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cheri-translates · 3 years

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[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Fireworks into the Heart

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (烟花入心) which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Features S2 Gavin. References are made to S2 Ch 16

[ Chapter One ]

“Wang Xiao Cui, you’ve been employed by the STF’s Logistics Department. Report to the cafeteria at 8am tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’ve been hired to work in the STF cafeteria.

As a nutritionist with over thirty years of experience, joining the STF isn’t a problem for me.

My old companion isn’t able to understand why I’m not using my years of retirement to enjoy life. Without giving him a response, I simply smoothen the small creases on my STF uniform carefully.

As an ordinary person, the STF always had a mysterious and prestigious impression in my eyes. Agents who are able to work here are all heroes with indomitable spirits.

Being able to take care of their meals and enable them to get more nutrition every day to strengthen their bodies and better protect Loveland City gives me a sense of honour in protecting this city too.

Based on my experience, taking care of a group of young people is a piece of cake. However, I didn’t expect to make the mistake of underestimating this place.

Standing in front of the cafeteria’s bleak signboard at 7.30am, I witness several agents carrying Tianjin-style deep-friend dough sticks through the doors. Someone even carries several bags of fried beef buns. While walking, he speaks in a loud voice:

"I braved the risk of running laps to bring you guys fried buns again!”

“During training later, no one’s allowed to snatch that new gun from me.”

The other agents let out a “tsk”, taking the fried buns and chilli paste from him before dividing them amongst themselves.

Fresh out of the oven, hot steam rises from the buns in the cafeteria, and nobody bats an eye. The master who steamed the buns has already grown accustomed to this. They stand in groups of twos and threes, engaging in idle chatter.

Why doesn’t anyone in the STF like eating food from the cafeteria?

Unable to figure out an answer after much thought, I happen to spot a handsome lad dressed in a white uniform. His steps are steady, and he brings along a breeze when he walks. I immediately call out to him.

“Hey! Young lad, wait.”

The handsome lad stops in his footsteps, giving me a sweeping glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No no, I'm the new nutritionist in the cafeteria. I just wanted to ask you something. Why don’t the STF agents love to eat cafeteria food? From what I can see, the Nourishing Meal has meat and vegetables, and it’s pretty rich in nutrition.”

The handsome lad is silent for a moment before responding to my question.

“The healthy meals place too much focus on health, and they don’t taste any better than the small stalls outside.”

“Captain Gavin, the materials from yesterday’s case have been tidied up.”

“Mm, I’ll have a look at them.”

The handsome lad who was addressed as “Captain Gavin” sees that I have no further questions. Giving me a nod, he takes large strides towards the office.

With a frown, I take a bite out of a celery meat bun. Aside from the taste being slightly bland, I don’t find anything wrong with it. Furthermore, adding too much salt would reduce its nutritional value, so it’s a given that less salt would be added to it.

However, since this point was brought up, it means there’s room for improvement.

In order to prepare food that better suits the palate of STF, I spend a whole week lying low and observing the favourite eateries that the STF agents enjoy eating most, and try out all of their famous dishes.

Based on their palate, I meticulously prepare a modified version of trial dishes.

On the first day of introducing the trial dishes, I brim with enthusiasm while bringing out a “New Dishes to Try” signboard, thinking that this would raise the reputation of the STF’s cafeteria. However, even after half a day, the only things that enter are mosquitoes which I swat to death.

There’s a cold breeze at the entrance. I look at the clock hanging on the wall of the cafeteria - lunchtime is almost over.

Deciding not to wait any longer, I head outside, planning to grab a few people in to try the dishes.

The moment I step outside, my eyes brighten when I see that lad from before.

His footsteps are hurried, and he has a packet of instant noodles in his hand. He probably has to deal with some urgent matters, which is why he has to make do with that for lunch.

How is that good? An STF agent eating instant noodles? Where would I, a nutritionist, hide my pride? I hurriedly stop him.

“Young lad, there are new dishes in the cafeteria. Since you’re about to eat, why don’t you try the cafeteria? It’d be a quick meal.”

He pauses in his footsteps for a slight moment, his refusal ready. However, when he sees the menu behind me, he suddenly blinks, then looks up to give me a nod.

“I’ll have to trouble you then.”

With this, he walks into the cafeteria. I look at the menu. There’s only a simple line written on it - “Today’s Special: Chicken with Chilli”.

Does he like eating chicken with chilli?

[Note] To be precise, this dish is called 辣子鸡 (là zǐ jī). It’s a a stir-fried dish consisting of marinated then deep-fried pieces of chicken, dried Sichuan chilli peppers, spicy bean paste, Sichuan peppers, garlic, and ginger.

[ Chapter Two ]

The young man eats quickly and seriously. Ignoring the fact that that he’s eating at an unhealthy pace, I feel very relieved. When he walks over to return the tray, I ask him a question.

“You’re done, young lad? How’s the taste? Do you think there’s anything to improve on?”

The young man sets the tray down. After a moment of serious contemplation, he give his response.

“The taste isn’t bad. If you’re asking for suggestions, since it’s chicken with chilli, you could add a little more chilli.”

I record his suggestions in my notebook earnestly. At the same time, I’m secretly amazed at how members of the STF are truly talented individuals. I created this chicken with chilli dish based on the spice levels in Sichuan cuisine, but he still didn’t find it spicy enough.

Look like there’s much room for improvement in future dishes.

The next day, I continue with my plan to introduce trial dishes. However, most of the STF agents are already used to eating out. The ones who try the dishes are few and far between. Just as lunchtime is about to end, a familiar figure once again appears at the door of the cafeteria.

He’s the young man who ate the chicken with chilli yesterday.

He walks straight in, taking a tray and getting food. Although he doesn’t say anything, I feel very moved, and wonder if this kid dropped by specially to support the canteen’s business.

I inform him that red braised pork is being served today, accompanied with bitter gourd and scrambled eggs. He seems a little hesitant when he sees the bitter gourd. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything, finding a place to sit down and eat.

Over the next two weeks, it seems that as long as he isn’t out on missions or doing anything else, that young man would come to the cafeteria.

It appears that he’s a Captain or something. With his impetus, more and more people gradually eat in the cafeteria, and I have a better understanding of his reticent young man.

His name is Gavin, and he’s the Captain of the Special Ops Team. I heard that the Special Ops team is the hardest squad to get into within the STF. They are one of the very best in terms of resolved cases. Everyone in the team are the cream of the crop, much less the Captain.

I heard about how this Captain usually rushes to the most forefront when faced with any danger, which is why he receives much adoration from the team. Of course, the number of injuries and stack of silk banners in the storeroom are proportional to each other.

On the days when he isn’t around, there’s a high chance that he’s out on a mission, or having his injuries treated in the infirmary.

“Aunt Wang, give me the same chicken with chilli as Captain Gavin!”

A red-haired agent’s voice pulls me back to reality. He carries a tray, pointing at the chicken with chilli from across the glass. I give him a huge scoop of it. He carries the tray and sits at a row of tables close to the window. There are quite a number of people donning the same uniform, and Gavin is one of them.

“Captain Gavin, why have you fled from our braised beef noodles alliance? You’ve also stopped eating cup noodles with us when we work overtime.”

“Mm, this is something you’re unaware of. Our Captain Gavin has someone who cares for him.”

"Last time, that Miss Producer was filming something and gave us handmade biscuits. You were on leave so you didn’t know about this. Captain Gavin’s biscuits were several times more exquisite than ours. They were even heart-shaped.”

The agents wink at each other and chatter on incessantly. Gavin, the main topic of the conversation, continues eating calmly. When he finally feels slightly annoyed by the clamour, he puts down his chopsticks, glancing at the red-haired agent.

“Tang Chao, it seems that your stamina is getting better with your daily laps.”

“You’ll be my partner for the next mission.”

The red-haired agent immediately pulls a long face.

“Captain Gavin, it's not that I don’t want to be your partner. But based on my fighting skills, I’ll only be a burden to you.”

“I’ll continue shining as a support personnel, and be an emotionless lie detector for the Special Ops Team!”

Gavin ignores the red-haired officer whose name is Tang Chao. But when he lowers his head to drink the soup, I can see his slightly arched brows.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve always been seeing his composed and chilly side, and even thought that was his personality. It turns that he’s still a young man. It’s just that he hides that unrestrained aura that young people have, and doesn’t display it easily.

