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procrastination-queenie · 3 years

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Still with you || JJK

Pairing: scientist!au husband!au Jungkook x scientist!au wife!au reader.

Synopsis: you were going on about with your boring life until you accidentally meet unexpected guests. Was it accidental though?

Warning: slight angst, the reader has a bad relationship with her parents, one sexual reference, kissing, long-haired Jungkook😂, few swear words, I don't think there's anything else.

Word count: 3k

A/N: italics are the reader's future-self talking.

This is loosely based on a tiktok video I saw on Pinterest.

You puffed, kicking a pebble that was by your feet as you waited for your driver to pick you up from school. You honestly wanted nothing other than going back to disappear in your room for the rest of day. Why you may wonder! Well, you got an A- on your latest exam, and you know how your parents are going to react. To them, you either get an A+, or you're a failure. They want you to become a lawyer like them, and take over their law firm after your graduation. Your whole life has been planned out before your birth; an arranged marriage took place between your mother and father, to merge the most famous two law firms in the country. Now, your family owns the biggest law firm in the country leaving you with no options other than having your whole life planned out for you without getting a say in it. What was expected from you is to excel in your studies, go to the most prestigious university then run your family's firm. Life really sucked, and you were only sixteen years old.

"Good afternoon, Miss. Hope I am not late!" Your driver, Richard, said interrupting your thoughts as he opened the door for you.

You shook your head with slumped shoulders, "No Richard, you're always on time," you said getting in the car, but not before you could feel his gaze that was full of pity.

It was nothing new, the whole staff that worked for your family knew what you were going through, and while many may envy you and the position that you hold within the society, the staff knew better than to think in such a superficial way.

"Young lady, I thought we made it clear concerning your grades! An A-? Seriously?" Your birth-giver whom you haven't seen for the last 6 month, slammed your report card onto the counter as she looked down on you as if you were a disgrace to the family. You sighed heavily in response wanting nothing other than to disappear in your room, nothing seemed to satisfy your parents; it's like you only become visible when grades are brought up, other than that they barely notice your existence. "I am sorry, what was that?" She asked hearing your sigh as she raised her perfectly shaped eyebrow at you daring you to defy her. Sometimes you wondered why did she treat you like that, why was there so much hatred in her tone. You would sometimes think that she hated that her life was planned out for her as well, so she takes it out on you.

"Nothing," you answered quietly, wanting to get this one-sided conversation over with. "Thought so. Go to your room. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night," she said, jaw clenching as she pointed towards your room upstairs.

"And when do you ever want to see me!" You muttered quietly under your breath as you made your way towards Your room.

As you neared your room down the hall, you heard voices from inside, making you wonder who could be in your room, seeing that the maids usually clean it after you leave for school in the early morning. Nearing the door, you tried to be as quiet as possible to eavesdrop. "Jungkook be quiet, and stop fussing!" You heard a girl's voice say. Her voice was somehow familiar, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. "Sorry babe, I didn't know you used to live in such a luxurious house," this Jungkook guy, you assumed, answered back chuckling.

What? Who lives here other than your family? And used to live? What does he mean? Who are these people?

You suddenly entered your room to see two people ,just as you suspected, looking back at you as if they were not expecting you at all. "Shit! When did you set the machine, Jungkook?" The girl standing not far away from the guy asked with a clenched jaw. "Ops!" He replied looking back at her. "Seriously, Jungkook? Are you kidding me? That's when I arrive from school! I told you we need to do this before I arrive!" She whined as she hit his arm lightly. "Hey, at least the machine works!" He shrugged biting his bottom lip. "Yeah, you're right," she said calming down a bit.

You kept looking back and forth between them, backing up very slowly to get out of the room and call the police. Apparently, these two are crazy and you need to call for help. "Get back here missy, you are not going anywhere," the girl said looking at you with a glint in her eyes daring you to take one more step away from them. "Look, I don't want you to panic. We are not here to do anything bad. I promise, but knowing how you are, you probably don't believe me, so I am very sorry because of what we are about to do!" She said sincerely making you panic even more. Suddenly the guy came towards you and lifted you over his shoulder. Welp, this is it, you're going to die, your parents are probably going to be mad for the lack of an heir to their firm, but whatever! "W-what are going to do?" You panicked even more hitting this Jungkook guy to let you down. "Don't worry, we are tying you up, so you won't go anywhere and expose us which will lead to many complications and malfunctions that nor you neither do I need to happen. We've worked so hard to reach this point." She said tying you up with your jumping rope which you didn't know how she found since you keep it hidden in your closet. She oddly seemed to know her way around the room which was very confusing, have these people been watching you for some time?

She sighed in relief after she tied you up as she leaned back to sit directly in front of you. "Don't you recognise me?" She asked looking at you smiling as if she's your long lost sister and that knowing who she is will bring you immense joy. You looked her up and down, tilting your head to the side when it suddenly kicks in your head, she looks very familiar, how could you miss it. She looks exactly like you but older. She looked exactly like how you envisioned yourself to be ONLY if you possessed the freedom to do what you want. "Are you... No, it couldn't be!" You said shaking your head. You're hallucinating, you're sure of it. "I know, right? But it's true … I am you, but 10 years older." You looked her up and down, again. She looked totally different from you right now. Carefree is the keyword. She looks like she doesn't have a care in the world, she's also sporting a style that you have always wanted to try. "W-wha- .. h-how is this possible?" If you were panicking a few moments ago, now you were on the verge of freaking out. Have you gone mad? Is this a dream? It must be! I mean your whole life you're struggling to fight your parents and become what you want to be, but this is absolutely NUTS! It must be the stress taking a toll on you, must be!

"Oh, it's a long story," your older self chuckled as if this situation was funny. It kinda is, if you were in her shoe it would probably be funny to you. You looked to your left side, eyeing the guy standing next to you who was looking around your room with so much interest. Your older self inspecting you as you eyed Jungkook, chuckling again silently knowing how curious you are. "Who is he?" You blurted out looking at him in disapproval. Jungkook suddenly stopped looking around and looked at you smiling and waving at you with his left hand. "Oh, hi I am Jungkook," A silver ring on his left hand caught your eyes, you involuntarily looked at your older self, searching her left hand, but you didn't need to look for so long because a diamond ring glinted back at you, as if telling you yup I am here to confirm your doubts. You suddenly gasped as you looked between them, Jungkook flinched in surprise as your older self smirked at you. "You figured it out, didn't you?" she said amusement dancing in her eyes. "He's your husband!" Your face scrunched in disgust. "Our husband," she corrected you leaning back on her palms still looking at you in amusement. "Ew! No!" You said looking at him again with disapproval. "Now, I am offended," Jungkook said feigning sadness, placing his hand over his chest. "Your hair is so long!" You pointed out, tilting your head to the side. "Thank you!" He beamed at you happy that something about him appealed to you. "That wasn't a compliment, don't flatter yourself," you answered back glaring at him. Jungkook pouted looking back at your older self for help "Well, believe it or not, you'll come to love everything about him even if he dyes his hair red," your older self averted your attention from your supposed future husband towards her. She looked at Jungkook with a smirk; however, you could feel the love in her eyes. You could tell that she really loved him as her smirk eased into a soft loving look making you wonder what did Jungkook do to deserve your love.

A few minutes passed as Jungkook and your older self swiped places, Jungkook sat in front of you making sure that you don't try and break free to run away as your older self kept looking for something around your room. "You have so many tattoos, are you a criminal?" You questioned grumpily. You heard your older self chuckle behind you as she looked at the calendar on your desk. Jungkook's big doe eyes, which you suspected were your older self's weakness since it's already making you feel things, looked at you trying to find a suitable answer. "Umm, well I've never done anything illegal," he said. "Intentionally," he added gulping when you kept your piercing gaze upon him. His eyes looked upwards toward the left side which according to what you've read in the science of body language indicated that he was probably remembering the illegal thing that he has done. Sighing, you tried to take it easy upon him since he was starting to get more uncomfortable under your gaze.

"What's your job?" You asked as your legs swayed the chair, you were tied to, right and left. The situation was starting to become really funny to you; you were tied up like you were going to be tortured for some information that you possess; however, it seems like the roles are reversed seeing that you were swaying the chair as you kept interrogating your future husband. He hummed, scratching the side of his neck with his lips pursed and his right eye closed, "I don't know how to tell you this, but we kinda lost our job," he said calmly, big doe eyes staring back at you as a small smile made its way onto his handsome features. "What do you mean WE? you lost your job!" You stopped swaying the chair, an act that showed that you were trying to process the information. "Nah, we as in me and you," he said still looking at you as if he was telling you something totally normal like how the sun sets from the west. "Yeah, we work together and we kinda got fired," your older self said as she stood next to you resting her hand on the back of your chair. "What do you mean kinda got fired? What do you guys do?" You asked looking up at her. "Hmm, … we're scientists." She said looking back down on you. "Wait, what? You're not running our law firm?" You turned the chair suddenly making her remove her hand from the back of it. "Nah, dude we are not going through this bullshit that our parents planned out for us." She said shaking her heading with a pure look of repugnance on her face. "W-why did you get fired, then ?" You asked trying to understand more. "Well, you see me and Jungkook were developing a time machine, you know how many novels predicted the occurrence of such invention," you nodded eagerly for her to continue "the bastards at the lab made fun of us for being delusional because and I quote "this only exists in fiction and there could never be a thing such as time machines" the pricks! Don't they know that before the invention of ships and aeroplanes, writers prophesied these inventions, I mean that's how usually things start. People come up with crazy ideas and we scientists try to bring these ideas into life." Her outrage was evident in her tone. You nodded agreeing with her. "Anyways, that's not for you worry about, at least for the time being," she said walking away from you to continue looking around.

You tried to change the topic, but for some reason, you were not gifted with the ability to be smooth, "What made you marry him?" You fired the question still looking at Jungkook who suddenly smirked at you. "I am pretty good with a sword," he answered, and you could feel his ego inflate. "Oh my, Jungkook please don't!" Your older self whined rolling her head. "What?" Jungkook asked going back to his baby Bambi-eyed self before he started acting cocky. "A sword!" You wondered in a hushed tone to yourself, Jungkook's eyes looking over your face as if he can see your mind putting two and two together, "Oh!" You suddenly realised what he was implying, apparently something sexual. "EEWW!" you shook your head trying not to imagine anything. "Jungkook for God's sake, She's still sixteen, and she doesn't know you yet. Besides you know that I married you because I love you not because of … that," your older self said shaking her head at her husband's immaturity.

"Anyways, it's almost time. If Jungkook set the timer correctly, we should be getting back in a few seconds!" Your older self said from behind you, untying you from your restraints. "What? Back where?" You asked turning to look at her. "What do you mean back where! Back to our present!" She answered looking back at Jungkook. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Jungkook asked confused. Rolling your eyes, not really knowing how you will actually fall in love with the guy later on, "I mean … what am I supposed to do now that I met you?" You asked looking back at your older self, eyes begging her to guide you, tell you what to do, to tell you that everything will turn out just fine. Her features softened as she neared you, "hey listen kiddo, everything will be alright. I can't tell you how it will turn out exactly, but I want you to know that you wouldn't want it any other way, I promise!" She said placing her hand on your shoulder, glancing behind you at Jungkook and smiling softly. You were sure Jungkook was returning her smile, as well. "I don't know what to do...how do I become you?" She tilted her head thinking about it. "Well, I can't tell you what to do because you'll know that, but you can start by resisting," she winked at you before extending her hand to Jungkook who took it. They both backed away from you. You felt them start to fade, but before they vanished completely, Jungkook winked at you in a friendly manner and told you, "see you soon!" You frowned not understanding what he meant by that.

Two days had already passed since you met your future self. In the beginning, you doubted the whole thing happening, but then you found a small sticky note by your desk with neat handwriting saying "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. ~ William Ernest Henley" which you realised was a quote from your favourite poem, your older self had written it down for you. It was the only proof that what had taken place in your room was real. It was still the beginning of the school day, and you were already bored. "Attention please, everyone!" Your teacher raised her voice over the noisy chatter of the students, bursting your bubble of thoughts and making you look up as your colleagues started to settle down. "I would like you to welcome our new transfer student, Jeon Jungkook," she exclaimed enthusiastically looking around with a hopeful gaze. Jeon Jungkook? What? No way? You suddenly looked up, a shy boy with a shaggy haircut entered the classroom barely looking up, too afraid to make eye contact with anyone. You gasped quietly, that's what Jungkook meant by seeing me soon? He looks nothing like his older self! You thought, inspecting the Jungkook standing by the teacher. He looked up shyly, and the first person he laid eyes on was you. Your heart fluttered when he made eye contact and averted his eyes quickly as he blushed. Oh how cute! You thought smiling slightly. Oh my God, it's actually happening! You were having an internal conversation with yourself now, realising that this was true, you're already harbouring a crush on the boy. "Jungkook, why don't you take a seat next to y/n," your teacher said averting her gaze from Jungkook to you, nodding her head so you'd raise your hand to let him know where you're sitting. "Y/n, would you please show Jungkook around the school later, and help him with what he's missing. If there's anything you're unable to help him with, you can return to me," she said moving already behind her desk and opening her book to start the lesson as Jungkook made his way to the empty desk next to you.

"H-hi, I am Jungkook," he introduced himself minutes after he sat down. "I know, the teacher introduced you at the beginning of class," you said smiling softly at his rosy cheeks that displayed his embarrassment, you chuckled finding him so endearing trying to make a small conversation with you. You turned your head paying attention to what the teacher was explaining. You could feel Jungkook fiddle around in his seat looking around worriedly with his big Bambi eyes that you're sure are now your weakness. You realised that he was nervous because he doesn't have a pen and was embarrassed to ask for an extra one. You silently nudged him and gave him one of yours which made him flash you a grateful smile making you flash him a soft one.

Meanwhile, you and Jungkook were watching your younger-selves interact shyly just as you did ten years ago. "Kookie!" He hummed not really paying you attention since he was eating an ice-cream. You turned your head inspecting his features that didn't really change that much since you first saw him, "you didn't set the machine on that time by mistake, did you?" You asked referring to the time when you asked him about the time settings after your younger self had caught you both snooping around her, well technically your room. You looked at your melting ice-cream, taking a small bite as you could still see Jungkook from your peripheral vision. His movements stopped for a moment, seeing that you smirked as if you caught him in the act. Sensing your sly smile, he shook his head "I don't know what you're talking about!" He feigned dumbness as if you won't be able to tell that he was lying, but who was he fooling? You knew him like the back of your hand. He sighed looking at you in defeat as you raised an eyebrow at him waiting for him to explain himself. "Babe, I know how you were always anxious during that time of your life, and now that we achieved this together and made the whole time machine thing possible; I wanted the first thing for us to do is console your younger-self. I remember how you had a hard time because of your parents," he explained himself all pouty like a child who had done something wrong. However, Jungkook didn't do anything wrong, far from it actually, he wanted nothing but to make you feel less stressed and less unloved. He knows that his younger self has to overcome so many intricacies for you to open up to him. You were a totally different version from who you are right now, and it hurt him to see you doubting yourself or feeling inferior all these years because of your non-existent relationship with your parents. "Thank you, Kookie," you said placing a soft peck on his pouty lips. "You're not mad at me?" He asked, eyes widening, watching you enjoy your ice-cream as you took in your surroundings. You shook your head looking back at him. "I love you," you smiled holding his hand into yours. His worried bunny features eased into a smile and a look full of nothing but adoration for you, "I love you, too." He kissed you passionately while rubbing his thumb over your cheeks. "Finish your ice-cream. We have ten minutes remaining before we go back." You said looking at your digital watch. "What? We don't get to take the ice-cream with us?" He asked, curiosity glossing in his eyes. You shook your head at your husband whom you genuinely believed is a child trapped in the body of a 26 years old man, but as you said: you wouldn't want to have it any other way.

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arigatouiris · 4 years

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perhaps... // sanemi x reader

Author’s Note: Another vvvvv self-indulgent one shot for my soft babie Sanemi! Idk I just can’t see him as anything but a softie after that episode with Nezuko~ Obviously, this has Kimetsu manga spoilers, so please be warned! Sanemi deserves the world, honestly. I love him SO MUCH.

Word count: 5662 words

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Warnings: angst, pining, somewhat of a crackhead reader?, fluff, spoilers for the manga, mentions of blood and sex

A lot of people were grateful to the Hashira for finally defeating Muzan. However, the fact of the matter remained—after the war was done, they had no place to go if they already didn’t have a home. Most demon slayers sought shelter within the butterfly estate and the wisteria estates till they could get back on their feet, but Sanemi wasn’t the sort to do that at all.

It wasn’t pride or ego, he simply wanted to get away from it all. To learn of troubles that weren’t demons, to go see sights he hadn’t before—live so that his brother and the family he had lost could see life through his eyes.

The sudden optimism flushed into his system upon seeing Nezuko, after all. The child reminded him nothing of Genya, yet there were instances that he’d wanted to cherish. Perhaps, every little sibling had that in common, the aura that makes you want to protect them.

It’s not that he suddenly wanted to explore the world, it’s just that Sanemi wanted to feel excluded in inclusivity. He wanted to live a life that resembled a normalcy he had only dared to dream about in the distant future; but now was the distant future, and the suddenness of it all threw him off guard. He wanted to go a place and feel disliked because he was a man who didn’t look like he could be trusted; he wanted to go to a place and meet kids who would give him weird nicknames and maybe one day find out that he’s actually not the monster that they thought he was.

No part of Sanemi dreamed he would one day find love, but perhaps, the universe wished that for him by sending him you.

Upon moving to a tiny village near what used to be his old home, he met you—a farmer who worked on a land that did not belong to you, offering people smiles and sometimes, cashew fruits to the kids (when your landlord wasn’t looking). People generally liked you, you seemed the sort of person one couldn’t dislike because you radiated warmth with every action. Sanemi tried to stay away from you, but his arrival to the village brought attention—which was unavoidable considering people knew he was a Hashira. How they knew, he would not know, he considered himself to be a rather secretive person; but the mere mention that he once slayed demons alerted you.

You approached him the second day he settled down and handed him a basket full of produce—some rice, persimmons, cashew fruits (of course, one needn’t know you to know you liked these), adzuki beans, and pickled plums.

“I don’t need it—”

“Oh, come on!” You pushed it forward onto his hand, causing him to pop a vein in annoyance, “Don’t be closed off, Hashira-san! You saved our lives, after all!”

He didn’t like to think of it that way, but that was what he had done. Not directly, but he had assisted to bring down one of the biggest menaces the world had seen. It wasn’t that he was incredibly proud of the fact; this accomplishment had taken from him more than it had given, and if Sanemi was ever given a choice, if he was ever given a choice...

He didn’t thank you, though you didn’t leave too easily. You started talking to him about some gibberish that he obviously wasn’t paying attention to, after which he simply headed back inside his hut, sitting against the wall, trying to catch a bit of sleep. He liked that he could sleep without the worry or fear hanging over his mind—he was free at last to be lazy, and what a privilege this seemed before.

“I’ll bring you more things later!”

Sanemi scoffed, “Listen, I don’t need you to bother. Buzz off, and leave me alone.”

“Ooh, you’re the strong and rude type, aren’t you?” You folded your arms in front of your chest, shooting him an idiotic smile, “I’m willing to bet your heart’s soft.”

It didn’t take him long to throw a stone to your side in a way to say ‘fuck off’. You giggled before waving at him and leaving, but something told him you would only return again; what kind of idiot you were, he did not know, but no part of him was grateful for your smiles knocking on his door when all he clearly needed was some peace and quiet.

Sanemi had money; the demon slaying profession had given him enough of money that he carried around. People would often consider it stupid to carry a large amount of money around, but it was Sanemi, and most people did not bother him—and no thief dared attempt stealing from him. He might not have a reason to rage at anyone, but Sanemi’s life was pent-up rage, nestled in his heart in the form of yearning and sorrow that he could not, for the life of him, unravel.

A few days later, Sanemi ran out of the rice you had given him, which meant he had to go to the village to buy things. It wasn’t that the village was overtly welcoming to him, but they left him alone and that was perhaps what he wanted. In his spare time, he trained, he didn’t know for what, and he would hunt. Sanemi learned how to cook better than he ever had before, and thought of his brother, thought of Masachika, and sometimes, if he dared, he thought of his mother.

“Shinazugawa-san!”

He clicked his tongue when he noticed your head pop into the entrance of his house, a wicked smile plastered on your face.

“What is it now, woman?”

It wasn’t that he disliked you. He didn’t want anything to disrupt what was left of his life; he wanted to stay here till he got bored, and leave when the time was right. Getting to know you would only complicate things. But, why was it that you were hellbent on constantly checking up on him and speaking to him? Despite the fact that he looked so scary and intimidating all the time, despite the fact that he was rude to you almost always, you always trod on.

“Would you like some ohagi?”

His eyes twitch at your words, cursing at himself for revealing to you that he liked the sweet the other day. It wasn’t that he explicitly told you, but it was simply that he was eating it the day before and you saw him—trodding on and making a big deal out of him liking a sweet that you apparently knew how to make really well.

“Stop bothering me.”

“Eh? You don’t look busy to me.”

“But I am, woman. Leave me alone!” He barked, only to have you giggle.

“I’ll leave it here. Have them, okay? You saved our lives, after all.”

There you go again, bringing it up like it was something to be proud of. Sanemi clicked his tongue before lying down, showing you his back. He was done with dealing with you for the day, and somehow, you understood that what you had said did not resonate well with him right then. You blinked a couple of times before pressing your lips together and leaving him to himself.

It wasn’t that you intentionally wanted to bother him. You were clearly aware that he did not grasp the affections of your fellow villagers, but you did not see a bad man in Shinazugawa Sanemi. You did not have any family to compare him to, but there was something strikingly similar to Sanemi and a particular demon slayer that had saved your life a few years ago. The boy was definitely younger than you, but scars adorned his face as well, and he did not use swords like most demon slayers that you had heard of.

Looking up to the sky, you walked to your special spot—a spot that you had reserved for yourself and your ‘little friends’. You hoped to tell Shinazugawa about this someday, because some part of you believed he would understand it better than the villagers did.

Maybe I should invite him? You thought, pressing your lips together into a line. What’s the harm?

You made a U-turn and headed to Sanemi’s, to find him asleep. Your eyes wandered on his scarred face, his scarred chest, his well-toned muscles. You noticed that his right hand was missing its index and middle fingers, and you believed it was something the profession he had chosen had taken from him. Maybe, I should stop reminding him he saved our lives, you thought, before absentmindedly reaching forward to touch the man’s face.

You almost yelled when he suddenly caught your arm mid-air, and his eyes shot open at your blushing form.

“What the hell are you trying to do?”

You gulped, “T-There was something I wanted to show you.”

“Not interested, woman. Leave me alone—”

“Please, no one in the village understands. I think,” You frowned a bit, which was unusual because this was perhaps the first time he had seen you frown. “I think you’ll understand.”

Maybe, it was the way you said it. Sanemi noticed how hesitant you looked, but when he thought of it, you were perhaps the only one who was even bringing up his demon slaying in conversation. He sighed before sitting up, ignoring your sudden happy expression and waving his hand at you, telling you by action to lead the way.

You lead him into the forest behind the farm, and in a small clearing, Sanemi saw a bunch of rocks embedded on the ground, facing the sky. Upon one glance, he could tell that they were makeshift graves, but he wondered what the hell you were trying to show him.

Why was he the only one who would understand?

“What the—”

“I met this boy a few years ago,” You said, turning to him, kneeling down by the graves. “He had scars on his face just like you.”

There were many boys with facial scars. But, for some reason, Sanemi kept listening, his heart pounding at your every word.

“He told me about this kind brother he had. The one he wanted to meet and rekindle his relationship with. He told me that his kind brother made him want to get very strong, and from the looks of it, he really was strong. He saved my life, after all.”

He didn’t want to believe it, at first. He didn’t want to believe that you had somehow met Genya. And that Genya had saved your life. He did not want to believe that it was Genya you were talking about, but why did this seem so familiar?

“These graves are of kids with no family. Like me. I didn’t know these children, but my heart breaks when I think of them being left behind like that. This demon slayer boy helped me put up these graves. He told me he lost his family to a demon too,”

Sanemi’s breath was stuck in his throat as he watched you carefully.

“His mother was turned. And his kind brother saved his life by killing her. It must have been a nightmare.”

You weren’t saying that out of pity, Sanemi saw the dead look in your eyes—the lack of understand was present, but there was no pity, no sympathy, just... plainness. Somehow, he appreciated that.

“I don’t know what losing a family feels like because I’ve never had one,” You said, looking at the graves now. “But, that boy carried so much pain in his heart and so much love for his brother that it made me want to know.”

His lips quivered but he swallowed any emotion that threatened to spill out. You turn to spot him staring at you, expressionless, hardened, and you smiled.

“I’m sorry I keep troubling you,” You put your hands behind your back, “You just remind me of that boy, that’s all. He had kind eyes, like you.”

It was a few days after that did Sanemi notice that you were being treated harshly by your fellow villagers. He was getting ready to move, but he didn’t know what to tell you. After that night near the graves, he had grown to tolerate your company, but your visits were fewer than before, you gave him a lot less produce whenever you dropped by (not that he wanted you to give him any, at all).

That night, he told you he was leaving. What he expected was a muffled reaction asking him to stay or beg him not to leave.

But your eyes were wide, a growing smile formed on your lips and you looked at him and only him, the gaze almost weakened his knees.

“I’ll come with you.”

