#HOWEVER— extend that same respect towards others | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moon-rivr · 6 months

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(i decided to mix these two together so i hope the individual anons don’t mind 😓)

el cocinero

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

warnings: reader’s white (miguel calls her guera), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, smut 🥸

author’s note: honestly had a lot of fun writing this one so i hope you all enjoy <3

word count: 4.3K

You had the pleasure of meeting your boss, Miguel O'Hara, two weeks after you had joined the Spider Society on the day before Christmas. You had gotten up in the middle of the night after watching a recipe to make flan on your phone, wanting to try it out as soon as possible since your mouth couldn't help but water the more you thought about making it. Your footsteps echoed through the empty halls, given that most of the other spiders had gone to their respective universes to spend time with their family, and you headed towards the kitchen. You put on a apron and gave yourself a little pep talk that you wouldn't end up burning the kitchen down as you started collecting the items from the recipe.

You propped your phone up against the microwave and turned on the volume, assured by the fact that the chances of someone walking in were close to zero. You washed your hands and preheated the oven, listening to the woman explaining the steps in spanish. As you opened up the bag of sugar, a huge cloud puffed up and coated your face white, giving you a bad start already. You wiped away some of the sugar and started mixing the custard, feeling pretty good about your chances. However, after a little while you started to lose track of what the woman was saying, and you started to get upset that you didn't have the same results she did.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the smoke alarm blaring in the kitchen, reminding you that you had left the oven on. You quickly rushed to turn it off, coughing as you waved off a huge cloud of smoke. You sat down in front of the sink, trying to think about where you went wrong in your recipe before you discarded away the custard. You let the video continue playing, almost like a form of punishing yourself for getting the recipe wrong as the woman continued to explain how to get the perfect texture. You put your head in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks as you thought about how stupid you were to think that you could do this.

Your head shot up when you heard the cafeteria door open, surprised to hear someone else up at this time. "Shock, it smells horrible in here," a male voice muttered and you quickly wiped away your tears to make out the figure criticizing your cooking. A tall man you didn't recognize walked in wearing a white tee and plaid sleeping pants, rubbing his eyes as he took the scene in front of him. "What were you trying to make?" he asked, looking over at your discarded custard in the sink as his nose scrunched from the remnants of the smoke. "Flan.."

"Ay, guera. ¿Porque haces esto si ni entiendes lo que esta diciendo?" He remarked, his eyes shifting over to the tutorial of the woman. (why do you do this if you don’t even know what she’s saying?) You wanted to tell him that you didn't fail because of your lack of understanding about the language, but rather because you just sucked in the kitchen. But you decided to keep your mouth quiet and nod along, not wanting to give away your cards just yet. "Alright, given the fact that it's Christmas, I'll help you out and whatnot. Only if you promise never to try this atrocity in my kitchen again," he offered, turning around to look at you. "Your kitchen?" You asked, a brow raised as you took in the man's appearance.

"Miguel O’Hara. Though I shouldn't need to tell you who I am since I'm the leader here. Nice to meet you though," he clarified, extending his hand out. Your eyes widened as you started piecing it together, but what you didn't understand why this 'cold' and 'unapproachable' man was offering to help you with something so stupid. You shook his hand and told him your name, his eyes lighting up in recognition. "Jessica recruited you, right? I meant to introduce myself earlier but I got busy, you know how it is. Is everything up to your liking so far?" He responds, though his tone sounded like he could care less if you were actually finding things okay here. "It's been good so far, everyone's really nice."

When he offered to help, you were expecting him to have a little more patience with teaching you. "That's not how you break the damn egg! You'll end up making a mess. A ver, let me do it," he grumbled after watching you struggle with an egg for the past two minutes. You scooted over and allowed for him to take the egg, the small thing almost disappearing in his hands. Despite all that, he seemed to handle the egg with some expert level of delicacy as he cracked it, pouring the yolk into the custard mix. Despite the woman talking in the background, the way he whispered to himself and mixed things made you believe that it was from memory.

The rest of the cooking session was spent in silence, though Miguel seemed to slow down his movements just so you'd see what was happening. You were a bit confused when you noticed him adding vanilla which wasn't in the recipe, your brows furrowing a bit as you leaned over the mixing bowl. "That wasn't in the recipe," you murmured, looking back over to the woman to confirm. "You're seriously gonna listen to the recipe over me? I mean, you don't even understand what she's saying," he responds, letting out an amused chuckle as he starts stirring the mix together. You felt yourself growing more and more annoyed at his assumption that you didn't understand anything that the woman was saying but you pursed your lips and simply watched him. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It just tastes better with the vanilla, trust me."

"Where'd you learn how to make this?" You asked curiously as his movements stopped and his shoulder tensed up. It was quiet for a moment, he looked like he was going through some stuff in his head before he cleared his throat. "It was my daughter's favorite pastry so I put my pride aside and asked my mom for the recipe," he responded hesitantly, like it pained him to talk about it. You figured he probably had some trauma stemming from his family issues so you decided to ask what you deemed safe. "Was? Did she move on to tres leches or something?" You pondered, his nose flaring as he started back up with his mixing. "I'm just here so you won't burn down the building, not here to be your friend."

You only spoke up once more after that and that was to thank him for the piece of flan as you sat down at one of the cafeteria tables. You'd expected it for it to be good with the way he dedicated himself into making it, but you weren't expecting for the flavors to melt in your tongue as soon as you took a bite. You'd had store bought flan before but they would never compare again to what Miguel had made, it wasn't too wet but it wasn't too dry either. Miguel finished up with cleaning up the kitchen and wiping away the surfaces before leaving, not bothering to give you a second glance. You were confused as to why he didn't bother having a slice of what he made but you didn't dwell too much on it and continued to eat the flan.

You were convinced that you'd ruined the possibility of developing a friendship with your boss, so you kept your head down and stuck beside Jessica in the missions during the following week. You were surprised to hear your watch buzz at the same time as last week, a message from Miguel calling you over to kitchen. You were reluctant to go since you felt like you'd touched on something painful to him, but you pushed those thoughts aside and headed to the cafeteria. You walked in to see that Miguel was preparing the kitchen and humming along to the cumbia playing on his phone. You tapped on his shoulder and he visibly startled, his shoulders tensing up before he turned around to look at you. "Sorry, I thought you would've sensed me coming in," you told him as his shoulders relax a bit at the realization that it was just you.

You were in the middle of putting on your apron when Miguel walked behind you, tying the strings together. How'd he managed to do that with his big ass hands baffled you, but you realized you couldn't say anything about since you weren't at the teasing point with him. "I’m sorry for the way I treated you last week, by the way. You touched on something I don't really like talking about but that's not an excuse," he told you, catching you off guard with his apology. "It's okay. I shouldn't have been so nosy about it," you reassured him, turning around to face him once he finished tying up your apron.

The two of you made arroz con leche that night and it was overall a pretty good cooking lesson given that things were less tense after he'd apologized. (rice pudding) He sat next to you in the cafeteria, talking to you about the anomaly he had to face today before he went quiet. You noticed that he seemed conflicted, but you didn't want to threaten your delicate friendship forming. "Gabriella wasn't my daughter, not technically. She's the daughter of a variant of myself and i took the role of being her father after hers died. She gave me a home when I really needed it but all I did was destroy hers," he spoke up, his voice coming out a bit shakier than he'd intended it to. You couldn't think of anything to really say to that, you felt like 'I'm sorry' was too cheap for what he was dealing with, so you pressed your hand on his shoulder and started rubbing small circles. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you Miguel."

The following week, Miguel decided on teaching you how to make chocolate chip cookies, something simple but delicious. As he mixed the batter, you couldn't help but notice how his brows furrowed in concentration, clearly still stressed from how the mission today had gone. You decided to help him de-stress by flicking a bit of powder on his face, watching as he blinked away the flour. "Did you ju-" he started off but was quickly interrupted as you blew a bunch of powder onto his face. "Pinche guera, you're gonna get it," he warned you and you took it as a signal to run away from him before you ended up doused in flour as well.

You miscalculated just how fast he was, given that he had you pinned against the wall in a matter of seconds. Your eyes widened as you saw you the bag of flour he had in his hand and the devilish smirk on his face. "Please, please. I'm sorry, I won't do that again," you pleaded with him, his finger coming up to push a strand of hair away. "Aw, you look so pretty when you beg, guerita," he cooed and you couldn't help but feel your cheeks flush up. "You really think so, Mig?" You teased him back despite how flustered you were at his words. Your breathing quickened up when he knelt down a little, his mouth barely brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Yeah, but you'd look so much prettier covered in flour." His words didn't register in your brain until he raised the bag of flour, dumping it over your head despite your protests.

Even though it had taken you half an hour to wash off all the flour from your hair, you couldn't help but lay down in your bed with a huge smile on your face that night. Miguel had grown from someone that you feared even coming in contact with after all the rumors you'd heard to someone you longed to spend every weekend with. Your happiness was quickly diminished as you thought what he would think about you knowing Spanish, if he would think that you were purposefully misdirecting him. After a while of thinking about all the outcomes from the reveal and none of them being positive, you decided to fall asleep and try to forget about it.

The two of you continued with your cooking sessions weekly after that, making it a part of your daily routine. He'd started to engage in your jokes and even adding to them, even going so far as to being more flirty with you, a much more relaxed version of himself than that he portrayed with everyone else at HQ. The two of you had agreed on making pasta this weekend and it was going pretty good, given that nothing had burnt down yet and the smell of oregano filled the kitchen. You were busy monitoring the pasta on the stove that you didn't notice Miguel had moved up behind you to check on the progress as well. Your chest brushed up against his as you turned around, his head dipping down to look at you as you did. Your eyes traveled from his eyes down to his lips and you took notice of just how kissable they looked, how plump and inviting they seemed.

You leaned in slowly, giving Miguel the chance to back off if he wanted to but he simply put his hands on your hips to pull you closer as his lips collided against yours. The kiss was nothing short of sensual, it felt like all the pressure that'd been building up during these cooking sessions had finally been released into this. Your hands gripped onto his shirt as you pulled him closer, his tongue moving so perfectly against yours. You two were pulled out of your trance when the alarm behind you rang, alerting you that the pasta had finished cooking. You hesitantly pulled away, looking up to see that Miguel had a conflicted look on his face. "I shouldn't have done that, it was mistake. I'm sorry," was all that he told you before he shut down for the night and focused on the task in front of him.

Miguel avoided you like the plague after that, he didn't bother acknowledging you around HQ anymore and he always paired you with someone up for missions. You couldn't help but feel a combination of anger and hurt brewing up inside you the more time that he spent avoiding you. Hurt, that he'd dismissed one of the best kisses that you'd had as a 'mistake'. You were snapped out of your thoughts when Jessica walked up to you, talking to you in one of the few moments that she had free. "Girl, did you hear? Apparently Miguel got injured in his mission today," she confided in you, speaking in hushed whispers so the other spiders wouldn't overhear. "What happened?" You asked curiously, your heart aching a bit at the thought of him being hurt. "He's been acting off recently these past couple days, like something's troubling him."

You decided to try out the empanada recipe that Miguel had shared you in an earlier session to cheer him up since he'd confided in you that it was his favorite pastry. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride once you finished, given that they actually tasted pretty good and the kitchen was intact. You hesitated for a little bit once you got to his room, pacing in the hallway as you debated on leaving. You pushed those thoughts away and knocked on his door, biting down on your bottom lip as you waited for a response. Miguel came out with a bandaid over his nose and you couldn't help but let out a small giggle as you saw the Hello Kitty design. "Did you come here just of make fun of my bandaid?" His gruff voice interrupted you out of your thoughts and you pulled out the tupperware holding the empanadas. "I thought these might make you feel better."

"Wait, you actually made these?" He asked, clearly impressed as he took a bite out of one. "I did, yeah. Figured you might need them and I guess I also wanted to take the opportunity to tell you that we should stop our cooking sessions. They've been great and all, but seeing as how I can make stuff without burning the kitchen down, I don't need to bother you anymore," you told him and you had expected him to be more excited at the prospect of finally having the weekends to himself, but you were only met with him furrowing his brows. "Ay guerita. Nunca eras un molestia para mí. No tienes ni la menor idea de cuanto me atormentas durante el día. Cuánto pienso en poder besarte otra vez. Y lo peor es que ni me entiendes cuando te digo que estoy tan enamorado de ti," he told you, completely surprising you with this admission and you decided to take this opportunity to finally be open with him. (you were never a bother to me. you have no idea how much you torment me during the day. how much i think about kissing you again. and the worst thing is that you don’t even understand when i tell how you how much i love you)

"Si te entiendo, Miguel. Tu eres lo que traigo en el pensamiento todos los dias, hasta cuando duermo. Yo tambien estoy tan enamorada contigo," you responded, watching as his eyebrows flew to his hairline, clearly surprised at hearing you speak so fluently. (i do understand you miguel. you are what i carry in my thoughts every day, even when i sleep. i’m so in love with you too) "I thought you didn't understand me.." He muttered, clearly taken back by what you'd just said. "No, you assumed that I didn't understand you when we first met. Which makes sense based on my appearance, I guess," you replied with a small shrug, taking a bite from one of the empanadas. "But how?" he pondered, looking over at you as he tried to piece it all together. "I'm a hyperpolyglot, Spanish’s just one of the languages I know."

"Dime otra vez," Miguel asked of you as you two laid in his bed together, his hand playing with your hair. (tell me again) "Estoy tan enamorada de ti Miguel," you whispered, your hand on his cheek as you kissed him. (i am so in love with you miguel.) Miguel quickly moved down in between your legs, taking off your pants in a swift motion and started kissing up your calves. "What about your injury?" you asked him, looking down at him as he planted open-mouthed kisses up your leg. "I'll be fine," he assured you, going back to what he was doing before. You felt your slick dripping down to your panties as he kissed on your thighs, purposely avoiding where you needed him most. Miguel let out a small chuckle as he saw the wet patch on your underwear, hooking his fingers on the waistband before sliding them down tentatively.

"Such a pretty pussy," he whispered, looking directly at your eyes as he started kissing your bikini area. His mouth eventually moved to your folds, collecting all the slick that had gathered up and let out a small moan in response. Your hands gripped tightly onto his hair as he started eating you out with a vigor that you'd never faced before, tasting you like you were water in the desert. The noises that were filling up the room were downright filthy, his name coming out your mouth in broken moans and the way that he slurped at your pussy, unable to get enough. He held your hips down as you started to squirm, your legs shaking from how good his tongue was making you feel. "Look at me while I please you," he told you in a such a sharp tone that you couldn't help but look down at him as he continued to eat you out, your eyes locking straight onto his.

He held down your legs with one hand and slowly plunged two fingers inside of you, feeling your cunt tighten up around them. His mouth connected to your clit as he started to suck on the neglected nub, his tongue flicking at it. He let out a small groan as your juices dribbled down his lips, the vibrations from it making your back arch up from the bed. "Right there, Miguel. Yes, making me feel so good!" you moaned out, not paying any regard that any spider could pass by and hear you. He curled his fingers upward, finding your g-spot within seconds and made it a point to hit it every time he plunged inside of you once again. He could tell by the way that your clit throbbed against his tongue and by the way that you were gripping his hair that you were close, his movements now more determined towards getting you towards that peak. Your cunt squeezed against his fingers as the coil inside of you unraveled, coming undone on his face.

You'd think that he enjoyed this more than you did, frankly, with the way that he licked his lips and the huge tent in his sweatpants. You let out a small gulp as you saw the outline of it, looking back up to see Miguel giving you a small smirk. "It's okay, baby. I'll ease you through it," he assured you as he started to take off his clothes. He moved on top of you, restraining himself from actually putting any weight on you, and started to kiss your neck. He nipped at your neck, leaving you with reddened marks that would affirm to everybody at the Society that you were all his. At least for an hour or two before you healed. He brought his mouth down to your breasts, trapping one of them onto his mouth as he started sucking on it, his calloused hands massaging the other one.