Perhaps that’s the fetter of being a Captain.

Looking at these young people, I suddenly feel as though I’ve found the reason why my trial dishes have not been successful.

It’s probably because I’ve never tried to truly understand this group of young people.

[ Chapter Three ]

I’m no longer stubborn when it comes to the dishes. Instead, I pay more attention to observing the dietary habits of this group of young people. Gradually, many more pages on the notebook which I use to record modified recipes are written on.

Everything goes smoothly. However, I notice that Gavin hasn’t visited the cafeteria for meals in a long while.

When the red-haired officer comes to collect his food, I scoop pork ribs and winter melon soup for him, and find myself asking him a question.

“Why hasn’t your Captain been coming down to eat in the cafeteria these days?”

He scratches his head, his tone less carefree as before.

“Captain Gavin’s injuries from this mission were a little more serious, so he’s still getting treated in the hospital.”

Before coming to the STF, the word “injuries” was associated with a sliced finger from cutting vegetables, or being scratched while playing with a cat. But after coming to the STF, I realised that there are many other ways people can get hurt.

The STF has doctors who understand Evolvers most in the whole of Loveland City. Logically speaking, even if it’s a fracture or external bleeding, patients can typically be discharged in a week.

That young man called Gavin hasn’t appeared in such a long time. Is he severely injured?

Even though we haven’t exchanged many words, I can’t help but worry about that young man.

He’s still so young. If anything were to happen to him, how worried would his family members be?

Perhaps due to the fact that he was the first agent willing to try food from the cafeteria, I find myself being more concerned about him, and wanting to know more about him. However, STF agents are disciplined and strict. When they’re eating in the cafeteria, they rarely mention Gavin. When he’s occasionally brought up, they say things that I’m unable to understand.

“She went to the hospital again today.”

“That’s fine. Her presence at the hospital is much more useful than a few of us going. At least Captain Gavin would smile a little when he sees her. When we’re there, we’re like stalks of grain, and can do nothing but watch helplessly.”

“The next time the ‘Snake’ bites, we can’t let Captain Gavin hold the fort again.”

In the fog of their conversation, I’m unable to understand anything. I’m getting old, and my ears aren’t as useful. I shake my head, turning around and heading back into the kitchen.

Just when I think Gavin’s injuries have rendered him unable to return to the team, he appears.

While I’m writing the lunch menu on the whiteboard, I spot Gavin and his squad mates walking in together. He has become much thinner, and looks very pale. Even so, his entire frame remains as solemn as always, a sense of sharpness emanating from him.

When I hand him braised beef noodles, he gives me a nod.

“Thanks.”

He picks up the chopsticks and eats the noodles. When he sees the slices of beef in the bowl, he’s slightly stunned. However, he returns to normal in an instant, continuing to eat as usual.

When they’re halfway through eating, the communication device at Gavin’s waist suddenly beeps. He presses the communication device, his expression changing when he hears the message.

“The ‘Snake’ has left the hole. Take action.”

With his command, everyone abandon their meal and hurriedly leave the cafeteria.

When Gavin passes by me, I can see traces of blood on the side of his sleeve.

It appears that he’s leaving for a mission before his wounds have completely healed.

The cafeteria lapses into silence. I tidy the table, looking at the beef noodles which only had a few bites taken out of it, and let out a heavy sigh.

I know how difficult it is to join the STF. People who join the STF are so incredible. But I still wish to know what kind of reasons would make such a young person charge forward and risk his life to the point where he can’t even have a proper meal.

[ Chapter Four ]

It’s very late at night, but the STF remains brightly lit.

Similar to the busy agents, I haven’t left either.

After this period of research and testing dishes, I discovered that the people here aren’t picky. They simply lack the time to sit down and eat slowly.

With this in mind, I restart the dish modifications.

The television in the cafeteria is currently showing the Loveland News. The host is reporting on something about “Evol Assassination Incidents”, and is criticising how the STF hasn’t been doing anything about them.

“Things here are turning upside down from how busy they are, and the infirmary is filled with people. And you claim that they aren’t doing anything? Reporters are so irresponsible these days.”

I shake my head, switching the television off. After calling a few colleagues over, we carry supper to the infirmary.

Due to the incident the news was reporting about, the STF has been in a mess recently. I heard that there aren’t enough beds in the infirmary for use.

My heart aches from how these kids are getting criticised even after getting injured. I’ve prepared sweet soup suitable for evening consumption, bringing them to the infirmary while they get treated.

While passing by the Captain’s office, I notice that the door isn’t closed, and I see someone standing inside.

It’s Gavin.

His side is facing the door, his hair is messy, and he’s leaning against the wall. One of his legs is lifted up, and he’s currently pursing his lips as he removes his combat gloves.

He appears to have lacked sleep for several days, and quiet fatigue emanates from his entire frame.

However, he doesn’t seem to have shown this side of him to anyone outside, demanding himself to only leave this version of himself to an empty office in the depths of night.

I knock on the door. The moment he hears this, he quickly straightens up, his sharp gaze sweeping over. When he sees that it’s me, his amber eyes are stunned, and he nods.

“Please come in.”

Walking in, I place a bowl of snow fungus soup on his table.

“Everyone has been working hard in the bureau lately. We decided to make some sweet soup for all of you to relieve the fatigue. Drink this soup while it’s hot. There’s Chinese wolf berry and longan in it, so it’s pretty nourishing.”

Gavin nods. Stray hairs stick messily against the sides of his eyes and brows. I’m guessing that since he’s a kid who usually puts up a strong front, he probably doesn’t like others seeing his sorry state. I hurriedly wave my hands to signal that I’m leaving.

Before I walk out of the door, Gavin suddenly asks me a question.

“Aunt Wang, is your cafeteria recipe modification going smoothly?”

I can hardly believe that he actually remembered such a trivial matter.

Just how many things does he concern himself with?

“Very smoothly. I’ve been looking into a new fast-food style beef noodles, and plan to introduce it to the bureau.”

“Fast-food beef noodles?”

“Mm. There used to be very few people in the cafeteria because I only paid attention to maintaining the nutritional value of dishes. But if people don’t even have the time to eat, how can I talk about nutrition?”

“Right now, I’m looking into preparing beef noodles that are both nutritious and can be eaten really quickly. Such noodles are more diverse in flavour, and the nutritional value is easy to maintain.”

After saying all of this, I follow up with a question.

“But I'm still considering whether to use bean sprouts or eggs as a substitute. Which do you prefer?”

Perhaps few people have asked him something as trivial as his dietary preferences. He gives this very serious thought before providing a careful answer.

“I’d prefer eggs.”

I nod, then find myself giving him my sincere and earnest wishes.

“No matter how busy work is, you need to have proper meals. Even though rice and vegetables seem simple, they are part of life.”

“Whenever you head forward so urgently, have you ever thought of whether you might be forcing yourself too much?”

When Gavin hears this, he’s taken back. I don’t continue. With a sigh, I turn around and leave.

[ Chapter Five ]

The new fast-food beef noodles introduced in the canteen received a huge welcome amongst the agents. It became the favourite supper of agents who worked overtime on cases. Given the positive responses, I also released different flavoured fast-food products.

With this signature dish, the STF canteen finally became lively every day.

But the strange things is, I didn’t see Gavin for a very long time. I heard that he... temporarily relieved himself of his duties.

I have no idea what happened, but I trust that he had his reasons, and I silently hope that the kid can be safe.

Afterwards, a strange fog enveloped Loveland City. I was protected by STF agents, and later heard that Gavin was the one who retrieved the fog.

I’m just about to prepare dinner in the cafeteria when I hear the news that Gavin’s in the hospital. News related to the STF’s retrieval of the fog is being broadcasted, and Gavin’s powerful and resounding voice can be heard.

“This round of the Hunter Game is over.”

I lift my head to see that familiar figure on the television, determined and composed.

“Thank you all for protecting the dignity of this city.”

When he had meals in the cafeteria before, I often wondered how this taciturn young man could persevere on his own, shouldering high pressure that ordinary people find difficult, and also protect tens of thousands of ordinary people.

Right now, I understand.