It was a simple sentence but for some reason, Sanemi thought this one sentence could destroy every bit of strength that was left in his bones. He had assisted in ending the reign of demons, but there you were, giving him a determined expression, your hair disheveled, your kimono old from having been washed too many times, and your hands behind your back.

Your determination could end him.

And for some reason, Sanemi wouldn’t mind letting that happen.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He snapped, eyes glaring at her face.

“Shinazugawa-san,” You said, sweetly, “There’s no need for you to be harsh anymore,”

His eyes widened.

“There are no demons left,” You were twirling on the ground you were standing on, “There’s nothing that should cause you to hide your softness.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

You approached him, looking directly into his eyes, capturing his breath in a way he never thought possible. Sanemi’s eyes widened but you remained put.

“During times like this, Shinazugawa-san,” You smiled softly, “Being soft is a much harder task.”

In an instant, you took his right hand in yours, which he surprisingly doesn’t push away. His heart was beating rapidly and there wasn’t much he could do. Did he want you with him? Did he like your company? What would it be? What could he do?

The way you were looking at him... Damn it, there was no use pushing you away.

He took you to the wisteria estate, which was the closest to the village; Sanemi wanted some relief before heading to a place he had never been to. A hot bath, some good food, and a good night’s sleep on a futon—things he had missed. However, these were things you never had access to, and seeing you try them for the first time warmed his heart.

He found himself talking to you, sitting by the engawa, now that he had learned Genya saved your life. A life that his brother had saved, it was something special whether he would like to admit it or not. He told you about Genya and your eyes widen instantly, recognizing the story, the name attached to the boy, and tears fill your eyes when you learned of what happened.

You couldn’t say anything, you almost couldn’t breathe—and it was Sanemi’s first time seeing you cry.

For some reason, the sight warmed his heart because there was another person feeling sorrow over the loss of his brother. Genya really was kind, Genya was perhaps everything that Sanemi one day wished he was. And here you were, crying for the boy because he was all those things.

Without a second thought, Sanemi’s hand rushed to the side of your cheek, a soft smile sat on his lips as he watched you—the woman whose life his brother had saved—cry because Genya had died. You automatically leaned into his touch, almost as if this wasn’t new, you liked the warmth his hand presented against your cheek and it felt oddly like home.

Huh? You thought, opening your eyes to see Sanemi smile at you. What is home, anyway?

“Shinazugawa-san,” You sniffed, “You really are so kind.”

Sanemi had just given up trying to make you go away. In fact, he had come to accept it, in fact, he was slowly getting used to her being around him. A few days later, you and Sanemi set off in another little journey; where you began to wonder what it was that Sanemi was looking for, and why it was that you followed him so.

Perhaps, you wanted to feel that feeling of home again.

You two were walking across rice fields, the path was rocky yet it was as straight as it could be—and you were attempting to walk along a straight line, just for the heck of it. Sanemi grunted at what you were trying to do, but kept his nose out of it. If you fell down, it would be on you; however, when you did trip, you felt a strong grip grab you by your elbow, preventing your fall. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but you felt grateful nonetheless.

“Careful, idiot.”

You smiled at him, before snaking your arm around his, ignoring the growing redness against Sanemi’s cheeks. You cushioned yourself against him and hummed, suddenly liking the feeling of his warm yet toned stature against your soft and fragile form.

“Sanemi-san,” He had no idea when you started calling him by his first name, but he didn’t mind, “I’ll follow you anywhere if you help me out like that!”

He pushed you away roughly before grunting at you, angered by the sound of your giggling—but ignoring the butterflies swarming in his chest at how happy you looked. Suddenly, all Sanemi could feel was a gnawing sense of fear cascade in his heart, his eyes wide at your laughing face, before he looked away, masking his emotions behind a veil of annoyance.

The fear was familiar; it was the very same feeling he had felt just before losing someone. This fear was the reason he kept pushing Genya away, before it was too late. It was this fear that had turned him into someone he could not even recognize, he was not the Sanemi he was born as. It was this fear that had turned good old kind ‘Nemi into Hashira Shinazugawa Sanemi, brutal, arrogant, brash and ruthless.

“What’s wrong?”

Yet, there you were; figuring him out as if he was meant to be read so easily. As if all the walls he put up were no good. You were like a rabbit that bounced into areas it was not supposed to, yet Sanemi’s wolf-like stature did little to intimidate you.

“None of your business.”

You pressed your lips together before pouting once, pulling away and staring at his face.

“Come on, tell me!”

He gave you a good, long look before understanding something for himself. The woman his brother had saved, it was fate that had brought you to him, and he blamed fate for making you an idiot that he was falling in love with.

It was not hard for Sanemi to accept his feelings; which was what made it so easy for him to accept death, accept the death of his family, accept the death of his comrades. Sanemi might come across as someone who would do anything to run away from his emotions, but he was not the sort. It was because his emotions were so well sought after, because he knew the damage his emotions could cause him, did he put up walls so high.

Yet, how in the world were you getting through?

The two of you reached a tiny village clearing, where its people were more than happy to welcome the both of you. The elders mistook you for a couple, causing you to turn beet red, and earning no response from Sanemi whatsoever. Your eyes widened at his seemingly nonchalant demeanor, but you half expected him to deny that you were anything to him at all.

A small smile sat at your lips before trying very hard to calm your heart.

Sanemi and you were given a regular sized hut, three or four villagers pouring in to give you gifts in the form of provisions and leather. You were thrilled, thinking that this was perhaps the home the two of you needed, however, something didn’t sit right in Sanemi’s mind. Whenever a demon was nearby, he’d get the sense of dread spreading all over the air around him; it would be hard to breathe.

Sanemi slowly felt a tad bit suffocated at the ‘kindness’ the villagers were showing the both of you.

Once inside your hut, Sanemi notices you were watching him as he unpacked—confusing him and shutting him up. He knew that if you had something to say, then you’d say it, but if you were just going to watch him, then he’d let you.

“You didn’t correct them when they called me your wife.”

It was a statement; Sanemi could hear the happiness behind it, and didn’t understand why you were so peppy about the entire ordeal. Something seemed off, weren’t you suspicious? Why were you so ready to accept kindness, even from strangers?

Ah, Sanemi chuckled, it’s because you were like that.

“What’s the use explaining anything to them anyway?”

“Who am I to you then, Sanemi-san?”

Sanemi looked at you now with the wildness of a wolf, his gaze penetrating your very soul. Yet, you didn’t look away; you may have been the most timid creature in the world, but with Sanemi you were fierce, you were everything that he wasn’t, in a world that knew only how to kill. He felt the strange feeling bubble in his chest, before forcing himself to look anywhere else. But, your gaze was fixed on him and even if his eyes were to roam every single inch of his room away from you, he was still being burned by your intensity.

“Do you like boar?”

You gasped, clapping your hands together, “I love boar! Are you going to hunt for me, Sanemi-san?”

He sighed, scratching the back of his head, “Yeah, sure. Beats sitting here being stared at.”

You pouted at his words, “Your skills at turning the conversation away are top-notch!”

All you could hear was his chuckle.

The fear continued to bubble in Sanemi’s heart.

He understood well enough more than anyone else that it wasn’t the fear of the demons that was the most terrifying. Nothing was more frightening than a fear you cannot name, and right then, Sanemi felt scared and couldn’t for the life of him understand why.

Was it because of you? Was it because he could lose you in an instant? And he would feel the same—empty, regret and sorrow that he felt when his brother died in his arms? He couldn’t compare the same pain with the hypothetical one, but the mere thought of losing you left him breathless. It was not blind anxiety, here it was possibility; because Sanemi had always lost everything.

In his entire life, keeping something for himself was a dream he knew he couldn’t achieve. This was perhaps why he kept roaming from one village to another; until he met you. You tagged along, making things all the more complicated. Yet, he liked the sound of your voice in the morning, he enjoyed your company and the sound of your laughter rang in his mind even when you were not conscious. And perhaps, the fact that he was in love with you did losing you become more of a possibility, and perhaps, this was what the fear was addressing. That despite not wanting to get close to anyone, you’d managed to crawl into what was left of his sanity, and make yourself feel at home.

Despite everything he had done to ensure he doesn’t lose anyone again, he was back in the most vulnerable state of affairs. This left him weak, ready to be pounced at—but, like you said, there were no more demons.

But, the mistake people often make is associate an evil with an evident form of it. Most often, evil lurks in corners that one would not notice.

Sanemi’s growing dread only made sense once he returned to you. He believed you’d either be making rice or sleeping because you slept more than you spoke sometimes. He liked the sight of your light snores, but what he came home to knocked the wind out of him.

There you lay, wincing, crying, four mean huddled around you—a knife was lodged in your left thigh, and it was clear from the smell of it that you had lost a lot of blood. This is why the village was welcoming, his mind told him. The second he was away, they pounced on you—because you were the weaker link.

“Nemi... Nemi....” You cried, turning to his form at the entrance, clutching your leg because your life did depend on it.

All his faces were designed to express rage or loathing. Now that something had happened which really deserved a face, he had none to celebrate it with. He quietly unsheathed his sword before killing everyone inside the hut, grabbing the one bag of money that they had come for, and picking you up like you were made of feathers, Sanemi rushed away from the village. He didn’t know where to go, but he was certain of the outcome.

As he was running, his eyes leaking tears either from the harshness of the wind or... or because his insides were turbulent, he could not hear your soft whimpers. Only when your shaking hand touched his chin did he pause, look at you—your lower lip trembling, your face deathly pale, your forehead sweaty, and your eyes were struggling to see.

“I won’t...” What were you trying to say? “I won’t die... Nemi... I won’t...”

His eyes widened at your words. That’s it. That was what he was most afraid of. And here you were, addressing it as you were dying.

No.

Taking a deep breath, Sanemi held on to you tighter before rushing to the butterfly estate. It would take him almost an hour to get there, especially if he used his ability, but he was willing to take that chance. The knife was still in your leg, he was unsure if you would hold out till then, but he wanted to trust you.

“I promise... I won’t die, Nemi...” You breathed, your hand clutching the side of his collar.

On reaching the estate, Sanemi quickly walked inside, ignoring the fact that his entire torso was drenched with your blood, you were barely conscious, your hands limp at your side. Aoi, the blue haired girl who was in charge of healing people in there, immediately rushed to his side, asking the others to take you inside.

Sanemi wanted to follow, but the girl stopped him. It was then he took a long hard look at himself, your blood having turned him red entirely. He felt sobs knock at the base of his throat but he wasn’t going to cry. You weren’t dying, you had made a promise, you were not going to die.

But, what if you did?

What if he lost you too?

Sanemi was so sure he would just follow you. There was nothing for him to live for. There was nothing left if not for you.

He never realized he was praying; he never realized that he could. He sat by the engawa after changing into regular extra clothes, and waited for Aoi to come say anything regarding your status.

I won’t die, Nemi.

You had called him Nemi. The last time someone had called him that, they died. He couldn’t help but correlate.

“Shinazugawa-san,” Aoi’s voice sounded softly from the side, “You can go see her. She’s asking for you.”

That was fast. Sanemi’s eyes widened.

“She’s so strong, I... I don’t understand how she can be awake after losing all that blood. We’ve closed the wound on her thigh, she just needs bedrest now. She’ll be fine in a few days. We’re lucky that the knife didn’t hit the bone.”

Were we lucky? Or were you?

Why was it that Sanemi felt the luckiest?

He rushed to where you were, noticing you lying down, eyes were fixed at the door. Were you waiting for him? Idiot, he thought before going to you, leaning over you by the bed. There was no one else in the room apart from the both of you, and all Sanemi could think of was how you had kept your promise.

Maybe...

His eyes were wet with tears now.

Maybe you could stay, after all...

Aoi closed the door behind her, wanting to give the two some space. What she didn’t tell Sanemi was that you refused to take any anaesthesia just so that you could stay awake for him.

You were crazy. And maybe he was too. She could never say.

“I told you I won’t die.”

Sanemi’s hand strokes your cheek before leaning down and kissing you, squarely. You kissed back as if you expected it, your soft hand covering the side of his face. You couldn’t tell if he had done this with other women, but the kiss felt so strong—it reflected who Sanemi was, as a person. It was the kind of kiss that would inspire stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

Upon pulling back, Sanemi’s gaze weakened you, but made your heart stronger.

“I love you, Nemi. My Nemi. My kind Nemi.”

He wanted to break something, but this was his reaction to most things soft. However, instead of breaking something, Sanemi instead chose to kiss you again. You were darkness and he was darkness and there was never anything like this before; only darkness and his lips upon yours. You didn’t even want to speak, his mouth was over yours again. Suddenly, you felt a wild thrill, a thrill you’ve never known. Perhaps it was joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast. You could sense his care when he practically refused to weigh on you, your leg untouched, your injury ignored yet strictly taken care of. When Sanemi made love to you, it was his way of saying he loved you.

He assumed you’d fall asleep after something that intense. He lay next to you, bare chested, the blanket covering only your tiny frame; you were laying on his left hand, with him cradling you from the right. You nuzzled into him more, liking the warmth, and also because you were practically naked under the sheets. He knew you were inches away from falling asleep, which was perhaps what motivated him to speak.

“I love you,” His voice was a whisper, “But I... I can’t lose you.”

A second later, he heard you groan.

“Don’t be stupid.”

Sanemi lay still, vision blurring, and in that moment, he heard his heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.

Whoever said that heartbreak was only supposed to be sad? Sanemi’s heart broke at how easily you accepted him, and it was every reason worth breaking.

The next time Sanemi had a nightmare of losing you, he felt a mild slap on his cheek, causing his eyes to open, his lips separate in a gasp. Staring into tiny purple eyes, glaring at him, Sanemi realized he had angered his four-year old girl.

“You were groaning again, ‘tou-chan!”

“Sorry, chibi-chan.”

“Don’t call me chibi-chan!”

His daughter was sitting on his chest as he slept; he turned and noticed it was already mid-day, and he wondered why you hadn’t woken him up yet. Getting up, Sanemi held the back of his chid’s form so as to not have her fall off, and he sat up straight.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Scolding nii-chan.”

Sanemi groaned, “What did he do now?”

Your little girl shrugged, so as to say she doesn’t know, which only made the father all the more curious. Sanemi put the girl down before walking toward the entrance of the house that you two shared. He noticed how you were yelling at your eldest boy, who looked glum with a large frown on his face. That’s why you didn’t wake me, he thought, scratching the back of his head.

“How many times should I tell you that picking on people isn’t how you tell them you like them?”

Your son scoffed, “Whatever.”

“Don’t be stupid!”

Sanemi felt his daughter tug at his left hand, which caused him to turn to her with a questioning gaze.

“Pick me up, ‘tou-chan!”

He instantly picked her up, with her weighing as much as a flower did. Immediately, the child’s fingers traced the outline of his scars, bringing a soft smile to his face when he saw the same smile being reflected back in his daughter’s features. She leaned in and kissed his scar, forcing him to still his movements.

“Aren’t my scars scary?”

The girl shook her head as if it was the most preposterous thing she had ever heard. Perhaps, it was. He’d never know.

“They’re so awesome!”

Sanemi raised his eyebrows. A moment later, your son who was being scolded came over to stand beside his father.

“Nii-chan, aren’t 'tou-chan’s scars awesome?”

As if the boy was suddenly taken out of his stupor, his dark eyes widened, and a large grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah! ‘kaa-chan told us the story behind them!”

Sanemi narrowed his eyes.

“Did she now... What was the story?”

“You saved the world!”

Sanemi’s eyes widened when he spotted you, leaning against the entrance of the door, a wicked grin on your face. Sanemi scoffed before looking away from you, you and your idiotic tease of a personality. A hand rested on his son’s head and he cradled his daughter by his left waist.

But for a second, he swore he heard a voice whisper behind him,

‘My Nemi is the kindest’

#sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #wind pillar #wind pillar x reader #kny #hashira #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi #shinaguzawa sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #shinazugawa sanemi x reader #kimetsu no yaiba manga spoilers #kny spoilers #genya shinazugawa #shinazugawa #reader insert

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ace-trainer-risu · 3 years

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oh here! i’ll come ask you for book recs lol. do you have any spooky and/or autumn-y book recs? or just your fave books :)

First of all, I'm sorry this took me SO long to answer. I want to say I've been busy but it's just been general [waves hand vaguely] life.

ANYWAY thank you for asking! I actually don't read scary stuff a lot b/c I'm a wimp, but I have a few spooky/autumnal books up my sleeves! Let's see what we've got!!

1) The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

Let me just start by saying that Sarah Waters is one of my absolute favorite authors ever! All her novels are suspenseful, twisty historical novels with great female and queer characters. Although, fair warning, actually The Little Stranger is like her one novel that isn't queer, but it is VERY good. If you read The Little Stranger and like it, please read Fingersmith and/or The Paying Guests.

The Little Stranger is set in the countryside of post-WWII England and follows a mild-mannered doctor as he becomes increasingly involved in the lives of the family living in the local, increasingly decrepit, possibly haunted mansion. Think Downton Abbey but creepy. Strange things keep happening inside the house, from dog bites to mysterious sounds to creepy black spots. Literally just typing that gave me goosebumps. It seems like someone may be out to get the family, but who...or what? Is it simply the ghosts of their own painful memories, or is something more? Sarah Waters is excellent at lush, intricate historical detail, and she leans into that here to create an atmosphere of slowly building dread and horror and mystery.

That being said, as a person who isn't normally a fan of horror, I don't think this book is too scary. It's more of an atmospheric, psychological horror than a jump-scare, bloody horror. It's not a book that will give you nightmares (probably), but you might lie awake thinking about it.

Also. Pro-tip. As a haunted(?) house story, the house is obviously fairly central to the story. Dear fellow Americans, keep in mind that the British refer to the floors of a building differently than us. For Americans, the ground-level floor is called the first floor, the floor above that the second floor, etc. For the British, the ground-level floor is the ground floor, and the floor above that is the first floor, etc. There's all sorts of creepy references to characters hearing noises above them on the first floor, but I was just like, Why are they always in the basement?

2) Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno Garcia

This and the above are two very different books, and yet they are both set in the mid-1900s and both are about weird, creepy, maybe-haunted houses. What can I say, I like gothic fiction.

After our heroine, Noemi, receives a bizarre, borderline incoherent letter from her beloved cousin, she sets out to visit her in the literally decaying mansion she resides in with her husband and his new family deep in the countryside of Mexico. All Noemi wants to do is persuade her cousin to come back home with her, but her cousin's new in-laws are very determined not to let that happen...or to let Noemi leave either. Secrets abound in the bizarre house and even creepier nearby cemetery, and soon Noemi finds that she too is suffering from bizarre dreams and visions...although, are they just dreams?

This book is so weird, but in such a good way? I read it for a book club and every week we had increasingly bizarre theories about what was going on, we were googling alchemy and fungi and St George, and some of our theories were even right. Although definitely not all. Another very twisty one that keeps you guessing.

In terms of scariness, interestingly I think there's more overtly creepy and horrifying moments in this novel than The Little Stranger, but I found TLS more overall scary? But that may be because I read it quickly, which I think is the ideal setting for suspenseful stuff, and I read Mexican Gothic over a longer amount of time since it was for a book club. This one does have some more typical horror elements to it, but I don't think it's more creepy than terrifying.

3) The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey

I listened to this one as an audiobook and the audiobook is excellent so would recommend that, but have no doubt it would also be great to physically read.

Oh my god this book...it's more thriller than horror, but I think it fits the brief. There were multiple moments listening to this book that I literally gasped or said "OH MY GOD!" out loud, and there are moments which are very creepy and horrifying. There's a particular scene in the backyard... Again, incredibly suspenseful and twisty. And the character development and character psychology is just! really really good! There's also really interesting and knotty feminist stuff which is a lot more complicated and nasty than some of the "girlboss" stuff which is popular right now.

Super minimal summary: All you really need to know is that it is a sci fi novel about a scientific researcher trying to pick up her life after her marriage has imploded, only for everything to go BATSHIT WRONG. Trust me, that's all you need to know, it's better to go into this not knowing what's going to happen or what to expect. I had no clue what this novel was about when I started it, and holy shit. Very good book, absolutely recommend this if you want some super suspenseful, creepy sci fi that will make you say "oh my GOD" repeatedly.

Okay, shifting gears a little now b/c autumn isn't just spooky, it's also cozy and restful and daydreamy!

4) The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic by Emily Croy Barker

This isn't maybe a cozy book per se, but it's a great book to cuddle down with on a dreary day and lose yourself in. If you've ever asked yourself, "What would it be like if you crossed Pride and Prejudice with Howl's Moving Castle except the wizard was way worse but somehow still sexy" - then you should read this book! I actually came across this book b/c I was like, I wanna read a book that's a portal fantasy but for adults, and this book was like OH here's everything you wanted.

It's about a grad student, Nora, who has totally stalled out on her dissertation and is at a shitty wedding when she accidentally wanders through a portal into a beautiful, fantastical fairy world. At first, everything is amazing and literally perfect...but surprise surprise, not all as is it seems, and soon everything goes to, how should I put it, shit. Nora escapes, but rather than returning home, she finds herself trapped in a far more dreary realm. But not one without it's own charms and it's own magic, and Nora finds herself the student-slash-sorta-captive of the crochety, sexy, maybe-killed-his-wife magician Aruendiel* and she begins to learn magic herself.

Unlike the above books, this is not a fast-paced, twisty book, and I think if you go into this expecting high fantasy along the lines of Game of Thrones, you may be disappointed. It's not really a typical high-fantasy novel, it's more of a cross of an 18th/19th century realist novel, a fairy tale, and a fantasy novel. But if you want that, then it's REALLY good! I loved this book! And the magic in it is so cool, something about the way its described feels so visceral and real and like you could really do it if you just tried hard enough. There is a romance and it's totally, intentionally hashtag problematic, but it's very laid back, very slow burn, so I think even if you aren't a person who digs romance you can still enjoy this. If you're looking for a feminist-leaning fantasy novel that you can just sink into and lose yourself in, this is the perfect book. You will long to magically fix broken plates.

5) The Ruthless Lady's Guide to Wizardry by C.M. Waggoner

Honestly I can't even justify why I think this one is an autumn book. It simply is. It's autumn colored in my head. It is the coziest book I have ever read about necromancy and crime. Also I just want to recommend it. This is another one that I listened to as an audiobook and it's also a good audiobook, for those who are interested. But it also means I will not be able to spell absolutely any of the character's names.

This novel follows Delly, an enterprising young scoundrel of a fire witch with a teeny tiny gin habit as she attempts to support herself and her hot-mess of a mom in the roughest neighborhoods of Fantasy-City-That-I-Can't-Remember-The-Name-Of. Lice...gate? When Delly comes across an advertisement for a bodyguarding job for young women for a hefty fee, it seems like the answer to definitely not all but at least some of her problems. She accepts, along with an interesting assortment of other sorcerous young ladies, including a wonderfully bitchy Absentia (my love), a young woman who can turn into a boar, boar girl's necromancer mother, and the very sexy part-troll Winn, who in my imagination looks like Gwendoline Christie and talks like Miranda Hart. Which. Perfect woman. Winn being a fine, wealthy young lady, Delly can't help but think to herself that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if Winn happened to fall in love with her and carried her off to be rich and spoiled the rest of her life.

Of course, things quickly don't go to plan, and soon Delly and her companions find herself caught up in wicked schemes of murder, drugs, and an undead mouse named Buttons who says BONG. I love Buttons SO MUCH.

This book is just a silly romp of a novel which worms into your heart and your brain. It's fun and cute and gay, and also it made me cry. I haven't stopped thinking, "Not quite regulation hammerball" since I listened to it like half a year ago.

Also, while I'm here, this novel is set in the same world as and features a few of the same characters as Unnatural Magic. Which is also a hell of a book. Literally the best bisexual relationship I have ever fuckin read. It's a winter book tho, so I simply can't go into it here.

Aaaaand...that it's! Happy autumnal reading :)

#things you didn't care to know about veronica #book recs #disastershy #i'm sorry it took me so long to answer! it's just been burning in my inbox for weeks and only today #did i have the courage and strength of will to get to it!#jk i just felt like doing it now :)#thanks if you read the whole thing!!!!!

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tossawary · 3 years

Text

Chapter 19: “Weddings and Funerals” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines with commentary because I’m doing a re-read. Not a full list or full commentary.

When Shang Qinghua told Mobei-Jun that he didn’t need Shen Qingqiu assassinated, it wasn’t because he thought everything would somehow work out if he just sat back and didn’t do anything. It definitely wasn’t because he was planning a so-called “perfect murder” and didn’t want the demon lord messing up his plans. The Problem of Shen Qingqiu has always been a lot more complicated than “just get rid of the guy potentially making my nephew’s life a living hell”. That’s why it’s a real problem!

AN: Shang Qinghua’s thought process: “Can this problem be solved by:

A) Waiting for the problem to go away?

B) Murder?

C) None of the above?

If the answer is C...

Fuck, it’s a real problem.”

Shang Qinghua thinks that might actually be possible, though he’d have to do some research and smack his head until his Author God memories hopped into line. He thinks that the youth-restoration procedure would probably do the job, but he also thinks that Shen Qingqiu would probably rather be dead than be physically sixteen again or something (super fucking understandable) and have to start the cultivation process over from scratch (ah, that would be so annoying and embarrassing).

AN: Given that I actually invented a de-aging potion for this fic (if one that’s difficult to put together), the AU of “Original Shen Qingqiu is physically 16 again” has been rattling around inside my head ever since I wrote these lines. Shen Qingqiu was like, “Wait, let me picture how unbearably overprotective Yue Qingyuan would be... hmm... no, I’ll just stay like this.”