"Que tetas tan perfectas," he whispered against you as he continued to suck on your tit, his tongue rolling on your areola. (what perfect tits) You felt yourself clench around nothing, growing even more aroused as he continued his assault on your nipples. He started doing the same to the other one, switching places between his hand and mouth. Once he felt satisfied enough, he pulled away from you and stood on his knees. He slowly started to push his cock inside of you, your walls struggling to adjust to his size as you clenched against him. "Relax, baby. I got you, okay?" He assured you, rubbing small circles on your thighs as you nodded. You tried to focus more on your breathing rather than the huge cock almost splitting you in half and he was able to push more inside.

You let out a loud moan as he finally bottomed out, a thin layer of sweat building up on your forehead. It wasn't your first time by any means, but Miguel was just so big and so girthy that you needed some time to adjust. "Looks like cooking's not the only thing I need to walk you through, right nena?" He asked you with a small smirk on his face as he waited for the okay from you to start moving. You nodded once you felt the sting transform into a form a pleasure, needing to feel more from him. He slowly took his cock out before plunging it into you causing all the air to come out your lungs. He started off slow with his thrusts, not wanting to overwhelm you too much for the first time.

He put your legs on his shoulders, the new angle allowing him to push into you deeper and he couldn't help but feel proud at himself as he saw the tip of his cock bulging in your stomach. You honestly looked like an angel to him at the moment with your hair all splayed out across the pillow, your pale cheeks tinted pink, and your mouth parted in a 'o' to let out the most beautiful moans of his name. He started speeding up his thrusts when he saw that you were more comfortable with having him inside, your pussy clenching around his cock perfectly. "Oh God," you moaned out, completely blissed out by the feeling of his cock as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You felt every coherent thought disappear as he fucked you, too drunk off the way he was making you feel to say anything apart from his name. "Not God, Miguel," he teased you, leaning into trap your lips in a kiss which you welcomed with pleasure.

His fingers went down to your clit, rubbing precise circles on the nub despite the stuttering of his hips. "Need you to cum for me, guerita," he moaned out, watching your face contort into one of pure bliss. your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, coating Miguel’s cock completely as a white ring built up around the base. You clawed at the sheets as you felt Miguel continue abusing your pussy, clenching against him tightly like you wanted to milk his cock. He released his load inside of you a couple seconds later, overtaken by the way that your walls were clamping up against him. He watched as the cum started dribbling out of your cunt and decided on plugging it with his cock. He pulled out with a small hiss, seeing how your greedy cunt clenched up against nothing.

After he'd cleaned you off, he wrapped you up in his arms and started stroking your hair, not wanting you to leave just yet. You felt how much he loved you with this embrace and it felt nice after how long you'd spent questioning how he felt about you. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asked you softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just thinking what you must be like in bed when you're not injured," you reply with a cheeky grin, causing him to let out a small chuckle. "Lucky for you, you have plenty of time to find that out."

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petermorwood · 25 days

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How on earth did these goats get there?

*****

In reality the goats are lying on their sides on rocky ground, looking up at a crane-mounted camera. The photograph was taken some years ago, part of a series reconstructing Central European folk customs and traditions which have fallen from favour or are now prohibited.

This old-fashioned rural blood-sport was originally practiced in parts of Anatolia, Turkey, where the game was called keçi fırlatmak, and also in the Carpathian Alps of Romania, possibly imported during the Ottoman conquest. The name there was aruncarea caprei.

*****

The goats would have been coated in a strong adhesive traditionally distilled from pine resin.(represented pictorially here by darker patches of dye on the flanks) and were then thrown upwards towards a cliff or rock-face with makeshift catapults, often a primitive form of counterweight trebuchet assembled from wooden beams and weighted with rocks.

The game ended when the glue dried and lost adhesion, and the goats fell to their deaths. They were then cooked and eaten, their meat being valued like that of Spanish fighting bulls.

The meat of the last goat to fall (başarılı keçi or cea mai durabilă capră) was prized as a special delicacy and selected cuts from the legs of this particular “winner” goat were often smoked and dried into a kind of jerky.

*****

In his “Grandes Histoires Vraies d'un Voyageur le 1er Avril” (pub. Mensonges & Faussetés, Paris, 1871) French folk-historian, anthropologist and retired cavalry general Gilles-Etienne Gérârd wrote about witnessing a festival near Sighișoara, Transylvania, in 1868.

There he claims to have seen catapults improvised from jeunes arbres, très élastiques et souples - “very springy and flexible young trees” - which were drawn back with ropes and then released.

Bets were placed before the throw, and marks given afterwards, according to what way up the goats adhered and for how long. The reconstruction, with both goats upright, facing outward and still in place, shows what would have been a potential high score.

The practice has been officially banned in both countries since the late 1940s, but supposedly still occurred in more isolated areas up to the end of the 20th century. Wooden beams from which the catapults were constructed could easily be disguised as barn-rafters etc., and of course flexible trees were, and are, just trees.

*****

Gérârd’s book incorrectly calls the goat jerky “pastrami”, to which he gives the meaning "meat of preservation".

While pastrami may be a printing error for the Turkish word bastırma or the Romanian pastramă, both meaning “preserved meat”, at least one reviewer claims that Gérârd misunderstood his guide-translator, who would have been working from rural dialect to formal Romanian to scholarly French.

Since this jerky was considered a good-luck food for shepherds, mountaineers, steeplejacks and others whose work involved a risk of falling, Gérârd's assumption seems a reasonable one.

However, several critical comments on that review have dismissed its conclusion, claiming "no translator could be so clumsy", but in its defence, other comments point out confusion between slang usage in the same language.

One cites American and British English, noting that even before differences in spelling (tire / tyre, kerb / curb etc.) "guns" can mean biceps or firearms, "flat" can mean a deflated wheel or a place to live, "ass" can mean buttocks or donkey and adds, with undisguised relish, some of the more embarrassing examples.

This comment concludes that since the errors "usually make sense in context", Gérârd's misapprehension is entitled to the same respect.

*****

The good-luck aspect of the meat apparently extended to work which involved "falling safely", since its last known use was believed to be in ration packs issued to the 1. Hava İndirme Tugayı (1st Airborne Brigade) of the Turkish Army, immediately before the invasion of Cyprus in July 1974.

Nothing more recent has been officially recorded, because the presence of cameras near military bases or possible - and of course illegal - contests is strongly (sometimes forcefully) discouraged, and the sport’s very existence is increasingly dismissed as an urban or more correctly rural legend.

The official line taken by both Anatolian and Carpathian authorities is that it was only ever a joke played on tourists, similar to the Australian “Drop-bear”, the Scottish “Wild Haggis” and the North American “Jackalope”.

They dismiss the evidence of Gérârd’s personal observation as “a wild fable to encourage sales of his book”, “a city-dweller’s misinterpretation of country practices”, or even “the deliberate deception of a gullible foreigner by humorous peasants”.

And as for those paratroop ration packs, Turkish involvement in Cyprus is still such a delicate subject that the standard response remains “no comment”.

#goats #mountain goats #climbing #falling #good-luck food #rural myth #pinch of salt #A day in April

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licorice-tea · 3 months

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The Way Things Go

Pairing: Kaku x reader

Content: huge spoilers for water 7 and enies lobby!!! kaku calls reader “miss” but gender nuetral pronouns are used besides that, reader is a strawhat, flirting and things!

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: this is going to be a mini series covering the reader’s arrival in water 7 (with the straw hats ofc!) to the end of enies lobby. basically, how the reader meets kaku, falls for him, learns his true identity, etc. it’s been a WHILE since i watched the water 7/ennies lobby arcs so im sorry if some things aren’t accurate!! also this is very self indulgent, ik he doesn’t have a ton of fans but seeing him in egghead put me back in my kaku era😇 enjoy! <3

Part 2

You walk towards the doors of the shipyard nonchalantly, but with clear direction and intent. “I need to help find a shipwright who can evaluate the Going Merry and tell us what it’ll cost to fix.” Just a few minutes ago, you’d split up from Nami, Luffy, and Usopp in favor of heading straight to the shipyard while they went to find a place to exchange all of your “stolen” treasure for berries, first. Which is how you ended up standing outside a set of massive doors and an equally tall wall to what you had been told was the Galley La Shipyard. However, after finding no buttons or opening mechanism, you try and fail to push open the incredibly heavy doors.

“Afternoon, miss. Are you looking for a way into the Galley-La Company, by chance?”

You turn around expecting someone older, who has lived a life and now finds no reason to speak in anything other than proverbs and make casual small talk using the same dialects that were popular half a century ago. But instead you’re met with a young man, no older than 25, and a nose reminiscent of Usopp’s. He’s tall, with pretty eyes and strawberry blond hair. You notice the words “Galley La” stitched on the front of his baseball cap, and realize he must work there.

“Hi! Yes, I’m looking for a way into the shipyard.” you nod earnestly.

“Allow me to introduce myself then,” the man removes his hat and holds it to his chest as a gesture of respect, “I’m Kaku, one of the shipwrights of the Galley La Company.” Then he extends his hand toward yours, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss…?”

“Y/n,” you take his hand and shake it once, “and the pleasure’s all mine.”

He smiles and (ever so slowly) lets go of your hand, then brings two fingers up under his chin in a pondering expression. “Say, you look awfully familiar miss y/n. Don’t tell me… you’re a model!”

You giggle at the compliment, “Only on wanted posters!”

“Ah, we get plenty of pirates around these parts, but I’ve never met one as pretty as yourself.” he punctuates his comment with a wink.

You smile and shake your head, “I’m sorry but I’m kind of on a time crunch; would you be able to let me into the shipyard? My crew and I need repairs on our ship.”

“Certainly, miss. Wait here, and I’ll have the doors open in a jiffy.”

As the shipwright leads the pirate through the yard, he makes quick work of getting closer to you. It doesn’t take long for Kaku to boldly rest his hand on your lower back as if to guide you in new directions. At one point he even hooks his arm around your shoulders to turn you toward a particular construction area, but his flirting does not go unnoticed.

“Next on our tour,” he gestures forward at a building with one hand, with his other on the small of y/n’s back, “this is where we design some of the new ships.”

The building is one of few within the large, outdoor shipyard. Kaku opens the door for you and announces to his fellow shipwrights, who are hard at work designing various ship parts inside, that he’s brought a guest. The building isn’t very large inside, either- just a few tables decorate the interior, all covered in blueprints and drawing tools. You wave politely around the room and even excuse yourself for the intrusion, but your tour guide puts his arm around you once again and assures you that it’s no bother. And he’s right; the ship designers either pay you no mind or kindly explain what they’re doing as you make your way through the room. Their work is intriguing, and extremely detailed- almost artistic, in a way.

Kaku catches the glint in your eyes and asks, “Are you an engineer? Or- no, an architect?” he incorrectly guesses your occupation, but his attempts are cute at the very least.

You laugh and smile, “No, I’m not. But this work is really amazing… there’s just so much attention to detail; it’s very…”

“Beautiful?” he offers with a proud grin.

“Hm. I was going to say skilled, but yeah, beautiful.” You continue in a slow lap around the room to observe the blueprints and the shipwrights drawing them. When the two of you exit, you give another wave by the door and thank the shipwrights for letting you see their work. Kaku stays behind and winks at his coworkers, who all grin or shake their heads in amusement at his clear pursuit of the visitor (you), before following you outside.

He jogs to catch up and falls into step alongside you. “So, what do you do then if you don’t mind my asking, miss y/n?” Then, he takes on a teasing tone: “Besides pirating, of course.”

“I do plenty.” You joke back. Sure, you could tell him your dream and your role on the crew but… where’s the fun in that? Besides, you barely know the guy.

“You’re awfully mysterious, miss y/n.” He not-so-discreetly observes your profile as you continue walking through the shipyard. “Say, how long are you and your crew in town?”

“Oh, well.. however long it takes for our ship to be repaired, I guess.” Then, your gaze meets his with a somewhat knowing expression. “Why do you ask?”

Kaku smirks, “I’d like to get to know you better.”

With a smirk and a hum of acknowledgment, you both continue walking side by side with an added air of flirtation in every brush of your hands or shoulders. You reach the end of the shipyard, and turn around to head back. On the way back to the front entrance, Kaku agrees to personally asses the Going Merry free of charge, “just for you.” The two of you make plans for him to come to the place where the Straw Hats hid her later that evening when he has time. Finally, you two have done a complete lap around the Galley-La Shipyard, and you find yourselves back at the entrance.

“Thank you again for agreeing to check out our ship. She means a lot to us; my crew and I.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, sort of mimicking your own nonchalant demeanor; “It’s no problem at all, miss. In fact, it’ll be my great pleasure to work for you.”

You giggle at his flirting once again, and bid him farewell. “Well, I’m going to go find my crew mates. I think they probably found us some hotel rooms by now.” (You’d all planned to stay in a hotel while in Water 7, in order for repairs to be carried out.)

Kaku nods, “Then I hope you’ll come visit me when you have the time. Or would you prefer it if I came to you?”

“…You don’t have to do that.” Awkward laughter escapes your lips.

“No, but I sure would like to,” he takes one of your hands and surrounds it with both of his, “if you’ll let me.”

This has your mouth gaping as you search for the right response… He’s so straightforward, unlike most of the young men you’ve met on your travels. “W-well, ok.”

“Ok? So, that’s a yes then?” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood and ease your nervousness (though he does find it endearing.) “I could only accept your enthusiastic consent, miss y/n, if I were to go ahead with courting you.”

“I- Courting me?” you hold back a laugh, not wanting to tease him for his old fashioned way when you find it so charming. “Then, yes. I enthusiastically agree.”

He grins, “Swell! I think I’ll swing by your Going Merry around 5, shouldn’t talk long to asses damages and give you a quote on how much she’ll be to fix. How about we meet then?”

And you nod, “Sounds like a plan.”

“It is one.” He leans in conspiratorially and wriggles his brows, “One could even call it a date.”

You hide another smile by biting your lip and take a step back. “Right… Well, I’ll see you then!” With a wave over your shoulder, you’re off. He watches for a moment as you disappear into a more crowded area of the street and chuckles to himself.

What a sweet guy. A little old fashioned, but very polite, and so tall and handsome and- sigh.

You’re already falling for him.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #fanfic #one piece #x reader #op kaku #kaku one piece #kaku #kaku x reader #self indulgence at its finest #my man my man my man #i need him actually

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loki-cees-all · 19 days

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Chapter 7 - All the Tiring Time Between {TLTGYA - Post!TVA Loki x OFC Longfic}

Previous Chapter / TLTGYA Masterlist / A03 Link / Next Chapter

Pairing : Post-TVA!Loki x Oliviette (OFC)

Chapter Summary : Sometimes the sharpest boundaries require the gentlest touch.

Chapter W/c : 8.7k words

Chapter Tags / Content : Angst (as always), brief mentions of blood and injuries. Also there's a bunch of Tesseract lore and Loki's history with Thanos that I really got carried away with while writing this.

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

The silence in the cell was electrifyingly tense, and Loki wished he had something else to focus his attention on.

His jaw ached as he took another bite of the flavorless, perplexing bread that was both stale and damp at the same time. He should have been grateful for it and its distraction, despite the woman having offered it without even so much as looking at him. But it just reminded him of the year he’d spent with the Mad Titan: Wretched. Forsaken. Totally and completely hopeless.

Loki tried desperately not to think about it, but it was getting harder to fight as his exhaustion grew.

The woman sat across from him in the cell, her knees pulled to her chest and her expression blank. She’d said absolutely nothing after dismissing his question about Anathema the night prior, not even when the peculiar guards brought in their cruel attempt at a meal. She didn’t even flinch when they set the tray down in front of her, nor when the duo stared, cold and unmoving, presumably waiting for her to beg for her life like all the others…but she did wait until they were finally gone to pull the tray closer.

She had grabbed the chunk of bread first, and extended it towards him in the shadows like it was second-nature to her. As if it wasn’t ever an option that she wouldn’t share it, and despite the fact that they were in stark disagreement about their respective situations in this place.

He felt guilty for accepting the offering, but unfortunately, he felt like he had no other choice; his eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, his muscles were becoming weaker with each new day of disuse, and his nerves were perpetually fried with wary energy. He was constantly stifling another yawn, and was dangerously close to falling asleep, to having another nightmare again.

