#It was a little impractical to draw just anything I wanted last month and the past weeks so I couldn't finish this then. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

caliphos · 1 year

Text

Ivory

Hey all, it's been a while! This year, I participated in NaNoWriMo (National November Writing Month) and used the chance to whip up a short story related to some of the world building for Nashrana. It features an interaction between two characters I honestly never intended to have meet, but I think that this development has been far more interesting. It's also given me some ideas for things to draw out and what I'll want to expand more on as I build more of the world and story. As I may have mentioned before, I want to turn this concept into a comic or graphic novel, so I think that this is a good way to practice more of the exposition of world building and take it to work on visual concepts. I'm excited to explore more ideas this way, and hope you all enjoy reading through what I put up as well! Anyways, the short story is under the cut; enjoy!

Title: Ivory Word Count: 8,588 (a/b 15.5 pages in Word)

The room was silent save for the gentle scratching of pen on paper. The scrawl was fluid and gentle, but still carried a firmness to it, which was visible in each individual stroke. Despite its elegance, that alone could not save the page from being unceremoniously crumpled and tossed to the side, joining a pile of several other such scripts. The writer gave out an audible sigh and slumped back into their seat, rubbing the bridge of their nose at the same time. She had been at this for hours, and had made little to no progress, and her frustrations were mounting. Her proposal had to be perfect, bold enough to garner interest, but stable enough to solidify a longstanding relationship with those frequently stuffy scholars.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she quickly straightened herself, looking out into her office. The afternoon sun shone brightly through the open windows, reflecting softly off the tile floor. The sound of her earlier scrawling had been replaced with the chirping of birds, trickling of water from the pools within, and the gentle hum generated by three large, bronze, pendulums that swung near the middle of the room. She had said she thought they were impractical, but the artisans in charge insisted that they remain, saying something about them adding an “air of elegance and mystique” to the room. Despite her initial protests, she had become accustomed to their presence, over time, and enjoyed them more than she’d like to admit—though this was aided by her own contributions to their design.

She made a circular motion with her right hand, and one of the various gold bangles on her arm shone with a faint blue light; abruptly, the pendulums stopped swinging, and centered, aligning themselves. With another motion, the surface of the pendulum nearest her desk became glass-like, but rather than magnifying or reflecting anything in the office, it showed a scene of the outside. What was once the cold metal of the pendulum gave way to a crowd of people bustling around, setting up scaffolding, stalls, and any number of other things. This view did not stay static, however, and the view shifted to an elaborate archway that quickly revealed an equally elaborate courtyard, filled with an abundance of vibrant flowers and trees. This view never ceased to please her, for despite the arid climate, they had managed to cultivate a number of exotic plants and other flora within the city. Her sense of peace did not last long, and was quickly replaced by her usual sense of duty; the woman’s focus shifted from the scene before her to the one showing her what was happening.

“Nyula,” the woman called out to the pendulum, “Nyula, can you hear me?”

Silence answered her calls, though more movement on the surface of the pendulum could be seen as her view changed periodically. The woman gave out another sigh and gently touched a coil around her neck, which lit up similarly to her ring just moments ago. She called out again, however, this time her voice was much more powerful and resonated deeply through the “window” before her. An excited shout could be heard from the other end, and a hand could be seen fumbling on the other end of the window, causing the scene to shake and warp to keep up with their erratic movements.

“Ah, your majesty! Greetings! I was just surveying the grounds in preparations for the summit. As you can see,” she said while enthusiastically moving the window to show the surrounding area, “things are progressing smoothly. Nearly all of the vendors are accounted for, and the security detail has been sorted by Captain Keld.”

On the other side of the window, the queen remained imperceptibly quiet, but did ease back in her seat. The scene before her shifted around to reveal the person with whom she was speaking: a young woman—mid-twenties by her looks—with tanned skin, a strong jawline, and countless freckles. The woman stared back, moving the window further and closer from her face.

“Your Majesty, are you there? I can’t see you! Do you have the window set to one-way again? No fair!” She brushed an auburn lock of hair from her face and furrowed her brow, moving the pendant she was using to communicate with directly to her face.

The queen smiled softly, and wagged a bejeweled finger, which resulted in a different set of runes to glow and the window on the pendulum to ripple for a moment, then settle. “There, can you see me now Nyula?” Almost immediately, the queen was greeted by one profoundly large pupil, though the rest of Nyula quickly came into place as she moved her pendant further away from her face, coming into focus. She beamed happily, as she continued to speak with the queen.

“There we go, I can see you now! You know, that’s really a terrible habit of yours—you know, spying on others. It makes me feel like you don’t trust me!” She pouted heavily, but despite what was said, Nyula lacked any tone of sadness or dejection in her voice when she spoke.

“Hm, are you trying to lecture me on etiquette now, Nyula?”, said the queen in an almost playful drawl. On the other side of the window, she could see Nyula’s face shift from joy to discomfort as she realized what she had said.

“Ah, n-no, n-not at all,” she muttered, apologetically. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that at all, and I only meant--” the queen motioned her to stop, which she did immediately. She saw the queen was about to speak, and braced herself to be reprimanded.

“Nyula, as your queen, I expect you--”, Nyula gulped hard, “--to know when I’m joking or not.” A sly grin crept over the queen’s face and Nyula appeared to nearly melt where she stood. The queen let out a giggle which turned into full-blown laughter as she noticed Nyula scrunch her face in irritation, having been led along in the conversation. “Oh come now, don’t look at me like that! I figure you’d know by now that something like that hardly bothers me, at least coming from you; I appreciate how blunt you can be at times, it’s refreshing!” Nyula was still pouting on the other side, but quickly relaxed and regained her earlier demeanor.

“I can tell when you’re being serios or not, most of the time, but sometimes you can be so hard to read! I really can understand some of the nicknames you have, especially when I’m on the receiving end of those cutting remarks.” The queen appeared more somber at the mentioning of this, but the feeling didn’t stick.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry for teasing you, even if you do make it easy sometimes. Let’s get back to business then. How is construction going in other areas of the city? We want to make sure that local infrastructure is not disturbed too much by the upcoming festivities.”

Nyula straightened herself and cleared her throat before speaking again, “My queen, construction in the surrounding areas is proceeding smoothly. Artisans are working on ensuring the integrity of the runeways, and exploring strategies for minimizing disruption to key city centers. Additionally, they have been coordinating with Captain Keld to provide them with up-to-date layout changes to ensure the safety of the delegation, yourself and anyone else who might be attending the festival.”

The queen nodded, letting her speak more on progress around the city, and jotted down some notes to file away for later. She would have to follow-up with Captain Keld to discuss some specifics for security detail, and set up a meeting with their lead artisans to see exactly how they might be altering the runeways—and offer input if needed. She became lost in thought, for a moment, considering the preparations and how things were going, and though she trusted everyone involved, she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. She only paused her thoughts when she was brought back into the conversation by Nyula calling out to her.

“My queen, are you alright? You seemed out of sorts for a moment.”

“I’m alright Nyula, just...a bit stressed with how things are proceeding. Everything appears to be going smoothly, but I still need to double-check on some matters and you know we need this to go perfectly.”

“If I may speak candidly, my queen,” Nyula paused and waited for the queen, who motioned that she could continue, “you are worrying far too much! Artisan Iiven and Captain Keld are both very capable and have very capable people working with them. Though, Glin could do with a good reprimanding from the captain—ah, don’t tell him I said that! Uh, and I’d like to think I’m doing a good job on oversight as well. You put me on this task—I would hope—because you trust me, and because you have your own tasks to attend to for the upcoming events. Let me worry about the goings on and I will report to you anything that might need your immediate attention.”

“I do trust you, Captain Keld, Iiven, and everyone who is working hard to make sure that everything for the festival is a success. I really do...I just can’t help but worry. It’s pretty much my job,” she said, laughing wryly.

“I know you’re just worried, and that’s all the more reason for me to do my job and serve you better! Let me know what it is you need, and I will go get it, or go find it out for you. If you absolutely need something, I will let whoever it is know, and ensure that they make time to meet with you, though I doubt anyone would turn down a meeting from our esteemed queen. Your office alone is a national treasure, why--”

The queen groaned and let out a sigh, cutting her off in the process. “Yes, yes, you can come by my office and gawk at it later. I guess I just don’t see the same appeal as you do considering I’m here nearly every day.”

Nyula squealed gleefully, but made sure to adjust herself to a more serious tone before speaking. “As you wish my queen! I’ll be sure to stop on by and update you if anything else comes up,” she said, smiling widely. “Is there anything else you need from me at this time, my queen?”

“No, not at this time. Thank you for the updates.” The queen stared down at her desk, pensively, then at the collection of crumpled papers set to the side. “Actually, Nyula, I...no, never mind. That will be all for now. As always, I appreciate your service. Stop by my office later and keep me apprised of how things develop, especially if there are any interesting vendors in the remaining applications.” Nyula bowed politely and assured her that she would do so. With a flick of her wrist, the queen ended the conversation, deactivating the enchantments on the pendant and pendulums, which quickly resumed their rhythmic swaying. The queen leaned forward, placing her elbows on her desk and cradling her head in the crook of her arm. She exhaled deeply, shuffling the papers on her desk; while her conversation with Nyula had been refreshing, it hadn’t sparked any new ideas for what she would propose to the delegation.

She leaned back into her chair and thought that she needed something to energize herself, get her thinking. She tapped a panel on her seat, and a small set of glyphs illuminated in a circular pattern on each arm. Placing her hands on either arm, she deftly moved her fingers in motions so familiar to her that they were second nature now. A gentle whirring came from her chair as two ornately engraved wheels backed her away from her desk and moved her over to a table that was up against the back wall of her study. Unlike the rest of the room, the table was modestly adorned and rather plain; it was covered sparsely with the only notable items being a golden tea kettle and matching cup set.

Once she was close enough, the queen gingerly grabbed the top off of a nearby container, revealing a greenish ball, which she grabbed and placed within the golden kettle. She paused for a moment, and peered inside the kettle, to make sure that there was, in fact, water inside; she wasn’t sure if she had filled it the night before or not. To her satisfaction, the ball floated gently on the water inside of the kettle, soaking it up and beginning to expand. After closing the lid, she placed the knob of the lid between her index finger and thumb, holding it until a warm, tingling sensation was felt beneath her fingertips. She removed her hand and shifted to grab a medium-sized cup and accompanying saucer. She took a few moments to survey the rest of the table and see if there was anything else she needed, and grabbed what appeared to be a brown, marble-like object from a nearby bowl and placed it into the cup. In the few moments between starting the kettle and sifting through the accompanying sundries, a steady stream of steam had begun to rise from the kettle.

The queen placed the knob on top between her thumb and index finger again, which promptly dispelled the enchantment heating the water. Grabbing the handle, the queen gently poured the tea into the cup, and watched the marble inside slowly dissolve into shimmering particles. She had always enjoyed watching this phenomenon; to many it was just a mundane reality, but to her, it felt magical. She liked to think of the granules like stars in the afternoon sky, shining their light in a pocket sky held firmly within the confines of her cup. She placed the cup and saucer in her lap for a moment and commanded her chair to wheel itself towards one of the many arched windows lining her office space. Wheeling herself directly up to the archway, she extended an arm out and stopped, being met by an invisible force. Small sets of runes engraved into the archway glowed as she applied pressure to the space before her, and slowly faded as she retracted her hand.

She sipped her tea and reflected on what lay before her: a legacy, one of many from her family, or so she’d been told. She’d been told that they had been blessed by the gods, with the power of magic, and that her family especially so. While magical capability within the royal family fluctuated, a constant trait for them had been their ingenuity, cleverness, and adaptability. Their runeworks were second to none; not even the lead artisans could match their fluency or adeptness with runes, or such had been hammered into the queen since she was very young. The queen had never really agreed with this idea, noticing that the concerns of the royal family often deviated from those over whom they ruled, and the parameters they used to gauge the world did not always align with the reality in front of them. This is probably why, when it became her time to rule, she made sweeping changes to the requirements to become an artisan, as well as the limitations of what they could work on or create. While some things were still far from being sanctioned by the royal family, the role of the artisan had greatly expanded under her rule, and that was something she was very proud of. She wanted to see, not just what she could create, but what the world could create, if given the tools and power to do so.

She took another sip of tea, and er train of thought was cut short by a stinging sensation upon her lips, to which she quickly retracted her mouth from the cup. A warm trickle could be felt moving from her mouth towards her chin; she swiped a thumb across her lower lip and found the rich stain of red etched into the grooves of her thumb. She looked carefully at the cup in her other hand, and noticed a small chip in it, and was surprised, not that it had cut her, but that the cup had even chipped at all. Most everything within the palace was engraved with a type of enhancing rune, to strengthen them and make them more durable, that and most palace staff were so particular about anything she used, she would never expect anything like a chipped cup to make it through the staff’s strict vetting process. She placed the cup back on the saucer and into her lap, wheeling herself back to her desk.

She placed both to one side of her desk and eyed the blank pages before her. “Well,” she thought, “I guess I have more work to do.” With nary another thought, she began writing again, scrawling in the same fluid motions as she had done before...

-----

She awoke with a start, feeling stiff and mildly uncomfortable. She’d apparently fallen asleep at her desk, though while not wholly uncommon, was something she had been working to avoid as of late. The nearby candle had nearly burned through entirely, and she slowly began to calculate how long she had been asleep. Her aids often wondered why she used candles instead of the more efficient glow lamps, but even if less efficient, she found candles to be more lively and provided her with a comfort she found difficult to put into words. Giving out a mighty yawn, the queen stretched and adjusted her posture and robes to be a little less disheveled. Glancing at her desk, she frowned at the scant lines that had managed to survive on her page. She hadn’t made nearly as much progress as she had wanted, and while she had made some progress, she felt that she would just as quickly come up to another wall.

Her concentration was broken by a sudden flickering of the candle, as if from a breeze, however the room was ensorcelled to prevent the effects of weather from affecting the inside; not even the gargantuan pendulums were capable of creating any wind. Intrigued, she surveyed the room, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Turning her chair around, she looked towards the back wall and also saw nothing other than shadows dancing along the stones and tiles. She let out a sigh, and considered that the stress of the summit was getting to her if she was concerned about one flickering candle. Turning back around, she made to put away her papers until the next day, when she noticed a peculiar mark on of the pages. She wasn’t quite sure what it was—a stain perhaps—that looked like water, but more viscous. As she moved to touch the blotch, she felt a droplet hit her hand, followed by another. Hesitantly she turned her gaze upwards towards the ceiling, to see a writhing mass of what seemed to be flesh, roiling above. Her mouth was agape for only a moment before the mass detached and began falling directly towards her; far quicker than she thought she was able, she mashed her hands on the side panels of her chair, sending herself and the chair flying backwards, nearly toppling herself out of it entirely.

She looked on in horror as the clump enveloped her desk, extinguishing the nearby candle, and writhed for a moment, before coiling off to the opposite side of the desk. Despite the shock, her mind was sharp, and she made a sweeping gesture which resulted in the entire room becoming lit by glow lamps. The queen breathed heavily, only now registering the snapping and popping noises reverberating through the room.

“Guards?! Guards, assist me at once! There’s an intruder in my chamber!” Despite her calls, she didn’t' hear any of the reassuring commotion of those who would come to her aid. She touched the coil on her neck and called again for the guards, screaming with as much energy as she could muster, but was only met with the same eerie crackling of whatever had made its way into her study. Suddenly, the noises stopped, and the room fell silent save for her own ragged breathing. As time passed without any sound or movement, her initial panic was replaced with a tinge of curiosity. Whatever that thing was—which may very well still be inside of the room—made it through to the chamber, undetected. She was finally able to take stock of her surroundings more and noticed that even the pendulums had stopped their usual motion, even though they had been working moments before.

Slowly, she wheeled herself towards her desk and surveyed what was before her. Even though she had seen the mass fall on top of her desk, nothing was out of place save for the candle, which had been extinguished. The same strange residue could be felt on the desk and a slight sheen could be seen on some of the other objects that had, otherwise, been untouched during the commotion. Cautiously, she moved away from the desk and towards a ramp adjacent to her work area, leading down from the platform that held her formal workspace. Her eyes roamed everywhere, quickly flitting from the light catching on the tile, to any inkling of movement, like a shadow on the ground. As she made her descent, she couldn’t see anything, not any indication of whatever it was that had fallen from the ceiling moments before.

Could she have hallucinated everything? She had been told by the court physician many a time that extreme stress and fatigue could cause people to imagine all sorts of things, unworldly or otherwise. She made her way to the door to her study and contemplated simply leaving and getting a proper rest instead of investigating further; clearly, she was exhausted. She would investigate whatever she had seen in the morning, when she was more alert. Having decided on that, she made to open the door when she remembered her documents strewn across her desk. She paused a moment, tempted to go back and remove them, but decided simply to keep the entire study locked until the morning—a simple deterrent to prevent prying eyes. She was the queen, and nary a soul would question her keeping her own study locked. As she went to open the doors again, her hand stopped suddenly, and her hair stood on end. Something was very wrong.

That’s when she heard the same telltale snapping and popping that she had heard earlier, but so much closer than before. In that moment, her voice caught in her throat—she dared not even breathe. As calmly as she could, she lowered her hand to the panels on her chair, and as deftly as before, swiveled around, albeit with more force than intended, slamming herself into the door that was now behind her. It was in that moment that she came face to face with a creature she had never seen before.

On the back of one of the pendulums, the writhing mass was revealed, squirming sluggishly on the surface. Not wasting another moment, the queen concentrated and a second ring on her neck shone with runes. The next moment she shouted with all her might, “Hkvzih!”, and stones from the ceiling detached, reshaping into pointed blades which hurtled towards the mass on the pendulum. A resounding clang could be heard as the spears struck the metal pendulum, shattering on impact and releasing a cloud of dust. To her surprise and horror, the mass appeared completely unaffected by her sudden attack, catching her off guard.

“What?! Just what are y--”, before she could finish her sentence, she found her voice gone, or rather, suppressed. She could feel the lower coil on her neck activate, and sting, which had never happened before. She tried to pry it off of her neck and found she was unable to do so. As she struggled, the mass stopped its roiling, and began to take shape with a long strand—about as thick as a human torso—extending towards her. As it got closer, she noticed the consistency of whatever was encroaching shifted regularly, going from transparent to almost water-like, or a thin membrane of sorts. Switching tactics, she went to move herself to a different part of the office, but found herself unable to move her chair.

She sucked her teeth for a moment, but had decided long ago that she would not be held at the mercy of others for what she “couldn’t” do. Concentrating again, she twisted one of her rings so that the jewel was on the underside of her finger, and jammed it into the arm of her chair. Her chair began to whir and thud as runes appeared all across its surface—the chair’s form changing from a seat to a crude armor of stone with the queen housed inside. This act appeared to dispel whatever force had frozen her in place, allowing her to move freely; she used this moment to move away from the tendril of fleshy mass, and headed towards the right side of her office. She could hear her own breathing again and noted that the coil around her neck no longer stung, which she assumed meant that she was free to speak again. Slamming her palm against the wall, she yelled, “Ivevzo,” which resulted in a doorway suddenly appearing along the wall.

She dug her stone-covered hand into the wall, pivoting her wrist like a key unlocking a door, and began to pull when she was once again stopped against her will. The force exerted on her was much stronger this time, and she felt her armor being tampered with. Suddenly, she heard a cracking noise, and she was forcefully ejected from her armor suit, falling to the floor amongst the fragments of her suit. Reeling from the sudden shock she gasped, forcing herself to get onto her elbows to support herself. She grimaced in pain, collapsing, and clutched her shoulder; she couldn’t tell if she had broken something or merely dislocated her shoulder when she was flung to the floor, but both the force and damage had been far greater than she had first thought.

She looked back at the doorway and then at the monstrosity that was now redirecting itself to where she had landed. The doorway was still intact, so with her good arm, she began crawling her way towards the passageway. As she drew closer, she regretted not taking up more physical training sessions recently, and sputtered slightly, having to pause to catch her breath. She didn’t have a moment to lose, and quickly stifled her gasps, clawing towards the doorway. She dared not glance back, focusing solely on the doorway before her, nearly within reach, however she did not need to look back at the creature to gauge how much distance it had covered. In a feat of agility not previously shown, the entirety of the mass lurched forward to congeal between the queen and her only viable escape route.

For a moment, her resolve faltered. Whatever this was defied the laws she new, mundane, natural, or magical—seemingly impervious to physical damage, unaffected by spatial laws, and completely ignorant or uncaring of mortal formality. Despite her circumstances, the queen regained her composure and spoke out. “I am Queen Mahená, ruler of these lands. I will not be terrorized by you or your kind! Do with me what you will, but know that you will incur the wrath of the entirety of the kingdom and all who inhabit here. I have nothing more to say, so do as you wish.” The queen’s voice faltered, belying her growing fears as she closed her eyes and braced for impact. She imagined being crushed by the invisible force that had held her twice before, pierced by some unseen blade, or anything else that the creature would conjur.

A moment passed, then two, but nothing came. Opening her eyes, the queen watched as the mass lay inert and unmoving—something far more terrifying. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect next, when slowly, what appeared to be a humanoid hand began to jut forth, followed by a series of hands and arms, extending out to her. She watched in awe as the mass of appendages extended and stopped, just before her own. Suddenly, a chorus of voices—soft at first, but soon dissolving into a more singular voice that carried much more firmly—came from the being before her, addressing her.

“You may have little to say to us, but we have much to discuss with you.” The voice sounded like it was her own thoughts; she couldn't see any opening like a mouth, and surmised that it was speaking directly into her mind. She had read that some beings could do so, but she had never encountered one such creature before. It unnerved her, and she wondered if it could read her thoughts as well.

As if on cue, the creature spoke again, voice ringing within her mind. “You are quick to think; we are pleased and are more certain of our choice now. We apologize for the method of communication, we believed that this would be easiest given your increased burden. We can adjust.” At the same time, an elongated tendril formed from the goo-like substance before her, shaping into a humanoid torso, neck, and head, though the creature was bald and had an eerily large, lipless mouth, extending wider than any normal human mouth. The being’s face also had a small nose and circular, beady eyes that held a faint, white glow within. A strange pattern or continuation of glistening spines or pins, Queen Mahená couldn’t tell which, connected by light jutted from around the entirety of its head, appearing to break and reform periodically, along with the liquid-like consistency of the creature was as well.

Whatever it was spoke again, moving its mouth slowly and slightly out of synch with its words. “We hope that this is more suitable to conversing with you. Let us assist you.” Without waiting for her reply, the creature lifted her up without touching her, then shifted, to reveal her reassembled chair, and placed her in it. She gave an audible gasp as her shoulder touched the back of the chair, and the creature extended more hands, cradling her shoulder. Surprisingly, its touch was warm, and she felt a tingling sensation, as the pain subsided; as it retracted its hands, she also noted that her damaged robe had been repaired in that area as well.

She looked from her shoulder to the humanoid structure before her, and blinked several times before recomposing herself to the best of her ability, given her position. Though visibly shaken, she worked to exude more of the regal presence she was known to display before speaking next. “Who, or what, are you,” she demanded, mustering as commanding of a presence as she could.

“We are Wys, and we have come to speak with you, Queen Mahená.” The response was curt, and just as incomprehensible as she had suspected it would be. The queen mulled the name over in her mind for a moment—Wys, pronounced like ‘wise’—it was peculiar, and she wasn’t sure if it was serious or mocking. She sighed, frustrated, but she kept her composure. This Wys creature was not to be trifled with, but neither was she.

“It’s good to know that you can hear me as you are, but I think you misunderstand. You didn’t exactly answer my question. Wys sounds like your name, but it does little to describe who or what you are,” she said, gesturing vaguely to its amorphous form. Wys said nothing for a moment, and grotesquely twisted its neck until its face was completely upside-down. Noticing the queen’s subtle look of disgust, Wys smiled, the edges of its wide maw creeping further along the edges of its face, and twisted back around before speaking again.

“We are Wys. We have thought how to describe ourselves to you, and believe that the closest description would be that of a spirit, or a god.” The queen’s eyes went wide at the mention of Wys being a god, and narrowed them just as quickly.

“A spirit or a god? Really? Far more like an apparition or demon,” she said with venom on her tongue. “Forgive my incredulousness at your statement, but I find it hard to believe that any such being would act in such a way—though if you are a deity, I suppose it’s beyond my comprehension to assume what you would do or why.” She folded her arms, guarded to what was being told to her.

“Yes, it may be hard to fathom our intentions, but we assure you that ours was not to harm or scare you,” Wys said, seemingly oblivious to the queen’s growing animosity.

Fury rising in her voice, Queen Mahená stated, “It wasn’t your intent? It wasn’t your intent to break into my study, bind me against my will, and attack and injur me?” She paused and adjusted her robe. She had to maintain as much control over the conversation as possible and set the pace, but speaking with Wys was proving far more difficult than she had expected. “I have spoken with monarchs, merchants, common folk, and all sorts in between, but I have never spoken to something so brazen as to declare that they had no intention of performing actions tantamount to regicide after the fact.”

Wys bowed its head apologetically, which the queen did not expect. “Again, we apologize for the rough treatment. It was not our intention to cause you any harm. We were afraid that you would not listen to us if we let you go, and determined that some force was required to keep us in your audience.”

The queen scoffed at this. “You, afraid? I can hardly imagine anything of your sort would have much to fear, all things considered.”

Wys was unphased by the queen’s off-handed remark, and responded with the same amount of aloofness it had shown before. “Oh, there is much we fear,” Wys said, coiling around itself, “though it is hardly any of your concern.” Wys appeared to gather its body, and floated closer to the queen. “Now, Queen Mahená, we would like to discuss important matters with you. We have been watching you and believe that you would benefit from our assistance.”

“Your assistance?”, she spoke through gritted teeth. “You are truly the boldest creature—spirit, god, or otherwise—I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. How gracious of you to deign to assist a mortal such as myself.” Despite her indignance, she knew that there was little she could do to resist its request. Even so, she dared to test the waters and see how far she could push, and how it would respond. So far, Wys hadn’t done anything else to her aside from apologize, though she was sure it could do much more if it wanted to. How would Wys respond to her provocations, she wondered. She’d never been confronted with something so peculiar, so terrifying, or so fascinating before, and she gripped the arms of her chair, waiting for what would come next.