Luo Jiahui seems a little anxious about the empty spaces at the table, but she fills the space as best she can by chattering about assorted restaurant business. At least until she abruptly takes a deep breath and says, “Hua-Ge, I have something to tell you.”

Shang Qinghua freezes in the middle of taking a drink. His unhelpful brain immediately races to guess the worst possible conversational subjects. His sister-in-law has somehow figured out that he’s a transmigrator?! His sister-in-law has decided that her son is not going to the Demon Realm under any circumstances?! His sister-in-law knows Binghe better than he does and has realized that the young protagonist is being abused after all?! Oh, fuck, what is it?

“I’m getting married!” Luo Jiahui announces, breathlessly.

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, heart rate going at the speed of sound. “Wait, what?”

AN: This chapter is why I didn’t go into the details of LJH/LQG in the last chapter, immediately post-timeskip. I wanted to blindside everyone with an “Oh, it’s THAT serious?!” moment. The last chapter established that “SQH is handling things”, then this chapter establishes that, as the plot goes on, “SQH is only barely handling things”. Which helps prep the following breakdown with the System World Update in chapters 20-22.

“You didn’t have any time for yourself,” Shang Qinghua agrees, following this conversation of very obvious things that he already knew so far. He didn’t have any time for himself back then either, between organizing a conference and finding a cure on top of the usual day-in-day-out of the sect. “You did a really good job looking after them all by yourself!”

“They don’t always agree with that,” Luo Jiahui says, smiling but self-deprecating.

“Aha, well, they’re young.”

The disagreements of what was best for the children is why Shang Qinghua really had to get Fanli (who didn’t see herself as a child) out of the house by any means necessary. He was at a bit of a loss at how else to help. She was never part of Proud Immortal Demon Way! Not even as a fragment of backstory mentioned in passing! Shang Qinghua struggles to compensate for these extra people who were never characters sometimes.

“Qingge was very understanding,” Luo Jiahui says. “But… well… then Fanli was gone and I had the restaurant keeping me busy, but that was all my own choice… and what good was waiting really doing us? It didn’t have to be everything or nothing. So… we talked… about what we wanted and what- what we were afraid of… and we decided to go forward slowly.”

AN: I said in the Author’s Notes on AO3 that I was going to use Jiage to shame Moshang and Qijiu, and I meant it. TALK TO EACH OTHER!!! Shang Qinghua, you need to talk to Mobei-Jun about what you want! Shang Qinghua, you can’t keep putting things on hold because of the plot!

No offense to either his sister-in-law or his junior martial brother, but aren’t love stories supposed to be a little more… fiery?

“When I was younger, I thought that falling in love was supposed to be all excitement and passion and not being able to live without someone even for a second,” Luo Jiahui admits, a little wistfully. “I thought that it was supposed to be thinking about them all the time, not being able to stay away from each other, and needing to know what they’d been doing every second they were away. It was like becoming a completely different person. I thought that being in love was about one of us getting horribly jealous every time we even talked to someone else, doing things I didn’t really understand and changing myself just to keep him happy, and keeping secrets and sneaking around just to keep things from exploding. Because love is not being able to help yourself like that, right?”

Shang Qinghua can’t really manage to speak right now.

It’s like someone has cut his fucking throat.

Which is fine!

“But that ended really badly for me,” Luo Jiahui says, with a nervous huff at her own understatement. “It was very exciting, but looking back, being in that kind of love was also very frightening sometimes… and it was a little lonely too… being in love with someone I couldn’t really talk to or trust.”

AN: This is more specifically vagueing SVSSS Bingqiu than Moshang, but it’s also shaming Moshang too. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky wrote some extremely messed-up romances and he would have said, “Yes! It’s all super messed-up! That’s kind of the point!” But it also means that the man can’t really conceptualize (at least at first) or articulate the kind of relationship he would actually be happy to have with Mobei-Jun, especially when his relationship with Mobei-Jun had such violent beginnings

The first person he tells himself is, weirdly enough, Qi Qingqi. Liu Qingge apparently already told both Liu Mingyan and Luo Fanli before he left, so Shang Qinghua heads over to see how the girls are handling it. (Also, he wants to pump Liu Mingyan for information on her mother’s opinions on weddings and marriage, in a really pathetic attempt to ready himself for the rumble.) He makes her agree to keep the information to herself before telling and she does, like a bro!

And then he tells and she laughs in his fucking face! Eventually, she realizes that he’s looking for sympathy, he’s not just here to let her enjoy his suffering, as a form of payment after everything he and Liu Qingge have inflicted on her. Then she laughs at him again, even louder.

Sure, he’d laugh too if he was in her shoes! But not to her face! Rude!

AN: Qi Qingqi also pointed while laughing, I think. It’s funny because it’s not her dealing with Liu Family shit this time.

Shang Qinghua expected, this time last year, to be laser-focused on the plot! His attention was not going to stray even a little bit, he promised himself; he was going to be 110% dedicated to making sure that everyone he tripped into caring about made it through the least shitty version of Proud Immortal Demon Way possible. He was going to be a machine of a transmigrator! No distractions! All he wanted was for his family to make it through the quickest, least shitty bare bones of a plot! And he was going to achieve, damn it!

Instead, he finds himself planning his sister-in-law’s wedding and it eats up time he didn’t fucking know he had to give. Immortal Alliance Conference, eat your fucking heart out! Cang Qiong Mountain Sect? Did he work there? Nope, he’s never heard of the place! He’s the Peak Lord of wedding planning now!

AN: This is me telling myself I’m going to get my life 100% together and then getting into a new video game and baking cookies instead. Or ditching my housecleaning plans to hang out with friends at a moment’s notice.

At the wedding itself, Fanli tells her sister’s father-in-law that Binghe is also very into birds and Shang Qinghua’s nephew spends a good chunk of the rest of the celebrations (and his precious time away from Qing Jing Peak) held hostage by his own politeness, listening to his new grandfather earnestly tell him about the various migration habits of demonic birds.

Well! Better him than Shang Qinghua, honestly!

AN: Inspired by that time we went on vacation and one of my brothers got mistaken by one of our travelling companions for a budding serious birdwatcher instead of someone who just thinks they’re neat - and also likes to point at them and intentionally call them by the wrong name.

Also, LQG’s Dad in this fic and SY would probably get along super well.

LQG and his dad in this universe have gone out on month-long camping trips to in which they pretty much don’t talk the entire time. They stalk monsters through the wilderness and have a great time.

Shang Qinghua is too busy keeping an eye on Luo Fanli and being not talked to by Liu Mingyan, who is eighteen-ish years old now he thinks and still deeply embarrassed by the fact that he told her off for her real person fiction. (He doesn’t want to discourage her passion for writing! She’s pretty good for a kid! It’s pretty cute! Everyone needs their escapist hobbies! He just doesn’t want identifying information about his family being spread around freely, even if the characterizations of the couple are… uh… wildly reimagined, and he doesn't want to have to spend his very valuable time keeping a lookout for more illicit fiction.) It’s difficult to read her expression through the ever-present veil, but… yeah, she’s still pissed off at him.

Ugh, teenagers.

Binghe is not allowed to bring several hundred nieces-in-law into Shang Qinghua's life. Just... no. Fuck, no.

He doesn’t even get a date to commiserate about this with.

It’s a very small wedding, family only (Luo Jiahui’s shitty parents don’t count and her older brother was forced to decline the invitation), so that Luo Jiahui and Liu Qingge can keep their privacy. Madam Liu huffed about it - the battles in talking her down were both great and terrible - but her son stood his ground! Sure, people might whine someday about not being invited, but the great thing about Liu Qingge is that they can more or less just say, “Well, we couldn’t stop him from doing whatever he wanted!” And people just have to take that unless they want to claim they could take on the Bai Zhan Peak War God!

AN: Trying to imagine the AU in which SQH brought MBJ as his date to this wedding. SQH would’ve liked to be able to bring MBJ as a date, but alas, they are not dating and the groom would probably try to kill the man.

Shang Qinghua is not expecting, soon after returning from his sister-in-law’s happy and long-awaited wedding, to be solemnly informed that Shen Qingqiu’s health has only really deteriorated these past months. Wow, that’s a huge downer.

Also, he already knew that? He’s been getting Mu Qingfang all the right supplies to treat their shixiong. He didn’t actually abandon his duties to the sect for a family wedding. He knew that Shen Qingqiu had fallen sufficiently ill to need tending on Qian Cao Peak in the past month and he considered it, well, convenient timing in regards to Binghe’s permission to attend his mother’s wedding not being randomly revoked. Cold-hearted, maybe! But he had lots of other things to worry about at the time, like informing Mobei-Jun that his sister-in-law was getting married and so he’d be regrettably absent to attend the wedding.

Then he’s told that Shen Qingqiu is not expected to improve this time.

“Oh, shit, they really think he’s dying,” Shang Qinghua realizes.

This really wasn’t in Proud Immortal Demon Way.

AN: I seriously contemplated cutting this chapter in half because of this mood switch. Like, I went in intending on writing a serious mood switch, but in practice, wow. It felt like a lot more in practice.

“Our sect leader asks about the boy and his progress,” Shen Qingqiu rasps, his voice turning more and more accusing. “He’s so very concerned about the boy. We can’t have such a beloved child crying to his devoted family that he’s been mistreated or neglected, can we? How flattering these assumptions are. It makes a man wonder what exactly people think he’s going to do to the boy.”

Shang Qinghua might have an itemized list somewhere, honestly.

“Ah, I can’t speak for anyone else,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “But please don’t take it personally, Shen-Shixiong. I don’t really trust anyone. Anything can happen behind a locked door, you know?”

Some honest cynicism can go over well with the man.

Shen Qingqiu laughs bitterly now.

AN: It can be fun in media where Character A is like, “Ahhh, I hope no one discovers my secret!” And Character B is like, “So, about this extremely obvious thing that you’re doing...!”

Shen Qingqiu is as honest and open as he is throughout this scene because he honestly thinks that he’s dying. He’s determined to be blithe about it.

Shang Qinghua at least gets to see Mu Qingfang’s face journey as Shen Qingqiu accuses their sect leader of letting him think that he’d left him to die. As Shen Qingqiu yells about being treated like an unwanted ghost, as a potential blackmailer, as an embarrassing disappointment, as a petty troublemaker, as a spoiled child, as a problem to be solved, and as the last blemish on Yue Qingyuan’s reputation - anything but as someone worthy of being trusted with Yue Qingyuan’s problems and of being treated like an equal friend.

Yue Qingyuan tries to explain that he didn’t think Shen Qingqiu wanted to hear his excuses, and Shen Qingqiu shoots back that he would rather fucking die than beg the man he’d thought had forgotten about him to explain when exactly he became not worth rescuing as soon as possible.

Yue Qingyuan tries to explain that he didn’t want Shen Qingqiu’s pity or to force the man to be grateful that he’d tried.

Shen Qingqiu tells the man to go fuck himself. How could it not hurt for someone he loved to hurt him and then just… move past the hurt like the pain wasn’t who they were?

“All the world could revile me… reject me… leave me to die… and I would pay their hatred no heed! What do they truly know of what I am? Of who I am?” Shen Qingqiu demands. “But if Qi-Ge could throw me away… decide that I just wasn’t worth the trouble anymore now that he’d had a taste of a better life… then I really must be wretched beyond all things at the root! If he believed it, then… then it had to be true.”

AN: Because I just wrote a Qijiu confrontation over this exact thing, like, a few days before, I thought that I could get away with writing out this entire confrontation in full. I think it works better if the audience has to imagine some of it. And because SQH is the POV character, it felt right that he not be in the room and not be a full witness to this scene. He doesn’t get to see everything.

#tossawary svsss #pride is not the word #tossawary commentary

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

Note

Why do you think Tomarry would work? I see a lot of people hating on it and the only response I ever see is that they come from similar backgrounds or people just like enemies to lovers. Also which horcrux do you think Harry would go best with (including Voldemort)

So, this is probably a more complicated question than you intended, but that’s because I live in bizarre head canon lands that few ever dare venture towards.

With that, let’s get started.

But What Do You Really Ship, Muffin?

First, it probably bears saying that I’m not really a Tomarry shipper. I know, I’ve written more than one Tomarry story, so if that’s not Tomarry what is? Well, remember that those Tomarry pairing tags are a filthy lie. October I committed the grievous sin of breaking up the Tomarry and throwing Tom at Harry’s mother. Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus is barely a Harry Potter fic in any capacity, and while the ship is the driving force of the fic, it’s also this nebulous, distant, thing that really shows up only in strange side stories where I try to make people laugh. When Harry Met Tom is probably the closest that I take seriously, but I also intentionally subvert all your typical Tomarry tropes for my own enjoyment.

The only Tomarry story I’d say I’ve ever actually written is “The Burning Taste of Fire Whisky”. It’s a very popular story, sadly perhaps my most popular on Ao3, but I actually loathe it entirely.

A lot of the time I feel like I just happen to have a Tomarry shirt on and then I suddenly became a subject matter expert. If you want the Tomarry opinions from real Tomarry people, I’m probably not the best person to ask. In fact, if you want really any standard answer about Harry Potter anything, I’m not the best person to ask.

Now, I’m not just saying this to be a hipster but to sort of give some background for why I’m going to give the answer I’m going to give and why it’s going to be 100% different from everyone else’s and yes, sometimes, I do think I came from Mars.

Will the Real Tomarry Please Stand Up?

So with that, the bottom line is: taking canon as JKR intended, completely at face value, Tomarry doesn’t work at all. This is because JKR fully intends a very flat, one-dimensional, and frankly quite boring Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle’s evil, Tom Riddle was born evil, Tom Riddle was evil in the womb because of rape. He is completely and utterly irredeemable and understands nothing of love.

Well, that sort of sinks the ship right out of the harbor, doesn’t it? A Tom Riddle incapable of love is one incapable of growth, especially in a romantic focused story. If you try to write it you just get weird sociopathic whump porn where Tom probably whips Harry in a closet somewhere.

Added onto this we get that, despite what she put down on paper, Harry is supposed to be a straight man. That aside, he’s also a righteous man whose understanding of things like love and friendship mean he’d never sully himself with gross Tom Riddle. Ew, what are you people thinking?

Well, what if we take canon just mostly as JKR intended? What if we just look at the characters the way she actually wrote them versus what she was trying to do? Still no dice.

Tom might now be capable of love, be a far more engaging character who can go somewhere, and be pulled out of a pit of rage and despair by someone but that someone ain’t Harry.

First, while I firmly believe Harry is gay (gay, not bisexual, compare his descriptions of Cho/Ginny to Tom Riddle/Sirius Balck/Cedric Diggory/Charlie Weasley, that boy pants after Tom Riddle and Cho’s kiss is “wet”) he’s also a much worse person and much dumber character than JKR intended. It’s really the first that damns the pairing.

I have a whole giant post on how Harry’s a little yikes but the long and short of it is that while Harry thinks he understands friendship and love he’s also someone who will cut out his friends at a moment’s notice if he feels remotely slighted, uses and sacrifices them for his own ends, gleefully uses unforgiveable curses when given the opportunity, and is the kind of guy who would cut someone up in the bathroom, leave them to bleed to death, and only really feel bad about it when it seems he might get in trouble for it.

This Harry ending up even with a Tom who could potentially be redeemed would more likely lead to, well, weird psychopathic whump porn where Harry tortures Tom in his basement to make him pay for all the horrible things he’s done while Harry claims he’s the most moral person ever because his mother loved him.

So, yeah, no Tomarry for you.

But Wait, Didn’t You Say You Believed in Tomarry?

What I believe in are archetypes.

Remove what Harry’s supposed to be, remove what I think he actually is (one maladjusted, violent, dude with a whole lot of anger issues), let’s make Harry what perhaps JKR didn’t even know she wanted: one of those rare fundamentally good heroes who warps an entire story with the strength of their inner nobility.

Harry Potter is meant to be a story about love and friendship. Now, it’s not actually, and we sort of end with Harry being Jesus and none of us are sure why. Except that he apparently forgives Dumbledore and Snape for brainwashing him to be a kamikaze agent. They’re the bravest men he knows. But let’s pretend it actually is a story about love and friendship.

To me, the strongest story of love we could possibly have had in this world is the redemption of Tom Riddle. Here is a man who was supposed to have been irredeemable since birth, he has done many horrific and unforgiveable things, grew up in extreme hardship in a society that spits on everything he ever was, and is mired in bitterness, despair, and rage. Beneath all that, Tom Riddle has given up hope in the world and is now content to burn it down himself.

Harry, through the nobility of his spirit and integrity of his character, somehow managing to redeem Tom Riddle is not only a fascinating story but a very good one at its core. The fact that they are tied together by destiny as well as tragedy, that Harry houses a shard of Tom’s soul (and I do so love horcruxes), only makes it more so.

This is the kind of story that carries epics, and that is why I gravitate towards it.

Now, do I change Harry up to do so? Good god, yes. I wouldn’t say any Harry Potter I have written is anything close to the Harry we know from canon. Some are closer than others, but they always in some way deviate. That said, from what I’ve seen almost nobody writes the actual Harry we remember from canon, so this is a very standard practice I can get away with, without too many people calling foul.

Ultimately ending in tragedy or in the full redemption of Tom: either works with these base characterizations and the world is your oyster.

What About All Those Other Arguments?

I’m not going to get into this too much except that I wouldn’t argue Tomarry works for the reasons you list. At all.

On the similar backgrounds, the fact is Harry and Tom don’t have similar backgrounds, JKR just says they do because she likes that trope (and so do many of the readers).

Harry and Tom have dark hair, they both came from abusive homes, but that’s where the similarities start and end. Upon entering the wizarding world Harry is treated very very very differently from Tom Riddle.

Harry, grows up in this weird sort of pseudo poverty where he dresses in rags because the Dursley’s hate him but he never actually has to worry about money. When he gets to the wizarding world he can afford everything he wants. He can buy a new wand, he can buy new supplies, he can buy all the candy off the trolly cart. Money’s not an object to Harry, is barely even a concept.

Tom Riddle is presumably on scholarship and money is everything to him. He buys a new wand but likely all his clothes and books are second hand. He can’t buy whatever candy he wants, probably can’t afford gifts for his peers, Tom is very aware of the haves and have nots.

Harry similarly never has to worry about a career. He never gets that far, fearing for his life so much, but the fact is that Harry has enough money that he doesn’t actually need to work. More, who would turn down the great Harry Potter? He wants to be an auror, is afraid he might not qualify, but it’s not really desperate.

Tom Riddle is to the world an impoverished muggle born. He tries for the Defense position and is turned down mostly because Dumbledore threw shade. Dumbledore tries to make it seem like Tom desperately wanted to work in this weird shop in London’s magical back alley, but probably that was the only position Tom could get (everything Dumbledore ever says, especially in those pensieve lessons, must be taken with a large grain of salt). Everything else goes to friends, family, and purebloods.

Adding to this, Harry has this glowing reputation. Now, Harry might not like it, he might want to be just Harry but the fact is that everyone has heard of him and most people worship the ground he walks on. Doors are open to him everywhere. His first introduction to the wizarding world is from a man who loves him and gushes about Harry as a baby.

Tom Riddle is someone with a muggle last name, who comes from a muggle orphanage, in other words he is nobody from nowhere. (For reasons I won’t get into here I find it very doubtful Tom ever revealed he was the heir of Slytherin until he became Voldemort and let Tom Riddle fade into obscurity). His first introduction to the wizarding world is some asshole lighting all his stuff on fire because the matron talked shit about him.

Harry wants to stay at Hogwarts because the Dursleys are abusive. Yes, this is terrible, but Tom wants to stay because Nazis are bombing London and Dippet says, “So sorry, Tom, no exceptions. Enjoy those luffas!” Harry’s concerns are never treated with the same disdain.

To make a long story short, they do not have similar backgrounds, at all. To say they do is utterly laughable and not much better than saying “they both have dark hair, they have so much in common!”

They both came from abusive homes, yes, but even the nature of those homes were very different and when they went to Hogwarts they were worlds apart.

... So much for not getting into it, eh?

As for Enemies to Lovers, well, it’s a trope and people enjoy it but it’s not my jam. I could go into why, but I think I’ve said enough.

Which Horcrux Do You Think Harry Would Go Best With?

We see so little of the individual horcruxes I’m not sure I can really take a stab at this. I sort of just make up their personalities as it suits me every time I write them.

With that I suppose I’m partial to the one in Harry’s head? Given that he has a front row seat to Harry, has seen Voldemort’s tragic demise, I think he’s in the best position to end up with Harry in a meaningful manner.

Especially as, if you think about it, he could represent the very last of Tom Riddle’s humanity. The single shard of humanity that remained in him until the bitter end.

#ask #anon #tom riddle #harry potter #headcanons #tomarry #archetypes #redemption #enemies to lovers

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dracosearlgreytea · 4 years

Text

indelicate marks (11)

indelicate marks: chapter eleven - the accusation

A/N: aaa okay so heres the next chapter! ive been lowkey stressed about posting this chapter as it took a lot to write, but i hope you enjoy it.. thank you so so so much for the increased support from everyone, if i havent replied to a comment dw i do read them! they literally transform my day no matter how i feel, so yeah just thank you. lotsa love - ivy

warnings: language, strong descriptions of ptsd/reliving bad memories, graphic descriptions of deep cuts and bleeding

lovely tags: @h-annahayy @okaydraco @fanficflaneuse @thatoneasrastan @biinspiration @honeymelon22