Loki didn’t know if he ever talked in his sleep, but he didn’t want to risk revealing any compromising information about himself or his past; the less anyone knew about him here, the better off they all were.

But other than the food she’d shared with him, there wasn’t much else for him to distract himself with. The woman wasn’t talking anymore, and her questions had faded away alongside the hope she may have once had about escaping. That left Loki to alone deal with his questions about her, and their inscrutable answers.

The problem with that, however, was that his mind was nothing but a tangled mess; a rat’s nest, made up of lies and false memories, the betrayals of the life he’d left behind, and all the lives that never were. Before him lay a scattering of dots, all seemingly unrelated and centered around a woman who claimed she didn’t know what they wanted with her, and he couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of any of it.

Loki used to pride himself on his ability to see the bigger picture, especially on a galactic scale. But he had come here to hide and to wallow, to purposely let his mind atrophy into a cobweb of nothingness, because that was easier than continue trying, and failing, to be happy. He felt comfortable doing that, and letting this become his legacy, because he hadn’t ever expected a riddle to fall into his lap again. He hadn’t ever expected her.

As Loki swallowed the last of the bread, he forced himself to look at her again. She was still huddled against the wall, illuminated by the dim lantern light from the hallway and shivering in the cold dungeon like a scared little child. He was flabbergasted that she was still here, that they’d bothered bringing her back after being caught during an escape attempt. And he couldn’t help but hate himself, because the old Loki could have figured out why that was a very long time ago.

Next to her, the bowl of porridge sat on the floor, mostly untouched and definitely not enjoyed. Her expression was sullen as she stared off into the distance, and her limbs were folded around herself as she retreated deeper inward. It almost made him feel…something.

Of what exactly, Loki wasn’t quite sure; the feeling was old and familiar, something that was long lost while never really being understood in the first place. He told himself that the feeling was irrelevant, because it was just the mystery he found equal parts infuriating and intriguing. He just needed a bit more time than usual to settle the question marks, and then he could finally return to the blissful void of apathy.

And maybe she wasn’t lying when she claimed to not know who Anathema was, but he didn’t believe for a moment that she had no idea why the guards were so interested in her. Either she had something of theirs, or she knew some mysterious piece of information they didn’t yet - but they were obviously willing to play the long game in order to acquire it, and that couldn’t have been for nothing.

Perhaps it had something to do with the gem dangling from her necklace. Loki had seen her touching it, frequently and absentmindedly, running her slender fingers over the deep blue stone during stressed and quiet moments like now. Clearly it meant a lot to her; someone who loved her had given it to her. Someone she loved back, someone she probably missed dearly…

As he started to wonder if anyone was out there looking for her, Loki realized he was staring and quickly averted his eyes. They landed once again upon the bowl of uneaten porridge next to her, and a new form of discomfort wove itself between the muscles of his shoulders and neck. It wrapped around his nerve-endings, stinging the open and frayed tendrils that had been worn bare from the pain of still being alive.

He was quite vulnerable existing like this, even though he knew she couldn’t see him hiding in the shadows. That she didn’t know what he was thinking, or where he was looking. That she was unaware of the fleeting relief that poured into his veins when she was brought back to the cell alive, or his shame at feeling anything that had immediately replaced it.

Loki had been flippant when she was initially brought in here. He was angry the first time she tried to share a meal with him. And then he was conflicted, at best, when she was dragged back in the second time. This paltry range of emotions was far more than he was previously used to; he felt like he was drowning in it, like it was slowly collapsing his airways and squeezing out every last ounce of oxygen from his lungs.

Because there was only one person on this planet who knew his name. A single individual, throughout all of space and time, knew where he was. She was the sole witness to his current existence, and he’d never felt more uncomfortable or on display than here and now. She had met him at his worst, in his ultimate moment of triumph when he’d finally been able to remove himself from any and all equations, from every problem that ever needed solving, and he absolutely hated that.

Loki thought he’d finally accounted for everything when he had stepped through the Time Door and into this dungeon. He thought he’d finally fixed the issue, himself, for literally everyone - and then this tiny little variable had shown up so unexpectedly to completely ruin it for him.

He should have been angrier about it. He should have been furious and seething and shaking with rage over this egregious betrayal of the universe. Being alone had been the whole point, keeping everyone safe from him had been his only intention, seeking protection from the pain of both betrayal and being betrayed was all that Loki had left. Why wasn’t he allowed that meager peace of mind?

Damnation clung to Loki like a frightened child clung to his mother’s skirts, trembling in the dark and begging for acknowledgement of its traumatized state. It lurked around every corner and it haunted every shadow, constantly weeping and whimpering and howling out its anguish to cruel and uncaring souls. It was always there, lingering in the corner of his eye, reminding him of just how helpless and useless he was. That he should just give up. That he should just end it already.

But sometimes, the damnation would transform into something far more sinister, into the tall, skulking form of a cerulean demon. Hanging over his shoulder and digging its claws into his neck, the demon would spit cruel maledictions into his ear. Didn’t Loki know that everyone around him was already doomed? Wouldn’t it be kinder to just kill them now, rather than waiting for him to ruin their life and then cruelly and inevitably take it from them?

Hiding in the dungeon was the only reasonable compromise between the frightened child and the viscous demon warring in his mind. If only he had stuck with that plan, if only he hadn’t revealed that someone else was alive in the cell with her, then maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

Regret, his oldest and only friend, wouldn’t be blaring its horn and sounding the alarm bells and crying out for solace. So why did it bother him so much now that she wasn’t eating?

Loki shifted uncomfortably on the stone floor, weighing the options in his mind. The regret of initially engaging with this woman didn’t mean he couldn’t change tactics; and if she wasn’t eating, then it wouldn’t be too much longer until he was on his own again. That had been his initial plan, and there was no reason he couldn’t return to that now. Wasn’t being alone all he ever wanted?

“You should finish your meal. There’s no telling how long it’ll be before they bring another…” The words felt like acid on Loki’s tongue, dripping down his throat to eat away at his insides. He hoped they had come out as bluntly as he’d intended, but in reality, it just sounded like something his mother would have said.

This time, the woman didn’t shudder when he finally broke the tense silence. She didn’t even react at all, other than to sigh heavily and respond in a low and flattened tone. “What’s the point…?”

“Well, clearly they’d prefer you to be alive, for whatever reason…” Loki’s jaw tensed as he paused, struggling to understand why he was even bothering. “Even if they bring food on an irregular basis, it’s still more than anyone else gets…”

“Maybe the only reason they want me alive is so they can continue mocking and hurting me.”

That was a more difficult point to contend with; perhaps the guards had just grown weary of the simple and mundane murders, and they’d decided to go with something more entertaining this time. What if there wasn’t a more complicated explanation for the guards' motivations? What if he was searching for logic that didn’t even exist?

Loki stifled another yawn as he leaned back against the stone wall, raking his fingers through tangled curls that were just as chaotic as his thoughts. There had to be something he was missing while attempting to put this puzzle together. “So what did the guards say when they caught you escaping?”

The woman let out a heavy exhale, and her tone shifted into a more sarcastic tone. “Oh, normal things like what are you doing out of your cell?, and no one’s coming to rescue you. Typical kidnapper things, you know…”

Loki couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her nonchalant answers, but what else was he expecting? He was beginning to wonder if it was even worth putting this much effort into avoiding sleep. Nothing else in his life prior to meeting her had been easy, so why was he expecting this to go smoothly?

“Actually, the guard did say something strange before knocking me out…” The woman trailed off, pausing as she furrowed her brow.

Loki cleared his throat as he looked towards her again. “Strange how?”

“Maxine - or Nulan, whichever one it was…They caught me upstairs in their private quarters. Just before attacking me, they said what is gone…may never return.” The woman pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she recalled the memory. “I’ve never heard it before, and I have no idea what it means…”

What is gone…may never return. Loki turned the phrase backward and forward in his mind, trying to find its place in this absolutely confounding puzzle. But he’d never heard anyone say anything even remotely close to it, so there was nowhere for it to go. The phrase’s sentiment, however, he understood perfectly well.

“It was probably just a threat, or a taunt…” she continued with a dismissive shake of her head. “They were just mocking me, for losing everything…”

“Or it’s a prayer. A desperate request, for some kind of reprieve…” Loki murmured in reply. He didn’t want to think about whether anyone had ever hoped for the same thing after he’d finally walked away, but he was positive that they had. And he hadn’t meant for his interpretation to sound so melancholy, but as his gaze caught the woman’s matching expression, he could feel her understanding of his meaning. Loki hated that.

She must have sensed that as well, because she quickly forced a false smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No…surely they must have been talking about me losing my boots.”

Her smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared, shifting into a grimace as a violent shiver shuddered over the limbs she struggled to pull close enough. She breathed out a heavy sigh and lowered her forehead to her knees with another tremble, and for once, Loki was grateful for the Jotun physiology keeping him relatively comfortable. But the woman didn’t share the same luxury of such a curse, and she was clearly suffering in these dank and grim conditions.

Loki turned his attention towards his fingers, twitching and fidgeting restlessly in his lap. This particular guilt was both new and unwelcome, like the haunting of fresh ghosts he thought he’d finally manage to not brutally murder for once. It wasn’t directly his fault she was here, that she was suffering. She was a complete stranger, after all, and this couldn’t have been his problem, or his responsibility.

But as Loki lifted his gaze again, carefully moving his eyes to avoid looking upon her once more, he caught a glimpse of the woman’s forgotten boots in the shadows, the ones carelessly stripped away while the guards were searching her the night before.

He recalled one of the first lessons Odin had explained about ruling a kingdom, that sometimes tact and finesse were far more effective than blades or might. Perhaps if Loki was kind instead of harsh, and if he returned the boots to the frozen woman, then she might help alleviate the nagging questions he still had and allow him to fight off sleep for just a little bit longer.

His brow furrowed, and he swallowed hard as he realized this was the least he could do for the both of them. It wasn’t much, but it felt like chopping off a limb when he cleared his throat and forced himself to speak again. “Your, um…boots are in here. They might help you with the…cold.”

The woman’s head popped back up, and her eyes narrowed as she scanned for them in the darkness. “Where are they? I don’t - ” she replied, clumsily attempting to push herself upright, obviously eager to get them back on as soon as possible.

Loki felt an odd sense of duty, one that had been buried deep underneath the many eons of pain, and it compelled him to act before he had the chance to second-guess himself. He moved slowly, shifting his weight onto his hip, and extended his arm out. His fingers were just long enough to barely grasp the black leather pull loops, to drag them closer and then place them within her reach while maintaining a safe distance, and without the need for him to stand.

A faint smile crossed her lips as she stretched to pull them closer. “Thank you so much, Loki.”

He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact anymore; it was hard enough to listen to the bewildered gratitude in her voice. His every movement had stayed within the safe confines of the shadows, and he imagined that she saw her boots reappearing as if from the loving aid of a benevolent god, of someone else who was capable of caring.

“It was nothing,” he told them both.

He had fully intended to return his attention back inward, but he found himself distracted by the woman as she shifted on the floor. Curling and stretching her limbs, gracelessly attempting to pull a boot back on with a single hand, and then reluctantly, with both hands. She let out a gasping whimper as she tried to extend out her left arm, and Loki noticed her fingers trembling as she tried to push through the pain.

Obligation flared along his spine again, but this time, Loki questioned it. A childhood memory surfaced, of when his father would return home from war, bruised and exhausted and weary, and Loki would rush to his side, eager to help with removing his armor and assist in any way he could. He thought maybe if he proved himself useful, eager and determined, like his older brother was, then Odin might finally give him a chance to fight alongside him.

But even though his seidr had been well-advanced for his age, his father had always refused to bring Loki along, despite never leaving home without Thor. Odin had said that Loki wasn’t ready yet, that he wasn’t strong enough, that it was too dangerous for a little boy to be out on the field and surrounded by their mortal enemies.

“Such a young prince falling into the hands of Asgard’s opponents could prove disastrous to the realms,” his father had said, even though that fear had never stopped him from bringing Thor into battle. It wasn’t until much later that Loki realized the truth, that the only real use he had wasn’t needed back then - not until the direst of circumstances forced his father’s ultimate and final hand.

The woman let out a sharp groan, bringing Loki back to the present. She had collapsed back against the wall, sniffling and brushing the messy strands of crimson hair away from her face. “Loki, I’m so sorry…but can you please…?”

His eyes widened, and hers were full of tears. Her cheeks reddened, and her lower lip trembled as she spoke with a cracked voice. “Please help me? I’m so cold, and I can’t…I can’t get these back on…”

It wasn’t like the cold, calculating demands he was previously used to, and Loki realized that it pained her to ask like this. She wasn’t trying to get anything out of him, she wasn’t manipulating her way into something more than she deserved, or trying to get him to commit atrocities in her name.

It wasn’t a game or a trick designed to be laughed at later with her friends; she genuinely just needed his help. But the problem was that this kind of assistance not only required him to vacate the shadows, to come closer and share the same air as her - it necessitated physical touch. Loki was sure he couldn’t handle that.

The muscles in his fingers articulated of their own accord, separating and curling into just the right place to summon and concentrate his seidr, intent on disassembling the atoms that made up the woman’s boots and reassembling them back where they belonged.

A suitable compromise, Loki believed, except that absolutely nothing happened. The warmth that normally accompanied his magic was nowhere to be found, that familiar connection to the past and the present, to his mother, wasn’t opening its loving arms to welcome him back home - and that was when he finally remembered.

Loki’s seidr was dead, because he was supposed to be dead.

He’d forsaken his magic as soon as he’d arrived here. Once he willingly stepped through the Time Door and into this dungeon, once he’d realized that the first thing this newly-freed universe had done was trap him yet again, he decided that this time it was really meant to be.

So he didn’t bother fighting it, and he willingly let go of the tendrils of seidr he had once clung so tightly to. He didn’t deserve the honor of wielding it, not after what he’d done in New York. And what use would that magic have been to the hollowed-out shell of a person he was now? What good could he have possibly done with it anyway?

“Loki?”

Once again, the woman’s quiet voice refocused his attention. Her expression had fallen even further during his silent brooding, and she was staring woefully into the dark, desperately hoping to see him finally coming to her aid. A deep sense of dread rose up within his chest, thick and impenetrable, oozing between his ribs to singe and suffocate his lungs like molten lava.

Loki didn’t know what to do, and yet, he moved anyway. Pressing his palms flat against the stone floor, he bent his knees and carefully pushed himself upright. His joints cracked and popped, his muscles were stiff and sluggish as he slid one foot forward, and the belt around his waist was far looser than when he’d initially put it on.

Taking another step closer, his mind suddenly dizzied, and his body began to sway dangerously from the juxtaposition of pushing himself forward while he’d been wasting away. He quickly grabbed onto the wall with a sharp gasp, trying to steady himself as his legs tingled themselves awake.

“Loki…are you alright?” the woman murmured, her brow furrowing with concern.

“I’m fine, it’s just - ” Loki sighed heavily, his heart pounding and muscles trembling. “I’m just not used to…standing.”

Loki closed his eyes and leaned against the wall for a moment, willing his body back into operating under his own control. But despite his best efforts, weariness and exhaustion were still permanently at the helm, relentlessly steering him back towards collapsing and passing out again.

“It’s alright. Take your time…”

Loki’s eyes snapped back open, painfully aware that she was still watching him closely, and he did everything he could to both avoid her gaze and her reassurance. Nothing about this was alright, and he could hear his father’s chastising voice from beyond the stars, criticizing him for allowing enervation to consume him - even though that was the only way to keep himself out of trouble.

His eyes flitted across the dungeon cell, feverishly taking in the stone walls and steel bars of the door, then out to the flickering lantern light of the hallway. Loki had never even bothered to take a good look at his coffin before committing to staying in it for all eternity, but from this elevation, he could clearly examine the cuts that made up the large slabs of the walls and floor. Meticulous, flawless, precise - too perfect to have been sliced by hand.

His gaze moved to the cream-colored candlestick suspended within the single lantern in the hallway, evenly melted away and without a single speck of soot upon the glass encasing it. From there, he could make out the grooves carved by the steel bars into the doorway’s arch as it swung open and closed, and the streaked and dark stains, smudged against the grayed and leadened floor, leading from the hallway back into their cell.