Wys bowed again, but instead of speaking, glided over to one of the ponds in the middle of the room. Wys craned over the edge of the pool, and reached several tendrils into the water, extracting a small orb made entirely out of water from the edge. Using a different set of tendrils, Wys began morphing and shaping the water. First a stem, long, but sturdy, next leaves that glistened in the light, and lastly, an ornate arrangement of petals, completing the image of a flower—one she had never seen before. Wys wafted over to where the remains of the queen’s attack lay, shattered and broken on the ground. Gathering up the pieces, Wys compressed them within its body for a moment, and fashioned a small pot, simple and elegant, and placed a combination of ground-up stone and more water into the pot. The last element was the flower, which was gently placed into the pot.

“Here,” it said, giving the potted creation to the queen. “We believe that this is what humans sometimes do to show the sincerity of their words when apologizing. We do not see how it helps, but we do sincerely hope that this gesture will foster enough belief in our words to hear us out.” With hesitation, the queen reached out towards Wys and grabbed the pot by the base. Everything about it felt normal, and the magical qualities of the flower arranged in the middle felt completely natural, almost indiscernible from an actual flower save for minute fluctuations in mana quality. She rocked the pot back and forth, but the water within the pot, which covered roughly from the lip to a quarter within, did not spill over, much to her surprise, and the flower-like object remained sturdy within the pot.

“...Thank you. While I cannot wholly believe your words or intentions just yet, you are going through an awful lot of trouble just to speak with me. I also strongly believe that if you had wished to end my life, you very easily could have done so on several occasions since our meeting. I can...at least hear you out. I am your captive audience after all.” The queen continued to look at the crystalline flower glistening in its pot, and she wondered how something like this could have been created; not even her best artisans could replicate something of its caliber. For a moment, she was distracted from Wys and her myriad of questions about it, especially how something so powerful came into the palace without causing enough commotion to rouse the entire capital.

“We appreciate your willingness to converse, and as an added point of good will, we assure you that we did not harm anyone within your kingdom as came in. We assume that you wonder how we came in undetected; we will show you. Please, pluck one of the leaves from the stem of the flower you possess,” and Wys motioned to the plant it had just given to her. Mahená did what she was asked, and gently tugged at one of the leaves protruding from its stem. With a soft popping sound, it came loose; the outer edges of the leaf shifted and hardened, while the inner area became like that of the surface of water again.

“Place it up to your eye and follow my movements.” She did, and aside from minor magnification, everything looked the same. Wys called out to her while ascending higher up in her office, and pointed, with one of its many armed appendages, to a particular point in the ceiling. “Concentrate, channel your mana, and focus to where we are pointing.” The queen squinted to see where Wys was pointing to, then she took a deep breath from her core and exhaled. With her efforts concentrated, the seemingly useless bauble began to feel like an extension of herself, only sharper and more aware. Opening only one eye, what she saw through the lens shifted dramatically, showing not just what lay before her, but runes inlaid throughout the ceiling tiles and their energies. Many of the runes appeared gilded in a gently pulsating golden energy, though some varied in minor ways such as hue or fluctuation in energy pattern.

She looked where Wys was positioned, and noticed a large glyph, one that she recognized to be used in the defensive array of the palace and one she had used in her chair for its armor transition; however, it had been altered in a way that she had never seen before. Wys placed hands on the slab the glyph was resided in, and she watched as the energy surrounding the glyph fluctuated, changing entirely—the aura of the surrounding stones quickly altering like trees caught in a blaze. She removed the lens from her eye and looked up at the ceiling normally, shocked by what she saw; what had been the ceiling had been peeled back like a curtain, to reveal an array of stars, dotting the night sky. The cosmos above were fully revealed, as if the ceiling was never there at all, and she saw the expanse before her with as much clarity as if she were looking at them through a telescope, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words.

“What...what is this?!”, she asked, mind reeling from what she saw. Wys descended from the ceiling, and the stones returned to normal. Wys let out a wheezing sound, which Mahená thought might have been its attempt at a laugh, as it gestured with its body, expanding and contracting slowly.

“This, Queen Mahená, is what we wish to speak to you about. This is merely a fraction of possibility, and we would see it expand far beyond what we have seen thus far. We would give this power to you, as you have proven yourself worthy of such a gift.” Despite the wonder and awe she felt at Wys’ display, she did not take consolation in its words; she did not trust receiving anything from the abomination that lay before her. God or monster, neither was clear, however she knew that few things were truly gifted for free—something she had learned well from mortals. Something so grand, she thought, surely came with equivalent cost.

“While I appreciate your kind gestures, you will have to forgive my incredulity towards the things you say. Why would you give me such a gift, let alone one that I know nothing about? I can’t tell what kind of sorcery you’ve used; it goes beyond anything my or even our scholar’s knowledge. What have I done to prove worthy for such gestures—I've met you for the first time just now and it was hardly an... appropriate presentation.”

Wys shook its head as if to disagree. “We have known you for a very, very long time, well before you ascended the throne. We have seen you struggle and persevere, overcoming a number of challenges. We have seen you, Queen Mahená, all of you, and we are certain that you possess the traits necessary to receive our gift of knowledge.” Wys’ body weaved closer to the queen, who instinctually receded as far as possible into the back of her chair as possible. She dared not wheel herself further away for fear that she would aggravate Wys and invite another show of force. More than that, however, she was puzzled by its words.

“You say you have known me for a much longer time, but I am certain I would have recognized something of your stature presenting itself before me.” She stared at Wys, who gazed back, as imperceptible as when they began talking. She was not used to being unable to read the room, which caused her to continue marinating in considerable unease.

“You are correct. We have never presented ourselves to you before—you were not ready, but you are now. You. Are. Desperate,” the last word coming out like an excited hiss. “Even enduring the pain of your youth, you were never so desperate in the way you are now, and we can help—we want to help. We want to take the passion, forged by your experiences, your condition, and see it blossom.”

Mahená furrowed her brows, clearly perturbed. “I have never seen my ‘condition’—as you put it—as anything to be ashamed of or in need of fixing. If anything, I’ve seen it as something that has allowed me to see the world differently from others, in a way that has allowed me to surpass their expectations and limitations imposed on me by those who would dare to control me.”

Wys clucked what sounded like one of several tongues, as if to chide her, while floating behind her chair. “My dear queen Mahna, while that may not be the case now, we both know that wasn’t always the case. We can see how that’s not the case from just moments ago, no?” Wys moved its face next to her ear, and whispered insidiously, “Regardless, you need us, and we would love nothing more than to oblige.”

The queen tried her best to hide a growing scowl, for she knew it was true. As confident as she’d become in who she is now, this was not always the case, and she hated that something as grotesque as Wys could see her so clearly. It had become obvious that, while Wys had never interacted with her, it had been watching her for a long time, which generated a sense of nausea. Still, she remained poised, not moving, and continued to face forward.

“What. Do. You. Want?”, she said, in short, broken words. Wys smiled and whipped around her chair to face her again. Wys opened its mouth wide, and reached many armed appendages inside, to which the queen closed her eyes. Unfortunately, she reacted too slowly to avoid hearing the squelching and snapping noises that followed.

With an audible pop, Wys extended one long arm in the queen’s direction. “We would provide you with this tool. Take it.” Queen Mahená opened her eyes and saw a pale, beige-colored ball with a red slit down the middle, roughly the size of a marble. Hesitantly, she held out her hand, and Wys dropped it into her open palm. It felt cool to the touch, and was hard, like a stone. “This,” said Wys, gesturing to the orb, “is a tool that will impart the knowledge we wish for you to know, and allow us to teach you more, in time. When you are ready, consume the orb and we will commune with you, sharing the knowledge capable of changing your world, and your kingdom.”

“I have to eat this?”, she asked, alternating glances between Wys and the pill in her palm. “What if I choose not to?”.

Wys wheezed, jostling its body. “You do not have to, though we would be disappointed. It is your choice entirely, but we have high hopes in what you will decide to do.”

She knew better than to keep it, and yet she found herself gripping the orb tightly. She sighed, completely deflating into the back of her chair. Forcing herself to swallow the feeling of dread brewing in her gut, she spoke, “I am still very confused. Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve shown me...to give me the choice to refuse everything you’ve offered? What do you gain from this? How will this solve my or my kingdom’s problems? If you’re so interested, why not intervene directly rather than meet with me?” Queen Mahená couldn’t contain her frustrations any longer, and with hands trembling, shouted, “You’ve terrorized me, and by default, my kingdom all evening! Why should I trust anything you’ve said, let alone assume that you would honor your word when you’ve put nothing less than a knife to my throat this entire time?!” To punctuate her words, she flung both the plant that was in her lap and the pill she had been handed, at Wys, who simply caught both within its body, releasing a dull gurgling sound.

Queen Mahená panted and hunched over in her seat, having exhausted her energy and pent-up frustrations that had accumulated, not just from her encounter with Wys, but with navigating the growing political tensions between her kingdom and neighboring areas. She had been planning the festival for over a year, as a means to foster good will between her kingdom, the neighboring areas, as well as extending their influence by inviting delegations from across the known world. Few had responded, some positive, some neutral, and some less favorably than hoped. This is why she had been so stressed as of late, and struggling to put together a presentation, or plan, to foster positive relations with as many neighbors as possible, especially from the city of scholars. While they were not a militant party—they remained neutral or actively did not participate in open conflict—however they had a strong influence due to their abundance of knowledge and ability to apply scant resources to great end. This made her repeated dead ends all the more dire.

“Our dear Mahená,” Wys cooed, “we have meant no real harm in our encounter, and we even entered quietly. We have apologized as much as we can. You are stressed, desperate, and we know this. We can see it on your face and feel it in your mana.” Wys brought the plant and pill back over to her and placed them gently in her lap. “The choice is yours, but we have faith you will make the choice you need.”

Queen Mahená smiled wryly before staring Wys directly in its eyes. “Faith? Of course you could afford to say such things to a mere mortal. Honeyed words without the weight of consequence behind them. Fine,” she said, resigned,” I will consider your offer at the very least. I will not promise that I will take this medicine. Am I desperate? Perhaps, but I am not so desperate as to agree to the terms of anything that bursts into my chambers seeking opportunity. Not yet at least.” Wys simply nodded to the queen’s statement and backed away from her.

“That is all we have asked. Thank you, Queen Mahená, for your time.” Wys looked back through the windows lining the queen’s study, and into the night sky. The smile that had sat on its face for most of the encounter faded when it turned back to face the queen. “We would have liked to discuss much more with you, but we will have to wait for another opportunity. We must go now, but we will always be close. If you need us, call, and we will answer.” With that, Wys fashioned a disjointed bow, and dissipated, fading from view into the air.

Queen Mahená sucked in air between her teeth before exhaling in a shaky breath. She felt humiliated, toyed with in the palm of Wys’ hand. The bitter taste of defeat sat on her tongue and tinged her thoughts as she slowly moved herself back to her desk. Her mind was numb. She placed the plant on the top of her desk, and remembered the lens that grew from its leaf, and placed that on her desk as well. She took off one of her rings and placed it into a hole in her desk, squeezing the sides as she turned it, unlocking a drawer. She placed the mysterious pill inside, along with the lens and the draft she had been working on for the delegation. She locked the drawer in a similar fashion and returned the ring to her finger. She stared out of her window, at the night sky, seeing the lights of the city dotting the streets below. She felt like her senses were finally returning, that the night was moving forward, and as if to echo her sentiment, the pendulums in the middle of the study resumed their rhythmic swaying once more.

#text post #short story #Nashrana #askwys #world building #OC Wys #OC Mahená #mild horror #body horror

0 notes

screwpinecaprice · 2 years

Text

He got her some fancy jewelry.

#connverse #Connie Maheswaran #Steven Quartz Universe #SU #Connie knitted that hat because for some reason Steven isn't immune to colds #It was a little impractical to draw just anything I wanted last month and the past weeks so I couldn't finish this then.#So here's a late holiday special connverse comic #But like made less holiday-like.... you know I could've hold this off for Valentines instead....#minicomic #my shiz #comic #my comics #comics #The outfit Connie wore in Winter Forcast was so cute. So I just replicated that.#drawing type: burple

828 notes · View notes

wolfywordweaver · 3 years

Text

Here's my contribution to @transmagesweek day one! It started off as a "prom" prompt with a side of "coming out" but somehow that got flipped around. XD

Enjoy!

I was pretty well terrified as we made our way across the Great Lawn and towards the lit up building where the Leaver's Ball was currently in full swing. Even from this distance I could see people dancing out in the patio, the fairy lights twinkling daintily above them. Penelope wasn't saying anything, but I knew that it was only because there really wasn't anything to say.

The gates hadn't opened for me and she needed to let me in.

Swallowing thickly, I wondered if I should even be here or doing this. Sure, it had seemed completely reasonable up to five minutes ago, but now I was second guessing myself. It was something I hadn't really ever had time to do until the last few months.

Funny how losing all your magic and purpose in life will do that to you.

Watford wasn't an option after the death of the Humdrum and the Mage, and I spent the remaining months of Eighth year on the Bunces' couch. Every interaction with the Mage had been analyzed. Each fight with the Humdrum and its monsters replayed. Years of struggling with my magic observed from every angle of memory, and even all my interactions with Baz came under the light of introspection.

I couldn't talk about most of this with my therapist. She was a stranger, and as well meaning as she was it wasn't like I could just flip the switch of my upbringing. I still mistrust, am nervous, and the nightmares continue.

The flutter of my heavy wings remind me that many things are different too. The dragon wings and the devil tail have been a confusing albeit enlightening addition to my life. They were really what set me on the journey towards this evening, hours thinking about them drawing my attention to something else that seemed so obvious that it was actually embarrassing that I hadn't noticed it before.

Being the Chosen One will do that to you.

Keep you from noticing things, like how badly you want to snog your roommate or how the discomfort in my skin could mean more than just the sheer pressure of magic trying to spill out of me.

It had started with the musings over my wings and tail, something that I thought would go away since I no longer had magic, but the idea began to sprout even more after a comment from Penny.

"When have you ever fit into any box, Simon?"

She had meant it in consolation, not as something as earth-shattering as it had been. But there it was, a truth that I didn't even know I was looking for.

All my life I had been put into boxes by others. Orphan. Foster kid. Normal. Mage. Chosen One. Hero. Good.

Male.

When I'd talk to the Mage about feeling strange in my skin, about not feeling normal or comfortable, he'd always tell me it was because I was the Chosen One. Different from everyone else and full of more magic than any Mage in the history of the world. It stood to reason that if I was no longer the Chosen One and didn't have any more magic, I still shouldn't feel that way.

But I did.

My wings and tail oddly helped with that. They were in the way all the time and completely impractical, but they were a physical representation of something that I knew in my heart. I may be a Normal, but I wasn't...normal. When I flew over the tree tops at the nearby park, magicked invisible by a nervous Penny, it felt good. It felt free. My tail whipped around loosely and I felt at peace.

The euphoria lasted after I landed and until some girl passing me and Penny mentioned that I made a cute boyfriend. She was apparently some Normal friend that Penelope had back in elementary and Penny quickly corrected her, but I felt the bubble of joy pop.

Boyfriend.

I wasn't even appalled at the idea itself since me and Penny being a couple was complete tosh, but I was still bothered for days. Bothered enough that I brought it up to Penny. Three weeks of discussions that I could barely get out the words for and one weekend with a worried Baz later and I finally brought a printed internet article to her.

"This," I stated nervously as I held the paper out. "This is kind of what it feels like."

Brown eyes studied me for a moment before she took the pages and quickly read over them. "This is...a trans person's experience."

"I know," I whispered, tail whipping behind me in agitation and my wings tensing. "Is that bad?"

"Not at all, Simon." Her calm response eased my worry a bit and when she finished the article, Penny looked right up at me without disgust or fear or anger. "Are you a girl?" she asked curiously. My immediate balking startled a laugh out of her before drawing one out of me. "Nope, okay. What are you thinking, Simon?"

A shrug was my immediate response, but I sat next to her on the floor and stole one of her crisps before deciding that words were needed.

"I don't know yet. I've read things online about non-binary and genderfluid and even neopronouns, but it's all a bit much."

"Gender is weird," she agreed. "But it's not like you have a due date to figure it all out. Take your time."

After another thoughtfully chewed up crisp, I asked the question that was really bothering me about the whole situation. "Do you think...that is...maybe Baz won't...he doesn't have to..."

She looked at me in surprise. "You don't really think that a guy who's been obsessed with you for literal years is going to suddenly lose interest because you're having a gender identity crisis, do you?"

I shrugged again. "He's well gay, yeah? Gay guys only like boys."

"And Normals don't ever have magic," she chuckled while gesturing a hand at me. "Simon, have you ever fit into a box properly?"

It was like a sign from heaven, and I lit up immediately. The words that she had used to feed that niggling little seed of doubt were now being used to comfort me again, and it felt even more true now than it did a couple of months ago.

So here I was, a Normal walking through the Watford School of Magicks. A Normal whose large red wings were on full display thanks to Penny's careful magicking of a gauzy sleeveless shirt, and my tail sticking out of a slot that had been altered in a pair of high-waisted slacks we found at the thrift store.

"You don't have to walk me all the way inside," I offered quietly. Penelope had made it clear that she was going to leave as soon as I got there, and I didn't want her to feel awkward or badly walking all the way out on her own.

"It's okay," she huffed, her eyes fixed on the large wooden door we were approaching. "I want to catch a glance at Basilton's face."

A blush bloomed on my freckled cheeks and she laughed with an ease that filled my fond heart.

"You think he'll like...this?"

I didn't look much different besides the unusual appendages and clothing I'd never been seen in before, but somehow I felt another step closer to knowing who I was.

"Simon, he'd like you even if you were covered in merewolf blood and gore."

"Ugh, gross."

"He'd make you shower first, but yes, even that wouldn't put him off." Taking a deep breath and nodding, I moved to grab at the door handle before she stopped my hands. "No, wait. Let me."

Stepping back, I was surprised to see her put her ring hand up and hold it towards the door. "Wha-?"

"Baz isn't the only one who deserves a dramatic entrance," she smirked. "Open sesame!"

And like magic, a wind kicked up at the same moment the doors flung open, and my wings instinctively spread out to feel the breeze roll over them so that I wouldn't be accidentally pulled back. Everyone's eyes turned towards me, but before I could get flustered and embarrassed I caught sight of wide grey eyes and a mouth hanging open in shock.

I'd made Baz speechless.

#Wolfy writes #SnowBaz #Simon Snow #transmages week 2021 #transgender #non-binary #Penelope Bunce #coming out #gender identity crisis #introspective #not very angsty #hopeful ending #prom #leaver's ball #transmagesweek

17 notes · View notes

star-spangledstud · 4 years

Text

Better Than Me (2/2)

Part one is here!

Summary: You really are better than them.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)Reader.

Word Count: 3000-ish.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

It was ridiculous. So ridiculous that it bordered near downright insane. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Impractical, stupid and completely, utterly ridiculous. Beautiful, sparkly and downright amazing, but ridiculous. You fucking loved it.

The baby pink, bejeweled handgun sat inside a pink velvet box on your lap. The bow, which was also pink, of course, was lying at your feet, which were clad in bedazzled silver Louboutins. Gems of all colors on the rainbow covered it on all sides, from the barrel to the handgrip and along the safety pin.

You gazed up at Tony, who wore an amused expression on his face, before glancing over at Pepper. She had her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, clearly horrified by Tony’s gift choice. The card read that it was from both of them. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“Happy birthday, kid.” He said with a smirk that nearly extended from ear to ear.

“I don’t even want to know how much you spent on that,” Pepper muttered, shaking her head while you took the thing out of the pink and white polka-dotted tissue paper.

The others sighed audibly when you smiled, annoyed that Tony’s gift overshadowed theirs yet again. To be fair, they’d all expected it, but all of them secretly hoped any one of their gifts would be your favorite.

“I love it,” you said, twirling the weapon around in your hand, “and I agree with Pepper, I can’t even imagine how much you spent on this thing...”

“You’ll make it work,” he mused, “Two million dollars, by the way, and you could just thank me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and for a moment, you were sure Pepper was going to faint. Natasha shook her head, watching the scene unfold in horror. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. Wanda, who seemed to share none of her feelings, had created a monster out of you.

“Thanks, Tony,” you blew him a kiss, unable to get up from your seat at the dinner table that was covered in white roses in silver vases and wine that came from expensive bottles.

“It’s very pretty,” the witch said, “Can I hold it?”

“Please,” you shoved it into her hands, “by all means.”

“You’re insane, Tony,” you said as you took the gift Bruce had gotten for you from his outstretched hands with a smile, “Absolutely fucking nuts, but I love you for it.”

Your eyes went around the room, finding Steve at the end of the table of which you sat at the head. You were the birthday girl, after all, the pink satin sash draped around you said so in large, cursive letters and so it was your turn to have the most important seat of the house. It was a ridiculous ordeal, he thought so anyway, but you were smiling and chatting and enjoying the company of your friends and it was good to see. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened and knew very well he was to blame.

He was the one who pushed you away, even though it was for your own good.

You took Thor’s gift just as the waiter began to serve your first course, and since he was seated closest to you, you thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Steve’s gift came last. You didn’t expect anything from him given the circumstances.

Four hours, six courses and many glasses of wine and Asgardian mead later, you found yourself back in your room. Gifts given to you by your fellow team members were sprawled out on your bed, ranging from a pair of silk pajamas with glittery Ugg slippers to match from Wanda to Starbucks and Sephora gift cards from Sam and everything in between. Chocolate covered strawberries in a glittery box, two romance novels, a bottle of beautifully aged red wine from Asgard and a peach-toned Dior lipstick, all tokens of appreciation given to you by the people you cared about the most.

Despite the hardships that you faced the previous year and the social distancing that occurred during that time, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be with the team again. You’d changed a lot in a year, grown to be a different person than the one you were before. It wasn’t necessarily a good or a bad thing in your mind, it just happened naturally.

You sat down beside the velvet box, eyes automatically flying towards the item on your far left. A drawing of you, sitting on a terrace, staring out into the sunny skyline with a cup of coffee in your hand. It was an old drawing by the looks of it because your hair was much shorter and a different shade and your clothing was far plainer than it was now; black jeans and a white t-shirt. A signature that read SR sat in the bottom right corner in messy, doctor-like handwriting. It made your toes curl.

Of course, he was the one with the overly personal gift. You didn’t know whether it was because he simply had no fucking clue what 21st-century women liked to receive for their birthdays or whether he’d purposely done it to make you remember the day it was drawn, but the latter happened and now, you were sitting on your bed with prickling eyes and goosebumps that lined your skin.

You remembered that day very vividly. You’d only been an Avenger for three months and were struggling to adjust to the fact that you had to suddenly follow orders. Before joining the team, you’d worked alone, hired by people with deep pockets and dark intentions. You made your own rules.

The first time Steve had taken you out for coffee he kind to offer you advice. At first, you thought it felt a little like he was trying to be the human resource manager with the way he talked to you, you continued to meet up every Saturday afternoon and as the weeks passed, something in the dynamic changed. He loosened up, got rid of his Captain America persona and instead became Steve. You didn’t know what caused the change, but it was good, allowed you to actually get to know the man behind the suit and vice versa.

That particular day was a good one, It was a sunny day in spring, not too hot and not too cold, with a soft breeze that carried the scent of fresh flowers across the terrace. You’d ordered a latte, Steve liked it black. You weren’t talking, but instead, a comfortable silence hung between you. You’d brought a book just like you always did and read it while occasionally eyeing the people that passed you by. Steve, whose cheeks had become fiery red out of the blue, pulled out a leather-bound sketchbook and began to draw.

You never asked him what he was drawing, even when he stored away his pencils and shoved the book back inside his tote did you not bother to pry. Not even when you became so close you’d sometimes fall asleep together on the couch, did you not ask.

You knew now, but they didn’t say ignorance is bliss without reason.

You began to mindlessly pick at three layers of lavender toned sparkling nail polish, pulling at it as it came off your fingers with far too much ease. You’d paid the lady $60 for your manicure three days prior and now, you were ripping it off. With a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up, gripping the back of your heels so you could slip them off with ease. You’d probably never wear them again.

You slowly began to clean up the mess, discarded packaging, boxes, and gift bags and placing them in the corner of your room near the door. You put everything away except for the drawing, which you couldn’t decide what to do with. Why was it such a big deal to you, anyway? You hardly spoke to Steve anymore and if you did, it was during pre- and post-mission briefings. Maybe that’s why it made you feel so strange. it didn’t feel right, such a personal, intimate gift after how far the two of you had drifted apart.

He hadn’t asked you about Netflix in four months and you hadn’t offered your expertise on which shows and movies were the best. You didn’t bring him coffee anymore but instead, he made his own, never leaving enough in the pot for you to make a cup as well. The message he sent you was loud and clear and in return, you were an open book.

He’d grumble when a stranger was seated at the breakfast table on Sundays courtesy of your hospitality, avert his eyes when they tried to kiss you openly (which you refused). The pang in his chest would hit him when he saw Ubers out front whose engines were running to carry you to your dates in high-end restaurants and fancy bars. He wasn’t jealous, he kept telling himself. He was just worried about your safety when you disappeared into the night with strange men. Men that weren’t him, ironically.

He should’ve seen you when you were right in front of him. When you were there, literally waiting for him to make a move on you, begging him with your mannerisms and your looks, your glances, and smiles even when his jokes weren’t funny. He knew damn well you would make an amazing couple, that you could take on the entire fucking world as a duo, but he was too scared to put it on the line, too scared of what might happen once the bad guys caught a whiff of your relationship. They’d already tried to destroy Bucky and Jesus Christ, they nearly succeeded. He couldn’t handle the thought of losing you to an organization like HYDRA, or worse. He never told you this. You had no idea. You were convinced he didn’t want you because of your flaws. Because of who you were.

You got over it, shut out the thought of ever holding hands with Steve in public, the thoughts of ever feeling his lips softly pressing against your plump cheeks and his body weighing down on top of you while his voice vibrated against your ear and neck. You managed to forget about him, managed to exchange the memories and fantasies of him for diamond necklaces, silk blazers, and expensive shoes. You traded him in for strangers with big bank accounts driving nice cars wearing expensive suits. They managed to fill the void he created by pushing you away.