indelicate marks index

January and February, after the first meeting of the year, passed by quiet. Draco's state was getting worse. Every time you'd see him, even when you'd met twice a week, something about him was growing... darker. Sometimes it wasn't just the bags under his eyes, or the sharpness of his cheekbones. Sometimes it was the way his tone never lifted out of the monotonous state he tended to abandon around you. Sometimes it was the way he could hardly hold a conversation, or the anxiety would overwhelm him and you'd have to sit with him tucked into your chest, praying that his breathing would settle soon. But, somehow, within the misery that hung over the two of you, you also managed to find the friend you had waited so long for. Draco was funny. Dry, and witty, and frustratingly funny. The things that he'd say as a passing comment could make you double over in laughter. You'd always find his lips shooting up into that wicked grin you'd grown to adore. That smile was something you'd find few and far between, and its rarity only settled it closer to your heart. He was smart, too - a lot less stupid that he made himself out to be. Draco could easily give Granger a run for her money, if he wanted to. He had a secret passion for Muggle literature. Something, which you found out totally by mistake - and continued to bring up at any given opportunity just to annoy him. To your utter shock, Draco also played piano. He'd described an organ, back in Malfoy Manor. His parents would usually enchant to play by itself - but, his mother had still taken it upon herself to teach him how to play it when he was a child. The insights he offered you into his life were quite frankly fascinating. It was still odd. The dynamic between you was never quite settled; impermanent. There were little things you found yourself holding onto. Like his smile, or the way he frowned when he listened to you talk, as though he was really focusing on your words. Since your realisation at the beginning of the year, your affections for Draco had only grown. Most of the time, you'd manage to ignore it, only swallowing back the flutters in your chest. Because there was no way you could fancy Draco Malfoy. There was no way he would ever reciprocate, and there was no way it could ever work between you even if he did. And, it was nice. Being friends with someone. You could cope with the darkness he carried. You could cope with pushing away any indication of your developing attachment to him. Having someone to talk to, to even just be around - complicated or not - was a privilege you had never had. But, as much as you attempted to ignore it, the tension at Hogwarts was also getting a lot worse. Trying not to think about what would happen when you had to return home at the end of the year was difficult. Even the idea of having that mark on your arm was sickening. You didn't even want to acknowledge the fact that to take it, you would have to expose the mark that already sat on your forearm. Most likely, to the Dark Lord himself. The glares got worse. The comments got more threatening. Walking the corridors was not safe for you. Not when your parents had killed so many families of the students around you. It hadn't exactly been before, but now, with that suffocating atmosphere, it had only gotten worse. Keeping a firm grip on your wand at all times was second nature, at this point. You had been on your way to a meeting with Draco when your fears became too real. The feeling of someone following you had been tugging at your conscious for most of the day. But then, most people were watching you, anyway, eyes lingering on you in every hall or classroom you passed through. So, you'd only shrugged it off as your paranoia overreacting. It was still light. With winter beginning to pass, the nights were growing shorter. Weekly trips to the classroom were no longer spent in the dark, much to your appreciation. Just as you reached the last staircase leading to the third floor, it jumped into action. It swung away from your destination, and you ground your teeth, hanging onto the railings. Again, you only passed your mistake off as a busy mind - until you glanced behind you. The previous staircase had also moved. A distinct dread began to poison your gut. With the piece of staircase behind you gone, your only choice was to progress onto wherever this one would take you. You swallowed, staring up as the stairs docked. It lead onto a one-way corridor, a piece of the castle that was rarely used, and a quiver ran over your hand as you wrapped your fingers around your wand. Slipping it from your back pocket, you finally shifted. Someone wanted you in that corridor. Someone wanted you cornered. The second you stepped off of the stairs, it jolted away from you, only confirming your assumption. Stranded in the corridor, the lack of windows cast an eerie shadow down its length. There was only two classrooms coming off the sides, and one at the end - most likely locked, with a spell more powerful than 'alohamora' would fix. Edging forwards, you flung your eyes around you. Your heart was thudding dangerously in your chest - it was currently dinner. No one would be around to help if something happened, assuming anyone would help you. Draco was unlikely to come searching for you if you turned up late, waiting on the opposite side of the moving staircases. You only hoped you could reach the stairs before something bad could happen to you. Pausing, your eyes met the end doorway. It was ajar. You pressed yourself against the wall as you shifted closer - the opening only offered to show you a slice of darkness within. Someone could be, however, waiting for you inside. Hoping your curiosity would get the better of you. Preparing to jump you. Setting your wand upright and poised, you lifted your hand, before shoving the door open. Only, before you could get a glimpse inside, it had slammed shut in your face. You stumbled back a couple steps, true panic setting in. "Was it you?" A voice came from behind you. You'd walked straight into a trap. Taking in a shuddering breath, you spun to face the voice. A flicker of your brow, and you stared at the figure blocking the end of the corridor. "Potter?" He had emerged from one of the classrooms either side of you, wand clenched in his fist and eyes hard. Stupid, you're so stupid, you should have checked. "Was it you, Y/N?" Harry repeated, watching you with an unpredictable atmosphere to him. "Did you curse the necklace?" It took a second for any words to form on your lips. Your mind was going to into overdrive. Harry would not hurt you intentionally, you knew that much - he wasn't that type of person. But what he could do unintentionally... "I don't know what you're talking about." You said. Attempting to appeal to whatever friendship you'd had last year, you kept your voice as clear and honest as you could. Harry, however, did not shift. "It was you, or Malfoy." His voice lilted with questioning, and your jaw tightened. You had to remind yourself to keep breathing, act natural, even at the mention of Draco. Shit, what the fuck has Draco been doing? I know it's bad - it's the Dark Lord - but Merlin, if Harry is involved... "I said," You forced an eyebrow up at Harry in emphasis. "I don't know what you're talking about." Voice gruff, relief flooded through you. You'd managed to keep your composition. There was a million scenarios involving Draco running through your mind, and you bit back a shudder. "Then prove you're not one of them." Shit. Harry had gestured to your arm with his wand. You grew rigid in terror, a shaking whisper falling from your lips before you could swallow it back. "What?" "Show me your arm, and prove to me you're not a Deatheater." Harry said, voice a lot more forceful than before. No, no. No, this can't be happening - he wouldn't - he can't - "I don't have to prove anything to you, Potter." You spat - but there was no denying the quiver in your words. Sickness curling in the pit of your stomach, you clutched your wand, scrutinising Harry's every little movement. He shifted. It was so, so slight. Maybe he was moving towards you, maybe he was only adjusting his stance. It didn't matter, because before you could think, you raised your wand and shouted the first thing that came to mind. "Stupify-" "Expelliarmus!" You could only watch in utter horror as your wand flew through the air and clattered to the ground. All the way at the other end of the corridor. Behind Harry. No, no, no- You couldn't move. Frozen. It was as though you were in that cupboard again. Crushed against the wall, watching as two boys enchanted a blade and laughed at the way you choked for breath. "It's okay, Deatheater. You're going to get your mark soon." Harry was moving towards you now. You stumbled, falling back against the door, hands coming to press down on the handle. Locked. No escape. Breathing frantic, you could only stare at Harry with wide, angry eyes. You didn't speak as he grabbed your left arm, pulling it out in front of you. No, you didn't even struggle. You were still in that fucking broom cupboard. Harry's fingers burnt horribly against your skin, pushing up your sleeve. His eyes lingered on you as he did so, long enough to make your skin crawl. Then, he looked down. It burnt. Burnt, as though Harry had struck a match and put it to your flesh. He came to stare at you again, falling a few strides away from you as you snatched your arm back to your chest. You wanted to shout - no, scream at him, but you could do nothing but hold in the gasps of pain. Harry hadn't seen the blood. He hadn't seen the way the cuts had began to tear open, slowly. Excruciatingly. "Get the fuck away from me." It was hardly a whisper - more some inhuman, animalistic snarl. It was all you could manage. The flames were growing hotter and hotter and you'd forgotten how to breath. My wand. I need my wand. "Y/N - I'm so sorry - I-" "Go!" Something in Harry managed to click, seeing your contorted expression. With one last, horrified look, he turned and rushed away, the stairs swinging back to greet him as he did. The second he was out of sight, you let out a shuddering breath, daring a glance down to the state of your arm. Blood was already spilling down your fingers. It seeped into the fabric of your shirt, like the sea lapping at the shore - but bloodier, and a lot more sickening. "How does it feel to bleed, Deatheater? I bet you're fucking enjoying it, you sicko, just like your parents did." An involuntary whimper escaped you, unable to contain it with your mind so hazy from panic and pain. Agony was lacing its way up your arm and through your entire body, and you had to remind yourself - your wand. I need my wand. Staggering forward, you focused your gaze on your wand at the end of the corridor. Blood was spilling steadily onto floor, staining your shirt, but you refused to acknowledge it. Groans escaped your throat, scalding pain cutting deeper and deeper into your skin. Feeling the liquid thick on your hands, you, almost instinctively, gave it another look. Your entire sleeve was coated in red. An overwhelming nausea hit your gut. Falling against the wall, you desperately attempted to get your breath, but it only came in short pants. You'd barely made it halfway down the corridor. Harry had taken too long to leave, given the cuts too much time to reopen before the worst kicked in. Last time, with Draco, the reaction had been quick and easy. This time, you were alone, and wandless. Head spinning, you attempted to choke down a deep breath, and pushed forward. Everything was starting to blur a little, your head a spinning mess of thoughts. You couldn't focus. Tired. You felt so tired. You were close. You were so close to grabbing your wand, hands slick with blood as you stretched out your arm, shaking. Another step - a stumble. Your entire body crashed to floor. There was a terrible, harsh blow to the side of your head. Your ears filled with a high buzzing, sight wavering as you stared from your wand only inches away from you, to your left arm. Ten letters, red and clear. Tears rolled down your cheeks, but you didn't recognise them. It hurt, it hurt so bad, you couldn't think, couldn't breath. It was all a blur, really. A blur of torments and whispers. A blur of blade against skin. "Deatheater." "Y/N? Y/N-"

#draco x you #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy angst #harry potter fanfiction

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rjnorth-writes · 3 years

Text

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

@seasidewriter1 - So this prompt was asked with 10 - “I’m going to marry you one day” and ended up involving 1, 2, 35, 46, 47, 63, and 64. I may have taken a page out of your book and gone a little overboard (it ended up being over 2k), but I doubt you’ll care. lol. I hope you enjoy!

Adali supposed it wasn’t exactly how she ever thought it would happen, but then again, when did life ever really go her way? Not that this was necessarily a bad thing in this case, but it was surely unexpected and that was hard to do with the Master Jedi. Though, again she supposed, Poe Dameron did always seem to find a way to surprise her and keep things interesting. There was never a dull moment with Poe around.

It had been years since Poe had extracted Adali off of Coruscant on General Organa’s orders and after a slightly rocky relationship in the beginning, as Poe definitely did not trust Adali as a newcomer, and Adali didn’t trust anyone for that matter. But the two slowly grew on one another like a fungus. And, to both their surprise, it seemed that Adali and Poe had become the best of friends in that time.

They were growing into something much more than just best friends too, though Adali was hesitant and petrified to admit so. She did recall, however, that her mother had said this: “The strongest marriages are formed when you marry your best friend.” Now, there certainly wasn’t any talk of marriage at this point. The two hadn’t even admitted their affections for one another. They had started flirtations and that was where the two humans stood.

It had been a hard day not in terms of danger, but in strenuous work loads. Adali had spent the early morning hours before the sun had arisen over the horizon getting ahead on her work orders before the rest of the day was spent training Rey in the humid jungle of Yavin 4. Poe Dameron had spent his day training up the new Red Squadron of x-wing pilots. The two hadn’t run into one another until Poe found Adali resting under a tree with her carving materials in hand while enjoying the orange hue of the sunset.

Poe had leaned against a nearby tree watching the young woman until the sun was nearly completely hidden over the horizon. The warm dimming light made Adali’s blue eyes almost look purple, and her hair (which was down for once instead of pulled back in some elaborate braid Poe didn’t know how to manage), looked shiny and almost strawberry blonde instead of dirty blonde.

He would’ve been blind not to notice how absolutely stunning she looked in that moment. Not that she wasn’t always beautiful, he found, but in that moment he found it harder to breathe and his chest a fraction tighter than normal when he found himself lost gazing at the young woman. The thought of someday losing the chance to bask in her warm air, which she most likey would’ve said was her Force signature, was nearly debilitating for him to think about.

Someday the war with the First Order would be over, and he would follow General Organa or return to the New Republic and continue to fly. Or maybe he would take a page out of his father’s book and retire there to Yavin 4. It hadn’t been what he wanted as a child, but he’d seen so much death and destruction for one lifetime. As long as he could still fly, Poe didn’t really care where he went.

But Adali would most likely try to reopen the Jedi Temple to train future Jedi. Or, as Poe refused to think, would be dead by the hands of her cousin. There were even chances for either outcome, and the more favorable one still left Poe wondering if he’d ever get to see the young woman again. It was something he didn’t like to think about, and he tried not to accept that it was there. But if there was something he could do about it, he definitely would.

Adali was one of the kindest people he’d ever known despite all of the horrors that had been done to her, and everything she’d been forced to do with the war invading into every aspect of their lives. She always went out of her way to make others feel better and to help solve their problems before ever trying to fix her own even if it put her in a bad place mentally, or physically. She’d arrived from Coruscant in a very bad way, but it was cleaner now, especially to Poe as he looked at her whenever she wasn’t looking, that she was still troubled, but she was much happier than she’d arrived. That sweet girl that smiled with her eyes, and loved with ever fiber of her being was not afraid to stick up for those unable to do so for themselves, and she definitely wasn’t afraid to put people (namely Poe) in their place when they stepped out of line.

“Are you going to just stand there all night, or are you going to join me?” Adali asked without looking up from her carving. It looked like she was carving some sort of blossom, but he was no expert on plant life.

“Sometimes it still freaks me out how you do that,” Poe admitted as he made his way over to join her under the tree to enjoy the rest of the evening in the hot jungle.

“It didn’t freak you out when I was able to find you on Jakku,” Adali pointed out, glancing up through her lashes with a coy smirk on her lips before going back to her work. The Force Bond that had somehow managed to connect them together despite Poe’s lack of Force Sensitivity had perplexed them for quite some time after they’d discovered it, but it was far easier to handle now. “Nor do you seem to complain when you drew me into your dreams and tried to have s-”

Poe cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck as he interrupted the woman. “Yeah, still don’t know why you went along with those,” Poe muttered, though not regretting where his dreams often took him. After all, his dreams just gave him what he wished he had in the real world.

“I was just as confused as you were,” Adali said. “But it’s perfectly natural to dream about such things, I’m told. Dreams are perfectly normal.”

“Except for Jedi.”

“Except for Jedi,” Adali agreed.

“What else is unusual for a Jedi to do?” Poe asked.

“Depends on when you’re asking,” Adali clarified. “Are you talking about the Old Republic when the Jedi Council existed, or do you mean now with only me and Rey actively living and practicing as Jedi?”

“Let’s go with the first one?”

Adali just chuckled at his hesitance to pick. “Well, Jedi weren’t allowed to form attachments, but it was expected of us to have compassion for all living things. Relations weren’t forbidden, but many refrained from them as relations often would lead to emotions and attachment. It just made things too complicated.”

“What about now?” Poe asked. “I mean, your dad married your mother, and Leia had Han. Where do you stand?”

“Emotions and attachment are perfectly natural and normal for anybody,” Adali said. “The issue that the old ways did not understand was that fear and loss, anger, depression, and all other negative emotions are also natural. Everyone, not just Jedi, had to work through them and learn to deal with them in healthy ways. Just because you can have one doesn’t mean you’ll always have the other, but sometimes it does and that’s normal. We have to accept that pain and loss is as much a part of life as love and hope and pleasure.”

“So if you were to, I don’t know, fall in love, then you’d be willing to get married and have the whole family experience?” Poe asked.

Love. Love. Love was an emotion that was not a stranger to Adali. She supposed she may have felt too much and too deeply, but she wouldn't have it any other way. She would not change herself because love was the best feeling of all. Love was happiness, serenity, peace, and joy. All she felt she needed ever was love.

But at the same time, love still caused her grief. She loved her family, and though they were falling apart, she still loved them which many didn’t understand. Kylo Ren wasn’t just Kylo Ren, he was Ben Solo, the sweet boy that used to laugh and play with her in the flowering fields and place Force Ball with. And it wasn't just familial love either.

Romantic love was tricky. Often she found herself stammering, flustered, and utterly confused on what was going on or how she felt with the man sitting beside her. These questions were not exempt from this either. When inquiring of it personally towards her, Adali’s heart skipped a beat, and the fluttering in the pit of her stomach seemed to nauseate her. The man always threw her curveballs and she wasn’t sure how to deal with those emotions.

Usually the casual flirtations they’d fallen into were something she could easily handle now. In the beginning, however, that was a very different story. But now, she looked forward to their playful banters and sweet words. Just the thought of the man and his warm brown eyes and his goofy smile warmed her, and brought a smile to her lips. But when things got more serious, like with the question he was asking her now, Adali didn’t know what to think. Was he being serious? Was he asking for himself? Was this all just friendly and innocent, or was Poe actually interested in her. Poe was a flirt and had a reputation, but she knew he’d never intentionally hurt her. But where they really stood with one another, Adali didn’t know.

“I would,” Adali finally admitted after a long while of silence. “A husband, kids, maybe some animals around for them to play with and teach responsibility. At least two,” Adali went on to clarify. “I want my kids to have a sibling like I had with Ben. Nobody should feel alone growing up.”

“Yeah, I would’ve liked a sibling to grow up with,” Poe admitted. “Two is a good number, to start and if we decide more than all the better.”

“We?” Adali squeaked and gaped, her carving tool slipping to jab into the metal finger on her left hand. Thankfully the prosthetic was more durable and was simple scratched ever so slightly. Nothing that couldn’t just be buffed out.

“Yes, we,” Poe said, smirking at how adorable Adali looked when she was utterly flushed in the cheeks. “I’m going to marry you one day.”

“Oh, you sound very sure of this!” Adali huffed. His casual tone was hard to figure out. Either he really did believe this and was casual because he knew he’d make it happen, or because he was joking and that option did not please her one bit.

“I am. You know we’re meant to be,” he declared.

“Poe, we’re not even dating! How could you possibly know th-”

“What, you’ve never thought about us?” Poe retorted, reaching over to stop her from working more. If she was going to keep using that sharp tool with how distracted she was, she was going to end up nicking her flesh and dealing with blood right now wasn’t what he wanted. Plus, by doing this he could hold her hand, something that never happened quite enough for his taste.

“What us?” Adali asked. “Poe, you’re my friend, and sure, we may flirt some but-

“Then why is your hand sweating so much?” Poe interrupted.

This is nothing to aid in rectifying her flustered self. Pulling her hands away, Adali rubbed them against her pants in an attempt to dry them. “It’s hot and humid and we’re in a jungle, I was working so of course my hands would be sweaty! Give me one good reason. Why should we date?”

“Because we’re attracted to each other,” Poe said.

Now that was hard to deny, at least on Adali’s part. While the orange and white jumpsuits the pilots wore were highly attractive, that didn’t mean Poe was. She’d seen him on many occasions in nothing more than his underthings thanks to those forsaken dreams they shared, and the man, despite not working out, was incredibly toned and tan. It had to be all those hours of picking up and working with BB-8, she assumed. But it should’ve been illegal just how delicious that man looked.

“That’s not how you build a lasting, healthy relationship, Poe,” Adali sighed.

“How about this? You’re my best friend,” Poe said. “And just seeing you makes my heart flutter, and thinking about you makes me smile. The thought of losing you scares me more than I’ll ever admit to anybody else. And I’m not just talking about losing you in this war…”

Now those words hadn’t been expected. Those words ruined her insides, and caused her breath to catch in her throat painfully. With much caution, Adali looked up into his warm eyes as the sky really started to turn dark. The sun was gone and the beautiful colors of the temporary painting in the sky was now just a memory, but somehow that just made his words ring more true. It wasn’t just some temporary, flowery thing to say to someone to flirt with. This wasn’t just some casual, playful thing.

His words were close to the definition she had in her own heart for love. Subconsciously Adali’s flesh hand moved to her prosthetic and fiddled with the wedding ring that had belonged to her mother. She’d have to replace it with something else, something that was hanging around Poe’s neck if this were true. But while she could simply move that ring to another finger, the fact that there would still be something so meaningful there in it’s place, like how her mother and father never took their rings off until their deaths, meant so much to Adali. More than she could’ve ever put into words.

“Tell me again,” Adali whispered.

“I’m going to marry you someday,” he repeated, his eyes never leaving her’s, his face serious without a trace of a smile which just pushed his point further. “I am going to marry you.”

#Star Wars #Poe Dameron #Skywalker #Adali #Ami #Poe/OC #PoexOC #Poe/Adali #Fluffy Prompt

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papers4me · 4 years

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fellow fruba friend here! What are your expectations on what each of the four main characters will achieve or gain at the end?

hi fellow furuba friend! by the main four, I suppose you mean yuki, kyo , tohru & shigure! All the traumatized characters in furuba deserve all the best & everything good given to them. They are all genuinely broken souls & I love them all. However, not everybody will actually be given everything for realistic reasons.

(1)-I’ll start with the easiest: Yuki. Yuki’s wish was stated so early in SE01, ep12 & ever since things have been moving so straight forward towards his goal: discovering his own self, finding friends who accept him w/o a mask & finding love. As Se02 is heavily focused on him, he got all that & more. it is very clear that the writer has decided that Yuki is the character that will get everything:

He opened his lid, faced akito & his fears & started laughing more.

He is shedding his mask & the prince persona.

He realized his familial feelings to tohru.

He accepts & supports tohru/kyo as couple & doesn’t feel envy/sadness.

He faced his mother calmly & decided his future. Altho he doesn’t need her any more, it is clear that he is civil with her & doesn’t blame her. She thinks of him as a tool that helps her glows & I’m sure she views his success as part of her & in the future, she’ll proudly say that’s my son if he was brought as a topic in any social gathering. My point is, given yuki’s stance to forgive the past, he won’t cut ties with her.

He completely forgiven his brother & is proud of him publicly.

He got a friend who is a mix of the two person yuki envies the most : kyo & aya. Also, kakeru is very designed to fit yuki in every way, so even if yuki never got anymore friends, kakeru is the one for life.

Altho yuki’s story could still be good without romantic love in canon as it can be hinted as sth he’ll get once he’s in college, he is getting a romantic love now with someone who doesn’t pity him nor admires him, sees the real him. Someone whom yuki can be a “tohru” to her & “support” her & be a “kyo” to her in the same way he’s been observing kyo & envying him for being the only one to see the real tohru. Yuki will be the only one to see the real machi.

What more can I say...What more can the writer give yuki.. I’ve been thinking hard... but I duno...perhaps sth to do with kyo & their views of each other.

I’ll leave number #10 open cuz I’m sure there’s more the writer will give him..but I duno regarding which character...um... shigure? The writer has been impersonating yuki so much in Se02 & giving us direct lessons thro his voice as much as I wish she tones it down as this disrupts the flow of a story, making yuki speaks on behalf of other characters whose voice has been blocked, it also doesn’t trust the viewers/readers to “learn the lesson” without directly given to them. So I’m positive 100% there will be more yuki telling us learned lessons us especially after critical moments similar to some of SE02 big eps.

(2)-Kyo: Kyo is always given one ep of inner thoughts per season. However, each ep is big & so influential for both his character development & the story’s plot as a whole. His thoughts were essentially blocked at first for mystery reasons due to his involvement with kyoko but ever since Se02, ep9 it was exposed that he knows her, it’s now blocked for building the “climax” reasons. However, the writer is skilled in writing kyo as a character that is easily read, someone who doesn’t know how to act, so you can decipher his feelings from his actions. I don’t mind him not giving inner thoughts if his actions can replace that & communicate his feelingsto the viewers which is so well-done with kyo but badly done with tohru,(but more on tohru later). what I expect for kyo... it is hard to say!!! It depends on how the writer will solve kyoko’s damned “ I won’t forgive you” words!!! Cuz i see this as one of the most difficult plot twists & obstacles. Kyo’s issues are different from yuki. It isn’t abt self discovery, warmth, or finding friendship or love. It is abt having a right to live, guilt & believing that he isn’t harmful, kyo knows that there are few ppl who loves him but to him these few ppl are the most important ppl in the world, he doesn’t want to hurt them. His life experiences has taught him that his loved ones always end up dying in his place. he carries immense guilt & self-loath. So what to expect... i duno.. Moreover, kyo being the opposite of yuki, so I don’t think he’ll be given everything even if he, just like yuki, deserves everything good. There are things in kyo’s life that cannot be fixed.

Kyo will for sure open his lid, but it will be ugly cuz he’ll have to confess abt his mom’s suicide & him witnessing/being involved in kyoko’s death. He’ll have to tell tohru kyoko’s devastating words & her last painful moments. I duno what to expect beside pain!!!!

“forgiveness/ or lack of ” is kyo’s theme!! will tohru forgive him?? I duno! I find it hard to believe tohru-my-mom-is-my-idol” will do that unless sth changes. But It really doesn’t matter if tohru does or doesn’t, cuz kyo himself will NEVER forgive himself!! There’s comfort in being punished. ppl with genuine hearts & conscious, don’t like escaping punishment for their wrong deeds. If kyo believes truly that he’s at fault somehow, he’ll want to be punished.

Kyo has stated that “ I won’t take anything away from you anymore” thinking abt tohru. He has given up on her cuz he believes he took her mom from her. His thought process is very realistic & his actions are very logical & matches his trauma, so I don’t know where this will lead to.. I know the writer won’t be cruel with him more than his story already is, but it is so complicated!!!! He can’t accept tohru’s love!! she shouldn’t!!

Unlike yuki’s mother, kyo’s father refuses anything regarding kyo & doesn’t even consider him human. He pushes forward for his imprisonment. I don’t see the writer giving kyo’s father the tiny redemption moment she gave yuki’s mom. Nothing will make kyo’s dad be proud of kyo as he considers kyo to be the cause of all his misfortune. Kyo’s dad is the person kyo shouldn’t & mustn't become. However, kyo got another father who truly loves him & is already proud of him. I love that the writer didn’t cut off kyo’s attachment to his bio dad simply caz he got shisho. Kyo’s dad is a huge reason of why kyo is traumatized. it is not the curse itself. it is the toxic broken home. Every toxic thought in kyo’s mind is imprinted there since early age intentionally by his dad & unintentionally by his mom. So how do I expect kyo will overcome his mom’s gohst & his dad’s demon? I duno too! T_T. ..XD.

his mom & kyoko are dead. If kyo believes he’s the reason...how he’ll ask forgiveness?? I love the theme of dealing with broken things that can’t be fixed. The writer will forever be one of my best authors if she convinced me that she can handle such tough theme.

I feel like I’m repeating I duno a lot, but yeah kyo’s story could go so many directions!!!! but I have trust that wherever it goes, it will be as satisfying as yuki’s. The writer has chosen to put kyo’s behind for epic climatic showdown, it will be thrilling, painful, dramatic & so satisfying. kyo will not be furuba’s tragic ending, the writer showed she prefers ’s optimistic & positive paths despite the trauma. Besides, kyo is tied to tohru, no way such kind soul will be crushed twice by losing her mom & her first love.

(3)-Tohru: The female protagonist with everything individual & personal abt her pushed until Se03 with the most minor foreshadowing & the most trivial symbolism. lol..She doesn’t have eps of inner thoughts abt her own issues like yuki & she doesn’t have big influential eps abt her like kyo... what did she have so I can predict: (a) the nightmare which tells us tohru is still grieving her mom’s loss & (b) the little flashbacks where it shows sth bad traumatized her when she was a baby & it involves her mom locking her? or sth. (c) tohru telling rin that she has things she can’t give up. I don’t have predictions for tohru. I have wishes. I want her to want things for herself. screw the curse, the sohma’s issues, the mom-tohru, the savior-tohru, the supporting-tohru. All that is typical tropes done many times already. Give me a unique female protag who can be kind, but is hurt by her own kindness, someone so altruistic & realizes that I can choose my self first!!! it is okay to be first for once!! Give me someone who even after showing the world I’m okay & optimistic is NOT okay & optimistic but is actually scared & lonely despite all the love surrounding her by the ppl she “saved”. a female protag pursuing her OWN happiness shrewdly but kindly in the most epic combination! This is the tohru I want. how she’ll decide to forgive kyo? I duno. I’ll cheer if she did & I’ll cheer if she didn’t. both situations suit tohru’s mindset.

(4)-Shigure:big giant I duno...lol.. I need to understand this dude first!! He’s the most intriguing.

#Fruits Basket #Anime Only #asks #anyamyomus friends #Lovely anon #fellow furuba friend #anonymous friends #responding paper

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years

Note

do you have any longer frikey fics, preferably bottom frank if theres smut

I do have some longer Frank/Mikey stuff, but no guarantee on bottom Frank!

Longer Frank/Mikey

Emotional Brilliance by kopperblaze, 21k, Mature. Toro and Mikey are a good team, Mikey doesn’t get why Brian had to hire someone else. In particular he doesn’t get why Brian had to hire Frank, who knows nothing about Lush products and who's incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Lush!AU. The one where Ray is a skin care expert, Frank is obnoxious, Mikey is annoyed and Pete leaves glittery handprints all over everything.