The woman’s blood, he assumed, and Loki’s hands clenched into fists. His throat tightened, and the slightest hint of outrage began to reluctantly wake from its slumber.

Forcing the feeling away, Loki finally closed the distance and carefully crouched in front of the woman; only then did he let her be the focus of his attention. Loose and uneven strands of crimson had been pulled free from the long, disheveled braid nestled untidily over her shoulder;her skin was wan and pallid, and her lips were tinted with the faintest hint of blue.

Dried blood had smeared on her ear, her neck, the lengths of her hair and along her cheek. It was everywhere, mixed with the dirt and muck from the floor, coating the corners of her cracked lips and the freckles that dotted her cheekbone. The fact that the blood was dried, meaning the original wound was at the very least no longer actively bleeding, did nothing to make him feel better.

Loki lowered one knee down to the floor, precariously settling his weight onto one ankle, and the woman’s attention was now entirely fixed on her boots. She swallowed nervously, and Loki silently agreed with the sentiment. How long had it been since he’d touched another person? Did he even remember how to be gentle? How to not contaminate?

Moving cautiously, he took a boot into his grasp, threading his fingers between the loops and slowly pulling to loosen its laces. While he worked, he focused on the soft leather: its scent was herbal, earthy, and with just the barest suggestion of sweetness. Intricate designs, swirls and constellations and rays of light emanating from an overly-stylized sun were stitched into the leather, extending from the collar and flowing down way past the ankle.

Soft, pliable and shiny, the leather still showed signs of its latest polish, applied with a healthy dose of high-quality wax, from underneath the layers of grim. The boots had been methodically cared for, regularly and recently, and probably not too long before the woman found herself in custody of the mysterious guards. Loki found himself curious about the circumstances of her capture.

Stained in the same shade of night as the leathers covering her legs, they blended seamlessly together with the rest of her clothing, from the thin stockings on her feet to the chipped lacquer on her fingernails. Everything was the exact same color, save for the thin, flowing emerald tunic that had long since come untucked, and the gem that hung from her neck.

And everything she wore was undoubtedly expensive, most likely customized for this particular owner, and she had obviously not dressed for being locked inside a damp and grimy dungeon. At best, she was prepared for a pleasant walk through the woods on a mildly chilly evening; Loki tried not to think about it too much.

Out of his peripheral vision, Loki could see the woman stealing glances up at him. She watched him carefully, her sea green eyes shifting cautiously between his face, his hands, and the boot he was unlacing - obviously examining and judging the hideous monster whose help she had no choice but to accept.

Loki began to feel self-conscious. There was no doubt that his own appearance wasn’t any better than her own at the moment; in fact, he was sure it was much, much worse. Dark and unkempt curls hung way past his shoulders like sinister snakes. The skin on his hands was sullen and pallor, shifting dangerously close to bluish gray, and he had no idea if his eyes had begun to drift back into their original shade of ruby-red or not. He promised himself that this would be the only time she ever saw his face up close.

When he could no longer justify stalling with the laces, he cleared his throat, and forced his fingers to tap the underside of her leg; a featherlight touch that could have been easily missed if one hadn’t been expecting it. But the woman again mercifully sensed his meaning, and she positioned the appropriate foot for him to slide the boot on.

Too well, Loki noticed, as he pulled the collar up to settle around her calf; she was exceptionally practiced at having others put footwear on her - at tensing the right muscles at just the right moment, and extending the leg with just enough force to seat the foot comfortably against the insole.

“Sorry about this…” she mumbled as Loki pulled the laces tight and began looping them back and forth around the hooks. “Although, this is probably the most exciting thing you’ve done in a while, huh?”

She was trying to lighten the mood, to distract from the previous awkwardness of such close quarters. Loki’s response was flat and measured, his attention focused on tying instead of talking. “Like I said - it’s nothing.”

A nervous silence followed, one that was far more uncomfortable than the awkwardness. Loki hadn’t meant to be so dismissive, and perhaps he’d been far too frigid for someone who was supposed to be helping her. When he finished the final loop, he cleared his throat again and forced himself to look up again.

“Is that…too tight for you?” he murmured softly.

The woman managed a weak smile as she flexed her ankle. “No. It feels fine.”

Loki noted that her pupils dilated ever so slightly when she met his gaze, and he took that as a good sign that her head injury wasn’t a completely serious one. He wasn’t sure why he was noting that, but nonetheless, he had, and he didn’t have the energy to start questioning it. Instead, he busied himself with picking up the other boot and threading his fingers underneath its laces like he’d done with the first.

“Is this all I have left? Just waiting in this cell to die?”

Her voice had taken on a somber, more sorrowful tone now; apparently open anguish was much easier for her than polite small-talk, and if she hadn’t been so exhausted, Loki would have guessed there would have been more than a tear or two accompanying her questions. He wasn’t sure how to answer her; bringing up the fact that the other prisoners before her had never lasted more than a day or two, or the fact that they were never returned once removed from their cells, probably wasn’t going to help her mood very much.

“At least they’re leaving you alone for the most part,” Loki answered, lightly tapping his fingers underneath her other leg for the placement of its boot. “Be thankful for relative peace.”

The woman sighed heavily as she cooperated. “Relative peace. That’s all I have to look forward to?”

“For some, that’s all they’ve ever wanted,” Loki said absentmindedly. “They’d kill for it, and others willingly die in its pursuit…”

The woman’s eyebrows raised in troubled concern, and Loki tried to ignore it. He couldn’t understand why he was like this, either speaking too familiarly with the woman, or far too flippantly. He was out of practice when it came to any sort of normal conversation, but he didn’t want to be accustomed to it again. In the end, she was just a temporary distraction, and he wasn’t supposed to even exist at all.

“That’s very enlightened, coming from someone who has nightmares every time he closes his eyes…” the woman replied as he finished tying the laces on the other boot. She flexed that ankle, and then nodded her approval while pulling her knees back against her chest.

Loki’s brow furrowed as he met her gaze once more. Her eyes were wide and open, appearing to be without a single shred of judgment, only empathy. Loki couldn’t help but scrutinize her for that. If she only knew how little he deserved kindness, and he was irritated that she’d noticed how bad his nightmares were at all. He’d rather have not known that his weakness was on complete display, and thus, beyond his complete control.

Slowly pushing himself back up to standing, grateful that the task and its requisite close proximity were finally over, Loki’s fingertips trailed along the cold stone as he backed into the shadows again. But lethargy was creeping back in, along with the ever-present unsettled and restless energy, and when Loki returned to sitting, he wasn’t quite as far into the dark as he had been before.

“You know, it may help your nightmares to talk about them,” the woman suggested cautiously. “Perhaps unburdening yourself a little would be a good thing…”

Loki grimaced. Of all the ways she could have worded it, he wished it hadn’t been in that specific way. As it were, various burdens of all sorts were already going to haunt him until the end of time, it seemed, and he preferred not to be reminded of the purposes initially set upon him by Thanos. And even if he wanted to, where should he begin?

He still didn’t quite understand what exactly had happened to him on Knowhere; that entire year was just a chaotic haze of torture and manipulation, through both physical and psychological means, and it was impossible for him to decipher what was real and what was a lie. Even now, he couldn’t even recall the exact circumstances that led to his descent from the Bifrost and into Thanos’ control.

Sometimes, he could clearly remember the decision to let go of Gungnir and fall into the abyss; other times, he was absolutely convinced that his brother had pushed him in a jealous rage, furious that Loki’s short tenure as King had proved far more successful than any longer one Thor could have ever managed.

Either way, the fall had resulted in him becoming Thanos’ prisoner, and then later, as a member of the Black Order - but only after they’d finally conceded that physical torture was never going to work on the body of a Frost Giant, on an Asgardian prince raised as a warrior, or on a powerful sorcerer who already had extremely complicated feelings about being alive in the first place.

But once they realized that he just wanted somewhere to belong, they finally started to see real progress, and the emotional manipulation that followed was probably more effective than they could have ever hoped for. It was so very easy to muddy the rough waters of Loki’s psyche thanks to the Chitauri Scepter and his tremendous heartbreak - a kind word here, a clever lie there, and nothing but speeches about revenge and betrayals, destinies and purposes, salvation and redemption, and scorned Kings and their disgraced sons.

After Loki had been welcomed into the fold, Thanos explained his need for the Tesseract; if Loki acquired it, then he would be granted an army to help take Midgard by as excessive and violent force as he deemed necessary. The God of Mischief already knew that he wanted to be as destructive as possible - to both completely cripple his brother’s fondness for the pathetic humans, and to show Odin that he would settle for being a terrifying leader if he wasn’t permitted to be a good one.

His idea for retrieving the Tesseract had been a clever one; so clever that Loki wasn’t surprised that Thanos or the Black Order hadn’t ever considered it before. But getting to suggest it meant that his new Master was immediately pleased with his usefulness, something that had rarely happened with his previous keeper, and Loki was so grateful for the opportunity to satisfy.

Out of the six Infinity Stones, the Space Stone was unique in that it could generate massive amounts of self-sustaining energy. Its power signature was incredibly easy to track, and it didn’t take long for Loki to determine the Tesseract’s location inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. research facility. Under Fury’s careful and watchful eye, the mortals were studying its capabilities for power production, no doubt to be used in some kind of advanced weapons manufacture instead of something that could actually be used to help mankind.

A stereotypically short-sighted action, one that would soon be their downfall, because none of those weapons would ever be able to stop him from completing his task. Had they realized the stone’s true potential, as Loki had, then perhaps the humans might have fared better during his invasion.

Because he knew something that apparently no one else did, something he now prayed that no one else would ever be able to figure out. Loki was in the unusual position of understanding exactly how the Bifrost had operated, of how it could easily send and receive anything from across the galaxies with frightening and pinpoint accuracy. As a child, he was fascinated by the Bifrost, and more than once Heimdall had to stop him from attempting to disassemble it while searching for the details of its inner workings.

Once informed of her son’s unyielding curiosities, his mother had patiently redirected that energy towards Asgard’s massive libraries. There, he spent many late nights pouring over the texts and histories of the magnificent Bifrost. Once he’d devoured all he could from words, he then spent his time exploring the Realm and looking for means of travel that didn’t involve going to the Bifrost at all.

And thanks to the Mad Titan’s relentless and universal conquest in search of the stones, Loki had access to incalculable amounts of lore, research and history that had been stolen from countless cultures and societies. He spent months buried in books and manuscripts, performing calculations and practicing his seidr, searching desperately for the perfect combination of science and magic to get him what he needed.

All of that, when combined with his extensive knowledge of the Bifrost, allowed Loki to realize that all he needed was a power-source. It must have been fate and its impeccable sense of humor, because the Space Stone could be the engine, and the Tesseract was going to be the gateway - a terrible, incredible bridge between where you were, and where you desperately wanted to be.

For Loki, the Tesseract was going to deliver him to vengeance, respect, authority and glory - in a way that no one would be able to undo once he finally got it. His brother, his father, the entire Nine Realms and beyond, all of them would be powerless to stop him once he figured out how to open the Tesseract’s portal from the other side.

Returning to his research with a new sense of delirium, he gave up on sleep, and food, and his sanity while he searched for the answer. His cheeks became hollow, his eyes were sunken deep into his skull, and his skin grew weak and frail. His nerves were on the verge of total disintegration, his heart ached and his mind was hazy.

His every waking thought was consumed by the Tesseract, and on the rare occasion that he actually passed out, so were his nightmares. He became too lost to even carry on a conversation; all he could manage were grunts and groans and strange approximations of the word “Tesseract”. Every part of himself, anything that had once been Loki, had all but slipped away.

But occasionally, Loki would come back to himself. He would look down at his hands in horror, and he wouldn’t understand where he was or how he got there. While screaming and lashing out, the one called Ebony Maw would preach about balance, about salvation and judgment and how Loki was destined to assist the Great Titan in saving all of life, by ending half of it. He was instructed to be grateful for being allowed to take part in it.

But it didn’t make any sense, and Loki tried so hard to resist, to fight them off, to scramble to the exit and free himself, to warn someone of the terrible thing that was coming. Then, something would happen, something would touch him, and his mind would cloud back over with rage and madness. The dangerous craving for the Tesseract would return tenfold, and then he would be back on task, more eager than ever to please.

After a quick journey through the minds of the men known as Selvig and Barton, Loki finally had everything he needed to complete his sacred mission. The astrophysicist filled in the last remaining gaps about the Tesseract’s functionalities, and the archer revealed information about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s security protocols - how many personnel were on site, what types of weapons they had, where they’d been trained. The details of every file stored on their secret servers, every individual’s personal histories - including that of the beings once considered to join the so-called Avengers, the ones that might be called upon to stop him.

On his first attempt, Loki succeeded in opening the Tesseract’s portal. One moment, he was standing on Thanos’ ship, and the next, he was inside the research facility, shrouded within a haze of smoke and mania. By the third second, he was ferociously attacking, moving and acting without consideration for the stealth or secrecy he’d been trained with as a child. He didn’t even bother dodging the humans’ pathetic projectiles; instead, he focused on murdering the ones he had already deemed useless to his cause, and using the Sceptre to convert the ones that were worthy of it

Nor did he bother mincing words with Fury as the Director stalled for time, not even the ones ripped directly from Ebony Maw’s impassioned and self-important speeches. Loki already knew how unstable the gateway was, and that was by design. During his maniacal studies, he had determined how best to sustain the portal’s opening for safe and easy passage - first, in order to allow entry for the Chitauri forces, and then to facilitate easy travel for Thanos to find the rest of the stones later on.

Loki’s first act of murder had been intentionally not stabilizing the portal as it opened inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility; he had wanted the structure to collapse in a stunning display of destruction. Whether it was to be an ominous warning for what he was about to do, or if it was to serve as a call to action for the only ones who could have prevented him from succeeding, he still wasn’t quite sure.

Either way, he ultimately failed in the only way that had mattered. Loki didn’t achieve vengeance or respect or authority, and there was no victory or glory waiting for him after it was over. The Chitauri Forces were destroyed, the Tesseract was not handed over to Thanos per their agreement, and he’d made a great many vicious and unforgiving enemies that day.

In the end, the only thing waiting for him was a prison cell on Asgard, and all he’d managed to do was to make everything worse.

And presumably, after it was over, Thanos still had access to all of Loki’s research. Losing out on the Tesseract would have infuriated him and the Black Order; a minor inconvenience, sure, but it wouldn’t have hindered their quest in the slightest. Thanos still knew how to use the Tesseract because of him - and more importantly, he understood how to use it in the most destructive way possible. That was completely and entirely Loki’s fault, and he just hoped that Thanos was arrogant enough to keep that information to himself, that no one else would try and fail in the same catastrophic way that Loki had.

Maybe the Tesseract wasn’t meant to be used as a gateway, and in doing so, Loki had ensured that he’d never get what he wanted, and that he’d lose what little he had left. All of that madness and frantic chaos and deliberate carnage had been for absolutely nothing. Maybe the Tesseract was cursed, and maybe, so was he.

Because every single time Loki had come into contact with it, his life had taken a drastic and even more devastating turn for the worse. Attempting to acquire it for Thanos had broken him - mind, body, and soul; fleeing New York with it had landed him in the clutches of the TVA; and apparently, it had been his ultimate destiny to die while trying to keep it from the Mad Titan.

The absolute last thing Loki ever wanted was to be reminded of the Tesseract - more than he wanted silence, or solitude, or to rot. And now this woman wanted to know what his nightmares were about?

Even if he had made it to the prison cell on Asgard, he wasn’t planning to explain himself to anyone. What was he supposed to tell his brother, his mother, his father? That he’d been deceived? Were they going to believe that he’d fallen for someone else’s lies so easily, and without question? That the God of Mischief himself had been tricked, played for a fool and made to be the universe’s largest and most pathetic scapegoat?

No, trying to justify his actions would be a grave disservice to the innocent lives he’d taken, and telling the truth was next to impossible. Even just talking about the betrayal of his family would be too much for him to bear, and that was the only aspect of the entire thing that Loki had never, ever second-guessed.

