike the others never had the chance to form any solid opinion about Jean Grey- Gratitude for saving everyone´s lives is a given. But she doesn´t think Jean is a god nor the worst. Again, Betsy is really new here- and notices the presence of one indigo furry man.

"Kurt!" and she tackles him into a hugging. His fur is so soft like velvet. Kurt is surprised. Kurt is not breaking the hug. His tail wrapped around Kitty´s and his golden eyes lock to her brown eyes. "What happened, Katzchen?"

And she smiles in a lopsided way. "I´m owning to my dumb decision...yes, yes. You´re right...I can be a bit brash. Just a bit. A smidge" and Kurt shakes his head. "How are you, elf?"

"About the whole thing? Confused and grate and confused. Jean saved us...why?"

"Guess even Jean has good days" and she swallows louder and adds. "Elf, I´m here to tell you something...and I need you to be open mind here" and the said elf is listening to the impossible tale. "And now, I have magic..." she should have said she can say- she should. Yet, tales of what happened to those who have this power...no, better be vague now- "and I´ll go to a different school to learn how to use my power"

"I´d not believe in Zaorva. Sorry, Kitty. But, if you have now magic powers...it won´t change our friendship. I promise you...can you visit us?"

"Of course, you silly elf." She rests her head on his chest for a moment. "And you can visit me too. You´re my friend, maybe my best friend and I don´t want to lose you"

"And you won´t...I can promise you this"

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Jubilee is the one taking care of social media for the X-men and so far, she´s doing a great time. People seem to enjoy her posts and are sharing stories. Everyone has struggles-even if some struggles don´t involve flying or any other power- and she turns to see Kitty there.

"Hey, Kitty, what´s the long face?"

"I´m leaving the X-men...for now"

"Oh, is because of what I say about your clothes. Look, it doesn´t need to go to such extremes. You can fix bad taste in fashion" Kitty rolls her eyes at this phrase, in the end, let slide.

"No...I have something to tell"

"OH GOD, YOU´RE PREGNANT?!"

"WHAT? NO!"

And once the tale is finished. Jubilee has questions. "So, you´re no longer a mutant, but, a witch?"

"Jubilee, can you stop being American-Chinese?"

"Of course not"

"There´s your answer. I´m still a mutant. I´m still Kitty...I´m now a witch too, I guess"

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Scott is not taking Jean´s death so well. Yes, she cheats on him. Yes, she cheats with him, and all that adds his demoralization even more.  Kitty, in her past, never understood Scott Summers. Maybe, after all, she saw, she can say she understands a little bit.

"Scott?"

And Scott looks up to see Kitty. Scott remembers vividly how Jean hated Kitty for some reason and in an act of defiance greets her. "hello, Kitty"

"How are you dealing with all this?"

And Scott, if it was any other situation, wouldn´t rant to a child-in his eyes. Kitty is a child- but, Scott can´t help himself. "She cheats on me with Logan, then announced she and Logan are dating and then ends up in my bed...over and over. And I let her stay in my bed because I thought...she would come back to me...but, I never understood why I wanted her back"

Kitty could say how Jean used her powers on him- does she have proves?- but tries to say something else. "Are you thinking of doing something stupid? I did once and is not great...so, please, whatever is passing in your head...don´t do it"

"Speak by experience?"

"Pretty much"

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Rogue and Gambit are talking. Well, more like Gambit is flirting with Rogue and the Southern Bells is playing hard to get. However, as soon Rogue sees Kitty all the playfulness is gone. "You! What are you doing here?" and Rogue put herself in front of Gambit and Kitty-not that Kitty even has any interest to meet this new face- and Kitty can only sigh tiredly- she feels so old lately- and is ready to confront Rogue.

"I want this to stop. Look, I never stole Bobby from you" she won´t voice her suspicions about Bobby. "If he didn´t want to date you...it was his choice. Not mine. I didn´t do anything"

Rogue doesn´t look convinced. "Ah not buying. Ah know you are competing with me"

"Yeah, because it was good for my ego. Someone like you feeling threatening by me? That was good to my self-esteem" she jokes partially. "I meet God, Rogue, I meet God and I realize how stupid somethings are...I´m leaving the X-men now...to study magic" Rogue is shown a real WTF look. "and I want to leave this house without any hard feelings, ok?"

"Ahh, sure. Ah guess"

Remy pipes in. "Ah, you meet Zaorva. Bold call"

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Scarlet Witch is watching as the candles are lighting up on their one. One by one on their own time and terms. "I...think over and I´m ready to learn magic," Kitty said breaking the silence and Wanda watches as the last candle didn´t light up.

"Everything happens on its time"

#Switch au #Kurt Wagner #he doesn´t like magic but has an open mind ...for now #Kitty Pryde #Ororo Monroe #Jean Grey is based on Ultimate but less horrible and she did something noble here #Wanda the sensei #Rogue is confused #Remy knows the Outer Gods #Remy is chill with everything

[honestsycrets]

Soiled IV: Not Alone

❛ pairing | hvitserkx reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | reader meets jonakr’s family and readies herself for this marriage. hvitserk doesn’t intend on letting it happen.

❛  warnings | mention of death, forced marriage, mention of kidnapping.

❛ sy’s notes | interaction with hvitserk will be heavy next chapter.

As an orphan, you had limited expectation for your wedding day. But, if someone asked your ideal marriage, being kidnapped by a rogue Swede was probably not anywhere near the top of the list. His sisters bumble around you, fussing about this woven pattern or that pattern. Which crown to set upon your head, a family heirloom, dressed in bright flowers.

“The red goes with her skin,” says one.

“No, no, no! That one will make her look-- look hungry!”

“Isn’t she going to be hungry when she sees him undressed, Kvikr?”

Now your face feels the same as that red linen the girls light up into laughter, hopping around you with the beautiful, regal linen. You inhale when they bring a tight leather cincher around your waist, pulling it taut for the illusion of a beautiful frame. The one known as Kvikr leads a necklace over your head, fastening it before she would offer you her hand, turning up your chin. A stray few tears dabble down your full cheeks.