So yeah, the gift bothered you. It was too nice, too sweet, so sweet you had to struggle to stay stoic when thanking him earlier. You literally had to stop yourself from smiling too big, from allowing tears of gratitude and happiness to completely ruin your make-up. if things had been different, you would have done those things. They weren’t. He didn’t want you and now he was being nice. It didn’t make sense.

Just as you were about to change into a different outfit for the evening, your phone vibrated. You picked it up off your nightstand and opened it. It was a text message, but not from the guy who would be knocking on the front door in the coming hour.

I didn’t get a chance to personally wish you a happy birthday. Can we talk? -S

You gripped the device so hard you nearly crushed the screen. Six months ago, a message like this would’ve had you crying on your bathroom floor for four hours. Now, it just made you angry. So angry, that you picked your studded Louboutin off the floor and chucked it at the wall. The heel broke off against the concrete, but you didn’t notice. You weren’t going to wear them again anyway.

Your fingers typed furiously, breathing coming out in shallow huffs. Images of the girls he’d brought back to Tony’s party’s flashed before your eyes while your fingers went faster than your brain could keep up with.

Roof. Omw.

Whether he understood the abbreviation ‘omw’ or not, you didn’t take the time to guess. You left your room without changing into the other dress or putting on new shoes. The elevator went up agonizingly slowly, but it was too late to go back and take the stairs. The buttons were pushed and the door closed.

He was standing by the edge, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest. In contrast to you, he had changed his attire, leaving the light blue button-down he was wearing earlier for a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looked down at your feet, noticed how your polished toes were bare and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he caught the expression on your face. You weren’t surprised to find him there first. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come up there running. Apparently, though, he did know what ‘omw’ meant.

“What the hell is this?” You asked, waving your phone in front of his face, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice wavering.

“What do I mean? What...,” you snorted, “What do you mean?! The gift, the talking? We shouldn’t be here.”

“But why?” He knew why but chose to ignore the sensical part of his brain that told him he shouldn’t be doing this.

You lifted your arms, a deep breath leaving you while you considered what to say. You wanted to come up with an excuse, tell him you were busy or that you’d lost sight of not just him, but the entire team, but fuck it, lying wouldn’t get you anywhere. It had never gotten you anywhere before.

“Because I have to get over you.”

He was silent, taking in your words. They stung, even though he already knew the truth they carried.

“I couldn’t have you constantly hanging around me anymore. I couldn’t stand seeing those girls hanging off your arm at those stupid parties and I sure as hell didn’t want to hear how fun they were and how great and wonderful and how amazing, and-”

He stepped forward, gripping your arms. The sudden contact made blood rush to your head, making you nauseous and dizzy simultaneously.

“I spent so much time wondering why they were better than me,” you mumbled, “I still haven’t figured it out.”

“They aren’t better than you,” he replied softly, “they don’t even compare to you.”

You looked up, eyes large and glossy and so goddamn pretty with that champagne eyeshadow and winged liner and Steve thought he was going to lose his mind then and there.

“I had to let you go because I’m afraid,” he admitted, “terrified of what might happen if anyone tries to get to you because of me.”

“Steve,” you tried, but couldn’t find words.

All this time, you thought he didn’t like you. That he wasn’t interested in you, didn’t want anything from you but a friendship at most. You’d taught yourself to ignore your constant desire for him because it would never be reciprocated.

“When you distanced yourself from me, I knew I’d messed up, but it was too late. I’d dug a hole for myself and there was nothing I could do to get back out,” he snorted, “I needed those girls as a distraction, but none of them are as good as you.”

He smiled sadly, taking your hands in his larger, calloused palms and began to rub circles on your knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’ve been stupid and an ass and I don’t deserve to even be in the same room as you. I fucked up, Y/N.”

The skin on the back of his neck was soft when you clasped your fingers around it, muscles tensing up when you began to pull him down to meet you. Without heels on, you’d lost a significant amount of height on him, causing him to tower over you. On a hot day, he could be your personal parasol, shielding you from the sun with his entire body.

“Idiot,” you mumbled before his mouth found yours.

He kissed you, hands gripping your waist out of fear that if he were to let go, he’d wake up in his bed alone. But it wasn’t a dream, he knew it because the soft feeling of your glossy lips against his own was unlike anything he’d ever felt.

“Idiot,” you said again when you took a moment to breathe.

“I am,” he kissed you again, the sweet taste of Chardonnay and that night’s dessert - creme brulee and vanilla ice cream - still lingering on your tongue, sending his senses in complete overdrive.

“I don’t want to stay away from you anymore,” he said finally, “I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

You smiled, heart ready to explode from the sudden burst of happiness you experienced for the first time in a long time. Maybe Wanda was right all along.

“Steve, I can defend myself. You know that, right?” You mused.

“I’ll kill them if they try.”

He captured your lips with his again. The scent of his cologne, oud, and pine, nearly caused your knees to buckle from under you. You didn’t even realize the goosebumps that lined your skin, or the fact that the date you were supposed to meet up with had already bailed on you. It didn’t matter, because you finally had Steve where you wanted him. It only took for the two of you to drift apart almost completely for you to realize that you could never truly get away from one another.

You placed your head on top of his chest, allowing his body heat to warm you up in a hug that engulfed you. It was nice, the feeling of his chest rising and falling slowly while you watched the city’s skyline in the dark. The want for it had been suppressed for so long you almost forgot what it felt like.

“Steve?” You asked, peeking up at him through false eyelashes and three layers of waterproof mascara.

“Hmm?”

“Your gift was my favorite.”

Yeah, all of those bitches definitely weren’t better than you.

#steve rogers imagine #steve x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers #marvel imagine #marvel smut #marvel #marvel writing #captain america imagine #captain america #captain america smut #captain america fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fic #jammywrites #avengers imagine #avenger x reader

321 notes · View notes

cloudywriter · 4 years

Text

i never got to say i love you - 1

~~~

A/N: heyy, so i wrote this like a month ago when i was super into reading some modern university au acotar fanfiction & then i even planned out a whole storyline but then i just kinda sat on it. but i like it so i decided i would just put it out there, i can continue it if people actually like it too.

masterlist & AO3

~~~

Feyre walked along the sidewalk leading to one of the dorm buildings of her new school, Velaris University.

Although she was focused on lugging her single suitcase behind her as one of the wheels was broken, she couldn’t help but admire the tall impressive structures that surrounded her. She could hear the trickle of the Sidra river to her right while observing the courtyard adjoining multiple dorm buildings to her left. The courtyard was large and pristine, made of stone, with an abstract silver metal statue which stood erect in the middle loosely resembling an infinity sign. The housing units were situated around it in a semicircle.

A path winded down from the courtyard and back towards the main section of campus, organized there were the various department buildings, the cafeteria, admissions, and so on. Feyre was making her way up said path after she retrieved her student key card from the main office.

She had just transferred from Courts Community College after she finally saved up enough money to afford tuition to VU.

In her senior year of high school, Feyre visited the small city in which Velaris was located, Prythian, with her school on a field trip. It was on that small excursion she fell in love with the Prythian and the university it had to offer. In particular, Feyre loved the huge art district that occupied nearly a quarter of the city.

Her family looked down upon her choice of major, art, they told her time and time again that it was impractical and her success rate in the field was microscopic. However, their comments didn’t deter her, she couldn’t imagine studying business or stem as her father suggested, it simply wasn’t for her. She wanted her life’s work to be doing what she loved even if it came with the risk of struggling financially down the road.

Feyre finally reached the tall double glass doors of the middle building. She grabbed her ID from her jacket pocket and held it up to the scanner. The device beeps three times loudly, flashing a dot of red light. Feyre tries again with the same result. She sighs, did she get a faulty card?

“Turn it around,” a feminine voice suggests from behind her.

Feyre whipped around. There stood a young woman, likely Feyre’s same age. She was breathtakingly pretty with long, bright blonde hair that stopped below her chest and eyes that were a shade darker than honey. She was fairly tall as was Feyre and her demeanor demanded respect. She seemed sure of herself and her looks and capitalized on them.

“The black bar on the back is only good for your dorm room door, to get in the main entrance you have to scan the front of your ID. I know, it’s weird, took me five minutes to figure it out yesterday,” the woman explained.

Feyre gave an appreciative smile and nodded, turning her attention back to the scanner which now responded to her with a flash of green.

“Thank you,” Feyre breathed as she opened the door and held it for the student behind her. The girl strolled through and smiled at her. “It’s no problem.”

Feyre directed her attention to the slip of paper in her hand, failing to remember where it said her room was. Room 223, Level 3. A blonde head peered over her shoulder.

“Room 223? You’re right next door to me!”

Feyre offered her a smile. “Does that mean you’ll show me the way?”

The blonde looked delighted and casually looped her arm through Feyre’s as if they’d been friends for years and led her towards the elevator. This slightly alarmed Feyre, she had never had very many friends let alone pretty girl friends, usually, they weren’t all too kind to Feyre. Despite the fact that her sisters, Nesta and Elain, were rather popular. Nesta easily took on the role of the pretty mean girl, though she wasn’t outwardly mean often. She just radiated the energy and didn’t bother with most people.

Elain, however, was friends with everybody and was sweet to all who crossed paths with her. She had almost everyone in the school wrapped around her finger, though she had no idea; from the boys who tripped over each other to open the door for her and the girls that scrambled to sit near her at lunch.

Feyre did have one redeeming quality in high school, well, redeeming person. Her high school sweetheart was Tamlin Spring, the football team’s star quarterback. He was one of the boys in the school that the girls drooled over constantly, but somehow it was Feyre who caught his eye and it was Feyre he asked to accompany him to homecoming. You’d think this high up connection would earn her some credit but no, the girls still teased her, convincing her it had all been a dare.

Feyre remembers, in a fit of rage and embarrassment, she stomped over to Tamlin’s locker after the last bell and confronted him. It was there he promised her that it was no prank, it was there he first kissed her. Feyre felt like they had clicked until her mother suddenly passed away from an undiagnosed illness, the death leaving an ugly, deep scar carved into Feyre’s and her family’s lives. Feyre’s life took a turn for the worse and with it so did the relationship she shared with Tamlin.

The gentle ding of an elevator door alerted Feyre before she found herself spiraling too deep into her thoughts.

Her leader didn’t seem to notice her brooding state as she took Feyre out and to the right, down a decently sized hall. The floor was mostly white tile with dark blue, almost purple tiles making a design down the middle; the walls were painted a light gray and littered with numerous posters. Feyre didn’t have time to read what all the papers said before the woman stopped outside a wooden door, a plate engraved with the numbers 223 to its left.

“This is your room. I’m just next door in 225.”

Feyre nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” The girl smiled at her and then her face lit up in realization.

“Oh, my gods! I didn’t even introduce myself!”

Feyre let loose a small smile. “I’m Feyre,” she said at last.

To her surprise, the mysterious girl pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, “I’m Morrigan, but I really just go by Mor.” Mor then pulled back, still holding Feyre at arm’s length.

“My roommate is named Vivane by the way. We dyed her hair silver in the bathrooms last night, you can’t miss her. She’s always hanging out with her boyfriend though, so if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to come find me!” Mor offered politely.

“Thank you.” Feyre breathed out a little sigh of relief having found my dorm without too much trouble.

A girl down the hall called Mor’s name, she muttered a quick see you later and disappeared into the herd of students and luggage.

Luckily, Feyre managed to open the door without issue and hauled her suitcase inside. She felt a little silly walking here with such a small amount of stuff, most students had a cart full of their belongings.

Feyre observed the room, the same white tiled floor and light gray walls as the corridor she just exited. It wasn’t ridiculously small, but it would still be a bit of a squeeze. Nothing Feyre wasn’t used to, having shared a room with her two older sisters growing up. A few boxes and bags were already scattered about on the right side of the room. It was clear her roommate had been here and left. She dropped her black, sticker ridden suitcase on the empty bed, plopping down next to it.

Both sides of the room were identical, two tall beds held up by drawers pressed against opposing walls, two nightstands, two narrow desks situated at the ends of each bed, and one decently sized wardrobe, all made of the same light creamy wood tone. Rather flimsy-looking violet plastic chairs were also tucked into the desks.

Feyre began to unpack her clothes into the drawers holding up her bed in an attempt to distract her growing anxiety. She pulled out her bag of art supplies and dropped it on her desk. The bag held a paint set that was on its last leg, paint brushes that were horribly frayed at the ends, both drawing and colored pencils, sad leftover eraser nubs, and her worn leather bound sketchbook.

The door to her room opened up with a click revealing who could only be her roommate standing on the threshold.

She was on the short side and was relatively curvy. Her skin was a tanned brown and she had dark brunette curly hair that was tied up in a loose bun. They both stood observing each other for a second.

“I see you took advantage of the half-off sale at the uni shop too.” She spoke with a smile, gesturing to the identical, oversized VU sweatshirts they were both wearing over black leggings.

Feyre returned her smile and nodded. “I’m Feyre.”

I held out my hand which she took instantly with a squeeze, “Alis.”

Feyre felt a sense of relief in Alis’s presence. She had a gentle, calming, almost motherly aura about her. Alis invited Feyre to join her for an early dinner to get to know each other.

The girls entered into a huge room adorned with the same marble looking tiles and gray paint mixed with pillars of dark brick filling the walls where windows were absent. Two of the walls were almost completely glass letting a vast amount of natural light fill the space. Above them, three huge circular lights hung from the high ceiling. Wooden tables of various sizes and the same shade of violet accent color plastic chairs neatly filled the room. Stretching along two of the walls were a number of booths to grab food.

Feyre and Alis settled on grabbing salads from one called Sabrina’s Kitchen and snatched a table for two near one of the walls of windows. They talked about the usual, their family, where they were from, what they were studying, etc.

Feyre learned that Alis was from the town adjacent to Feyre’s own, Springlee. She used to live there with her sister, her husband, and their two boys. She only left to pursue a degree in education but missed them terribly.

Feyre gave Alis a quick rundown of her own home life, leaving out many details that came with her dysfunctional family and explained she’d transferred after two years at Courts Community, working on an art degree. Alis loved the idea of having an artist as her roommate and insisted Feyre paint pictures to decorate their dorm.

They’d long since finished their salads but continued chatting as the cafeteria began to fill up nearer to dinner time.

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t look now but the hottest group of guys just strolled in,” Alis gasped.

Feyre giggled a little and rolled her eyes, she wasn’t the type of girl to fawn after hot guys anymore with her track record. She did not trust a pretty face. Alis’s eyes were transfixed behind Feyre.

“Would you like me to grab you a napkin to clean up your drool?” Feyre poked at Alis.

Alis playfully swatted her hand away. “Just look at them!”

Feyre huffed and turned around in her seat; she didn’t even need to ask for clarification from Alis it was clear who she was referring too. In one of the lines stood a group of three guys, she could hear them laughing and talking from her seat.

She could only see two of their faces, but that was all she needed. They all had similar shades of black or very dark brown hair and tanned complexions, not to mention how fit they all were. One’s hair was shoulder length and half was pulled back in a bun, the other two had shorter hair cut in rather nondescript styles. Though, the quietest one who had his arms crossed over his chest and only said a few words or offered a small smile every now and then had some curl in locks. The last one had his back turned to Feyre but if his backside and friends were any indication she could only assume he was equally as beautiful.

Noticing Feyre’s prolonged glance, Alis spoke up, “who needs a napkin now?”

Feyre snapped back around and giggled. “Shut up!”

The sheer number of students piling into the room had it near overflowing as Alis and Feyre tore their eyes from the boys and walked back to their dorm.

They sat on their beds and talked for a while more, mostly making up ridiculous ways to find out who those boys were and how to get their attention. Feyre doodled in her sketchbook while Alis suggested they break into admissions in an attempt to get some information on them, that plan quickly fell apart as she realized they’d need to know more than their faces.