It’s because he has a heart of justice that’s gentler and more unwavering than anyone else -

And this heart has guided him onto a path destined to be rugged, where he will pursue justice with no second thoughts.

But I’m still a little puzzled. Doesn’t he find it lonely when walking down this path?

With the assistance of the red-haired agent, I carry chicken wonton soup to Gavin’s hospital ward.

The door is closed, and I can hear an indistinct voice of a girl drifting from the inside.

From across the glass, I see a girl sitting at the bedside, a pink bento box on the table.

The girl is resting a hand against her cheek while supervising Gavin as he eats the bento. Meanwhile, the young man sitting on the bed is eating it one mouthful at a time, earnestly and tenderly.

For some reason, I find myself grinning.

On this path filled with ups and downs, someone is willing to accompany him, wait for him, sit down together with him, and have a serious, proper meal with him.

I leave the hospital with the thermos box.

Being here for so many days, I’ve grown used to this place, grown used to the whistle at 6.30am in the morning, grown used to the agents finishing their meals within ten minutes and rushing off, and grown used to the lights in STF illuminating my path like starlight when I’m heading home at night.

My old companion often asks why an oldie like me continues going to the STF.

It’s because I can see a broader world here. I can see souls with determined spirits. I’ve never felt more alive and fulfilled in my entire lifetime.

This is the meaning that STF gives me.

I hope that the young man called Gavin, as well as the countless young people who are like Gavin, will always lead a fulfilling life.

...and that they may always be safe.

May he, along with the girl he watches silently, return to life through every meal while embracing justice.

💙 More S2 content: here

💙 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

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Dornish Delights - Oberyn Martell

A/N: This is Shop Week 2 Day 11 of the January AU Writing Challenge. Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell X Reader

Warnings: 18 + (Language & Kisses)

Word Count: 1K

My Masterlist

Moodboard made by @ghostwiththemostbitch. I LOVE HER! IT’S SO PRETTY!

I like buying books at this one bookstore, particularly because you work here and think you’re cute AU.

You put the car into park and put your head down on the steering wheel, taking deep, calming breaths. The morning had been an absolute nightmare. Your mother was staying with you for a few weeks due to her apartment getting fumigated, and she was intolerable. Always making some comment or criticizing how you did something. There was nothing that you could do right, and she made it her life’s mission to remind you.

This morning it hard started with the dining room table. Usually, you were pretty organized, but the last few days, you’d come home late and been exhausted, the mail piling up on the table. Instead of helping you organize the space, she chose to screech at you about impeding on her spot. It was then the breakfast; it didn’t have enough flavor, it was too salty, and it was cold. She nitpicked every single thing. Then, the most uncomfortable conversation came around again; about your relationship. Or lack of.

That’s how you ended up here at your favorite bookstore, Dornish Delights. From the outside, it looked like a plain old brick building. The sign above was new, a large golden painted sun right in the middle, but all the rest had been worn from age. The inside is where the treasure is unveiled.

You let out a sigh as you walk inside, the tinkle of the bell alerting your presence, and you take in your home away from home. The whole room is flooded with natural lighting from the enormous sky lights. A plethora of couches, overstuffed arm chairs, and a large mural of the ocean covers the back wall. Everything draped in blankets and pillows the color of a sunset in natural oranges, yellows, and rich golds.

The scent of books, jasmine, and citrus calm your nerves as you move over to the counter. You hear his footsteps before you see him; Oberyn Martell. You’d met him six months before when he first opened the shop. You’d pulled over and gone in only intending to check out the newest book store, but you’d come away with so much more.

Oberyn was in his forties, with black hair and a mustache; the scruff of facial hair follow the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes were bright with happiness that seemed to spread from him and flow into you. He always dressed for comfort; jeans, flip-flops, and a different color shirt for every single day.

“Sunshine,” his voice already brings a smile to your face as his accent comes out thick and deep. “It’s early for you, are you alright?” He comes around the counter, and you look into his eyes, nodding yes before slowly changing it to a no.

Oberyn had become your friend instantly; he was so easy to talk to and loved to tell you tales of his childhood in Dorne. A small island off the coast of Spain. You’d spent so many nights over glasses of wine or tea talking on the plush couches about everything; he’d quickly become a constant in your life.

“What did she do now?” his voice turns hard as his lips turn down, and he reaches forward, pulling you into his chest. You feel so small as he tucks you under his chin and places his lips to your head, the tears pooling in your eyes, falling like raindrops.

“I just- I can’t do anything right,” you cry into his chest, fisting his shirt between your hands.

“Oh, my beautiful sunshine, she doesn’t know what she is talking about. Anyone would be mad to think you any less than perfect.” You let out a watery chuckle pulling away to look into his chocolate brown eyes.

“I am not perfect; you’re biased,” he chuckles and nods before kissing your forehead, letting his lips linger on your skin as you close your eyes.

“Do you want some tea?” he whispers away and cups your cheeks beneath his palms. “I bought more of your favorite.” You sigh and open your eyes, smiling through the tears.

“Why are you so good to me?” His smile could rival the sun streaming into the shop, making him glow.

“Because you are my Sunshine,” the air shifts around you, almost supercharged as his smile droops and his hands move down to your neck, and he steps closer. “I care about you.”

You try to deflect, not wanting to reveal your feelings, even though your heart is furiously beating out of your chest. “I bet you say that to all your customers.” He turns your neck to look back at him, and your mouth goes dry at the look in his eyes.

“You have not been just a customer for some time.”

“What do you me-” he cuts you off with his lips. Bringing your face closer and kissing you with an unrestrained hunger. You take a moment to respond, but then you’re pulling him closer until the space between you is non-existent. He runs his hands down and wraps his arms around your waist as you take fistfuls of his shirt into your hands. His tongue coming out to lip your bottom lip begging for entrance. Gasping you feel him tangle himself with you both fighting for dominance.

“Oh, my,” you both jump apart at the woman standing in the door, jaw open.

“I’m sorry we’re closed,” Oberyn steps away from you and turns his charms on the woman. Quickly offering her a percentage off her next purchase and shuffling her out the door. He flicks the sign off and locks the door standing there, catching his breath. When he turns to you, you tremble at the heat in his eyes. His hair is mused, shirt wrinkled and fucking gorgeous. “Tell me if you don’t want this. Because I’ve been in love with you for months.”

Oh, my fucking… “I love you,” you don’t think, the words just spilling from your lips, and he smiles a real genuine smile, and it takes your breath away. Taking the last remaining steps and closing any distance between you, kissing you senseless.

“Will you go out with me?” he asks between kisses, and you giggle, nodding. “Now, I’m going to kiss you until we are both satisfied because of I have dreamed of these sweet lips for too long but after, I will go with you and we will handle your mother, together.”

“At least she will stop asking me about my relationships,” he chuckles holding you close, “Thank you for helping me. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Don’t worry my love, I will be your champion.”

Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @mrsparknuts @ghostwiththemostbitch @zannemes @xjaywritesx @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @lunarthoughts @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @chicken-ona-stick @its--fandom--darling

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #Game of Thrones #Game of thrones AU #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #January Writing Challenge #300 follower celebration #Autumn Writes

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sleepylixie · 4 years

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Of Walls and Wonderlands

College! Kim Seungmin X fem! reader, Imperium Universe

1.8k words, Fluff, College! AU, Friends to (future)lovers

A/N: Soft Uni Seungmin was so difficult to write though?? I really hope I caught his aura right >.< ONTO THE FIC!! Do send me feedback, I’d love to hear what you think of this ficc >.<

Imperium Universe || Jisung ||Seungmin || Chan || Lee Know ||

If anybody had told you a year ago that you’d be dating a guitar-playing, puppy-eyed law student with a sharp tongue, you’d have laughed in their face and brushed them off. You weren’t the type to date- you weren’t the type for romance at all.

Growing up as the youngest sibling in a family full of talent and outspoken opinions, you’d built a wall around yourself very early on to protect your own smaller, more personal sentiments. It was possible that very wall that left you a closed-off, almost intimidating air that made people think twice about approaching you. You didn’t mind it, really. It was peaceful, within those walls, an isolated wonderland that nobody could ruin for you.

