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asena-graywolf · 1 year

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Am I Nothing?

You were lying in your bed listening to music and surfing the social media apps on your phone.

But you had to take a break from what you were doing after a text message came to your phone.

"Look at the window"

The message was from Yamaguchi. Coming all the way to his house was not usually his habit. If he came, there must have been something important.

You did what you said. You approached the window of the room and looked down. You saw your boyfriend in front of your house door looking at your room window

You called him right away and connected your phone's speaker to your earpiece.

“Yamaguchi? What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you y/n"

"Sure, let's talk… did something happen?"

“Go down”

Yamaguchi was acting differently today than usual. There was no sign of your shy but lovely Yamaguchi today

"For what?" you asked curiously

“I say go down. Or I'll come to there"

"Okay wait I'm coming"

You took off your headphones. You took your jacket and went downstairs. You met her eyes

There were still thousands of question marks in your head. It had been two hours since he had left school. You dropped him off at practice two hours ago and then wished you luck and went home. What could have happened to change her boyfriend one hundred and eighty degrees in two hours?

“Yamaguchi? Tell me what happened?"

“Y/n. I want to ask you something but please tell me the truth"

"Of course. You know I would never lie to you"

He grabbed your shoulders and looked at you with both serious and depressed eyes.

“Y/n. Do you love me?"

"Where did that come from now?"

You were surprised. You still couldn't understand what had happened to your boyfriend. What had changed so that he was questioning your love for him? Was he not sure how much you loved him?

"Answer my question. Do you love me?"

"I love you"

"Well how much?"

“To die for you”

"Say it again. looking into my eyes"

You frowned and folded your arms under your chest

“Yamaguchi. Talk to me clearly. What is your intention? Why are you questioning my loyalty and love for you as if you didn't know?"

Yamaguchi was stubborn

“Y/n. Tell me to Love Me! Look into my eyes and tell me

You looked into her eyes and said quite confidently that you loved her.

“I love you more than anything in this world, Yamaguchi. You are my only cute and shy Yamaguchi. You are my whole world. Please answer my question. Why are you questioning this?"

Poor Yamaguchi's face fell. Her freckled cheeks were blushed

"I am sorry. I really…oh well, never mind”

“Yamaguchi, please tell me. What happened? I am your girlfriend. When you're bored with something, can you tell me who you're going to tell, not me?"

"Well…I guess you're right."

“Then tell me what happened. Now!"

“Okay then. After you dropped me off for training, we formed two teams and started playing matches. Since I'm also the team's reserve serve, I served Tsuki's place in another round and unfortunately my serve was unsuccessful. I almost gave a point to the opposing team. This is not the first time, you know. Anyway, Tsuki and I got hooked over this issue and I guess, in the moment of anger, his true thoughts about me came out.”

The blood had splattered into his brain. you frowned

"What did he say to you?"

“He said that I would always make the team lose points, that I was too useless to even be in reserve. Besides, I was ugly, I was incompetent. He questioned how you agreed to go out with me despite all this. He said a girl like you would only go out to play with me. The last time he told me I was nothing and left."

"I don't believe you! Did you really believe that idiot's word? Oh that boy! Can't he unable to hold his tongue at all? Dirtbag! No one can say such words to you! No one has the right to hurt you. I'm not going out to play with you! I am with you because I love you. Also, I love your beautiful freckled face and messy green hair. I'm sure if the most handsome man in the world wanted to be with me, I would still choose you. You are never a nobody! You are my only Yamaguchi. They are shallow and ignorant people who do not know what the heart is. Tsuki is one of them. We can't expect him to understand.

“Thank you y/n. Your words really put my mind at ease. Tsuki's words broke my heart so much that I can't explain. I was really sure that you loved me, and now I'm convinced once again."

He glanced at his watch and seemed to remember something he had to do.

“Oh! I have to go. We shall talk later. I will call you. See you later"

"See you later"

As he ran away, he suddenly turned to you and held out both his hands and kissed you.

"I love you"

You sent him a kiss the same way

"I love you too"

#hq x y/n #haikyuu x imagines #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #tadashi yamaguchi #yamaguchi x reader #tadashi yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi x y/n #yamaguchi x you #tadashi yamaguchi x y/n #tadashi yamaguchi x you #tadashi yamaguchi imagines

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bonniesband · 11 months

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JSaB - Inv AU Short Story

It had been two months since his last visit. Lava pooled under the rock beneath their feet, dripping with the crunch of every pebble until the steps of one abruptly halted as the other fought to keep up. Unsteady clacks unto the stone raced the pattering below before settling back, tap to drip, starting the dance all over again. The rush mattered nothing, time never seemed to move under the countless layers of stone. Cruel, volcanic rock encompassed them, folding above their heads and below their feet and followed, gaping like teeth, beside them. One of them huffed. Dark as it was inside, he only wished it could’ve been darker.

He would take stumbling around blind over trusting the floor to hold above the spitting, hissing lake below. The stone towered unmoving, but the lava knew anger. Fabric clung to their backs, their legs, their arms— sweat beaded and joined the sizzling lakes below with a hss. The air was thick and warped and pressed against them relentlessly, nearly as agitating as its sickly glow.

…Well, there was a reason he came here so infrequently.

Their shadows bobbed together, reaching the ceiling and sliding down stalagmites to join at their feet.

“…And it’s true that this place once felt no warmer than a candle?”

The other paused to tug at their sweater— what a choice that was to wear, but they didn’t seem as bothered as he— and trotted antsily behind.

He slowed his pace for a moment until their steps synced to the trickle-splash below. He breathed in— coughed— and shivered in spite of the heat. “‘Course. The lava’s new. It used to be blue like you. People lived here.”

“But I live here?”

Dust floated lazily by. From the walls trickled lava, the light so-similar to the sun glaring. His eye ached, head pounding. “You survive here. This isn’t living.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad!”

“I feel like my insides are vapor. Also, you’re wearing a scarf.”

“…I like it warm!” His friend insisted. He would argue there’s a difference between warm and melting, but perhaps that’s simply the pink hue hurting. Instead, they returned to the subject at hand, “Cmon, Fresh, nevermind that! What about the people? Were they like me?”

“…Sorta. All kinds of shapes lived here. Huge settlement and whatever. Flowers, mostly, but some like you and me.” Like them, like him. Long gone.

“Like us?” One step further. Another. Wait for a moment, and continue.

“Like us... More you than me. Blue from the islands, n’ orange too.” He could barely see the rock underfoot now, but it wasn’t familiar anyway. Not to him. He had hoped that maybe some fragment of the past sheltered deep beneath the earth. Maybe the air still trembled with the hundred voices of a seaside town— not because of the aching, vicious heat. He could almost hear them behind the next pillar, see lost change scattered under one of these stones, busy storefronts around this drool of lava— but there was nothing there. He couldn’t recognize even a scratch of these caves. This place did not know him. Not anymore.

Barracuda was none the wiser.

“Yet it wasn’t only them! Others! But why?” The walls groaned and rumbled, reluctant to hold steady around them. Pebbles rattled on the ground following its displeasure, and the drrrp drip panicked in response. “Volcanoes aren’t often first-choices.”

He wasn’t going to disagree with that. “It was habitable before. Too hot now, but warm back when I visited. New faces every time… it was popular with travelers.” They’ve been walking for hours far past the reasonable limit. He wasn’t even sure when he took the lead, spiraling them ever further in. A pebble fumbled underfoot and he sent it out of sight with a kick— two, he missed the first time— a plop was all they heard. It sank. Gone forever. “Not anymore, though.”

“I can imagine! Even you don’t come often enough...” They trailed off with a hesitant laugh. “…say, where are we going again?”

By then, even they didn’t know where the two were. They had weaved between columns of rock and dripstone, on routes far off anything they’d usually consider safe. Persistent rumblings from above assured that they weren’t wrong with those thoughts. It wasn’t smart to be here, they knew. All the same, turning back meant that the trip would end, and each time they braced themselves to ask, they simply couldn’t find it in themself to.

So they continued.

He didn’t answer in the meantime, not having one to give. Steps in step, falling behind. Stopping and catching up. Echoes bounced down the walls and back before the question was lost to the lava’s hissing and gurgles.

Minutes ticked by drip by drip by drip.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen this path before! It’s so… out of the way,” Darkness gathered despite the intense lava flows and they’ve stumbled over too many stray ledges jutting from the floor. The dust did not help, long settled into thick layers. Maybe it was sand. Maybe it was ash. It was certainly unstable. “And rather troubling to tread, isn’t it?” Their friend didn’t take notice, and so they coughed, prodding again, “…Why would people come down this far?”

“Most didn’t.”

“But why? Who did?”

He didn’t spare even a look back, let alone an explanation.

But it was only a simple question in their minds. A good one, too.

Why are they here?

Traces of annoyance took form underneath the casted shadows, uncalled for and frankly undeserved. There was some sort of answer, but he didn’t care to give it. These caves were dangerous, suspended over ages of rock and endless lava and full of choking heat and he had a good reason to be here, even if every excuse sounded plainly wrong in his head— no, people didn’t come here. There were no traveled trails or brick houses this remote. There was never anything this far in the deep depths, or the deeper deepest depths. Nobody came here. But he did, so he must’ve had a reason. Something better than looking for something that didn’t exist.

A reasonable reason. Something sensible. A meaning in coming down all this way to wander around like idiots.

He bristled.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?—“

“I don’t know.”

A pebble clinked down a flight of stones. Underneath the sound of footsteps, it was hardly heard before, but now it felt deafening in the newfound silence.

“…I…” they swallowed, “I… see.”

The ground could’ve swallowed them whole and it would’ve been more pleasant than this. Hands fiddled with the ends of a scarf, tugging at the loose ends of a sweater’s cuffs. The fabric unwound little by little, tightening in a coil before the string would dare snap. Unsustainable, they thought. Something had to give. This had been pulled too taut and they were unraveling with every word. “…I—“

“If you don’t like it, then leave.”

“What?— No! It’s unsafe to go alone—“

“I don’t actually care—“

“But I do! And besides, this is my home and you know how da-n—“

“I don’t need your help to navigate this stupid place—“

“But you come all this way so infrequently, I want to help—“

“I didn’t come here to see you!”

They stopped.

“Oh.”

He glared back. And turned away.

And walked. Step by step.

It felt like an eternity standing there before they registered that the prickling in their eye wasn’t ash after all.

It was tempting to turn back.

They weren’t wanted here after all.

They could let him march away, to not interfere. They should. Maybe he didn’t mean it, but it hurt.

They might have been desperate, but even they had limits.

But before they could leave, something rumbled, thundered and crashed.

He was an idiot.

Wrong.

He was an idiot, a moron, and a fool.

First, he idiotically snapped at someone— the only someone who’s been willing to tolerate him, mind you— and stomped off into the unknown after a declaration of enmity. Next, he moronically caused no small amount of a ruckus as he trampled through a tunnel that rattled and creaked— which he would have heard had he not been cursing out the aforementioned cave and the interaction just prior. Thirdly, he foolishly had yelped when the ceiling above him buckled, causing what might’ve only shuddered to now shatter and fall. On him.

Did he mention the gods-awful lava?

Right, he should, because the choking humid-but-not-water burning oven-style volcanic sauna that he’s been trudging through was nothing compared to spitting acid to skin contact.

Hindsight’s gonna strangle him.

“FRESH! Oh— goodness—“

The present might kill him first. He groaned.

Barracuda upheaved boulders and rocks with a desperate haste, scraping hands against the sides of stubborn stone to beat the furious lava scalding the very threads of their clothes— not even to say what it’s done to his, but— “you—“ they cried, digging their heels down as they pushed and pulled, “you are simply an— an idiot!” Something tore and Fresh, battered and crisped, was yanked free. “We have gone over how dangerous these caves can be! Especially for you! You have no tolerance for heat, and you go off on a tantrum by yourself!— I— I ought to toss you out, you absolute hazard of a dolt! Had I not been there—” They sucked in a breath. And out. And then continued. “Stupid. Absolutely the peak of stupid. Don’t do that. Please. I have one heart and you’re going to be the death of it… no, don’t you dare start now. Save it for later. Come on, let’s get you home…”

Seeing him unfit for travel, they hoisted him into their arms. Oh, they were talking about this later, they made sure he knew! Before they hammered basic safety into his thick skull though, they’ll be treating those burns first… Jerk, they would say when they reach their own door. He’d be hissing at the tug of bandages and scowling in pain with every twitch, but they would say he deserved it for being such a fool! A true fool he was, too! To have been so rude with so little warning and then put himself into danger— to worry them terribly into tears again. A real jerk.

“And you better come back. I can’t trust you to survive one minute out of my sight!”

…Fresh snorted. He just might after all.

#my writing #A World that Won't Wait #aka the story where Fresh is a jerk and Barracuda wants a friend #jsab #just shapes and beats

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buc-eebarnes · 1 year

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WIP WEDNESDAY - PART 2

This is the beginning of the other multichap I got going on! 10k words in, but at what cost 🥲

Captaineer AU in which the Captain doesn't control how they hop across the multiverse--they just happen to do so. It's not until they meet our Head Engineer at the Space Academy that they start encountering him in subsequent universes. Lots more will be revealed whenever I end up finally posting the whole thing. It'll also make more sense. Trust the process and whatnot lol

Prologue

When you make sense of the world again, the first thing you come across is a bridge.

The night sky is inky black; no stars are in sight except for the dim flicker of the planets. The city below you glows yellow and blue and red, and the cacophony of the cars and people are contained at a distance. The wind bites at you from up above, and you notice the trees framing the bridge, swaying slightly but providing no comfort from the breeze.

You fold your arms and sigh deeply. You wish you were still wrapped up in your sheets in your old bedroom. The sweater that’s been gifted to you by this universe isn’t warm enough, but it’ll have to do. In the middle of the bridge, you see a lone figure leaning against the railing, playing with something idly between their fingers.

Your footsteps are slow. The bridge is wooden, sturdy, and has clearly stood the test of time. It creaks beneath your soles and it vibrates up into your shivering bones. You lean on the same railing as the figure, some few feet away. Instantly, you recognize the side profile, and you wonder how you didn’t realize from the very beginning who this was. Your aching heart should have clued you in.