Gross roomies by turps, 36k, Explicit. Frank loves living with Mikey. Sure, the apartment is a mess, the kitchen's a toxic wasteland, and there's something growing in the refrigerator that's just a day or two away from becoming sentient, but other than those minor inconveniences, it's all cool. Or it is until Mikey decides to embark on a journey of sexual discovery and adventure and Frank's left at home with nothing but the fridge monster for company. To make matters worse, Mikey insists on telling Frank everything he does with his new kinky friends, right down to the tiniest detail. And now suddenly Frank is best friends with his right hand and he can't stop thinking about Mikey in ways he never has before. The really big problem, other than suddenly being in lust with his best friend, is that Frank isn't sure why.

Won't Know 'til You Begin by knight_tracer, Sena, 24k, Explicit. In which Frank is an accidental pervert, Mikey sleeps with Fabio, Gerard is much too sincere when talking about pain sluts, Ray is terrible with women and great with guitars, and Otter's got really bad taste in music. Alternately, the one where Frank realizes he has a thing for Mikey, Mikey realizes he has a thing for guys, and they're both adorably stupid failboats.

On Air by ladyfoxxx, 15k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's a radio DJ at an alternative station, spinning punk tracks and talking shit. When he gets handed the most popular show at the station to host, his first guests are independent horror filmmakers Gerard and Mikey Way.

Standing on a Planet that's Evolving and Revolving by Green, 13k, Explicit. The evolution of Frank Iero, age 15.

Buenas Noches From A Lonely Room by Femme (femmequixotic), 15k, Explicit. Frank wants to touch Mikey, to slide his fingers across the sharp angle of his cheek just below his glasses, to drag his thumb along the curve of his bottom lip, to smooth his palm down Mikey's long throat.

What Dreams May Come by sperrywink, 15k, Explicit. His career in music derailed, Frank never met the other guys in My Chemical Romance. A silly tale of teleportation.

a scent and a sound by mwestbelle, 15k, Explicit. In an urban fantasy world where werewolves can't hold a decent job and no roommate wants them, werewolf Frank is looking for an apartment. He finds one with Mikey Way.

Heart Wrapped in Clover by Sena, 19k, Explicit. Everbody's got their not-so-secret secrets on tour. When you live out of a van, you just can't help but notice things that you shouldn't talk about if you don't want to embarrass your friends or start a fight. Frank wishes sometimes they talked about things, though, because he's dying to ask if anybody else has noticed that sometimes, Mikey wears panties.

Tints Verse by turps, 65k, Mature. A MCR AU where Ray has his own gardening firm, and one day he does a job for the Ways.

We Used To Be Friends by ladyfoxxx, 50k, Explicit. "You and me, right Mikes?" "Yeah, fuck everybody else." Best friends since high school, if Frank could've chosen a brother, he'd pick Mikey. Then Mikey became a rock star and Frank... didn't. After years of radio silence, Mikey steps onto a stage in Jersey and back into Frank's life. (Or, the one where Frank is a school teacher and Mikey plays rhythm in The Used.)

And the Painted Ponies by turps, 35k, Mature. After years of struggling to be taken seriously as a bodyguard, Frank Iero is finally well established. He loves his boss, Ray, he loves his job, and he prides himself on his professionalism. But then he's assigned to be the personal bodyguard of Mikey Way. Mikey Way, aka Roboboy, is a successful high fashion model. Loved by designers and the public alike for his trademark lack of emotion, but mocked by the tabloid press for the exact same reason. Mikey is someone that Frank's sure he'll hate. Except it doesn't work out that way. In fact, it doesn't take long before Frank discovers he really likes Mikey. Maybe too much.

Better Than A Paid Life by gala_apples, 15k, Explicit. Gerard and Mikey Way are the Killjoys, a motorbaby duo. That is, until their car gets wrecked in a battle and the dashboard accessory of their new Trans Am is an ex-Companion with a mission.

Crash by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 26k, Explicit. In a future version of Seattle, Frank Iero's a lot of things: bike messenger, cage fighter, sometimes thief, Ray Toro's roommate. Mikey Way's also a lot of things: record label owner, co-heir to his grandmother's fortune, younger brother. Neither are normal. But they don't know just how far each other's abnormalities go until Frank's past and a secret of Mikey's unexpectedly shove together. (Dark Angel AU.)

Sound Tracking by turps, 46k, Mature. The beat is muted, almost non-existent, and the loss hits Bob hard. He's used to living his life in a constant thrum of sound, sensing those around him, the rhythm of the universe a constant companion, but here there's almost nothing. He can feel the sound that's been pulling him for weeks now, but little else. This place is dead, almost silent, and Bob aches with the feeling of being cast into nothingness. A MCR - Bob and Gerard centric space AU where Gerard's band has been taken from him and Bob helps find them. Also features FOB, especially Pete.

Drink Cider From a Lemon by turps, 20k, General Audiences. A story about friendship, love and building your own kind of home.

Mikey Way and the Quest for the Stone by Roxy_palace, 29k, Explicit. “I’m in Colombia!” Mikey said, raising his voice over the crackle of a poor connection. “No. no, no, no, no,” James wailed. Mikey could really relate to his disbelief. He couldn't believe he was in mother fucking Colombia either.

Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars by alpheratz, 38k, Explicit. In the mid-1920s, Gerard and Mikey moved to France - Gerard to pursue art, Mikey because he couldn't stay behind. Now, it's 1930, and Mikey's become an airmail pilot, flying the mail route to Dakar with his navigator Frank. For a long time, the only rough thing about Mikey's life was the strain on his and Gerard's soulbond when Mikey was away, but his growing feelings for Frank and the arrival of Frank's old friend Ray could change everything.

Food of Love by Lucifuge5, 12k, Teen And Up Audiences. Ever since it re-opened, Frank's been "Sweet Nothings"'s number one customer. That he harbors a gigantic crush on one of the owners is something that he's kept to himself for the most part (Ray will never tell a soul.) It's not until he strikes a friendship with the older brother of the object of his affection that he 'fesses up. Moved by Frank's pining, Gerard promises to help Frank woo Mikey. Complications arise when Gerard's "helpful advice" is anything but. Will Frank be successful in his courtship or are his chances to win Mikey's heart as ruined as a burnt cupcake?

You Only Hear The Music (When Your Heart Begins To Break) by Acadjonne, 28k, Mature. Mikey and Frank have known each other for years. They're roommates, and best friends. They're also friends with benefits. The arrangement is casual, and it suits them both. Somewhere along the way, Mikey develops feelings for Frank, but he pushes them aside. They aren't important, he'll be fine. Or, Mikey is fine, until he somehow ends up pregnant a year into this thing with Frank, and all of a sudden, he's got more to deal with than just how long he'll be able to hide his feelings for Frank or how the hell he's supposed to afford his transition.

Give Me A Reason To Believe (Failboats In Love) by Acadjonne, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. On the night of October 31st, Linda and Frank Iero welcome a baby boy into their family. He weighs six pounds, four ounces, and is nineteen inches long. They give him a family name, and he becomes the third Iero man to bear the name of Frank. A year later, on All Hallow's Eve, a sleeping baby is taken from his crib and replaced with a fake. The babe will later be taken from the hands of the goblin that stole him, and he will be raised by two rowan treefolk, a house brownie, and some pixies. ----- When Ray walks down the stairs to the Way family basement, the last thing Mikey expects to see is a scrappy and long-haired form following behind him. But as he later finds out, Frank is almost always unexpected in the best of ways, the rest of the world be damned.

Death's Muse by TheFratelliEffect, 53k [WIP], Mature. Lonely and depressed, Mikey Way is battling through the drab years that immediately follow college. Struggling to make a living as an artist, Mikey has became a battered down, quiet introvert whom wants nothing to do with the abusive romance he is unwillingly involved in. On a cold winter morning, the starving artist is confronted with the opportunity to paint Frank Iero, the Midnight Falls' elusive, young doctor, which he takes up immediately. Love and lust ensure as the story opens on the painter as he meets his muse.

Gallons Of The Stuff by MCRmyGeneral, 20k, Explicit. Frank has been amused by blood for as long as he can remember. When he was a child, it was a simple fascination; the way it felt on his hands, the way it looked dripping to the floor, the way it smelled. But as he grew older, that simple fascination morphed into a daring lust. Blood no longer amused him, now it turned him on. Frank has never intentionally hurt someone just to see their blood. He just takes what he can get whenever an accident happens. But when Mikey is hurt bad, Frank discovers how hard it is to keep his hands, and thoughts, to himself. He loves Mikey, he has for a long time. But now, he finds his silence so much harder to keep. He has two choices: either tell Mikey how he feels, about him and his blood, and risk scaring him away, or keep quiet, and never let the man know how much he means to him. Whatever he chooses, he knows that someone will get hurt.

#frank/mikey #fic rec list #frikey

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ashxketchum · 4 years

Text

Momentary ~ A Pokeshipping Oneshot

A/N: So this was written sometime around Sun and Moon had just begun airing and a cameo by Misty and Brock were a distant, distant dream. So consider this an AU where Misty and Brock do not meet up with Ash during his Alola run. Their ages go from 15 to 18 by the end of the story. Hope you enjoy reading this!

Summary: Fifteen moments in the lives of Ash and Misty as they grow older and apart. Some short and some not long enough, but each somewhat important in bringing them closer.

FF.NET

She sits down abruptly, the ground is slightly damp and she can feel the mud attach itself to her clothes but it doesn’t bother her. Summer nights are pleasant in Kanto, and all she wanted to do was take a stroll in the woods near Cerulean city, but she had forgotten how confusing the forests could be at night, even if it was one she had been visiting since she was a child. So she sits down, not caring about the dirt, to gather her thoughts and find her way back. But it is then that she wonders, whether she even wants to go back. Her family was tiring, the gym was tiring, her pokemon and an occasional visit or letter from old friends was her only relief. She had grown up too fast and she wanted to go back. Back to those days when crossing forests was something she could do with her eyes closed, to those days when she could sleep under the open sky with the warmth of the campfire making her feel safe. However, decisions needed to be taken and she had settled with the right one.

She heard a familiar groan and a chirp, a nag and a sigh, her eyes shone as she watched a fading image of her younger self passed her by, heading deeper into the forest accompanied by her three travelling companions and the usual chatter that surrounded them. A smile appeared on her lips as the ghosts of her past vanished into thin air, they were going to get lost, she remembered. She chuckled and looked up at the star studded sky, it was a beautiful night and she needed to enjoy it, she thought, even if she had to do it alone. She stood up and let her feet take control, knowing that no matter what, she’d find her way home.

Ash was a forgetful person, everyone knew that. He also didn’t like thinking about complicated things, it gave him a headache and he could feel himself getting older. He was insensitive at times, and very stubborn too, once he set his mind on something it was difficult to stop him. But there were some sides to his personality that none were aware of. He had a terrible habit of writing letters but never posting them, he had a habit of dialing a phone number but hanging up before the call went through, he had a habit of buying things that he thought someone would like but never giving it to them. Somehow, this overtly clumsy side of his only showed itself when a certain redhead was involved. Every time he’d come home from his travels, the pile of unsent letters and tiny packages he’d hidden in his room would grow larger. He’d been in Alola for sometime now, longer than his usual journeys, and he was starting to get anxious about his mother snooping around in his room. He voiced his concern to Pikachu one night, but his best friend was no expert in human emotions so he only repeated that Mom was a good person. Ash wasn’t doubting his mother’s kindness, just her ability to stay out of his business but he could not get Pikachu to understand him so he sighed and gave up, what has to happen, will happen, he thought.

What happened was, in a drive to clean every inch of the house, Mr. Mime discovered the Ash’s pile of regrets and presented it to Delia. One look at the top letter and the little gifts, she understood her son’s intentions, and being the kind and helpful mother that she was, she packed all of it in a box and posted it to the person it was meant for.

Misty had slept in the same clothes that she had worn for her midnight stroll, so when she woke up she wasn’t surprised to see the mud on her sheets only unimpressed with her past self. She was however, surprised when she began her first task of the day, which was sorting the mail and noticed the box that had arrived for her from Pallet Town. Curiosity won over shock and she hurriedly opened up the box.

She spent the next few hours locked up in her room, informing her sisters that she was down with a bad flu and they should stay away from her, which they promptly did. She couldn’t process what was happening, there was a pen with a Piplup on it, a box with Oshawott shaped cookies, a Manaphy locket and a Tympole t-shirt inside the box along with a stack of letters. She took a deep breath and began reading from the bottom of the pile.

Pikachu couldn’t understand why his trainer looked like his soul had left his body. Their new companions looked at him expectantly as they knew that Pikachu understood Ash more than they did, but sadly the yellow rodent had no answer for his friends. The call with Mom had gone well in Pikachu’s opinion, but at the end of it Mom said something that made Ash scream and end the call abruptly. He had been sitting on his couch-bed ever since, looking like a dead man.

Delia was pleasantly surprised with the doorbell ringing so early in the morning as she hadn’t been expecting anyone today. When she opened the door, she was greeted by a slightly out of breath but seemingly upset Misty. She understood why the redhead was here and ushered the girl into her kitchen so she could quickly whip up some breakfast for the long chat that lay ahead of them.

“Did you send them or did he?” Misty asked, without missing a beat.

Delia had only just begun pulling out the pancake mix from the cupboard, she paused midway and turned around to face the redhead, “I did...” she replied earnestly. She watched as Misty’s face fell and she got up, as if to leave so Delia rushed to her side, putting her arms on the younger girl’s shoulders she continued, “You know how forgetful Ash can be, I’m sure he meant to-”

“If he really did want to send them, he would have.”

Ash was having difficulty sleeping ever since his mother informed him that she had sent Misty all those gifts and letters that he had set aside for her in his room. In the beginning he couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t process the thought of those things actually reaching Misty. Now his mind was clouded with what she must have thought of them.

Did the t-shirt fit her fine?

Were the cookies still edible after a year?

Did she like the locket and the pen?

Did she read all the letters or just some of them?

Did she find them interesting or boring?

He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time his mother called, he’d ask her if she had replied or dropped by the house, but the answer was same, no she hadn’t. He waited patiently for a letter from her to arrive in the mail, he thought maybe she was taking her time because she didn’t know what to say or she had too much to say. But her reply never came and Ash became disappointed, then irritated and eventually, he forgot about it.

Misty wanted to leave the minute she entered the house. The Ketchum household had always felt like home to her, but she was stepping foot in it after almost three years and her last visit hadn’t exactly been enjoyable. The house was crowded, which she was grateful for, but there were a lot of unfamiliar faces as well. She had been slightly late, intentionally, so the victory party was already in full-force, with the victor in question constantly surrounded by his friends. She stuck to talking to the people she knew, occasionally her eyes would drift towards him and she watched him only from afar, too afraid to approach him.

He spent the night surrounded by the league members and champions of the different region, but later in the night, a short-haired blonde attached herself to him. Every time Misty’s eyes would reach him, she’d be there next to him, smiling and laughing naturally as if she belonged there. The more she watched them together, the more suffocated she felt. There were too many people in the room, they were being too loud, it felt as if the walls were closing in on her, so she managed to slip out into the front garden as discreetly as she could to breathe. She stood outside in the dark, breathing heavily, and trying to piece her mind back together. She placed a hand on her chest and waited patiently for her heartbeat to slow down. It took a while but she was able to pull herself together and then she decided to leave. She took a few steps forward when she heard the door open behind her, the loud noises from inside the house floated through the air for an instant but then the door was shut and the noise died down. She decided to carry on, not bothering to check if someone had come out or not but the loud familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“I see you kept the locket,” Ash said loudly, and watched as the redhead stopped and turned around slowly.

Their eyes met for the first time in years and suddenly he felt like looking away and keeping her gaze at the same time. Fortunately for him, Misty was the first to look away as her eyes fell down onto the Manaphy locket on her neck. She didn’t meet his eye when she replied.

“Did you expect me to throw it away?”

“Not really, I expected a reply,” Ash frowned, he was seeing her after such a long time that he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her, but she was looking everywhere except at him.

She scoffed in reply and shook her head, finally looking up to meet his gaze, “Congratulations on the title.”

He could hear the sincerity in her words but her eyes looked tired and her smile wasn’t bright enough, why, he couldn’t understand. He also couldn’t understand the anger slowly churning up at the bottom of his stomach, today was supposed to be a happy day for him so why couldn’t she be happy too?

“Thanks for showing up to the finals,” the words left his mouth before he could rethink them, each letter dripping with bitterness he didn’t know he was capable of feeling.

Her cerulean eyes flashed with anger as she balled up her fists trying to keep herself in check, “Maybe I would have, if my invitation hadn’t gotten lost in the mail.” Her reply didn’t miss a beat and Ash should have known better than to challenger her head on.

Turning away and leaving was much easier when he didn’t bother to stop her. She held back her emotions until she was settled inside the rapid train back to Cerulean. As soon as her head hit the window pane, the tears began to flow out of her eyes effortlessly.

She had imagined their reunion a million times in her head.

But none had turned out like the reality she had just faced.

By the time Misty reached the comfort of her room, she had already decided that it was finally time to move on.

Ash kept his voice low as he faced his mother, careful not to wake some of the guests who had fallen asleep in the living room, “You lied to me.” He stated clearly.

Delia looked over her shoulder to find her son glaring intently at her, an expression she hadn’t seen on his face for a long time. Knowing very well what this was all about she decided to play innocent for a while longer, “Whatever do you mean, sweetie?”

“Misty did reply to my letters didn’t she?” He almost spat back at her. Delia found it endearing and reminiscent of his father, the fact that Ash was still trying to be respectful despite of being livid with her.

“No, Ash. She came to see me a few days after I posted them.” Delia replied quietly, their house was still filled with guests after all.

“And what did she say? What did you tell her?” The urgency in Ash’s voice clearly indicated that Misty’s early exit from the party last night had not been because she was feeling under the weather as her message in the morning had claimed.

“She wanted to know if I posted the letters on your behalf and I simply told her the truth.” Delia said softly.

“And why did you keep this hidden from me for so long?”

Now this was the question Delia wasn’t prepared to answer, “Ash, I just…” she began but had to pause to look for the right words, “I didn’t want to be the reason you lost your focus.” They weren’t the words she had been looking for but they were the ones she remembered.

“I’m not Dad you know,” Ash muttered avoiding her gaze as he continued, “as much as I look like him. I wouldn’t have lost my focus even if you had told me the truth Mom, if there is one thing that I have been sure about in life, it’s my goal to be a Pokemon Master.”

“I’m sorry, Ash.”

Her skill to hold her breath under water for minutes was something she had been proud of since she was a baby. But as a trainer it helped Misty train with her water pokemon in a way unique only to her. She had been learning the movements of Dragon Dance with her Gyarados for some time now. He’d perform the move countlessly for her underwater and she would try to copy his fluid movements but there were some turns that she just couldn’t master, so she had started to devote an hour to this training every day. Her other pokemon found it very amusing that instead of teaching them a move, she was trying to learn from them and would occasionally join in. Gyarados was more than happy to be in total control of the situation and lately, the training had evolved into more of an underwater dancing session among all the pokemon of the Cerulean Gym and their leader.

When she resurfaced and came face to face with Pikachu all of a sudden, she almost let out a shriek. From behind her Psyduck rushed to the surface to greet Pikachu, happy to see his friend after so long. The pool area of the Cerulean city gym was suddenly filled with loud, happy cries of various pokemons as they all came forward to greet their friend Pikachu, and his trainer who stood a few paces behind the electric mouse.

“Were you trying to drown yourself?” Ash asked, skipping past any greetings and explanations breezily, “I’ve been standing here for what, ten minutes?”

“No. I’m trying to learn Dragon Dance.” Misty responded, and instantly regretted it. She cursed herself mentally as she climbed out of the pool. Whatever happened to her strong resolve from last night? If nothing else, she should definitely be serving Ash with a strong silent treatment, but here she was taking the conversation forward. Once she stood up and looked at him, she found him staring at her blankly with his mouth wide open.

“You’re trying to learn a dragon-type move?” He replied, nothing but confusion covering his face.

“No, I’m trying to learn the movements to the dragon-type move,” She answered, rolling her eyes at his denseness, some things never do change.

As clarity dawned upon Ash, he ran his chocolate coloured eyes over her body with an expression of interest that she had never seen on his face before. Only recently had Misty switched from her usual one piece swimsuit to a bikini as it allowed her to move her torso more freely which made it easier to keep up with Gyarados. And up until now, she hadn’t seen it as much of a change but the glint in Ash’s eye made her immediately reconsider her wardrobe choice of the day. She felt herself redden under his gaze, and quickly made her way towards the towel rack to cover herself up.

Once she faced him again, she noticed a tint of pink on Ash’s cheeks as he himself must’ve realized that he had stared for longer than was considered normal.

Pikachu quickly climbed up on to his shoulder the moment he realized that Ash was getting nervous. He had practiced the conversation he wanted to have with the redhead with his partner on the train ride to Cerulean, so Pikachu considered himself as the torch bearer who would see Ash until the end of this situation. Obviously, the rodent didn’t comprehend that his trainer’s fidgeting wasn’t just because he was worried about the way things would turn out between him and Misty, but more so because he had seen her in a bikini for the first time. Which technically should not have affected him as much, considering she bared her mid-riff the entire time they travelled together as kids.

But, after all, they clearly weren’t kids anymore.

Pikachu nuzzled his nose against Ash’s cheek to get his attention, which broke his train of thought heading steadily down the wrong direction. The raven haired boy shook his head furiously to clear it of all thoughts except the speech he had practiced in the morning and decided to cut right to the chase.

“I just want to you to know that I didn’t send the letters, not because I didn’t want to,” he started, speaking fast so he could get it over with as soon as possible, “but because, I didn’t have the courage to.” He stopped to catch a breath and also muster up all his remaining guts for the last bit, “and that ever since we parted ways from Johto, not a single day has gone by when I haven’t thought of you.”

Ash didn’t want to wait for a reply, in fact he was dreading it so when Misty didn’t say anything immediately after he finished speaking, he turned on his heels to leave. She’d already walked out on him once, so now it was his turn to return the favour.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not coming to watch the finals,” she called out abruptly, Ash was already near the exit but she knew her voice had reached him as he halted in his tracks but didn’t turn around to face her. Even in the million reunion scenarios she had fantasized about in her head, she’d never had imagined Ash saying something so purely honest that made her heart beat faster than the speed of light. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to give him a similar kind of response but she knew that she at least owed him an honest apology.

So she easily closed the distance between them, slightly relieved that he still wasn’t facing her because it was easier to get the words out that way, “I know it didn’t sound like it when I said it last night, but I am really happy that you won.” She lowered her eyes towards the ground as she added, “Champion.”

Pikachu read the atmosphere faster than the two trainers and happily jumped into Misty’s arms from Ash’s shoulder and snuggled up to her, mewing softly.

Ash turned to face her even as he felt a slight blush creep up on his face from hearing her call him by his new title for the first time, grinning ear to ear he teasingly asked her, “Who’s the wannabe now?”

The redhead returned his cocky grin with an exasperated smile and hugged Pikachu even tightly as she giggled, “But the real Champion is you, Pikachu, for being able to stick with a trainer like him for so long.”

The newly crowned Champion rolled his eyes in response, when all he really wanted to do was sigh in relief. He hadn’t been able to settle down since their meeting last night and had gone to sleep thinking that despite of winning his dream, he may have lost something just as important to him. But he felt his whole body relax as the fact that everything was okay between him and Misty finally registered in his brain. Not wanting to lose the momentum, he decided to take a chance.

“So, since I’m here already. Why don’t we go out for lunch?”

It was satisfying, to put it simply, to watch Misty turn completely red under his gaze as she struggled to reply.

“Su-sure…lunch would be doable,” Mew, she hated how her voice sounded right now, but what was more annoying was how much Ash was enjoying watching her squirm. He’d managed to get so much more confident and cocky after gaining a mere two centimeters over her.

“Let me just get dressed quickly,” She managed in her normal bossy tone, gesturing towards her swimsuit.

“Why, I’d prefer you in this than any other clothes any day,” Ash tilted his head and smirked at her, indicating that he had clearly won this round.

It was only a second later that the mallet knocked him straight to the ground.

-x-

Thank you for reading and Reviews are always appreciated!

#pokeshipping #ash ketchum #misty #ash x misty #aaml #pokemon fanfiction #delia ketchum #pikachu #pokeani #pokemon #writealot #i'm on a roll really #actually this was mostly written I just had to write the last 6 moments #pokeship

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stanuary · 4 years

Text

Spark

(submitted by Quill)

It isn’t a thread, one beginning leading neatly (however tangled it may be) to one end. It’s a mechanism, built from pieces that most people would never think to fit together. (Like all Sparkwork.) * One piece is a conversation overheard, stating that madboys can only be equals if they are rivals. Stanley builds into his worldview that he is Ford’s minion, will be his chief minion. (He doesn’t tell Ford what he heard - Sixer’s got a bad habit of overthinking things and working himself up about nothing, and Stan isn’t going to risk him doing that with the nonsense thought that Stan might turn against him. It’d probably take three hours of arguing himself into a migraine before Ford admitted that Stan would never do that.) (The conversation was a hope that ‘those two Stan boys’ would be too busy destroying each other to turn on the town. Stanley does his best to rub in that he and his brother are an inseparable team, unbeatable. Each time their faces go a little greyer, a little greener, he feels a little more satisfied.) * One piece is a conversation shared, “I hate everyone calling me a freak!” said with a passion most would think too fierce for such a young boy, and Stanley redirecting his twin’s thoughts with “We’ll get out of this place and never come back!” because he knows, deep in his heart, deeper than he has the words for, that if Stanford’s breakthrough is the painful disaster that the pettyminded idiots in this town fear it will be (and push him towards) his twin will never forgive himself for it, will be wounded in a way Stanley won’t be able to heal, damaged in a way Stanley won’t be able to repair.