The woman continued stealing glances in his direction, from just a few feet away now. Still waiting for him to say something, anything, to help keep her mind distracted from her own plights. For the briefest of moments, he actually considered asking if she’d ever heard of the Tesseract, or the Infinity Stones. If she knew who Thanos was, if he’d ever been to this planet before…but as Loki fidgeted with his tie, running his fingers over the frayed and broken seams in the cloth, he knew the answer didn’t matter.

The appropriate time to have asked that question would have been when he’d first arrived, back when the TemPad still had the power to take him some place else if need be. But now the TemPad was dead; he was trapped here, and the longer he could go without hearing about the Tesseract, the better. The longer he could go on in the blissful ignorance of relative peace, and without talking about himself, the easier this would be for everyone.

“How did you wind up here anyway?” He winced as he spoke, hating himself for being more than a little curious about it. “I can’t imagine the guards asking you to come along nicely…”

The woman hesitated for a moment, no doubt replaying the events in her mind and wishing she had done something differently. Her fingers grasped the gem that hung from her neck, and she swallowed hard. “I was…taken from Tessaway, my home, in the middle of the night.”

She paused, her eyes focused on something non-existent in the distance. “I don’t know how they made it past the sentries, but they…managed, somehow. They took me from my bed, while I slept…”

Loki shook his head, trying to appear sympathetic. “You lived in a heavily guarded city. It must be a very dangerous place…”

“Tessaway isn’t a city,” she corrected, furrowing her brow as she looked over at him. “It’s the castle in Fayrest. You know, the capital city…?”

He didn’t know any of that, of course, having never left this cell. The woman looked like she wanted to say more but was afraid to, and he couldn’t help but think about why she had seemed to imply before that no one was going to rescue her. “Wouldn’t someone from the castle have noticed your absence? Surely they have to be looking for you by now…”

“No…” The woman shifted uncomfortably in place, her expression broken and forlorn. “No, I was just a servant. No one important enough to miss…”

Loki had been studying her carefully ever since he’d realized her captors were going to keep her alive for much longer than they had the others. Her movements were elegant and refined, her clothing and jewelry expensive and customized, her speech graceful and enchanting; the kind of charming that could only come from years of practice. He didn’t believe for a second that she was just a servant working in a castle.

But she was also clearly in a tremendous amount of pain, and for whatever reason, was keeping the origins of her birth a secret. Loki wondered what might have happened to him if he had been given that luxury, if he hadn’t been the only one to not know the truth about himself.

“Ah, a servant,” he replied, trying to lighten the mood a little. His unpracticed lips curved into a forced and lazy grin. “That certainly explains why you’re so concerned about my well-being…”

The woman’s eyebrows raised in amusement, and she tilted her head curiously as if taking his comment as a challenge. “What’s the matter? Are you not used to someone worrying about your well-being?”

Loki’s jaw tensed; perhaps he hadn’t been behaving as opaquely as he hoped, and he hated that she could see through him just as well as he could through her. He glanced over, and decided to provoke her right back. “Well, I’m sure they’ll miss you at the castle eventually. Like when there’s pots that need washing, or linens that need changing?”

“Yes, yes, that’s very funny…” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I get it, the thing about servants is that no one knows your name until something you normally do suddenly isn’t being done anymore…”

The woman turned, and she met his gaze with a considering and dissecting one of her own. “Like you - you don’t need anything from me, so why would you ever bother learning my name?”

From just a few feet away, the woman stared deep into his soul, tugging at the strings that still held him upright and all but questioning if they were even necessary. He waited until she looked away to furrow his brow again, because while she was right about him not needing anything from her, she was surely mistaken about the other half of her point.

Because he did actually know her name; it was the first new name he’d learned in such a very long time, and he thought it suited her quite well, all things considered. But he had been trying to avoid acknowledging it, not wanting it to mean something more than what it was.

It was just a name, after all; a series of specific vocalizations designed to get her attention. Saying it out loud didn’t mean that they were friends, or that they were even important to each other. It wouldn’t bind them in any way, or obligate him to care. But if that were true, then why did he have such a problem with saying it?

Loki could feel a nervous energy creeping relentlessly up his spine again. He wished it would stop receding, that it would stay put, because the constant shifting between relaxing and stressing was completely wearing him out. He told himself he just needed to say it out loud and get it over with, before he could start second-guessing and talk himself out of it again - especially now that she had noticed his careful avoidance of her name.

“What kind of servant knows how to fight with a staff anyway?” Loki asked, affecting an innocent and casual tone. “I guess servants named Oliviette do…”

After he answered his own question, Loki looked towards her again, and Oliviette was already smiling back at him; it was a bleary and quiet acknowledgement, but the sentiment was definitely noteworthy. For the first time since they’d met, he could see the dimples in her cheeks, and it was impossible to miss the way her eyes lit up with mirth, or how her lips pursed before she finally responded.

“What? Am I not allowed to have hobbies outside of work?”

Loki struggled to not return her smile. He almost felt a sense of appreciation for her snark and the much-needed diversion from the constant aching in his chest. It was only then that he remembered that this was supposed to be a temporary distraction; he couldn’t afford to spend needless energy that didn’t directly involve finding out why the guards were keeping Oliviette alive for this long.

Keeping a safe distance was paramount, his new glorious purpose. Trust was for children and dogs, wasn’t that how he’d put it to Mobius during their first meeting? As long as he stayed here, keeping himself isolated and protected, then he couldn’t ever be tricked into being someone else’s attack dog ever again. He couldn’t ever hurt anyone again.

Besides, it was highly implausible that her life would end in any way other than tragically. Loki’d already had quite enough of that - and would it be worth getting close to her, even if it didn’t?

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

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theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass · 11 months

Text

Shadows of doubt pt. 1

Pairing: Seokjin x f!reader

Genre: arranged marriage, angst, fluff, hurt to comfort.

Word count: 3.5K

A/n: I’m totally obsessed with arranged marriage trope rn 🫣🫣🫣 Comment if you want a part two!<3

Part two!

The day had started like any other, with you and Seokjin living separate lives under the same roof. It had been months since your arranged marriage, and while you both were busy with your respective companies, you had somehow managed to maintain a level of indifference towards each other. It didn't bother you much, as you had grown accustomed to the routine and had your own priorities to attend to.

But today was different.

Today, you were invited to a family lunch at one of the many upscale clubs, a customary gathering that required you and Seokjin to arrive together. However, as the appointed time neared, Seokjin was nowhere to be seen. Your messages and calls went unanswered, leaving you increasingly frustrated and worried. The anticipation and anxiety grew as you tried to reach out to him, but to no avail.

The atmosphere at the family lunch was far from comforting. Seokjin's brother's wife, always one for gossip, took the opportunity to talk you down. She whispered rumors in your ear, insinuating that Seokjin was sleeping around and didn't care for you. As much as you tried to brush off the malicious words, the absence of Seokjin and the unanswered calls only intensified your insecurity.

The lunch dragged on, with aunties constantly reminding you of your apparent inability to keep a man happy. Their comments stung, but you put on a brave face, determined not to let them see your vulnerability. Hours later, Seokjin finally arrived, his charming smile captivating everyone around him. Everyone. Except you.

Although having him near brought you comfort, as the presence of Seokjin acted as a shield against the blood-boiling gossip coming from the women around you. Their judgmental whispers and critical stares had been suffocating you for hours. But with Seokjin by your side, you felt a sense of reassurance and protection.

When it was time to bid farewell to the family, you and Seokjin walked out of the club together. As you made your way to the car, he finally spoke to you, breaking the silence that had persisted between you for months.

"I have to pick up my computer from the office, but I can call my driver for you if you wish to get home sooner," he offered, his eyes briefly locking with yours.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before speaking.

"I'll just ride with you if that's alright," you said, your voice timid, but determined.

Seokjin lifted his head from his phone, his gaze meeting yours once more, and he gave you a dazzling smile. Opening the passenger's side door, he extended his hand, inviting you to join him.

You sat in the car, completely still, as Seokjin walked around to the driver's side. It was the first time you exchanged more than a simple greeting, and the tension in the air was palpable. As he pulled out onto the road, the weight on your shoulders became too much to bear. You couldn't keep it to yourself any longer.

"Never do this again," you spoke, the words escaping your lips with a mix of frustration and concern.

Seokjin sharply turned to you, a whirlwind of emotions in his eyes, but quickly refocused his attention on the road, remembering his duty as the driver. His eyes kept darting between the road and your still profile.

"What are you talking about? Did I do something wrong?" his voice trembled with uncertainty.

You hated that this was the first substantial conversation you were having with your husband, but you couldn't hold back any longer. It wasn't just about your feelings, it was about maintaining the appearance of a harmonious married couple, especially in high society.

"Never leave me like this, not knowing what's happening or where you are. I am your wife, and while I understand this is a marriage of convenience, we have an image to uphold for our families and society," you explained, your tone firm but not accusatory.

Seokjin's face turned a deep shade of red, embarrassment washing over him without fully understanding why.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I was caught up with a client at the office, and I couldn't leave earlier..." he trailed off, his voice filled with remorse.

Finally, you turned to face him, breaking your statue-like position.

"I understand that you're busy, but finding the time to return even one of my texts or calls to let me know you're occupied with a client would help me immensely. It's not just about me, it's about us," you said, your voice filled with a mix of frustration and longing for a connection.

Seokjin nodded earnestly, his eyes fixed on you as much as they could be while he drove.

"I'll never do that again, Y/n. You have my word," he assured you, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability. You returned your gaze to the window, feeling a mixture of relief and exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster of the day.

As the car pulled into the driveway, you quickly exited and made your way back to your rooms. The moment your bed came into view, you face-planted onto it, releasing all the frustrations you had held in during the car ride.

"Gosh, he must think I'm an idiot," you mumbled into your pillow before sleep enveloped your exhausted mind.

...

The hours leading up to the ball felt like an eternity, with your eyes constantly shifting between the clock on the wall and the horrendous look book of designs presented to you by a potential client.

The meeting didn't go as planned, and the disappointment weighed heavily on your shoulders. Namjoon, ever the supportive colleague, escorted the client out, leaving you alone in the room.

"Is everything okay, boss?" Namjoon's deep voice broke the silence, bringing you back to reality. You sighed heavily, closing your eyes briefly to moisten them.

"Not really, Joon. I have a ball to attend this evening," you grumbled, the prospect of the social event dampening your spirits even further. Namjoon chuckled softly, a gesture that earned him a glare from you.

"I can come with you if you need a plus one," he suggested, a hint of care in his eyes. "Wouldn't be the first time for me."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"I have a plus one. I'm married to one, in case you forgot," you said, raising your hand to show him the emerald and gold band adorning your finger.

"It's just... I don't know how to act around him. We live together and are married, but we hardly speak to each other," you admitted, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Namjoon stopped typing, fully turning his attention towards you.

"That doesn't sound like a happy marriage," he observed, concern etched on his face.

You sighed, your palms finding solace in tangling through your hair.

"I try, Namjoon. I really do. I'm always texting him about family gatherings and conventions we have to attend. But he rarely responds... Am I foolish for putting in the effort? I'm just trying to make this marriage work, but I often feel so alone in it," you confessed, the weight of your emotions bearing down on you.

"Well, then maybe it's time to stop caring if he doesn't," Namjoon suggested, his voice gentle but firm.

You looked at him, contemplating his words.

"I wish I could, but my mother would bite my head off if I dared to walk into the ball without him by my side," you said with a sigh.

"Maybe, for once, you should do as you wish and not just what your mother expects."

...

The evening arrived, and you attended the ball with Namjoon as your companion. Seokjin was already there, and his eyes caught sight of you and Namjoon walking in together. Your pale pink floor-length gown accentuated your beauty, but the sight of another man beside you twisted something inside Seokjin's stomach.

Seokjin's father also noticed your entrance and couldn't help but ask.

"Who is that man next to Y/n? Why isn't she arriving with you? Is something the matter between you two?"

"Everything is alright, Father. That's only her assistant," Seokjin replied, trying to mask the turmoil in his gaze.

His father scoffed, unimpressed by the explanation.

"One hell of an assistant, holding her like that," he muttered, his suspicion piqued. Seokjin's attention remained fixed on you and Namjoon, the rage building inside him.

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Seokjin strode towards the two of you.

"Y/n, can I talk to you for a moment? Alone," he said, his gaze never leaving Namjoon.

"Please don't make a scene, Seokjin," you pleaded, hoping to avoid any unnecessary drama.

His anger and jealousy shifted momentarily to hurt as he turned to face you.

"Namjoon and I are here on behalf of our company. We have people to talk to," you said, your voice firm as you tugged Namjoon away with you.

Seokjin drowned his frustrations with a few shots of whiskey, but the word "our" suffocated him. You had never referred to anything belonging to both of you as "ours," yet you said it so effortlessly with Namjoon.

...

The night was a flurry of activity as you and Namjoon engaged in conversations with various interested individuals in the business world. As influential figures and potential partners approached, you showcased your expertise and passion, discussing potential collaborations and exchanging ideas. Namjoon, being your trusted assistant, seamlessly assisted you, adding valuable insights and effortlessly charming those around him.

You felt a sense of pride watching Namjoon interact with confidence and grace, his knowledge shining through in every conversation. His presence by your side not only alleviated some of the pressure but also brought a level of comfort that you hadn't anticipated. It was in these moments that you appreciated the support and camaraderie you shared, even if it was purely professional.

While your interactions with Namjoon were seamless, you couldn't help but notice the absence of Seokjin. As the evening progressed, his absence became more pronounced, amplifying the void between you and your husband. It was a stark reminder of the lack of communication and emotional connection that plagued your marriage.

Namjoon, ever perceptive, noticed the wistful longing in your eyes as you gazed at the dancing couples. Concern etched on his face, he gently approached you, his voice filled with genuine care.

"What's wrong, Y/N?" he asked, his tone gentle yet urging. He wanted you to confront your feelings, to acknowledge the void that had been growing within you.

You took a deep breath, appreciating Namjoon's willingness to listen.

"I miss love... I miss Seokjin..." you admitted softly, the words carrying the weight of your unspoken desires.

A knowing smile tugged at Namjoon's lips as he reassured you.

"I've noticed Seokjin does too, Y/N. He's been watching you the entire night, even when you weren't aware of it."

Surprise flickered across your face. You hadn't realized that Seokjin had been observing you, his gaze fixated on you amidst the crowd. It was a revelation that sparked a mix of hope and apprehension within you.

Namjoon's voice was filled with encouragement as he spoke.

"Y/N, he is your husband, and I believe he likes you more than you realize. I'm sure if you approach him and express your desire to dance, he won't pass up the opportunity, especially when you look as beautiful as you do tonight."

A blush crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, and a genuine smile graced your lips.

"Have I ever told you what a great friend you are, Joonie?"

Namjoon chuckled softly.

"Actions speak louder than words ever could. Now go, Y/N. Take a chance and talk to Seokjin. Trust me, it's worth it."

Though fear and uncertainty lingered in your heart, Namjoon's unwavering support provided the push you needed. With newfound determination, you straightened your posture and mustered the courage to approach Seokjin, who was engaged in conversation with the new investors.

As you weaved through the crowd, anticipation coursed through your veins. You hoped that Namjoon's observations were accurate, that Seokjin had been longing for a connection just as much as you had. The thought emboldened you, dispelling the doubts that threatened to hold you back.

Seokjin turned his head, his eyes meeting yours as you finally stood before him. A mix of surprise and warmth washed over his features, and you saw a flicker of recognition in his gaze. Without a word, you extended your hand, silently conveying your unspoken desire.

His eyes softened, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he took your hand in his.

Seokjin, understanding the significance of the moment, takes a moment to appreciate your beauty. His eyes trace the curves of your dress, the way it hugs your figure perfectly. He can't help but smile, realizing that he hasn't given you a proper compliment tonight.

"You look absolutely stunning, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with sincerity. "I can't believe I didn't say it sooner."

You can't help but giggle at his words, feeling warmth spread through your chest. His compliment feels genuine, and it sparks lightness in your heart that you hadn't felt in a long time. It's as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and you find yourself opening up to the possibility of a renewed connection.