“Now, none of that.” She says. She arranges your hair evenly, tsking as she took a look at your dreadful, plain face. Kvikr calls for the makeup needed to brighten you up. You glance up as she lines your eyes with kohl.

“Jonakr isn’t a bad man.”

Had she said what was on your mind by mind reading? Or simply based on the fact that you were being forced into marriage? Idly, you look down to her bracelets. The tent offers no way of escape. It’s composed of a strong fabric, held up by large poles. Even if you made it out of here, where would you go? Would you hide in a bog?

“I don’t know what else I could possibly think of him.” You say with certainty. “He kidnapped me from my home.”

From what home?

“Men take prizes,” she says. “You happen to be one.”

The concept of being a man’s prize was foreign to you. Thora, if you had to say, was Hvitserk’s prize. You were… a little cock warmer. Somewhere to keep him well cared for when Thora was busy with her family. So to hear it, you’re obviously conflicted. From outside, you hear another voice speaking with the guards posted outside the tent.

“May I come in?”

A slender man pushes away the flaps to the tent, sweeping in without so much more than those few words. Kvikr rolls her head upon her neck, stopping and focusing her head upon the newcomer. She lowers the hand with a bit of rouge.

“Valtýr, you could wait.”

“Why would I wait, sister? Jonakr already saw our bride.”

You don’t recognize him from the boat. His clothes are finely woven town his chest, long deep brown hair framing his playful blue eyes. A finely trimmed beard sculpts his jaw and chin, a few stray strands catching as he strides in confident steps toward you. The man grasps your shoulders, abruptly shifting you around to him. His voice is honied, leaning his head in to smell the honey soap that Kvikr washed your hair with.

“She’s pretty. Well-worked, but pretty,” he simpers.

“Of course she is pretty,” Kvikr insists. “I heard a prince had her.”

“A prince? He brought me a prince’s toy.” the man remarks, pulling up into a smile with lines from the force of his expression. He lifts from your hair, looking to his sister. “Mmm, I like the sound of this. I had no idea.”

“You?” You chirp, though you honestly do not want to know his answer.

“Of course you do. Yes, a prince, Valtýr. A Ragnarsson.” Kvikr begins to walk away to her sisters. They disappear outside the tent.

“Mmm, even better.” Valtýr, or so he’s named, lifts his knuckle under your chin, playing a small game with making you look at him when you look away. Your chest tightens. Suddenly remembering you need to breathe, you do. He laughs, a hearty rumble, and steps back. His hand pats the metal belt that straps along an increasingly fine tunic. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to me.”

“I thought I was… marrying Jonakr.”

“You’ll be marrying both of us.”

You feel your stomach double, throat tightening as if you were reacting to the words as if they were food. Your eyes then settle upon his chest. A snake with two heads on either side of the body they share, constricting an orb. Vilja.

“Why?”

His mouth twists. You expect him to speak, to tell you just as Jonakr had. In his place, he offers his arm out to you. You take it.

“Now don’t worry about that. It’s your wedding day, lovely.”

He steps out of the tent with you, and you find Jonakr standing there, his broad chest clothed in a murky dark brown tunic that matches a lazy pair of trousers, stuffed into lazy boots.

“You could have at least worn something that wasn’t all brown?” Valtýr nitpicks.

“Why do I care what you think? Are you the bride?” Jonakr bites, looking over to you. His voice sounds worlds away from Valtýr’s own, unsure with the need your confirmation. “What do you think, (Y/N)? Should I go change my tunic?”

“No, it…” you ponder, looking to the man who stole you away. You let the thought fall away. His eyes crinkle, bright with your words. “It looks nice.”

“See the bride said it looks nice.”

“Sadly.”

Hvitserk’s boots slosh in the bog. His hand tightens around the grip of his sword, slick with the blood of foreigners. A portion of the women, so said a few young children, were hauled off to Birka. It was the information he hoped for but… as he thought of it, of coming here, he didn’t know what he expected.

Would you come home with him? Or would he have to make you.

It would be cruel. He squashes through water, pulling himself up into the forest. His righthand man for this trip, a man by the name of Vesteinn squashes beside him.

“The children say the fleet that attacked Kattegat as traders came to find a woman for two men.”

“Two men.”

“Yes,” Hvitserk hears him say. “The king wants his sons to marry.”

“Sons?” He asks though it is more of a statement. Vesteinn makes a small nod, turning his creased eyes toward him.

“Like Ubbe and you, they love each other and don’t want to split households. So the elder prince was meant to go raid for a woman to bring them children and make a proper home before receiving his father’s crown.”

Or what used to be. Hvitserk turns his eye away from Vesteinn, gnashing his teeth together. One Swede was bad enough. Two? Two defiling you, sweeping you away from the safety of Kattegat for breeding and loving that they had no idea how to provide?

It sickened him.

“Do we know who the woman is?” Hvitserk breaches the line of trees, extending his sword so that he might usher his men to stand down.

“No, my prince. Only that these men were stalking long before the raid.”

They targeted you. He scans the town of Norsemen, locating arranged tents. Temporary structures that would hold for a wedding. By now, men would be defiling their woman of choice. He could set his men, the ones not guarding their settlement, upon the town. There were more families there, more single men that would be taking their wives. Attacking the town, however, meant more to Hvitserk. It would send an irrevocable message to the men that they would not be mowed over. Or so he told his men.

The only thing he cared about-- was you.

“Do you take these princes as your husbands?”

The waters were still. They lapse, smooth and gentle on the shore. It’s flat here, the ground… tranquil. Your eye settles on the waves that pull in and splash down upon the flat ground of the island. Puffy trees line around the shore and, maybe it would obscure your vision, but there was a clearing. Flowers line a structure, your cheeks sprinkled with blood from the blessing of three large animals.

“Woman,” Valtýr prompts. Jonakr holds the sword, while you hold an impromptu other, which is a joke as the day your father was ran through for the sake of Rollo the traitor.