Eventually, both girls turn in for the night.

~~~

enjoy, let me know if you want more or not!

#feysand au #feysand fanfiction #feysand fanfic #feyre x rhysand #feyre x rhys fanfic #feyre archeron #morrigan #acotar fanfic #acotar #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #azriel #i never got to say i love you #modern au #fanfiction #feysand

32 notes · View notes

bow-woahh · 5 years

Text

She-Ra Fics Masterlist

(It’s 100% Catradora but hey)

Started: 12/10/19 Last updated: 28/10/20

Multi-chapters:

Catradora —

What drove her insane... (Canon Divergent)(Completed) (4/4)(13k+)(Ao3 only)

There were a lot of things Adora would do that would get to Catra. A lot of things that would make Catra melt inside or combust. Or both. Things that would make her feel this intense feeling in her stomach, these flips, these... butterflies, is what she thought of them as.

Similarly, Adora didn't think she had many weaknesses, but most things Catra would do drove her up the wall. In a good way. In the best way. In a way that made her heart feel like it was about to hop out of her ribcage, that made her feel she was about to faint, from an unfamiliar, yet familiar, dazed dizziness.

Both of them drove each other insane.

Heal me after hurting (Modern AU)(Completed) (3/3)(29k+)(Ao3 only)

A million feelings she’s been fighting off for months threaten to overwhelm her: feelings of deep and utter care; of complete adoration; feelings of hot and harsh hatred; of absolute disdain; and abandonment, definitely abandonment; to confusion, anxiety, all bubbling as she tries to calm herself down; eyes closed, chanting the mantra:

you are in control, you are stronger now. ___

Catra gets sick and someone unexpected turns up to help.

bloom (just for you) (High School AU)(Ongoing) (8/?)(68k+)(Ao3 only)

She was probably about to tell her to fuck off, though maybe—hopefully—she'd say it nicely. Catra closed her eyes and hoped when she opened them that this whole situation was just a figment of her imagination. Instead, she saw a one word reply. One single word.

bet.

Adora Grayskull is the popular jock, the golden girl, the one that everyone loves. Catra D’riluth is the opposite. Yet despite this, they form an unlikely bond.

One shots:

Catradora —

What (Who) drives her to this? (Canon Divergent)(2k+)(Ao3 only)

Both Catra and Adora are tired. Both Catra and Adora reach a breaking point. Both Catra and Adora need to stop thinking. And when they do what will it drive them to do?

Catra’s Last Day (Canon Divergent)(2k+)(Ao3 only)

Catra has been anticipating this for months now, and now it's finally come - her last day at the Horde.

As the Sun Sets (Canon Compliant - Post S1)(1k+)(Ao3 only)

Watching the sunset was one way to end your day back at the Horde...

damn you, unrequited love (High school AU)(7k+)(Ao3 only)

Unrequited love sucks. That's what both Adora and Catra think.

Don’t sneak into the kitchen (Unless your girlfriend tells you to) (Canon Divergent)(2k+)(Ao3 only)

Catra has a bad habit of getting into mischief and Adora has a bad habit of agreeing to get into mischief with her.

They sneak into a kitchen and make a mess.

As the Petal Falls (Beauty and the Beast AU)(1.5k+)(Ao3 only)

Shadow Weaver comes to kill the beast and take back Adora, who to her knowledge is a hostage there, when she has actually chosen to stay there - with Catra.

If I was perfect (Modern Family AU)(2.5k+)(Ao3 only)

Call it a coincidence, but just as Adora said the word “baby” (for the second time actually), Catra had choked on her own saliva.

How had children not crossed her mind before?

Two Sides Of The Same Coin (Gang AU)(1k+)(Ao3 only)

"Come on, Catra! You know better than to trust the horde!"

"And you know better than to trust the Rebellion!"

"The Horde is manipulating you!"

"At least they don't hide it and do it behind your back!"

OR AU where the Rebellion is manipulating Adora and she doesn't realise (but Catra does)

I could get used to the sound of her voice (Royalty AU)(3.5k+)(Ao3 only)

Princess Adora was lucky enough for her parents not to marry her to a man. But, Princess Adora didn’t feel lucky in the slightest when she learned her wife to be was a right pain in the backside – or so she thought.

Who knew that all it would take for Princess Adora to fall was her voice?

Fiction will make you think (what if it was real?) (YouTuber AU)(8k+)(Ao3 only)

All of a sudden, a new thought hits her like a train. Why does it matter so much? Image? Catra doesn’t exactly have a good one anyway, and if anything, it would be worse for Adora. But she is already in most of her videos, so clearly Adora doesn’t care either. So what would actually change?

Wait, Catra’s train of thought stops. Why am I thinking about dating Adora anyway?

A YouTuber AU

Perspective (Prison AU)(25.5k+)(Ao3 only)

"Like you caved in Adora, you took the dive, and was it worth it?"

Adora looked at Catra, biting the inside of her cheek.

"I guess not."

Although, Adora couldn't deny that she felt almost lucky to have met someone like Catra, even if it was in here.

Twelve months. Adora had earned herself twelve months in Prison — it was virtually hell on earth. Or it least it should have been, if not for a certain someone.

Sink my teeth to save you (Vampire AU)(1.5k+) — Ao3 link —

“How did...what are you?”

The stranger stroked her chin, pondering something, then said, “Well, I’m the tall dark stranger your parents warned you about," flashing her abnormally sharp fang like teeth, almost in a grin, though it felt more like she was just showing off.

I'll be your crutch to cope (College/Modern AU)(1.5k+) —Ao3 link —

A late night (or early morning) text from Catra’s roommate leads to more than she bargains for.

Do you know any spells to get rid of this thing? (Modern with Magic AU)(2.5k+)—Ao3 link—

“You know, like, spells and stuff, right?” Adora asks, hold a little looser on her wrist.

“Uh...yeah?” Catra replies, baffled.

Catra’s a mage in training and Adora comes to her with a ridiculous request.

Christmas wouldn't be so bad (with you) (Modern Christmas AU)(1.9k+)—Ao3 link—

Catra wants to reject her responsibilities and problems for one night. Though, she can't avoid the one right in front of her for much longer.

As our differences divide us (Canon Divergent )(3.2k+)—Ao3 link—

Adora believes in the Horde. Catra doesn’t.

An AU where Adora (with the sword) stays with the Horde and Catra leaves for the Rebellion.

Lost my heart (now you've taken it back) (Valentine's AU)(1k+)—Ao3 link—

Catra decides to make her first Valentine's with Adora a memorable experience.

Demons hiding underneath (Modern Gang AU)(3.3k+)—Ao3 link —

She kept plummeting deeper and deeper into the once beautiful blue abyss. And the further down she got, the more Adora realised it was closer to darkness than blue. It seemed she would continue falling, falling into the darkness until—

“Adora?”

—

They may be running away, escaping from their problems, but that doesn’t mean Adora can avoid her own too.

Distressing (over you) (Modern Superhero AU)(3.1k+)(Ao3 only)

Wearing her signature smug smirk, she stood, hands on her hips with a knowing look. Despite how many times she'd seen her in the familiar getup before, it somehow always managed to get her stomach lurching: those thigh highs which somehow weren't impractical; the crimson red suit which clung to her body in all the right places (arguably there were no wrong ones); the black sleeves which came up to cover her hands; and the red mask with pointed ears obscuring her face. However, the blue-gold glow of her eyes was still inexplicably Catra. It still captured her essence. At least to Adora.

things you said with clenched fists (Modern AU)(1.5k+)—Ao3 link—

Alone, at loss for words, but still – I've won and I've lost but I've fell and I've fucked it up

An argument which stems from lies, deception and the past.

things you said when you were drunk (Modern AU)(1.6k+)(Ao3 only)

As Catra took her hand, with her mismatched eyes gleaming, and flashing her pearly white teeth in a grin, the smells, the noises of all the people around them dissolved into nothing more than white noise.

The aftershock (of your touch) (Modern Soulmates AU)(28k+)(Ao3 only)

“When one finds their soulmate, they don’t immediately know that is the case. Some believe it is a way for the universe, for the great First Ones to test our ability to listen to its calling, to let us steer the wheel to our own fates. Others believe it is an act of cruelty—to try our patience, to punish us for being unable to love without any inhibitions. No matter what one believes, it doesn’t rid us of the fact that finding one's other half does not allow for instant gratification.”

—

Catra, jaded by her past, moves to Bright Moon to start a new life, and finds herself growing increasingly closer to her neighbour, Adora. Initially, she's apprehensive, but no matter what she does, something draws her to the girl, and a revelation causes it to make a lot of sense—and none at all.

all the time in the world (Post-Canon)(1k+)—Ao3 link—

In space, it feels like they have all the time in the world. All the time to relearn the new parts of each other, all the time to indulge the old parts of each other, all the time to simply just be.

You have their attention (and I want yours) (Modern AU - Actors)(1.9k+)—Ao3 link—

It’s all made worse when Catra does look in her direction, searching for none other than Adora’s eyes. She sees her sitting there, seething, and all she does is raise an eyebrow, then after a moment, grin. She can tell. And that only makes Adora more agitated as Catra turns back to the crowd and that girl is practically hanging off her arm. Now, Adora really is contemplating going up there, kissing the smirk of Catra’s face where everyone can see.

a regular customer of mine (Modern AU - Bakery)(3.9k)(Ao3 only)

Catra works at a bakery and Adora comes by every day trying to build up the courage to ask her out (unbeknownst to her).

Headcanons + Shorter Works:

Catradora —

Fate Only Plays a Part (Canon divergent)(Ao3 only)

Adora finds a wounded and almost lifeless Catra in the woods and decides to bring her back to the castle.

I want to be with you when I grow up (Canon Divergent)(Ao3 only)

They are supposed to be fighting- they should be killing each other.

But they never can. And they never will.

Bad Dreams (Canon Divergent)

She tastes like coffee (Modern AU)

I like me better when I'm with you (Modern AU)

Adora's birthday (Canon Divergent)

The Start of Something Wonderful (Canon Divergent)

Catradora Summer AU (Modern AU)(Snippet)

things you said when we forgave each other (Post-Canon)(Written before S5)

Reunion (S5 speculation)

#catradora #spop #spop fics #catradora fics #micahs writing #micahs fics #masterlist #spop masterlist #shera #she ra masterlist #about time i made one #so your welcome

354 notes · View notes

toxoiddiamond · 4 years

Photo

T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Seong Ki-mun Nicknames: He briefly went by the name Kyle in middle school because he was tired of people teasing him about his “weird” name. But by the time he got to high school he didn’t care anymore and was back to going by his real name. (He also started purposely mispronouncing the names of anyone who made fun of his name– think A-a-ron.) Age: 30 Birthday: November 23rd Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius Birthplace: Anaheim, California Current Location: NYC, New York Speaks: English, Korean (fluently, but his family teases him about his “American accent” all the time) Dominant Hand: Right Education: He got his Associates Degree from LaGuardia Community College, then transferred to NYU and got his Bachelors in Arts & Sciences. He cheerfully refers to college as the most money he’s ever wasted in his life. Occupation: Teaching Assistant in the English department at CUNY Hunter College. He mostly assists with the Writing and Poetry classes, but also helps out with various Literature classes and acts as a substitute teacher within the department if a professor is out sick or anything. He sometimes ends up being treated more like a personal assistant– sent out for coffee or lunch, asked to type up notes or sort paperwork, but he doesn’t mind. Vehicle: Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle bought him a white 1998 Honda Prelude when he graduated from high school, and he still has it to this day. He doesn’t drive much since it’s so impractical in the city, but he likes having it around as an option for longer trips, road trips, etc. Worldly Possessions: Tons of random art supplies– pencils, charcoal, sketchbooks, clay, paints, brushes, etc. Notebooks completely filled with poetry (with many of the poems scribbled out). A fancy smart TV. A bunch of bean bag chairs. A super nice tablet (Ki-Mun may have a bit of an obsession with having the latest technology~). Tons of socks– like, way too many socks. He has an entire dresser drawer just for his socks. Pet(s): A super adorable calico munchkin kitty named Bugsy.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: He says 5’8”, but he’s closer to 5’7”. Hair: Dark black. Very full, soft and shiny. Always seems to fall perfectly into place even with the bare minimum of effort. He usually just puts a bit of pomade in it and tousles it. Facial Hair: His facial hair is very patchy, so he doesn’t bother growing it out. Eye Colour: Brown Skin Tone: A makeup artist friend of his, Andi, occasionally asks to put makeup on Ki-mun as practice (and also for fun) and has informed Ki-mun that his skin tone is “warm beige.” She also informed Ki-mun that he is an Autumn– Ki-mun doesn’t know what that means, but he likes to share it as a fun fact anytime he has to introduce himself to a group of students. Clothing: Ki-mun dresses like a pretty typical hipster, honestly. Skinny jeans, oversized sweaters, band tees, peacoats, cardigans, leather jackets, etc. He usually wears contacts, but occasionally wears big ol’ glasses. Distinguishing Marks: Does being adorable count as a distinguishing feature? Face Claim: Justin H Min

H E A L T H Physical Health: Not bad. Ki-mun was born HIV positive, but has been taking antiretroviral medications since he was a kid. At this point, his viral load is basically non-existent and he is considered to be in remission, with a very good prognosis. Because of the medication he takes, his immune system is not the best, and he is much more susceptible to getting sick as a result. During cold and flu season, Ki-mun will often wear a mask when he’s out in public– his aunt and uncle ingrained that habit in him from a young age (and also wore masks themselves so he wouldn’t feel like the odd one out). Physical Abilities/Limitations: He’s decent at almost anything to do with art, but is especially good at drawing with charcoal. He also likes doing speed-sketches, figure sketches, etc. He is also weirdly good at baseball, and plays on the New York City Metro Baseball Team as part of the NY Blacksox during the season (June through August). Also, he is great at tossing food directly into people’s mouths– popcorn, M&Ms, etc. He hardly ever misses. Addictions: Definitely caffeine, but no serious addictions. Allergies: He gets a mild rash when he eats or touches strawberries. Mental Health: It’s not horrible? It’s not great, but not horrible. As much as he denies it, Ki-mun is pretty lonely, partly because he has such a hard time letting anyone in. He’s not the most trusting person, and tends to keep people at arms’ length until he’s sure they can be trusted. At the moment, he only has one person in his life that he would actually consider a friend. Everyone else is just an acquaintance to him. Ki-mun has sort of “accepted” the idea that he may end up being alone forever, even though that’s not really what he wants.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Ki-mun was born in Anaheim, California, and got off to a pretty rough start. His mother had AIDS, and unfortunately, it was passed on to Ki-mun. He was fine and had no symptoms for a few months, but eventually began to get sick, though thanks to swift treatment, he recovered quickly and the HIV never progressed. As Ki-mun got older, his mother’s health began to deteriorate, until finally they moved in with Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle so they could help take care of her. She eventually was bedridden and had to stay in the hospital full time. One of Ki-mun’s earliest memories is of visiting his mother in the hospital for the last time, which is absolutely one of his worst memories. After his mother passed away, Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle took him in and raised him as one of their own children. They love him like crazy and were amazing parents to him, and Ki-mun has always been grateful to them– not only for raising him, but for loving him as much as they love their actual children and never making him feel like he mattered less. He had a relatively happy childhood in spite of everything. After high school, Ki-mun decided to move to New York– he wanted a change of pace, and wanted a chance to start over and reinvent himself. He found a job and began taking classes at the community college, managed to get his associate’s degree after a year and a half, and transferred to NYU to get his Bachelors. Ki-mun was a very dedicated student and didn’t spend a lot of time getting to know any of his fellow classmates, going to parties, making friends, etc. Still, he ended up being roped into a friend/study group, which is where he ended up meeting Spencer. Spencer was the first person that Ki-mun had serious feelings for. They were friends for the better part of two years, each attracted to the other but both too nervous to say anything. Finally, a week before graduation, Ki-mun got up the courage to confess how he felt, and they became an official couple for all of one day. Unfortunately, once Ki-mun explained to Spencer about his diagnosis, Spencer flew off the handle and accused Ki-mun of being deceptive, being a liar, being manipulative, etc. He told Ki-mun he was disgusting and to never contact him again, and that was that. Shortly after Ki-mun’s heart was smashed to pieces, he packed up everything he owned and moved to a new area of the city, wanting to put at least a little bit of distance between himself and his old friend group. It was here that he met Andi and became close friends with her, and also found a job at CUNY Hunter College. Although Ki-mun feels that his life is generally good and happy– he enjoys his job, has a really good friend and coworkers he likes, he has gotten really into his poetry lately and has been reading it at open mic nights– he can’t help but feel that something is missing from his life. Job History: He worked in his aunt and uncle’s restaurant from ages fifteen to eighteen. When he moved to New York, he did a little bit of job hopping before finally settling on a job at a grocery store– he stayed at that job until he graduated from college and took his job at CUNY Hunter. Fondest Memories: Despite the fact that his childhood was pretty rough at times, Ki-mun has a lot of great memories as well. Family trips to Korea, various birthdays, his graduation day. He also has fond memories of his job at the grocery store– as much as he didn’t enjoy the work, he really liked his coworkers. Plus, all the various spur-of-the-moment adventures Andi has dragged him into. Worst Experiences: His mother dying when he was four years old. Finally getting to be with the person he’d been hung up on for two years, only to be broken up with after less than a day.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Sarcastic. Often sounds like he might be annoyed. He speaks in monotone with most people, even when he’s not in a bad mood, so people often think he’s angry or doesn’t like them (and to be fair, they are sometimes correct). If he’s talking to a friend, he’ll definitely be more animated and not so grumpy. And if, by chance, he’s talking to someone he’s attracted to (*coughDODGERcough*) then he’ll get a little tongue-tied, like he wants to flirt but he doesn’t really know how. Accent: American. When he speaks Korean, his American accent does come through a bit, something his family likes to tease him about. Favorite Phrases or Words: When he’s done listening to someone and wants them to stop talking to him/stop telling him a boring story, he will just say “cool” in the most monotone voice he can manage. It usually works. Usual Curse Words: He says “Jesus Christ” and “oh fuck” a lot.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: ISFP-T Sense of Humor: Definitely sarcastic and dry. He can be mean at times, but usually only if the person deserves it. As a result, Ki-mun has been described as “sassy” more than once. When he’s with people he actually likes, Ki-mun is a lot more lighthearted and not so sarcastic. Habits: Twists his lips a little when he’s thinking hard. Rolls his eyes when someone says something he thinks is dumb. Also rolls his eyes and sighs if he’s stuck in a conversation he really doesn’t want to have. When he’s reading his poetry out loud, he never looks up at the audience/whoever is listening because he’ll get too nervous if he sees everyone looking at him. Fears/Phobias: As much as he tries to act like he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, Ki-mun is very secretive about certain aspects of himself, and is very afraid of someone finding out more about him than he wants them to know. He can’t stand having his privacy invaded, and it honestly makes him feel sick to think of the wrong person knowing too much about him (he still hates that he ever let himself be so vulnerable with Spencer, and blames himself for not seeing more clearly what kind of person he was). Strengths: Ki-mun is very creative and has a knack for all kinds of art. Although it’s hard to get to know him, once he becomes friends with someone, he is fiercely loyal and would do anything for them. As a teacher/teaching assistant, he is exceptionally patient– much more so than in other aspects of his life. He is always happy to answer questions and help anyone student who needs it. Underneath his harsh exterior, Ki-mun is a kind person who just has trouble opening himself up to others. Flaws: He has built up a lot of walls around himself in an effort to try and keep himself from getting hurt. Every time he’s let those walls down, he’s ended up regretting it and building them back up even higher. Anyone who wants to get to know him has to be very determined. Ki-mun is also not the type of person to be nice just because social conventions say he should– if he doesn’t like someone, he won’t talk to them. If he thinks someone is boring, he will tell them so. He can’t stand small talk and will never willingly engage in it. This makes him a very difficult person to interact with. Hopes/Desires: He is not entirely sure what he wants to do with his life, but right now, he’s happy just working and exploring his options. All he knows is that he wants to keep writing poetry, possibly get some published, and keep working in a field that lets him play to his strengths. Wildest Fantasy: A cure for HIV/AIDS being found. Self-Esteem: It’s a little complicated. On some level, Ki-mun is confident in himself and proud of all he’s accomplished in his life. But at the same time, he has it in his head that he doesn’t deserve some of the things he wants, such as a romantic relationship, marriage, a family, etc. He kind of views himself as damaged goods, unfortunately. Religion: He was raised Protestant, and his family used to be fairly devout. He went to church every Sunday, they read scriptures and said a family prayer every night, etc. But the older the kids got, the less active in the church the entire family became. His parents and siblings are still casually religious, and Ki-mun has held on to certain aspects of it, but he doesn’t care about going to church or reading the bible or anything.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Usually on his stomach, occasionally on his back. Boxers or Briefs?: Briefs Day or Night?: He’s okay with both. He works during the day, which he likes, and in the late afternoon/evening he goes to the cafe and hangs out or reads his poetry. Top or Bottom?: Bottom, but he’s willing to switch if his partner wants to. Partying or Relaxing?: He likes parties, but he really prefers relaxing when it comes right down to it.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Andi is currently the only person Ki-mun would call a friend. He has a lot of acquaintances, but no one else that he’s really close to. Relationship History: He dated a couple of people in high school, but it was just puppy love and nothing serious. He had a couple of flings in college as well, just short-lived, purely physical relationships, and the only sexual encounters Ki-mun has ever had. And then there was Spencer. Ki-mun has not even been on a date since that whole debacle. Sexual Partners: Just the two guys Ki-mun had brief flings with. Thoughts About Sex: He enjoys it. He’s also pretty sure he’s never going to have it again, and has come to accept that.

P A R E N T S Name(s): His mother’s name was Seong Bo-ram. His aunt and uncle are named Park Min-ji and Park Kang-dae. Age(s): His mother passed away at the age of 28. His aunt is 57 and his uncle is 60. Social Standing: His mother was very well-liked, but was shunned by a lot of her friends after she not only became pregnant out of wedlock, but ended up contracting HIV. His aunt and uncle are well-respected in their community, and also well-off financially, firmly in the upper middle class. Occupation(s): His mom was a flight attendant. His aunt and uncle run a small Korean restaurant which is extremely popular– on weekends there’s often a line of people outside waiting to get in. Religion: Protestant-ish. Quality of Relationship With Their Children: Ki-mun’s mom loved him a ton– the reason she left him to her sister and brother-in-law is because she knew they would love Ki-mun as much as she did, and she was right. Ki-mun is still very close to his aunt and uncle. Living/Deceased: His mother is dead, but his aunt and uncle are alive.

S I B L I N G (S) Name(s): Park Kang-min, Jang-mi (aka Jamie) Sanders, and Park Bo-ram (named after Ki-mun’s mother). Age(s): 33, 31, and 27. Social Standing: They’re all doing quite well in life and are upstanding members of society. Occupation(s): Kang-min is a commercial airline pilot, Jamie is currently a stay-at-home mom but plans to go back to work as an RN once her kids are a little older, and Bo-ram is a violinist with the California Symphony. Religion: They’re all sorta Protestant, but Jamie is the only one of them who still goes to church now and then. Quality of Relationship with Character: Even though they are technically Ki-mun’s cousins, they always refer to him as their brother. They’re all pretty close; they don’t talk all the time or anything, but when they do, they get along very well and have always enjoyed each other’s company. Living/Deceased: All living~

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Ki-mun lives in a modest studio apartment fairly close to both his work and Central Park. The apartment is well-decorated, with a lived-in, cozy sort of look. He’s very comfortable where he is, not at all bothered by living in a small space, especially considering how much more expensive it would be to upgrade to a one-bedroom.

#character: seong ki-mun #character sheet #ship: moondog

2 notes · View notes

nicolewrites · 4 years

Text

coming home - i

It's Sylvain's birthday and I probably should have been nice to him, but instead, I wrote this.

This started as a one-shot, but when I hit 4 000 words, I reconsidered. The first part is long and covers the Academy Phase, the second part is much shorter and covers the 5-years of war, and the last part is long and covers the War Phase.

Rating: T+ Genre: Angst, Friendship Characters: [Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea], Glenn Fraldarius Words: 6,230

“I am alone in a house of ghosts and monsters, he had written.” / a character study in three parts

AO3

one - ruin and bone

As a child, Sylvain had always considered Fhirdiad his home. He had spent much of his youth there, running about with Felix and Dimitri and Ingrid and Glenn. Fhirdiad had been a place of warmth and happy memories. His mother would smile there, when in the company of the queen or the king or the Duke and Duchess Fraldarius.

Margravate Gautier never quite felt like home. The house was large and dark and it was always frigid cold. There was always grim news coming from the northern border with Sreng and his father would disappear into his study for days on end if an issue came up. Castle Gautier meant tutors and tiptoeing and etiquette lessons.

It also meant Miklan.

It meant stealing his mother’s make-up to hide bruises and hoping that the servants would know well enough to keep their mouths shut, lest the Margrave or Margravine find out the truth. It meant locking himself in his room or learning the quickest ways to run from one room to another if Miklan was angry and looking for a fight.

It meant almost freezing to death in the bottom of a well, only to be saved by a horrified Glenn Fraldarius and a traumatized young Felix. Ingrid and her youngest older brother had been searching for him too, but Glenn just put an arm around Sylvain and kept him away from all the questions.

Sylvain loved Glenn. He never asked questions and he knew just enough white magic to make the aches go away. That day, he had shoved a bowl of steaming soup, cooked by Ingrid’s brother, into his hands and had stubbornly sat with him until Sylvain had eaten the whole bowl and half of a second one. Glenn made Ingrid and Felix stop staring and sent Ingrid’s brother to retrieve the Margrave and Duke Fraldarius.

“I’ll kill him,” Glenn had promised in the same cool, steely tone that Felix would adopt years later.

Glenn had only been two years older than Sylvain, but that made him only just over a year younger than Miklan. But, Sylvain loved Glenn. He had no love for Miklan and he certainly didn’t want to send Felix’s older brother in to deal with his messes.

“No, you can’t,” he had argued.

Glenn had stared him down. “Then tell me what he does to you so I can teach you to really fight and to deal with him on your own.”

So Glenn taught Sylvain to use an axe because Miklan used a lance. Margrave Gautier had been training both of his sons to wield lances because it was the weapon of a cavalier and a soldier. Glenn used swords mostly, but he pressed an axe into Sylvain’s hands and taught him to use the brute strength of an axe to overwhelm the reach and precision of a lance. He would be in trouble against a sword, but he could break a lance with a cleverly placed blow from an axe.

Miklan beat the shit out of him the moment that the Fraldarius and Galatea families had left the Margravate. He had broken a training lance over Sylvain’s back and left him curled uselessly on the floor of the Gautier training grounds. Sylvain had contemplated waiting to die there, but his father had stumbled upon him shortly after.

He expected pity or anger towards his brother. He had not expected the cool gaze of a detached nobleman assessing him.

“You are the heir of House Gautier. Do not wallow and do not falter. I will not tolerate your failure again.”

Six months later, Sylvain had been out with a young woman in town and had returned late at night. He had walked past his father’s study and caught the sound of a brutal beating. He hadn’t had to look through the cracked door to know that his father was doling out discipline upon Miklan.

Dinner the next day had been unbearable where his father had eaten calmly at the table while his mother tried to keep a fluttering conversation up with the Margrave and with Sylvain since Miklan had been confined to his room by healers until he was better rested.

There was a book on Crests and a treaty of government on Sylvain’s desk that night. He burned the book on Crests in his fireplace and wrote to Glenn that night.

I am alone in a house of ghosts and monsters, he had written. He expected no reply from Glenn. The Fraldarius heir wasn’t one for sentimental feelings and connections.

Duke Fraldarius invited Sylvain and the Margravine to Duchy Fraldarius the next week and Sylvain got to leave Margravate Gautier. Duchy Fraldarius was further south than Gautier, so it was warmer, and the company was pleasant. After a week of sparring with Felix and Glenn, Sylvain began to feel a little better.

Then he had learned of Glenn’s engagement. He supposed it wasn’t entirely impractical. Ingrid was a young, Crest-bearing woman and Glenn was the heir to a rich noble house. When Ingrid had come to visit with her two oldest brothers the next day, she had worn a dress for the first time in a long time and she had blushed when Glenn had taken her hand. Sylvain suddenly didn’t feel welcome at Duchy Fraldarius as the Duke and Count Galatea negotiated. Duchess Fraldarius and his mother tried to keep the children busy, but there had been an air of somberness over the house for a few days.

He wrote to Dimitri and the prince gave him an out, welcoming him and all of the others to come to Fhirdiad. On the ride there, Ingrid had chattered on about Pegasus Knights and how much she adored the flying steeds and Sylvain had found himself with a startling amount of patience to discuss the topic, even once Glenn and Felix had long exhausted the subject of conversation.

Sylvain liked to watch Ingrid wave her hands and point as she told him stories and her hopes about one day becoming a knight herself. Count Galatea’s expression had grown firm, but Sylvain had ignored Ingrid’s father and had asked her about other flying creatures, besides the pegasus, who would make good steeds.