Seokjin takes a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, as he musters the courage to ask, "How is your night going, Y/N?"

You share with him the excitement of the new interest you and Namjoon are receiving from other socialites. The conversations, the connections—it's all been invigorating, and you can't help but feel grateful for the opportunity.

Seokjin's smile widens as he congratulates you. "That's wonderful, Y/N. I'm so proud of you."

You shake your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

"No, Seokjin. It's all Namjoon. He's the main attraction tonight."

Seokjin's gaze intensifies as he stares at you intently.

"I'd dare to disagree," he says, his voice filled with a newfound conviction. "You've always been the one who captivates everyone's attention, including mine."

The sincerity in his words takes you by surprise, and your heart skips a beat. It's as if your heart is ready to open itself up with all of the vulnerability that has held you back for so long, now catalyzing the reaction.

...

With the bouquet of flowers sitting on your desk, their vibrant colors filling your office with a touch of beauty, Namjoon walks in and spots them. He smiles warmly and congratulates you on the surprise delivery. All you can do is smile back, your mind filled with Seokjin.

You've had many relationships filled with grand gestures and passionate love, but receiving flowers from your husband, even in the midst of your estranged relationship, feels like a sign of acceptance and a glimmer of hope.

As the workday comes to an end, you return home and notice Seokjin's shoes by the door. It's a rare sight these days, as your schedules often kept you apart. The thought of both of you being home simultaneously sparks a sense of anticipation within you.

A sense of unease washes over you when your cleaner pulls you aside with a concerned expression on her face. She shares with you that Seokjin had returned home earlier, appearing visibly upset and tired. She mentions that he seemed to be in a foul mood and advised you to be careful when approaching him.

A mix of worry and curiosity fills your mind as you thank the cleaner for her honesty. Deciding to seize the opportunity, you make two cups of tea, carefully selecting the blend that Seokjin has always favored. The comforting aroma fills the kitchen, reminding you of the first moments you shared in the past, when the two of you were still trying to appease each other.

Seokjin's gaze lifts from the papers on his desk as he sees you standing at the doorway of his study. A soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he adjusts his glasses, and you can't help but notice how handsome he looks with them.

"Hi," you greet him, your voice filled with a mixture of nervousness and hope. "I made you some tea."

A hint of surprise flickers across Seokjin's face before he sets aside his work and gestures for you to come in. "Well, do come in," he says warmly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You step into his study, the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea filling the air. Taking a few steps closer, you carefully place the cup in his hands, cautioning him to be careful as you remind him that it's hot.

Seokjin's fingers curl around the warm cup and he places it on the table, and he looks up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of gratitude and curiosity. "Thank you, Y/n. This is greatly appreciated."

You look around for a place to sit untill you find yourself wrapped in Seokjin's strong embrace, comfortably settled on his lap. The closeness between you ignites a flicker of familiarity and intimacy that you had been yearning for. As he relaxes against you, placing his head at the conjucture of your shoulder and neck, you feel a sense of warmth and security enveloping you.

As you run your fingers through Seokjin's hair, a sense of tenderness and understanding fills the air. You can feel the weight of his burdens slowly easing as he finds solace in your touch. The worries and stress of the outside world seem to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet moment.

You continue to stroke his hair, your touch gentle and soothing. The rhythm of your movements becomes a silent lullaby, calming not only Seokjin but also bringing a sense of peace within yourself. The bond between you feels tangible, as if you're reminding each other of the love that exists beneath the surface.

After a while, Seokjin lifts his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

"Thank you, Y/n," he whispers softly. "Having you here, reminding me that I'm not alone, it means more than words can express."

A gentle smile graces your lips as you lean in, pressing a tender kiss against Seokjin's forehead.

"You're never alone, Seokjin. I'm here for you, always."

Seokjin's arms tighten around you, embracing you with a renewed sense of warmth and affection.

"Seokjin, why don't you go to bed? You've been working so hard, and you deserve some rest." you gently suggest, feeling the weight of Seokjin's exhaustion.

Seokjin looks at you, his tired eyes softening with gratitude. He nods, realizing that he needs a break from the demanding world outside. Slowly, you both rise from his lap, your hands still intertwined, and make your way towards his bedroom.

“Stay with me tonight” he pleads you looking at you like you are only star in a dark night sky, his eyes almost filling with tears. You nod silently and give his hand a squeeze.

You slip under the covers beside Seokjin, keeping a safe distance as to not cross a line.

“Is it okay if I come closer?” his voice wavers and all you feel is full-hearted respect coming from him. You wished that you didn’t need to tip toe around each other but the truth was that there was a long way to go, but both of you were willing to get there.

Before he could move closer you curled up against his side your presence bringing a sense of calm and reassurance to Seokjin, melting away the stress and worries that have been weighing him down. The world outside fades into insignificance as you create a cocoon of tranquility within the confines of his bedroom.

Seokjin's tired eyes meet yours, reflecting a mix of gratitude, love, and vulnerability.

"Thank you, Y/n," he murmurs, his voice filled with sincerity. "You have no idea what having you here…my wife … means to me”

You smile tenderly, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"I know Seokjin.”

He places his hand gently on your cheek and softly kisses your forehead, lips soft as silk remind you of your wedding day and the first, and only, kiss you’ve shared.

As you both surrender to the embrace of sleep, the weight of the day dissipates, and a serene calm washes over you. Wrapped in the comfort of each other's presence, your minds drift into a realm of dreams and possibilities.

#bts #bts fic #bts x reader #bts angst #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #seokjin x you #kim seokjin x y/n #arranged marriage #bts arranged marriage au #seokjin fanfic #bts seokjin #kim seokjin x you #bts fluff #seokjin fluff #comfort

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kdogreads · 11 months

Note

Your imagine of being chibs old lady is the cutest, sweetest, loviest thing I’ve ever read 😭😭😭😭. Could I pretty please have more? Maybe when they meet or the early days of the relationship

Thank you so much, sweet anon💕 I’ve been traveling a lot for work so I haven’t had time to turn this into as long of a fic as I would have liked. Part 2 will dive deeper into the early days of this sweet relationship. :)

I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Very Soon

Summer, early 1990s, Charming, CA

You’d lived in Charming your whole life and worked at the same damn diner since you were 16. Until very recently, that is, you started working at St. Thomas Hospital.

The Sons were familiar to you, and you to them, most of them calling you by your first name when you’d cross paths. They’d come in to your little diner regularly over the years and you’d built a friendly relationship with the club. They were the only mechanics in town you trusted to do good work for a fair price, so when you blew a tire just down the road from the shop, you started walking that way.

You walked around to the garage where the guys were working on all kinds of bikes and cars. Tig was the first one to spot you and headed your way. He shouted your name with his normal enthusiast demeanor.

“Hey, darlin’. How ya doing? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, thanks, but I hit a pothole or something just around the corner, tore my tire and rim all up. You guys got time for a tow?” You asked him in defeat, slugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Oh, anything for you, sweetheart. I’ll pull the truck around,” He waved for the chestnut-haired Scotsman who was working away on a Harley, “You need a lift? Got somewhere to be?” Tig put a hand on your shoulder gently, careful to keep the interaction light, respectful.

“Nowhere to be but here,” You teased back, punching him in the shoulder playfully.

“Good thing Chibs here has a clear schedule then to keep you company, darlin’,” He patted the Scot on the back, a grin spread wide across his face.

Tig gave you a wink and a turned around to go pick up your incapacitated car. Chibs smiled and extended his arm out, pointing you in the direction of the clubhouse. You’d never been inside before, but you’ve apparently been around enough now to be invited in. You’d always been friendly with Chibs, not unlike the other guys, but there’d always been an extra sense of flirtation with him, his eyes lingered a bit longer on you after every interaction.

He held the door open for you as you stepped into the dimly-lit barroom. The smell of cigarettes, weed and booze invaded your senses. A few heads turned when you walked through the door, but as soon as they spotted Chibs behind you, they just nodded your way. A blush suddenly crept onto your cheeks knowing you were only allowed in because you were being escorted by a member.

“Fancy a drink, sweetheart?” You nodded with a smile, and Chibs handed you a cold beer before leading you to the end of the bar top where two barstools sat empty.

“Thank you, Chibs,” You chirped as you slung back a swig of the icy liquid.

He muttered something you didn’t quite catch, so you raised an eyebrow his way. Playfully questioning his words.

“It’s Filip,” He spoke nonchalantly between sips, “Figure someone oughtta use it.”

You smiled at his openness towards you. The only interactions you’d really had with him before now had been in passing at the diner or when he’d been patching up your car, but there was always something in the way he spoke. A certain lilt in his tone that always made your heart flutter. You thought it might just be his accent, but you were happy to learn you might be wrong about that.

“Alright, Filip,” You spoke, just a hint of flirtation in your voice, “However will you entertain me for the next several hours?” You leaned an elbow on the counter top and smiled up at him.

He looked around playfully, nodding his head towards the other side of the room.

“Know how ta play, lass?” He motioned towards the worn pool table, the hint of a smile tugging one side of his mouth.

“Yeah, kinda. Haven’t played for a long time, but I’m sure you can remind me,” You took a sharp breath in before setting your beer down and hopping off your barstool.

When you stood up, Filip didn’t move at first, so you extended your hand to him, a playful, “come on,” dancing from your lips. That was all it took to lift him to his feet, his gaze drifting to the floor momentarily, probably to disguise the blush flooding his scarred cheeks.

He took this new job of teaching you how to be a star pool player very seriously. He’d squint his eyes and get down level with the velvet tabletop, explaining something about the angles and torque needed to get the ball where you wanted it to go. You kept up as best as you could, all of his strategy and technique basically just flowing in one ear and straight out the other.

Sensing your patience thinning, Filip decided it was time to show you how to properly shoot the ball. It was exactly as you’d seen it in the movies. He planted himself firmly behind you, each of his broad arms in line with your thinner ones.

“Nice ‘n’ easy, now,” He spoke quietly, his breath close enough to tickle the hairs flowing over your shoulder, “No’ too much force, righ’ there on the far side o’ the ball.”

You tried not to react to his close proximity, but you couldn’t stop the shiver that shot up your spine. A shaky breath fell from your lips.

“Nervous, lass?” Filip’s lips almost brushed against your ear this time. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Not at all, Filip,” You popped the “p” a bit more than necessary, turning your head slightly to meet his deep brown gaze for a beat before sinking two balls into the corner hole.

“Aye, s’pose no’ then,” He growls with an amused look on his face.

You turn to face him, comfortably trapped between the old wooden table and Filip’s broad body, his arms resting on the oak on either side of you. He takes a deep breath and sinks down so you are face-to-face. You just stare into each other’s gazes for a moment, both of you thinking about your next move.

“Yer beautiful, lass, always thought so,” Filip whispered, his hand raising to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

A blush crept up your chest and spilled onto cheeks. His gaze was not demanding, but invasive. He filled all of your senses like a rushing waterfall, waves breaking above your head over and over again without giving you a moment to breathe.

“Can I —,” You began, knees feeling like they could buckle at any moment under the weight of his presence, “Can I kiss you, Filip?

He didn’t respond for a beat, a smile daring to creep onto his face. He lifted his other hand from the table behind you and cupped both sides of your face, leaning his body into yours. His lips were softer than you expected as he pressed them to your own, planting a sweet peck onto them.

“Aye, lass, only if I can kiss you back,” His words sparking a smile to spread across your face. You leaned back into him and kissed him again, deeper this time. Your lips crashing together and apart time after time. Filip’s tongue licked a swipe across your bottom lip, sliding into your mouth to explore each part of it. You were so lost in the feeling of tongues melding together that you must have missed the recognizable squeak of the heavy clubhouse door.

“Uh, hey,” An amused Tig began, you straightened up quickly with an embarrassed giggle rising in your throat, “If you’re done sticking your tongue down Chibby’s throat, sweetheart, you car is ready to roll.”

You let the laughter spill out of your mouth as you leaned your head down to rest on Filip’s chest. He wrapped one arm around your waist as the other pretended to shield you from Tig’s view, a chuckle escaping Chibs’ cheeky smile, too. You nodded at Tig with a smile still on your face. He turned around to head back out the door shaking his head and laughing.

“I guess ya better be on yer way then, darlin’,” Chibs smiles to you, his hands still planted firmly on your waist. You only nodded up at him before leaning back into his chest and snaking your arms around his broad torso. His strong arms wrapped around you again as he planted a kiss on the top of your head. The two of you stayed there a moment, wrapped up in nothing but each other before you pulled away from him.

“I’ll be seeing you soon then, Filip?” You asked as you a stepped towards the bar top to grab your bag. Before you could register it, your hand was caught in Chibs’ tight grasp. You spun your head around with a confused look on your face.

“Aye, lass,” He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss into your knuckles, “Very soon.”

Part two here 🥰🤪

#chibs telford x reader #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs smut #chibs x reader #chibs imagine #soa chibs #chibs telford #kdogreads #soa imagine

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guacamoleroll · 7 months

Text

𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

content. gn!reader. major spoilers (bsd s5 ep 11), language of flowers, grief/mourning, dissociation, major character death, multiple extended metaphors, biblical references, established relationships, hurt no comfort, heavy angst, i apologize for this in advance. not proofread. 1.2k+ words.

author's note. partially based on an old post. i have cried multiple times throughout writing this oneshot (which has been oddly therapeutic). i hope my fellow fyodor lovers are taking care of themselves this week.

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖘 / waɪt ˈrəʊzɪz / ━━━ used to symbolize remembrance, love, and respect for the departed person, and a way of telling others that the departed has gone to heaven (Thursd).

A warmth burbled inside the hearth as swirled streams of flame billowed in gusts to then melt. Beams of amber shined against dusty glass frames splayed on a mantle, immortalized faces incandesced in the flickering shimmers of light. An older couple stood out against paled snow, hands resting against the shoulders of their budding son, whose eyes bore the most piercing of hues. Another sat beside it, captured from the same year. That same boy snuggled against the shoulder of another child as they both burrowed in the shade of a Linden tree, its branches unable to conceal the purity of their smiles as they relished in the company. Their frigid fingers intertwined as autumn turned to winter, heartened enough by each other's presence alone. Each photograph was a mere piece of a procumbent gallery; not an inch of the wooden surface remained uncovered as a story unfolded between each one.

However, a painting towered above them all.

Soft strokes blurred the resemblance of an anachronistic cathedral, walls sown with ancient tales of worship and devotion destined with promises of a life beyond living. But the centerpiece was them, a pair of blooming faces with those same intertwined fingers, eternally bound in the holiest of displays. Those piercing eyes, now delicate as the boy, who had grown into a man, looked upon his beloved with once-in-a-lifetime veneration.

The crackles of a record clicked into place as it spun endlessly on its track, humming a gentle melody into the comfortable ambiance, thawing the glacial remains of lonesome silence. (Name) nestled into their husband's office chair, fingers dancing across the worn surface of a letter. Fondness shone upon their face as they traced each smudged letter, allowing themself to be swallowed into leather. They flicked one of the papers with a resounding fwick, a glimmer in their eyes.

Nights ensnared in the confinements of a cell would only draw out yearning in the most desperate of men. But I will feel the touch of your enlightened hands in due time, моя милая. Like Joseph returned to Asenath, I will be home in time, as the Lord allows. Со всей моей любовью и душой, Федя

Yearning sighs escaped their lips, careful to place the letter back into an overstuffed box piled high with months of correspondence. They spread their hands against the arms of the chair, grasping onto the ledges as if holding onto another, head tilted back as tired eyes fluttered shut with a harmonical whistle in their throat, only to be interrupted by muffled knocks resonating from the front door.

The sequence was familiar — precise but shaken. Their eyes widened, breaking from the web of warmth as they rose from the chair. It was one of his subordinates; it had to be. Their feet pounded against rickety floorboards, the inanimate house bustling with life as they scrambled to mend their appearance. A heart pounded into the open air, swinging the door open, only to be met with the stars that forever drifted in the sky.

So gentle they were. So peaceful.