“Oh--” you clear your throat, looking to the godi. “I--”

An arrow whizzes beside you and embeds in the wooden structure that you stand underneath. You jerk to the side, holding the collar of your dress. Valtýr yanks you to his chest, barking for a shield. Jonakr unsheathes his blade, hissing in a tongue that you don’t recognize to the men gathered. From the drop of expression on his face, you fear that there are fewer men than he originally planned for. A few stray men. The others are farmers who have most likely gone home after a long trip, not expecting the quick cutting ships designed by Floki the Boatbuilder. 

Your eyes finally focus. Not on the man, bearing a shield, crouching low. But the man who strings an arrow in his well-corded arms. Your stomach flips. You hate that it flips, caught in pride of the sight of the man and his men. Your man.

“Hvitserk.” You whisper, picking up your skirts. Valtýr stops you short of going toward him, pulling you back. “It’s you.”

Valtýr gives Hvitserk a long, slow look, looking up and scoffing. “Who are you?”

“Hvitserk Ragnarsson. And she is mine.”

He never called you that before.

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @lisinfleur,  @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434,  @smileyparrots, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102,  @smokealone, @shaelyn102 @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly--canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @two-unbeatable-beaters, @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm,, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @queenmissfit,  @hallowed-heathen, @neeadinghugs, @mblaqgi, , @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @glassythoughts, @iconicvaleria-blog, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @austenkingmylady, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @end-of-night, @yaminax-kuss-a , @gruffle1, @arses21434@natalie-rdr, @tempt-ress, @thevikingsheaux, @poisonedjoinery, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @mybarnesmyhero, @vengefulflange, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass, @x-valhalla @dreaming-of-never-neverland

#Hvitserk x reader #Hvitserk/Reader #Hvitty x Reader #Hvitty/Reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #viking imagine #vikings/reader #vikings x reader #tw: forced marriage #tw: kidnapping #vikings #the vikings

[iceeckos12]

enchanted flower lesbians go

“Ari!” 

Ari wiped the sweat and dirt from her brow and looked up, shading the sun from her eyes with one hand. “Letitia? Is that you?”

Who else could it be? Princess Letitia, second in line to the throne and eldest daughter of the King and Queen, was hanging over the stone garden wall with a mischievous grin on her face. A few dark curls escaped from her vibrant head scarf, framing her square face. 

“Who other but me?” Letitia said cheerfully, then swung her legs over the wall and dropped to the other side. Even though Ari knew that she’d been in court since early this morning the princess was wearing a pair of humble brown trousers and a loose blouse. Letitia had always preferred menswear over her skirts and dresses, and the king and queen were not above indulging her. 

Ari looked over Letitia’s shoulder, then let out a fond, exasperated sigh. “I see you’re missing your faithful bodyguard. Calista will have your head if she finds you.”

Letitia dusted off her trousers and tucked her hair back into place. “Calista is boring.” Then, with the same haughty demeanor that had given her such a reputation as a spoiled troublemaker, “And you wouldn’t tell her, would you?”

It was less of a question and more of a statement. Ari was glad that her blushes tended not to show on her face, and rolled her eyes. Everyone knew that Princess Letitia was bad news, a rambunctious troublemaker who stole the heart of any man and woman who looked at her. When Ari had first been hired on as the palace gardener almost five years ago, people had practically fallen over each other to tell her sweet, innocent thing like you, do not talk to Princess Letitia! 

Unfortunately, Ari was never good at heeding advice when she could sate her curiosity instead. 

Unfortunately, all the rumors were true. 

“No, I suppose not.” Ari said. “Come, sit on the bench and tell me all about the tedious men and women of the court.”

Letitia didn’t need an invitation. She flopped onto the bench with a dramatic sigh, her feet pushed out in front of her like a child’s. “Oh, you would not believe it Ari. Madame Visconte was in fine form, she still thinks that her wretch of a daughter is good enough for Rakim.”

Ari snorted quietly. Everyone knew that Prince Rakim, oldest child, oldest son, and heir apparent had set his sights on a pauper from Theros. They would have been engaged already had the woman’s mother not gotten sick with consumption. 

“I told her what a delusional bat she was being—” Ari had long since gotten used to Letitia’s brutal sort of honesty, but that did not stop her from choking on nothing at the thought of the princess calling the Madame Visconte a ‘delusional bat’, “—but she just laughed at me!”

“You’ve become too predictable,” Ari said, nudging her shoulder gently. “Telling people they’re stupid was shocking when you were twelve. Word’s gotten around, dear.”

“I suppose,” Letitia said, pouting. “What should I do then? I can’t be losing my touch. Got to keep them on their toes, you know.”

“You could try being well-behaved,” Ari said, hiding a smirk behind her hand. “They’ll never see that one coming.”

Letitia fell backward onto the bench, clutching her heart. “Never!”

They were quiet for a second. The sun was high overhead but the air was cool and sweet, carrying the scent of honeysuckle, jasmine, citrus, and the musky scent of mulch. Ari’s plain blue skirt was hiked above her knees, but she felt no embarrassment, not around Letitia.  

“Ari,” Letitia said quietly, drawing Ari out of her musings. 

“Hm?” Ari asked.

“Show me how the flowers grow, would you?” 

Ari hesitated for a second, then smiled indulgently. “Of course, Princess.”

Ari took a deep breath, stood, and lifted her hands. Earth magic pulsed around her, and suddenly the scent of mulch and earth and life intensified, weaving through the fabric of her being. She felt her curls begin to drift upward, and knew her eyes were glowing a bright, unnatural green. 

And then she closed her hands into fists and yanked.  

Flowers burst from the Earth, pink and purple geraniums, baby blue cornflowers, puffy wheat celosia, sunflowers that opened to the sun. Raucous scents bloomed from all around them, vines overtaking trellis’s in seconds, the path overgrown like some deep forest. 

Breathing hard, Ari looked back over her shoulder at the princess, who was watching her with wide, velvet-brown eyes. 

“Beautiful,” Letitia whispered. 

-0-

“She loves you, you know,” Neo told her matter of factly. 

Ari let out a huff of annoyance and blew a strand of hair away from her face. She was still clearing vines from the trail from her little showing off for Letitia. Sometimes she wished she was less of a pushover where the princess was concerned. “What is it with you royals invading my garden?”