His hair shifts in the breeze. His face is serene, body lax. He’s wearing weather-appropriate clothing (something you curse the universe-hopping gods for): a black leather jacket with a hoodie layered underneath; thick, wooly pants; high-soled boots; gloves for warmth; round-rimmed glasses. It’s very rare that you ever see him with glasses, but he looks good. It suits him. It’s too dark to see what’s in his fingers, but you feel no immediate threat to your newly gifted life.

You face the city again, observing hundreds of thousands of dots in the distance, blinking and wavering, never ceasing to exist. You wonder if this is what the universe-hopping gods do whenever they’re bored: people-watch.

Your chest constricts, and you swallow past the lump in your throat. Your hands are clasped, red from the cold, and you’re gnawing on your lower lip to stave off the tears. He’s so close. He’s so close.

“Hey,” his deep voice rumbles, tinged with concern, “you okay?”

It takes you a few seconds longer to answer, but you manage to say, “Yeah,” and keep your eyes forward.

“It’s in the low 50s right now,” he continues, and you hear his body shift to face you. “It doesn’t look like you’re wearing anything too warm. Wanna borrow my jacket for a bit?”

You stare resolutely at the cityline. You have to say no. This version of him isn’t the one you’re looking for, and you’d probably have to leave him soon enough, anyway.

“It’s alright,” you get out. “I’ll be okay.”

You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head before he shrugs and says, “Suit yourself,” turning heel and walking opposite the way you came from.

“Thank you,” you call out, “by the way.”

He stops in his tracks, glancing backwards towards you. You meet him eye for eye, and you can see his mind dancing.

“You’re not gonna do anything stupid, are you?”

Unexpectedly, you bark out a laugh. “What do you mean by that?”

He shifts uneasily. “Well, you’re not gonna…jump, are you?”

You raise an eyebrow. Is he insinuating—? “If I tried jumping off of this bridge, I’d just end up rolling down the hill.” Which is true. It’s not steep—about 500 feet down is a small road that leads to the main one.

“You can never be too sure.”

“No, but I’m not gonna jump. I’m not here for that.”

“Then what are you here for?”

Exhaling, you face him fully. His hands are in his pockets, expression curious. You don’t see whatever it is he was playing with. You drink your fill of him—you don’t know when you’ll be ripped from this universe, and you don’t know when you’ll get to see him again. It’s always by chance, by some turn of luck that you’re able to cross paths with him again. You’ve lost count of the endless years you’ve spent wandering through timelines. You don’t even know how old you are, or how long it’s been. Yet, you still search for him.

“I’m here to find someone.”

He grins half-heartedly, and your heart skips at the sight. “I’m someone.”

Against your will, you return it. Another gust of cold air rushes through the bridge, and you shiver in place, cursing internally. You close your eyes to brace against the breeze, and you don’t open them until you feel your back being blanketed with warmth. He’s securing the leather jacket around your shoulders, puffs of his breath visible in the night. There’s about a foot of space between the two of you. He’s close. He’s so close.

But it’s not him. This man is him, across all universes you’ve been dropped into, but he’s not the one you fell in love with. Or maybe he is, and these versions of him that you’ve encountered are fragments scattered across the multiverse. Either way, he’s not the original one. He’s his own person, but only a facsimile to you.

It doesn’t change the fact that he still looks the same. He’s still handsome, undoubtedly so. There’s an easy confidence to his movements, something that you’ve always envied no matter what universe you’re in, and he’s charismatic. You wish that there’s something in him that recognizes you, the one who’s been chasing him throughout the multiverse. But you already know as you look into his eyes, hands clasped over your shoulders, that he has no clue who you are. You are a random person that just happened to be on the same bridge he was at this time of night. He’s extending his kindness to you by making sure that you, a stranger, are warm. You don’t have a good idea of what kind of person he is in this universe, but his charity has always been a constant.

You clear your throat, unable to tear your eyes away. “Thank you.”

He nods, brows furrowed again. You wish he’d stop doing that. “You’re welcome. Who are you looking for?”

“Someone I’d lost a long time ago.” A frown tugs at the corners of your lips. “I don’t even know when.”

It seems like it’s unconscious, the way his hands rub up and down the length of your arms through the leather jacket. “I’m sorry that you can’t find them.”

You shrug. “It’s okay. I’ll find them again.” You have to.

He stares at you searchingly. You stare back, for lack of anything else to do.

“Come on,” he says, leading you forward. “Let’s go somewhere warm. I don’t think we can find anyone at this time of night.”

You follow shallowly in his footsteps, but already, you can feel the world changing. It’s in the way the trees shake, the wind picks up, the ground trembles, and how you are the only one feeling its effects. Something blue glows from within his jacket pocket. You have a sinking suspicion that you know what it is. It always makes its way back to you, ever since the incident.

His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, trying to shield you from the cold, but it’s fruitless. You didn’t think that your time in this world would be that long, but you didn’t expect it to be cut this short, either.

You lean into him, and just before you can feel the telltale sign of having your gut being pulled out from under your feet, you press your lips to his ear.

“Thank you, Mark.”

His head whips to face you in disbelief, at the shock of his name being uttered, but the world is already being rearranged once again, and he is the last thing you see as darkness bleeds into your surroundings, the fabric of space and time morphing to deposit you into a new universe. You pray to whatever gods are out there that it’s the one that you left the original version of him in.

But, as is the nature of your life, you don’t always get what you want.

This is what I was working on while I was out of the country for a few weeks. Very proud of it so far. I hope you guys enjoy this whenever I get it uploaded!

#captaineer #head engineer mark x the captain #iswm fic #engineer mark x captain #my fic #juls rambles #wip wednesday #mpcu

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ravenlking · 1 year

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Duo Magic

𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 "You two have the potential to combine forces. Don't let your silly rivalry get in the way of true greatness. Take it from someone who's lived centuries."

part of the astrid lokidottir/perseus lokison series! warnings: none a/n: please give me feedback :)

Let me know if you'd like more!

"That ends our lesson on 'Duo Magic'. For homework, I wish to see a five-hundred-word essay on the types of magic that can be duo-ed and also a brief summary of what we have covered in class today," Perseus stated before tapping the board with his staff. Immediately, the letterings melted away to reveal the emptiness of the board, as clean as if no one had touched it.

The quietness of the classroom was engulfed by the busy chattering and laughter of the students. Groans from exhausted students went unheard; many considered this class to be half-heaven, half-hell. It had been a long, information-filled lesson today, not that any of his lessons weren't like that. Perseus flicked his wrist and his classroom cleaned itself, grumbling under his breath as he spotted leftover stationery, forgotten by careless teenage mortals. His wintery magic danced around the classroom; the chilly breeze lifted the dust and flicked it into the trash can. Chairs were automatically dragged in, gently clicking against the table when the woods met. His beloved classroom was clean once more.

Slow, but steady footsteps echoed against the ice-covered floors. Perseus watched with an indescribable look in his eyes as two interesting, yet starkly contrasting students exchange a look before heading his way. The god hummed as he pressed a hand under his chin before staring into two pairs of eyes - one covered with a guarded wall around his soul while the other had eyes of steel that hid the lonely soul.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Rosehearts and Mr. Ashengrotto?"

✧༺♥༻∞

Riddle fiddled with his fingers as Professor Lokison stared at him. There was something unnerving about his gaze - as if he was able to see further into his eyes and then scan his own soul.

"Professor Lokison," Riddle began. "I feel...weird recently."

The professor hummed as he leaned against his desk, gesturing for him to continue.

"Ever since you began teaching 'Duo Magic' for the past week, my fire-oriented spells have been acting...peculiar," Riddle closed his eyes. Within his soul, he felt the flames flicker and cackle, even more than usual with Azul Ashengrotto by his side. It urged him to work together with the sly businessman, although Riddle had absolutely zero intentions of getting closer and working together with him. "Around Azul, they seem to...be alive. They perk up whenever I'm around him."

Riddle's eyes widened as a sudden thought came to him that he never pondered upon.

"Don't tell me that I'm in love with him!"

Azul whirled around with an equally panicked look on his face. Riddle's statement seemed to make sense, well in his opinion.

"According to studies, a fluttery feeling means that you are in love!" Riddle heard Azul gasped and grasped the edges of the table. Pleadingly staring into Professor Lokison's eyes, the silver-haired student begged out: "Professor, tell me it isn't true."

Professor Lokison was silent before a strange noise came out of his mouth. He faced the side, hands raising to block his mouth as Riddle realized - he was chuckling.

Why?? Can't you see Riddle is in distress?!

"Mr. Rosehearts, Mr. Ashengrotto," their professor chuckled. Strangely, Riddle could sense that their usually-glacial teacher was much more warmer right now. He folded his fingers over each other, facing them with a miniscule smile on his lips. "Rest assured, you two are not in love. Although..."

A mischievous glint could be seen in their professor's eyes. "Might there be something you haven't shared?"

"Of course not!"

"Never!"

The two students spat out, eyeing the other with hidden malice. Riddle's fingers tightened around each other before their professor spoke again.

"How curious...you say your flames feel more alive and potent, Mr. Rosehearts?" He hummed, tapping his fingers against the desk. His eyes, seeming more like shards of ice, faced Azul. "And I presume your water-based spells have a similar reaction, Mr. Ashengrotto?"

Azul nodded.

"It's like whenever I cast them, they feel more powerful," The silvernette explained. "Around Riddle, they tug at me to...be together with him?"

Riddle felt a grimace take over his mouth. Does the self-proclaimed, sly businessman not have any other words instead of 'be together'??

Professor Lokison coughed, successfully gaining their attention once more. He leaped off the table before reaching for his staff.

"If the two of you would stand behind me," He spoke before lifting his staff. Riddle and Azul's eyes widened before doing as told, exchanging hidden glares as they were forced to "huddle" together behind their teacher. Riddle felt himself get colder the more he was closer to Professor Lokison; a strange chill enveloped his body. Goosebumps raised across his skin.

Professor Lokison stabbed his staff into the ground and with gasps, Riddle watched as the entire classroom transformed into a clear space; the walls were covered in a frosty layer of ice while the floors remained their glacial appearance. There was no desk or chair in sight, it was as if they had melted away.

"This is..." Azul breathed out. "extraordinary."

Riddle saw their teacher smirk before he leaned his staff against the table. He snapped his fingers before two dummies appeared, roughly a few meters away.

"I'd like you two to cast your strongest respective elemental spells and observe what would happen," Professor Lokison lectured.

Taking a deep breath in, Riddle and Azul simultaneously cast the greatest spell in their inventory. Roaring, scarlet flames escaped from Riddle's ruby pen while ocean waves crashed out from Azul's lavender pen. They collided in mid-dance, swirling around each other like a dance. Steam hissed as the flames and waves approached one another and the room suddenly felt more humid.

"My word..." Azul breathed out, hands slack against his sides. Riddle echoed his shock and sentiment. In all his years, he has never seen such a thing...it was awe-inspiring.

Clapping brought them out of their awe-induced stupor. They snapped their head to their professor and to add to their shock, he was smiling.

"This was beyond my expectations," Professor Lokison gave them a smile. "Mr. Rosehearts, Mr. Ashengrotto, you have unlocked a rare spell technique - duo magic."

"Duo-Magic?" Riddle mumbled. "Like what you have been teaching us?"

Their professor nodded. "It seems as if your powers have grown to a point that they are able to not only be casted, but pull on the other person's magic to enhance their strength. With this technique, the amount of magic strain on your body is lessened, as well as the amount of blot accumilated will decrease."

"But I would have to work with...him," Azul turned to Riddle. The ruby-haired student could see an eye twitching but he hid it well with an emotionless face. Riddle, too, scowled, crossing his arms and let out a little huff.

Professor Lokison frowned.

"You two have the potential to combine forces. Don't let your silly rivalry get in the way of true greatness. Take it from someone who's lived centuries."

Riddle tightened his grasp on his pen, making up his mind.

"Azul," He forced out. Holding up an arm, a part of him laughed at the shocked look in Azul's eyes. "I will put away any hatred and malice feelings I have towards you. And I assure you, I will do my best to peacefully work with you so we can grow our potential."

A business-like smile grew on Azul's face before he shook Riddle's hand. His grip was strong, Riddle thought.

"It's a deal, Riddle," Azul smirked.

Professor Lokison let out a loud laugh. For some reason, these two youngsters reminded him so much of Loki's and Thor's rivalry, and that thought made him feel more at home in this strange world.

"Can I expect you two to meet me in my classroom every Monday for practice?"

"Of course!" They chorused before glaring at each other from the side.

sneak peaks into their lessons!

azul: FOR SEVEN'S SAKE

azul: JUST CAST THE DAMN SPELL ALREADY!!

riddle: WELL, I WOULD BE CASTING ALREADY IF YOU HAD ELIMINATED OUR ENEMIES LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD

riddle: FIVE MINUTES AGO!!

professor lokison: *sips tea*

professor lokison:

professor lokison: was the students of night raven always this lively?

azul: RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS-

riddle: AZUL ASHENGROTTO-

#twisted wonderland #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #twst riddle #riddle rosehearts #twisted wonderland x marvel #loki #lokison #lokidottir #astrid lokidottir #perseus lokison #loki laufeyson

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publicdomainbooks · 2 years

Text

CHAPTER 19

THE WESTERN GALLERY—A NEW ROUTE

Our descent was now resumed by means of the second gallery. Hans took up his post in front as usual. We had not gone more than a hundred yards when the Professor carefully examined the walls.

"This is the primitive formation—we are on the right road—onwards is our hope!"

When the whole earth got cool in the first hours of the world's morning, the diminution of the volume of the earth produced a state of dislocation in its upper crust, followed by ruptures, crevasses and fissures. The passage was a fissure of this kind, through which, ages ago, had flowed the eruptive granite. The thousand windings and turnings formed an inextricable labyrinth through the ancient soil.

As we descended, successions of layers composing the primitive soil appeared with the utmost fidelity of detail. Geological science considers this primitive soil as the base of the mineral crust, and it has recognized that it is composed of three different strata or layers, all resting on the immovable rock known as granite.