That is until a certain Kim Seungmin came along. It was almost easy, falling for him; Seungmin was the kind of boy that anybody could end up falling for. You didn’t expect your feelings for him to be returned, of course. You knew how you were- cold, prickly, almost unpleasant, a complete opposite to his warm, open self.

Surprisingly enough, that wasn’t the case.

You first saw Seungmin at Imperium, the bar closest to your campus. Imperium, however, served a completely different purpose to those who knew of it: It was an entrance to the heart of the underground fight club network in your city. And you just so happened to be one of its’ sweethearts.

Minor fact about you:

You were a kickboxer. A good one at that.

You had a knack for it, the way your siblings had a knack for writing or dancing. When one of your gym trainers introduced you to the underground fight scene the summer after high school, you didn’t hesitate for a second before agreeing to join. Now halfway through university, you and your best friend were two of the best fighters the Imperium fight club had.

Changbin, your gym trainer, had told you to scope out competition for the new season, which was why you were at the club despite not having fights that day. The two of you had hung around a corner of the basement, talking to acquaintances, until Changbin asked you if you wanted to meet some of his friends.

Your hesitant agreement had him leading you to a rowdy group of 4 guys, who seemed more than happy to meet one of the club’s fighters. They introduced themselves one by one- you even recognized Hyunjin, the cheeky blonde bookie that loved to take your best friend’s bets before her fights.

Seungmin was true to his words, he really was a simple guy. You spoke throughout the evening, a rarity for you. He was a law major, the same year as you, a bathroom singer and an ardent DAY6 fan. He was unconstrained with his smiles and open with his opinions, razor-sharp with his wit and dry with his humour. It was so easy to talk to him, even for you- the kind of person who wasn’t much for small talk.

The last boy that spoke caught your eye. He was a little taller than the other guys, eyes a sparkling brown even in the harsh lighting of the basement. “Hi, I’m Seungmin,” His voice was soft, melodic, almost. You nodded slightly at the boys, a small smile slipping across your face as you introduced yourself.

“Oh, I know you,” exclaimed Minho, one of the other guys. “Aren’t you the one that won the rookie championship last year?” The rest of the boys regarded you with renewed curiosity, looks that you were used to. A girl in the circuit was still rare, much less a championship winner.

“Yeah.”

You spent the rest of the evening with the boys, mostly because you were intrigued by the boy called Seungmin. He kept up an easy conversation with you, calming despite the clamor and rage ripping across the basement after the fight slots began.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.”

He smiled at your comment, a show of pearly teeth and cosy warmth. “It isn’t. I got dragged here because Hyunjin thought I was spending too long with my textbooks.”

“So what is your kinda scene?” You were surprised at yourself, you never took the effort of keeping up a conversation like this- but Seungmin made you curious, you had to find out more.

“I’m a simple guy, really,” He laughed- he was cute, you thought. Really, really cute.

“You get me ice cream good music and good company, I’m yours.”

When the night winded down, he shyly asked to exchange numbers with you after insisting on walking you home. How could you not agree, especially with the way he looked at you, curious and admiring?

Your friendship with Seungmin progressed quickly- You met up a lot, explored cafes and had impromptu midnight grocery runs together. He was fun, almost puppy-like in his enthusiasm, his vibe so alluring that you ended up buying into it too. There was a lot of banter between both of you, effortlessly silly and extremely witty. Seungmin was the type to hound you with random tidbits of trivia, things you wondered why he even knew of. But it was so... So characteristic of him that you just found it endearing. Even his sharp, acerbic wit. Especially his sharp, acerbic wit.

Seungmin left you with warm cheeks and a wide smile, he felt like the kind of person you didn’t have to keep your walls up around. It felt nice, suddenly, to have somebody who could live in your wonderland with you and not judge you one bit.

The months passed faster with Seungmin, like a whirlwind of strawberry smoothies and fried chicken. There was an almost magnetic aura around him- maybe it was his charming boy-next-door smile or the way he carried himself, looking almost small, diminutive in stature despite his frame bordering on lanky. Over the months, you’d realized that maybe you enjoyed your time with Seungmin way more than you thought you would, maybe you had a little bit of a crush on him, maybe you’d wanted to peck his pretty lips more than one time before…

When he asked you to join him on a movie night with his roommates, you couldn’t refuse. Turned out, Jisung and his girlfriend enjoyed your company so much that you became a constant addition to their movie nights. So you found yourself frequenting Seungmin’s quaint, well-organized apartment every Saturday with assorted junk food, and the quiet excitement of meeting Seungmin again.

He turned up at one of your kickboxing sessions one day, watching in pure awe as Changbin took you through the motions of training for the new season. After asking if you were okay with him dropping by, he made it a point to turn up as often as possible, his guitar slung across his back. “You’re so good at this,” he’d say every time Changbin allowed you a break. Your heart would flutter a little every time, leaving you slightly flustered and warm in the face.

After you were done, he’d walk you home, sometimes pulling you into the park on the way and playing songs for you on the guitar.

“Holy fucking shit.” Seungmin’s reaction to your slightly battered frame was instantaneous, grabbing you gently by the shoulders and ushering you into his apartment. “It’s not that bad, I just need a few bandaids.” You protested, hissing softly at the sting that your split lip brought when you spoke. Seungmin scanned your frame quickly, marking the spots on your body that you seemed to carry heavy or marked with specks of blood.

A heavy silence weighed down on the room, a silence which demanded you break. “Sorry I had to disturb,” your voice came out smaller than you expected. “I got jumped a few blocks away from here, and this was the first safe place I could think of.”

His roommates took in your state from their perch on the kitchen counter, Jisung’s eyes wide in alarm. His girlfriend(and Seungmin’s third roommate) hopped off the counter, hurrying towards you and Seungmin.

“Min, you know where the first aid kit is, right?” She asked, taking your hand as she gently pulled you towards her room. “Get it to the kitchen, I’ll get Y/N a change of clothes.”

Soon enough, you were sat on Jisung’s previous perch on the kitchen counter, Seungmin giving you a stern once over as he tended to your injuries. Jisung and his girlfriend seemed to have retreated into one of the bedrooms, possibly to give you and Seungmin some space.

“What happened, darling?” He asked softly, knelt in front you as he dabbed antiseptic onto your knee. “One of the guys I beat last week wanted revenge,” you sighed, swallowing a hiss at the sting. “so he decided to jump me with some buddies.” You tried really hard to ignore the new nickname- a nickname you liked very much when he used it.

Seungmin’s head shot up, eyes flashing in incredulity. “Isn’t that against the rules?!” He asked, temporarily abandoning his ministrations. “Yeah, I’ll make a report tomorrow, he’ll probably get booted for this.” you shrugged.

“He probably wasn’t expecting me to be able to talk after? I don’t know.”

You’d never seen that dark look flash across your sweet boyfriend’s eyes before. “That sick bastard.” He never swore, your warm Seungmin.

“It’s okay, Min,” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair.

“I know it’s okay,” Seungmin said, standing up to focus on the injuries on your face and collar. “You enjoy kickboxing way too much to be fazed by something like this, I know you can take care of yourself, it’s just...”

He sighed, leaning closer to you as he checked on your split lip. “It scares me a little every time you end up hurt.”You could see the sprinkle of a blush heating up his cheekbones as he spoke the words, still focused on your lip. You couldn’t help it, a smile spread across your face, broad and unrestrained. Seungmin stopped and stepped back, his eyes wide with wonder. “You’re so beautiful…” the words left his mouth before he could stop them, and a rush of heat gave you a blush that mirrored Seungmin’s own.

“I- um-”

“That’s probably the first time I’ve ever seen you flustered,” he observed, a lopsided smile on his face. You returned his grin as much as you could without jostling your lip too much. Something had switched in the energy between you at his compliment, there was warm electricity where there was usually cool and easy banter.

It was new, unfamiliar, but strangely enough, you didn’t hate it.

“You should stay here for the night,” Seungmin offered, still in the soft voice he’d used before. “I’d end up worrying about you all night if you went home like this.”

“Okay.”

And that was how Jisung found the two of you next morning cuddled on the couch, Seungmin holding you with your head nuzzled into his neck, lost to the world. Even in sleep, Seungmin was careful of your newly acquired injuries, hands light around your waist and softly tangled in your hair.

It was warm in your wonderland, and it was all because of Seungmin.