Neo, the second youngest child and the third son, let out an unamused snort and rolled his eyes. “It’s not invading. We can go wherever we like. This is the royal garden.”

“Is that what you told Rolfe before you kissed him?” Ari said without looking up. She wasn’t feeling particularly charitable right now. Rumor was that the king was having Letitia meet another suitor, the duchess of the Southern keep. She was supposedly very pretty, and very charming. Ari was none of those things, had been pauper before the king had hired her to the palace garden after her parents died in the plague. 

Neo spluttered. “How did you—”

Ari felt a little bad for lashing out. Neo was a pompous git, but he didn’t deserve her jealousy-fueled bad mood. “Dalia and Rakim have both had romantic trysts in the rose bushes. Pick somewhere a little more comfortable next time, would you? Preferably somewhere with less thorns.”

Neo was quiet for a second, and Ari thought that that might be it, the prince had decided to pick his battles and had left. But then there was the crunch of dirt beneath careful feet, and Neo said, “I was being serious, though. You know if you showed any sort of interest she’d pledge herself to you in a heartbeat.”

Ari scowled and jammed the trowel a little deeper into the earth. A vine snapped. “You don’t know that.”

“You think Lettie shows interest in just anyone?” Neo scoffed. “You’re not that much of an idiot. Please.”

Ari winced. Letitia hated being called Lettie, said it reminded her too much of being a snaggle-toothed child trailing in Rakim’s footsteps. “Why are you here, Ne—Prince Neo? You can’t just be here about my love life.”

Neo was quiet for a moment, then another, until the silence drew out for so long that Ari had to look up. The prince was blushing furiously, examining the ground between his shoes with sheepish expression. “I—Lettie is being insufferable.”

Oh, no. There was more to it than that. 

“Like you said,” Ari said dryly, setting the trowel between her knees and sitting up. “I’m not that much of an idiot. You’re trying to give me advice, which means you want a favor. Try again.”

“Would you cover for me?” Neo blurted. “I want to—I want to bring Rolfe here for—for a picnic. Would you cover for me?”

“Cover for what?”

Ari and Neo jumped at the new voice. Ari flushed an immediate, hot red when she realized that it was Letitia, still in her gaudy court wear for once. She was gorgeous of course, but she was tugging uncomfortably at the high collar, like she very much would like to rip it off. 

Ari turned away and busied herself with the vines again. “Fine,” She told Neo. “Deal.”

“Right,” Neo said, and bolted. 

“Hey!” Letitia shouted after her younger brother. “Neo—get back here!”

But Neo was long gone. Letitia had stopped being able to keep up with the light-boned boy when she’d turned fourteen. She tramped back over to Ari in a furious huff, tearing at her skirts. “What was that all about?”

“N-Nothing,” Ari was not having this conversation with Letitia. “How did the meeting go?”

“Ari,” Letitia said warningly, putting her hands on her hips and looming. 

Ari rubbed at her face. “It’s to do with Rolfe.”

Letitia looked at her for a second, disbelieving, before letting out an exasperated sigh and throwing her hands into the air. “Fine, then! You and Neo can keep your stupid secrets. I don’t want any part of them.”

Ari blinked at the real frustration in Letitia’s voice. “Letitia?”

Letitia let out a huff and dropped onto the bench, wrapping her arms about herself like she was cold. She looked genuinely miserable, Ari realized guiltily. 

She slowly approached and sat down next to the princess. “Did it go that badly?”

“The duchess is fine,” Letitia spat. “Fine and perfectly vapid. My uncles and aunts love her, of course.”

“Oh,” Ari said awkwardly. On impulse, she reached over and took the princess’s hand in both of her own, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Letitia looked at their joined hands blankly for a second, and Ari almost pulled away—but then the princess smiled, quiet and wan, and squeezed. “It’s alright.” She said tiredly. “Father and mother don’t really care who I marry, so they weren’t too disappointed when I turned the duchess down.”

Guilty relief rushed through Ari. “O-Oh. That’s...good.”

They were quiet for a second. 

“Want me to make the flowers grow?” Ari offered. 

“Oh, would you?” Letitia breathed out. Ari felt her chest clench; Letitia had never hesitated to ask her to use her magic before. She must really have been in a terrible mood. 

Ari nodded and lifted her hand. Something simple this time, she told herself. 

The clematis slowly reached from the ground around the bench and began climbing up Ari’s body, over her back and across her shoulders, flowering through her hair like a crown. The tiny white blooms danced in the evening wind, mesmerizing as a ballet dancer in flight.  

Letitia let out a quiet, contented sigh and leaned her head against Ari’s shoulder. 

The warmth lingered long after Letitia had finally gone. 

-0-

“Do you ever imagine a life beyond this palace?” Letitia asked, reaching toward the sky. 

Ari laughed, quiet and indulgent. “Letitia, you know I lived in the lower district before I came to work here.”

“Oh,” Letitia said, faintly embarrassed. “I—right. Of course.”

Then, as though admitting some deep secret, “Sometimes I forget you haven’t always been here.”

Ari blushed and looked away, pressing her hand to her warm cheek. Her blushes were never that obvious, but it didn’t stop them from occurring often. 

“Why do you always look away when you’re embarrassed?” Letitia asked impatiently, taking Ari’s wrist and pulling her around so she was facing forward again. “You’re cute when you blush. Don’t hide it.”

“Letitia!” Ari gasped, scandalized, turning an even brighter shade of red. 

“What?” Letitia said defiantly, tilting her nose upward. “I said it. I won’t take it back.”

Ari buried her face into her hands, too mortified to even attempt a response to that. This wasn’t happening. They’re not acknowledging this nebulous thing between them. This wasn’t happening. 

“...is it so bad?” Letitia asked, suddenly tentative, suddenly hesitant. “That I think you’re cute?”

“No!” Ari wheezed, batting at Letitia’s arm uselessly. “It’s fine! This is fine.”

Letitia let out a laugh, but there was a palpable note of relief and hysteria in it. 

Then she said, “Ari, are the flowers supposed to be doing that?”