No mineralogists had even found themselves placed in such a marvelous position to study nature in all her real and naked beauty. The sounding rod, a mere machine, could not bring to the surface of the earth the objects of value for the study of its internal structure, which we were about to see with our own eyes, to touch with our own hands.

Remember that I am writing this after the journey.

Across the streak of the rocks, colored by beautiful green tints, wound metallic threads of copper, of manganese, with traces of platinum and gold. I could not help gazing at these riches buried in the entrails of Mother Earth, and of which no man would have the enjoyment to the end of time! These treasures—mighty and inexhaustible, were buried in the morning of the earth's history, at such awful depths, that no crowbar or pickax will ever drag them from their tomb!

The light of our Ruhmkorff's coil, increased tenfold by the myriad of prismatic masses of rock, sent its jets of fire in every direction, and I could fancy myself traveling through a huge hollow diamond, the rays of which produced myriads of extraordinary effects.

Towards six o'clock, this festival of light began sensibly and visibly to decrease, and soon almost ceased. The sides of the gallery assumed a crystallized tint, with a somber hue; white mica began to commingle more freely with feldspar and quartz, to form what may be called the true rock—the stone which is hard above all, that supports, without being crushed, the four stories of the earth's soil.

We were walled by an immense prison of granite!

It was now eight o'clock, and still there was no sign of water. The sufferings I endured were horrible. My uncle now kept at the head of our little column. Nothing could induce him to stop. I, meanwhile, had but one real thought. My ear was keenly on the watch to catch the sound of a spring. But no pleasant sound of falling water fell upon my listening ear.

But at last the time came when my limbs refused to carry me longer. I contended heroically against the terrible tortures I endured, because I did not wish to compel my uncle to halt. To him I knew this would be the last fatal stroke.

Suddenly I felt a deadly faintness come over me. My eyes could no longer see; my knees shook. I gave one despairing cry—and fell!

"Help, help, I am dying!"

My uncle turned and slowly retraced his steps. He looked at me with folded arms, and then allowed one sentence to escape, in hollow accents, from his lips:

"All is over."

The last thing I saw was a face fearfully distorted with pain and sorrow; and then my eyes closed.

When I again opened them, I saw my companions lying near me, motionless, wrapped in their huge traveling rugs. Were they asleep or dead? For myself, sleep was wholly out of the question. My fainting fit over, I was wakeful as the lark. I suffered too much for sleep to visit my eyelids—the more, that I thought myself sick unto death—dying. The last words spoken by my uncle seemed to be buzzing in my ears—all is over! And it was probable that he was right. In the state of prostration to which I was reduced, it was madness to think of ever again seeing the light of day.

Above were miles upon miles of the earth's crust. As I thought of it, I could fancy the whole weight resting on my shoulders. I was crushed, annihilated! and exhausted myself in vain attempts to turn in my granite bed.

Hours upon hours passed away. A profound and terrible silence reigned around us—a silence of the tomb. Nothing could make itself heard through these gigantic walls of granite. The very thought was stupendous.

Presently, despite my apathy, despite the kind of deadly calm into which I was cast, something aroused me. It was a slight but peculiar noise. While I was watching intently, I observed that the tunnel was becoming dark. Then gazing through the dim light that remained, I thought I saw the Icelander taking his departure, lamp in hand.

Why had he acted thus? Did Hans the guide mean to abandon us? My uncle lay fast asleep—or dead. I tried to cry out, and arouse him. My voice, feebly issuing from my parched and fevered lips, found no echo in that fearful place. My throat was dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. The obscurity had by this time become intense, and at last even the faint sound of the guide's footsteps was lost in the blank distance. My soul seemed filled with anguish, and death appeared welcome, only let it come quickly.

"Hans is leaving us," I cried. "Hans—Hans, if you are a man, come back."

These words were spoken to myself. They could not be heard aloud. Nevertheless, after the first few moments of terror were over, I was ashamed of my suspicions against a man who hitherto had behaved so admirably. Nothing in his conduct or character justified suspicion. Moreover, a moment's reflection reassured me. His departure could not be a flight. Instead of ascending the gallery, he was going deeper down into the gulf. Had he had any bad design, his way would have been upwards.

This reasoning calmed me a little and I began to hope!

The good, and peaceful, and imperturbable Hans would certainly not have arisen from his sleep without some serious and grave motive. Was he bent on a voyage of discovery? During the deep, still silence of the night had he at last heard that sweet murmur about which we were all so anxious?

#A Journey to the Centre of the Earth

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parkerdoesparkour · 7 months

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-my wish is for your wish to come true (Theseus Birthday Fic 2023)-

A short fic I wrote for one of my twisted wonderland oc's, Theseus, who is Titania's love interest!

Two hundred and sixty five days, seven hours, and thirty four minutes since Theseus arrived in Twisted Wonderland, not that he was counting.

While it took some great adjustments on his part, he was proud to say he was mostly used to living here now. Two hundred and sixty five days is a long time to get used to something, even as jarring as an alternate reality. Thankfully, he had help; the people in the town he landed in were kind and understanding. They helped him get on his feet, taught him what he needed to know about this world, and he even managed to get a job at a local news house. He enjoyed his job, too, since he spent a lot of his work hours writing various articles. Not only did it help him get a greater understanding of this world, but writing was a way he kept himself sane.

“Knock, knock.”

Theseus looked up from the article he was editing at his desk. Bennett leaned against Theseus’ office doorway with a smile. “The boss told me to make sure you weren’t overworking yourself.”

“I’m not,” Theseus replied. “Just finishing up something before my day off.”

Bennett rolled his eyes. “You’re the only one here who works so hard on a weekend. Come on, there’s cake in the break room.”

Theseus finally tore his eyes off of his article and slid out of his desk to follow Bennett. “Cake?” he repeated. Bennett sighed, but he didn’t look shocked at Theseus’ confusion.

“We thought you might forget,” he said. They walked down the hall and entered the break room. There were streamers taped to the ceiling and a few balloons tied to the center table’s leg. A festive tablecloth was thrown over it and was topped with plastic cups, plates, and a large cake. The few coworkers here on Sunday were already gathered in the room. They all wore stereotypical birthday cones and a few even had noisemakers.

They greeted Theseus with a chorus of birthday wishes and his boss, Adeline, emerged from the group. “It’s about time,” she huffed. “We were going to have to eat your cake without you if you took any longer.”

“Sorry,” Theseus laughed. Half-distracted and soaking up the warmth of people celebrating his birthday, he added. “I forgot.”

Adeline deflated and his group of coworkers all shouted out, “Yeah, we know.”

On his way back to his apartment, Theseus stopped at his favorite coffee shop for an after-work-pick-me-up. The lunch crowds had long since dispersed, leaving only a few regulars tucked away in booth’s and the cafe’s owner, Ms. Beastton. She smiled when she saw him enter. “Your usual?”

“Please.”

As Theseus passed the counter to find a seat, one of the other patrons left their booth. They gave Theseus two pats on his shoulder then made their way to the counter to pay. Theseus gladly took their seat.

He scrolled mindlessly through Magicam until Ms. Beastton appeared with his coffee and a small pastry with a single candle stuck in it. His mouth was already open to protest but she placed the items down quickly. “Happy birthday,” she said, then disappeared into the back so she didn’t have to listen to him argue.

He sighed and turned his attention to the candle. For a moment, he watched the flame dance along with his breath. He thought about making a wish but he wasn’t sure what to wish for. Work was going well, his apartment was starting to feel like home, and he even had a few days off this week. He thought about the classic, wishing for a million dollars, when an image hit him suddenly.

Titania, dressed in silk white robes with her hands folded over her stomach. He laid flowers across her chest and watched as the people of Delamere lowered her body into the ground.

Theseus shook his head and bit his tongue to keep the tears away. He focused on the candle as a wish came to the forefront of his mind. He leaned closer to his pastry and whispered the wish like a secret to a friend.

“I wish… that I get to see her one more time. I wish for a chance to apologize for everything.”

He closed his eyes and blew out the candle.

Four hundred and five days, two hours, and eleven minutes since Theseus arrived in Twisted Wonderland and he was finally getting a chance to see the world outside of the Land of Dawning. Adeline tasked him with covering the Vocal and Dance Competition happening on Sage Island. The mage school Night Raven College was hosting this year and as Theseus walked through the school courtyard, he reviewed his mental flashcards for his job. NRC, VDC, RSA… so many acronyms to remember.

The bell chimed and he picked up his pace. One of the faculty members was kind enough to show him how to get to the ballroom where the students were practicing. For now, he was just supposed to introduce himself (tomorrow he would do the same thing with RSA’s student participants) but his anxiety still ate at him. Apparently, the student leading NRC’s students was some big shot celebrity so the pressure was on for him to make a good first impression.

He finally made it to the ballroom and, when he entered, he saw a group of students stretching and mingling. A few glanced at him but a tall blond made his way over to Theseus. He regonized the student as the high-profile celeb leading NRC’s group, Vil Schoenheit. Theseus shook Vil’s hand with a smile. “You must be the reporter.”

“Yes,” Theseus said. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Schoenheit.”

“Vil’s fine,” Vil replied. “Adeline spoke to me about you earlier and we’re the same age.” He looked around the room and frowned slightly. “We’re missing a few students. One, I think you might take interest in.”

“Oh?” Theseus hummed. He busied himself setting down his camera and bag.

“She came from another world, like you.”

The door opened and three more students plus some kind of gray cat moved in. One of them was talking to Vil, explaining why they were late, while another cut in, “Titania made everyone snacks.”

Titania.

Theseus’ head shot up and he knocked over his chair as he swiveled around. Vil looked concerned and slightly frustrated but Theseus was looking behind him, at the group that just entered. One of the students stood out from the others; brown curls and bright green eyes with a pink ribbon in her hair. Then, he found the unmistakable scar on her face that traveled down her arm.

Titania.

She recognized him, too, in the same moment. Her eyes went wide and the plate of snacks slipped from her hands. It shattered on the floor and everyone stepped back from her. To Theseus, she looked exactly the same– actually, not the same. She looked happier than he had ever seen her back in Delamere.

His mouth was moving before he could figure out the words to his apology. She was running at him then she wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. “Theseus!” she shrieked.

The apology died in his throat and he put his arms around her, laughing while tears ran down his cheeks. “Titania,” he cried, “oh my god, I thought I’d never see you again. How are you– how are you even here?”

She pulled back, smiling, and pressed her hands on his cheeks. “I could ask you that, too, you know?” She wiped tears away from his face.

“You’re alive? You’re alive right?” he asked. “You’re here?”

She nodded. “I’m here.”

Four hundred and five days, two hours, and thirty-one minutes since Theseus arrived in Twisted Wonderland and this was the best day out of all of them.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst oc #twst writing #twst oc writing

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your-good-pal-chevy · 8 months

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Swordtember : 5 : Solar

Sir William of Sungrove made his way through the crowd, smiling and waving and politely giving hands a single shake. He was utterly exhausted, but that mattered little. All eyes were on him as he strode majestically through the plaza and made his way up the temple steps.

The moment the doors of the temple closed behind him, the priests and their aides scurrying off after closing it, Sir William visibly deflated. His strong, broad shoulders drooped. He let his head roll back, closing his eyes as he took a brief moment to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Crowd never gets any smaller, does it?" The one and only Eliza Baird, Gun Witch of the Second Order, Last Sister of the Brimstone Conven, Slayer of the Gun Lich, and frequent companion of Sir William's stepped in from where she had been waiting off to the side. "Though, I suppose that's what you get for advertising your victories the way you do."

"I'm not like you," Sir William said, composing himself once more. "While I don't loathe the fame I achieve, I don't exactly strive for it either. It is simply a consequence of my duties as a Chosen Knight."

And it was true. Sir William of Sungrove, Anointed in Oils, Champion of the Three Sisters, Slayer of Victrix the Despoiler, Slayer of the Dragon of Donnberg, Slayer of Loquacious Lonnie, The Knight of the Sun, Tallest Man of Sungrove. His list of titles continued for some time, to be honest, many of them well earned in righteous battle against the various forces of evil. Many of them simply appended by those who wished to tell a grander tale than he needed.

Eliza scoffed. "Still, y'don't have to go around telling everybody who'll listen that you've done this or that. You could really stand to keep some of your heroics to yourself once in a while."

Sighing, Sir William gave her a shrug. "It is my duty to report my victories to the Temple. How they choose to use that information is... Above my pay grade."

"Pay grade. Please. At least they pay you." She folded her arms, scowling. "If they're going to keep using me as their attack dog, the least they could do is fund my damn maintenance fees. You got any idea how many bullets I go through when they send me off?" She drew a pistol from somewhere beneath her poncho, holding it by the barrel and brandishing the butt of it in Sir William's direction.

"I know, Eliza," Sir William said, pushing the gun away from himself. "Besides yourself, I doubt any know as well as I do."

Eliza scoffed again, stowing the pistol back wherever it came from.

"Walk with me," Sir William said, and the two of them ventured further into the temple.

It was a grand temple, the centerpiece of the town. It had been built some several hundred years ago and expanded over time, and now it stood as a great bastion of the faith in the entire region. When the doors were opened to the public, countless souls would teem in from the streets outside to give their praise to the Sisters, and like clockwork they would be out again by the time it came for the doors to be shut.

Few saw the day to day workings of such a place. Sir William, by virtue of his status as a Chosen Knight, was frequently compelled by duty to visit such temples outside of prayer time and make plans with the priesthood. Eliza, on the other hand, was compelled by threat of legal action.

Where Sir William was a loyal and enthusiastic servant of the Three, Eliza was boxed in by the courts. After the Brimstone Conven fell, she alone survived and was tried on suspicion of heresy. She hadn't been guilty, but it was a bad look to allow a witch whose coven fell to demonic influence to simply walk free, and so Sir William had long ago been appointed her supervisor.

The fact that the two of them got along as well as they did, in spite of how they came to become companions, was truly a testament to his patience and her willingness to swallow her pride. She reminded him often of this.