Glenn had grabbed him by his collar when they made camp for the night on the way to Fhirdiad. “Don’t forget who’s marrying her, Gautier.” The Fraldarius heir’s voice had been flat and more reminiscent of the way that he spoke to Miklan.

Curiosity had sparked in Sylvain’s stomach at the idea that Glenn, who was the ideal, prominent knight, was jealous of Sylvain’s easy conversations with Ingrid. Ingrid who obviously preferred Glenn and tolerated Sylvain. It made the bitter knot in his own stomach lessen. He loved Glenn, but he never denied the fact that he was jealous of Glenn for many things.

He rode with Felix the next day, talking about Dimitri and the new sword Felix had gotten for his birthday. Glenn had ridden back with Ingrid, but Sylvain never found himself able to escape the scrutiny of Ingrid’s gaze for the rest of the trip.

Fhirdiad was nice. It was a breath of fresh air to spar with Dimitri, even if the prince’s strikes carried twice as much strength as Glenn’s because at least Dimitri used a lance and Sylvain was able to pick up an axe to notch a single hit before he was soundly defeated. It had grown tiresome getting beaten by both sword-wielding Fraldarius brothers and it wasn’t particularly pleasant to attempt to fight Ingrid. She was quicker than him anyway, so he mostly just continued to lose. But, at least he got a hit in on Dimitri who was brute strength and efficiency, much like someone else Sylvain knew.

A year later, Glenn was inducted into the royal order of knights and accompanied the Royal Family to Duscur. Dimitri came back alone save for Dedue, a Duscur boy who was loyal to the death. Felix lashed out and Ingrid withdrew and Sylvain used the opportunity to leave Margravate Gautier. He couldn’t say anything useful to Felix, so he just let the young Fraldarius heir beat his anger out against Sylvain’s poorly constructed axe and lance posture.

He visited Galatea and did something that neither the Count or any of Ingrid’s four brothers had succeeded in. He got Ingrid to open her door even if it was just so that she could punch him in the shoulder and then rest her head against his chest while she cried and cried and cried.

The Margrave–Sylvain had long since tired of calling him Father–summoned him home and not even Ingrid’s need for comfort could have the Count convinced to defy his father’s wishes.

Sylvain withstood three more of his brother’s attempts on his life before his father finally stepped in. Sylvain was sent out with the Margravine for a day trip into town. He went, happily, engaging his mother in pleasant conversation and showing off his silver tongue by charming four young women for the sheer purpose of drawing a smile out of the woman who had grown tired and more reserved as time went on. She had scolded him endlessly for his flirting, but at least she had smiled.

By the time they returned to Castle Gautier, Miklan was gone, disowned and removed. His things were gone by three days later, as was the portrait of him that hung in the eastern wing, and Sylvain didn’t see his parents interact for a week after that. His mother wouldn’t even speak to him.

He took a different girl to bed every night for three weeks until his father called him to his study and backhanded him across the face. The Gautier ring cut his lip and Sylvain tasted blood. He wondered how many times the ring had struck Miklan and he voiced the question stupidly. The Margrave had sent him away, insisting cruelly that he was to clean up his act and spend the next week at a fort near the Sreng border.

Margravine Gautier died six weeks after Miklan was disowned. She died of stress-induced illness, his father told the people. Her grief over the betrayal of her eldest son had been her undoing. Sylvain had seen the blood in his mother’s private quarters. Illness didn’t lead to bloodstains in a bathing chamber that would never truly go away.

Sylvain’s friends gathered in Margravate Gautier a week later for the funeral. Dimitri did not attend. Rufus was loathe to let the young prince leave Fhirdiad, so his regards came via a letter handed to him by Rodrigue Fraldarius.

Felix had hugged him once for a very brief amount of time and had told Sylvain that he was never allowed to speak of it again. The lump in his throat would ensure that. Ingrid, on the other hand, had taken his hand the day she arrived and had held it almost the entire time she was visiting. Felix and Ingrid and he sat in his chambers and Sylvain cried and Felix listened and Ingrid held both of their hands. Ingrid had lost her mother when she was small and she had lost a fiancé in Glenn. Felix had lost his brother and his closest companion when Glenn died. Sylvain had lost a friend in Glenn and his mother.

He didn’t want to think what Miklan was to him.

Two weeks later, Margrave Gautier tried to enroll Sylvain at the Officer’s Academy, but Sylvain managed to deflect his father for another two years so that he could attend with his friends. He put the diplomacy skills he had been amassing to work and was pleasantly surprised when his father agreed.

The rooms in the dorms of the Officer’s Academy were small and simple and very different from the arched ceilings of the palace in Fhirdiad, or the large windows of the Fraldarius Estate, or the grand presentation of Castle Gautier.

Sylvain’s room was at the end of the hallway and his neighbour was Dimitri. Felix was on Dimitri’s other side, but Ingrid was at the far end of the hallway, as far away from him as she could be.

Sylvain was still unpacking on the first night when Ingrid showed up in his room. Apparently Felix was at the training grounds and Dimitri was off with Claude, heir to House Riegan, and Edelgard, the Imperial Princess. Sylvain had broken out a strategy game that he had brought to keep them occupied and it seemed to do the trick.

Ingrid played with the end of her braid when she had a particularly tough move ahead of her, so Sylvain would move his pieces so that hers were more pressured until she had to make a mistake. Ingrid was smart, but Sylvain had a distinct advantage in years of practice in reading body language. She was annoyed when she lost, but she had thanked him for the distraction anyways.

Mercedes was tricky. She was elegant and calm and stunningly beautiful, but she seemed just clueless enough to brush off his every attempt at flattery. Sylvain could have sworn that he was in love with her from the moment he met her, but Mercedes was sharper and more insightful than he had bargained for.

They took tea together in the garden one day and she had called out his wandering eye to where a group of female Golden Deer students were sitting and stealing glances at him with less than coy smiles.

“You haven’t got the slightest idea what sincerity is, do you?” Mercedes asked calmly, as easily as if she had just asked his favourite colour.

Sylvain stared at her.

“All these girls who follow you around, parading your adoration, and yet you throw them away like they don’t even have feelings.”

Mercedes was right. She knew it, he knew it, and he had no room to argue. Sylvain sipped his tea and flashed her a winning smile.

“I don’t know,” he tried anyways, “I like to think that they’ve worn themselves out from the pleasantness of my company. Wouldn’t want anyone to get bored, would I?”

Mercedes nibbled on a cookie and studied him. She looked into his soul in a way no one ever had before. Maybe it was because she had a few years on him and had grown up in a church, but there was something so deceptively assuring and non-threatening about her. Sylvain had seen her magic in action and he knew she had studied at the School of Sorcery with Annette.

“One day you’ll run out of stories to spin and places to run away to,” she said calmly and Sylvain wondered if she knew he had hidden in both Ashe and Dimitri’s rooms at separate times that week.

Felix locked himself in his room when his father arrived at Garreg Mach. When Sylvain heard the news, he had wanted to do the same. Instead, he had tilted his chin, flattened his frown into a neutral expression, and looked to the Professor for orders.

Ashe and Annette and Mercedes were all watching him curiously. Even Dedue and Dimitri seemed intrigued to observe Sylvain’s reaction to the news that Duke Fraldarius had brought south the monastery from Margravate Gautier. Only Felix and Ingrid understood the true gravity of the situation and Felix was hidden away, so it was only Ingrid.

Ingrid, who twisted her fingers through his under the table in the classroom as the Professor instructed and created a plan of action. Ingrid, who refused to relent her grip on his hand the more and more uncomfortable Sylvain got through the planning process. Ingrid, who, despite his protests, brought two trays of food to his room that night and ate with him in private.

Ingrid quizzed him for his Cavalier certification exam and made him challenge her for her Pegasus Knight certification exam. Sylvain was pretty sure he would have failed the exam, but when he walked into it, Ingrid’s voice echoed through his head and guided him through each of the questions.

Ferdinand passed the exam at the same time as Sylvain and had gone on a long-winded tangent to express his delight at being certified in a “truly noble” class. Sylvain had looked at the mare that he’d ridden to pass the test and the training lance in his hand and had felt distinctly sick to his stomach.

He would have been perfectly content sitting alone in his room once they returned to the monastery, but that’s where people would be looking for him, so he avoided the dorms and instead sequestered himself in the Knight’s Hall.

So far, Dedue was the only one who had found him and hadn’t bothered to try and make Sylvain talk. He had simply recommended that he clean the blood from his face and hands and stop clutching the shaft of the Lance of Ruin hard enough to break. Sylvain had replied that he didn’t have Dimitri’s penchant for breaking weapons, but he had followed the rest of Dedue’s advice.

He poked the fire poker into the dying embers of the fire and inhaled a breath of hot air as the log turned over. For a minute, the poker felt like a weapon in his hand and he vividly recalled the way his lance had cut through his brother’s flesh.

Miklan’s dying snarl echoed in his brain almost loud enough to drown out the person calling his name, but Sylvain looked back and saw Hilda Valentine Goneril standing at the edge of the training pit in the hall. She had a hand on her hip and her head was cocked to the side.

“Hello Hilda,” he greeted, trying to keep his tone pleasant.

“You don’t have to be nice, Sylvain,” she pointed out flatly, striding towards him.

He slid over on the couch to make room for her, but Hilda leaned in, sitting on the arm of the couch and draping her legs over his lap. Sylvain placed a hand on her calf and massaged it gently. The horrible, self-destructive part of his brain wanted him to pull her in and ruin their friendship, but he managed to keep just enough hold on himself to refrain from doing so.

“What are you doing here?”

“Claude said you’d be here,” she answered, avoiding the question.

“Why would he care?”

“He doesn’t really,” she agreed. “But, apparently Dimitri cares and Claude thought sending me here might be a better idea than throwing you to the Lions.”

“Mmm,” Sylvain conceded. “Are you here to comfort me?”

Hilda shifted, leaning forward so that she fell into his lap. She pressed his shoulders back against the back of the couch and straddled him. Her breath was warm on his face and she smelled pleasant. She traced a finger down his throat and Sylvain’s heart thudded in his chest.

“I was thinking more of a distraction. You and I are both good at this part, aren’t we?”

He kissed her. She kissed him back, practically buzzing against him, but then she pulled back, something unreadable glimmering in her bright pink eyes.

“What now?” she asked him breathily.

Sylvain thought about kissing her and carrying her back to his room, but he liked Hilda. He didn’t really want to run her off because she was being playful and distracting him from bad things going on.

He kept one hand on her back, keeping her balance, but he dropped his other hand to his side. “Not that I don’t love a good distraction,” he began.

Hilda laughed and kissed him again, sliding his hand to her waist with one of her own hands. “You and me both.”

He leaned back and grinned at her. “I rather think you could destroy me right now, Miss Goneril,” Sylvain said, changing tactics.

Hilda removed his hands from her waist and climbed off his lap, her mood shifting. “I like you, Sylvain. Definitely not like this, but it’s no good to see you spiralling.” She straightened her hair and her blouse and skirt before giving him a last, somewhat shrewd look. “It wouldn’t do for anyone to be destroyed right now. Ingrid and Felix are looking for you.”

Hilda left then, leaving Sylvain to stare at smouldering embers and feel guilty about not talking to his childhood friends.

Dorothea sat down next to him at the feast and plucked the goblet from his hand, taking a drink. She wrinkled her nose at the taste of the wine and handed it back to him. Sylvain sipped from it and waited for her to say something.

“If Claude is going to smuggle wine in, he should have at least made it good wine,” Dorothea said dryly.

Sylvain swirled the wine in the goblet. “It’s a Derdriu wine. I think he’s obligated to only drink this wine, if anything.

“I suppose you don’t grow enough grapes to make wine way up north, do you?”

Sylvain thought about the heavy blankets of snow that had a tendency of cutting harvest season short back at the Margravate. “No,” he agreed. “We’re much more of a hard liquor type of place.”

Dorothea swiped his cup again and drank. He wasn’t going to tell her off for doing it, so she knew she could get away with it. Dorothea was good enough company. She wasn’t a member of his own house, celebrating their victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and she was awfully pretty.

“Any interest in sticking around longer?” he asked.

Dorothea raised an eyebrow. “Are you propositioning me?”

He laughed. “From one like-minded individual to another, we should get out of here before Ferdinand has the gall to try and approach you again.”

She leaned in close enough that he could smell her perfume. It was something floral and oddly familiar. She pressed her lips practically against his ear when she spoke.

“Oh Sylvain, you know me so well.” She leaned back, smirking at him, and Sylvain caught the briefest moment where her eyes strayed to something over his shoulder.

He glanced back and saw Ingrid watching the two of them with an unreadable expression on her face. He made eye contact with her and raised an eyebrow. Ingrid looked down and guilt prickled suddenly in his stomach.

“Shall we?” Dorothea asked, standing up from the table.

He followed her out of the dining hall towards the fishing pond. Dorothea headed out onto the pier and adjusted her skirt before sitting down on the end, dangling her feet above the water. Sylvain sat next to her. His heels were only about an inch above the water, so he was careful not to dunk his feet.

“Sometimes I don’t know how you nobles do it,” Dorothea said. “You deal with all the pomp and circumstance with a stupid, vapid smile on your face even if you actively hate each other.”

Sylvain was a bit surprised at her sudden bitterness, but he knew well enough that Dorothea didn’t have an excellent opinion on the nobility, especially those from the Empire. “It takes practice,” he replied calmly.

She snorted a laugh. “Right. It’s still strange to see the House Leaders getting along. One petty disagreement and we could be launched right into a war.”

Sylvain thought about Dimitri. His friend was undeniably different from how he had been before the Tragedy of Duscur, but he had seemed much more put together and composed in the time they had been at the Officer’s Academy.

“I don’t know,” he said, “it feels like we’re all some big, mostly messed up family here.”

Dorothea tilted her head towards him. “Got a lot of experience with messed up families?”

He paused, feeling uncomfortable and she dropped her gaze away, biting her lip.

“Sorry, that’s probably not a good subject.”

He shrugged. “My brother is dead.”

“I meant your mother,” she mumbled. Sylvain tensed and Dorothea touched his knee gently. “Ingrid told me.”

“Oh,” he mumbled blankly.

Dorothea looked guilty. “I just wanted to know about Glenn and somehow we talked about a lot more than that. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sylvain said quickly. “It’s not exactly a well-kept secret, after all. Besides, it’s nice to know that Ingrid has some friends who are both female and not Felix, Dimitri, or myself.” He thought about what she had said. “So how much do you know about Glenn?”

“He was Felix’s brother, Ingrid’s fiancé, and yours and Dimitri’s friend. And he died in Duscur.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain agreed. “He taught me to wield an axe and he was a hell of a brother.” He smiled faintly. “Only time I really felt like I was at home was when all of us and our crazinesses were in Fhirdiad.”

“What about here? You’re all, mostly, here now,” Dorothea pointed out.

Sylvain slid his hand into hers and squeezed it. “Yeah,” he agreed. “This is pretty close.”

Remire Village burned around him. There was blood on his lance and he couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears. A terrified villager sprinted past him and Sylvain stared at the burning home.

A woman sat on the floor, rocking back and forth while holding the body of the young man that Sylvain had cut down. He had been sick, with whatever Remire illness had taken much of the village, but the way the woman held him was the way a mother held her son.

Sylvain felt sick.

Someone grabbed his elbow and pulled him away from the house. He blinked and found himself staring into Felix’s face. His friend’s expression was set grimly as he started hauling Sylvain away from the house. Annette slipped past them and moved into the house to try and draw the mother away from the flames.

Sylvain let Felix guide him away from the burning homes without resistance. They stopped when the reached the outskirts of the village where refugees were gathering with the Church forces that had accompanied the Blue Lions on their mission.

Sylvain glanced back at the burning village. “I killed her son,” he said slowly. His knuckles clenched around the Lance of Ruin and he could practically feel the Crest of Gautier burning in his blood.

“If not you, someone else would have. She would have been dead by then anyway. You saved her life,” Felix replied pointedly.

Sylvain dimly thought about his mother and her reaction to Miklan’s banishment. His stomach turned and he lunged for the nearest bushes. He emptied his lunch into the bushes and his body kept heaving until there was nothing to come up.

A warm hand brushed the back of his neck, pushing his hair out of his face and Sylvain closed his eyes. He shuddered faintly and felt slim fingers run through his hair over his scalp, trying to reassure him. When his body finally finished convulsing, he cracked open his eyes to see Ingrid kneeling beside him.

Her green eyes were wide with worry and Sylvain felt a dull ache in his stomach. He wiped at his mouth and accepted the water she offered him.

“You okay?” she whispered gently.

They were crouched in the bushes where no one would see them and the selfish, vain part of Sylvain appreciated Ingrid’s attempts to remain incognito.

“Is there a word for a parent who outlives their child?” he asked suddenly.

Ingrid blinked and her hand stilled where it was still combing through his hair. “Sylvain,” she murmured, sounding sad.

He pulled away and stood up. There were calls from the centre of the formation for people to regroup and begin heading out. He strode out of the bushes and walked away from the burned-out homes that the refugees of Remire village could no longer call home.

For all his posturing and flirting and wooing, Sylvain hated Ethereal Moon. The White Heron Cup had had Flayn barely beat out Dorothea to win certification in the Dancer Class for the Blue Lions and it meant that all the Blue Lions were dancing on their toes around each other as hidden affections bubbled.

Sylvain didn’t invite anyone to the ball. He was invited by seven different girls and he turned them all down with a cruel smile and a playful wink for good measure. One took it well and rebounded to ask after Ferdinand, but the other six didn’t. Apparently two of them went straight to Ingrid, complaining about him so then Sylvain had dealt with a very angry Ingrid for an entire week.

At the ball, he danced with Mercedes and Dorothea and even stole a dance with Hilda, though she made it a point to step on his toes as often as possible, just to spite him. Lysithea gave him one dance and Annette gave him two. Flayn turned him down, wary of Seteth, and Marianne looked at him like he was crazy when he asked.

When he finally escaped the dance floor, he looked around for Felix, only to see that Annette had somehow managed to wrangle the grumpy Fraldarius heir onto the dancefloor. Dimitri was dancing with Mercedes and Ingrid was nowhere to be seen.

Sylvain grabbed a goblet of wine from the teacher’s table and slipped out of the hall, heading in the direction of the Cathedral. He walked partway on to the bridge and leaned against the railing, looking up and admiring the night sky above him.

He wasn’t alone for long as he soon heard the click of a woman’s heels against the stone. He turned his head and saw Ingrid wobbling towards him on her shoes. She had wobbled all night, but Dorothea had been firm in insisting that she wear the heels because they apparently matched her dress uniform.

“Hey Ing,” he greeted.

She walked up next to him and leaned against the railing, inhaling deeply. “It’s stuffy in there,” she mumbled.

“Yeah,” Sylvain agreed and sipped from his stolen goblet.

He tipped it towards Ingrid and she raised an eyebrow at him, but she took it and sipped from it anyways.

They stood in silence for a minute, just staring out over the bridge at the sky and the land that stretched beneath it.

“Shouldn’t you be in there dancing with every girl you lay your eyes on?” Ingrid asked quietly after a pause.

Sylvain chuckled. “Funnily enough, I’m not sure there are many more girls who would want to dance with me. I may be running out of hearts to steal.”

“Good!” Ingrid exclaimed. ‘Maybe that means I can stop cleaning up after you.”

He leaned away from her, pressing a hand to his heart. “I’m hurt, Ing, you don’t like dealing with all of my problems?”

His response came out more jaded than he had intended for it to and Ingrid turned her curious green eyes on him. Whatever makeup Annette and Mercedes had forced her into had accentuated her natural cheekbones and outlined her vivid eyes. Sylvain couldn’t look away from them, even if he desperately wanted to curl up and hide all of his vulnerabilities from her.

“Sylvain,” she began gently.

He finally broke eye contact and looked up at the twinkling stars. “Never thought I’d be the guy without a girl to meet at the Goddess Tower tonight,” he joked, trying to deflect.

Ingrid’s hand curled on his forearm and he knew he wasn’t getting out of this conversation so easily. “Sylvain,” she repeated, stern this time.

He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t reply. He glanced at her again which was almost a mistake. She was closer now and he could see the sparkle of eye makeup on her eyelids and a pale pink lipstick on her lips that gave her just the tiniest bit of complimentary colour and easily drew his gaze.

When he didn’t say anything, she seemed to finally get the hint, dropping his arm and leaning back a tiny bit. Sylvain’s heart thudded as she moved away and he told himself it was a good thing.

Ingrid was Ingrid. The horrible, self-deprecating part of him wanted to ruin her and ruin everything they had as friends for the sake of one kiss, but the fifteen-year-old boy who had listened to her talk about Pegasus Knights for hours clung stubbornly to the way things were and he let her move away.

He was already ruined. There was no need to destroy her too.

It was almost three in the morning when Sylvain entered the dining hall. To his surprise, something smelled burnt. He followed the scent, curiously, to the kitchen. A tray of blackened blobs that were probably supposed to be cookies sat on one of the counters and Sylvain heard a faint sniff.

He followed the noise and saw Annette sitting on the kitchen floor with her arms around her knees, looking absolutely miserable.

“Annette?” he questioned.

She jolted at the sound of his voice and her head snapped up towards him. “Oh! Uh, hi, Sylvain.”

He glanced at the burnt cookies. “Were you trying to bake?”

Annette shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m nowhere near as good as Mercedes or Ashe, but I wanted to do something for the Professor.” She tucked her chin against her chest and sighed. “My father has been gone for most of my life, but I have my mom, so I don’t really know what it’s like to really lose a parent, but I figured that cookies would never hurt anyone, would they?”

Sylvain fell silent. He remembered the cooks at Castle Gautier trying to tempt him out of his room with treats after his mother died. He remembered bribing Ingrid to open her door with food after Glenn had died.

Annette’s head snapped up. “Oh! No, Sylvain, I’m so sorry!” she gushed suddenly.

He faked a smile, shaking her head. “Nah, it’s alright Annette. My mom died years ago. It’s not fresh.”

She bit her lip, but she didn’t look like she was about to burst into tears again. Sylvain tapped a knuckle on the counter that held Annette’s very burnt cookies.

“We should get rid of these and get to bed,” he suggested.

Annette shifted on the floor. “I can do it. I made the mess.”

Sylvain picked up the tray of blackened cookies and headed for the bin where the kitchen staff discarded leftover food and scraps. “We’ll go faster if we do it together,” he pointed out. “That way we’ll both get back to bed faster and we’ll be sharper for our axe training tomorrow.”

Annette laughed faintly and stood up, brushing off her skirt. “Okay,” she relented.

They worked quietly for a few minutes, cleaning up the mess Annette had made in the kitchen. Finally, once the last bowl was washed, dried, and put away, she turned to him.

“You didn’t have to do that, Sylvain.”

“I was here,” he said casually. “Besides, maybe I can use this as leverage to get you to come to tea with me tomorrow,” he added, his tone almost straying to his falsified flirtatious one.

Annette shook her head. “I’m studying with Lysithea tomorrow after we have the axe seminar.”

Sylvain flashed her a grin. “What a coincidence, I’ve got to brush up on my Reason. I’ll bring the treats if you bring the tea.”

The Professor’s hair turned green. Dimitri broke. Edelgard marched on Garreg Mach. The Professor and Archbishop disappeared. The war began.

Sylvain sat on his bed in his dorm room and stared at the half-packed room around him. The monastery was being evacuated and most of the Kingdom natives were leaving the next day. He and Felix would be travelling north together towards their homes.

Sylvain didn’t want to leave the monastery. For the first time in a long time, this was a place that felt like home. He didn’t want to go back to Gautier and it’s cold walls and empty house and what would inevitably be discussions of war and slaughter and more violence.

Someone knocked on the doorframe and he looked up. Ingrid was standing there, still wearing bits of her Pegasus Knight armour and looking as exhausted as he felt. Sylvain didn’t say anything, but he slid over on his bed so that she could sit next to him. She walked over and practically collapsed next to him.

“I don’t want to go,” he said quietly.

Ingrid took his hand, twining their fingers together. Neither of them wanted to talk about the way that Felix and Dimitri had blown up at each other after the battle. Something in Dimitri was very broken and losing the Professor seemed only to have aggravated that part and Felix never knew when to let sleeping beasts slumber.

“We’ll be okay,” she said firmly.

Sylvain tipped his head so it rested against hers. “There’s nothing in that house for me, Ingrid.”

“You’ll be okay,” she corrected herself, but her voice cracked.

Sylvain’s eyes burned with tears and he shut his eyes, focusing on Ingrid’s hand in his. “How do we keep going from here?”

“With our heads up and blades sharp,” she said quietly, quoting something Glenn had said to them a long time ago.

“Right,” he agreed weakly. “Keep fighting until they’re nothing but ruin and bone.”

Ruin and bone, he thought to himself. I’ve been nothing but since the day I was born.

3 notes · View notes

heroloverangel · 5 years

Text

Help A Friend

Mirio has an idea to boost Tamaki’s confidence and asks for your help.

This fic kicked my ass for a solid month but I finally won

“I just think he’d be more confident if he had some experience,” Mirio tells you one night, thick arms wrapped around your waist as you relax in your bed together. “I can’t ask Nejire, it’d be too weird for him. Will you think about it?” You’re pretty sure this plan isn’t going to work, but eventually you agree to help.

And that’s how you find yourself in Tamaki’s room a few days later, wearing Mirio’s hoodie like a dress as the three of you work through some particularly sadistic math homework. You’ve been waiting for the right moment to spring your trap, and when Tamaki sets down his book for a quick break your boyfriend gives you a smile of encouragement to go for it. With a last deep breath you stretch and move to sit next to the other boy.

“Hey, Tamaki? Can we talk?” His expression is tired but curious and you begin. “I, um, heard about what happened the other day with Yuki from the other class and-”

He groans in frustration. “You mean how she tried to buy me lunch and I panicked? I didn’t need a reminder.”

“That’s not it,” Mirio says, grinning brightly from his seat on the floor. “We want to help you get some confidence for next time.”

He narrows his eyes with suspicion. “How?”

You begin to explain but you’re cut off by Mirio gesturing happily to you. “Practice with her!”

Tamaki gawks at you both in disbelief. “Are you...wait...what?” He looks frantically between the two of you, mouth agape. “You can’t just offer me your girlfriend, Mirio!”

“I don’t mind,” you point out, and he jumps when you touch his shoulder. You rub soothing lines down his arm until you feel him relax just a fraction. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re uncomfortable,” you flash him a reassuring smile. “But if you want, we can just have some fun. No pressure, or weirdness tomorrow or anything. Okay?”

Tamaki sits there for a solid minute, debating his options. Mirio’s smirk begins to falter a bit, but you continue stroking his arm gently as you wait for an answer. “Okay,” he agrees finally, shyly lifting his head to meet your eye.

“Alright!” Mirio cheers, and then a thought occurs to him. “Oh. Should I leave and give you guys some privacy?”

“No!” both of you answer immediately. You two get along well enough on your own, but you know he’s the glue holding this operation together. It wouldn’t feel right to do this without him. Mirio’s smile is beaming and he moves to sit in the chair at the desk where he can have a better view.

You run a hand through Tamaki’s hair and he focuses on you. “That feels...good.” He’s already blushing, unsure of how to even proceed and you accept the fact that you’re going to have to take the lead here. You move slowly, doing your best not to scare him off.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes widen and he swallows nervously before nodding. You reach up to touch his cheek, angling his face towards you as you sit up straighter to meet him. You keep it innocent and short, pulling away before he has a chance to feel overwhelmed. You’re pleased to see him lean forward instinctively for more and you indulge him, holding your second kiss long enough you need to break for air. “How’s that?”

He murmurs something positive that you don’t quite catch, but it’s adorable how much he’s blushing. “Where do I put my hands?” He looks lost, flexing his fingers awkwardly in front of you. You fight back a laugh, scooting closer on the bed and guiding him to hold your waist.

“How about here?” Tamaki nods silently and you go in for another kiss. This time you stroke your hand over his back, feeling his muscles tense but he doesn’t shy away from you. You work him like this for a few minutes, carefully coaxing him out of his shell until he’s actively participating. You press forward, brushing your tongue over his lips and he freezes for a moment before opening his mouth to your advances. He’s a little clumsy but it’s cute, and when he lets out a little moan around your tongue you can’t help but grin. Ever so slowly you encourage him, and eventually he’s the one sliding into your mouth. You can still taste the takoyaki he ate earlier, but it’s not unpleasant.

Tamaki’s grip on you tightens and you groan, but a sound nearby surprises you and the two of you separate. Mirio is watching the scene with undisguised interest. You’ve been worried that he might be a little jealous or upset once you went into action, but the look on his face is nothing but joyful excitement. “Don’t stop,” he commands with a wave of his hand. “This is really good.”

With that weight lifted off you, you resume your attack on Tamaki’s body. You leave one last, deep kiss on his lips before trailing along his jaw to brush over his neck. He’s sensitive there, you realize as his head tilts to give you better access and he whimpers as you suck lightly at his pulse. “You’re so cute,” you coo, amazed that he can somehow blush even more. This is new for you, being the dominant one, and you can see why Mirio takes control so often. It’s a rush of confidence to have someone so needy for you, being wanted and trusted so much to have them vulnerable to every touch and kiss and word you give them.