But it was not a person that they expected, instead immediately looking toward their feet with a knowing huff. And there it was, lying limp on the doormat — a bouquet of flowers.

These were unusual flowers, not unknown, but not the typical crimson salvias or milky corianders that usually arrived with each delivery. A frown deepened the insomnolent contour rooted in their eyelids as they bore their gaze into the menagerie of mismatched petals, enflamed anticipation glaciating into cool desolation. They lifted the bundle with utmost care, breeze twirling the ringlets of their hair as a forlorn omen. The door rocked back and forth as the wind went unnoticed, skin prickled as the heat of summer skies frosted over as they walked further into the house's silhouette.

Each flower was carefully plucked from its companions and spread in lonesome piles on the cold kitchen counter. Vibrant lilac shades of heliotropes blossomed, mementos of Tyrian eyes frozen in eternal devotion, softened only at their touch.

Paper scratched the soft skin of their palms, hands quick to toss out imperfections that sunk to the bottom of the wrap. One took a brilliant aquilegia, twirling it in their finger as violet speckles flaked into the air with each twist. The last they had seen these flowers was the eve of their engagement. Whispers of their resolute, intertwined paths were loosened from tight lips by a wine that had pried apart their own so intimately.

The blade of a knife sliced through solid air, a resonant haze efflorescent with each cut. They did not care to flinch as it slivered through their skin, silent as they beheld the vermillion that splattered the stem of a weeping hyacinth. These burdensome flowers danced in the eyes of Moscow passersby's sorrow, lining the trail toward an isolated mortuary rooted into the hill that overlooked their childhood home.

Each was placed carefully into a stiffened vase, crossed to shape a flawless display of rich purples and pinks. But even in the midst of such vibrancy, such life, one flower peeked underneath the rest, ghostly white petals acting as the centerpiece to this puzzle.

White roses.

Only once had they seen these flowers, often turned away with a constricted heart whenever their eyes merely glanced upon those petals. That same older couple, their faces immortalized not in bushels of homely flame but instead spectral through the flickers of a vigil. Those piercing eyes, the same that dared to carve into their very being, dulled in the gloom of despair, creased as sleep evaded the body and spirited abandoned the soul.

Perhaps it was for that reason he knew to prepare flowers; that no words could relieve the aching years bound to follow.

They loured upon the embodiment of their destination, life washed out by the emptiness that stood before them. Goosebumps scattered across the skin, an unforgiving frost rooted in place as their fingers twitched against wood. Then, the monotony snapped, the wound pulsing with pain as their body careened. Their eyes drifted from those retched flowers, falling upon a chair — his chair.

And they knew.

None would sit there. Not ever. The seat would remain forever occupied by the smoke of a spark snuffed out eternally, erased in only a few short moments of recollection. Cruel. The mind is but an uncaring machine, able to reach thoughts no human could bear.

And they trembled in the consequences of thought, far too conscious to move. Nails carved irate indentions into the table as knees buckled beneath them, body collapsing onto the cold wooden floor as deafened sobs excavated from their lungs. They clawed at their throat, unable to breathe as ignorance escaped them, paralyzed as if the reaper himself had mercifully struck his scythe down upon them.

A presence watched from beyond a now motionless door, snow-white tresses that shone against beams of moonlight, a man wincing at the guttural, broken screams of an empty heart that echoed from inside. The house was far too still now, far too large for only one soul to occupy. Unable to bear another moment of torment, he scraped the dirt from his uncovered palms, neglecting the tears that stained his cheeks as he fled from the home, now only a mausoleum of memories sitting within a field of grieving stars.

моя милая = my darling со всей моей любовью и душой = with all my love and soul федя = fedya

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @solandiss @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#starring: fedya .ೃ࿐#gn!reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd s5 ep11 #bsd s5 spoilers #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader

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hyperfixationsporfavor · 5 months

Text

True Form Sukuna/Reader: A Moment in Time (Part 5- The Arrival)

Author's Note: Hello pretty readers! I'm not entirely confident with this chapter so I held off posting it for awhile. Any feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!

Warnings: implied violence, implied nsft

The carriage rocked back and forth on the rocky country road.

“Won’t you look at me?” Sukuna sadistically coaxed.

Please.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he threatened.

And so you do, meeting his eyes, trying not to go mad with fear. Bloody red irises pin you to the corner you huddled in.

You had remained still since you had departed from the capitol. The voice of the young servant boy calling out to you almost brought you to tears. You knew besides the powerless youth no one would care for your well being, no one would remember you as Sukuna sunk his teeth into your heart.

“Are you frightened maid?” he coyly asked.

Oh his arrogance enraged you, but it did minutely relieve your nerves enough to answer him.

“Shouldn’t I be? Lord Sukuna,” you asked, delivering a sharpened tone in your honoring of him.

This wasn’t unnoticed by your captor.

Before you could blink he extended his lower right arm and took your chin in between his fingers, using his left lower arm to pull you towards him.

“I’ll advise you to watch your tone when you address me.”

His warning caused a cold sweat to run down your back, laced with venom and guaranteed execution.

But the feeling of his hands on your body stirred something else, something you couldn’t quite place. You had remembered those hands from somewhere, a memory where they hadn’t frightened you.

Your train of thought was interrupted when the carriage came to a halt and Uraume poked their head inside.

“My lord, a situation has arisen.”

“What is it?”

Sukuna stepped out of the carriage and was greeted by a small family of farmers. They all dropped to their knees and averted their eyes in a fearful display of respect.

“L-Lord Sukuna, we apologize for burdening you with our presence,” the patriarch stammered.

“Tell him what you told me, peasant,” Uraume instructed.

So the farmer explained the issue.

A group of bandits had looted their rice crop in the middle of the night, and had done the same to others in the area.

Sukuna honestly could have cared less about this family or any of the others who had found themselves on the receiving end of the thieves' daggers.

However, he knew if he left this issue unattended others would encroach on his territory and think him a fool. No, he’d take these petty nuisances and mutilate them, string them from the outer walls of his temple, and make an example of them.

He turned to Uraume.

“I’ll handle this, take the maid back to the temple.”

You peered through the curtains of the carriage and observed the scene.

The family that kneeled before Sukuna consisted of a mother, father, and a small daughter. The child didn’t fully grasp the threat that towered before her, she simply mirrored her parents actions.

As her father explained the situation she peeked up and noticed you.

Who were you?

She hadn’t recognized you from the village.

Perhaps you were to Sukuna what her father was to her mother.

The King of Curses had a queen.

After Sukuna took his leave, you and Uraume continued on towards the temple. They reluctantly joined you in the carriage for the remainder of the journey.

The flat farmlands began to transform into mountainous terrains, dense with an imposing forest.

It was here, where Sukuna’s temple was hidden.

The carriage suddenly stopped and Uraume stood up, dusting off their robes.

“Follow me,” they ordered.

You reluctantly did as they said, not wanting to incur their masters' wrath.

Uraume led you up a steep pathway of stairs, something that visitors would have to conquer if they wanted to reach Sukuna.

You struggled, lagging behind Uraume who effortlessly made the trek up. After what felt like an eternity the two of you finally arrived.

The palace you had worked at had been a sizable structure, but it was dwarfed by the temple. It loomed over you with a threatening aura. You could only imagine how many had met their demise on these grounds. The worshipers, prisoners, and sorcerers who had been devoured behind the doors.

“This will be where you live from now on,” Uraume announced as the two of you entered the temple.

“I can’t imagine you’re happy about that,” you muttered, knowing well that the only person who had the authority to take your life was Sukuna.

They just scowled at your sarcasm.

“I’m not particularly worried. I doubt you’ll stay long.”

Uraume led you to the throne room to await the return of their master. Knowing Sukuna, the bandits would be dealt with quickly enough.

“Stay here,” they ordered. “Or else-”

“Uraume,” a voice called out.

An elderly man entered through the doors you had just come in with such nonchalance it was almost astounding. His wooden cane echoed through the room with each step he took.

Uraume scowled at the stranger. “What do you want Kenjaku? I’m busy.”

“I’ve come to discuss business, and I’d prefer to do it without the presence of that hedonistic brat’s conquest.”

You tensed up, knowing fully well he was addressing you.

Uraume clenched their jaw, for some reason, choosing not to end the old man’s life as quickly as they ended Yorozu’s.

They begrudgingly nodded and shot a warning look in your direction. “Don’t move.”

Uraume and the old man known as Kenjaku had left you to your wits in the locked room.

You turned to face the throne, dipping yourself forward to mockingly bow towards it.

Was this the room you would meet your demise in?

It wasn’t as if you had any option besides death at Sukuna’s hands.

Did you?

You couldn’t go back to the capitol, certainly not.

The lord of the house would turn you away, and if he had died the others would follow suit and extend a personal invitation for Sukuna to come to the capitol to partake in an elaborate feast where the main dish would be your severed head.

But your persistence kept pestering you, not allowing you to fall before Sukuna’s throne and burst into tears.

You walked around the throne room observing the walls decorated in elaborate tapestries depicting war, and the carnage it left in its path. You stopped in front of one that depicted a woman holding her baby, shielding him from the monster that threatened her. You reached out and pressed your fingers against her cheek, drawn to the tears woven in.

As you leaned forward you felt something hollow.

Letting curiosity get the better of you you pushed the tapestry aside and discovered a small opening.

No, it couldn’t be. A way out?

The opening revealed a long hallway, and at the end, an exit.

You looked behind you and when you were sure no one was coming back you proceeded inside.

“So Ryomen’s resorted to whisking maid’s away to the temple,” Kenjaku mused over his tea.

Uraume smothered their irritation over the old man referring to their master so casually and sighed. “He’s been acting strange as of late. As if life has become dull.”

“He’s always done whatever he pleases, even when he was an ungovernable child.”

“Well, whatever the case, I fear this sudden infatuation with this maid will only lead to greater issues.”

Kenjaku hummed in agreement.

“That’s what Tengen believes. But she’s always been one to worry. There’s been talk among the main clans and I’m sure you know the capitals already abuzz with this affront. No one cares for the life of a faceless soldier. But the livelihood of a man with a sizable estate? The days of constant bloodshed and power struggles are numbered.”

“What should be done?” they asked.

“Let him play with his new toy. Bed her. Eat her. Both. That is if she hasn’t stumbled across your trap. You conniving devil.”

A small smirk appeared on Uraume’s face. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you're talking about.

You were far from the fool that Uraume believed you to be.

It would have been a ridiculous oversight on their part to leave you in a room with a discreet exit.

You almost expected Sukuna to be waiting for you at the end of the hall, but you wouldn’t remain stagnant.

You wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The passageway led you through a few turns and ended with a small storage space filled with weapons, an armory. Swords, spears, and anything else for Sukuna to use in the game of war.

Past a wall of armor was a door, and when you opened it you were greeted with the outside, the woods spreading as far as you could see.

You took a dagger from its resting spot and concealed it in your robes.

You took a step away from the house, then another, picking up the pace until you sprinted through the barricade of trees, imaging Sukuna taking his spear and shooting it through your back, but it never came, so you ran.

The End.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #true form sukuna #ao3 fanfic #hyperfixationsporfavor

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snowmist-hashira · 8 months

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[Chapter title: Eclipsing Doubts]

Muichiro Tokitou x Reader

Wattpad:(One shots) Tokito Twins x Reader Archive:Kimetsu No Yaiba: Tokitou Twins x Reader Details: ♠ Information ♠ Master list: ♠ Muichirou Tokitou ♠

Artist: Maca [mzc1785]

Link: Twitter

Hmm. In some way, I had the desire for Mui to exhibit a more untamed and aggressive demeanor in this context. I contemplated incorporating greater violence, but perhaps I'll reserve that concept for another intense story. Tags: @aeolia18 / @demonslayeranimex / @thornrosekaori / @xaeoism / @cascadingleaves / @mistymxxn / @unofficialmuilover / @sakurasunkiss (Scheduled)

Y/n settled into her new role as a Hashira, the tension and rumors surrounding her promotion weighed heavily on her mind. Despite knowing that she had earned her position through hard work and dedication, the whispers from her old Kinoe comrades continued to bother her.

As she went about her duties, Y/n noticed that some of her fellow Kinoe comrades were distant and cold towards her. Their behavior only fueled the rumors, making her feel isolated and unsupported within the Demon Slayer Corps. The burden of proving herself to her peers added an extra layer of pressure to her already challenging responsibilities as a Hashira.

"You look bothered," a voice broke through, pulling her back from the depths of her contemplation. Y/n jumped slightly and swiveled her head, finding Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira, by her side.

"Oh, it's nothing," Y/n replied, her gaze returning to the pebbles strewn across the ground. Her fists clenched in her lap, and she sat on the porch of their masters' estate.

Muichiro continued to observe Y/n with his perceptive gaze, the subtle signs of her discomfort not escaping his notice. His own expression remained calm and patient, his minty eyes reflecting his genuine concern for her well-being.

He tilted his head slightly, his long hair swaying in the breeze as he spoke softly, "Y/n, I can tell that something's bothering you. You don't have to pretend everything is fine." His voice held a gentle reassurance, inviting her to open up if she felt ready.

Y/n's brows remained slightly furrowed, and her gaze remained fixed on the ground, her lashes fluttering. The tension in the air was palpable, a mix of her internal struggle and Muichiro's understanding presence.

"I'm fine, honestly... Just lost in thought," Y/n tried to reassure him, mustering a small smile though forced, didn't escape Muichiro's notice.

He had known her for a while, their closeness extending back to before she became a Hashira after all, the bond they had formed over time allowed him to pick up on the subtleties of her emotions, even when she tried to hide them.

“Mm.” Muichiro acknowledged her response with a subtle nod, respecting her choice to keep her thoughts to herself for now.

At first, he assumed her changed demeanor was a result of her heightened responsibilities as a hashira. Yet, upon closer inspection, he discerned that this wasn't the only factor at play.

One day, while they were both assigned to a mission, he noticed her interacting with the other Kinoe members. He initially assumed that her engagement with them was simply a result of their shared history as former comrades of the same rank. However, upon closer observation, it became apparent that there was something more to the situation.

From a distance, Muichiro watched as Y/n conversed with the Kinoe members. The subtle shifts in her expression and the dynamics of the conversation caught his attention. It was clear that this interaction wasn't just a casual catch-up among former peers. There was a tension in the air, a sense of discomfort that seemed to permeate the interaction.

Muichiro's minty eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to observe. He could see the unease in Y/n's posture, her attempts to maintain a composed facade despite the underlying strain. It was evident that there was an unspoken tension between her and the Kinoe members, something that went beyond the camaraderie they had once shared.

He approached the scene with his customary stoic and reserved expression, a frown creasing his features. His voice, though subdued, carried a certain intensity as he questioned;

"What's happening here?" His gaze fixated on the other Kinoe members, their reactions revealing their surprise at his unexpected arrival.

His presence commanded a certain authority, drawing the attention of both Y/n and the others, the Kinoe members visibly tensed at his arrival. Y/n's gaze shifted to Muichiro, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. She recognized the unspoken message in his appearance—that he was ready to intervene if needed.

The Kinoe members exchanged uncertain glances, their discomfort evident in their body language. One of them cleared his throat, his voice slightly shaky as he spoke, "Tokito-san, it's just... we were discussing the mission details."

Muichiro's minty orbs remained fixed on them, his scrutiny unwavering. He didn't respond immediately, allowing the tense silence to linger for a moment. His stance and expression held an air of authority, as if he was assessing the situation before him.

He noticed Y/n's obvious discomfort during the interaction, and it was apparent that their behavior towards her, despite her higher rank, was unsettling for her. In an unusual display of intensity, his voice dropping to a menacing pitch.

"Cut it out, bastards. Our code simply said that we can't cross blades, it was never stated that I can't beat you to death." The usually composed and calm Mist Pillar had taken on an aura of danger, and his words carried a venom that was as surprising as it was intimidating.

The Kinoe members, who had been engaging in their behavior without much thought to the consequences, were taken aback by Muichiro's sharp words and low tone. The threat and anger in his voice cut through the air, leaving an atmosphere of tension in its wake.