As the two of them reached their destination, a little shrine altar tucked away in a corner of the building, Sir William began to remove his weapons and armor. Eliza, without needing to be asked, moved swiftly to assist him. With their skilled hands, it didn't take long for Sir William to shed the steel that was his skin to the world. Plates and chain and gambeson and tabard were all set aside.

Of his knightly accoutrements, only his sword remained, even the scabbard put away. Eliza watched as Sir William knelt before the altar, head bowed and sword raised before him. He muttered something lower than she could hear, and Eliza stepped away.

It always felt wrong, watching him pray. She felt like a voyeur. She felt as if she was intruding on something private and sacred, and in a way, she supposed she was.

But Sir William trusted Eliza. There were scant few others that he would allow to remove his armor, to touch him in that way. Eliza knew how much he hated the touching, the countless hands desperate to feel a connection to the divine through him. She hated watching him in a crowd, playing the part of a hero while being forced to endure such things.

Even so, to see him kneeling before an altar of the Sisters, of the Sun Goddess, it was as if he was bathed in a radiant light. Some solar energy flowed through him from above, flowed into his blade, into the world around him.

Sir William was a hero. He was truly that sort. He would have gladly put his body between the innocent and anything that would harm them. On more than one occasion, he had even gone as far as to extend his mercy to those Eliza would have simply shot dead without a second thought.

It was impossible to stand next to him, she felt, and not compare herself to his saintly manner. To not be blinded by his radiant glory.

She wondered if she was any better than those people outside, all so eager to shake his hand.

Sir William, for his part, gave none of this any thought. As he finished his prayer, he rose and found his scabbard and belt. Thrusting the sword into its home, he strapped it on and put a hand on Eliza's shoulder.

"Now then," he said, offering her his first genuine smile of the day, "Let us go speak to the elder here. He will want to know what we have accomplished in the past week."

Eliza scowled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Sometimes, I really hate that devotion of yours, Will."

#swordtember #creative writing #writers on tumblr

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lgcjinyoung · 2 years

Text

「 meet me at babylon brand idea pitching 」

as a true trustfund baby jinyoung of course has his fair share of knowledge in the business department. if only because his father tried on several occasions to interest the younger sibling into taking over the family business when jinseo obviously went into another branch. while the spark had never quite ignited, it helped him accumulate a decent amount of knowledge required to truly sit down and think through what having his own brand would entail.

so it was perhaps a bit surprising when the usually laid back and minimalistic guy came prepared with a thick folder full of ideas, concepts and calculations he was ready to present as a first pitch for his own brand.

“I want to launch my own brand of sports wear,” is how he begins, setting the papers out before him neatly. “but not the common ones like nike or addidas who have a clear branding but who always have that very stigmatized label of leisure clothes used to chill at home or actually full on branded for professional sportsmen. I want you to think more along the lines of ivy park- something one could wear for their every day fashion if they decide to do so but who could still bust out into a run and feel hundred percent comfortable. for that I’d like to focus on street fashion inspired cuts made out of specific fabrics fitting for sports clothes. I want my line to cover all kinds of variety of sports so you can comfortably wear them for yoga classes just as well as when hitting the gym or training martial arts. allowing a huge focus on comfort in a fashionable way will tailor to the modern society who strives to be fashionable but has a schedule so hectic that their wish for comfort is ever apparent as well. combining both opens up a million possibilities. add the factor you can double them as sports clothes as well and people will immediately see the multi value to get the max out of less pieces of clothes they’d need to invest in, making the brand competitive on the market for being one of a kind,” he continues on, flipping the first page to continue on.

“as for a name i had ‘babylon’ in mind. the tale of babylon describes how humans thrived to be closer to god, wishing to place an homage to him whereas god took it as a threat and thus let everyone speak a different language, making them unable to finish constructing the tower of babylon and derive away from another. in this concept sports is always performed as something that aims to make the person strive for their best results, to reach further and shape their body to be their temples, an homage for the soul. the fact my brand would tailor to all kinds of different sports and purposes is reflected in the different languages spoken, to underline the diversity of everything,” he hands out first sketches that thanks to soyoun’s connections he’d been able to present along with a tentative logo idea.

“the final thought I had is that I’d like my brand to be affordable rather than luxurious, really tailoring to the every day citizen. quality and comfort for an affordable price. so that babylon can support everyone striving to become best version of who they can be.” he concludes his presentation with his trademark eye smile, hands folded together on top of the table.

#lgc:modelmission #solo: snapshot;

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inactive-luv · 3 years

Text

The Absence of Rain

"the absence of rain is when good things are most present."

the absence of rain

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N meets a stranger in the rain

Pairing: (Spencer Reid x Autistic!Fem!Reader)

Details: I hope I did my best to convey proper Autistic traits; my ASD is not the same as the readers' character, the same way no one's ASD or Autism is the same.

Category: fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Autism

A/N: I decided to make the reader Autistic. This was originally just a short story I made in English lit class my senior year, but upon rereading it, I decided to use the same prompt to write this fic

...

It's two in the morning. The Virginian rain drizzles as it has for the past two days without stop. She loved the rain, even if it was a sign of sadness or sorrow. She misunderstood it when people said the absence of rain was when good things happened. Until tonight when the theory was proven very, very true.

...

She walked from her job down to the bus stop at two in the morning when it started to rain harder than the usual drizzle from earlier in the evening. She spent time analyzing the splashing of droplets, echoing in her head after a long day. Her head raised to watch the water slap against the glass roof above her.

She stayed like that for a while, soothed after a stressful day by the calming aspects of the rain. She was watching and waiting, sitting in her bus stop seat. Her hands folded in each other to scratch lightly at her fingers, bundles of nerves across her skin aching to be touched.

She wants to stay here forever and quietly wishes for a late bus before her peace is interrupted when she sees a dark figure move across the station bridge. Her face turns puzzled, trying to analyze the new person in her space.

He looks tall from a distance. That's the first thing she notices about his body before she investigates further. She thinks about his satchel bag and his converse shoes, how he holds his umbrella in his right hand, and a book in his left. She can't make out the cover, but it must be pretty slim from how fast he blows through it.

She thinks about what would happen if he would walk over to her. She's seen him only a few seconds, yet she feels drawn or compelled to wonder further. He steps to his side, adjusting his stance, and his face falls under the light of the bus station for a second.

His jawline, eyes, lips, and everything about him leaps out immediately, catching even more of her attention. He must have felt her gaze over him, like an ocean wave crashing over a beach. A certain persistence to discover makes her eyes stay glued to the dark figure.

He swallows his lips before turning to see if she was maybe looking at someone else. He expected it. He expected not to be expected of. So when her eyes stayed fixated on him, he was a little curious. And during this time, all she can think about is if he came closer. Suppose he could turn to her so she could find the thing. The thing about him that made him so compelling.

And he does it. He starts to walk over with his book in one hand and the other in his pocket. The sounds she once found comfort in faded as he walked up to her, and everything turned to silence. The soft patter of the rain, once saturated and abstract ringing through her head, turned pale and hushed.

He watches how her eyes still stay attached to him, almost obsessively. A silence fills the space between the two before he breaks it so haphazardly, she can't help but shudder a little.

"Excuse me?" So she turns her head and is met looking up to the dark figure. He's much taller now that he's closer to her, and his hair is long. Long hair so obviously stretched under the rain, with soft curls ever so innocently framing his face.

He doesn't know what to say after that. He couldn't make out exactly who she was or who he was even expecting but, she was beautiful. He finally took notice of the more calming features about her rather than the creepy stare. He saw how her skin glowed, and her lips parted slightly as if in deep thought.

During this time, he notices the silence forming again, and he breaks it once more before he can hear her voice. "Uhm, can I sit?" He murmurs as an excuse he perhaps too eagerly came up with, taking notice of her puzzled expression. "Yeah, here, let me move my bag." Her voice dribbles out of her mouth, laced with an extensive kindness that intrigued him incredibly.

He mumbles a small 'thank you' back while he undoes his umbrella and takes a seat next to her. His head is facing the street now, but he still feels her eyes on him. It takes him a minute to swallow the lump in his throat before he turns to her again, craning his neck to meet her eye-line looking up at him.

His eyes meeting hers makes her pause for a moment before hastily averting her attention from him to anything in her way. The grass peeking through the concrete or the way the rain filled the puddles on the sidewalk.

And just like that, the silence, as well as it faded out, fades back in. The soft sounds of rain climb back through her ears to fill her brain again. Easily and slowly, she listens to the buckling of the stranger's bag, as if he was trying to make an as little sound as possible not to annoy her. But the sound doesn't upset her. It calms her.

It intertwines with the rain in a calming way. Everything blends smoother than she expected. She expected sounds to scare her as much as they usually do meeting a stranger, but the sound of his skin against the leather, and the pitter-patter of the rain, calm her.

So she's at peace when he breaks the silence once more. Although now, his words don't break the silence as much as they seep into the silent sounds, merging to form a tranquil melody. She realizes she could get used to his voice.

"Where are you coming from at," He looks down at his watch, over his sleeve for convenience, a trick she notices because she does the same thing, "two in the morning?" His tone acts as if he made most of his living in the night; the calmness, even in such an abundant presence of darkness, leads her to believe he'd done this a million times.

"I lost track of time in the library." He smiles again, "I thought only I did that." She smiles back at him and feels her cheeks start to swell and pink. He listens to her words; there weren't any libraries open this late at night he of all people should have known that.

He contemplates asking; further, he really wants to. He wants to listen to her voice again and again over and over because, unlike anyone else's, he thinks he'll never get tired of it. But he doesn't pester; he waits, hoping she'd further the conversation herself.

Little does he know she's thinking the same thing. She was thinking about every question he's asked and every question she wants to ask him. But he was a stranger even if she hoped he wasn't for much longer.

It takes a lot of strength for her to continue the conversation but noticing his peaked interest, her tone of voice heightens, "I was working at the university, that's why I was out so late." His questions are answered and followed by more, "Really? What do you do?" he wanted to know everything about the mysterious girl at the bus stop, and she was willing to answer every one of his asks.

"I help my friend who's a professor there, but I'm a medical examiner." His eyes light up, "Really? That's cool." He tries to keep his voice calm, but it trickles out so quickly, and this time she can catch his investment, and it gets easier to talk to him as if she'd known him a hundred years.

"I look at dead bodies all day. You think that's cool?"

"Well, to be fair, so do I,"

"Oh! Are you a serial killer?" Her best shot at sarcasm was successful, he laughed.

Like a modern orchestra erupting into its triumphant climax, the rain, the air, his laugh soothes her ears until she's blessing the world for her ability to hear. It's a kind of sound that reverberates in her mind and stores itself to her happiest emotion.

A type of sound she wants to hear for the rest of her life, but sadly, all of this excitement at once becomes too much too quickly, and her smile slightly fades while his head is turned.

She didn't have too much trouble with sound, so her anxiety heightened slightly when she became overwhelmed. A type of overwhelmed he could sense before he tried to lighten her mood. "No, I just catch them," He turns to reach into his bag, swiftly pulling his federal badge out and showing it to her.

She reads his badge quietly, "Doctor Spencer Reid." That's the first time she learns his name. A doctor working with the FBI. She reciprocates his actions and reaches into her pocket to pull out a card. On it, her name and medical license. "Doctor Y/N Y/L/N." A doctor working in a hospital.

"I'm in medicine. What about you?" Spencer clears his throat and holds up three fingers in one hand, clutching the card tightly in his other. "Chemistry, mathematics, and engineering." Her eyes widen, and her mouth forms a small 'o'; he just twists his face as if he was used to that answer.

And then, abnormally sudden, the rain started to let up, proving good things do happen in the absence of rain.

...

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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

Frustrated kisses with stony pls ?👉🏽👈🏽

hi! I’m sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it!

Steve hates nights like this. He watches from the corner of the room while Tony flirts with some guy, a plastic cup clenched so tightly in his hand that it might break, and wonders why he even came to this party with him. He knows why, of course, because Tony asked if he wanted to and Steve never says no. Tony doesn’t even have to ask twice. One look is all it takes, and Steve would follow him anywhere.

But this is always how it goes - with Tony flirting with someone else while Steve desperately wishes it was him.

He also knows that he doesn’t have the right to be jealous. Friends shouldn’t care who their friends flirt with at terrible frat parties. Friends shouldn’t care that sometimes those friends go home with those other people, and they definitely shouldn’t spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling and wondering exactly what it is they’re doing right now. If that other person is making them feel as good as Steve knows he could make them feel.

“You gonna stand over here all night?” Bucky asks, and Steve isn’t quite sure when he joined him. “Cause I gotta tell you, man, you look kind of pathetic.”

“Shut up,” Steve grumbles, loosening his grip on the cup and taking a sip of the lukewarm beer.

Bucky shakes his head with a sigh, and he follows Steve’s gaze over to where that guy now has his hand on Tony’s arm. “Don’t worry about that one. He’s in my psych class, and I’m sure Tony’s already figured out he’s a dumbass.”

“I’m not worried about it,” Steve lies.

Bucky hums noncommittally. “Of course not. Why would you be?”

The hand on Tony’s arm moves to his hip, and Steve feels a twinge in his chest. He takes a bigger drink from his cup. “I think I’m gonna head out soon. Early class tomorrow.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“Practice. Early practice,” Steve amends, even though they both know the football season ended already. Bucky gives him another pitiful look. “Don’t say it.”

“Not a word,” Bucky replies. He claps his hand on Steve’s shoulder before walking away. “See you tomorrow after practice, I guess.”

Steve stares for a moment longer at Tony and the other guy, wondering if he should walk over to say goodbye before he goes. But Tony’s head tilts back as he laughs, and Steve swallows hard and turns away. He ditches the half-empty cup on a table on his way out.

On the sidewalk, the cold breeze makes him shiver, and he shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He should really stop doing this to himself. He should find some way to get some space and time, or find someone he might have a shot in hell with. Shouldn’t spend all his time on someone who doesn’t feel the same and continuously ending up with this sinking, aching feeling every time.

But he knows that tomorrow when he wakes up the first thing he’ll want to do is text Tony. And later, when Tony shows up to their usual study session still sleep-rumpled, all Steve will want to do is run his hands through his messy hair. Tony will let him, too, leaning into his side in that easy way of his, but only Steve will know how much it means. Because Tony is free and open with physical affection, but Steve is careful with his own.