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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

Text

Of All the Places

Chapter 14

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: Loki and the Avengers arrive in Oklahoma City, but he still has to get to your farm before it’s too late. He figures out a way to get the Chitauri off of Midgard once and for all. Chapter Warnings: brief, slightly descriptive blood and violence; some language I think A/N: Last chapter is here! The epilogue posts in a few minutes, and then this series will be done! I hope you enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @marvelousdaydreams @andromedasstarship @lokistan @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs @sourpatchspinster @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

When the Quinjet finally landed just outside Oklahoma City, Loki was quick to duck down to the best hiding spot he could find. Behind a few crates, he watched and listened as the Avengers moved around him, waiting for the all clear.

“Ok, listen,” Captain America said, squatting down in front of him. “We let you come along, now you have to follow our plan.”

“With all due respect, Captain, I cannot do that. Unless, of course, you plan to let me get to the farm I was staying at, but I highly doubt that is the case.”

“It’s not. Why would we do that?”

“Because the Chitauri are after me, and they are not going to stop at the city.”

“And you know this how?”

“I do not, but I feel it. That family, those innocent civilians, they are in danger because of me. After all that they did for me, I must save them. Certainly you can understand that.”

Captain Rogers just sighed and stood up to deliberate with his teammates. The whole conversation was merely just a formality, though, because Loki planned on teleporting himself home—or, well, to the farm which he may never have the privilege of a calling home again—even if they wanted to keep him here. While he appreciated Thor’s trust in him, it was rather naïve of them all to keep him unrestrained.

With everyone else distracted, Loki took the opportunity to peek out the window. There were at least fifteen other jets and planes on the ground, and more agents than the god could count. At least the city would be covered while he saved his friends. Beyond that, everything was chaos. While SHIELD’s defenses got into position, the Chitauri continued rampaging in the streets, most of them still well equipped from the last attack. Looking at the damage, Loki felt indescribable grief and sadness. How many more people were going to have to suffer because of his actions? The guilt was getting to be too much to bear. He stifled a cry as he turned back to the Avengers.

“Ok, fine,” Captain finally said once they were finished debating. “You can go, but only if they’re actually in danger. If not, come right back.”

“You have my word. I shall teleport myself there and report back once they are safe.”

“Not so fast, Reindeer Games,” Tony cut in, the mask of his suit shutting closed. “We’re not quite at that level of trust yet.”

“It is true,” Thor added. “I will be coming along, just to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

Loki was a little offended, but all in all, it was understandable. And backup wasn’t the worst thing to have, he supposed. Knowing that anything he said would end up sounding rude, he just nodded his head in agreement.

“It is settled then. Good luck, my friends,” Thor said before turning to Loki, who was conjuring his armor onto himself. “This shall be great fun, brother. Think, the two of us, fighting side by side once more.”

“Yes, you always did enjoy a good battle,” Loki reminisced, laughing a little. “But right now, my main focus is on my beloved. I know you will cover me, brother, but our first priority must be getting them and their family to safety.”

“Indeed. Let us go then.”

Not wanting to waste another second, Loki quickly teleported them to your farm. A wave of sadness washed over him as he saw the house, a million memories he’d already been trying to forget flooding back. Stealthily, they moved as close as they could. Everything was quiet, except for the chickens clucking in the distance. Though nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary, Loki still knew something was wrong.

Thor looked around and then back at Loki. “It seems that there is nothing happening-”

His statement was cut off by a Chitauri appearing out of seemingly nowhere. Loki wondered why, now that he was fighting against them, they suddenly became so skilled. Thor quickly flipped the alien off his back as more appeared. Including the first one, there were six outside plus at least one inside judging by the scream that suddenly came from the house.

“Can you handle these ones, Thor?” Loki questioned as he stabbed one in the eye, blasting another with magic.

“Easily,” Thor responded, swinging Mjolnir down on one of their heads. “Go inside and help there. And be safe, brother!”

“You too.”

Without another word, Loki was taking off and smashing through the front door. He looked around frantically, but saw no signs of a struggle. He feared that he might be too late, that they took you by surprise and wiped you all out in a matter of minutes. Thankfully, a large crash came from the kitchen, followed by another scream. He ran in to find a pitcher shattered near the door, and Mama backed into a corner by two Chitauri.

Loki’s old, vengeful self decided to make an appearance now, of course. This was the woman who turned him in, who time after time prevented him from being with his beloved. Of all the members in this household, she was the one who never accepted him. Hell, the cat was more friendly than she was. But even after everything, she was just doing what she thought best for her family. He couldn’t leave her to die for something like that. And, really, didn’t he understand her, too? To know such pain that it changes your perception of the world to be so cynical of everything, everyone. Yes, he most certainly was familiar with that.

“Stay back, you foul beasts!” he screamed at his former allies before taking a swing with his trusty dagger.

Loki found himself missing his scepter as he fought his opponents, leading them away from Mama.

She screamed again, though he wasn’t sure if it was directed at the Chitauri, him, or the generally gory scene of him running one through. Most likely the last one, but he’d have to worry about any trauma after the battle was done. Even with a fatal wound like that, it kept fighting. They dealt a few good blows to Loki, too, including a particularly painful gash across his cheek, right above the part his helmet covered. He tasted blood in his mouth as they started getting the upper hand. He made clones of himself, confusing the simple-minded creatures. With the distraction, he was able to finish them off, completely decapitating one and smashing in the head of the other against the banister of the stairs.

That same unsettling quiet settled over the house again. Loki wanted to believe he’d finished them all off, because, really, how many could there be? But he felt it in his gut: something still wasn’t right.

Taking off towards the kitchen again, Loki decided the best thing was to just get Mama out of there and figure out where the rest of you were. Still on edge, he kept looking around, but found nothing.

“Listen,” he said to Mama, who was still cowering in a corner. “I know how you feel about me, but you have to get out of here. And I need you to tell me where everyone else is so I can keep them safe.”

“I... I-Behind you!” she screamed.

Loki whipped around just in time to see a Chitauri about to bash his head in. Before he could move any further, the alien fell to the ground. Looking back up, he saw you standing with a baseball bat still raised. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fallen enemy begin to stir again, and quickly finished it off with his dagger. When he was sure it was dead, he looked back up at you. The second your eyes locked, you dropped the weapon. A silence followed the clatter of wood on wood, no one quite sure what to say.

“I gotta stop going out in the morning,” you nervously laughed after clearing your throat. “I keep missing all the excitement.”

You and Loki looked at each other for another beat before rushing forward at the same time, lips colliding. With his daggers back in their dimensional pocket, the trickster’s hands were free to cup your cheeks. You wrapped your arms behind his neck, getting lost in the kiss. All too soon, you had to break away, but you kept your foreheads pressed together, not yet willing to lose contact. He noticed you were wearing the hoodie he’d given you back on that first day at the creek. It only occurred to him now that you’d never actually returned it. You gently brushed away some of the hair that was clinging to his face, poking out from his helmet. It seemed to you that this might just be a dream, that he might not be real.

“My brave little Midgardian,” Loki whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Are you alright? Are you injured?”

“I’m fine,” you choked out in a tone heavy with emotion. “But... But you, are you ok? They just dragged you out. Loki, I was so worried.”

“I am ok. I have much to tell you. But, I saw you with Denzel. I thought you were with him again.”

“Oh, Loki. I was just upset, and he happened to be there. I want to be with you.”

He didn’t know what else to say, so he kissed you again, hoping it was expressing everything words couldn’t. Loki wished you could stay like that forever, but he knew there was still so much to do.

“My darling, I am so sorry. For everything,” he said. “You deserve a proper explanation, and I promise you will get one if it is the last thing I do.”

“That wouldn’t be the first promise you’ve broken,” Mama scoffed, getting up from her corner, but her heart wasn’t really in the snide remark.

“Excuse me, but he just saved your life,” you shot back before Loki could, surprising both him and your mother. “I think you owe him, at very least, a thank you.”

“Fine, you’re right. I’m sorry. And thank you. For saving me. Us.”

“You are quite welcome. I would do anything for this family,” Loki confessed for the umpteenth time. “It is like I told you, it was never my intention to hurt it.”

“I know.”