Ari’s head jerked up, and she finally got a look at what her rampant magic was doing. Plants were growing, blooming, then dying a second later; fat fruit ripened and then dropped to the ground in rhythmic thuds. The floral scent intensified and rotted, intensified and rotted. 

Ari waved her hand, and the magic finally stopped. 

“No,” She said, even more mortified than before, if that was possible. “They’re not supposed to do that.”

Letitia let out a loud, wondering laugh, and then tentative, warm fingers laced through hers. Ari clutched at them desperately, biting back a wide grin. 

Letitia pinched Ari’s chin, her grin softening. “What have I told you about hiding?”

#enchanted #inktober #inktober prompts #my writing #flower lesbians

[falconsandfishes]

I'm racist

Ok Joyner I admit that I am racist. That track was not my favorite but maybe it will be come that with more listens so this is not a diss at all. And I don't hate you. Not at all. I admire your skill and adhd lucky you etc were the shit. But I do hate politics. I hate that it's either one side or the other. Vote for your father or vote for your mother. 

It reminds me of th time I followed my dad across the beach and he punished me for it. Guess I should have stayed with mom because loyalty is not rewarded. Or the hermit crabs I had why did you have to let them die dad. It was your responsibility to release them to the ocean but you were too busy drinking an alcohol potion.

But there is one thing my father was not and he was not a racist. He loved all women and their beautiful smiling faces. Not only were many of his friends Brazilian and black he didn't hardly even mention that fact. A hippy to the core and what's more a political junky. Getting funky with earth wind and fire and Jimi Hendrix to Mitch Mitchell's drum beat.

He always used to tell me when the democrats were in office the the people did better and I should support their caucas. But I've come to believe that is just because he was an alcoholic.

Unfortunately the ethnic influences on my father were no good. Everett was his good misunderstood guy talked like an Italian wop the guy could say guinea and nobody would bat an eyelash.

shout out to Hannibal for that goes rhyme.

he shouldn't have let his stepdaughter get impregnated by a black man at only 18. Little punk looked like sisco and all he did was March straight upstairs to her water bed. See I can write this without bias but can you read it without that or are you thinking about getting a white woman to give you head.

What we have right now is a false equality. If someone says he wants equality then surely he wants to dominate me. How are you going to use a word and then say that I cant. The only reason I don't use slurs in my raps is because I'm too good to do that.

Biggie biggie biggie can't you see I don't care if you were hustling I don't understand how you can complain about eating one of the most nutritious fish in the ocean. Why is it anyone else's responsibility I feed your family? Your size and your ghost do not impress me.

We live on an earth where the ocean is over fished. So appreciate your dish this is falcons and fish. Rapping with my thumbs on a fire tablet from the suburbs straight from my mommas basement.

The problem is the rappers I want to beat weren't even that good. How is a lyrical genre dominated by illiterate people from the hood? So does that make me racist or is it just a fact. If you aren't mad at me yet you just not be black.

But I'm sorry some people just should not talk politics. Like just about everyone on the internet. Your opinion doesn't matter and you are not intelligent. Speaking here to all americans. Your vote doesn't rock and rap doesn't roll and these facts hit you harder than that beat puffy stole from Jimmy page the guitarist of led zeppelin Kashmir come with me to another dimension.  

And when I start rapping I start I feel bad because I know I can murder any rapper there's ever been judge me by these lines well I didn't even practice I'm typing without edits on an ipad.

[starrybambam]

Abscond ↠ Kim Namjoon & Kim Seokjin [1]

P a i r i n g ; Namjoon x Reader 

G e n r e ; fluff  ☼

S u m m a r y ; Being a princess meant marriage. And for you, this meant being married to the one and only Kim Namjoon. Or so everyone thought.

W o r d  C o u n t ; 1800+

A / N ; Hii, long time no see. Enjoy this first part to a little series I’ve written. - Snek 

Your eyes lingered on the trees outside the window as their leaves danced in the wind. It was a beautiful day outside, the sun was shining and a breeze swept through the air. However, you were stuck inside, with your family. You glanced up as you heard the door open, your father waltzing in dressed head to toe in a fancy suit. His walk had an oddly cheery element to it, something that was uncommon for him.

You watched as your father had entered the dining room. You were sat at the table, with dinner ready on the table, waiting to be eaten. A range of different loaves of bread, fruit and meat were scattered across the long table. And you, you were sat directly in the middle with your parents on either end of the table, a whole world away. You were quiet as you waited for your father to begin eating as it was custom that the men in the household were to eat first. However tonight, your brother was attending to the fellow kingdom with his wife, leaving you and your parents behind.

“Sweetie, your mother and I decided that it was time for us to find you a husband,” Your father spoke up, breaking the silence that drifted throughout the air.

Your heart sunk at the words, trying to gulp down the fear your body was struck with. Your eyes avoided contact with your parents, staying connected to the plate in front of you.

“Do you remember that sweet boy from the Kim empire, Namjoon?” You mother smiled, as you were sure memories of the time the Kim family came to visit yours.

You despised him, he was a rude arrogant little boy who believed that everything he could see was his. But you couldn’t help deny that the boy was smart, he even tried to get you under his spell. He had this bad reputation throughout the kingdom and the man who likes to sleep around. You thought his intentions were disgusting and his games were impotent.

“I think that’s a great idea,” You lied, plastering your face with a bright smile.

Although you disagreed with their choices, you had no say in what was going to happen. And unfortunately for you, that meant marrying the holy lord Kim Namjoon.

“Oh, and Kim’s are visiting tomorrow,”

A soft knock came from your door as it cracked open to reveal the maid’s face. Luck came her way this morning as you were already awake by the time she had to come to wake you for the day. But for you, large bags lay home underneath your eyes as you had not had any sleep that previous night. And as the first crack of light has shone through the curtains, you were up and out of your bed.

“Good morning Miss, Seohee will be ready soon,” She gave you a warm smile as the door creaked shut.

Your room was in arguably the best position within the castle. Towards the back and away from everyone and everything. Your room was tucked away into one of the towers, however, it wasn’t the only room. There was another room hidden away next to yours, but no one used it. You wouldn’t allow them. The only other life that could be found around your tower was the cats that would often wander through the halls.