Steve stops at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change even with no traffic in the way. He can see his breath, and he’s watching it twist into the air before disappearing when he hears the pounding footsteps behind him.

Tony is out of breath by the time he’s caught up to him, that one unruly curl flopping against his forehead while he runs.

“What are you doing out here?” Steve asks.

“You left,” Tony says, as if that answers the question. There’s a hint of accusation in it when he adds, “You didn’t say goodbye.”

“Yeah, I, um, have to be up early tomorrow, and you looked like you were having a good time with that guy, so I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

Tony laughs, and he slips his arm through Steve’s as the light changes colors. “That guy? Not really. Nice face, sure, but not much behind it, if you know what I mean.”

Steve smiles despite himself. “I do know what you mean.”

“Did you find anyone to talk to? I saw you were with Sharon for a while there.”

Steve shrugs, barely remembering the brief interaction near the beginning of the party. “For a minute, maybe.”

“Only a minute?”

“I think she was with Nat most of the time.”

“Oh, sorry,” Tony says, and Steve frowns.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Just, you know, you like her, and it didn’t work out or whatever.”

Steve stops walking abruptly, and Tony’s grip on his arm makes him lurch when he doesn’t see it coming. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Sharon,” Tony says, and Steve’s silence makes him sigh and continue, “It’s, like, a thing, right?”

“Why would you think that?”

Tony chews on his lower lip, eyes shifting away from Steve and out into the street next to them. “I mean, I’ve seen you look at her, and how she looks at you, and the flirting and stuff. I didn’t want to ask and pry, but it just seemed obvious.”

“How I look at her? How do I look at her?”

Tony tosses his hands in his air, gesturing broadly as if to encompass everything, “You look at her like, I don’t know. Like you’re interested.”

“I’m not interested.”

Tony rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest, and Steve misses the warmth of him the second it's gone. “There’s no reason to lie about it, Steve. You don’t have to spare my feelings or whatever this is.”

Steve’s frown deepens, “What does that mean? Why would I be sparing your feelings?”

“Can you stop answering everything with questions?”

“Can you start making more sense?” Steve counters.

Tony huffs, and he runs his hand through his hair, still not looking directly at Steve. “Look, I know that you know how I feel about you, and I know that you don’t feel the same, but I’m fine with it. I’m fine with not talking about it, but you don’t have to pretend that you aren’t interested in someone else when I can see that you are. We’re still friends, and you’re supposed to be able to tell your friends about that kind of shit. I still want you to be happy, even if it’s not me that’s doing it.”

Steve feels frozen in place suddenly, like the air has grown too thick to breathe in and it’s caught in his throat. The word comes out strangled when he asks, “What?”

“And this is why we don’t talk about it, because now it’s weird,” Tony says, sounding frustrated. His jaw is clenched when he finally turns his face back to Steve. “Just go back to ignoring it, okay?”

“Ignoring it? How can I ignore it when I didn’t even know it existed?”

Tony laughs hollowly, “You don’t have to pretend. I heard you with Bucky and Nat talking about it awhile back. You told them to shut up, but I still heard them make fun of how obvious I am about it.”

There’s about a hundred conversations Tony could be talking about, but one thing is true for all of them, “They weren’t talking about you.”

“Yeah?” Tony raises his eyebrows dubiously. “Who were they talking about then? Who else is so ridiculously into someone they can’t have around here?”

“Me,” Steve confesses. “They were talking about me.”

“And Sharon?”

Steve laughs, relieved and elated all at once as it starts to really sink in, “You know, for a genius, you’re kind of dumb sometimes.”

Tony looks offended, pushing at Steve’s shoulder when he takes a step closer, “You don’t have to be an ass -”

Steve doesn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence. He’s been waiting far too long to learn the taste of Tony’s lips.

Tony is still for a moment, paralyzed with surprise, but when he does react, it’s better than anything Steve could have possibly imagined. Steve threads his fingers into Tony’s hair, and his other hand finds Tony’s hip, tracing over the spot where the wrong guy held him earlier, like he can erase the touch. Tony’s hands, in contrast, are everywhere at once. Under his shirt, along his back, and down his sides as if he’s checking to make sure it’s real. Steve kisses him a little harder to tell him that it is.

“Oh,” Tony whispers, and even in the pale moonlight, Steve can see clearly every emotion in the depths of his eyes. “They were talking about you.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles softly. “They’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

“I’m kind of dumb sometimes,” Tony admits.

“Apparently so am I.”

Tony grins, “We make a good set, then.”

Steve kisses him again, revelling in the fact that he can. “A perfect match.”

#stevetony #my writing #my fic #prompt fill #superhusbands #stony

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 8

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 8 - This Venerable One Gets Punished

Mo Ran lay in bed like a dead fish for three days. Just as his wounds started to heal, he was summoned to Red Lotus Pavilion to do manual labour.

This was also part of his punishment. During the punishment period, Mo Ran couldn't go down the mountain, but he also couldn't just laze around. So he had to help out the sect and do some drudgery.

Generally speaking, these errands were things like: helping the cafeteria lady at Mengpo Hall wash the dishes, scrubbing the three hundred and sixty-five stone lions on the pillars of the Naihe Bridge, transcribing extremely boring archive files, and so on.

But what kind of place was Red Lotus Pavilion? It was the residence of that bastard Chu Wanning, known as the cursed place called Red Lotus Hell.

Few people in Life-Death Peak had been there, and everyone who had been there left with either their legs or their arms broken.

Therefore, in addition to Red Lotus Hell, Chu Wanning's bedroom had a more grounded nickname: Broken Leg Pavilion.

There was an inside joke circulating around the sect: "The Pavilion hides a beauty, and the beauty holds Tianwen. Enter the gate of broken legs, know the suffering of getting your legs broken. If you want your meridians broken, go to the Elder Yuheng."

There was once a female disciple who wasn't afraid of death. She was bold enough to lust after Elder Yuheng's beauty. Taking advantage of the dark night and high winds, she sneaked to the Southern Peak and climbed onto the eaves, intending to watch the Elder bathe and strip his clothes.

As you can imagine, the female warrior was beaten within an inch of death by Tianwen, crying for her father and calling her mother, and lay in bed for no less than a hundred days.

And Chu Wanning also declared that, if anyone else dared to commit another crime, he would carve out the eyes of the perpetrator himself.

Do you see? What complete nonsense! What puzzling behaviour! What a heinous man!

Within the sect, there used to be innocent silly girls who thought that, because they were women, Elder Yuheng would pity them and show compassion. They were always laughing and joking in front of him, trying to attract his attention. But ever since the elder whipped that one female hooligan, no one dared to hit on him anymore.

To Elder Yuheng, whether it was men or women, he didn't have the disposition of a gentleman. Other than a good-looking face, there was nothing redeeming about him - this was how Chu Wanning was viewed by the disciples of this sect.

The junior brother who had delivered the summons looked at Mo Ran with sympathy. He tried to stay quiet, but in the end, couldn't hold it back: "Brother Mo. . ."

"Hmm?"

". . . Elder Yuheng has such a bad temper. No one who went to the Red Lotus Water Pavilion came out able to stand. Maybe you could see if you could say your wounds haven't healed and beg Yuheng Elder to let you wash dishes instead?"

Mo Ran was very grateful for this junior brother's bodhisattva heart, but he didn't agree.

Beg Chu Wanning?

Forget it. He doesn't need to get beaten by Tianwen a second time.

So he strenuously put on his clothes, dragged his feet, and walked reluctantly to Life-Death Peak's southern peak.

Red Lotus Pavilion, Red Lotus Hell. There wasn't a single person in sight for a hundred li around Chu Wanning's residence.

No one wanted to go close to his residence. Chu Wanning's bad taste and uncertain personality made everyone in the sect stay far away from him.

Mo Ran was a bit nervous. He didn't know what Chu Wanning would make him do as punishment. His thoughts ran wild the whole trip to the southern peak. After passing through the dense bamboo groves, large swathes of beautiful red lotus came into view.

It was early morning, the sun rising from the east, reflecting a splendid shine on the horizon. The red lotus stalks in the pond stretched towards the flaming clouds in the sky, complementing each other; magnificent. At the edge of the pond, a curved zig-zag bridge led to the pavilion standing in serene silence. Behind it was a curtain of waterfalls streaming down the mountain, the fine crystal water droplets raining against the rocks at the bottom. The watery mist created by it evaporated into the air, light gleaming through the fog, creating a sense of enchanting tranquillity.

This is what Mo Ran thought about this:

Gross.

Wherever Chu Wanning lived, no matter how beautiful it was, would always be gross to him!

Just look at it, so arrogantly extravagant, a true waste of extravagance, in fact. The disciples’ dorms are all closely connected to each other and they don't take up much surface area. And then there's the mighty Elder Yuheng, who occupies a whole mountain by himself. He even dug three large ponds and filled them with lotus flowers. Although, these lotus flowers are special varieties and can be refined into immortal medicine, but—

This is getting off track, the place was not pleasing to the eye. He wished he could burn down Broken Leg Pavilion with his torch!

All he could ever do was silently criticize this place. Given that he was only sixteen* this year, he was no match for Chu Wanning. Mo Ran showed up outside Chu Wanning's residence regardless. He stood at the door, squinted his eyes, and put on a sickeningly sweet demure, pretending to be the ideal disciple.

*(T/N The original text flips between all these ages. Mo Ran is just guessing how old he is so that's why it keeps going to 14/15/16)

"Disciple Mo Ran here to greet his master."

"Yes, come in."

The room was chaotic and disorganized. The cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning was dressed in a white robe. The lapels were folded high and tightly, giving off an air of purity and abstinence. Today, he had his hair in a high ponytail, covered with a black metal hair ring. He sat on the ground fiddling with a bunch of mechanical parts, biting a pen he had in his mouth.

Casually glancing at Mo Ran, with the pen still in his mouth, he said vaguely: "Come here."

Mo Ran approached him.

It was no easy feat. Considering there were no benches or tables in this room, artwork and metal broken wood were scattered everywhere.

Mo Ran's brows twitched. He had never entered Chu Wanning's room in his previous life, and he had no idea that this well-dressed beautiful man lived in such a mess. . . He was at a loss for words.

"Master, what is this?"

"Night Wanderer."

"What?"

Chu Wanning was a little impatient, probably because it was inconvenient to speak with a pen in his mouth: "Night Wanderer."

Mo Ran silently glanced at the mess of parts on the ground.

His master was hailed as Shizun Chu, and it wasn't just out of vanity. Speaking honestly, Chu Wanning was a very powerful man. Whether it is his three god-grade weapons, his cultivation techniques, or his machine-building skills, he was clearly worthy of being defined by four words: "the peak of excellence". This was also the reason why he had such a bad temper and was so difficult to serve, but the major cultivation sects still tried to fight over him for those skill.

Regarding the "Night Wanderer", the reborn Mo Ran was well aware of it.

It was a kind of machine made by Chu Wanning, cheap to make but had strong combat power. It can guard the ordinary people in the lower cultivation world from ghosts and demons at night.

In his previous life, the well-made Night Wanderer had almost become a must-have machine for every household. The price of one was equivalent to a broom, and the effect was much easier to handle than the Grinning Door God.

After Chu Wanning died, those Night Wanderers still guarded the poor families who couldn't afford a high-level cultivator. This compassionate heart, coupled with Chu Wanning's affection for his disciples. . . hehe, it really makes Mo Ran despise him.

Mo Ran sat down and looked at the "Night Wanderer" which was just a bunch of parts at this time, and the past flashed through his mind. He couldn't help picking up one of the Night Wanderer's limbs and grasped it in his hand for a closer look.

Chu Wanning clipped a few components, finally freeing his hands. He took the pen out of his mouth and glared at Mo Ran: "That one was just finished with tung oil, don't touch it."

"Oh. . ." Mo Ran put down the machine. He put his fake smile back on still looking cute and completely harmless. He asked with a smile, "Shizun summoned me here, are you planning to let me help?"

Chu Wanning hummed: "Mm."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Clean up the house."

Mo Ran's smile froze. He looked around at the room that looked like it had been hit by an earthquake: ". . ."

Chu Wanning was a genius in immortal cultivation and an idiot in life.

After picking up the fifth broken teacup that had never been swept up, Mo Ran finally couldn't stand it: "Shizun, when was the last time you cleaned your house? My god, it's so messy!"

Chu Wanning was looking at his drawings, and didn't look up when Mo Ran spoke to him: "Almost a year."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

"Where do you usually sleep?"

"What?" There must be something wrong with the drawing. Chu Wanning was upset and looked even more impatient than usual. He rubbed his head and replied in a huff, "Of course it's the bed."

Mo Ran glanced at the bed. It was piled with all kinds of machines that had been mostly completed, as well as a bunch of tools such as saws, axes, files, and so on.

Seriously, how did this man sleep without cutting his own head off?

After working for most of the day, the sawdust on the floor had filled three dustpans, and the white towel that had wiped down the bookcase was ten times more black. By noon, he had only cleaned about half.

Fuck Chu Wanning, this person is really more poisonous than a leeching woman.

Cleaning a room didn't seem like much of a punishment, it didn't really seem like hard work, but who knew that it was such a ghastly place that hadn't been touched in a year? Not to mention that he was covered with wound. Even if he was healthy now, he could shorten his lifespan by half going through all of this!

"Shizun. . ."

"Hm?"

"Your pile of clothes. . ." They'd been stacked there for about three months.

Chu Wanning finally got one of Night Wanderer's arms attached. He rubbed his sore shoulder, looked up at the robes on the suitcase, and said coldly: "I wash them myself."

Mo Ran was relieved. Thank goodness. But he was still a little curious: "Really? Shizun can wash clothes?"

Chu Wanning glanced at him, and after a while, coldly said: "What's so hard about it? Throw them in water, soak them, take them out, and dry them."

". . ." After hearing this, he really didn't know any girl who would keep lusting after Chu Wanning. Mo Ran truly thought that it would break the hearts of dozen of women to find out how disgusting this man really was.

"It's getting late. You can accompany me to the dining hall and finish the rest when you get back."