Y/n herself felt a mix of surprise and concern. While she appreciated Muichiro's protective stance, she also understood the gravity of his words. She glanced at him, her expression a mixture of appreciation and worry.

The other corps members exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado faltering in the face of Muichiro's dangerous aura. They seemed to recognize the seriousness of the situation and the potential consequences of their actions.

The tension in the air was palpable as his words hung in the silence. It was clear that he wasn't just addressing them—he was making a statement that echoed his intolerance for their mistreatment of her.

"If you're finished, then leave," he retorted brusquely, his tone laced with a touch of hostility. His gaze was intense, almost like a glare, a rare display of anger that caught Y/n off guard. It was the first time she had witnessed him in such an agitated state.

They exchanged quick glances, their expressions reflecting a mix of surprise and fear before hastily making their way out of the scene, clearly eager to obey his command.

As the Kinoe members left, an awkward silence settled over the area. Muichiro's furious demeanor lingered, a stark contrast to the tranquil surroundings. Y/n hesitated for a moment before turning her gaze toward him, concern evident in her eyes.

“Is this what you were bothered with?” Muichiro asked, turning to her.

“Uh…” Y/n nervously blinked, attempting to laugh off the situation, her reaction was an inadvertent admission that the tensions between her and the Kinoe members had indeed been bothering her.

Before she could respond, Muichiro let out a sigh of exasperation, his frustration palpable. His next action surprised her—a light flick to her forehead, a gesture that carried a mix of scolding and concern.

"Aww!" Y/n's expression turned into a frown, and she shot him a glare. However, her anger quickly dissipated as she noticed the genuine concern in his gaze, despite his furrowed brows.

“You really shouldn’t bother with their words, what matters is you know your own effort and actions.” His words were a simple yet profound reminder that cut through the doubts and rumors that had been plaguing Y/n.

Y/n was briefly caught off guard by his words, she hadn't fully connected his harshness with her own situation, his concern for her well-being was evident, this realization caused her to emit a soft chuckle.

"Is something amusing?" he asked, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips.

Y/n's chuckle continued; her smile warm as she met his gaze. "It's just... I didn't realize I was the reason behind your sudden severity with the others."

Muichiro's lips curved into a small smile, a touch of sheepishness in his expression. "I tend to be... protective when it comes to my friends," he admitted, his tone softening.

“Pfft. It was something surprising.” Her words and the smile that accompanied them were a clear indication that his unexpected intervention had succeeded in alleviating her uneasiness.

“’Cut it out, bastards’" Y/n attempted to mimic his tone, followed by her chuckle, had clearly caught him off guard causing a slight blush to paint onto his cheeks was a rare sight.

"I suppose my words have left quite the impression," he said with a touch of self-consciousness.

Y/n nodded with a playful grin. "Definitely. I don't think I'll be forgetting that anytime soon."

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talonabraxas · 9 days

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Taurus Talon Abraxas

Unleashing the Power of Taurus’s Spirit Animal: A Guide

The symbolism of the bull as Taurus’s spirit animal extends to themes of fertility, abundance, and sensuality, making it ideal for rituals related to manifestation and prosperity.

To harness the energy of Taurus’s spirit animal, witches can perform rituals involving earth elements, such as grounding spells or working with crystals like emerald and rose quartz.

Rituals involving the bull spirit can enhance one’s ability to set and achieve practical goals, fostering a sense of unwavering determination and resilience.

Incorporating the bull’s energy into your witchcraft practice can also help you connect with the earth’s energies, deepening your spiritual connection with nature and the cycles of life.

Taurus’s spirit animal

Taurus’s spirit animal is the bull. It is a very stable sign-in which stubbornness and a lot of possessiveness are present. The animal moves and thinks slowly, but the moment it learns something it assimilates it in a lasting way.

Taurus hates change and has the gift of knowing how to handle money. They are not deflected by flattery, they insist on logic and do not disperse their interests. They are usually in excellent health. People of this sign have intense physical magnetism towards others.

Its greatest virtue is patience as well as constancy. Someone born in the sign of Taurus is very tenacious in pursuing a goal, despite being strong and rather slow, and when fate is adverse, he knows how to wait with great calmness and start again with great calmness without getting tired and without wasting time in recriminations that, for him, would be useless. Nature passionately expresses itself, more sensually than sentimentally.

They are loyal individuals with some weaknesses: they have a great sense of friendship, they would really do everything for a friend, even help him economically, even if the Taurus possesses great parsimony.

The formation of the individual is influenced by childhood and the family environment, he knows where he wants to go and does not tolerate impositions, moreover, he hates intrigue and shuns gossip. It becomes very dangerous when he realizes that he has been betrayed and exploited. However, the

Taurus does not lack defects: he has a possessive nature, laziness, and a total lack of self-criticism that leads him to a sort of presumption. The Taurus knows how to give warmth and love to those close to him, but he is equally selfish and jealous of the same people.

Those born under this sign should be taught dominating instincts and the control of arrogance. From a very young age, he will be favored in relationships with others, he wants to show himself well and often succeeds, his bonds are constant and lasting, whether they are of love or friendship. Taurus loves the so-called “good life”, so he usually surrounds himself with beauty.

His home is his temple and he loves décor; he creates a great place where he can feel relaxed and pampered. Those born under the sign of Taurus are considered to be practical and simple people, peaceful and open; they love their home, they have a great taste (aesthetic and more), they are attracted by the pleasures of life and material goods.

With strong and constant characters, they are suitable for the arts or cooking, for works in the field of aesthetics, well-being, agriculture, in any case respecting nature and its balance (great ecological sensitivity). The psychology of those born in Taurus is not as simple and serene as it may appear; on the contrary, it is complex and tormented, often involving a relationship of love, which is understood as the possession of the loved one, of deep jealousy.

The female psychology represented by Venus in her dark side is, in fact, also highly seductive and observing, a bewitching and astute manipulator. Being happy for Taurus means possessing, merging, planting roots, and relying on safe nourishment and support.

The symbolism of this spirit animal explained

Due to its virility and the might of its presence, the bull has been a cult icon for many cultures. In many ancient cultures, such as Mesopotamian, Greek, Roman, and Egyptian, it was considered a sacred animal and it was common to offer the blood of this animal as a sacrifice during sacred rites.

In Celtic symbolism, the bull represents physical strength and power. According to the Celtic beliefs, the bull was extremely virile and therefore symbolized fertility and the power of procreation, which in turn meant extending one’s life.

The druids associated the bull with solar energy, and the cow, on the other hand, with earthly energy. For the Celts, the bull was also a symbol of luxury, wealth, and prosperity: after all, it has been a source of benefit and income for these people for centuries.

Also, according to Celtic thought, it was said that the bull possessed a very important characteristic that stands out above all the rest: the fact that this animal is very stubborn and obstinate. It is also a symbol of virility for men and fertility for women.

According to the Celts, this animal would help improve the mental state in relation to sexual strength. Since the bull was a great source of food for the Celts, it is easy to understand why his figure is associated with an age of serenity and abundance.

According to a more modern perspective, the bull has several meanings related to safety and strength. Although the source is unknown, the bull is said to be a positive symbol for investment in business due to the remarkably active lifestyle it leads in its natural habitat.

Some aspects of the symbolism associated with this animal are stability, virility, strength, prosperity, security, fertility, determination, and help.

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classpecting-the-hoyoverse · 12 days

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Adventurine: The Maid of Light

Maid: The active creation class

One who creates aspect or creates through aspect

One who creates aspect for themselves

Alternatively, one who fixes aspect

Light

Abstract: Knowledge, Awareness, Attention, Relevance, Fortune, Luck

Literal: Actual Light (Brightness), Vision, Eyes, the Sun, Stars

Light, the aspect of facts and fortune. If there's a chance of something happening, even at the smallest odds, the Light-bound will grasp onto that possibility. Take for example a gambler in a game of blackjack, the odds are against him and his chances of winning are slim. Yet, despite everything, the gambler walks away with more money than he came in with.

It's a facet that's less emphasized, not even the Extended Zodiac mentions the aspect's fortuitous traits. But within Homestuck's narrative, luck is shown to be one of the most important parts of being a Light-bound.

Let's discuss, starting with...

Aranea! A fellow Light-bound healer. As a Sylph of Light, not only can she heal others of physical aliments (e.i. Terezi's blindness), but she can also heal fate itself, creating fortune for an otherwise doomed timeline...

...or so she claims. Aranea became so absorbed with her hubris does she fail to be careful, being so reliant on her luck to steer her towards her goal that her megalomania ended in a rather, dark end. She falls into an abyss (literally is up for interpretation) and is absorbed in irrelevancy. [s]GAME OVER is the last time we see her play any significant role. Something that echoes a eerily familiar scene

Our next fellow Light-bound is our darling Rose Lalonde.

Though most perceive her character as the one who Knows it All, Rose Lalonde's role within the entirety of the narrative is to guide others towards a path with the most fortuitous outcomes, but rather than controlling them, she can guide others to take the action's necessary to put them on the best possible path for them to take. An advisor of sorts.

However, this doesn't necessarily mean victory. Her powers not only assist a single person, but they also assist the timeline as a whole. Whatever she needs to do to reach best possible fate for her friends, she will do it. Even if it means releasing a star and dying within its flares.

Which brings up an interesting parallel between her and Aventurine: both were willing to sacrifice themselves if it meant tearing down the walls that held a microcosm of their reality.

For Rose, the game was meant to be unwinnable. Thus she retaliates by breaking the game in any ways she could before concluding that blowing up the green sun is the best path of action .

For Aventurine, it's almost the same thing. But instead of desperately trying to burn down all of reality however, he wants to tear at the threads that make up the facade that is Penacony, and The Family along with it; to bring attention to the murders that they're covering up.

He wants to prove that death in this dreamscape is possible, and that Penacony is not all what it seems.

It's also worth noting that seeking evidence, even at the risk of putting himself in grave danger with powers higher than him, is also a characteristic of being a Light-bound.

These endeavors both result in their "deaths". In a sense, both have also ascended: Rose became a god and Aventurine has got a newfound reason to live.

Black Hole, Green Sun.

But I digress

Let's turn towards the last light-bound: Vriska Serket!

Both he and this Thief of Light have been known throughout their respective fandoms as gamblers. They even appear to wield dice as their weapons!

Aventurine and Vriska both have been show to be able to manipulate any outcomes to break in their favor. However, where luck comes to Aventurine naturally, Vriska has to take it.

Both also have been plagued streaks of luck that are a detriment to their lives. One of the first things the read learns about Vriska in her proper introduction is the fact that she has a habit that accumulates bad luck

For Aventurine though, well...

Aventurine's life is defined by his gratuitous fortune, ever since he's birth he's been blessed with it. Hailing from a desert land in which I can assume has little to shelter its inhabitants from the harsh heat, the moment Aventurine was born however, rain had come upon them. Perhaps the first time in a long time.

Being blessed by their deity, it's natural that one can assume that his good luck would lead him towards great things later in life. Perhaps he could've used it to bring his clan some fortune to improve their quality of life.

And he does! Somewhat. Only once: His sister's necklace was stolen by a couple of Katicans and through his luck, little Kakavasha was able to win a game and bring the necklace back

That should've be the beginning of a wide lucky streak for Aventurine, good thing after good thing happening throughout his life is what fate should have in store for him, right?

To him, to be lucky isn't always a good thing, especially if you have a lot of it.

Let's talk about his class, the Maid.

The story of a Maid begins with them having an overwhelming amount of their aspect, so much so that it seems to permeate every facet of their life. It engulfs them to the point that it snuffs out the Maid's true sens of self. In other words, they're a servant to their aspect.

Maid of Time Aradia Megido was so engulfed by death and destruction that by the time the reader is introduced to her, she's already dead. Even before that, voices of the dead speak into her mind and constantly tell her what to do.

Maid of Space Porrim and Maid of Life Jane have similar troubles with their aspect as they're forced to be in a predetermined position that they're placed in seemingly the moment they were born. For Porrim, it was to assist the troll's progenitor, the Mother Grub. For Jane, it was her position as Heiress to a baking company her grandmother created.

For Aventurine, it's his blessing that makes him extremely lucky, yet it pushes him into isolation.

When his clan was slaughtered, he was the sole survivor of their massacre. When he was thrown into a brawl with other slaves, he was the sole survivor of that fight.

When he killed his master, he manages to not only keep his life but also to rise far above the ranks from his status as a slave. A high-stakes gamble that he should've lost. Curious that he's stationed on a planet that used to be a prison.

When his luck is noticed, he becomes a servant to whoever is above him. As long as his luck benefits others, he can keep his life. He creates luck, not just for others, but for his own survival too. He’s quite literally made of it. He even gives you buffs during his boss fight if you manage to roll higher than him, and that still plays to his schemes. We’ll talk about that later however.

Aventurine is trapped in a cycle of survival. His luck is what keeps him alive but at what price? Aventurine doesn't see a reason to live nor does he actively seek to die, he just keeps gambling and gambling, winning and winning. A slave to his fortune.

So what can he do? Is he bound to forever run in cycles while his blessing tugs him around like a leash?

A Maid's role is to not only create, but to repair as well. To overcome their aspect and make it theirs to wield.

Let's start off on the surface: there's a murder mystery in Penacony and the Family is diverting attention away from it, to the extent that it never seemed like the victims died. Besides, there is no death in Penacony.

Aventurine seeks to rectify that. Bring light towards the truth of not only the murders, but Penacony as a whole.

But let’s look a little deeper, after all it’s not attention that he has a problem with, it’s his fortune. How does one find a way to overcome good luck? To overcome a blessing?

To set down the path where the best possible outcome is to fail.

The climax of the 2.1 Trailblaze quest has the Trailblazer and the Astral Express Crew face off against Aventurine under the guise of getting the Trailblazer to destroy all of Penacony, when in reality:

It’s bait. It’s all a farce to get himself killed. And with his luck, he was able to provoke Archeron to draw her blade and make him the third death in Penacony. The reason why he activates your ultimate if you roll a higher number than him in is boss fight? It can be said that he’s a fair man, but it could also mean that he’ll be brought closer to being defeated the higher you roll.

By being killed, it’ll be hard to deny that death does happen within the dreamscape and everyone is unable to look away and is now forced to come to terms with that fact.

Aventurine managed to break the cycle, he had lost because he made it so. Overcoming the curse that was his luck by making defeat the most fortuitous path he could take.

…So, what now? There’s not much to his story left now that he’s dead.

Well… not quite. Aventurine isn’t actually dead.

This is where things start to turn speculative, but bear with me here.

As alluded to before, Aventurine’s finale mirrors the ends of both Aranea and Rose. One falls into nothingness and obscurity while the other rises anew. Who’s to say that this is just Star Rail’s version of a legendary nap? Right after he conquers his good luck streak that adds in the unveiling of the truth of Penacony, a fitting parallel to completing SBURB’s land quest, Aventurine enacts the ultimate sacrifice and ascends.

Though ascension in Homestuck is a flashy and a celebrated matter, Aventurine’s is more of a realization.

His entire life was wrought with death, him just being lucky to have his be continuously delayed. Fate has toyed with him and thus sees that no matter what he does, he just keeps living. So within the nothingness, he asks the emanator of nothingness this question:

To which, she replies:

Both she and Aventurine know that there is more to life than just simply being alive. She has more to live for and so does Aventurine.

Acheron alludes to his reawakening, telling him that he has much more to do.

However, it is only when our Maid of Light is finally given some light himself does he make the resolve to stride forward:

Aventurine is a Maid of Light that has been through so many hardships that ironically were given through his deity’s blessing: his luck. Yet, it’s that same blessing that kept him toiling through his life until his finale, where he finally found the strength to use it for his own downfall. With his arc seemingly finished and currently in limbo, there are still many things that Kakvasha needs to do. He’s not done living.

And this time, he won’t be shackled by the light that bounded him for so long. No more weighted dice.

And if we ever see him again (he has to. At the time of writing this, he’s set to release in 3 days), maybe there will be something new about him.

Maybe one day we’ll get a Nihility Aventurine down the line too.

#godtiers #homestuck #classpect #not an ask #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #hsr #light aspect #maid class #Maid of light #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine #hsr dr ratio

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