Seohee was your lady-in-waiting, or really a personal maid. She has the pleasure of helping you get dressed in your dresses in the morning. Fresh from being awoken from your nights' sleep, you despised the mornings. Therefore, you always had taken too grumpy attitude in the morning. But being the sweet lady Seohee was, she has the patience of dealing with your grumpiness. Your eyes drifted to the corset resting on a stool next to your mirror, you hated the thing. It was tight which constricted your breath, not to mention it was hard to walk in. Mixed in with the stupid heels you had to wear, it was all a disaster.

A bright cheery Seohee barged through the door of your room, with a coat hanger that held up your dress for the day. It was a deep red with various gold linings. Although it was pretty, it was big and extra. The worst. Hanging the dress on the door of the wardrobe, Seohee turned to you in dismay. You groaned at her, flopping back onto the comfiness of your bed.

“Come on sweetheart, you need to get out of bed,” she spoke softly as she tried to get you to leave your bed.

You rolled onto your back, facing the ceiling. As the conversation that happened yesterday filled your mind, another load groan left your lips.

“Please don’t make me do it Seohee, he’s an arrogant asshole who can die for all I care,” You rolled your eyes as a surge of energy ran through your body.

You sprang up from the bed, as you instant started to pace around the large room.

“But seriously, he gave me a lecture on this book that he read on how ladies are meant to act when he saw me trip! It wasn’t my fault that I tripped, it was gravity,” You rave on about his actions.

“Let’s get you dressed first, then we can have a conversation about this,” Seohee reassured you, as she motioned towards the dress that she brought in. You sighed as you gave into her, walking to where she stood.

You followed the long hallways of the palace to the dining hall. Smells of different foods filled the air, as you travelled through the rooms. To your dismay, you had to attend lunch with the Kim’s, a rich family who ruled over quite a large empire.

Your eyes lay on the two large doors, the door frame painted a shimmery gold. A butler who you didn’t know the name of wrapped his hands around the large doorknob, pulling them open for you. You gave him a little nod before you entered the room. A large table lay down the middle of the room, fitted with an elegant themed red decorative items. Large candles were lit across the table as they illuminating light throughout the room. Silverware lined the table, one for each person that was attending the dinner. However these spots were filled, your mother and father sat in their respective seats, your little brother sat in his. They were joined by four other people, an older man and women, a boy about your age and a younger girl who looked around your brothers' age. You plastered your face with a fake smile as you took your seat next to your brother and across from the older boy. You couldn't deny he was handsome, however, you had a lingering feeling of hatred for him. He was here to take away the dream you had of finding someone and falling in love with them.

“Hello,” You gave your guests a large toothy grin, putting on a cheery act as your mother had taught you.

You were returned with smiles and a wave of greetings. You glanced to your right where your father sat at the head of the table, a small scowl was hidden behind his equally fake smile. You knew he was mad at you for being late as it gave the guests a bad idea of you. However you shrugged it off, it was the last of your problems right now. You were more concerned about waiting for this night to end.

And thankfully it did, quickly. The night flew by very quickly. Nothing exciting happened, just a lot of fake laughter and talk about the upcoming marriage. Or so they thought, throughout the night you planned your escape. When the lights would go out for the night, you were to make your escape. Taking the small bag with the supplies you would need until you could comfortably support yourself, you would escape through the window. Using your bedsheets you would climb into the bushes below your window, and then run out of the grounds, attempting to dodge the guards.

So when you were allowed back to your room at the end of the night, you set right into action. The first thing you did was change clothes, from the annoyingly puffy dress into a simple white cotton t-shirt and some khaki slacks that you stole from the laundry. You picked one of the handmade leather bags that mother had made for you, along with a collection of others. You stuffed the bag full of your necessities, including clothes and money. Ready for your escape. You placed the bag on the floor, out of the way for now. Your fingers gripped on the sheets on your bed, pulling them off your elegant bed. You twisted the sheets into a rope shape, perfect for climbing. You brought it to your open window, tying it onto the metal bar that helped stabilise the planter boxes. You turned back around, picking up your bag. You slung it onto your back, ready to leave. You glanced back at the planter boxes, really they only got in your way, so you decided to move them. You wrapped your fingers around the corners of the boxes, lifting them out of their holders, placing them against the wall. You moved again, lifting your body on top of the window sill, allowing your legs to dangle off.

A quiet sigh escaped your mouth as your turned your head to take one last glance at your room. You have to admit, being the princess had its perks, and it came with the riches, allowing you to get the best of the best. Such as these big beds and ridiculous dresses. However, it also had its downsides and forced marriage was one of them. And eventually, the downsides weigh out the good. A tear escaped your watery eyes, rolling down your cheek. Although it sucked here, it was still your home. Your home filled with your family and friends, and now you were throwing that all away. But it was worth it, for your happiness.

You took your eyes off your room, looking out into the night sky. It was a clear night, the stars were shining brightly in the dark sky. And it was peaceful, with only the faint sounds of the crickets in the air. That was until a bang radiated through the air. You glanced to your left where you heard the noise, to see a figure jump out of another window in the castle. You gasped as you saw an identical set up to yours. Curious as to who this mysterious figure was, you too made your escape, clinging onto the bed sheet as you made your descent down the wall.

Your feet hit the luscious green grass just as the strangers did. You glanced up at them, taking a step closer to them. They too edged closer to you, until you were merely a foot apart and you could see their face. A frown plastered on your face at the sight, the one and only Kim Namjoon.

#fluff #kim #namjoon #kim namjoon #bts #kim namjoon fluff #knj #seokjin #kim seokjin #jin #bts jin #rm #bts rm #kim seokjin fluff #ksj

[serainedipiti]

Ezekiel and the Lost Witch

Hi guys!! I created a story!!  (01/29/18)

---

I could never imagine growing up without this man beside me. Today, he woke up early and watched me while I’m sleeping. He whispered in my ears that he is the luckiest man on earth because he married the most exquisite and bravest woman he ever met. He kissed me on my forehead and left to prepare our breakfast, then he will go to manage our field. As I sit beside our bed, I look at the window and reminisce the most unforgettable story I could ever told. It was the our story how I met my prince. So here was the story.