There were people coming and going from Meng Po Hall, and the Life-Death Peak disciples were eating together. Chu Wanning grabbed a lacquered wooden tray, took a few dishes and sat in the corner silently.

From where he was, no one sat within twenty feet of him.

No one dared to sit too close to Elder Yuheng, for fear that he would get upset, and they would get a lashing from Tianwen. Chu Wanning himself actually knew about this, but he didn't mind. A cold beauty sat there, gently eating the food in the bowl.

But today wasn't like usual.

Mo Ran was brought by him, so naturally he had to follow him.

Others are afraid of him. So was Mo Ran, but he had already died once, so Chu Wanning was nothing in comparison.

Especially after the fear of first seeing him had subsided, the hatred of Chu Wanning from his previous life slowly emerged. So what if Chu Wanning was powerful? In his last life, he still died by his hands.

Mo Ran sat down in front of him, calmly chewing the sweet and sour pork ribs in the bowl. He crunched on the bones then spit them out into a pile.

Chu Wanning suddenly slammed down his chopsticks.

Mo Ran stopped for a moment.

". . . Can you stop eating with your mouth open?"

"I chew the bones, how am I supposed to do that with my mouth closed?"

"Then don't eat the bones."

"But I like to eat the bones."

"Eat around them."

The two quarreling voices grew louder and louder, and some disciples were already peeping at them.

Mo Ran fought the urge to throw the rice bowl over Chu Wanning's head. He pursed his lips, and after a while, he narrowed his eyes, and a sweet smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.

"Shizun, don't shout so loudly. Others might hear, won't they laugh at us?"

Chu Wanning has always been thin-skinned, and his voice really softened. He whispered: "Get out."

Mo Ran burst out laughing.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Hey, Shizun, don't stare at me. Come on, let's eat. I'll try to be quiet."

Mo Ran had laughed enough and started playing nice again, the sound of his chewing much softer.

Chu Wanning gradually went back to gently eating. Seeing that Mo Ran was bring obedient, his face slightly relaxed, no longer looking so bitter and upset. He lowered his head, eating his green beans and tofu with grace.

After a long pause, Mo Ran started to do it again.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. In summary, seeing Chu Wanning in this life, he wanted to make a fool of himself and do whatever he could to make him angry.

So Chu Waning found that although Mo Ran did not chew loudly this time, he began to grab the ribs with his hands and eat them, sloppily eating with greasy hands and sauce-covered fingers.

Chu Wanning's blue forehead vein popped. Endure it.

He lowered his eyelashes. He didn't look at Mo Ran, and focused on his own meal.

Mo Ran didn't know if he had gotten too carefree or forgetful while eating, but he accidentally threw one of the gnawed bones into Chu Wanning's rice bowl.

Chu Wanning stared at the messy and hideous rib bone, and the surrounding air so condensed and frozen it was visible to the naked eye.

"Mo Ran. . . !!!"

"Shizun. . ." Mo Ran was quite frightened. He wasn't sure whether what he said sounded true or fake. "That. . . Uh, I didn't mean it."

Probably fake.

". . ."

"Don't be angry, I'll take it out for you."

He really stretched out his chopsticks, stuck them into Chu Wanning's bowl, and quickly picked out the bone.

Chu Wanning's face was pale, like he was about to vomit.

Mo Ran batted his eyelashes, and there was a pitiful grievance on his delicate face: "Shizun, do you dislike me?"

". . ."

"Shizun, I'm sorry."

It was just that.

Chu Wanning thought to himself: Why do you need to be restrained with the junior disciples?

He gave up the urge to summon Tianwen to hit Mo Ran. His appetite was gone, and he got up and said: "I'm full."

"What? Is that all you're going to eat? Shizun, you've barely touched your food."

Chu Wanning brushed him off: "I'm not hungry."

Mo Ran's heart felt like it was as joyful as a flower, and he still sweetly said: "Then I won't eat it anymore. We can go back to Red Lotus Hell - ehem, go back to Red Lotus Pavilion."

Chu Wanning narrowed his eyes: "We?" There was a mockery in his eyes, and then said, "Who is the other person you're talking about? Disciples and their Shizun have respectable relationships and you will address me in the proper manner."

Mo Ran carefully kept his expression, his eyes curled up with a smile, well-behaved, sensible and cute.

However, in his heart he was thinking: Respectful relationship? Proper manner?

Hehe, if Chu Wanning could know what happened in his previous life, he would know - in the end, Mo Weiyu was the only one deserving of respect in the world.

No matter how noble and arrogant Chu Waning was, he was still a piece of mud under his boot. Didn't he depend on Mo Ran's good will to survive?

Stepping quickly to keep up with his shizun's pace, Mo Ran still had a bright smile on his face.

If Shi Mei was the white moonlight in his heart, Chu Wanning was the broken fishbone stuck in his throat. He needed crush this thorn or swallow it, and it will corrode away in his stomach.

In short, during this new life, he could spare whoever he wanted.

But he would never spare Chu Wanning.

However, Chu Wanning didn't seem to want to spare him so easily.

Mo Ran stood in front of the library in Red Lotus Hell, looking at fifty rows of ten-story bookshelves, thinking that he must have heard wrong.

"Shizun, what did you say. . .?"

Chu Wanning replied lightly: "Dust all the books in here."

". . ."

"After dusting, catalogue them."

"..."

"I will check back tomorrow morning."

"!!!"

What!!! Was he supposed to stay overnight in Red Lotus Hell??

But he had planned to meet with Shi Mei, and even asked Shimei to change his medicine at night!!!

He opened his mouth to plead his case, but Chu Wanning didn't bother paying attention to him. With a wave of his wide sleeves, and turned to exit the library, and, incidentally, closed the door of the library in a haughty manner.

Mo Ran, who's date had been ruined, sat in his boiling hatred of Chu Wanning - he wanted to burn all Chu Wanning's books!!

No!

After thinking it over, he thought of something even worse. . .

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

#the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei #mo ran #chu wanning #2ha novel #2ha #2ha translation #ranwan

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hqamore · 3 years

Text

boreal star ✵ chapter seven

with alina in the wind, general kirigan now has scramble to find her. the only person he has to get through is you.

series genre: romance & angst

series pairing: [past?] aleksander morozova (general kirigan) x reader

word count: 1.5k

warning(s): suggestive?

here’s the masterlist

when you regained consciousness, you attempted to open your eyes, quickly shutting them after being met with blinding lights. you felt aches all over your body. cold intrusions weighted your wrists as you shifted them, accompanied by the clanking of chains. you could hear the bustling crowds outside, conversations about the famed general kirigan being in kribirsk. the wind kissed your cheeks red when several masses moved into wherever you were being held (you presumed a tent).

“get up.”

not carrying for the tone, you pretended to sleep. after several moments passed, your chains were yanked. you fell onto the floor, your muscles pulsating in pain.

“what a lovely wake-up call.” you wrestled against the hands grabbing at you and, when you lost, were forced to sit up. “you know, i usually get to know someone before getting rough. we all have our kinks i suppose.”

a high-pitched giggle rang before it was muffled (not very well though). with a cleared throat, it ceased completely. you slowly opened your eyes to observe the room. a total of five bodies: zoya, ivan, a palace guard, a durast, and aleksander. you’ve gotten out with higher odds stacked against you.

“tell me where they went.”

you rolled your eyes and smirked. “unfortunately for you, my dear general, i’ve only sent them off. just told them to run far from ravka.”

your former lover glanced at ivan who shrugged. he breathed in deeply, clenching his fists. he squatted in front of you and called out to his subordinates. “leave us.”

one by one, they left the tent, zoya hovering by the opening with a nasty look on her face. you looked at her and winked. her lips curled into a sneer before she huffed away.

you returned your attention to aleksander who took the opportunity to come closer to you. you leaned back but failed, closed in by a bench. you watched as his hands rested on your knees. you tried to shake them off only for him to grip tighter as they climbed your legs. you met his half-lidded eyes, thrown off by the (scandalously) familiar gaze.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?” you said, your eyes darting from his eyes to his lips.

a lazy smile took residence on his face, his tongue flitting across his bottom lip. “did you not miss it?”

feeling very confused and slightly mortified, you tilted your head away from him. “miss what?” you asked.

“our rendezvouses. how you could have me groveling at your feet with a simple touch. how i begged to use my mouth to please you,” he whispered. he rested his hands, kneading your inner thighs.

you scoffed. “did alina rejecting your advances give you brain damage? you really thought i would—”

your words were swallowed when his lips meshed with yours. you would be lying if it didn’t make you have butterflies. after being apart for years, you couldn’t tell if it felt right or nostalgic. stopping yourself from getting lost in the feeling, you shoved him away with your bounded wrists and bolted up. aleksander stumbled back, looking bewildered and distant.

“how dare you?” you spat. “trying to seduce me again for your stupid ambitions? let me be very clear, aleksander. you may have fooled me once, but there will not be a second time.”

you snorted and shook your head, a flurry of emotions rising in you.

“for thirty years, i wondered why i wasn’t enough for you? for fate? did i not follow you faithfully? did i not hang off your every word? did i not love you more than my own life?!”

furious tears welled as you heaved heavily. aleksander was still, his mouth parted, looking as if he wanted to say something. you couldn’t afford to give him the chance anymore. the stitches in your heart were breaking at the seams.

“i hated the world for so long for not giving me the powers you desired. i hated myself over things i couldn’t control. i knew for months that i was not your fated, your wistful destiny, but i stayed. i hoped that your words were empty and you said those things in a drunken stupor, but they say drunken words are sober thoughts. i was a fool to wish otherwise.

“the day i left was the day i stopped allowing myself to mourn over the fact that you were no longer mine. i finally saw my worth and decided that i would love someone else who would too.” you wiped away the tears that fell, then closed your eyes to prevent more from falling.

“did you?”

“what?” you whispered tiredly.

you heard him shuffle to stand, his shoes dragging against the carpet. “did you find someone else to love?” he weakly asked.

you made the mistake of opening your eyes. you took in his appearance—his red, glossy eyes that bore into you and the subtle way his frame wilted. you couldn’t decide whether to scoff at the audacity of him, acting as if he was the victim, or cry at the sight of his regretful posture. even through everything, a small part of you desperately wanted to believe him and embrace him, but you knew you couldn’t—that you shouldn’t.

“i did,” you said, avoiding his eyes.

“oh,” he breathed. “are you still...”

“we parted ways prior to my being here.”

he hummed softly and looked to the sky—like he was praying to the saints. “what if... i was being sincere? would you give me a chance to prove it?”

a scoff left you in disbelief, bitterness coating your voice. “you continuing to pursue your delusions is proof enough for me.”

with longing eyes, he stepped closer to you and captured your hands in his. he bent his neck to level with you. “what i’m doing… what i have been doing for the past five-hundred years… it’s all been to make ravka safer, to make grisha safer, to make you safer.”

you turned away, your will to not fall fading, only for him to tilt your chin towards him. he cradled your face in his palm, brushing away stray tears. “please, [y/n]. i admit, i made one of the biggest mistakes in my life not searching for you. i believed that you were a placeholder, someone to keep me satisfied until the sun summoner came. when you left, i realized how wrong i was.

“every single day, for 30 years, you were my first and last thought. how are they? are they safe? i hope no harm has come to them. [y/n], when you appeared before the king, you don’t understand how relieved i was to see you. at first, i was angry and spiteful at you for leaving me alone, but, as time passed and we fell into routine, my love resurfaced and won.”

you chuckled. “and what would you have me believe alina was? i saw it in your eyes at the winter fete. the same affection i once thought you held for me.”

“the winter fate?” he paused before smiling. “[y/n], you must’ve caught me thinking of you wearing that kefta.”

you grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from your face, the heavy chains grounding you. “you must think me stupid to believe that.”

then, aleksander looked grief-stricken. he fell onto his knees, his lips ghosting over your hands. “what do i have to do to make you believe me, [y/n]?”

you offered a sad smile. “destroy the fold… then, and only then, will i believe that your words aren’t pretty lies to trick me into complying.”

you turned as much as the chains could afford you. “please leave me be,” you whispered.

it felt like eons before you heard him move away. “there will be an expedition through the fold tomorrow. we are to escort foreign diplomats. so, rest up.”

wind rushed back into the tent as he left. once the tent flapped shut, you sank into the ground. tears streamed down your face as you pounded your chest, trying to relieve some of the sorrow. you hated yourself for even hoping that some of what aleksander said was true. you hated that, unlike what you wished to be, you were still easily manipulated by his charms.

i hate that i can’t hate you.

—

unbeknownst to you, aleksander’s heart was rabid and his duplicity dissolved, almost like the kiss was a rush of cold water. he couldn’t find it in himself to deceive you—or himself—anymore.

at first, he was attempting to seduce you. but, when he had kissed you… it was like all those years without you were unreal. it was like he hadn’t lived in the moments where you weren’t there by his side. it was like he could finally let go of the breath he never knew he was holding.

he was a blind man who was given the gift of sight, a deaf man given the wonders of hearing.

he had never felt more stupid in his life. he already had his equal. [y/n] was there, presiding over his heart, and he was an idiot to believe what he felt for them was something akin to complacency.

“general kirigan!”

blinking, he looked up to see ivan running towards him. he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

the heartrender stopped by his side, leaning closer. “we found the sun summoner and the stag. should we bring them in?”

aleksander glanced back at your tent, then turned away ashamed. “bring them unharmed. bring the tracker too.”

taglist (could tag the bolded ones): @kykymyeon @shelivesindaydreamswme @blackbirddaredevil23 @amortentiaaaa @safetyhtom @savannah-elliott @deceivedeer @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @sarcastic-and-cool @supersouthy @let-love-bleeds-red @andwhatofthelight @all-art-is-quite-useless @mixed-imagination @ashdab2611 @aria-grace-scott @multifandom-addict @aleksanderwh0r3 @p3nny4urth0ught5 @kirigansgf @evyiione @theoutsidelandhere @wizardwheezes @partiesandblurrypolaroids @pansysgirlfriend @takethee @its-carlerrr @kaqua @rachellovesharry @imrann123456

author’s babble: now, there’s a dilemma for me. i think i see two ways this can go. crack!fic-ish or no crack!fic-ish. i will keep the crack!fic-ish portion separate. if you’d like to read the alt route, you can start with this! it’s the alt route ending of chapter seven *:ﾟ*｡⋆ฺ(*´◡`)

#boreal star #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #grishaverse fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan imagine #the darkling x reader #the darkling imagine #aleksander morozova x reader

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say no to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

knight!natasha x lady!reader

sort of royalty au (there’s social hierarchy and a king and queen and knights and commoners and all that so- yeah it’s a royalty au nvm lmao)

warnings: this is fluff, angst, uh, basically everything but smut and serious angst.

word count: 2.5k, starting off short before we get into this

part one!

also, to the very few people who look for fics up here- i promise i’m alive, sorry for being m.i.a! work and school are bodying me right now

A lot could change within a year.