This piece is the keystone to everything else that happens.

* Their mother shapes two of the pieces. One is Stanley’s devotion to his twin, encouraged by her approval and whispered pride (at least his mother’s approval can be earned, even when it feels like his father’s never can; at least his mother is impressed by something he does, even if it sometimes feels like the only thing he does that impresses her is how much he gives to and for his twin). The other is shaped slowly, intentionally, quick lessons kept secret from the rest of their family, jokes and teasing that Stanley knows for teaching. “There are lies and there are lies,” his mother will say with a laugh in her voice, and: “if the truth’s only going to hurt, why say it?” she’ll murmur with a wave of her hand, and: “People see what they want to see anyway, so why not show them what they want in the first place?”

Stanley’s too busy keeping track of the bullies in their class to pay attention to the teacher, so his grades keep slipping behind Ford’s. Everyone sees him as the future madboy’s dumb strong muscle, and Stanley plays to the role with delight. (Stanley learns dishonesty. He’s an apt pupil.) * Stories of heroes and sidekicks shape another piece, wild adventures and improbable dangers that only people with the Spark could get themselves into - and out of. It’s a role that isn’t the villain, the only positive role a Spark is ever portrayed in, and Stanley embraces it as his future wholeheartedly (“The Spectacular Stan Twins! Stanford Pines and his chief minion, Stanley!”). Ford pretends to grow out of his interest in their shared dream, but Stanley knows his twin too well to think he’ll settle for being anything less than amazing, no matter how often the teachers at school try to convince him to. (Stan’s blood boils sometimes at the thought of the adults around them trying to smother his brother’s Spark just because they’re scared of it.) Stanford wants the admiration of everyone, but Stanley only needs the admiration of his twin. That’s why he’s going to be the sidekick. (He doesn’t share that information with Ford. His twin gets on this weird kick about 'fairness’ sometimes, and something in Stan’s gut tells him this would set it off.) * The half-destroyed clankship they find is a deceptive piece - a non-Spark might think it vital, but any Spark worth the name would see how easily it could be replaced by something else. It lies hidden within the false rocks some long-gone captain or crew crafted to hide it, impassible to any without the Spark of Genius. It stays hidden as they work on it over the years, toiling to learn its systems and repair them, rebuild it to be the vessel of their desires. (Stanford insists there should be two laboratories, one for each of them. Stanley agrees with the expectation that his brother will have taken over both within a week.) Stanley finds that the practical work comes easily to him. Stanford suggests when they’re young that it means Stanley’s genius will be in the mechanical field, but Stanley just laughs the thought away. Of course he’s good with mechanics, isn’t that necessary for a good minion? (He refuses to see the way Stanford looks at him when he says that, puzzled and a little concerned, with a sense that something’s wrong but none of the emotional skills to understand what.) * For their last science fair in high school, Stanford builds a perpetual motion machine. (Stanley builds a football-playing clank and laughs as his brother sighs.) The final piece is the offer - to Stanford and only Stanford - of a scholarship to West Coast Tech. Or maybe that’s the impetus, the power source. The Spark. * Stanley knows that Ma’s going to be worried (how long has it been?) but he’s too busy to care that bolt needs tightening (He knew Stanford was exaggerating how complicated those defense systerms keeping them from the interior control room were, it’d barely taken any time - it’d been so obvious -) Those old power sources were ridiculously inefficient, he was so lucky he’d had Stanford helping him invent replacements more metal, he needs more - aha! (was that part of the false rocks?) (didn’t matter, he’d needed it) these tools are amazing, he’s so glad he stole them He’ll have to leave the navigation alone, Stanford is so proud of what he’s done there - and it makes so much sense now, how was Stanley ever confused by it? - but the steering is all his, baby! they split the outer defenses between them (didn’t they?), so Stanford won’t mind if Stanley just tweaks that forcefield generator, right? Why did Stanford use such a basic wiring system? He’ll have to ask when his brother gets here OH! Stanley beams That’s what he’s been missing! His twin! * Ford clasps his hands behind his back and wishes he felt confident enough to tap his fingers together without worrying that they’d be counted. He’s so tired of everyone whispering that he must be a construct, as if polydactyly is so impossible without a Spark’s intervention. (He’s still trying not to think about the medical records he found detailing how impossible it should have been for his mother to have any children after she gave birth to Sherman.) He wishes Stan was here, to talk him up or calm him down or make him laugh, or all of those at once. He hasn’t seen Stan since he told him about this chance, words spilling out of him as he tried to explain how thrilling it was to be told he was valuable. He’d expected Stan to agree, to build him higher, but instead his brother had gone strangely blank-faced and wandered away, and he’d felt surprised and hurt and hadn’t gone after him. (He’s trying not to think that he should have.) (There are lots of things he’s trying not to think right now, about his family and his twin and his chances and himself, and Ford is really wishing Stan was here beside him right now -) The wall disintegrates. It’s impressively soundless, bricks and concrete and who-knows-what crumbling to dust, and everyone whirls and stares in horror because this must be a Spark attacking - Stanley strolls in through the dustcloud with a huge grin. And an even bigger raygun. “Hey, bro! Hope I’m not late!” He balances the raygun on his shoulder - somehow - and claps his hands twice. “Kiddo, get over here!” The football clank that he built without any voice-activation, Ford would have recognised - wait, is that what those extra circuits Stanley insists on adding to everything he makes are for? - jumps off the table and jogs over to its maker. Stanley doesn’t watch it, eyes fixed on Ford, filled with a burning glee that makes Ford oddly nostalgic (when did Stan lose that fire?). The principal puffs up his chest, steps forwards. “Stan Pines, you will -” Stan waves a hand at him dismissively. “Ah, shut up!” he orders. The principal freezes, too shocked by his insolence to say anything. Stanley takes the unintentional obedience as his due and strides over to Ford, grabbing one of his hands to tug him along. “C'mon, bro, let’s get going!”

“Going? I - Stanley -” Ford has no idea what’s going on. He stumbles a little, trying to put words to 'I’m in the middle of getting my scholarship’, but Stanley doesn’t give him a chance to. “Yeah, you gotta get to West Coast Tech in style, right? Come on, bro, I figured out that last bit of the wiring and everything, the Stan o’ War’s right there waiting for us, let’s head out!” “Us?” Ford asks weakly. “They gotta let you take your chief minion, right?” Stanley grins, repeating that old joke that Ford never found as funny as he did (of course Stanley’s not his chief minion, they’re equals!) and there’s something here, something about how Stanley’s actions seem to be a little to the left of reality, something about how compelling his view of things is, that Ford almost recognises - it’s like a formula that he almost remembers, these chemicals and this reaction means - The principal snaps out of the daze he was in, fuming at the blatant disrespect, furious at the way Stanley is ruining this (it’s as if this scholarship is a chance for the principal instead of for Ford). “You stop right there, Stan -” Stan turns to him, suddenly furious. “WHAT PART OF SHUT UP DIDN’T YOU HEAR? GET OUT OF MY WAY!” and the principal scrambles backwards with a squeak of, “Yes, Master!”

- and Ford finally realises what he’s seeing. “Let’s go!” Stanley demands, eyes feverish with the breaking through of his new Spark, and Ford should feel angry or bitter that Stan broke through first but what he does feel is a rising excitement that probably heralds his own. “Yeah,” he breathes, and the two of them run out to the clankship that Stanley finished building, their breakthroughs too obsessed with escaping to even think about revenge. * The Stan o’ War never does make it to West Coast Tech. (Stanford blames Stanley’s decision to convert it into an airship. Stanley blames the construct that shot them down. Fiddleford apologises - again - and the three of them get back to tracking down the latest monster Ford’s decided to hunt.) (Stanley stopped making fun of how many PhDs Ford collects between monster hunts after Ford coerced him into getting some of his own. “That was way easier than I thought it’d be,” he muttered after the first one, and Fiddleford and Stanford rolled their eyes at each other behind his back.) The Mystery Trio aren’t quite world-famous, but among the people who know what they do they’re widely considered the best at it. (Though what 'it’ is tends to vary.) “So, where to next, Sixer?” “Funny you should ask! I’ve just received coordinates for a fascinating settlement. A small town, apparently. Highest known concentration of non-Spark-related oddities in the country.” “It got a name?” “Gravity Falls.”

((Girl Genius fusion for week four, Prompts Science and Technology - Quill))

#stanley pines #stanford pines #ma pines #fiddleford mcgucket #fic #stanuary 2020 #submission

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ansgar-martinsson · 4 years

Text

The Best Intentions - Part 21

“I know aptitude when I see it. Selfish of me, really. Get them whilst they’re young and all that. Get my pickings of the talent pool early on.” Ansgar replied. He leaned on the edge of her desk, his leg dangling, his shined brown loafer just scraping the floor. A curl of his fingers and he inspected his nails, trying to appear nonchalant as his mind worked. He debated revealing what he was about to say, what he was about to tell her. He knew he’d pressed her buttons enough intentionally that afternoon, and he wondered if exposing her to more of his… his humanity… would send her reeling.

Which is exactly what he wanted to do, to show her the reality that was himself, to draw her out of her shell, to draw her deeper into him; but he also knew when too much was too much. He’d read her. Read her like Shakespeare for Dummies just how much his very presence in front of her brother, in front of her nephews, in front of her entire family rattled her. He couldn’t help but wonder how she would react, how beautifully insane she would be when he met mother for the first time.

For that was something else he knew – a simple corporate background check can reveal a plethora of information – that she lived with her mother. That her mother was ill. That she cared for her mother. And that endeared her to him, but he wouldn’t admit that to her… not yet. He wouldn’t admit that it made him a little jealous, actually - as Ansgar’s father had died young, and his mother had all but ignored him in the past few years. Shelved him and his mad life in favour of the stability of Magnus and his family. Which was fine. Ansgar understood the doting grandmother role, Ansgar knew he could never gift Joanna with grandchildren himself, but, even as tough and as sharp and as jaded as he was - sometimes a man just needed to talk to his mother.

And his own was distant. Unavailable. Uninterested.

Something, after Faye left him, he swore he would never be to those he cared for.

“Her nephew,” he began, still picking one nail with his thumbnail. “Faye’s nephew, Rufus. He was like that. Like Adrian and Hugo. Brilliant, curious, mechanically inclined. Genius level, nearly.” He brought the fingernail to his teeth, scraping a tiny fleck of dirt out from beneath the corona. “I had him in my tutoring program a few years back. He excelled. Designed a working lift crane of all things - something that I ran by my own engineers. Had it built, and now I use it on smaller-scale projects.”

“Do you… do you still see him at all?” She turned around then, crossed her arms over her chest and rest back against her bookcase.

Ansgar sighed. “No,” he said. “I had a row with his father shortly after Faye left me. Threatened to kill the man, actually, so… no. I haven’t seen Rufus in two years. He’ll be fifteen this April. Nearly grown.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said.

“Eh,” he shrugged, pushing himself off the desk. “It’s no matter now, is it?” He strode over to her, took her by the shoulders and planted a gentle yet firm kiss upon her lips, opening up to her quiet whimper, and the caress of her hands on his back. “I will see you at eight, darling,” he said. “Be ready by ten minutes before.”

“Why?”

“We’re having a quiet night in tonight, my place. At eight. Dinner - casual, of course - and a film in my home theatre, and whatever follows.” He smiled broadly, teeth pulling sensually at his lower lip. “Mickhail will pick you up at ten minutes until eight.” His finger traced the line of her cheek to caress over her bottom lip. “Don’t leave him waiting. He gets very cranky if he’s made to wait.”

“I won’t.”

Wink. “I know.”

****

And true to his command, Ansgar’s door chime sounded at eight o’clock on the dot. He grinned broadly as he opened the door to the elevator lobby, but that grin morphed quickly into a breathy look of astonishment, of pure desire, at the very sight of her. “Jesus, Joline,” he blurted, “you look…amazing.”

And she did, dressed as she was in a leather trimmed black blouse and a tight pair of studded and decorated jeans, the cuffs resting just at her ankles above a pair of high heeled shoes. Not the Louboutins, that time, but Ansgar found her own shoes to be somehow sexier. Her hair was done up in a high, fluffed-out ponytail, wisps of hair caressed her simply made up cheeks. A bit of eyeliner, some blush and a bright red lipstick.

“I’m casual. You said casual,” she dipped her head shyly, batting her eyelashes at him.

“I did, didn’t I?” his voice broke slightly. “Yes. You… you’re perfect.”

“As are you,” she smirked, fingering the collar of his blue linen shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of black jeans, held up by a leather belt and a decorative, yet tasteful belt buckle.

“Come in, please,” he said, gesturing. “I….” he hesitated. “I’ve a bit of a surprise for you.”

She smiled as she stepped past him into the foyer. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He chewed his lips together, like a small child upon entering a toy store for the first time. “Come with me.” He took her hand and crossed the expansive entry way. He turned her, took her by the shoulders and sat her down on a white leather chaise near the piano. He bent to her and indulged in a long, ardent kiss, licking his lips at the end of it.

“So what’s my surprise?” She whispered against his lips.

“I never did get to play for you,” he said. “Last night. We… never used the piano for its intended purpose.” He shuddered, remembering how he had taken her over the closed lid of the polished ebony Steinway, how she rode him as he sat on the leather piano bench, her legs wrapped around his waist and how she…. oh!

“No, we never did,” she smiled. “Are you… are you going to play for me now? Is that my surprise?”

He nodded, his smile almost shy, his eyes blinking, averting hers. “Only if you want me to.”

He felt her hands, warm and soft and gentle, on either side of his face. She pushed, gentle pressure to turn his gaze to hers. She pulled, drawing him closer to her, drawing him to where she could grace the tip of his nose with a soft, pillowy press of her lips. “It’s perfect. Yes. I want you to. I want to hear you play…. you fucking virtuoso.”

He barked a laugh. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” she shrugged. “Mind you it was in the throes of passion, but you know what they say about truth in it.”

“I thought it was truth in jest.”

“Jesting, fucking, it’s all the same.”

He laughed outright then. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He nodded, readying himself. “Okay.” He sat down on the piano bench, playfully tossing an imaginary set of tuxedo tails out from behind him, making her laugh again before he pulled the bench forward, laid his hands on the piano, and breathed.

In.

Out.

And with a roll of his hands, a closing of his eyes, a hunch of his shoulders and a melt of his muscles, he played.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wpRzZojcP40

As became Ansgar’s modus operandi with her, what Joline expected him to play on the piano and what he actually played were polar opposites. Worlds apart, in fact. The man continued to knock her expectations off kilter and kept her guessing, continuously breaking the barrier down of the compartment she tried to keep him in.

After the afternoon she had, trying to keep him away from her family, his showing interest and even favor in them, Ansgar was more than a one night stand. He called her on her deflection for what it was and allowed her into his life, even if superficially. Who would do the same for a one night stand? As she sat, feet tucked up beside her on his lounge (judging by the amount of leather it took to make, cost more than her mother’s mini Cooper), she’d already exceeded the typical one encounter by double.

She had to try to remain distant and aloof to keep her heart. For one thing she knew for sure, Ansgar Martinsson could break her heart, devastate her without taking the pleasure in her utter destruction. As the proverbial saying went, the opposite of love wasn’t hate, it was indifference. As soon as he got his fill of their faux rebound, he’d forget about her.

All she needed to do was keep her head, stick to her word of no expectations, and enjoy the sex for however long he wanted her around. It would be so much easier to do that if he wasn’t so considerate of her, of her nephews, of her family. It was already complicated it with offering to tutor or find a tutor for her nephews. She couldn’t allow him to hurt them.

The dulcet, tremulous somber music poured from his fingers and his piano instead of some great showoff symphony of some well-known composer. Instead he chose a soothing, reflective piece with a smattering of a hopeful melody of playful high notes. This wasn’t a flashy complicated piece of an expert, this was beauty in simplicity, a classic case of less was more.

As for his skill in music, Ansgar’s boasts were on the mark, earning him every right to brag. He played as a virtuoso, focused, dedicated, respectful of the music. A lovely example of an instrument making its player shine, the piano a mere extension of him. Because this wasn’t about showing off or impressing his date (which he did effortlessly), his eyes remained on his hands or closed, his focus solely on the music and the product of the sound he made. He didn’t steal any glances her way to see how she responded or wink at her, and somehow that fact pointed to his authenticity as a musician.

When he was done, Joline applauded his efforts, grinning, appreciative that he didn’t show off like a rock star. “That was a beautiful piece, Sgar. Truly. Thank you for playing it for me.”

He bowed his head in humility, a rare moment for him. “I’m glad that you liked it.” He pushed to his feet after swinging sidesaddle on the piano bench. “Are you surprised?”

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

“It was written by my favorite composer.”

“I can tell.” Joline patted the lounge beside her, asking him to sit with her. “Your respect for it comes through. It makes sense.”

Ansgar sat beside her, his arm slung over the back, his hand hovering by her shoulder, cheating his body in her direction. “What makes sense?”

“What you do. There’s structure and mathematics and building materials in music as there are in construction,” she stated easily. “Music is made of notes, of course… but rhythms and melodies, chords and progressions, counterpoints and dynamics. Construction is about textures and structures, angles and perspectives.”

“I suppose that’s true. How do you know so much about it?” His fingers reached up and touched some of the strands of her ponytail.

She looked down at her folded hands in her lap. “My roommate in uni studied music, a concert pianist actually. I might have sat in a few music theory classes.”

He chuckled. “Did you make it a habit to sit in on classes outside your concentration?”

She laughed, her head angling coquettishly. “Not a habit, no. But there’s some overlap in my major, so I dipped my toe in the musical waters.”

“AH! You’re surrounded by musicians in your studies and in your job.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry, I won’t ask for hazard pay or overtime. I like the way you play.” She gestured for him to give her his hands when she waved her hands in her direction.

Ansgar willingly gave her both, pulling his arm down form the elevated position.

Joline tilted her head up and on a slant after tracing his elegant fingers with her own. “I always found musicians hands to be the sexiest.”

“Is that so?”

“Truly.”

“Is that why you fell into theatre management? To be around the musicians?”

Joline unraveled from her position, sliding her high heeled feet out from under to straight before her, slinging them over Ansgar’s lap. She felt more comfortable in his physical space and felt that familiar pull for his bedroom. “I wish I could claim that, but I’ve never been involved with a musician. Except for friends, of course… my roommate, my friends, my classmates. All musicians. With the most fascinatingly sexy hands. All of them.”

Ansgar layed his hands on her thigh, positioning them as if he played her like he did his Steinway, but he only brought her that little bit closer. “What was your uni like?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Typical, I guess. All night cram sessions, midnight runs to McDonalds for brain food, congregating in one room to play a board game or watch a film, mini refrigerators, ramen noodle dinners, empty pockets, endless laundry and schedules to clean the bathroom.”

“How did you learn that you wanted to be in theatre?”

She reclined back, pondering it for a moment, “Gosh, I don’t know. When the two show days didn’t kill me?” She laughed to herself, her mind reminiscing to try to answer his question. “My uni ran shows for four weeks, one performance on Thursday and Friday and two performances on Saturday and Sunday. I remember, we did a production of Oklahoma my sophomore year. I was stage manager, my first as stage manager. I had three assistant stage managers, fifty cast members, and a set designed by the devil himself. I remember lying on the floor of the green room between shows feeling so drained, the mental capacity to manage that many people and cues drained me. That’s when I discovered M&Ms.”

“The chocolates?”

“They’re mystical and magic. That’s what the M’s stand for, I think. I survived on M&Ms,” she said matter of fact, in all seriousness.

“You survived on a sugar high.”

“You call it sugar high, I call it the power of M&Ms. They still get me through rough seasons or runs. Don’t you have any rituals or things you swear by?”

Ansgar slid his hands up towards her hip, enjoying the feel of her soft denim and her firm flesh underneath. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I do.”

She gave him a comfortable lead, but he didn’t elaborate on that. She found her opportunity to inspect the jagged and raised flesh on his arm. The scar had caught her attention more than once, but she never got the chance to ask in their fever to get physical. “What happened here?” she asked quietly, caressing her hand up and down the uneven scar tissue.

#the best intentions

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kclenhartnovels · 5 years

Text

Episode Three

[One] [Two]

“Wait!”

DeWitt held up their hands in a T shape, and took a few steps forward. Frosticle startled, and the ice obediently cuddled against her palm instead. “Wait, please. Ms. Jackson, can you kindly explain to me your evil twin sister?”

Kate tucked the blanket around her shoulders, crossing her legs comfortably. Flashback panels littered behind her while she spoke, and Frosticle waited patiently for the explanation to finish. “When we were babies, my mother knew that there was something wrong with Vanessa, but she could never tell what it was. My parents raised us until we were nine, and then there was a terrible accident, and they were both killed.” The flashback panels politely showed a young Vanessa freezing the steering wheel, sending a car and the entire family into oncoming headlights. “My grandparents adopted and raised me, but they knew that Vanessa was evil. So she went to live with the Villa family.”

“They loved me for who I really am,” Frosticle snarled, curling her fist and sending cracks of frost across the floor. “Evil.”

DeWitt scrubbed at their face for a moment. “Ms. Villa, I have reason to believe that you are in great danger as well.”

“Great danger?” she repeated, and laughed. “Darling, I am the danger. And I’m here to kill my sister.”

“Why?” DeWitt asked, already digging out a business card.

The question seemed to throw her for a moment, and she looked between Kate and DeWitt. It snowed thoughtfully. “Because Power Surge loves her, and I must destroy everything that he loves.” She clenched her fist. A wind swirled the snow, waving her hair dramatically.

“Why didn’t you kill your sister when you killed your parents?” DeWitt pressed. “You had the opportunity then. Why wait all these years until she happened to fall in love with your enemy?”

“I love my sister,” Frosticle snarled. “But I hate men. She fell in love with a man, and the worst kind of man! She betrayed me!”

DeWitt held out the business card between two fingers. “Luckily for you, I am not a man. Let me help you, too.”

The wind snatched the card out of their hand, and obediently wafted it into Frosticle’s. She inspected it with a sneer. “Secondary Character Protection Agency. I am not secondary.”

“You wouldn’t be, if this was your story. But listen to your dialogue, Ms. Villa. You’re an antagonist, and one that the writers will gleefully kill. But not until they make you kill your sister, who you love.” DeWitt spread their hands pleadingly. Their coat fluttered in the same wind that buffeted Frosticle’s hair. Somehow, it didn’t touch DeWitt’s hat. “Ms. Villa, you are the perfect villain for them to kill. You are beautiful, strong, black, and a lesbian. There is no way you’re getting out of this story alive without my help.”

Kate stood at last, holding the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. Snow kissed her hair. Her lips were too blue. “Nessa, please.”

Frosticle tucked the card into her cleavage. “There is one other way I can get out of this story alive. I just have to kill Power Surge.” The wind whirled, tossing snow and scattered shards around the room, and then Frosticle disappeared back out the broken window.

DeWitt rushed to the window, and swore quietly.

“We’re eight stories up,” Kate protested, not daring to move for all the broken glass. “Where did she go? Ice powers wouldn’t allow her to fly.”

“Villain physics,” DeWitt explained. “It allows for dramatic entrances and exits, regardless of powers. She’ll be fine.” They turned enough to offer Kate an exhausted smile. “Superheroes have their own set of physics, too. It’s why they can always stick the landing.”

“Trent never complains that his knees hurt,” Kate agreed with a frown. “But I have weak ankles. I’m always falling into his arms.”

“Of course you are.” DeWitt rubbed at their face for a moment, then took off their hat and raked fingers through their hair. They wanted nothing more than a shower and a half dozen shots of whiskey, but there was no time for that, and they doubted the writers were ready for a drunken interlude. Not when the stakes had just risen. Maybe another dozen chapters, and there would be a comedic break, but they weren’t counting on it. “I doubt we’ll be able to catch up to Frosticle right now--we need to find another way to get to her to help.”

“Do you think she’ll let us help?”

“No, but maybe we can stop her from killing Trent.” They looked around the apartment, still strewn with shards of glass and scattered with snow.

“Do we need to clean up?” Kate asked with a frown. “Your windows are missing.”

“I’m not worried about it,” they said with a flippant motion, and put their hat back on. “This mess is too much for the artist to draw over and over. It will be cleaned up on its own by the time we get back.”

“Get back from where?”

“I think it’s time we have a talk with that barista again. Get some clothes on, Miss Jackson.”

“Where do you expect to find him? It’s the middle of the night,” Kate pointed out, pulling a shirt on anyway. The front of it read Drop Dead Gorgeous. DeWitt didn’t like the sadistic foreshadowing.

DeWitt gestured towards the broken windows. Dawn began to peek over the horizon, glimmering off the high rises around them, and sending light across Kate’s cheekbones. “Story progression is more important than the continuity of time. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

She tugged on a pair of jeans that hugged her thighs too closely. “But I thought we were trying to intentionally break the narrative. How can we do that if even time is broken?”

They offered Kate an overcoat. “There are some things we will never have control over, Miss Jackson. This world is written and drawn for viewers that we will never see. In order to have our own agency, we have to find a way to move in the peripherals of their vision. You were never aware of the way time moved before. Now that you know, you can use it to your advantage. Which is why we’re going to get coffee.”