“Loki,” Thor bellowed from the front door. “Are you in here? Are you injured?”

“Brother! I am in here and unharmed. Relatively.”

Your mother’s jaw dropped as a relieved Thor walked in, Mjolnir still in his hand. You barely even paid him any mind, now fussing over Loki who had taken his helmet off, fully displaying the cuts on his face. He hissed a little as your fingers brushed along the skin under the worst one, but he was quick to reassure you that you hadn’t hurt him. Instead of letting your fingers continue to wander his bloodied face, he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. Then he pressed your body to his, holding you close, safe and protected with his arm circling your waist. You were quick to wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face in his shoulder, a little shaken up from the events that had just transpired.

“Wait,” Loki said as a thought occurred to him. “Where is the rest of the family?”

“They’re in the city,” you replied, growing panicked as Loki paled. “Why? Loki, the attack was just here, right? They’re safe, right?”

“Do not worry,” Thor declared. “The Avengers and noble agents of SHIELD are there as we speak.”

“And my brother and I will go, too. Nothing will happen to them, I will make sure of it,” Loki added, kissing your temple.

How he wished there was time for proper introductions, but there simply was not. He would have to settle for waiting until the battle was over. If he and his brother both survived, that is. It was a chilling thought, and one that had come unbidden into his mind, but now it would loom over him the whole fight.

Loki tried to pull away from you, but you just grabbed his hand and pulled him right back. He looked at you in confusion, then worry as he noticed the determined look in your eyes. It was obvious what you were thinking, and he felt an odd mix of pride and nauseating fear.

“Absolutely not,” he sternly said. “Do not even think about it.”

“Oh, come on, Loki. Like I’m not coming, too,” you replied, stamping your foot. “I already lost you once, I’m not about to again.”

“And I lost you, my darling. If you come, your life will be in danger. I simply will not allow it. I cannot.”

“Listen, we’re stronger together, aren’t we? So we’ll face this together. Please.”

“Brother?” Thor asked, anxious to get back and help his friends. “Are you ready?”

“Alright, fine. You win, my darling,” the God of Mischief conceded. “On one condition. You must follow my orders. I will not have you getting yourself harmed out there.”

“Ok, deal. As long as I get to come make sure you’re safe,” you agreed.

“Honey, please. Don’t go,” Mama begged, beginning to cry. “You heard him, it’s going to be dangerous. You could get hurt. I-I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

“I’m sorry Mama, but I’m going.” You gave her a hug, letting here blubber into your shoulder. “Loki’s going to keep me safe. And you’re just going to have to trust me.”

You said goodbye as she managed to pull away from you, somewhat calmer. She tried to put on a brave face with some success, but Loki could see it wouldn’t last for long. At least she was finally putting some of her trust in you. It was about time. Tucking you under his arm and back against his side, Loki gave the woman a quick nod, a promise that he would let no misfortune befall you. Walking over to Thor, Loki began to work his seiðr. With one last look around the house, he teleported the three of you back to the city.

Landing behind a Quinjet, Loki heard you let out the most adorable little gasp. He smiled down at you before taking in the scene around him. It seemed like SHIELD’s top priority was to evacuate the city. Everything was still in a state of chaos, and he immediately regretted letting you talk him into allowing you to tag along.

The first order of business for him and Thor was obvious: Find the rest of the Avengers and help them take out the Chitauri. But you he had no idea what to do with. In a way, he felt better knowing that you were here, with him. That no other aliens could randomly appear at your house and hurt you. Then again, now that you’re here, you’re in just as much danger, if not more. You were too precious to him for him to be able to think clearly about the situation. Plus, the longer he stood there debating his options, the less time he had to find the rest of your family. His heart stuttered in his chest as he realized they might already be hurt. Or worse. The thought spurred him to action.

“We must get into the city and help with the evacuation. You know we stand the best chance against these monsters,” he said to Thor, who nodded along. He turned to you and softened his voice so you wouldn’t be any more scared than you currently were. “And you need to stick by me. Keep an eye out for your family. Remember, they might not all be together, so eyes peeled for all of them. Do not worry, everything will be ok.”

“Ok, let’s go,” was all you managed to say before the three of you moved towards the pandemonium in the streets.

“There you are, Point Break,” Tony shouted from overhead. “We could use some help here.”

“At your service, Man of Iron.”

“Ok, great. Quick question, why are you bringing a civilian into the city. You do know what an evacuation is, right?”

“This is my beloved,” Loki replied. “They insisted they come along and look for their family. And to, uh, be with me.”

“Aww how cute. They’re just as stubborn as you, Reindeer Games. Keep them out of the action please.”

Loki rolled his eyes, but pulled you closer still. It was his intention to keep you out of the battle, but he also planned on fighting. He couldn’t feasibly do both at the same time if he also wanted to keep you at his side.

“My darling, take this,” he said, equipping you with a dagger. “If you are attacked, aim for the eyes.”

“Thank you. I- Loki look! It’s John,” you shouted over the noise of a helicopter flying overhead, spotting your brother-in-law.

The raven haired god led you over to the man, who was bleeding out of a scrape on his arm. Loki had enough experience with wounds to know it looked a lot worse than it actually was. As you got closer, he saw that John was helping direct people out of the city, along with a few other civilians. The god nearly scoffed at the idea that SHIELD hadn’t even brought enough people to properly conduct an evacuation. When would they stop underestimating threats? Or maybe he’d just done some damage to their numbers. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he refocused on the task at hand. He was beyond relieved to see his friend, but unfortunately didn’t have much time for a reunion.

“John!” you said, taking the last few steps to him.

He looked over his shoulder at you and shouted your name. His face quickly went from a look of excitement to worry. Then he spotted the god, and it took on one of shock.

“Loki?” he gasped. “Are you alright, man? What’s going on?”

“I am just fine,” Loki told him, grasping hands in a firm shake. “As for what is happening here, the Chitauri are an alien race, regrettably brought here by me when I did not have full control of my faculties. Now they are searching me out, but I intend to stop them.”

“Where is everyone else?” you questioned, frantically searching for the rest of your family. “Ana and Matt and Papa? Have you seen them?”

“They’re already out of here,” John answered as you and Loki let out a sigh of relief. “They should be safe by now. But why are you here?”

“I’m helping Loki and the Avengers save the city. Speaking of, we should probably be meeting up with them now.”

Loki looked at you, then at the crumbling buildings in the distance and knew he’d let you come as far as possible. The situation was looking rather hopeless as it was right now, and he had to get into battle if he had any chance of making up for his past wrongdoings. But you, for as brave and determined as you were, had no training in combat. If he were to keep you, his beautiful, courageous Midgardian safe, then he’d have to give you some other task with which to distract yourself.

“No,” Loki replied. “I need you to stay here, help direct everyone else out of the city. It is of the utmost importance.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?” you pouted.

“For your safety and the safety of others, I need you to do this. Please.”

You looked into his eyes, having a battle within yourself. The desperate, pleading look on his face helped you reach a decision. “Ok, fine. I understand. But you have to promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I will. You too.”

It seemed as if he was going to leave then, but he couldn’t resist capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. The rest of the world melted away as you held on to each other, wishing things didn’t have to be this way. Alas, they were, and it was his fault. But no, it was really that damned Titan and his obsession with the Tesseract that had caused all this madness. Remembering that blasted relic did give him an idea, though. Loki would stop at nothing to set things right, and he had just figured out how.

“My darling, I must go now,” Loki said, breaking away from your lips only to place a kiss to your forehead. There was still one last thing he wanted to say, though, and as far as he could tell, it was now or never. “I love you.”

He broke off in a sprint away from you, not waiting for a reply, for he feared you would not feel the same. Your voice did shout after him, but he dared not look back. If he did, he knew he may never be able to leave you again, and he needed all his strength for what he had to do next. He would just have to trust that John would hold you back, that you would follow his directions as you promised you would.

Running through the streets, battling these wretched aliens he once commanded, Loki assessed the situation. He had his plan, but the city would have to be completely clear for it to work. That included the agents and Avengers. He’d need his brother’s help with that for sure.

“Thor,” he called out in a panic. “Brother, I need you!”

“Loki! Loki, what is it?” Thor asked, appearing quickly. He gripped Loki’s shoulders and began inspecting for injuries. “Are you ok? Is your beloved?”