I am Naomi Sullivan, a sixteen year-old girl, gaunt with a long hair, living a simple life in this town named Neucrats where everyone has witch power. Our family was known as one of the most powerful witches. My dad bought me a magic wand and I called it Hally. He spent the day teaching me how to use it. It was perilous at first but my dad told me that I can make everything possible if I just believe. It was not easy being a witch, if one of the members of our family hurt other physically using our power, we could lose it, hated by everyone and we have to leave this town.

Together with my mom and dad we went to visit my grandmother. She was known as dazzling, conservative, ferocious woman in our town. I learned a lot from her adventures in her youth and I wanted to be like her. I relish going to different places because I could use my broomstick. I could fly and feel that all things was in favor with me. After our visit we went home and I saw my parents in the living room. They were so in love with each other. They read my favorite story Cinderella then I fell asleep. My family was the most beautiful thing for me. I couldn’t see my life without them.

A year passed, my family was still jubilant and our relationship with each other and to the witches around us was unyielding. One day, my dad went to a forest with his bow and arrow to catch a wild deer. While he pointed the arrow to the deer, it ran away quickly. He heard someone calling for help. He went there and saw the boy with an arrow in his chest and blood around him. He went back to the town carrying the dead boy in his arms. The crowd surrounded them and they loathe him. He begged and said that he did not intend to do it and it was all an accident. In that moment he knew that he was going to die together with his wife, because that was the punishment of ending other people’s life.

I was sitting inside our house while reading the spells I will practice with my dad when the guards came. They forced my mom and I to go with them. While sitting in the car I did not know that our destination and that day my life would change forever. The place was crowded, all the witches in our town was there. I saw my grandma crying and the witches were mad. I stopped, as my heart skipped a beat. I hesitate to look at them but I still do. I saw ropes on the body of mom and dad. They were tied in a wood. The witches who was in the authority cast a spell and they passed away.

I remember the last words my parents shouted at me. They said that they love me, continue to have a good heart, be kind no matter how bad people were and always be brave. That time, I just wanted to disappear and sleep forever but I know my parents believes in me and I want to continue the life they took from my parents. The witches sent me out of Neucrats and brought me to Nazi, a place where ordinary and powerless people live. I was left in the unfortunate care of my cruel aunt Ruth, she also lost her power because of hurting other people and wanting to take over the Neucrats. Inhf Nazi we had to work for living unlike in Neucrats. She forced me to work as a scullery maid in her own home. I could only eat one bread a day and I only had one pair of clothes.

She also commanded me to work in the field where I have to gather leftover grain behind anyone who let me do it. So I went out to gather leftover grain from the harvesters. And as it happened I found myself working in a field that belonged to Ezekiel, the most wealthy, good-looking, adored by everyone and the most influential man in Nazi. While I was there Ezekiel arrived from his trip and greeted the harvesters. He was stuck for minutes looking at me. He asked his foreman," Who is that girl over there?", and the foreman replied,"She was the young woman from Neucrats and she asked me this morning if she could gather grain behind the harvesters. She has been hard at work ever since". Ezekiel went over to me and told me to stay right behind the women working in the field, he also warned the young men not to bother me and when I'm thirsty, I'll help myself to the water they drown from the well. I thanked him warmly and asked him," Why are you so kind to me, you see I am nothing in these people and anyone in this town, people hated me for what my dad did". He replied,"I know, but I also know about the love and kindness you have shown to your aunt though she betrayed your family. I have heard how your parents died and how you left your own land and live here among all strangers". I found great comfort in his company.

The next day at lunchtime, Ezekiel called me to eat with them. I sat with his harvesters and he gave me food more than I could eat. When I went back to work again, Ezekiel ordered his young men to let me gather grain right among the sheaves without stopping me, also to let me pick them up and don't give me a hard time. I carried it back to our house and showed it to my aunt, I also gave her the food that was left over from my lunch and told her about Ezekiel. But my aunt got mad and told me that I stole the food and grains. She locked me in my room for days.

While I was locked in my room, Ezekiel was planning a feast for me to ask me to marry him. He said that he already found the one he was waiting for a long time ago. He went to our house and told my aunt that he love me and asked her to let me meet him at 10PM tonight at the field. My aunt was jealous and told him that I couldn't go with him, but he said that he will wait for me no matter what happened. I heard from my room what they had talked about, I cried for help because I also love him. I heard voices, as I walk in front of the mirror I saw my parents. They said they miss me so much and Ezekiel was the one for me. I remembered what my dad told me, “everything is possible if I just believe”. I'm determined, then my magic wand float in front of me. I thanked my parents, they told me how much they love me and they are always there guiding me. We had farewell from each other. I picked Hally and used a spell and transform my torn homemade gown into blue ball gown with a glittering puffed overskirt, a delicate laced white petticoat, and puffy sleeves. My hair is worn up in a French twist and a unique pair of slippers. It was already 9:45PM, I have to rush. I used my wand to escape.

When I came to the field, it was dark and no one was there. I broke down and cry, I knew it! I was late. Then the lights began to surround the place. It was magical, full of roses and all the people was there. He knelt holding a box with a ring inside. I cried. He asked me if I would like to spend my whole life with him and I said yes.

We had a feast and after that day people began to adore me. Before the wedding, I went to my aunt and asked her forgiveness for the reason that I escaped. She also said she was sorry for her selfishness and we reconciled. Ezekiel and I got married. I did not go back to Neucrats, my land but I started to found my new life here in Nazi. There was beauty in endings because it would lead you to new beginnings. My experienced was a proof that everything has a reason why it happened. And, we lived happily ever after.

[skyfields]

00. Your pretty face reflects upon gargantuan Seattle buildings. It looks up at the joy of rare cloudless days, bright and beautiful, before the sky gobbles up the sunshine again. It pouts at a cafe on the top of a museum— observing an apathetic city, with a pretty, porcelain, doll-like gaze.