In a year, one was expected to grow wiser and older, and for you, because you were a woman, prettier. And because you did all three of those things in one year, you were herded off like cattle from your small farm, where the old pig you would soon be forced to call “husband” had seen you in the first place, and carted away to his large estate. You were supposed to be his wife, bear his children, and love him unconditionally even though you knew nothing about him, and he was supposed to do not even half of that for you. He had chosen you purely because your father had an abundance of wheat and animals, and he thought you were nice looking. He would surely never go hungry if he had the owner of a relatively large farm’s daughter with him.

Regardless of his reasoning for wanting to make you his wife, it ended up happening. You cried yourself to sleep the night before, and when you were done consummating the horrid marriage, you cried after he fell asleep, unable to shut your own eyes. That was how you spent your first night at the female counterpart to your lord husband, and as Lady Mirellis.

The marriage was loveless. The only thing you got out of it was a nice roof over your head and some silky clothing that made you feel like you were betraying who you really were. He was a brute and a pig, and he hardly ever spoke to you other than to tell you to get on your back, your knees, or something else as equally vile. You were the lady of his large manor, considered a small castle, but that was all you were. You made friends with the staff around, and that made things just the tiniest bit better. He was still cruel and crude, still insanely aggravating, and getting more and more angry with each month that you weren’t carrying his child.

And then, all of a sudden, he grew ill. And, within a month after he fell ill, he died. And then you were a single woman who had a large estate to her name, and a growing line of suitors who wanted nothing more than to have their last names attached to the great patch of land. You were the lady of the house without a lord, still young and still capable of marriage. After a large fuss over whether or not a young woman from your background was fit to take over, you had inherited everything.

So, yes, a lot could change in a year. And you decided that the changes that took place in that year were ones that you could barely handle.

§§

You knew exactly what the letter with the King’s Seal on it was when it was put into your hand, and you very easily guessed the contents of it.

You supposed that you should have seen it coming. Miraculously, your late husband and lord had gotten out of the Hosting, which could have been seen as treasonous or dishonorable if he had been any less careful. You grew up on a farm, and you had no idea how to go about denying or questioning royal decree, so you weren’t going to. You were going to have to Host, for the first time in your life.

Your family was never important enough to have to do it, so you had no experience with it, other than knowing that a high up lord of a small castle, or big estate, whatever one wanted to call it, was in charge of having a knight in their home while the knight completed his year long training. The training was said to come from within, and the job of the knight was to be a good, honorable guest, and to come back to the castle after their year expired as a new and improved person.

But it was rare that they truly soul searched, you had heard. Mainly because they were ninety nine percent male and thought with their penises more than their brains and hearts. The Hosting was a knight’s last stop before true knighthood, more or less a time that humbled young knights. It was a test of the true intentions of a knight, the true desires of a man who wished for glory and authority.

“For you, Milady.” You grimaced inwardly at the title, the title that you used to have to call the lady that you used to bring barrels of hay to on Sunday mornings. You nodded at the young boy, a smile on your face. He was new, and it was clear that this was his first task that involved him to speak to a “higher up” person.

You patted his head. “Thank you,” you said, and his eyes widened comically before he laughed and ran away, obviously shocked by the way you spoke to him back.

It wasn’t against the law, but it was frowned upon for nobles to speak to servants more than necessary. A noble person was not required to have manners or ask kindly for things, and when they did, it was certainly an out of the ordinary experience. You knew that well enough.

You broke the red seal and took in a deep breath, going to sit at your late husband’s desk (that you of course inherited, as you inherited everything the man had) and finding your name in perfect and Royal handwriting.

Lady Mirellis,

As you know, the time for the selection of The Hosting has come. Your house was not a host during the previous Hosting, therefore, you will be required to sponsor a knight this year. Out of respect for your late husband and all he has done for me, I will choose a knight for you, a knight that I trust. You will be safe with my choice, and the year will flow smoothly. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.

Please expect your knight within the fortnight, Lady Mirellis.

With respect, King Anthony Stark.

§§

Two weeks later, your keep was buzzing. You hated hosting things, even if they were short dinners. And you knew that you were going to hate hosting a person for an entire year. A brand new knight who was full of himself, no less.

King Anthony had given you what he thought was going to be an easy charge for a reason. New knights were known for being rowdy, disgusting, perverted, and authoritative when they shouldn’t have been. No lady should ever have to deal with the crude words or behavior of a man—certainly not. And with you and your poor husband gone, that meant that no one was there to help you.

You appreciated the kindness, but it was obvious that every man thought that women were only an extension of their husbands. If you weren’t able to handle the loud voices and taunting shouts of men and boys, you would have melted or turned to dust by the time you were thirteen years old. If you had survived a man who carted you off and away from your family like you were cattle, you could handle a boy who was staying under your roof.

Nonetheless, your people were busy, and so were you. They were making accommodations to the largest guest room, because it was to be someone’s for an entire year. They were cleaning things that you never thought would be cleaned, washing random sheets and hanging them to dry. And you? You were making the welcoming package.

You had never made one before, but you were trying your hardest. It was more or less a care package to make the knight feel comfortable. It was a starter kit, so that they wouldn’t have to ask for much or seem unfit for knighthood, because it was all about pride. So help anyone above, you wouldn’t be dealing with a knight with a bruised ego.

“Men,” you scoffed out, rolling your eyes as you fluffed the silk pillowcase and folded the top of the woven basket over, closing in everything and tying the top with a bow.

“Y/N,” a woman’s voice called out, and you turned to it with a gentle smile.

Of course it was Wanda. Her and her brother were always by your side, ever since you had arrived at the keep. Pietro was the messenger boy for Lord Mirellis, because he was so fast on his feet. He delivered a message meant to go hundreds of leagues away and came back within days, when it would take others weeks. You liked Pietro a lot. He was a funny man, cheeky, but he knew his boundaries with people, whether they were lowborn or highborn. He had the same amount of respect for everything, and you admired that about him.

Wanda however, was your favorite person in the castle. She was the first kind face that you saw when you walked into the keep. She was the first person to actually ask you if you wanted help being dressed or brushing your hair. She was able to see that you needed help with your corset before you even asked. There were so many trivial things that Wanda did for you that made you so loyal to the friendship you shared, but there was one thing you were sure to never forget.

She had been the one to help you out of bed after a rough consummation night. She was also the only woman who had offered you even a sliver of sympathy, and for that, she was your greatest ally, and on a deeper level, a true friend.

You had barely even seen her for more than five minutes before you woke up in bed by yourself the morning after that horrid night, crying silent tears and feeling sore between your legs. A knock sounded on the door, and instead of her turning away and apologizing for coming in on such an improper moment, she shut the door and asked you if you needed help, without any fear of being scolded. Wanda Maximoff was different. That’s why you liked her so much.

She was standing beside you as you waited, even though waiting for a knight was somewhat improper. You were supposed to wait inside and have them knock on your castle door, and you were to welcome them inside and have a warm dinner ready. That was how it was always supposed to go, but you decided not to do that.

You were standing outside, like the lady you had been forced to become. Your chin was slightly lifted and your hands were at your sides, even though you were desperate to fiddle with your thumbs. You took in a deep breath as you heard the sound of a carriage coming, horses and the chatter of men getting louder with each passing moment.

You would be a liar if you said that you weren’t scared to have a man in your house that you didn’t know. Not only would he be a man, but he would be a man that knew how to do things that most didn’t, such as how to properly wield a sword. You were a woman alone, a widow to a lord, and people had tried things with you before, ever since your husband had died. Most of the time, those things ended up with their hands being cut off as the legal and unyielding punishment for their attempted crimes.

“No one here is going to let a stupid knight hurt you, you know.” Pietro had come out of nowhere, chest puffed out as he looked to his sister for a moment, and then back at you. “Wanda is practically with you every second of every day, and I’m never too far.” It was true. There were guards around, as well, but you were still scared.

“If you don’t like it this year, you can always say no next year.” Wanda offered, but you whined under your breath when you remembered that this was no visit. The man would be living with you for an entire year. “And King Anthony said he would be giving you a man he trusted to sleep under your roof. I trust his word.”

“As do I,” you said quickly, ringing out your hands one last time before the carriage got closer. “I’ll be fine, you two. Thank you.” And they knew just how grateful you were for them.

The carriage was being pulled by two white horses, both looking around carelessly and cluelessly as the coachman pulled them to a stop. “Lady Mirellis,” he said, looking you up and down, clearly judging you for not yielding to tradition. “It is very kind of you to meet us outside.”

“I thought it may be easier to begin the tour early,” you said, remembering at the last moment to school your voice into sounding ladylike. The stark difference between your public voice and the one that you spoke to Wanda and Pietro with always made Wanda smile a bit, and you knew that you would have laughed if you were looking at her. “I don’t want to give my new guest too large of a culture shock. I am not quite sure if he would appreciate being hoarded inside a place he hasn’t seen before.”

The coachman gave you an odd look, almost like he wasn’t understanding what you were saying. Or maybe, why you were saying it. But, he knew that because of your status, your word outweighed his, and he would do as you said. Your heart was beating nearly out of your chest as you watched him climb out of his chair and walk around, and you saw his hand wrap around the handle of the white and gold carriage.

There was a flash of brilliant red. That was all you saw at first, and then you saw shiny armor, glinting in the sun. Your eyes trailed up from the shoes that you knew were crafted specifically for knights, up to the legs and then to the breastplate, which you noticed was curved outwards. Your brows furrowed as your eyes got stuck in that place, and you willed yourself to believe that it was a trick of the eyes. There was a pinch on your arm, and you realized that you had been staring without speaking for much too long. In your embarrassment, your eyes flickered up to meet the man’s, and then, you nearly choked.

The knight was no man at all.

*****

so this is a series! this idea has been cooking up in my head for a while now, and i figured it was finally time to go through with it! i’m really excited about this one, and i’ve already got most of it planned out. i hope you guys liked this!

also- if you would like to be tagged, you are free to ask! (bold of me to assume that any of y’all want a notif for this bye 😭) please interact with this if you liked it, it makes me so happy and motivated to hear from you guys!

#natasha x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanov fluff #natasha romanov x reader #knight au #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #my fics #natasha romanoff series #knight!natasha #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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seeds-and-sins · 3 years

Text

Right Time, Wrong Place.

Pairing: John Seed x Reader

Rating: M (SMUT!! & Language)

Description: You take over John Seed’s ranch, have some me time in his bed, only to find that he was watching the whole thing on his secret security cameras.

Tagged: @ivyluv

You had wanted revenge and you were determined to get it. It was as simple as that. Granted capturing John Seed's Ranch was just another box ticked for the resistance effort's chances of winning back Hope County, but for you? it was personal. The man stuffed you in a chair, tortured your best friend, and threatened to cut into your skin. To make matters worse, he looked like a whole damn meal while doing it. Speaking to you in that sinfully deep and rumbling tone that made you wet beyond imagine. Fuck that son of a bitch. Whoever stuffs you in a chair, tortures your friend, and threatens to cut you, loses their ranch. That's the deal, and it's final.

His response:

So. You've taken my home in the name of your little "Resistance." Ah, if those walls could talk... well, more accurately scream... Just know that I will get it back - sooner or later. And when I do, maybe I'll hang your skin as a trophy above the mantle.

You raided John's secret wine cellar later that day, laughing your ass off over the recollection of irritation in John's voice. All it took was a little push to send the man snapping into rage and oblivion.

You invaded all of John's privacy; following the wine cellar, came his office, following the office, came his kitchen, and then his own room. Everything was so neat and organized, the man didn't have one thing out of place. It was a testament in comparison to his unruly image when he would lose a few screws in agitation. His clothes were folded to perfection, placed into his drawers by color, style, or brand. For the clothes that weren't in his drawers, they were in his walk in closet; Gucci, Calvin Klein, Tom Ford O'Conner, and Brioni. The man was a walking advertisement, from his sunglasses to his shoes. You were certain that the outfit you had seen him in last costed about the same as your car in total. And now you had full access to everything...

"What the FUCK is she doing?!" John fumed, pacing back and forth in front of security monitors that lined the wall of his bunker office.

"Sir, we are doing everything we can-"

"Get out!" He demanded, bloodshot eyes settling on the screen, sweat beading down his forehead, as he watched you demolish his personal space. The bunker door shut behind him with an audible plank and he sunk back into a leather seat with a sigh of exasperation. You were driving him absolutely crazy: waltzing around his home as if it was your own, with his most expensive bottle of chardonnay no less.

You were throwing pictures off the walls, moving furniture around, and wrecking his entire wardrobe with your slimey fingers. He was under distress simply watching it all unfold before his eyes, the massacre, the trauma, his beloved ranch was being destroyed. What would Joseph think of him right now? So distraught over the material pleasures that he had collected for himself over the years. They were really all he had anymore, aside from his family and the project. You were disrespecting him, but it's not like you hadn't before. Countless times you had undermined him for the sake of your little act as hero, nothing he hadn't gotten used to these past few weeks. He enjoyed the game of cat and mouse, the playful chase, but this? This was personal...

*Uh yeah so, Sharky and I are having a big bonfire out by the henbane. Some of the others will be there, you coming?*

"No thanks, Hurk..." You replied with a proud smile on your lips, fiddling with the many cologne bottles that flooded John's dresser. "I think I'll stay here. I'm enjoying myself."