“Yes, we are fine. I know what we must do to stop the Chitauri.”

“What is it?”

“There is no time to explain.” Well, that was actually a lie, but he knew Thor wouldn’t like the plan. Better not to tell him. “You are just going to have to trust me. I need you to get everyone out of here. And I mean everyone, yourself included.”

“It is a very odd request, Loki,” Thor said, mulling it over. “But I will do it. And what of you?”

“I must get to the center of the city. But do not worry about that, I will manage. I just need some kind of sign when it is clear.”

“It shall be done, but promise me one thing. You will stay safe.”

“You have my word.”

As they shook hands, Loki felt a twinge of guilt. His last statement to his brother, possibly ever, had been a falsehood. But he was the God of Lies, so he supposed it should not affect him. And yet, it did. At least this time it was a necessary one to tell.

Loki continued to weave his way through the streets. It was a great feat to dodge SHIELD agents, help civilians, and fight his foes all at the same time. Not to mention keeping his eyes open for you in case you were trying to make your way back to him. Tears stung at the back of his eyes as he thought of you. He was regretting not waiting around to hear how you felt about him. Now he’d always wonder about it. Well, for however long “always” was for him, anyway. If this all went down as planned, it wouldn’t be much longer.

The center of the city was the most densely populated with enemies. It would be difficult to hold them off while he waited for the signal, but he would manage. He had to manage. For the sake of you, your family, and the whole of Midgard. Just as things were starting to look bleak for the trickster god, the sky was lit up with a brilliant bolt of lightning and a resounding clap of thunder. He knew that was it, what he was looking for.

Loki struck the ground with a blast of magic, pushing the Chitauri away. He needed a second to get ready. Calling out to the Tesseract, he pulled it out of its dimensional pocket and into his waiting hand. It was a good thing he had not handed it over to his brother, after all.

The thought of Thor nearly made him cry out. He’d just gotten his brother back, but now he would never see him again. And what of his mother, Frigga? Would she mourn him when he was gone? Or would she be like Odin and scorn him forever? He believed it would be the former, but he could never know for sure.

And then there was your family, who was practically his family, too. He’d felt that way for a while now, but this time the thought filled him with only sadness. He was going to lose them, but he had no one to blame but himself. Well, and maybe Thanos, but Loki wasn’t one for giving himself a break. Regardless, they’d probably never even hear that part of the story. He hadn’t even seen half of them again. Loki hated that their last memory of him would be SHIELD agents dragging him away like some common criminal. It was strange how much things had changed, he mused, that he’d have such strong feelings about a group of mortals.

No matter how sad leaving behind everyone else made him, leaving you hurt the most. You were everything kind and good in his life. A beautiful, brilliant angel. You’d seen his scars and showed him he wasn’t broken, just healing. You made him realize that he was whole, and you were his match. The one the Norns has destined for him to be with. And now you were being separated by that same fate. It was a cruel punishment for what he’d done. He could only hope that this would redeem him in the eyes of the world. But he didn’t need it for his own view of himself; your love had done that already.

“Alright, you sons of bitches,” he said, taking a breath and gripping the glowing cube. “Time to send you back to the hellhole you crawled out of.”

In a flash of light, the city was encompassed with a blue, cloudy smoke. You looked on in a panic as it moved back into the center where Thor had told you Loki was. Once the fog had disappeared, you broke through the line of agents and ran into the city. It should have made you happy that all the Chitauri were gone, but it only filled you with dread. If they were gone, then what happened to the man you loved? Was he...? No, that thought was too terrible to entertain. You wouldn’t even consider the possibility until you’d exhausted all other options. You rushed to the spot where he should have been and let out a sob into the empty air.

Loki had disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Loki.”

His eyes opened and looked around. What was that noise? Where was he? What was happening?

Everything was blue.

“Loki.”

He knew that voice, so kind, so perfect. But who? His beloved.

You.

“Loki!”

You were crying out. Searching. For what? For who? For Loki.

For him.

A rainbow, sparkling lights. A void. It would be so easy to let go. He’d done it once before. It didn’t end well. But this time it was different, warm and inviting. Not cold. Not vengeful. Not full of hate. It was peace. But there was something else out there. A whisper.

“Loki, please.”

He was falling again, but he wasn’t scared this time. Deep in his heart, he knew where he was going. He knew he was safe. It was no decision, really.

It had always been you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki landed on the ground with a dull thud. His head was throbbing a little, but he’d been through worse. His eyes shot open, and he noted the familiar surroundings. A wheat field, similar to the last time the Tesseract had deposited him. In fact, exactly like it. He was back on your farm.

All that was ringing in his ears was your voice, calling out to him. It took a minute for him to remember anything else, then it all came flooding back. The city, the battle, his brother, his plan. That gave him a bit of a pause. He’d meant to send the Chitauri back where they came from. And then it hit him. He’d told the Tesseract to send them home. It had done the same for him. Of course! He was home.

The sound of a car in the distance made him snap back to his senses. He heard the slamming of a door, followed by shouting. There were a great number of voices that he could recognize, but only one really mattered right now. Yours.

Calling your name, Loki started running. You responded with his name, sounding confused and hopeful at the same time. Then you did it again louder and started running, too. Somewhere near the middle of the field, both of you stopped, just standing there staring at each other. Neither of you could believe it. It was like a dream, an outlandish fantasy. Then, at the same time, you ran the last little distance between each other, and met in an embrace.

You pulled away and Loki held you at arm’s length, examining your body for any serious injuries. After doing the same to him, you cupped his cheeks, caressing them with your thumbs. He covered your hands with his, trying to find the right words to say. You smiled through teary eyes, and Loki didn’t realize he was crying too until you wiped away a tear making a track down his face.

Loki couldn’t wait a second longer, he moved in and kissed you. It was like professing his love all over again, just without his words this time. He held you as close as possible and let your tongue slip into his mouth, taking control of the kiss. It was an odd thing to feel so tired, yet so alive at the same time. Your lips, they were electrifying. Addictive. If only he could live by breathing in you, not air. But he couldn’t, so he had to break away. Still, he didn’t know what to say. But that look in your eyes, it reflected back everything he was trying to tell you.

“Loki?”

“Yes, my darling.”

“I love you, too.”

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waveypedia · 3 years

Text

geez, you’re something to see

Rymin Week Day 2: Love Song

1 4 5 6 7

Ao3

tw for a small amount of implied homophobia and miscommunication

As the late afternoon sun pours in through the van’s windows, Ryan scribbles frantically on the piece of paper spread on the dashboard in front of him.

He’s crouched on the driver’s seat, the heels of his feet digging into the back of the chair. It’s not the most comfortable position, but after a long day of driving, Ryan can’t stand to stay sitting like he was the whole day. Besides, he needs to focus on the task at hand. On the paper, so innocuous and unassuming, that consumes his waking thoughts.

It’s creased and crumpled from days of hiding it away as fast as possible whenever Min comes in the vicinity (which is often, given how small the van is). But now that Min is away, out fetching his and Ryan’s dinners, the paper lays pressed open painstakingly.

I’ll rewrite it to look nice once I’m done, Ryan promises himself. Min will like it better that way.

That begs the terrifying question of whether Min will like it at all.

Ryan drags a hand through his messy hair, tugging on the ends. It’s growing out much more smoothly since Min started trimming it every month or so. Ryan pretends to complain that it ruins his rough-and-rugged rockstar look. But in truth he’d sacrifice much more to keep those nights where Min sits behind him, so close Ryan can feel Min’s breath on his neck. Ryan can’t lose the nights where Min cards his hands through Ryan’s hair oh-so-gently. He can’t lose the nights where Min holds his hair like he’s holding something valuable, instead of strands of hair his family members would disapprove of in length, rife in split ends. Ryan revels in the closeness, the domesticity, of it all far more than he should.

Ryan takes a deep breath and shakes himself out of it. Now is not the time to zone off, to find himself lost in his daydreams of Min (though heaven knows he’s good at getting off track - his parents had been sure he knew). Back to the task at hand.

Ryan picks up the pen he’d subconsciously lost when he started dreaming of Min (again). He twirls it. He caps and uncaps it. He taps it against the wheel.

Nothing new comes to mind. Of course.