01. You are Kim Jinae, and you were born to Kim Sooah and Daejung, two immigrants from Daegu. Your father, everyone swears, loved you and eomma more than anything else. You never believed them. After all, if he loved you so much, then why did he leave you to go to Hell?

02. (At least, that’s what your maid says. Daejung gambled and scammed and drug-dealt till the day a bullet found its way into his brain. A man like that has surely gotten his due reward.)

02. When Richard Levy comes into your life, you are four and he is tall with salt-and-pepper hair and he looks down on you, his stormy suit slicing through the dove-wing Pacific sky. Yet his eyes, pitch black and brooding, glimmer with kindness as he looks into your own watery ones. You have always been easily lost, and all you wanted was an ice cream bar. The convenience store was not too far down the street from the children’s home, but you’re lucky it’s Richard Levy who appears like a guardian angel. He stoops to guide you.

03. You dive deep, deep into the crowds of people, unafraid with the gentle giant at your side. He and the aging old woman who runs the home step into her office and have a chat, glancing at you through the window all the while.

04. He is a bank mogul in Seattle, Washington. It is no difficult choice for the other children to wave as you drive away to Richard Levy’s Pike’s Place condominium.

05. Age ten, and you are the happiest you’ve ever been.

06. “Jinae,” croons Ingrid King, “is too difficult to say. Darling, give her another name.”

07. Ingrid King. You hated her from the moment you saw her. Father always told you to marry a person with kind eyes— someone who looked at you sweetly with love and affection, and you have always assumed he would do the same. But Ingrid— her eyes are pale, pale blue and dead, dead, dead. Her skin is stretched tight across her skull, her fingers skeletal, and her updo’d hair poorly-spun yellow yarn with expensive pearls slapped on. She is the sister-in-law of a friend of a friend… and she, the demon, has her sights set on your sweet father.

08. They plan a June wedding.

09. You attend as Juniper Levy. You chose the name carefully with your father. Juniper— Juniper, like the beloved trees that dot Puget Sound.

10. The bride’s side is surprised to see that the flower girl in her sweet lavender dress, famously beloved by the millionaire Richard Levy, princess of Seattle’s most prestigious banking family… has straight brows over pretty monolids over warm, chocolate eyes. “Juniper...” they coo, “Juniper…” And just like that, they love you.

11. When Ingrid Levy-King has her first child, you become Juniper Levy-Kim. The Levy-Kings, and the Levy-Kim— Juniper Levy-Kim, the fake-fake-fake who was born Jinae, the mousy little Asian girl playing pretend amongst aristocrats. Your father calls you still, with affection on his baritone voice— “Jinae, can you come down here a moment!”

12. “Jinae, my love,” he says, rugged fingers gentle when they pinch your jaw. Ingrid’s bone-stare regards you coolly. “Your brothers and sisters—” Her daughters and sons, you correct bitterly in your mind, “—will need an influence to look up to as they grow. Ingrid suggested you make a name for yourself.”

13. What Ingrid suggested with that slithering, slimy tongue, was to get you away. She can barely contain the disgusted looks, the smiles that are just a little too sweet, too saccharine— it is you, and you alone, who will always be the light of your father’s life. So you, Juniper Levy-Kim, age fourteen, beneath the wing of a private jet, kiss his cheek goodbye. And like that, you’re off.

14. You are to study abroad in Seoul. A surgeon, Ingrid says, or maybe a newscaster. But the plane touches down, and they— Worldwide Records— oh, do they have a different vision.

15. Your pretty face and rosy cheeks and sweet disposition are reminiscent of that of Cherish. Street-casting: it’s brutal and effective, and they lure you in with the promise of fame and love— and maybe, just maybe, they saw your eyes, red and puffy from a long flight spent crying— but maybe they understood that you were lonely.

16. Your father cancels your dorm and enrollment to the private academy and instead rents you an apartment suite right in the glitzy Worldwide neighborhood. There’s nothing that can be done about the tuition; nearly hundreds of thousands of dollars lost cancelling tuition then signing you to Worldwide, but his voice, soft over the phone, assures you that it’s nothing. That there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his little girl. You bark out a laugh then; even miles and miles away, not even Ingrid King can diminish your father’s love for you.

17. You train for two years. Never mind that you’ve never counted on a beat in your whole life, or that you hardly even know what a pitch is. But your voice is good enough that you debut, at sixteen, with Luxuri.

18. The Nation’s First Love, they call you. One of the Sweethearts of Worldwide. The Next Dahye. You’re glitzed in pink skirts and curled hair for miles. You even have a catchphrase: “Don’t leave me lonely, ‘kay?” It was something stupid from an idiot lip gloss commercial. But you, Juniper Levy-Kim—

19. You’ve fallen in love with love.

20. Every kiss you blow, every heart you make; it’s love, sheer love. Love for your fans, love for your group, love for your father, maybe even a little bit of twisted love for Ingrid King who sent you here. And you gobble up the love you receive in return, lick your sweetly-glossed lips and beam for the crowds who go wild at your request.

21. Then you meet him one day: Woojin. Woojin, Hero’s Woojin; it’s a miracle you haven’t met each other before, being signed under the same company. He’s heard of you— Luxuri has, by now, long since earned the name of the Holy Trinity. He’s charming and handsome and everything everyone says he would be. You’re surprised you thought you knew what love was before, because Woojin— he is it. Your nineteen-year-old heart is smitten.

22. But they find out. Worldwide always does. Woojin walks away unscathed, but you? You are made to fall to your knees and beg forgiveness for a hateless, heart-full crime. You were desperate to feel less lonely, and he gave you that fulfillment; yet he moves on, taking fragments of your heart with him, and you are left behind to scavenge what pieces you can.

23. And what sharp, jagged pieces they are. You go from one of the most loved women in the country to the most hated. You learn what it is like to be controlled, to be manipulated, to be made to beg for forgiveness on a national scale. They call you so many things after; there is no word too low for the girl who stole the heart of the Nation’s Boyfriend. Diva, slut, vixen.

24. That’s all you are.

25. Is that all you will ever be?

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