You run your hands over his chest, feeling his ever-present anxiety like a current running beneath his skin. “It’s alright,” you soothe as his heart rate shoots through the roof. You return to his comfort zone, pressing your lips to his again until he calms down. He practically purrs when you move to draw another path of kisses down his throat, shifting the neck of his shirt to end at his collarbone. “I want to take this off, if you’re okay with it.” He gives the smallest nod and you smile, making sure to give him the chance to change his mind as you pull it off his torso. It occurs to you that you’ve never seen him like this before, and you find yourself silently making some comparisons.

Your boyfriend is practically a solid wall of pure strength, thick biceps and broad chest clearly defined in the tee shirt he’s wearing now. Tamaki in contrast is all lean muscle, toned but slim. You watch his eyes flick over to Mirio and you can tell he’s very aware of the difference. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I know i’m not...”

You shake your head and reach up to ruffle his hair. “Hey, don’t do that. You’re really good looking.” His expression says the he doesn’t quite believe you, but he doesn’t argue as you resume your attention. Your fingers run over his chest, relishing the little gasps he makes when you tease his nipples. “So cute,” you repeat, bringing him in for another kiss. You feel his hands move slowly, one cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss. The other finds your thigh, fingers brushing over your skin lightly with unsure touches. “That tickles,” you choke back a giggle. He pauses and you’re quick to reassure him. “You don’t have to stop, I like it.” He’s clearly still nervous about this whole situation and you’re happy to offer encouragement with every move. You never stop the kisses as your hands roam over his body, allowing him to grow comfortable with the feel of you on his bare skin. Tamaki cries out when you nip at his collarbone, leaving a faint red mark that will fade soon enough. “Too much?” you ask, pleased when he shakes his head. You’re starting to feel warm yourself, familiar heat flickering in your belly as he carefully pushes the hem of your hoodie up a bit to touch more of your thighs.

You busy yourself with stroking his chest, gradually petting lower down his abs until you reach the zipper of his jeans and he freezes solid as if paralyzed. You withdraw immediately, lifting your palms in surrender and making sure there’s no trace of disappointment in your voice. “That’s fine. We can stop here if you want.” You keep your expression friendly, and out of the corner of your eye you see Mirio nod in agreement. He’s probably even happier than you are that you got this far.

Tamaki stays silent for a minute, glancing between you both while he collects his thoughts. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he points out, staring at the wall. “I don’t want to screw it up.”

“You won’t,” you hold his cheek fondly. “This is new for us, it’s okay if it takes some trial and error.”

Mirio raises his hand. “That’s right! I’ve gone in the wrong hole before!” You grimace at the memory; he didn’t need to offer that example.

Tamaki can’t help his snort of laughter at the comment. You can still sense his anxiety as he looks back to you. “What do I do?”

You reach for his pants again. “Why don’t you start by taking these off?” You know it’s a big step, and you give him plenty of time to decide before he silently stands up and clumsily works at his fly. You unconsciously lick your lips at the sight of the obvious tent he’s sporting. You’re so distracted by the boy in front of you, you don’t notice the movement at your side until hands snake around your waist and down to the bottom of your shirt.

“It’s only fair if you take this off too,” Mirio points out. You can feel his smirk against your neck as he yanks it over your head without a second thought. Tamaki fumbles, pants halfway off, looking very much like he’s just been hit by a truck. It suddenly makes sense why you’ve been wearing the largest hoodie Mirio owns, even though it fits you like a tent with impractically long sleeves and a hem that almost hit your knees. It wasn’t a fashion choice; it was to hide the fact that you were completely naked underneath. The two of you had planned this attack on him in advance.

“Tamaki, breathe!” He’s starting to turn blue from lack of oxygen before his brain resets and he inhales sharply. He’s staring at you unblinkingly, eyes roving from your face to your breasts and between your thighs. You’re not sure if he’s going to faint or run straight out the door, but you’re starting to feel self-conscious under his unbreakable focus. You cross your arms under your chest, fighting the urge to cover yourself. He swallows several times to clear his throat and finally break the increasingly uncomfortable silence in the room.

“...You’re pretty.”

The relief is palpable as it sweeps through his dorm. “Thanks.” Of course Mirio never misses a chance to compliment your looks, but it’s nice to have a second opinion. He seems to have forgotten his task, jeans hanging limply from his hips and you take it upon yourself to finally shove them down, taking his hand for support so he can kick them off. You’ll let him keep his underwear for now, you’re sure he won’t want them for long.

You position Tamaki to sit at the top of his bed against the pillows, Mirio more than happy to help you climb onto his lap. Your boyfriend automatically reaches for your chest and you slap his hand away. “Let him do it,” you scold, watching him pout as he moves back. You turn your attention back to Tamaki, recognizing the apprehensive look on his face as you guide his hands back to your waist. “We’ll take it slow, okay?” He nods and your own hands find his shoulders for balance as your tongue slips back into his mouth, coaxing him into the familiar rhythm you’d had earlier.

The kissing is nice, but you can tell from the way his eyes keep falling to your breasts that his interests have moved beyond that. With a smile your fingers wrap around the hand at your side to bring it higher. “Here, is this what you want?” He responds with a shaky groan, squeezing your breast and giving your nipple a gentle pinch. “Mmm, that feels good.”

You let him tease you like this for awhile, giving him the chance to figure out your body and what he likes of it. You’re not shy about how much you enjoy having your chest played with, and the positive reinforcement is definitely helping to ease his nerves. You can’t help it; his hands are ghosting so lightly over your skin, it’s starting to drive you crazy. You squirm in his lap, pressing closer to his body and the contact forces an idea out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Hey,” he can’t quite meet your eyes when he speaks. “Can...can I use my mouth? On you, here?”

You blink. It’s the first actual request he’s made all night, and you’re surprised that he even voiced it. You recover in only a second though, reminding yourself that tonight is all for him. “Sure, whatever you want.” You reposition yourself, straightening your back to bring your chest up to his eye level. Tamaki pauses again, unsure of how to continue. “Come here,” you urge, hand on his neck guiding him down to his target. Very slowly, as if he’s still afraid you’ll change your mind, he captures one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue barely brushing against your sensitive peak. Your breath stutters; it’s so slight and careful and different from what you’re familiar with, you weren’t prepared for it to feel so good. “Oh, wow,” your mouth feels dry and he’s gauging your reaction. “Do that again, please.”

You don’t try to hide the sounds you make as Tamaki sucks at your nipples, you can tell he’s enjoying every moan and whimper out of your mouth. His hands gradually move to trail over your body, touch so soft as if he thinks you’re something precious and fragile. Impulsively you rub your fingers over his bulge, interested to know just what awaits you. The whine he lets out is downright sinful, hips bucking into your hand on instinct. He releases your breast, face even redder than before, mumbling the beginning of an apology. You shush him, taking hold of the hand on your hip and leading it between your thighs. His eyes go wide with the realization of just how wet you are. “You don’t have to stop,” you offer, swallowing down the flicker of nerves in your own mind. Mirio had been perfectly clear with his plan that you could back out at any time, and neither of them would be mad if you chickened out at the last minute. But you’ve come so far already tonight, it would be a shame to leave things now. There are still butterflies in your stomach at the thought of what you’re about to do, but you will yourself to relax with a decisive sigh. You know what all three of you want, you only have to ask for it.

“Tamaki, will you fuck me?”

He can’t answer you, gazing at your face with a look that’s not quite panic. It’s something of a good sign, at least. His eyes dart over to Mirio, sitting somewhere behind you that you can’t see but you’re sure he’s grinning like a madman and offering a thumbs up. It’s a big step, and you don’t pressure him as he takes a painfully long time to make the decision. Finally, dragging his attention from the floor to look back up at you both, he give a small nod. “Alright.”

You kiss him again, deep and slow, letting him know you have no intent to rush him. With clumsy fingers he pulls at the underwear, you straddle him wider to allow him enough room to slide them off completely. Suddenly he seems very focused on staring at the wall, away from your face as you look down at your first sight of your prize. You’re not surprised that he’s smaller than Mirio, but you’re far from unhappy. His size seems average, with a nice curve towards his head that promises to be a new experience for you. There’s a drop of precum leaking from the tip and you have to fight the urge to taste him. Maybe you’ll have another chance sometime.

You haven’t spoken in a minute, and his first concern is that you’re disappointed. “I’m not as big as you want-”

“You’re perfect,” you assure him. “You’re gonna feel so good, honey.” Blindly you stick your arm out and then Mirio’s beside you, giving you a nice long kiss of his own. He passes a condom into your waiting palm; it had been your only demand when he’d suggested this idea. Of course you trust Tamaki, and you’ve been on the pill for years now...but you love Mirio, and you want him to be the only one who gets to come inside you. He can’t resist giving you a firm, playful slap on the ass as he returns to his seat at the edge of the bed.

Tamaki stays as still as a statue, watching carefully as you tear open the foil and reach for him. You like it, the little groan at the back of his throat as you hold his cock to roll the thin latex over his skin. You bring his hands back to your hips for support and you give him one last chance to stop. “You sure about this?”

“Y-yeah. I want it.”

You smile at him, spreading yourself open while your other hand lines his dick up with your entrance. You sink down slowly, withdrawing only a bit before coming back down and soon he’s fully sheathed inside your pussy. You stop, allowing him plenty of time to get used to the feeling. A sweet little shiver runs down his spine at the sensation of being buried inside you, the moan leaving his mouth without a thought. Oh, you like this. Even after a few moments there’s still a tremble in his touch as he squeezes you, but you get the message. Your rhythm is easy and gentle, lifting halfway off to slide down to the hilt and rub your pelvis into his. You keep the pace slow and intimate, trying not to overwhelm him yet.

Despite your best efforts, it only takes a few minutes to have him panting hard, the quiet whimpers you earn with each stroke onto his cock spurring you on. You knew his first time wouldn’t be a long one, but you don’t have any excuse for teasing him this way. He’s just so cute like this, eyes closed and blushing to his ears and making those sounds, all for you. You can’t resist leaning forward to suck at his throat, drawing out a red mark that’s beautiful against his pale skin. Your name comes out as a breathless whine and you clench around him, covering his collarbone with open-mouthed kisses up to his lips.

“You’re doing so great,” you purr. Your fingers trail down his arms to link with his, forcing his grip harder on your skin. “Is this what you like? Come on, help me make you feel good.” You nearly come to a stop, compelling him to raise you up and down his length without thinking about it. “Mmm, that’s it. You want more?” You’re aided by his strength as you let him decide your speed, nuzzling into his neck to hide the satisfied smirk you’re wearing. You’d been right, every thrust causes his cock to rub against a sensitive spot you’ve only just discovered, the faster rhythm making you tingle with each pass. “You feel so good, Tamaki,” you groan as your cunt squeezes around him.

“You’re warm,” he gasps, gaze fixed between your thighs. You lean back to give him a better view, doing your best to keep your tempo even and his mouth falls open at the sight of his dick disappearing in and out of your willing body. The scene in front of him, combined with the way you feel and the sounds you make as you bounce on his dick are threatening to send him over the edge already. You weren’t expecting him to have record-setting endurance on his first time, but he shows surprising willpower as he struggles against the uncharacteristic urge to just hold you in place and rut into you until his body gives out.

You can tell he’s close. Already clumsy, his movements grow increasingly erratic as he thrusts harder up into you. There’s something really appealing about taking him like this, and you’re not sure you’ll last much longer either. You let out a ragged breath as you take his hand and guide it down between your bodies. “Touch me here,” you plead, pointing out your clit. “I wanna finish with you. Please, Tamaki?” His fingers are shaking but he obliges, stroking you gently, unaware of how much it’s teasing you. Your cunt clenches tight around him and it’s too much for him; he only gets a few more rapid thrusts before he buries deep inside you, shuddering and gasping as you feel the heat of his cum even through the condom. With your main objective complete you quickly chase your own orgasm, taking over for him and rubbing hard circles into your clit until your own release hits, barely a minute later. Your partner lets out a quiet whine at the feeling of you spasming over his sensitive cock.

You lean forward to rest your forehead against his heaving chest, both of you doing your best to catch your breaths. “That was fun,” you pant out with a laugh. You lift yourself to let his dick slip free, carefully stripping off the used condom to throw away.

“Thank you.” Tamaki’s still blushing as he looks you over, but there’s a small smile you can see he’s trying to hide. The two of you look at each other for a second, neither of you really sure how to proceed. And then you’re suddenly pulled backwards off of his lap to find yourself pressed against a broad, muscular chest. You’re not sure when Mirio’s clothes came off, but you’ve been pretty distracted.

“Babe, that was so hot.” Mirio’s breath is warm in your ear, it makes you shiver. “You looked so good riding Tamaki for me.” He grabs your chin, tilting you into a deep kiss that takes your breath away. You instantly let him take control; you’d enjoyed being the one in charge earlier, but now you’re relishing the thought of being taken care of. He’s already so hard, wasting no time spreading your legs open to slide his bare cock between your folds. He makes sure to nudge your clit with the dripping head; he knows what you like and it earns a nice, breathy moan from you. “God, you’re soaked. You really did love it.” There’s no hint of jealousy in his voice, only pure adoration as his arm tightens around your waist to hold you closer and the other launches an expert attack on your breasts. “Come on, how ‘bout you put it in for me?”

You obey without a second thought, taking hold of his shaft to press the thick tip into your pussy. You’ve hardly begun to slide him in before impatient hips buck forward, impaling you halfway on his dick with a rough grunt. “You’re so wet,” he points out, kissing your shoulder with a grin. “You took so much of me already!”

You struggle to speak as you’re jolted by another deep thrust, feeling his hips against your ass as he bottoms out inside you. “S-slow down, I’m not going anywhere.”

Mirio kneads your chest thoughtfully for a moment. “Nope.” You can feel the smirk against your neck. “You feel too good.”

You whine, pressing your face into his shoulder. The pace he sets is fast and rough, and you’re still sensitive from your time with Tamaki. “Mirio, pleeeease.”

He groans into your skin, voice husky with arousal. “Fuck, baby. Come on, you can take it.” He thrusts hard, pulling you flush against his sculpted body and you cry out. Even during sex, it takes a lot to make Mirio talk like that. If he’s this worked up already, you know you’re going to be absolutely worn out tomorrow. You crane your neck to look back at him, cheeks flushed and eyes dark as he watches your breasts jiggle with every move he makes. He looks so good like this, totally losing himself in his desire for you. He gives you that toothy smile you love so much and you have to look away before you snap, cunt milking him for more despite your earlier request.

Something catches your eye near the top of the bed as you shift focus. Tamaki’s recovered, and he’s now fisting his cock slowly while he watches you get fucked within an inch of your life. You squeeze the arm around your waist for attention, and Mirio’s punishing rhythm finally slows down when he notices. You can tell the wheels in his head are turning and a thought occurs to him just as Tamaki looks up and realizes he’s been caught. He opens his mouth to apologize but is quickly cut off from the voice behind you.

“Wanna try with both of us?” The question hangs in the air while you consider it. Your boyfriend demands so much from you on his own, you’re not sure you can handle the two of them together. But, there’s something wickedly appealing about taking on the two strongest people you know, doing your best to satisfy them while they both use your body to their hearts’ content. Who knows when you’ll get this kind of opportunity again?

You lick your lips. “Yeah. Let’s do it.” Immediately Miro’s hands adjust their position on you, pressing on your back to put you on all fours and then grabbing your hips firmly. Tamaki seems unsure, but Mirio gestures excitedly for him to kneel in front of you and it’s hard to argue at the moment.

“Don’t worry, she’ll take good care of you. Her mouth is amazing!” It’s impossible to miss the way you clench around him at the compliment. The boy in front of you swallows again but obediently moves forward, blushing furiously as he looks down at you with the realization that yes, this is happening.

Mirio’s still balls deep inside you, pumping shallowly as you lick a stripe up Tamaki’s dick. You do it a few times to get him used to the feeling of being touched like this, his shuddering gasp encouraging you. You flick your tongue over the slit, collecting the bead of precum he’s leaking; he tastes saltier, and you wonder if it’s a side effect of his quirk. He’s already twitching against your lips and you look up at him to meet his gaze with a spark of mischief in your own. You give him no warning as you open wide, mouth closing around the tip of his cock and slipping halfway down his shaft. His fingers instinctively yank at your hair, moan cracking in his throat like he’s choking on the sound.

You draw back, swirling around him as you move before taking him a bit deeper inside your mouth. You keep your hands firmly planted on the bed for balance, relaxing your jaw to slide more of his throbbing dick between your lips. You bob back and forth on his length until you take him completely, your nose bumping against his pelvis as you pull another needy whimper from him. You can practically feel the tension in his body, he’s trying so hard not to buck into your mouth and you want to see just how long his control can hold out.

You drag your tongue up from the base of his cock to suck lightly on the head and Tamaki can’t help himself. His hand tightens in your hair, shoving you back down to feel your warmth around him again with a groan of pure need. You manage not to gag, pushing back against his grasp to keep him off the back of your throat. “Sorry,” he huffs and you give him your best attempt at a smile. His hips are starting to jerk forward, desperate for more attention after so little time. Behind you, you can feel Mirio beginning to pump into you faster, murmuring something about how pretty you look between them. You redouble your efforts, saliva dripping down your chin as you allow him deeper into your mouth.

Your boyfriend lets out a growl of approval at the sight of you like this, his patience rapidly crumbling and your body is rocked forward by the sudden force. He’s so much stronger than you, you can feel the raw power in the hands on your skin and the smack of his hips as he fucks you nice and hard. There’s no question as to which one of you is in charge here; you’re being shoved repeatedly into Tamaki’s lap and pulled back to meet his thrusts with every stroke. What’s left of your brain scrambles to adapt, clumsily matching his rhythm as you try to breathe around the dick nestled snugly in your throat. It’s hard enough for you to last when he fucks you like this on a normal night, but adding in another person, currently holding your head tightly to his groin and looking at you like you’re some kind of benevolent goddess, is only making that heat inside you flare up more. It feels so good, but you can only offer muffled whines as both of them enjoy your eager body.

You’re vaguely aware that your boys are saying something to each other, but you’re far too distracted by your work to pay attention. You shiver a bit when you feel warm hands come down to grope your breasts and you let your throat squeeze around him. Your mind is shrouded in a fog of sex; it takes far too long to realize that something feels...off about his fingers. You pause momentarily to glance down and nearly choke on his shaft as a single word flashes in your head: Takoyaki.

The tentacles are an unexpected twist but you can’t say you dislike them. They’re flexible and surprisingly soft, it tickles as they grope at your chest. You’re just getting used to it when several of them change tactic to target your nipples directly. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, muted cries dying on your lips as pleasure shoots down your spine. Mirio lets out a breathless laugh at your pussy gripping him like a vise and kneads a handful of your ass. “Oh, wow, she really likes that. Keep it up.” Of course he obeys, appendages squirming over you with even more intensity until you’re on the verge of tears.

You’ve reached your limit. You can’t keep up with them anymore. Tamaki’s tentacles are almost painful in how they tease your sensitive nipples, and Mirio’s pace has you struggling to stay upright on shaky limbs. You’re reduced to whimpering softly around the cock buried in your mouth with every movement, and it’s only a second later that a familiar hand slides between your open legs and strokes your clit. It’s all you need to throw you over the edge and you come, crying out something that might have been their names as you go rigid between them. One of them takes mercy on you and pulls out to give you some much needed air, but that just gives the other the opportunity to drag you fully onto his cock, loving the way your cunt spasms around him. You wail for him, loud and drawn out and it’s beautiful.

You rebound after what seems like ages, jostled back to the present by the man who hasn’t paused for a moment in fucking you. “That was so great, princess. Now help him, just a little bit more.” It takes so much effort, but you manage to focus in front of you and lazily take Tamaki’s dick between your lips again. You swirl your tongue around him with the energy you have left, sucking gently on the tip and gazing up to meet his eyes. He stammers out a warning and you nod as best you can. There’s just a hint of a tired, happy smile on your face and his fist tightens in your hair as his hips buck hard into your mouth one last time. He tastes salty and bitter, but you swallow all of it and lick him clean. He releases your scalp and pulls out slowly, string of milky saliva connecting you for a moment before he collapses back against the headboard.

You’re only allowed a few seconds to enjoy your handiwork before another hard thrust reminds you that you still have a job to do. Without the balance of a third person, there’s nothing stopping Mirio from pounding you into the mattress like a man possessed. You’re no match for all that manic energy, your arms giving out and dropping you onto your elbows. It’s not a big change, but the new angle allows him to rut into you even deeper and you can tell he’s pushing you towards another orgasm. “Too much,” you gasp out. “Mirio, I-I’m gonna come again.”

His touch is gentle as he rubs you back soothingly, a stark contrast to the brutal pace of his hips. “I know, babe. I know. We’re almost done and then you can take a break, okay?” He leans over you, pressing his sweaty chest against your body to leave kisses across your skin. It’s so intimate, you could easily forget that you’re not the only two people in the world right now. His large, calloused fingers come down to tease your clit again and you can hear how pleased he is at the way you clench around his cock one more time. “Tell me you want it,” he chokes out through clenched teeth.

“I...god, please. Fill me up. I want it so much.” The stimulation on your clit becomes overpowering and you hit your climax, words failing you as you moan for him. He’s right there with you, voice so appealingly ragged and breathless as his rhythm finally stutters and his cum floods into you. Your sore cunt twitches around him, milking him for all he’s got and he goes still to allow both of you a chance to recover.

He pulls out slowly, taking time to admire the mess he’s made of you as cum drips down your thighs. He wipes it off with the corner of the bedsheet and then his strong arms are pulling you up into a warm hug and he’s peppering kisses over your face. “I love you so much! I can’t believe you did all that, you’re amazing!” He looks over at Tamaki, who might have already fallen asleep. “We’re really lucky, aren’t we?” There’s a very quiet groan of agreement, the poor boy is exhausted. “Let’s go back to my room,” he offers, and you don’t miss the way his smile slips into something a bit more suggestive. Looks like break time is over for you already.

You nod, leaning over to give Tamaki a kiss on the cheek before standing up on wobbly legs. Mirio hands you the hoodie, groping your breasts as he helps you put it back on before hastily pulling on his pants. You don’t have to look decent, you’re only going down the hall. It’s surprisingly romantic when he picks you up bridal-style to carry you over, still gushing about how great you are.

Back in his room, you’re reminded exactly why your boyfriend is considered the strongest student at UA. He fucks you through three more orgasms before his own stamina wears out at last. You lay in his bed, cuddled into his chest while every inch of you feels boneless and overworked. “Thanks again. I think we helped a lot,” he says casually. You look up at him with tired eyes, his expression is just so innocent and wholesome after everything tonight that you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I hope so.” You stretch out on top of him and yawn, relishing the warmth of his skin against yours. “Grab the blanket. We’re sleeping in tomorrow.”

#lemon #mirio togata #tamaki amakiji #bnha x reader #mirio togata x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #miritama x reader

977 notes · View notes

caffeineivore · 5 years

Text

R/J for Charlie

More of the Raven and Jude show, just because @coppercrane2 is awesome and deserves all the things. Actually, dedicated to her, and @apsaraqueen, and @antivanruffles, and @antivanonmytongue, and all my other R/J shippers. <3 you guys!

They’d struck up something of a friendship-- perhaps a flirtatious correspondence, if one wanted to be completely accurate-- after the messenger bag snafu at LAX and his impromptu visit to Manhattan. It had seemed the right thing to do to invite her for drinks and a tour of LA the next time she’d been in town. They’d had margaritas and taco truck tacos and walked through the Huntington in the afternoon, Raven looking impossibly pretty standing on the bridge of the Japanese garden, her silky black hair loose and flowing in the breeze. Then he’d in turn looked her up when he was in New York City again for a work summit, and they’d gone together to a Broadway show-- West Side Story. They’d had dinner together-- not at some fancy restaurant, but a hole-in-the-wall deli, and if Raven had made an incongruous picture in her sleek black dress and stiletto heels, wiping mustard off her mouth with scratchy napkins, Jude had found it endearing and rather adorable, and that’s when he knew he was truly in trouble.

She’d called him a cab back to his hotel, and on an impulse, he’d kissed her right as the car had been pulling up. Just a moment, little more than a peck on a mouth that tasted like Sprite and expensive lipstick, and he’d felt the little gasp and sigh against his own mouth before her lips pressed back against his, but there wasn’t time to say more than a quick “Good night” before the cabbie had honked, impatiently waiting for him to get on. He’d passed a slightly sleepless night wondering if it had been the wrong thing to do, especially considering the sheer impracticality of entering into anything more than a casual friendship with a woman whose life was a whole three time zones away from his own. Jude was not a flirt or a ladies’ man by any definition of the word, and certainly, Raven was not the type of woman one dallied with.

But she’d shocked him two days later, when it was time for him to leave and head back to LA, and she’d popped up at his hotel just as he was checking out of his room, with two Starbucks cups and a to-go bag from a bagel place. She’d been in a hurry-- there was some type of meeting with some landlord/building super or another, to set up an apartment for some fresh-out-of-the-backwoods-boonies model or another who’d just relocated to the big city from Small Town USA all of a week ago-- but she’d claimed that he was on her way, anyway, and she was so almost-defensive about the sweet gesture of bringing him breakfast and sending him off that he’d plucked both coffee and bagels out of her hands, set it perhaps-rudely on the concierge desk, and hugged her for perhaps too long before kissing her, again.

“I’ll call you when I get to LA,” he’d told her in a rush when he’d finally pulled back, heart stuttering a bit as he watched her thick, sooty eyelashes flicker slowly as her eyes opened. “I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah. Have a good flight. I-- I’ll miss you too.” That last bit was tacked on at the end just as he finally found the wherewithal to get his bags and the bagel and coffee, and even before his plane boarded, he knew he’d be counting down the days until one of them had a reason to fly across the country again.

That had been about eight months ago, and bless Raven’s contract with the very-famous, very still-not-eighteen Morgan Austen, because there had been many flights to LA, and that flirtatious correspondence had turned into something very akin to a long-distance relationship. He’d wake up to her voice at an indecent hour of the morning, and she’d fall asleep to his, sometime still fairly early to him at night. She no longer cared about facetiming him at inopportune times, and he certainly didn’t think her any less beautiful in a ratty old Columbia University hoodie and yoga pants and no makeup than her in expensive eveningwear, rubies glowing against the sleek darkness of her hair. The first night he’d stayed over at her place, she’d fallen asleep with her feet in his lap on the couch during the tail end of an episode of The Office, and he’d carried her to bed, both of them still fully dressed but for their shoes and jackets. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to her fingers tracing over his skin and sought out her mouth on feeling alone, before even opening his eyes. The next morning, they’d shared a very leisurely shower, where he’d taken his time washing every inch of her hair before she’d tackled him.

The distance wasn’t something they could truly ignore, however, the longer they were together. Raven’s career was thriving, as was his, and neither of them could sensibly be expected to move cross-country and make a completely fresh start.

Fall in LA is undoubtedly less picturesque than out on the East Coast, with its leaves changing colours and crisp mornings edged with frost, its high winds and cinnamon-and-nutmeg-scented coffee and pastries, but Jude doesn’t lack for work and other related distractions. He’s up for tenure review at the college that year, and there’s the whole process of putting together the tenure dossier and bringing the completed body of his work to the committee and deans. UCLA is no different from most large universities of its ilk-- professors are either awarded tenure after a certain number of years and an evaluated body of work has been produced, or terminated from employment. It is in the midst of this term of flux that a hush seems to fall over the very halls of his building, unusual indeed for this time of day.