*Well, that's-* Hurk was interrupted on the other end by the familiar voice of a pyromaniac on steroids. *Is that the deputy?! Tell her to get her ass over here, now, so we can start this party.* There was minor shuffling on the other end, the radio clicked out a few times as if it was being wrestled for. *Give it, man!-Stop that!* You chuckled at the image of Hurk and Sharky fighting over a walkie talkie in the middle of the batshit woods. You laughed at what Hurk Sr. was probably thinking of the whole ordeal as he watched from his porch.

"Alright boys, well, I'm staying here for the night so, catch ya' later." You immediately switched the frequency, dropping it down onto the dresser. You collected the bottle of wine you had discarded in John's wardrobe, taking long gulps of it as you took note of his belongings. The entire place smelled like him, you had only caught a whiff when he was devastatingly close to when you were captive, but it was enough to recognize the hints of sharp Dior, new shoes, and rose. The man was a sin in the flesh and he knew it all too well, recruiting to the cult hundreds of people that most certainly lusted after him in private. He would have had a hold on you if he hadn't had been pressing a scalpel to your throat, or sending off a bunch of red flags with that psychotic glimmer in his eyes.

You could imagine though, fuel your darkest desires and daydreams as you stormed his castle. The wine helped, you had gone through half of the bottle as you adventured and you were starting to feel its effects. In your dreams, John was your lover. He was still a lawyer with the same successful edge and fortune to boot. He wasn't a crazy lunatic, following a bunch of other crazy lunatics. He was a man that fought for true justice, just as you had. And now, you were waiting for him to come home. You nearly dropped the bottle in your intense reverie. You carried the bottle into John's giant bathroom, you placed it on the edge of the tub, and turned the water on.

The grime stuck to you from the days events; the mud had caked on, gunpowder dusting your face, and blisters, cuts and bruises, scattered across your body. For a moment, it brought you back into the harsh reality that you were in a war zone. That John was a dangerous man and that you were utilizing his home like some sort of fun house. You shook the thoughts of blood and violence from your mind, derobing yourself of the dirty clothes and weapons that hung from you. When the water was shallow enough, you turned it off, dropping one of John's assorted bath bombs into it and waiting a few seconds for the soap to take. You couldn't remember the last time you had taken a bath and John's bathtub was about the size of a hottub.

You were in the bliss, the warm water engulfed your aching muscles and damaged flesh without hesitation, welcoming you into a trance of tranquility and calm. No bullets. No explosions. No expectations. Just you and this bath. Your mind wandered again as you rested in the lapping liquid, dirt and all sorts of substances leaving you like a weight being lifted off your chest. You could fantasize about John again, get back into the dream world you had created for yourself as you explored his home-correction; As you waited for John Seed to come home from his job as Hope County's trustworthy, kind, and loving lawyer.

You lathered yourself with all sorts of special products that John kept perched on the tub's edge. You took fluid swigs from the nearly empty bottle of wine every now and again, until you decided you were clean enough. John could be home any minute after all. You stepped out of the tub, pulled the plug on the drain, and left the bathroom into the closet again. Not without what was left of the wine, of course. He would want to see you in something appealing on the eyes, something that would tease him and draw him in from a long day of exhausting work. You could massage his taut shoulders, fingers moving down over those rippling muscles.

You settled for an expensive silk blue button up, no need for underwear with no one around. The button up was slightly open at the top, not that you'd be expecting any company-aside from John, that was. You flicked the light off and the room cascaded in darkness, aside from the moonlight that drew in through the blinds. John would enjoy seeing you like this. You jumped onto the bed; so big and comfy. The pillows seemed to swallow you with their fluff, douvet and all, tracing along your curves and exposed thighs. You adjusted so that your head was propped back and you were comfy, legs parted as you closed your eyes and sunk further into the dream you had created.

If John was normal, he would be gentle and soft. He would run his fingers down you when he arrived upon your shared bedroom. He would whisper sweet nothings into your ear as his dirty hands came over every bit of flesh on your body. He would seek your pleasure first, attend to your needs and wants, because you would look, Oh, so sinful. It was almost like you could hear his voice in your mind. He wasn't yelling at you. He was whispering to you, begging for everything that your body could give him. He would praise you like the God he worshipped, settle on his prayer voice when he spoke to you and made the filthiest promises.

You want me to do this to you, don't you? Touch you like this? Spread you like this?

"Yes," You mewed, you wanted him so bad. "Please."

...

"Dear, sweet mother of-" John choked out, face nearly sinking straight through the computer screen and he leaned in as close as was possible. He was so close that the static was barely electrifying the thick hairs of his beard. "Fuck me." He was straining in his jeans watching you get so comfy in his home. He wished he could hear you, cursing himself for not having installed more advanced cameras, as Jacob had suggested months ago. Thank the lord, they were hidden from sight. Thank the lord, that he had the opportunity to see you so vulnerable.

He bit his bottom lip nervously. What would Joseph say? Giving into sin like a moth to the flame. His eyes flitted over to the walkie talkie that sat on the desk. It was begging to be used, begging for John to do something that was reckless and sinful and dirty and everything he could be punished for if he tried. He groaned as he watched your hand finally reach its destination, your eyelids fluttering shut as you rubbing gently along your folds. The black and grey could only give away so much in this darkness. The night vision feature only worked to such an extent. Even so, John couldn't tear his eyes away. You were in HIS bed, in HIS clothes, after taking a bath with products that smelled like HIM. You were practically his at this point. All his.

...

You were so close, thinking about John, about his fingers on you, about his cock inside of you, about his lips passing over every deeply intimate spot on your body. You could feel the edge coming for you, as his scent penetrated you, as you felt the silk of his shirt against your nipples. You cried out, so close.

"Oh, John, fuck." You were alone, filled with careless abandon, delving deeper into this madness that was him. You were a second away from the most explosive orgasm you had had in weeks.

*Deputy...* You paused, feeling a cold sweat fall over you at the coo. Your eyebrows furrowed as you sat up on your elbows, eyes landing on the discard walkie talkie that you had left behind on the dresser. You worried at your bottom lip in frustration. You were so fucking close. *I know you are there. Speak to me.* You should ignore him. But how could anyone ignore John when he sounded like that; desperate, disheveled, and hot. He sounded of so hot and sweet. You dropped back into the pillow with a grunt, thinking that you could turn the radio off and be through with these constant disturbances. *Please.* Desperate, disheveled, hot. So, hot.

In one swoop, you jumped off the bed and attained the radio. You drew it up to your lips with a huff, fists clenched from the sheer rage that was building in you.

"What the fuck do you want, John? If this isn't about the negotiated release of Hudson, then I don't want anything to do with you." You waited for John's response, as it was suddenly very quiet on his end. Usually he spoke more, teased you more, threatened you more. Heck, just earlier he said he would get you back.

*This isn't about that.* His tone was of venom and annoyance now, which only sought to make you more irritated.

"Then, I don't see there being any reason to continue talking with you."

*Wait!* He sounded strained, as if she had broken him. *I can think of a few reasons.* Of course, he wants his house back. Poor fellow. You rushed and plopped back down onto the bed, a bright grin appearing on your lips.

"Oh John, Oh John," You taunted, feeling like you should run a victory lap for your achievement. Instead, you enveloped yourself in all of John's wealth and money. "Have I affected you in some kind of way?" Silence. "Little ole'me, in your home, all comfy in your bed, using your things. Sounds like I have gotten to you." The strangled groan that was relayed over the radio went straight between your legs. You had heard John groan out his irritation before and although this sounded slightly different, you hadn't thought anything of it. It wouldn't hurt to continue what you were doing before John's interruption. God knows you were still so close, thinking about him. He didn't need to know.

*You must have it all wrong, Deputy. The idea of you taking pleasure in my belongings brings a smile to my face.* The playful back and forth was a favorite of yours, you wouldn't lie. You never quite had the same interactions as you did with Jacob and Faith, both of whom would often ignore your jests completely. John reacted, he would give you his utter attention everytime you entered his region. You bathed in that sort of acknowledgement. You were now on the path of admitting that it kind of got you off; hearing his frustrations, hearing him coo, hearing him reciprocate every remark you gave him.

He liked it too. You knew he liked it.

"I'm such a bad sinner, aren't I?" You closed your eyes, free hand now coming down to the place you needed it most. A new fantasy had taken root, of John pleasuring himself as he spoke to you, getting off on your voice, off on his fantasies of you. On any other night, you couldn't imagine him breaking Joseph's rules to do such a thing. But tonight you wanted to imagine everything about John. He would be fisting his cock to the sound of you disobeying him at every turn, speaking into the radio, every word you spoke he clung to like a last breath. Tonight, you imagined him doing this: being sinful and breaking the rules in your honor. He would be relieving the tension that plagued you both for so long in his mind. He was no longer the sweet and gentle husband, coming home from work. He was the filthy, dirty, lusty lawyer that was your enemy; grasping for a chance to get you alone, so he could have you to himself.

*I should punish you...* You moaned at the pit of your throat, making sure he couldn't hear by removing your finger from the button. You were going to cum to the sound of John's voice and he didn't even know it. It was mildly empowering, feverish, and naughty, all at the same time. *I should tie you down and make you pay for all the wrongs you've committed. Make you confess all of your deepest, darkest secrets.*

"Oh, fuck." You heaved out, not having expected him to blindly play into this raunchy game of yours. The image of him, drowning in your conversations over the radio, as he milked his thick cock, flooded your mind. His button-up would be fully undone to reveal the mess of sweaty abs and tattoos across his torso. His hair would be falling out of its gelled, angelic perfection as strands drifted across his half-lidded eyes. The veins in his forearms would be bulging as he utilized his strength to work at the stress you caused him, in the form of a hard erection. You swore you heard him release some sort of sound from the other side of the radio. You hadn't quite been in the right state of mind to respond, but you were desperate to keep him talking.

"Tell me, John. You make all these promises and you don't keep them." You hadn't expected your words to come out so smoothly, what with your fingers now penetrating you just the way you liked. "If you wanted to punish me so bad, tie me down and make me confess, then you'd have me right this very second."

*I could, Deputy.* He shot out, all breathless and choppy. It only made your imagination run even wilder, that he might be doing what you were thinking he would doing. But he couldn't really be doing that, could he? *All I need to do is say one word and I can have you yanked from my bed in no time.* The thought of him sending in a team to come fetch you was about to do you in. The though of him wasting resources, time and energy, all so that he could alleviate his personal desires. You were about to cum so hard for him, so hard just by listening to his every word. You thought it was over, like his radio would go silent and that would be the end of it all. *But I much prefer it this way...* There was a hint of something deeply sinister in the low growl he spoke in. You wanted more of it, more of him. Your back arched up, and your finger slid over the button unbeknownst to you. He could hear the spill of moans and cries that were building up to the ultimate fall over the peak you had been climbing toward. And then he kept talking. *Seeing you all spread out for me, wearing my shirt, pleasing yourself to the thought of me fucking you into that mattress. Oh-ho-ho, Deputy~ You are so beautiful, when you are vulnerable.* He moaned each word with promise. You could hardly hear him groaning and sputtering out curses over the radio as you came on your fingers. You hadn't yet truly realized the sincerity of his words and the trouble that came with them. You were so lost to pleasure and the ecstasy that flowed through your body. The images of John's cum falling onto his sweaty stomach as his body rose and fell with each painful breath. The thought of him losing himself to you in the night, as you spoke to one another, shrouded in darkness, with only yourselves to know of the sins that occurred.

You waited a few minutes, attempting to catch your breath and yourself, coming down from the high that your body had been craving for so long. It was only then, as you had once been blissfully ignorant of the gravity of your situation, that your body jolted up.

But I prefer it this way, seeing you all spread out for me, wearing my shirt, pleasing yourself to the thought of me fucking you into that mattress...

Oh shit. You fucked up. Your eyes nervously searched the room, even in the darkness, what was there to see. The radio still in hand, you sprinted into the closet and shoved yourself under a set of John's hanging clothes. What were you doing?! Oh shit! You need to run! You need to grab your clothes and your weapons and you need to get out of here. Quick! What did you do?! He saw everything.

Oh-ho-ho, Deputy. You are so beautiful, when you are vulnerable.

*Oh, Deputy~* He sung with a light chuckle lilting the edge of his name for you. You felt a stain in your chest, of embarrassment, of guilt, of a diminishing pride and self-esteem. *There's no reason to be so shy all of a sudden.* Your forehead hit the palm of your hand.

You needed to react, get the fuck out of dodge, never come to the valley ever again. Nick and Mary and the Pastor had control over the situation, you could just fucking disappear. Why don't you jump into a void? Never return to Hope County even. Just leave forever. Did they make spaceships for extremely scarred and embarrassed common folk who wanted to get the hell off earth? Note to self, ask Hurk if he knows any aliens that could catch you a ride to the nearest infinity away from here. Fuck yourself. Fuck this. Fuck.

You hadn't even realized that John was still talking.

*Because I like you so much, I will even consider this an official confession. Wrath AND Lust.* You could hear the sickening grin of satisfaction. *Who would have thought that my little Deputy was so...* You were so unbelievably fucked. *Sinful?* Gunshots started to sound nearby, coming from outside the ranch, where resistance fighters had gathered to guard the newly acquired outpost. *I know I'm asking too much of you, my darling.* Your jaw dropped at the kindred and sweet way in which he spot the new pet name. *Just rest for now. You must be exhausted from the day's events.* You needed to get out of here, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. You were frozen with a whole course of unsettling emotions. *It's not easy to carry the entirety of a pathetic resistance effort on your shoulders.* And he sounded so loving, so tender, you had never in a thousand years thought you would ever hear John speak to you in such a way. *Don't worry, I will be home shortly.*

Return to Prompts

#john seed x reader #reader #farcry 5 #faith seed #jacob seed #john seed #joseph seed #john seed's ranch #resistance #the project #edens gate #mutual pining

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gogglor · 3 years

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Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely. Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear. “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel. I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN. They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern? Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09. You look like shit. They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way. Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy. Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered. Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram you sent. Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

#capimrecweek #tony stark #Steve Rogers #stony #fanfiction #MCU #ficrec

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