Kate slid into the coat. It was too big on her, and for once covered her skin without immediately sticking to her curves. DeWitt counted it as a small victory. “Do you think my cream will mix this time?” she asked hopefully.

DeWitt doubted it, but offered her a noncommittal shrug instead. Just as before, Sugar Honey Ice & Tea had a nominal line, just long enough for Kate to lean up on her toes and peer over the heads of strangers. She wasn’t wearing heels for a change, and DeWitt wished they had been keeping a notepad just to tally the minor changes, before they became part of the conscious rendering.

“You gave Joe Steve your business card, right?” Kate asked with a frown. “Did he ever go by your office?”

They shrugged helplessly again. “I don’t know; the plot curved away when Frosticle appeared, and I think the writer forgot about the scene. I guess we’ll find out when we talk to him if he remembers me or not.”

She rubbed at her nose. “Agent DeWitt, this is very complicated. How can everyone just forget or remember things that may or may not have ever happened? How am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s--?”

“What’s been redacted, edited, or canonly changed?” They smiled, and put an arm around Kate’s shoulders. A saxophone solo blared from the overhead speakers. DeWitt chose to ignore it. “I’ll get you signed up to receive THE CANON CHRONICLE. It will help you keep track of any changes.”

“Good morning, what do you want?” Demeter greeted from behind the counter. A brightly-colored pin promised SERVICE WITH A SMILE!, but her pierced lips refused to even make the attempt.

DeWitt pulled a folded wallet out of their coat, flashing it open to reveal a badge. “I need to talk with your barista for a few moments, please.”

“And two coffees,” Kate added brightly.

“Please,” DeWitt agreed, handing over cash as well, leaving some of it in the tip jar.

Demeter barely blinked. “That’s not a city police badge, not FBI or CIA, not even the secret government agency’s.”

“How would you know what the secret government agency’s badge looks like?”

“Duh. Everyone knows it. What good would a secret agency be without marketing?” She handed them a receipt with a look of faint scathing. “So what is that badge?”

“SCPA, ma’am. I gave him my business card yesterday.”

Demeter glanced down to the barista, who was sporting a black eye from his last fight with Power Surge, but seemed otherwise unscathed. “Yo, Frappachino, take your fifteen, huh?”

Kate sat at a table at the far end of the cafe, and stirred her coffee with more force than necessary, but the cream still did no more than make an artistic whorl in the center. The overcoat slipped off her shoulders to pool around her elbows.

“So,” DeWitt began, steepling their fingers as the barista joined them at the table. “Do you prefer Joe or Steve?”

“I prefer Dr. Thomson,” he corrected, his shoulders nearly double the width of the chair he leaned back against. “I have two doctorates and four masters’ degrees.”

Kate’s eyes widened, and small shock scribbles appeared around her mouth. “What are you doing working at a cafe, then?”

His massive shoulders shrugged. “I’m the right size for a henchman, so it’s how I got cast. There was already an oversized doctor villain in town, and Doc Tom doesn’t sound as intimidating.”

DeWitt sighed through their nose. “And let me guess, your doctorates aren’t medical, so there was no other way for you to be cast?”

“No, they’re in philosophy and literature, specializing in romanticism poetry.” He adopted a wistful expression. “Byronic poetry in particular just speaks to me.”

Kate’s smile was wistful. “Trent gets confused when a word has more than three syllables.”

“So,” DeWitt redirected, taking a sip of their coffee at last, “you work for Frosticle?”

“Yes, I am a criminal assistant.”

“Don’t you mean accomplice?” Kate asked.

Dr. Tom shook his head. “If anything, it’s more like criminal intern. I’m not getting paid, which is why I work here. That, and it allows me to spy on superheroes for her.”

“I thought Frosticle hated men. Why do you work for her?” DeWitt already had another business card in hand.

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I think it’s an inconsistent writer.”

“We did talk yesterday,” DeWitt decided.

“I was in your office for three hours. Your Chief handed me a stack of inspirational cards on my way out.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” DeWitt tilted their hat, and leaned forward conspiratorially. “We need to stop your boss before she tries to kill Power Surge. We need your help to be able to get into her lair and talk with her.”

“Talk to her?” Dr. Tom repeated. “You’ll never get past Lesbeam. She kills anyone that even gets close to the warehouse. And she doesn’t accept solicitors, either, so I don’t think your business cards will help.”

“What warehouse?” DeWitt pressed. “Just tell us where we need to go, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“We?” Kate repeated. Even halfway empty, her coffee and cream remained a perfect swirl. “I get to go with you? Not just stay behind and stare wistfully out the window in my underwear?”

“Well, of course. We’re partners, Miss Jackson. I need you with me.”

Dr. Tom scribbled an address on a piece of paper. Based on his handwriting, DeWitt had no doubt that he had multiple doctorates; it was barely legible. “I have to get back to work,” he said, standing and blocking out the overhead lights for a moment with his girth. “Good luck.”

Demeter leaned against the counter to call over to them. “Yo, Blended Machiatto, your break’s over.”

“Before we go to the warehouse,” DeWitt whispered, tucking the slip of paper into their coat. “I think we need to swing by the office, Miss Jackson, and help you look the part.”

“Look the part of what?”

Kate didn’t remember walking from the coffee shop to the office; she didn’t remember seeing a pair of disappointed teenagers walking out of the door when they realized there were no puppies up for adoption; she didn’t remember Chief Special Agent greeting them with his booming voice, or handing her a stack of paperwork to fill out; she didn’t remember looking through a closet full of clothing, or anything else that happened over the next few hours. None of it mattered to the viewer, and none of it was as impressive as cutting right to her walking through the Agency’s door.

Clad in a fitted black suit, Kate tipped down the brim of her hat, and gave DeWitt a bright smile. “Agent DeWitt, I am ready for my first assignment.”

“Well then, Agent Jackson. Let’s get to work.”

As always, patrons get first chance to read plus other goodies, and my ko-fi tip jar is always open. Also available to read on Wattpad!

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galadrieljones · 5 years

Text

The Lily Farm - Chapter 32

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 32: Faith, Hope and Love, Pt. 1

(11) When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. (12) For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

(13) And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

-1 Corinthians 13:11-13

“Dutch,” said Hosea.

They had gone out to fish, as an avenue to talk. They were in a canoe on the Lanahechee. Hosea had got the letter while they were in the saloon, but it was too crowded there, and Dutch was losing his mind. Neither of them was fishing at the moment. Hosea had Arthur’s letter folded in his pocket. Dutch was sitting with his head in his hands, his rod discarded to his side.

“Perhaps Shady Belle,” said Dutch. “Why does that boy make everything so goddam difficult, Hosea.”

“I don’t think that’s his intention.”

“I offered him Shady Belle.”

“Please.”

Dutch placed his hands on either side of the canoe, holding on, and with it, you could see the full brunt of his wingspan. He was shaking his head. “I wanted Shady Belle.”

“It is what it is,” said Hosea. “And unfortunately, with recent developments, Dutch—the O’Driscolls, the Pinkertons. I really think you should…consider staying behind.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re too damn hot right now,” said Hosea. “Arthur doesn’t know about Hanging Dog. He wants you there, but I don’t want us bringing a massacre down on his wedding, Dutch. That would be…far too fitting, given everything we’ve been going through lately. I can’t imagine anything worse.”

“You think I’d bring down a massacre?”

“Maybe,” said Hosea. “Not intentionally, of course. But if somebody were to spot you, follow you. These are innocent people, and it’s just too important. You being there is a big risk.”

Dutch sighed. He looked off into the murky haze of the river. It was morning, still early. “Remind me,” he said. “Who exactly are these innocent people, Hosea?”

“You mean the owners of the B&B?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Winterson is a doctor, that's all I know. Other than that, Arthur doesn’t really say.”

“He’s so goddam trusting.”

“You ought to give him some credit,” said Hosea. “After all these years. He might be good at playing the angry idiot, but he’s smart, Dutch. He’s made far fewer mistakes than you or I, and you know it.”

Dutch gave him a look, cracked his knuckles, placed his hands back onto the canoe, as if he were bracing himself for something—an earthquake. “If I don’t go with you, I don’t want you riding alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Take Charles.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Then take the damn train.”

“What do you think is gonna happen?”

“You may not have been on that ferry with me, Hosea,” said Dutch, “but there’s men out there—enemies—who know what you look like. Besides, you’re not well.”

“I’m alive,” said Hosea. “I’ll ride fast and quiet. I know how to keep a low profile.”

“If you can keep a low profile, why do you assume that I cannot.”

Hosea said nothing. He picked up his rod, stood and cast his line. “We’ll have a party back at camp,” he said. “Have Pearson and Susan do it up right. It’ll be fun.”

Dutch took a long, deep breath. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

Hosea glanced at him, glad for the change of subject. “You’re telling me.”

“You talk to Trelawny any more about that poker game.”

“I did,” said Hosea, scrubbing his neck. “This morning, before you were awake.”

“And?”

“And he managed to get Arthur a buy-in, but under curious circumstances.”

“Which are.”

“The invitation is for Tacitus Kilgore, and his wife.”

Dutch shook out his head. “His wife? Whatever for?"

“Because that’s who interests Bronte, and Bronte is the one who secured the invitation.”

“Bronte.”

“Mary Beth made quite a splash. I’m not sure that was intended.”

“Not exactly. She was meant to be a distraction, not the main event.”

“You still think he won’t take her?” said Hosea. “This really complicates matters. I’d be concerned it was a set-up, but I can’t see the m.o. for that. It’s poker, and Bronte knows that Arthur is an outlaw. Nobody expects an outlaw who can cheat convincingly at cards. They expect robbing and killing and that’s it. And plus, Trelawny said that Bronte just seemed to genuinely like Mary Beth. I can get to work on the backstory, if that’s what’s at stake. I still know a couple of Texas Rangers who owe us, back in Galveston. They can come up with something, put a good name on it. It would be easy. It’s just a matter of convincing Arthur.”

Dutch leaned back and studied him, full of scheming. “What do you mean Bronte liked Mary Beth.”

“He was taken with her. He thought she was interesting. That’s what these people do, Dutch. They collect interesting people and stick them in a room with other interesting people. It’s a game. They’re like—like museum curators or something.”

Dutch sighed. “She’s definitely pregnant?”

“That’s what the letter says.”

“We’ll have to talk to him,” he said. “And by we, I mean you. He won’t listen to a goddam word I say anymore.”

“If he cheats the cards, he’ll take the table,” said Hosea. “It’d be like the old days. We’re talking upwards of ten thousand in the pot, Dutch. Maybe more.”

“Talk to him,” said Dutch. He got up too now and cast his line. A whole bunch of pretty little egrets were on the other side of the riverbank, all sunning and standing in a row. “Can I see that letter again?”

“Sure.” Hosea reached into his pocket, handed it over with no question. The atmosphere on that canoe relaxed a little. It was all composed, real quiet. “I know you’re happy for him,” said Hosea, turning the reel. “I know you are, Dutch. We’ll have a party back at Shady Belle. We’ll get the wedding behind us, and then we’ll move forward. Mary Beth is having a baby. It’s a blessing, all of it.”

Dutch was only half-listening, reading the letter again. He held the rod in one hand. The fish were quiet that morning and the air seemed dusty and somehow brown. The sky was full of pollution from St. Denis.

“Did you hear me?” said Hosea.

“Which part.”

“The part about all this being a blessing.”

Dutch folded the letter up and kept it. He focused on his line again, the fish nipping at the surface of the water. “Yes, I heard you,” he said.

“And?”

“And it’s a blessing indeed, Hosea. A blessing indeed.”

Neither of them caught anything that day. When they got off the canoe, they separated. Hosea rode back to Shady Belle to prepare for the trip to Emerald Ranch, and Dutch stayed behind. He sat down on a fallen Tupelo that looked prehistoric, and he rested his elbows on his knees. It was hot, so Dutch knotted his hair off his face and rolled his sleeves up. He took off his vest, and he tossed it into the river.

Dutch sometimes felt as if he were shedding pieces of himself one by one. His money, his gang, his control. He saw in the corner of his eye a beautiful flower then, growing on the side of a nearby tree. It was big and robust, looking like some sort of internal organ growing out in the open. It was an orchid. He had never touched an orchid before, not like this. He walked over to pick it, and then he held it in his hand and admired its mystery. It winked back at him but it was already dying. It had red petals and reminded him of all the women he’d ever loved. It was only three of them and two of them buried, and one of them he didn’t love anymore.

When Dutch had found Mary Beth four years back, her pockets full of rich men’s jewelry in Kansas City, he saw in her traces of Annabelle. Kind of mean and feral when put upon but in her nature, just full of kindness and stories. He knew that it was bullshit. He knew that men were idiot dogs, and any pretty girl between him and his salvation, he would just imprint with the face of the last pretty girl who made him smile. He forgot about her. She became friends with Arthur, and years went by. Molly came along, somewhere back in Colorado, and Dutch fell in love with her, because he fell in love easy, and she made him feel special, and because she liked poetry, and she could write it and then read it in her voice and old country accent that made him soft. She was better than he was. She was what he deserved if he had not lost his daddy and left his mother decades before, entering the life of some rabid, outlaw king. Things had gotten so far away. Dutch’s mother was buried in Blackwater, and all their money from that horrible ferry job was buried in the cemetery right beside her. Molly was lost to him, and Mary Beth was now marrying Arthur, and time had become circular.

Dutch had lost too much and it was making him possessive of all that remained—in violent, ugly ways. Hosea was dying. When Dutch went on and on about getting money and getting free, mostly what that meant to him was proving himself and his ideas, but it also meant getting Hosea somewhere safe, some place where he would not die so soon. He loved Hosea more than he could ever have admitted to himself. He gazed into the heart of the orchid in his hand. He thought about his own mortality. He thought about Arthur. Dutch was envious of Arthur. Not for having Mary Beth where he could not, but for finding peace in a woman, like he once did, and getting to start over right where Dutch had left off. It wasn’t fair. Was it? Why did Arthur get to have the woman he loved, safe as houses, pregnant with his child, not swinging from a tree but marrying him on a stranger’s ranch near Emerald Station? And yet, Dutch would have done anything to preserve them. He was terribly confused. It made him want to hurt somebody.

He could not miss Arthur’s wedding. That would be bad, he thought, as he stood there at the edge of the swamps, holding a pretty flower in his hand. No matter what Hosea said. That would hurt Arthur, and it would push him away even further than he already was. But every time he disobeyed Hosea, it all kept going rotten. What was he gonna do? He was so full of his ugly pride. He thought about how Arthur—he didn’t have a lot of pride inside him, and this was another thing. There was so little left. It had all gone away long ago with a pretty girl and a little boy who’d got murdered by animals. For a long time, it made Dutch and him the same. But now, Arthur was moving on.

He got on his horse that day, and he tucked the orchid delicately into his saddlebag. He then rode back to St. Denis and tied him up in the stable, paid the hand an extra 50% to keep him watered and in good condition while he was away. He then bought a decent but shoddier horse, a sturdy old Kentucky Saddler and named her Jean. Mean Jean, he said as he patted her on the flank. How I love you, my Mean Jean. He went to the tailor. He bought new clothes. He changed, and then he had a fine, silver suit jacket tailored to his size with a little give in the chest and shoulders. The lapels were embroidered with a delicate fleur-de-lis, which Dutch knew was symbolic of purity and the holy trinity. He told the tailor he was getting married. The tailor was very happy for him. Dutch was a hair taller than Arthur, but Arthur was bigger than him across the back, and this was about as good as he could remember. It would do. Arthur would look good in the silver, Dutch decided, as his coloring was very gold. Dutch folded up the jacket with his bedroll and rode away from St. Denis wearing a new hat. He hated traveling in costume, but this was his life now. This was what it had come to. He was torn between getting away from it all and getting revenge on those who had pushed him to the edge and it was all terrible.

He was looking at the pattern now, as what had happened with Colm and Mary Beth had loosened something up inside him and made him see. Dutch may have been frayed around the edges, but he was no idiot. If Molly stuck with him, she would only end up dead. He was going to give that orchid to her—a peace offering—and he was going to give her a bunch of money, and he was going to tell her it was over and hope she went away to live a better life, far from him. Then he was going to ride to Emerald Ranch and try to find something hopeful there, if something hopeful existed, or if it was all just disappearing into the belly of the whale. He had to go. He had to find Arthur, remind him of what mattered. He knew Hosea would be angry, but he decided that Hosea was wrong, and that regardless, he did not care.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to wear,” said Arthur. He was leaning against a tree, eating cherries out of his hand, spitting the pits into the weeds. They had stopped in a little grove about twenty miles north of Emerald Station to have some dinner and water the horses. There was a creek nearby with a beaver building a dam. It seemed territorial so they didn’t get too close. “What does a man wear to his wedding?”

"Didn’t you see Hosea get married to Bessie?” said Mary Beth. She was nearby, drawing shapes in the dirt with a long stick. “What did he wear.”

“I don’t remember,” he said. “I was fifteen.”

“That’s so young,” said Mary Beth. “I can’t imagine you being so young.”

Arthur smiled, took off his hat and tossed it to the blanket where they had eaten their lunch. The day was warm. “Be glad you didn’t know me then. You would have hated me, for I was a fool.”

“No way,” she said. She drew a steeple, a sun. “I would have known right away that we was soul mates.”

This warmed his heart. He finished the cherries and went over to her, crouched by her side to see what she was doing. “What are you makin?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just shapes.”

“That looks like a church.”

“It is a church.”

Overhead, a huge raven pushed off a tree branch and took off into the sky. It made a huge, cawing sound, and it was loud enough they both looked up to see. “It’s nearly dark,” said Arthur. “We should get going.”

“I’m nervous,” said Mary Beth. “When we get there, it’s gonna be all this attention.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Arthur. He was watching her. She looked up at him with her pretty eyes. “Just focus on me.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

Her hair was curly from the heat. She had taken off her sweater, and her sleeveless blouse was sticking a little to her skin. He put some the hair behind her ear, then some more, and he studied the freckles on her neck, and he leaned forward to kiss them.

When he wanted her, it sometimes took him a moment to remember that he could have her. But he was getting better at that, his confidence returning to him little by little, every day. He kissed her. She kissed him back and things got needful so fast. She moved fast. He laid her down on the blanket, and she asked him to touch her. She said just that. Touch me. So he did. He reached into her skirt and pulled away her underthings, and he touched her, pressing right up against her until she came, making her soft moans that excited him. Then he took off his own belt as she floated back down. He watched her face, ruffled up her skirt around her waist, and then he got inside her, deep.

She sort of squeaked, clutching him. He felt stupid with how good it was. She was incredibly wet, and both of their bodies were sweating in the heat from the day, and it was all so wet, like they couldn’t get close enough. He opened the buttons of her blouse with one hand so he could see and feel everything, and she tugged his shirt back off his shoulders, and everything came away, all as they kissed and fucked in the warmth of the forest. He had not felt this free in so many years, and he knew she’d never had it like this. It went on for a long time, and then at some point, she stopped him, because she wanted to try something different. She was curious. She pushed him back a little, and he guided her onto her hands and knees, and it made him feel very thankful and awed. He pushed all of her hair away and kissed the back of her neck as he glided back into her that way, and she arched with him and said his name. He kissed her shoulder, her ear, pressed his mouth to her skin, holding her tightly to himself with one arm, and she reached up to hold him around the back of his neck as he began again.

It was a slow build to a long end. He near on shuddered as he finished, like he was suddenly freezing cold and emptied of something bad. But then he was warm again. He held onto her. She turned her head and grabbed his face to kiss him. They didn’t talk. They just lowered to the blanket, him wrapped around and still inside, and they stayed puzzled together like that for a long time.

As the sun went down, they got up to dip in the river, and then they got dressed. Mary Beth didn’t know how it was going to work, with being pregnant—she already felt bloated somehow, like she was starting to show but Arthur said that to him, she looked exactly the same. She still got tired toward the middle of every day, like her body was badly in need of fueling. She ate bread to keep away the feeling of nausea, but in truth, it wasn’t so bad. She had some heightened anxieties. She was worried about being the center of attention. For as playful and free as she was with Arthur, she only showed this part of herself to him and a select few people in the entirety of all time and the world. She was worried about losing him. It was just a big, generic fear. She’d had a couple of dreams that he had died, or that he had never existed at all. She had one dream that she was holding his tiny baby, and she was standing over a huge, deep hole that went so far down it was only blackness. The baby was much smaller than she thought it should be. She was afraid she would drop the baby in the hole. In the dream, Arthur existed, but he was not there. She didn’t know where he was. She couldn’t remember. She had lost him somewhere and became panicked that she would never find him again.

When they rode past Emerald Ranch and were on their way to the Wintersons,' it was half past nine. The sky was long and dark, and the stars were very bright. You could see the whole galaxy, and pillars of smoke from chimneys and little camping sights off in the hills that stacked up toward the horizon. At some point, they were stopped on the road by a man riding up behind them who called out in a strange, deep voice. Arthur stopped them both right away, and he turned around with his hands on the reins. He was squinting into the darkness as the stranger approached on his horse, wearing a hat with a very low brim. Mary Beth idled some ways back.

“Who is that?” she said to Arthur.

“You lost?” said Arthur to the man. He didn’t seem concerned.

“No, son,” said the man. He took off his hat. He rode closer. It was Dutch.

This was a huge surprise. Mary Beth trotted up beside Arthur and became very happy and relieved. “Dutch?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Arthur laughed, once. Big and deep, amused by his costume. “You old fool. What are you doing out here on a horse like that? Where’s the Count?”

Dutch trotted up, smiling. He was dressed in a modest brown scout jacket, still somehow shiny as can be. “The Count is back in St. Denis, being pampered by an overenthusiastic ranch hand with a bald head and leather chaps. And I am coming to your wedding, you goddam idiot. What the hell else would I be doing in this backwater territory?”

“You’re dressed like a damn messenger boy.”

“This here is called keeping a low profile,” said Dutch. “Or so I’m told. I’ll have to show Hosea what I mean. He thinks he left me behind in Lemoyne.”

“What?”

“We need to talk,” said Dutch, steadying his horse. "Not now, later."

“What are we talking about.”

“About some…mistakes I’ve made over the past two weeks. But you should not let that worry you now.” He looked at Mary Beth then, seeming to fill with pride, and he pressed his hat to his heart. “Miss Gaskill. You look lovely as always.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

“Where is Hosea?” said Arthur.

“About twenty-four hours ahead of me,” said Dutch. “Congratulations, by the way. I hear you’re adding one more to our brood. It is truly a blessing.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “It is.”

Dutch nodded and looked around in a suspicious manner. He put the hat back on his head. “I think I rode past the place by accident—this bed and breakfast from your letter. Are we close?”

“Yes,” said Mary Beth. “It’s just a few miles up.”

“You didn’t miss it by much,” said Arthur.

“Very good,” said Dutch, smiling. “I need to stop at the fence. I hate to arrive empty-handed.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “For coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” said Dutch.

They went along, the pretty nighttime country unfolding all around them, as a postcard.

Back at the Wintersons' Abigail was hard at work. She and Lizette were putting together a dress for Mary Beth. Lizette had all the fabric and had got a decent start, and Abigail was there, making the lace fringe at the sleeves and the collar, and also to estimate Mary Beth’s measurements. She’d known her long enough and mended her dresses in the past—it wasn’t so difficult.

Reverend Swanson still had not arrived, but there was time to spare, and nobody was worried yet. John and Hosea were out on the porch that night, smoking, and John was drinking whiskey out of a tin cup. Lawrence had been out there with them earlier but had work to attend to inside, and now it was just the two of them. They were expecting Arthur and Mary Beth now that the sun had gone down. They were watching the tree line.

“I know Arthur talked to you about the business of going north, with him and Mary Beth,” said Hosea. “Have you made any decisions?”

John nodded, blowing out all the smoke from his lungs and feeling cooled considerably by the evening call. It had been a warm day, and he’d spent a lot of it with Jack, running around the property, chasing the hounds and playing some other such games. It had been kind of cleansing, but he probably could have done with a bath. “Yeah,” he said. “Me and Abigail are with them. All the way.”

“Good,” said Hosea, seeming relieved. “It’s about time, John.”

“But Arthur and Mary Beth, they’re worried,” John said, looking down at his whiskey. “About the gang. I think reality is—it’s setting in a little bit. They don’t wanna leave people in a bind.”

“I know,” said Hosea. He tossed his cigarette to the porch and stamped it out with the heel of his boot. “I’m not surprised. I think it’ll be okay. Dutch and I are working on something new. I think we might be able to get back what we lost in Blackwater.”

“No shit,” said John. “What about the bank.”

“I’m still working on that,” said Hosea, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket. “If we’re gonna pull a big city bank job, I’m not taking any chances.”

“I’ve never robbed a city bank before,” said John. He finished his whiskey. “Seems dangerous.”

“You’re telling me.”

They stood for a while, listening to the crickets.

“Where’s Dutch, Hosea.”

Hosea sighed.

“He ain’t here,” said John. He tossed the cigarette, then the tin cup, turned to him. “It ain’t right. I was trying to keep cool, but Arthur’s gonna be—how could he do this?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it? What the hell is going on?”

“Please, John. Relax.”

“No.”

They heard horses then, coming over the hill up ahead. John looked up, instantly distracted and left the porch. He went down the steps and saw them—Arthur and Mary Beth, coming up side-by-side.

“It’s about time!” said John, walking out on the lawn to greet them. They hitched up, and John dusted his hands together and helped Mary Beth off her horse. Arthur hopped down, too, and they met with an earnest embrace. “Good to see you.”

“You, too,” said Arthur. “Thanks for being here.”