Then he hears it-- the click-clack of Louboutins against the floors, and he peers out of his office door to see his sassy and beautiful New Yorker striding down the hallway like she owns the place, wearing a prim little skirt suit the same silky black as her sleekly-pinned hair. She smiles when she sees him, and he can all but hear the cluster of goggling chemistry majors left in her wake sigh in collective half-terrified awe.

“Well, this is a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming here.”

She reaches him, and as though she cares not a jot that there are others watching them, puts her hands on his face, presses her warm red mouth to his in greeting for a moment before pulling away. “I wanted to surprise you, I guess.”

There was more than that, just from the solemnity in her dark violet eyes. He lets her into his office, and shuts the door behind her back. He smiles, brushes a gentle fingertip over the slope of one smooth cheek. “You probably just cemented my reputation in this department as a badass once and for all. Not to mention, you’ve probably given hope to more than one student in these parts that the geeky science nerd can, in fact, someday have a chance with the beautiful woman.” He dips his head, kisses her again, gently. “You look beautiful. Beautiful and serious. What brings you here?”

“It’s Morgan’s birthday tomorrow. She’s turning eighteen. I was invited.”

Raven doesn’t state the implications of that-- they’re pretty obvious now, after all these months being involved in her life. Morgan Austen will no longer be a minor, and therefore, if the supermodel decides to do the sensible thing and move out to New York for work, Raven, as her agent, would have no more reason to continuously fly out to LA. She would be able to concentrate her workload once again on her home turf, the city she’d known all her life.

“I’m up for tenure review this year.” It’s apropos of nothing, really, but perhaps a part of him knows that they’re at a crossroads, and both of them could go in any direction. It would, indeed, be easier to separate now, do the sensible thing and stay to their respective cities and lives. But he can’t bring himself to draw away from her, and when she smiles-- a rare, real smile, not the polite one meant for company-- he can’t help but smile back. No matter what that means for them, she’s happy for him.

“You’ll get it. You’re too damn smart not to.”

“If I do, though, I’d pretty much have to stay here. And you--...”

“I’ll be happy for you. Because I love you, Jude Huntley. And it’s the best thing for you.”

Her words are brave and steadily spoken, but there’s a bead of moisture on her eyelashes, making her mascara seem even blacker than usual, and he feels his heart skip a beat in his chest even as he pulls her close. She’s a small woman, really, though her presence has the power to fill a room. But in his arms, her dark head tucked against the crook of his neck, those slim legs of hers leaned against the sturdy surface of his desk, she feels delicate, infinitely precious. Her fingers twine around the length of his tie, tugging him down just enough, and her sparkling eyes meet his.

“Don’t you dare do anything that isn’t right for you, all right? I will love you no matter where we are.”

“I love you, too. More than a job or a city. I hope you knew that already.”

“Shut up.” The fingers tugging on his tie now pick nimbly at their knot, and soon after, go to work on his buttons. His own hands find purchase on the curves of her hips, and a moment later, she’s seated on that desk with him standing between her legs, and the look she shoots up at him through that dark forest of lashes is sultry and, to his gratification, no longer sad. “Is there anything important on this desk that I need to be worried about?”

There are a number of his academic papers for the tenure dossier he’d been compiling, but he sweeps that aside carelessly onto a nearby chair. “Just you, love. Only you.”

It’s an indeterminate amount of time later that she leaves his office, almost looking as spic-and-span as she did when she’d come in, except her lipstick is smudged and her hair is loose and a little wild as it spills down her back. Neither of them are any closer to an answer to the unspoken dilemma than before, but he feels a bit better about the future. Whatever comes might prove incredibly difficult for a couple to weather, but he thought that, perhaps, they’d be the two people who’d prove that statistic wrong.

“Ahem. Extra credit assignment, Professor?”

Jude almost jumps out of his skin at Charlotte’s familiar voice drawling at him from across the hall. There’s almost certainly a smudge of lipstick on his collar, and he can’t be completely certain that his buttons are correctly aligned. “Umm...”

“These situations are usually found in bad pornos featuring actresses wearing short pleated plaid skirts, aren’t they? I could make a pun about your lady being well ahead of the curve. But perhaps it’s a good thing I figured out what was holding you up just before I knocked on your door, because you certainly wouldn’t have heard the banging over your exertions banging on something else altogether.”

“You, Professor Charlotte Rhys-Jones, are terrifying and evil, and I would never want to make an enemy of you.”

“Well, of course not. Why would you ever do something so foolish? I am a small and deadly commander of a diabolical penguin army. What did your girl come here for, aside from office-hours private tutoring?”

Jude is fairly sure that he’s blushing and can’t quite meet his colleague’s eyes, though he knows that she’d be sympathetic, all jokes aside. “She’s here in town because Morgan Austen is turning eighteen and invited her for the birthday party. Now that her celebrity client is no longer a minor, she’ll probably not have as many opportunities to come out this way.”

“Oh, God. She didn’t come out here to break up with you, did she? Because I think all the respect I gained for her not only walking in those ice picks but for getting you to partake in office desk shenanigans will be lost.”

“No. But I don’t know if we will have as many opportunities to be together as before.” Jude manages a self-deprecating smile. “I could always give up on tenure and move out east. There are probably schools out there that need Chemistry professors.”

“You could, but I’d hate you, and she’d hate herself, if you did that.” Charlotte says bluntly. “Weirdly, I have faith that you two might make this weird long-distance relationship of yours work out. There are frequent flier miles for these sorts of things. And the internet. People have done this since the Pony Express days, so you two should be fine. Plus, who knows what might happen? There could always be another Morgan Austen type out here somewhere just waiting for her. Do I get to be your Best Woman at the wedding?”

“I don’t know. You might have to escort the original Morgan Austen down the aisle.”

“No problem, and I don’t see you denying that there will be a wedding. Anyway, did you see that memo from the Dean that got sent yesterday?”

The conversation turns to work, and Jude sets thoughts of Raven aside for the time being.

She’d look as stunning in flowy white lace as black pinstriped linen, though.

#R/J #coppercrane2 #fanfiction #fanfic #senshi/shitennou #sailor moon

12 notes · View notes

edourado · 5 years

Text

Complete

Here lies another beggining of the year indulgent thing.

I have written fix-it fics and AU’s before, but none, I think, as sticky-sweet as this one. But it is also a lil smutty. So be warned.

The first fic of 2019 had to be bright, given what Netflix and Disney are hell bent on doing to us all.

Here it is. I hope you like it. Please let me know. The writer needs affection/validation.

Much love. Happy 2019 to all of us.

(Also #SaveDaredevil while we’re at it)

Frank caused a commotion the first time he visited her at her office.

She had not been expecting him at all. He was supposed to be in Florida with his kids, a Disney World event for Lisa’s 9th birthday. His flight was not scheduled to arrive until eight that night.

But then there he was, at 11 in the morning.

“Hey”, he called from her door, that voice full of gravel that still made her skin shiver, almost a year into their relationship.

“Oh”, she let out, looking up from her computer, surprised to see him. “Hi!”

Frank has this thing about him, that no matter what he put on, he looked good. It can be a bit infuriating, actually, especially on those days that she couldn’t decide what to wear or what to do with her hair. Frank just threw on a hoodie and some jeans and those boots he would wear to bed if he could, and he was ready.

Walking into her office, he made his way to her and she realized her strategy of not thinking about him during the week he spent away had worked. She had focused on everything but Frank Castle and everything she had to do so as not to think about him and, consequently, miss him too much, but now that he was here, placing the white roses that he always presented her with behind her pencil case, she felt the tightness in her chest that told that she had missed missed missed him but now was so glad that he was here.

Oh, she just knew this office was about to implode because of him.

He bent over her desk to place a kiss on her lips, and she angled her face up, but as soon as he backed away, she got up to close the door and shut the blinds, ignoring the protests of her nosy coworkers.

“I thought you were supposed to fly back tonight.”

“Yeah”, he started while she shook her head at Arlene through the window, who was making faces and mouthing “oh my God??” at her. “Leave it to those kids to not follow the plan.”

Turning to him, Karen smiled and moved to better greet him after a week of texts and quick calls to say good night.

“What happened?” She asked after a proper kiss and a tight hug, pulling him towards the couch, moving to sit sideways on his lap.

“We got a dog.”

She was on her way to kiss him again, but stopped and moved back to look at his face.

“You got a- the dog you were planning on getting Frankie?”

“Nope, not that one. Well, now, I guess, yeah.”

He had been planning on getting a dog for his son for his birthday, two months from now, in order to maybe teach some responsibility to the young boy that, unlike his sister, that took to their father and developed her organization skills from an early age, was truly content on being the spoiled youngest sibling, leaving a messy trail wherever he went.

“I took them to dinner last night”, he started to explain, one arm behind her, hand on her hip, the other caressing her thigh over her jeans.

Karen has never been happier to have a private office.

“We went to this sea food place-”

“You got a dog at a seafood place?”

“Almost. We get there and I’m looking for a parking spot when these two little maniacs yell ‘SHELTER!’ and hop off the car.”

Karen smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. They had picked this up a while ago, under the impression that, as long as the car was moving very slowly and they loudly announced why they were exiting the vehicle and where they were going, it was ok to simply unbuckle and leave.

“So I park the damn car, and when I get there they go ‘daddy daddy please!’, thrusting this puppy on my face.”

“What breed?”

Here, he sighed.

“A pitbull.”

“Oh, these kids are good.”

Frank loves pitbulls. Everyone that knows him knows this. He had forfeited the privilege of having one when he married Maria, who is very allergic to dogs, leaving the one he already had to live with his parents. Old Max had died soon after Frankie was born, and Frank has been puppy orphaned since then.

“Yeah”, he says, softly, as he always does when talking about his children, picking on a seam of her jeans. “I made it a little difficult, though, made them promise all kinds of things about taking care of it, going for walks and shit, but Lisa hit me with the birthday bribe thing, and Frankie said he never wanted anything more in his entire life, even if he had met the dog three minutes ago.”

With hands on his face, Karen bent to take her kiss, and the familiar warmth of him made her want to go home.

“So now you have a dog.”

“Now I have a dog. Its technically the kids’ dog, but he’s gonna live with me full time, so yeah.”

Weaving her arms around his neck, she pulled him for a hug, aware that someone was going to knock, any second now.

“I’m happy for you”, she said, feeling his arms tighten around her. “And I’m also glad you’re home a whole nine hours earlier.”

She had been right. Right when he was weaving his fingers inside her hair, opening his mouth to her kiss, someone knocked on the door, and she got up from his lap.

“Yeah, come in.”

Simone and Andre, of course. Everybody had been asking about Frank, wanting to meet him, but these two have been the worst.

“Hi-i, excuse us”, Simone sing-sang, walking in as Frank slowly got up from the couch. “We just wanted to know if you’re gonna join us for lunch. Hi, I’m Simone.”

Frank moved to shake her hand, and Andre stood there sizing him up.

“Frank Castle.”

“Ah, the famous Frank. I wish I could say we’ve heard all about you, but this one has built a mystery”, Andre said, taking his turn in shaking his hand. “She doesn’t say anything, no matter how much we beg.”

Karen would have sent them away, but it was a little fun to watch Frank squirm under her coworkers’ scrutiny.

He smiled his polite smile, and touched a hand on the small of her back.

“I’m afraid I came to steal her away for lunch.”

They tried to convince him they could all have lunch together, but he explained that he had just touched down in New York, his suitcase was still in the car, he had his kids waiting for them back home.

After a lot of probing, a lot of insistence, Alex and Sam joining them in the office, she managed to shoo everybody away and, finally, pull him by the hand to the elevators.

“I feel like The Bachelor or something”, he whispered to her while they waited, mouth to her ear, and she put one arm around his torso.

“They’re a bunch of reporters, and I have been retaining information about you for almost a year. You’re lucky they’re not dissecting you over my desk.”

The door pinged and opened, and they stepped into the empty elevator. Frank kissed her discreetly, a sweet hand on her face while they descended to the lobby for his car.

“Sorry for showing up unannounced”, he said against her cheek. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s ok. I’ll have to hold a press conference in the break room when I come back, but it’s worth it.”

He smiled against her face, placing a lingering kiss on her temple just as the doors opened to the lobby.

She asked about the trip on the way to his apartment, a hand on his hair while he drove, and he told her about long lines and kiddie rides, but how it was worth it, just to see the kids so happy. How they had to smuggle the puppy to the hotel, and Lisa forfeited a day in Sea World so they could go back home early and how they almost cried along when the puppy whined in the plane, the loud noises hurting his little ears.

When he parked in his usual spot, Karen tugged on his sleeve before he even started gathering his stuff to get out of the car.

Unbuckling, she leaned to kiss him and, after quickly bunching up her skirt to her hips, moved out of her seat and maneuvered herself on top of him, laughing out an “ouch!” when she banged her head on the car ceiling in the process.

He was smiling when she moved to kiss him, hands eager on her, going from her face to her hair, down her neck, over to her back and down her hips until he was gripping her ass firmly, kissing her slow and deep, making her sigh against his lips.

“I missed you”, she whispered when he dove to kiss and nibble on her neck, arms around his shoulders, feeling warm and tingly from his kisses.

“Fuck”, he sighed against her skin, looking up again to catch another kiss. “I missed you more.”

Frank had his hands full of her and everything was already spinning when she took her hands from his face, lowering them down his chest.

“The kids are gonna sleep over?”

“Yeah”, he said against her neck while she pushed his shirt out of her way.

“Well then”, she said, closing her eyes when he pressed a chunk of her skin between his teeth, a reaction to her fingers unbuckling his belt. “We’ll have to make do.”

It’s not that they never had sex with the kids in the house. He shared custody with Maria, 50/50, and they’ve been going out 10 months, now, of course they had to make sure the door was locked and try to be as quiet as possible.

But he was just coming back from a week away, if they went upstairs right away, she would have to wait until bedtime to get her fill of him.

So the car it was.

“Hold on, hold on”, he breathed, one arm around her, leaning off the seat to start the car again, setting the air conditioner on high.

Frank came back to her with renewed gusto, and she kinda liked the rough fabric of his jeans scratching her bare thighs.

It had to be quick. No time or space to draw out anything. Plus, his windows were tinted and the garage was underground, but this was still a public space.

She groaned into his mouth when he slipped inside her, bracing a hand on the ceiling right above her head, rolling her hips on his, the vents of his (very impractical) Mustang blasting cold air on her back.

He had ripped the buttons out of one of her shirts, once, on a drunk encounter where he knocked on her door after drinking with his buddies, and as exciting as it had been at the time, she had warned him not to do it again, she couldn’t exactly afford this habit of his. So now he was always careful, going button by button every time.

This time, he stopped just after three, when her bra was exposed enough, and pushed the lacy fabric aside to attach his mouth over her breasts, hugging her to him, making her moan at what the movement did, he was just so good at this.

Oh, his hands. Frank knew just how to handle her, his fingers applying just the right amount of pressure. A little bit over comfortable, not enough to hurt, just enough to make her shiver, guiding her over him, pressing and kneading, and they have to hurry, the kids are waiting upstairs, one of his neighbors could walk in any minute, there might be a security camera or two registering as his car bounced.

“Now, Kare’, come on”, he growled in her ear after just a few minutes, dipping his hand between them and bucking his hips up towards her, and she pressed her lips together to keep the scream in, moaning loud against his face, the air conditioner too loud to let anyone outside the car hear her.

Frank let go just after her, face pressed against her neck, and she hugged him to her, moving her hips to and fro slowly as they both came down, sweating a little bit in spite of the cold air coming out of the vents.

“One fucking week”, he said, all mellow, head resting against the seat, a hand on her face, and she kissed him slowly. “Away from you. I never wanna do that again.”

They took a few more minutes to put themselves together and look around before exiting the car.

Upstairs, opening the door, they found the Castle kids on the living room floor, playing with their new puppy.

“Hi, you guys!” She greeted, and both Lisa and Frank got up from the floor, excitedly talking over each other, showing her the dog, trying to tell her all about the trip to Florida in less than a minute.

“Ok, ok, hey, calm down”, Frank said, closing the door behind them. “Take a breath.”

The plan had been for them to go out, and they would drop her off at work after they ate, but she ended up sitting on the floor with the children, playing with the new family member, trying to come up with a name for him, so Frank ordered in.

“He looked straight at us when we came in”, Lisa was telling her, sitting by her side playing with the puppy while Frankie sat, technically, on the floor, but with his back against her chest, her legs crossed around his small frame while he played on her phone. “The lady told us he was born less than a week ago. We were the very first to come in and see them.”

“He has three sisters”, Frankie piped in, not looking up from the phone. “I wanted to bring them all home.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, buddy”, Frank said from the couch.

“But daddy, you love dogs”, he argued, calm as cucumber. “You would love all of them.”

“I think it’s good that you only got him”, Karen said, pushing the boy’s hair away from his forehead. “One dog is already such a big responsibility, can you imagine four?”

“I agree”, went Lisa, rubbing the puppy’s belly. “We would be totally overwhelmed.”

Nine years old and such big words.

“Right. Totally overbelted”, echoed her brother, sort of.

“By the way”, Frank said from his spot on the couch. “What’s this guy’s name?”

They thought about names for a few minutes, laughing while she and Frank suggested names like Tiberius or Leandrenous.

“Frank Jr Jr!” Suggested an excited boy.

“That’s too many Franks in one house”, argued his sister, shaking her head solemnly.

The food arrived and they jumped to set the table, babbling away about Disney World and how they couldn’t wait to be old enough for the “big rides” while Frank opened the door and payed the delivery guy.

They sat down at the table to eat and, while Frank served rice to Lisa, Karen spotted a stain on his neck, right below his left ear.

Lipstick. Hers, from the car.

Dropping her fork, she reached out to clean it, or, at the very least, smudge it away before the kids saw it. He looked at her, a question in his eyes, and she moved her hand to show him the soft pink tinge in her fingers.

She had to breathe deep not to laugh at the smug expression on his face.

“No chicken for me, daddy”, Lisa said. “I’m a vegetarian.”

He fixed her with a look.

“Since when?”

“Since today. I just saw on TV how they make burgers and chicken nuggets, so I’m not gonna eat meat anymore.”

“You could have mentioned that before I ordered chicken and steak, maybe?”

“Sorry. I’ll have rice and fries. And I guess I can have some cauliflower.”

They ate and the puppy whined, begging for food while Frankie listed all the disadvantages of being a vegetarian and Lisa listed the benefits.

“They eat dogs in China. Did you know that?”

“No they don’t!”

“They do, too! And in India, cows are sacred. So us having burgers is just as weird for them. You wouldn’t eat a dog, would you? So why should I eat a cow?”

There was a moment of quiet, while Frankie thought about it and Lisa tried not to make a face at the steamed vegetables she was munching on.

“What else do they eat in China?”

.:.

After teaming up to load the dishwasher, they all got into their shoes again, to go out and drive Karen back to work. They needed to also stop at a pet store, to buy the newest member of the family some proper food.

“You’re sleeping over, right?” Lisa asked from the back seat when Frank pulled over in front of the Bulletin, the dog on her lap.

“Yep”, she confirmed, twisted around to look at the girl.

“Good. We still need to tell you about the rest of the trip.”

“And I need to show you my new comic books”, Frankie - now also a vegetarian - added.

“I want to hear and see it all”, she smiled at them. “Bye, you guys.”

Moving back, she looked at Frank, who leaned in to collect a kiss.

“We can come pick you up.”

“No need. I have a Skype interview, don’t know how long it’ll take. I’ll get a cab, or something.”

“Ok. But call me if you want me. I’ll come running.”

She took the kiss, and whispered just for him.

“I always want you.”

.:.

As she expected, the office was holding its collective breath waiting for her return. She had barely walked out of the elevator when Simone got up and started to follow her.

“You sneaky bitch”, she said, pinching her arm and Karen smiled. “You were hiding that all along?”

“I wasn’t hiding anything. Or anyone.”

“Karen”, said Sam, catching up to them. “That is your boyfriend? Jesus Christ, he’s so yummy.”

She didn’t say anything to that because, well, yes, he is.

She didn’t mean to keep Frank a secret. He wasn’t, really. But things had started very uncertain, with them.

He was married, when they first met. Just starting on his divorce process, and he was not in a very good place then. Neither was she, really, what with the break up with Matt and Wilson Fisk waging war on her over the exposè she wrote on him, Nelson & Murdock handling the case, it was a mess.

But then they met again, and she wrote a story on him, they teamed up to bring some corrupt CIA officials down, he became a source, she became his one woman database, he saved her life, and suddenly-

Suddenly they were in love. Crazy, stupid, inexplicable love, theirs was a completely new thing, for her.

Karen had boyfriends before, she had been in love before, but what she felt for Frank and what he felt for her was beyond her own comprehension. She’s a respected journalist, and she doesn’t have the words to describe it.

She’s his and he’s hers. That’s it.

But she never had envisioned herself falling so hard for a man as complicated as Frank Castle. A man whose divorce papers were still warm from the printer, the ink from the judge’s signature still fresh. A man whose job she couldn’t even understand right, so covert everything was. A man with two children (and a pretty spectacular ex wife, if she’s being honest. It was pretty much impossible not to fall in love with Maria Castle) and more redacted record files than she thought was healthy.

Still. There she was, ten months after the first time he kissed her, unable to imagine her life without him, anymore.

But if she was anything, it was a pessimist. Her own life and history too punctuated with heartbreak for her to be anything other than that.

So she kept him a mystery. Not telling her coworkers she was dating, at first, and then evading questions about him when it became obvious that she was indeed seeing someone.

Plus, it felt good, to keep him all to herself.

During that time, she had also developed the purest form of love for little Lisa and Frank Jr.. She met them after a few months of dating, and the kids took to her with ease, embracing Daddy’s new girlfriend with a warmth that, honestly, choked her up a little bit.

She loved Lisa and her curious mind, sharp wit and enormous heart.

She loved Frankie and his tenacity, his sweetness and his bravery.

And, Lord above, she loved Frank. All of him, even the parts that made her want to yank her hair out in frustration, sometimes.

They were, both of them, more than a little bit broken when they first met. The way they put each other back together made them stronger everyday.

“Come on”, Alex was saying as she put her hair up for her interview. “Dish.”

“There’s nothing to dish”, she lied. “Now shoo. I have a call with Tony Stark, if you don’t mind.”

They only left after she promised happy hour next Monday, so they could question her about her relationship over tequilas and margaritas.

And, while she waited for the call to connect, she conceded: that didn’t sound so bad.

.:.

Dinner was somewhat tricky.

Lisa was standing her ground with this whole vegetarian thing, and the last thing Frank wanted was to curb any of her impulses - especially when they were rooted in something valid -, even if they didn’t last long, so he had no choice but to adapt.

When she got there, they were, Frank and Lisa, in the kitchen, trying to make a cheese and broccoli soup.

“Tomorrow”, Frank started while he supervised the kids brushing their teeth after dinner, already dressed for bed. “We’re gonna go to the vet, get that little guy all the vaccines he needs to be healthy.”

“Can we go to the park after?” Frankie asked, standing on a little stool step to make him reach the sink, foam spilling out of his mouth.

“Depends on what the vet says.”

“We should get him a trainer”, Lisa said after rinsing, drying her face. “Like the one Kim Kardashian got. You know, to house train him.”

“I doubt I can afford Kim Kardashian’s dog whisperer.”

They said goodnight while Karen rubbed moisturizer on her face and Frank walked to tuck each of them into their own beds, maybe read with them a little bit. The dog - who still didn’t have a name - was going to sleep in Frankie’s room tonight (he had won the coin toss).

She was already in bed, browsing her phone when he walked in, turning the lights off and closing the door behind him, carefully turning the key.

Karen locked the screen and reached to put the phone on the nightstand, smiling when Frank reached the mattress and got a hold of both her ankles, yanking her to him, she giggled and bit on her lower lip, watching as he quickly shed his shirt and threw it behind him.

He bent to place kisses and nibbles on her belly, moving her own shirt out of his way, until he was pushing it over her head and lying down on top of her, his kisses slower than the ones they shared earlier in the car, but not any less intense.

Karen likes the weight of him on top of her. Likes to raise her legs and wrap them around his torso, feel the muscles of his back with her hands, tug on the longer strands of his hair. And she loves everything he does to her, he never disappoints.

But she felt him a little different this time. While his right hand holding her hips up for him was nothing new, the left one on her jaw, angling her face up so he can kiss and lick and nibble on her neck, lower, a tiny bit more intense than usual, was.

(Not unpleasant, by any means, but new.)

“Fuckin’ craved you all week”, he says against her navel, hands busy busy busy on her, and Karen feels violent shivers running all over her. “Missed the taste of your skin.”

This is what her coworkers meant when they said “dish”. They wanted the details of how Frank performs in bed, how his body feels on top of her, how thoroughly he fucks her and how expertly he eats her out, but that is something she was determined to keeping for herself.

She didn’t want to share how he makes her arch her back off the bed when he dips his head between her legs, or how he makes her shiver with the way he works his mouth on her, how she trembles while trying to be quiet, biting on her lip and seeking leverage on his hair.

Karen was not even a little bit eager to describe how he makes her come on his tongue, her skin erupting in goosebumps when he slides up to whisper how much he loves the taste of her, or how he is so good in reading her body that he knows just how to touch her to have her shivering for him all over again, or how perfectly he fits between her legs, how perfectly he fits inside her, her perfectly he moves within her.

This is just theirs.

But, maybe, depending on her mood, she can imply the way he rolls them around and perches her on top of him, and how very good she is at riding while his eyes inspect her, hungry and loving.

Maybe, just maybe, if the drinks are good and the mood is right, she might even tell them how hard he takes her from behind, and she has to scream into a pillow to avoid waking the kids, but even then he doesn’t stop, how he can go for so long she ends up dizzy.

Karen would never soberly admit how she begs for him, how he commands and she obeys, because this is the best she’s ever had, or how he tells her that he loves her so so so much while fucking her silly.

Her nosy and curious coworkers sure would like to know about the shower they shared after that, because they worked up quite a sweat, and maybe Sam, the hopeless romantic, would sigh if she told him that the way Frank looks at her makes her heart spread warmth all over her.

But she thought that it was private, just like the fact that her favorite position is when he’s fully lying on top of her and she is all tangled around him, or that is how the start and end most of their encounters, except when they’re too eager to make it to the bed.

Maybe she’ll tell them. We’ll see.

.:.

Frank is usually the first to wake up, so he’s the one that starts breakfast. Eggs and waffles with honey and jam, fruits, fresh juice for the kids and coffee for himself and the woman who stole his heart. A decent breakfast for a Saturday morning.

This morning, though, he had company. While he cracked eggs on top of melted butter, a tiny little puppy wobbled his way to the kitchen, no doubt following the smell.

After the table was set, Frank picked the dog up, feeding him a little treat, and walked back to the bedroom, to pick wake the rest of the house up.

And honestly. This boy is almost seven years old, now. Maybe it was about time he stopped climbing into his parents’ beds? He would have to talk to Maria about that.

Not that he didn’t like that his son felt safe and comfortable enough around Karen to sneak into bed with her and pass back out while Frank was in the kitchen, sleeping starfish style in the middle of the mattress, one of his feet on top of her stomach, his little chest rising and falling as he breathed.

(Good thing Karen insisted on changing the sheets last night after their enthusiastic reunion. Even tired as she was, she had the presence of mind to predict his kid’s behavior.)

“Go on”, he whispered to the dog, placing him on the bed, watching as he walked towards Frankie’s face to sniff and inspect.

Frank walked to the window and cracked the curtains open, letting a little sun in before lying back down on his side of the bed, moving the kid so he could fit.

“Morning”, Karen greeted, stretching, eyes still closed, moving her face towards his for a kiss. “Something smells good.”