“Well we was surprised to hear, you know, about the wedding. But it’s good. We’re real happy.” He looked at Mary Beth then. “About the wedding, the baby, all of it.”

Mary Beth was very pleased. “Thank you, John.”

Hosea was there now, too. He hugged Mary Beth to his chest with a surprising strength, and he shook Arthur’s hand and congratulated him. “This is the right choice,” he said. “For both of you. Mary Beth, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she said, straightening her skirt pleats. “A little tired, but nothing too bad. I’m afraid my hair looks like a rat’s nest at the moment.”

“You look radiant,” said Hosea.

She blushed.

“We was surprised to see Dutch out on the road,” said Arthur. “What the hell is going on?”

Hosea stopped on a dime. “Come again?"

“He’s here?” said John.

Arthur looked at them both like they were batshit. “Apparently. We found him on his way to getting lost. I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for the two of you to be traveling apart from one another, old man. Perhaps it’s time you get sewn together at the hip.”

Hosea looked away, like he was conflicted. “Yes well. That would be eccentric.”

“Where is he?” said John.

“Ran to the fence. Said he didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”

“Sounds like Dutch.”

From inside now, you could hear Abigail, just sweeping with excitement. She must have heard the commotion. “Oh my god,” she said, and she appeared at the door, and then she threw open the screen and picked up her skirt and ran down the stairs. She hugged Arthur and then Mary Beth, and she grabbed Mary Beth by the hand. “You two!” she said. “Surprising us like that.”

“It was last minute,” said Mary Beth. “I wish we could have warned you.”

“Oh please,” said Abigail. “Don’t you worry. Now come on. I got something to show you.” She began to drag her up the stairs, back to the house.

“Where we going?” said Mary Beth. “I could really use a bath before I do much else.”

“Oh you smell like a peach,” said Abigail. “Later.” She glanced back at Arthur then as she tugged Mary Beth inside. “Don’t worry, Mr. Morgan,” she said. “I’ll bring her back to you.”

“No doubt,” said Arthur. Mary Beth looked back and Arthur sent her off with a two-finger salute. He lit a cigarette. “Abigail is one emphatic woman,” he said to John.

“She’s sewing Mary Beth a dress,” said John. “With Mrs. Winterson. She’s just excited.”

Arthur was taken by this, smiled, real proud. “She’s making her a dress?”

“She is.”

“It’s a real beauty,” said Hosea.

Just then, they heard another horse, rustling through the trees up ahead, making its big horse noises. There was a lull, and then they saw Dutch coming through, as expected. He was riding up, looking casual, holding a bottle of champagne by the neck. “Gentlemen!” he said.

Hosea said nothing.

“Dutch, what the hell?” said John. “What the hell you riding?”

Dutch got off his horse, hitched her up next to Sarah. He ignored John’s question altogether. “I brought libations. Arthur, my boy. And young John.” He tipped his hat. “Hosea.”

John shook his hand. He seemed earnestly surprised. “You’re goddam here. I thought you wasn’t coming.”

“Of course I came.” Dutch clapped him on the shoulder and went right past. “Have a little bit of faith, son.” He gave Hosea a look, and then he just went on and entered the house. "Come along, Mr. Matthews."

"Dutch, hang on."

But he wasn't listening. He was already inside, calling out through the foyer: “Mr. and Mrs. Winterson? Your final guest has arrived, and I come bearing gifts.” He was like some sort of natural disaster, knocking over everything in its way.

They all stood there, feeling flattened in his wake. Hosea shook out his head, pinched his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose like he had a headache.

“What the hell is going on?” said Arthur. “Did I miss something?”

“Later,” said Hosea. “We can talk later. For now, enjoy the evening. It's your evening, after all, Arthur. I need to get inside to broker Dutch’s introduction to Lawrence Winterson. That man is canny, and Dutch has a way of…well let’s just say he can be overbearing at times.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Arthur, smoking.

“Sounds good.” He smiled, looking weary. “You look well, son.”

“So do you.”

Hosea seemed amused by this. He took off his hat and went inside.

Now, it was just Arthur and John. Arthur gave John a cigarette. John lit it with a match from his pocket off the sole of his boot. “How you feelin?” he said. He stood, smoking and surveying the evening lawn. It looked almost blue in the moonlight. “With Mary Beth being pregnant and everything.”

“I’m good,” said Arthur. “Though I ain’t sure it’s quite sunk in yet.”

“I hear that,” said John. He took a deep breath, blowing the smoke. “The reverend ain’t shown.”

“That’s okay,” said Arthur. He seemed unshaken. Very sturdy as he stood there. He was a little taller than John, and bigger and meaner but also somehow just…shiny. He had always seemed like that. Even when he was outright dirty as hell.

“You know, you smell like the goddam river,” said John.

“Shut up.”

They knew they had to get inside but it was just a moment longer then, and they stayed to look at the fireflies, thinking about the future. At some point, as the heat was easing off for good into the nighttime call, Lawrence came out. He was holding a flute of champagne and looked happy in the lines of his face. “Arthur,” he said. “It is good to see you.”

Arthur flicked the cigarette and straightened up right away. John watched how he changed, how he removed his hat and shook Lawrence’s hand firmly, with intent. “Thank you so much again, for letting us do this.”

“It is our pleasure.”

“I hope Dutch ain’t already overstayed his welcome. He’s a bit of a showman, I must admit.”

Lawrence smiled. “That, he is. But he did bring very good French champagne. Lizette is pleased.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Will you two be joining us inside?” said Lawrence. “There’s food.”

“Yes, sir.”

They all went in, John following Arthur’s lead. He put his cigarette out and entered the golden glow of the warm house. There was something going on, he thought, with Dutch and Hosea. Jack was upstairs, asleep. He watched Abigail talking with Mary Beth as they sipped their champagne, both of them so excited. Sweet and pretty girls. He tried to let it soak into his insides, but he couldn’t shake this bad feeling. Or, it wasn’t bad. Just...weird. Off. He didn’t know what to think—about Dutch, about what the hell he was doing there, about Hosea being all cagey. But at least, for once, he was thinking. This seemed like a good start. Dutch brought him and Arthur some champagne where they stood over by the piano, and then he raised his glass and toasted to the happy couple.

“Love does not delight in evil," he said, "but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." That is how he closed his speech.

“Hear, hear,” said Abigail.

They drank.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #john marston #abigail roberts #oooof #this one #lol #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

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nadziejastar · 5 years

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I'm thoroughly enjoying the LeaIsa discourse, especially Isa possibly having been subject X in perhaps another canon. Isa's symbolism's also seem intentionally feminine in nature. I've head-cannoned that the current subject X in game could have somehow had her heart spirited away into Isa's (mirroring Sora and Kairi's situation, except the heart being far more buried in the depth's of Isa's). An unlikely scenario is that Isa was AFAB as a child and even Lea doesn't know about it or remember.

Lea: The Wounded Healer

Thank you! Yeah, everything about Isa’s symbolism is feminine in nature. And very intentionally so, LOL. He’s the Yin to Lea’s Yang; the Moon to his Sun. I love the whole concept, and I wish it wasn’t so taboo to step outside of gender boxes. The mythology is that Twin Flames separate and go through many lifetimes apart, never meeting in person. Over the reincarnation cycle, the two lovers balance their masculine and feminine sides so that they are both perfectly balanced. And I do think Lea is a very balanced character in that regard. I’m sure Isa was, too. During their final lifetime in the reincarnation cycle, Twin Flames finally reunite and change the world with their divine spiritual love.

I cannot imagine there’s any other explanation than Isa originally being Subject X. It simply makes way too much sense, and all the pieces fit perfectly. Your head canon is interesting. I prefer that over canon where Isa and Lea are apprentices and had NO connection to the experiments on the darkness of the heart. That just makes no sense at all. They could have had another girl involved without taking away from Lea and Isa’s tragic backstory. Another reason I like Isa being Subject X is that he would need healing, and Lea would need to give him a “birth by sleep”. KH3 kinda forgot about that whole concept. But there’s a lot of evidence that it was supposed to be a HUGE aspect of Lea’s character arc. Would have been a lot more rewarding to see than what he did in canon.

Stuff like this is exactly why Lea and Isa are my favorite characters. I can tell the writers had a hard on for them, too. Nomura really loved Axel, after all. Axel has a weapon called Prometheus which incorporates the Sagittarius symbol, and so do the vast majority of Saïx’s weapons. Moreover, the arrow is mainly prominent in Saïx’s Berserk form, which is where I think his captured heart resides. Now, why is this symbol so important? Because Sagittarius is Chiron, the Wounded Healer! He gave up his immortality for Prometheus, and was rewarded with immortality in the stars!

More About Sagittarius

Yen Sid: “I must warn you again–the road will not be easy.”

Lea: “Fine. Let’s jump right in.”

Ruled by Jupiter, the planet of growth and opportunity, the sign of the Archer is an eternal student, looking for enlightenment through new ideas, people, and places. Sagittarius is on the hunt for the biggest, best experiences life has to offer. They have a positive and outgoing personality that makes them the life of any party. With a love of adventure and all things exotic, the worldly Archer just wants to soak it all in. Sagittarius is driven by a constant need to explore and expand its mind, heart, and awareness to the fullest extent. Fiery and free, Sagittarius knows that the only limits are the ones we create ourselves.

Chiron: The Wounded Healer

Naminé: “And if the hurt is too great for you to bear it alone–well, then you turn to a friend close to your heart.”

Wounded healer is a term created by psychologist Carl Jung. The idea states that an analyst is compelled to treat patients because the analyst himself is “wounded”. For Jung, “it is his own hurt that gives a measure of his power to heal. This, and nothing else, is the meaning of the Greek myth of the wounded physician.”

Chiron was in outstanding pain and anguish; there was no medication that would ease the infliction. The fact was, even the gifted physician Chiron couldn’t heal himself. The next problem was that Chiron was in torment but, immortal. Chiron was not able to obtain freedom from the pain with the onset of death. In such a scenario, Chiron volunteered himself as a replacement for Prometheus, who had been penalized by the gods for giving fire to humankind; His punishment was to be enchained to a giant stone. Day-after-day an aquila descended and polished off his liver, which grew once more as it got dark …only to be consumed by the eagle once again.

So in essence, Chiron forfeited his eternal life so man could have use of fire. Hercules had been appealing to Zeus (Jupiter) for help, and Hercules agreed to supply an appropriate replacement for Prometheus, thereby setting him free. Thus, Chiron replaced Prometheus, gave up eternity, and went to Tartarus (the Underworld) in Prometheus’ stead. Zeus witnessed everything that happened and he knew how deplorable his son Hercules felt. Zeus afforded the dear Centaur a resting place in the heavens, as the constellation Sagittarius the Archer, in recognition of his benevolence and perpetuity.

Chiron and Artemis

Axel: “Why do I always get stuck with the icky jobs?”

Saïx has a weapon called Artemis, after the moon goddess. Artemis has a relationship to Chiron. Centaurs were notorious for being wild, lusty, overly indulgent drinkers and carousers, violent when intoxicated, and generally uncultured delinquents. Chiron, by contrast, was intelligent, civilized and kind, because he was not related directly to the other centaurs due to his parentage. Soon after giving birth to Chiron, his mother abandoned him out of shame and disgust. Chiron, effectively orphaned, was later found by the god Apollo, who decided to take him in as his son.

Apollo taught to him the art of music, lyre, archery, medicine and prophecy. Apollo’s twin sister, Artemis taught him more about archery and hunting. Chiron’s uniquely peaceful character, kindness and intelligence is attributed to Apollo and Artemis. Artemis only loved one man, Orion. She killed him by accident after being tricked into thinking the he was a villain who had attacked one of her priestesses. Orion, whilst swimming to escape a giant scorpion, is killed by Artemis’ arrows after the goddess could only see his distant bobbing head and failed to recognize the hunter. Artemis tried to bring Orion back to life, but was unable. It was Artemis’ regret at the loss of her hunting companion which allowed him to become a constellation and gain immortality amongst the stars.

Sagittarius Mythology also figures in the tale of Orion. One Greek mythology tale tells of how Sagittarius the Archer was directed to shoot down Scorpio the Scorpion, which had been sent off to murder Orion. This story gives the reason why the Archer’s arrow is aimed toward the ‘heart of the scorpion’.

Friendship

Ven: “Already?”

Lea: “I’ll see ya when I see ya. After all, we’re friends now. Get it memorized.”

Ven: “Okay, Lea.”

Sagittarius make excellent friends because of their encouraging, positive nature and their kind heart that will do anything to make sure the friend is happy. They do not expect favors in return; their kindness is selfless. They do not interfere with other people’s plans and they are never possessive or jealous. They treat others the way they want to be treated and live life based on a ‘live and let live’ policy, making them very agreeable. They are excellent conversationalists with a good sense of humor. Sometimes their humor is the raw truth, but these people speak their mind and don’t hold anything back. What they say is what they mean. They do not like mind games; they like straightforwardness and expect it in return.

Axel: “C'mon, let’s get some ice cream.”

Roxas: “Why?”

Axel: “Whaddaya mean, why? Because we’re friends.”

Roxas: “So…friends are people who have ice cream together?”

Axel: “Sort of… That, or laugh at stupid stuff that doesn’t make any sense. Like those kids we just saw–they were friends. C'mon, I’ll show you how it works.”

Sagittarius are known for saying the ‘painful truth’. On the other hand, people know that they can trust what they say because they always say what is real. They never hide anything and are very likable people. The only people that might not get along with them are people that live by a daily agenda with a highly structured, organized life. They are likely to always be running late and miss a date, but this is only because they are so forward thinking that they forget about the present. Tolerance is required. They do not do these things on purpose; this is just who they are. If you understand this and accept this, having a Sagittarius in your life will make the sun shine a lot brighter.

Axel: “Best friends are willing to deal with complications.”

Wise and understanding Sagittarius is connected to the Temperance Tarot card. The gentle process of tempering is about finding a perfect middle state, and combining the best of all things to forge something that is stronger than the sum of its parts. By bringing the power of the philosophical world into their physical world, Sagittarius makes itself a source of ultimate truth and awareness.

Both Sagittarius and the Temperance card are constantly striving for a more enlightened state of being. The angel in the Tarot card here demonstrates this by slowly pouring the liquid from one golden cup into another – a process called “tempering” (a slow process of integration that leads to the perfect middle state). Similarly, Sagittarius accomplishes this by exploring the far reaches of both the physical and philosophical world to expand on or “temper” what is already known. The symbols of Temperance mean the following:

Angel: Interacting with the material world while maintaining a sense of spirituality and higher purpose.

Triangle: Interplay of masculine and feminine or spirituality and materiality.

Cups: The fountain of energy between your opposite tendencies, which is flowing and spontaneous yet also balanced and coherent.

Path: Taking your time through life’s twists and turns; being content in the moment or throughout unexpected obstacles.

Water: Groundedness and refreshment through spiritual thinking.

Mountains: The distant journeys awaiting you that will bring you to spiritual fulfillment.

Sun: The sun, also appearing as the angel’s third eye, represents the merging of personal aims with the universe’s plans for you.

Fire Wings: Muscles and strength necessary to maintain composure and reach a higher being state.

The Angel

Axel: “As long as we remember each other, we’ll never be apart. Got it memorized?”

The Angel’s beautiful, red wings represent blood or life, while the triangle on her dress means spirit – also the elemental symbol for fire. And, similar to adventurous Sagittarius, the angel’s feet are also symbolic of the eternal pilgrimage or spiritual journey. By showing one foot in the water and the other on the shore we are reminded that our greatest wisdom lies in the art of balancing. And lastly, the iris flowers are indicative of the Goddess Iris who provides the link between God and humanity. Like Sagittarius, she travels from one end of the world to another – building upon something that is bigger and brighter than herself.

In a general context, the Temperance Tarot card represents coolness in the face of shifting emotional tides. Temperance is the ability to control one’s temper or temperament. In Thailand there is a concept called “cool heart.” In this phrase, cool does not mean cruel and unemotional. Rather, to act with a “cool heart” means that one is not easily stirred or provoked to go off the handle; one does not quickly come to a raging boil but maintains a steady temperature despite shifting external circumstances. Similarly, Temperance stands with one foot in a cool stream and pours water from one cup into another. Temperance knows how to direct the water in a way that maintains homeostasis.

The 7 of Swords

Lea: “And if the darkness gets ya, I promise I’ll bail you out. “Dark Rescue” is my middle name.”

Axel’s weapon “Prometheus” is Lift Gear. This is the same gear that the Temperance Arcana in Luxord’s deck is listed under. Coincidence? I think not. Luxord’s card has the shape of the Minor Arcana, The 7 of Swords. In general, this card is said to be about betrayal and deception. It is sometimes called the ‘Thief’ card. In a general context, it represents deception, lies, trickery, cheating and lack of conscience. This card also signifies mental manipulation, tactics, scheming, cunning, enemies who masquerade as friends and spies in your camp. It represents escaping detection and getting away with something.

On a more positive note, the 7 of Swords points out that you need to be strategic in what you do. It can also represent flexibility, adaptability, sharp wit, and resourcefulness. You know you cannot do everything at once – nor should you. Instead, you must prioritize what’s important to you and direct your focus and attention on the few tasks that will move you closer to your goals. When this card is seen in a reading, the deception is usually short lived. Nobody is able to carry away 7 swords and get away with it. So although the party may feel smug about it at the time, it’s about to blow up in their face.

Sagittarius’ Ruling Planet: Jupiter

Lea: “I want everybody I meet to remember me. Inside people’s memories, I can live forever.”

Isa: “I know I won’t forget you. Believe me, I try all the time.”

Lea: “See, I’m immortal!”

Larger-than-life Sagittarius is ruled by Jupiter, the planet of luck and expansion. In Roman mythology, Jupiter was the king of the gods, the biggest and the best. In Astrology Jupiter is known as the “benefic” planet, meaning it is the luckiest, most opportunistic planet of all. This positive energy influences Sagittarius’ optimistic, enlightening, and outgoing nature that shines and spreads through anyone they come into contact with. As the largest planet in our cosmos, Jupiter’s vastness encourages Sagittarius to stretch its mind and heart as far as it can.

Sagittarius’ Symbol: The Archer

Xigbar: “You’re not supposed to be here!”

Lea: “Promises to keep. I’ll always be there to get my friends back. What, bad timing? You had your perfect little script, but you kinda forgot to write the sequel. Now, let’s find out what happens!”

The zodiac sign Sagittarius is associated with the Archer, and its glyph represents an arrow. Always eager to explore new horizons, the Archer sets its sights on a faraway target, then shoots toward it with precision. This focus on learning more, doing more, and seeing more is what Sagittarius is all about.

Ruled by expansive Jupiter, Sagittarius is big-hearted, open, and always looking beyond a checklist. A Sagittarius rarely has a “type.” They are always intrigued by the individual, and don’t make any assumptions about people until they’ve truly met and spoken with them. Sagittarius loves witty back and forth banter. A Sagittarius in love is a sight to behold. Aggressively fun, this sign usually moves full speed ahead once they have their love target ‘locked’.

Selene

Ventus: “I remember dreaming a lot. Of you and Terra. Of Sora and his friends too, I think. And there were some more people I didn’t recognize. Oh, and I saw these weird animal creatures! It’s like…I’ve been part of some big adventure.”

Saïx has a weapon named Selene, after the chaste Greek Moon goddess. It’s shaped like a torch. Selene’s torch has an interesting role in art and history. Selene was taken with Endymion, a beautiful youth who tended his flocks on Mount Latmos. She accompanied Cupid and used the light of the torch to gaze upon the mortal she fell in love with while he slept.

Girodet’s “The Sleep of Endymion” shows the moment that Cupid parts the trees so the Moon may shine her light down upon her sleeping lover’s face. Only at night when he is asleep does she quietly creep down to him, accompanied by Cupid, whose torch symbolizes burning love.

In a Roman floor mosaic from the third century CE, the scene focuses on the moment when Selene falls in love with the young mortal shepherd. Cupid, in the upper right corner, points down at Endymion as if guiding Selene’s gaze towards him. Selene steps out of her bull-drawn biga that she uses to pull the moon across the sky each night, and raises a lit torch that illuminates Endymion’s face in the darkness. She peers down at him longingly. Endymion is fast asleep and unaware of her presence. She was so in love that she asked Zeus to give Endymion immortal life.

Sagittarius’ Ruling House: 9th House of Expansion

Roxas: “I found out about love on today’s mission–that it’s something powerful.”

Axel: “That’s true. It is. But I’ll never get to experience it.”

As the 9th sign in the zodiac, Sagittarius rules over the 9th House of Expansion. This house reveals how open our minds are, and how much we expand ourselves through education, exploration, and life lessons. From philosophical conversations to book research to world travel, the 9th house encourages you to go further than you’ve ever gone before. Sagittarius’ drive for adventure, growth, and awareness is strongly represented here.

When Venus is in Sagittarius

Axel: “Love is what happens if there’s something really special between two people.”

Saïx’s weapon Horoscope incorporates the Venus and Sagittarius symbols while in its Berserk form. So, the astrological correspondence is Venus in Sagittarius. Venus is the planet of love, self-worth, and all things beautiful. Her style is sweet, cooperative, and peaceful. But when this graceful planet’s energy mixes with the free-spirited sign of Sagittarius, her joyful side comes out to play. Hearts come out of hiding while Venus moves through Sagittarius. The happy and free energy of Sagittarius turns Venus up a few notches, encouraging us to live life to the fullest. This is a time to socialize, to try new things, and to look for love in different places.

Sagittarius is the sign of the adventurer, so when Venus is traveling through this sign, we find ourselves drawn to exotic people, places, and experiences. Old routines and worn-out relationships are at risk of being traded in for something bigger, brighter, and better while Venus is in Sagittarius. We want to expand beyond our usual boundaries, and may give up some of our comfortable patterns of the past to try out new experiences. Love needs to grow during this transit – it will not stand still.

Sagittarius’ Element: Fire

No. VIII AXEL—An assassin who puts his own agenda first, and everything else on the back burner. Wields fire.

The zodiac sign Sagittarius is a Fire sign that lights up our lives with profound questions and exciting ideas. Just like an uncontrollable wildfire, this sign will happily go where the wind takes them to seek new experiences. Sagittarius uses its Fire energy on its lifelong journey of exploration, always ready to jump at the next adventure. The element of Fire continues to fuel Sagittarius’ never ending supply of optimism and inspiration.

The Goddess Hestia: The Keeper of the Flame

Axel: “Well, I think you can be inseparable, even if you’re apart. It’s like, if you feel really close to each other. Like best friends.”

Saïx’s weapons Moonrise and Moonset are shaped like ⚶ the astrological symbol for the asteroid Vesta, also known as Hestia in Greek mythology. Her name means “the essence”, the true nature of things. Hestia was the Greek Goddess of the sacred fire. She was the most influential and widely revered of the goddesses. She was was one of the three ‘virgin’ goddesses, next to Athena and Artemis. Hestia was depicted as a beautiful and bashful woman, usually seated. The living flame of Hestia was tended constantly and never allowed to die out, for it represented the energy of all life.

Hestia was a kind goddess and had a discrete character. She never left her residence, the sacred mountain of Olympus. She never involved herself in the fights and machinations of the other gods and goddesses, somehow managing to stay above the fray. Non-judgmental and forgiving, her unconditional love and calm acceptance inspired the love and trust of others in return. Dependable and caring, she was always there for them and helped them to manage their lives, which were certainly more exciting than her own. These virtues define the goddess Hestia: mild, gentle, forgiving, peaceful, serene, dignified, calm, secure, stable, welcoming, and, above all else, well-centered.

Sagittarius’ Color: Purple

Axel: “You know, I’ve been thinking about something Naminé said. Roxas…are you really sure that you don’t have a heart? Is it possible that we all have one? You, me, her… Or is that just wishful thinking?”

Rich and luscious purple is the color of Sagittarius. Purple is a color of abundance, which encourages Sagittarius’ natural luck and its drive to expand its mind and world. The color purple is also associated with spirituality and enlightenment, empowering Sagittarius’ philosophical explorations and lifelong quest for knowledge.

The Sun

Axel: “Hey, Roxas. Bet you don’t know why the sun sets red. You see, light is made up of lots of colors. And out of all those colors, red is the one that travels the farthest.”

Roxas: “Like I asked! Know-it-all.”

Saïx’s weapons Orbit and Lunar Phase incorporate the Sagittarius symbol with the combined stars of Ishtar and Shamash. There’s also a Recusant’s sigil visible over the Sun symbol. The Sun, the giver of life, represents our conscious mind in astrology. It represents our will to live and our creative life force. Just as the planets revolve around the Sun in our solar system, we derive our life purpose from the Sun in our natal charts. The Sun is our ego. It is the part of us that reasons things out, and makes final decisions. The Sun is our basic identity, and represents self-realization. The Sun also represents our overall vitality. The happiest people on this earth are those who identify with the Sun’s expression.

Sagittarius’ Quality: Mutable

Axel: “Let’s meet again in the next life.”

Roxas: “Yeah. I’ll be waiting.”

As the last sign of autumn, Sagittarius helps us celebrate one last hoorah as fall comes to a close and the season of hibernation begins. Sagittarius, with a love for variety and change, uses its Mutable energy to shake the fiery radiance off the leaves and allow them to fall. As winter approaches, this Fire sign keeps us going by fueling our desire for adventure and fun, and helps us remain optimistic that light and warmth will return again.

#kh meta #kh axel #kh lea #leaisa #isalea #akusai #kingdom hearts meta #kingdom hearts

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