“I made breakfast”, he said softly as the dog sniffed Frankie’s face and the boy turned away, groaning and rolling until he was lying on his stomach. “Hey there, buddy. When’d you get here?”

Soon, Lisa padded out of her bedroom and joined them, hair a mess, also woken up by her nose.

They walked to the table and Frank carried his youngest like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder, placing him on the chair and laughing at his sleepy face while he blinked awake, staring at the plate in front of him.

Deep sleeper, Frank Jr.. Barely ever cried when he was a baby. Slept through the night from the beginning. Unlike Lisa, whose lungs capacity had humbled her parents and their neighbors alike.

Finally sitting down on his own chair after making sure everybody’s plate was full, Frank watched his daughter make plans with Karen about next year’s birthday, when she would be old enough for some of the bigger rides at Disney.

He thought he lost his family when he got divorced. Had night terrors about becoming one of those estranged fathers, alone and unloved for the rest of his life.

Instead, he never even had time to miss his kids. He just got a new dog, and there was a ring burning a hole inside the safe in his office.

All there was missing was a “yes”.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastle fic #kastle fluff #kastle smut #writing #Hell's kitchen Chronicles #Frank Castle #Karen Page #fix it fic #AU

113 notes · View notes

thelifeoftuan · 5 years

Text

Journalism Hell

There’s a little known fact about me. Or a fact that is usually forgotten. Either way. In college, apart from my Biochemistry major and pursuit of a career in medicine, I was also a Journalism major.

We’ll backtrack a little bit. Spring 2010 of my sophomore year of college, following a meeting with my advisor within the College of Arts and Sciences for my Biochemistry degree towards the end of that semester, I sort of spun out of control into this existential crisis. Hahaha! Why, you might ask? Well, it was at that meeting that my advisor was reviewing all of my credits and told me that I was on track to graduate the following Spring. And I was like, “What?” He looked over all of my requirements and said that with some good planning, I am set to graduate the following year. And in my head, I, for some reason, started to panic. Hahaha! I was like, “Um, excuse me dude, I’m only a sophomore. I haven’t even taken the MCAT yet, let alone apply for medical school. I’m not ready to graduate.” I remember asking him what my options were, and he was like, either book it and take the MCAT two months ago and apply to medical school yesterday then saunter on over to the commencement department and get ready to apply for graduation... or, do something else. I went home and stewed. ...like stewed to the point where the stew burned. And I was like, “what the shit! I didn’t plan for this!” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, why am I complaining, right? The prospect of graduating a year early from college isn’t something to be butt-hurt about. But at that time, I was definitely not ready, mentally or emotionally. Not to mention I was nowhere near ready to really plunge into the horrid process of applying for medical school. That would have required me to get together letters of recommendation, transcripts, take the MCAT (and do somewhat well), apply for our pre-medicine committee interview (a stupid and unnecessary process, honestly, in retrospect), decide where I wanted to try to go to medical school and get those applications together... within a matter of weeks, because if memory serves me right, the application cycles started in the summer. So after I (rather unnecessarily, I will admit) agonized about this, I was like, “nah bro, we’re staying the full four years.” And it was at that time that I then embarked on my existential crisis. What the crap was I gonna do that will effectively prolong my stay in college to the appropriate four years? And it took a couple of days. I didn’t want to squander my time (or money, to be honest) doing something that wasn’t worthwhile. But I also didn’t want to over-tax myself. At first, I was like, well? I’ve always seen myself as a writer, maybe I should delve down that route. I initially thought about picking up an English major or minor. I spent hours and hours pouring over the coursework and projecting my class schedules and how that would pan out or if it would even work. And I discovered that it would if I picked up an English minor. And this department was within the College of Arts and Sciences, and so I wouldn’t have to really branch out too far from “home base.” But then I delved further into the required classes and read up on the syllabi (syllabuses? ...silly buses?) and looked up the instructors on the university online database, and review after review for course after course... they were all mostly bad with, at best, a B- average for grades, and I was like, “...I actually don’t think this is for me.” Being a literature buff was not my thing, and I think the English minor/major at my university trains students for that... which, in my opinion, was not worth my time or energy. I barely knew how to read, let alone critically analyze literature. I definitely was not going to risk something that would take shots at my already teetering GPA if I could help it, especially if it was something additional I was taking on. At that point, I would’ve rather graduated a year early and figure it out from there. So I scrapped that idea. And then it was back to the drawing board. Another several days of searching and seeking counsel... and then one day, a random thought came into my head. There was this nice building at the southern corner of the campus that was one of the newer colleges of our university, the College of Journalism. I would always walk by this building but never ventured in. One nice summer day that Spring semester of 2010, I did. And immediately, I felt sort of the same “at home” vibe I had felt all those years ago when I decided I wanted to become a pediatrician. Another little known fact. I actually started writing (for lack of a better term, honestly) before I even decided medicine was my calling. I remember in kindergarten, I had started writing and I remember my teacher reading some of my stories to my classmates. It wasn’t talent. It was a whim. Some sort of strange whim that has carried me forward throughout the years, just like how my aspiration for a career in medicine did. Within the College of Journalism was a major known as Professional Writing. I went home immediately after that day and did all the research I could on this. There was, unfortunately, no minor offered for any of the journalism majors. But the more I read about the Professional Writing track, the more and more I was sold. This major would train me and give me the skills I needed to become a more proficient writer and actually give me an avenue and motivation to continue writing as a potential career. None of that literary crap that made me despise high school English class, but stories that I would actually enjoy writing. I meticulously planned out my current coursework remaining for my Biochemistry major and overlay the required coursework for a Journalism-Professional Writing major... and it was like over-packing for a trip (another one of my wondrous qualities), borderline impractical and insane, but doable if done correctly. I asked myself, “how invested are you in this, Tuan?” I remember taking an afternoon to think about this, seeking opinions from some of my friends. And then, by the end of the day, I decided to go for it. I scheduled a meeting with an advisor at the college who, honestly and I think appropriately, questioned my sanity. I concretely remember him, one, looking at me with his eyebrows raised when I told him my background and experience (or lack thereof), and two, asking me repeatedly, “Are you sure about this?” But when I expressed my extreme interest and drive, he complied and laid out the requirements for me. I would have to take an entrance competency exam (basically a reading and writing exam). Thank goodness the foreign language requirements were the same among colleges, because I was not about to go down that route again (Spanish 3 is a story for another time...). That summer of 2010 would end up being my busiest summer. Because I picked this new major, I would have to get the required prerequisites out of the way before I could even think about starting any Journalism classes. So this required me to take two journalism classes over the summer. And I had also enrolled in a Biochemistry course that summer. So, three classes during that fateful summer of 2010. Hahaha! Not my smartest decision. But it felt like this new endeavor into the world of Journalism breathed new meaning in my life, and I felt rejuvenated and excited. Well, that feeling did not last too long. Hahaha! Mind you, yes, the entire way until I graduated college, I loved my Journalism major and classes, and it was definitely a reprieve away from my science classes and the stress of applying for medical school. But the very first class I had to take, and I will always remember the course ID to this day, was JMC 2033: Writing for Mass Media (JMC stood for Journalism and Mass Communication and was the ID used for all Journalism classes at my university). This was the introductory “weed-out” class for Journalism majors... which shocked me when my teacher, an impassioned writer and, in my opinion, rather poorly directed masters student who took pride in making this class the hardest it could ever possibly be, said to us on our first day, “If you are taking this class in the summer thinking that it was going to be easier, think again.” In my head, I was like, “oh shit.” No biochemistry professor of mine ever said that in any of my classes on the first day, and here I am, at a place I thought was the greener side of things, and there’s this crazy 20-something-year-old lady with an ego the size of the screen projected at the front of the classroom ready to skewer each and every one of us for the next 8 weeks. ...and skewer us she did. She definitely found some sick joy torturing us students in that class that summer. And I was so out of my element. I knew that I had a disadvantage and that this wasn’t something I had a true strength in. Other people in my class seemed to have read all the time and knew how to pick apart articles, had an eye for ads and design, understood the basic workings of PR and broadcasting. Me? I was the lowly writer who really only had the skills of an unpolished kindergartener. ...but I will be damned if I let my first step into the Journalism world be a misstep. So that summer, even more than my Biochemistry class, I worked my ass off more than ever before. Because it was a summer class, we crammed 16 weeks of work into 8... which was not the healthiest thing, honestly, because that required working and studying every single night, because this lady would present us with quizzes almost every single day of class. And this class was Monday through Thursday. Not to mention you had to make a C average or above in this class to be accepted into the College of Journalism (which, yes, is a given for anything, really), but as you will see from the quiz averages of this particular class, that was kinda touch and go, and I feared for my life and the life of my classmates at several points. And thus arrives the main topic of this post. Hahaha! (That took a while, right?) These quizzes we were subjected to tested absolutely everything (but truthfully, essentially nothing) about the supposed skills a journalist should have. Looking back... honestly, it was mostly hogwash, as you’ll come to see. Hahaha! This class was so bad and so hard that I ended up making daily Facebook status posts about it and then compiling them all together in a singular post titled “Lessons in Journalism Hell” posted on my Blogspot exactly 9 years ago today. I think the funniest (and frankly most appalling) thing this teacher did for this class was each morning, she would post the quiz averages of the day before on the large projector in front of the class, which I always wrote down so that I could relay how horrid this class was, and she also put the highest score and the lowest score on the projector and always, without fail, revealed to the class who made the highest score. ...if she had revealed who made the lowest score, she probably would’ve been murdered, honestly, because no one in the class liked her. And if someone made a perfect score, she would put the student’s name up there for all to see. ...it was kinda insane what this lady did. I look back on this course with such comical contempt, because I was like, “if all of my Journalism classes are going to be like this, I have made a grave mistake.” Thankfully, this was not the case. JMC 2033 is, notoriously, and especially when taught by this one particular crazy lady, is the hardest class in the college. I think what made it hard was it was an introductory course that attempted to teach all Journalism majors the basic concepts of journalism and mass communication, which included advertising, broadcasting, PR, and professional writing, and incorporated the necessities of media literacy and competence. I will say that I learned a few things from this class. But was any of it particularly useful? I mean, a good majority of our assignments and preparation for quizzes was to read or watch or listen to something that was published within a specific time window the day/night before and remember every single goddamn detail we possibly could and hope that we even read, watched, or listened to the right thing so that we could answer quiz questions the following morning. ...perhaps that only useful thing I did pick up from this class was a stronger resilience and work ethic than what I had previously. Haha! And so, without further ado, I would like to repost my Lessons in Journalism Hell on my tumblr today, to commemorate a rather miserable yet pretty laughable time in my life 9 years ago when I decided to pursue a Journalism major the summer before my Junior year of college. Each lesson is numbered and dated with a short sentence or two I devised to describe what the quiz was about, followed by the class average (and often my own personal commentary on such average). I don’t remember my own grades from these quizzes, as I didn’t write them down. It felt like it was poor form. Also, the teacher took back our quizzes after we had five seconds to review them (for some dumbass reason I will never understand), so I don’t have them in any archives of mine. But anyway, I present to you, Lessons in Journalism Hell, June 9 - July 29, 2010. June 9 | Journalism Hell Lesson #1: Copy-editing marks. A journalist MUST learn how to copy-edit using the CORRECT symbols and marks. Class avg: 57.7/100 ...HOLY CRAP! June 10 | Journalism Hell Lesson #2: Making distinctions. A journalist MUST learn how and when to use who vs. whom. Class avg: 79.6/100 June 14 | Journalism Hell Lesson #3: AP Style. A journalist MUST learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 63/100... and teacher said she expected great things from this quiz -.- June 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #4: Newspapers. A journalist MUST learn how to read a newspaper--and figure out what content the teacher will quiz over. Class avg: horrendously low... T_T June 16 | Journalism Hell Lesson #5: Language Lapses. A journalist MUST learn that you feel bad NOT badly, that mobs are always angry and beatings are usually brutal, and finally, that you are usually nauseated, NOT nauseous...unless you make OTHER people want to vomit. Class avg: 97.3/100 :] June 17 | Journalism Hell Lesson #6: Newspapers Round 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read the newspaper (again), analyze it, memorize important facts, and rely on sheer gut about what the heck the teacher will ask on the quiz. Class avg: 68.2/100 ...my Buddha. -.- June 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #7: Diversity. A journalist MUST know the difference between an oreo and a twinkie. Enough said. Class avg: 75.7/100 June 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #8: Diversity Part 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read online news sources about blacks, Native Americans, and gays. Class avg: 43.7/100 ...OH MY SNAPS! We're getting killed by these quizzes! June 23 | Journalism Hell Lesson #9: It's anyone's guess. A journalist MUST know that if he/she WERE smarter, he/she would have made a better grade on this quiz. Class avg: 77/100 June 24 | Journalism Hell Lesson #10: Huffingtonpost.com. A journalist MUST... oh, what the hell. This quiz was completely insane and taught me nothing besides how terribly vague and untimely the quiz content was. All I learned was that huffingtonpost.com updates multiple times and the time frame we journalism students were given was within a 10-hour time span. Class avg: 58.8/100 -- I'm starting to get worried... June 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #11: AP style round 2. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 70/100 June 30 | Journalism Hell Lesson #12: The Week (online magazine). A journalist MUST not give up. As we are all getting tired of this, refer back to lessons 4, 6, and 10. Class avg: 71.9/100 July 1 | Journalism Hell Lesson #JUST KIDDING: There was no quiz today. WHOOPEE! July 6 | Journalism Hell Lesson #13: Us Weekly. A journalist MUST not let his/her brain melt while reading this tabloid-esque trash. Class avg: 78.1/100 July 7 | Journalism Hell Lesson #14: AP style round 3. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP style of writing. Class avg: 93.2/100 ...WOOHOO! July 8 | Journalism Hell Lesson #15: Pluralizing. It's bitches and hoes! Class avg: 85.9/100 July 12 | Journalism Hell Lesson #16: AP style round 4. Class avg: 85.9/100 July 13 | Journalism Hell Lesson #17: AP style round 5. Class avg. 82.1/100 July 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #18: NPR. A journalist MUST listen to 20 stories of Morning Edition on NPR (National Public Radio) and remember all the details. Class avg. 76.4/100 July 19 | Journalism Hell Lesson #19: NBC Nightly News @ 5:30 p.m. A journalist MUST watch the 5:30 p.m. programming of NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams. Class avg. 89.3/100 July 20 | Journalism Hell Lesson #20: AP style round 6. Class avg. 85.7/100 July 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #21: Advertising Age (AdAge.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with AdAge.com. Class avg. 70.9/100 ...and we were doing so well. -.- July 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #22: PR Newswire (prnewswire.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with a PR tool website. Class avg. 72.9/100 July 26 | Journalism Hell Lesson #23: ESPN.com. A journalist MUST ...seriously?! This is by far the stupidest thing I've studied. Class avg. 75.4/100 July 27 | Journalism Hell Lesson #24: The First Amendment. A journalist MUST memorize the First Amendment... word for word. Class avg. 81.5/100. Awesomeness! July 28 | Journalism Hell Lesson #25: TMZ.com. A journalist MUST read more trash. Ugh. Class avg. 68.6/100. ...GEEZ! July 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #26: Gawker.com. And so, the last lesson in Journalism Hell before the shit hits the fan. A journalist MUST read even MORE trash. -.- Class avg. 71.2/100 Hahaha! There you have it. Needless to say, I got through this class with an A (thank Buddha. I honestly would have been a little upset if the decision to pick up a second major in college brought down my GPA and further hurt my chances of getting into medical school). My teacher called out my name a number of times because I had made the highest grade on a quiz, and I think my name showed up on the board twice because I had made a perfect score on two quizzes. Each time, I just sunk into my seat and avoided eye contact. I definitely did not take these instances as accolades, because it made me feel really bad because the class averages were so low, and my classmates honestly were not having it with this lady, so I definitely did not appreciate her putting me on the spot. But regardless, I persevered and left JMC 2033 in the rear-view mirror as I started my actual Professional Writing classes the following fall semester. It gave me a giggle to go through this post again. Some comical memories of a pretty grueling summer, for sure, but productive and successful nonetheless. In the end, I definitely enjoyed my classes at the Journalism college, and it was definitely a decision that I did not regret. Anyway, just thought I’d trek through memory lane for a bit on this late night. Till next time. :]

#life of tuan #journalism #professional writing #lessons in journalism hell

2 notes · View notes

e350tb · 5 years

Text

Steven Universe: Marooned Together - Chapter Thirty-Six

(thanks to @real-fakedoors for proofreading, as always. Read her stuff!)

As do most things with the passage of time, the gunshot wound faded.

The aches and the pains did not.

Vidalia noticed that she just couldn’t carry all the things she used to, or work as hard - and while the Curator was enthusiastic, he wasn’t exactly fit, so she was forced to look for new museum employees. She was surprised when Blue Pearl answered the flyer, and even more surprised when she asked genuine, interesting questions about all of the paintings in the museum.

She began to teach her what she knew - technically and practically. Her lines were straight and geometric at first, but not at all bad, and as time went on she blossomed into an impressive visual artist. Drawing remained her passion, but Vidalia taught her to paint, to watercolour, to sculpt.

She didn’t think much of it until one day, six months after the coup, when the Curator blandly asked her a question.

“Are you training your successor, then?”

He immediately apologized profusely and bolted for his office before Vidalia could reply - which was odd, because she wasn’t offended by the question (although it was a tad insensitive). It made her think - was she? After all, she wouldn’t be around forever, and she’d brought Blue in specifically because…

She cleared it from her mind. What was coming was coming; for now, as always, she’d focus on the moment.

The months flew by - they seemed to fly right off the calendar, the world speeding up as she seemed to slow down.

A year after the coup, Jeff inaugurated the New Earth Home Guard, the replacement for the disgraced Resistance under the command of Peedee Fryman (Captain Franks’ offer to lead it had been politely but firmly declined.) They were explicitly designed to be less threatening than the old guard - green uniforms instead of black, old fashioned helmets shaped almost like bowler hats, and a distinct scaling back of random military parades. The biggest change of course was that anyone could join, human or gem.

There was a big shindig to celebrate the moment at the Diamond’s Lament, but Vidalia found herself growing tired as the night wore on - before long, she found herself trudging home, her legs weary and aching.

She found herself sitting on a crude little bench near the museum to catch her breath.

“You alright, V?”

She looked up. Amethyst was standing there, concern underlining her features.

“You left pretty early,” she said, “I mean, nobody’s even wasted yet.”

“I’m just tired tonight, Ames,” replied Vidalia.

Amethyst sat down next to her.

“That’s… really not like you.”

Vidalia sighed.

“Yeah, well… you know, it’s late,” she said.

She looked up at the lights swirling in the sky, dancing and swirling in the Oort Cloud.

“If we died tomorrow,” she asked, “Do you think we’d have lived a good life?”

“I… well, duh, but what brings this up?” demanded Amethyst.

“I’m in my seventies now, Amethyst,” replied Vidalia, “Considering I spent a good portion of that without proper food and water when we started this place, I think that’s pretty damn good, but…”

She sighed.

“...I feel like I’m slowing down,” she said, “I just… can’t do the stuff I used to.”

“Okay, I really don’t like you talking like this, Vidalia,” said Amethyst, grabbing her shoulder, “I mean, come on, you’re not…”

Vidalia chuckled, and Amethyst trailed off.

“Look at you,” said Vidalia, “Just as beautiful as the day we met.”

“Hey, you’re still hot, if that’s what you’re saying,” said Amethyst.

Vidalia smiled.

“But you’re gonna be here one day,” she continued, “And Sour Cream, and Onion, and I… I won’t be. And I just…”

Amethyst swallowed and nodded, her eyes glassy and her lip trembling slightly.

“I’ll look out for ‘em, V,” she said.

Vidalia pulled Amethyst into a tight hug, patting her back gently.

“Thank you, Ames,” she replied.

There was a long sniffle, and Vidalia couldn’t help but laugh a little. It was infectious, and Amethyst vibrated in her arms as she laughed back.

“Getting old fuckin’ sucks, V,” croaked Amethyst.

Vidalia nodded.

“Damn straight it does.”

Another year flew past, and suddenly she couldn’t run without losing breath. Her pace slowed. Everything else accelerated.

Her work at the museum seemed to scale back more and more, with Blue picking up more of the slack. She had learned to categorize everything in the galleries, and on those few happy occasions when a scavenger brought back an old piece, she was able to tell where it was meant to go - most of the time - without Vidalia’s help.

She still had enough energy to veto the Curator’s more impractical ideas - “...and where exactly are we going to put a working railway?” - but her work became increasingly administrative, and she found herself more and more unsatisfied.

In those moments, she turned to painting. The world outside was changing day by day, and she was determined to chronicle it. She had painted before - the dark days of early New Earth were represented with limited and crude paints and charcoals, while today’s fabrication technology allowed her to use whatever technique she wanted. She wanted to show her kids, and Sour Cream and Onion’s kids (should they choose to have them), what these times were like.

And there was one painting she was more and more determined to paint.

“Okay, so you just want us to stand in front of the barn?” asked Stevonnie.

They and Lapis stood on the beach before the barn. It was a beautiful sunny day on the Island, and after so long on New Earth, Vidalia had started to forget what sunny days on a planet were like. She leaned out from behind the easel, studying her subjects.

“Maybe sit on that rock,” replied Vidalia, “Lapis, put your arm around Stevonnie’s waist.”

“Like this?” Lapis did so as they sat down.

“Perfect,” replied Vidalia, “Alright, I just need to get the sketch and the basic colours down, then I reckon I can finish back at home.”

She began to put paper to canvas, swiftly drawing up the rough sketch on her easel. After a while, she stopped to cough into her arm - she drew it away and saw red spots. Not again, she thought grumpily.

“Vidalia, are you okay?” asked Stevonnie, concerned.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, hold your pose…”

It didn’t take terribly long for the sketch to be finished - Vidalia was well practiced, after all - and she was soon onto the colour. In this moment, she felt freed - existing in a world of rich blues, sandy pale yellow, greens from the treeline and brown from the barn, and in the middle of it all, two figures who loved each other; and there she was, bringing this all to life, preserving this singular moment forever on canvas. There was a simplicity to it all that soothed her mind.

Eventually, however, she set down her brush and climbed to her feet, and all the aches and pains and stresses of life seemed to slowly crawl back, nettling their way into her joints with the familiarity of a houseguest.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ve got the gist of it. I think I’ve got enough to finish back on New-”

She coughed again, and this time some of the red gunk fell to the sandy beach. Before she’d recovered, Stevonnie had run over, placing their hand on her shoulder.

“Vidalia, are you sure you’re okay?” they asked, “Maybe I can help.”

Vidalia chuckled.

“Kid, it’s an internal thing,” she said wryly, “And I’m not swallowing your spit.”

“But…”

“Beside, it comes and goes,” continued Vidalia, “Doesn’t stop me from doing anything, so… let it be.”

“But I want to help!” exclaimed Stevonnie.

Vidalia smiled, putting her hand on their shoulder.

“I know,” she replied, “But… how do I put this, I…”

She shrugged.

“I’m okay,” she said, “I know it’s coming, and… I’m okay.”

Stevonnie frowned, eyes filled with concern.

“Know what’s coming?”

“I think we both know,” replied Vidalia, “Warp me out, will ya?”

She turned to the warp pad - hesitantly, Stevonnie followed.

“I’ll let you know when this is done!” said Vidalia, “I think it’s gonna come out really well…”

It was a night like any other.

Vidalia sat in the living room of her apartment, built into the back of the museum, taking in the moment. She had just been working on a painting - not the Stevonnie and Lapis one, that had been done for months; this one was a completely spur of the moment one.

It was her as she was now, wrinkled and grey but still smiling, still full of life; next to her stood Amethyst, and both laughed at an unheard joke. In the background was the museum, it’s artifacts arrayed in cases, displays and on the walls. Next to one, Peedee and Jeff shared a kiss. Peridot stood next to an old fossil in a glass case, but her eyes were really on Amethyst. Blue Pearl sat at an easel to the left of her, Yellow modelling for her. Stevonnie and Lapis walked around nearby, lost in each other’s company. And dotted around them all were her other friends; Garnet, Jenny, Rhodonite.

And on their own on a bench, talking about the little things that brothers speak of, were Sour Cream and Onion, the elder one ruffling the tuft on the younger’s head, as a portrait of Yellowtail looked down on them.

She didn’t know if it was her magnum opus, but it was a damn fine piece, if she said so herself.

It wasn’t finished, mind - about two-thirds were painted, and she hadn’t really begun with the shading at all - and yet when she looked at it, she felt a sense of satisfaction. There was more she’d like to do with it, so much more, but if she couldn’t? Well, that was okay. There was something there, something she had done, and she was damn proud of it.

Her eyelids were heavy as she laid back in the chair, and as she began to drift off, she could have sworn she could see a bearded figure in yellow.

She nodded wearily.

“Took me long enough, didn’t it?” she whispered.

Then, smiling peacefully, Vidalia drifted off.

It is with great sadness that the Museum of Earth announces that it’s co-founder Vidalia passed away last night at the age of seventy-four. She is survived by her two children, Sour Cream and Onion.

Vidalia was the heart, soul and most of the muscle that got this museum started in the early days of New Earth, when all we had were a few meagre crates of human artifacts, and what could be found on the backs of the survivors of Earth. It is almost entirely due to her that we gathered the collection we have today. But her efforts extended beyond our walls - she was one of the great bridges between human and gem that allowed us to survive and thrive in this new world.

It is going to be hard to imagine New Earth without her, but we must follow her example, and live up to her spirit, her kindness and her tenacity in the face of all adversity.

We asked that you give her family space in what is a sad and difficult time for them. We have been asked not to publish the details of her final resting place until she has been laid to rest…

Stevonnie put down the slip of paper, letting it fall to the floor as they sat on their mattress, a deep lump in their throat. With shaking hands, they clutched their temples, closing their eyes.

“She’s gone,” they muttered, “Everyone’s… gonna be gone one day…”

A hand came down on their shoulder, and they looked to their left. Lapis was sitting down, pulling them into a hug.

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly.

She pulled them in close, rubbing their hair as they began to cry into her shoulder.

Amethyst wiped her eyes as she watched the tiny canister float into the Oort Cloud - the final resting place of one of her best friends. She could feel the eyes of Onion and Sour Cream on the bridge behind her - she turned around to find Onion already leaving, his expression unreadable as ever. No-one would ever have known he’d been bawling earlier.

“Is… is he gonna be okay?” she asked softly.

Sour Cream nodded, turning around to follow his brother. He made it as far as the door before turning around.

“Hey, Amethyst?” His voice was croaky and soft from lack of use.

Amethyst raised her eyebrows in surprise. Ever since he had returned to New Earth, she had never actually heard him say anything.

“Yeah?” she asked, and immediately kicked herself for not saying more.

“Thanks,” said Sour Cream, “For being her friend.”

Fresh tears threatened to spill over her cheeks as she smiled sadly back.

“My pleasure, SC,” she replied, “My pleasure.”

Sour Cream gave her a small smile in return and walked away.

“Amethyst?”

Peridot got up from her chair, walking slowly up to her girlfriend.

“Are you… gonna be okay?” she asked gingerly.

Amethyst smiled, putting an arm around Peridot’s shoulder.

“She’s at peace now,” she replied, “I’m gonna be sad for a while but… it’s not a bad way to go.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the trickle of tears, the frog in her throat, and a strange sense of calm in her very being.

“Not a bad way to go at all…”

#steven universe #marooned together #vidalia #stevonnie #lapis lazuli #amethyst #peridot #sour cream #onion #blue pearl #lapvonnie #amedot

10 notes · View notes