Ryan’s never had this much trouble with songwriting before! As he’s famously said before (read: Min constantly teases him about), “You just gotta make it rhyme.” Out of the duo, he’s always been the songwriter of the two, although, like in every aspect of the band, they do their best work when they’re collaborating contributing equally. Hell, he’s been writing songs since he was five. (Whether the lyrics consisted of simply “I’m gonna dress my dog in a toque / I’m gonna dress my cat in a toque” is irrelevant.) Regardless of how nonsensical and wacky his lyrics can be at times, Ryan Akagi is an experienced songwriter with a touring band playing songs he composed for small to medium venues. Writing one single song should not be this hard.

Except he knows exactly why this particular song comes so difficult. While Ryan would never dream of putting anything less than his all into all of the music he writes for Chicken Choice Judy or even just Gage, he’s never held them to the same literary standard. Ryan’s performative music is wild and free, just like himself. It’s his way of expressing himself, of quite literally putting everything he has out into the world and letting it run free.

While Ryan and Min have both been consciously working to reach a middle ground since they got off the train, Min has always been the more reserved of the two. Ryan knows he can’t give Min the same unrestrained beauty in chaos he puts into his band. If Min’s been trying not to limit himself as much, Ryan can compromise. This is his way of not letting himself go so far he’ll leave Min in the dust.

This song is all about being honest with Min, after all. Miscommunication has always been their greatest enemy, and Ryan is loath to fall into the same trap yet again. Past issues aside, Min just… deserves to know. It’s too big of a secret to keep to himself. Ryan is many things but he isn’t a secret-keeper. Not when it comes to big issues.

He just needs to tell Min. It doesn’t matter how it’s received. He just needs to let him know.

It doesn’t matter.

Ryan lets out a frustrated groan, dropping the pen again to tug at his hair. If it’s not already messy, it’ll be positively cluttered by the time he’s finished. His mother would have a field day if she saw him like this.

The door handle jiggles.

Ryan’s head snaps up. He’d been completely caught up in writing (or more accurately, thinking about writing) he hadn’t noticed Min walking back to the car.

Through the window, Min waves sheepishly and holds up a bag of food. Ryan leans over the second seat to let him in.

Min slides inside and sets the bag in the space between the two seats. “Sorry about that,” he says, scratching bashfully at his beck with his free hand. “I forgot my keys.”

Ryan smiles mechanically, waving him off, and shoves the paper into the pocket of his leather jacket. At this rate it’ll be creased beyond recognition by the time he’s finished, even by his own standards. “It’s fine. I do that all the time.”

He will definitely need to rewrite it in a nicer script when he’s done.

(That is to say, if he ever feels confident enough in his work to call it done. Ryan’s sister had called Min a “perfectionist” once, citing his need to keep working on their school projects right up until the deadline because he never felt satisfied. Ryan didn’t understand the sentiment until now.)

Min gives him a curious glance, but says nothing otherwise. He’s likely written it off as just one of Ryan’s quirks. “Yeah, well.” He unhooks his keys, complete with the Dumpy keychain from his days before the train, from the dashboard and tucks them safely in his pocket. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Ryan frowns at him. “Min, it’s fine. I know it’s not something you usually do, but everyone messes up sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Min digs around in the bag for their meals, avoiding his gaze. “Right.”

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, slightly worried. For a minute, all thoughts of the paper burning a hole in his pocket are forgotten in lieu of caring for his best friend. “You’re acting weird, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Min slips his hand into his pocket, but pulls it back out empty-handed after a minute. Odd.

They eat in silence for a couple minutes. Without the distraction of talking to Min or worrying about Min (although he’s doing plenty of that, don’t worry), Ryan is right back to worrying about his love song.

Well, it’s a good thing Min seems so nervous tonight. Unless he asks outright, Ryan has an excuse not to give him the love song tonight. He won’t add stress to… whatever has Min so worried (and Ryan, by extension).

“So…” Min fists his hands in the fabric of his shorts as if he’s nervous, except that can’t be right, because he has no cause to be nervous. Ryan is the nervous one here, obviously. Except it’s not obvious, because Min can’t know.

Min glances at Ryan, biting his lower lip. “Have you written any new songs lately?”

Ryan chokes and fumbles with his food, nearly spilling it. He knows. He knows. He knows. How could he possibly know?!

Well. It looks like he asked outright after all. Only one thing to do now, no matter how much Ryan would rather dump his food onto the seat, ruining the upholstery beyond what he and Min can pay for cleaning, and run away into the night. Never to be seen again, leaving behind only his precious guitar, van, and a confused friend.

As dramatic as Ryan is, that’s unfortunately out of the question. He wouldn’t do that to Min.

“Min, I…” Well, Ryan is a man of his word. He knows all too well how badly a lack of communication has messed them up before. He can’t keep this secret any longer.

With shaking hands, Ryan pulls the crumpled ball of paper out of his pocket and presents it to Min in a gesture that he hopes is put-together and elegant but is likely more akin to shoving it ungracefully in Min’s face. “Here.”

Min’s face had been glazed over with a sort of set determination, but that mask shatters as soon as he notices the paper. He blinks, mouth slightly agape, hands hovering near his own pocket. “O-oh. Um. Thank you, Ryan. I bet this’ll be totally rad.”

Slowly, as if unsure or confused (or maybe even disappointed? Oh man, that can’t be it, can it? Ryan’s fully prepared for Min’s disappointment, hell, he’s had the same experience with his parents, but Min doesn’t even know the context of his lyrics yet), Min takes the paper and unfolds it.

Time seems to pass much slower than normal, seconds sludging by, as Min reads the lyrics. Ryan tracks his eyes darting across the paper, his mouth opening wider and closing again as he reads and processes the meaning behind Ryan’s grand gesture.

Ryan twists his fingers together. It hurts, but not as much as watching Min read his writing. “Sorry it’s so messy. I was going to rewrite it when I was done, but…”

“Ryan.” Ryan’s mouth snaps shut as soon as Min speaks, and he jerks his head up. Min is staring at him as if he’s a new person, in a new light. “Is this… a love song?”

Ryan nods mutely, his heart pounding in his chest like the drums of an established rock band at a sold-out concert.

Min takes a deep breath. “For… me?”

Ryan nods again, sharp and jerky.

Min stares, frozen in shock, for a moment before bursting out laughing.

Ryan chokes, surprised, and whips his head away. He curls up (or as much as he can manage while sitting in the driver’s seat of his van), pressing his side against the seat and fisting his hands in the seam of his jacket.

He’d been prepared for a negative response, but deep in his heart he hadn’t expected Min to react this badly. Even after his parents had reacted worse.

Of course.

“Ryan,” Min chokes out between peals of laughter. “Ryan, Ryan, oh man. I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”

Ryan turns around slowly, hesitantly. Hope is already building in his chest before he’s even processed Min’s words.

When Min comes into his sight again, Ryan can barely meet his eyes before a piece of paper is thrust into his face. Puzzled, Ryan takes it and reads it over.

It’s… a love song.

It’s a love song, penned in Min’s neat handwriting, with classical notation instead of chords because Min learned music through his viola teacher and not as a self-taught guitarist like Ryan. Min was worried it would be a problem when they started collaborating, but their combined skills in multiple disciples has become one of their greatest assets as a musical group.

But Ryan can’t focus on the notes, however beautiful they may be, because the lyrics are telling a story he’s only dared to fantasize about in his wildest dreams.

“Sorry for laughing,” Min says, still chuckling quietly. “I just… I was trying to create a natural segue into giving this to you, and I… Wow. We’re idiots, aren’t we.”

Ryan doesn’t realize he’s crying until a teardrop lands on Min’s songsheet. He wipes it away and starts to giggle. “Yeah. We are.” He glances up, meeting Min’s eye for the first time since this whole debacle and gives him a wide, teary smile. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t think we’d be us if we didn’t pull some convoluted scheme to get our feelings out. Y’know, seeing as it took getting kidnapped by a magical death train the first time.”

Min snorts and rubs at his eyes. “Don’t remind me.” He crawls across the middle of the van and curls up next to Ryan, wrapping his arm around him. “So, are we good?”

Ryan lets out a wet laugh. “Oh man, we’re better than good. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been hoping for this?”

“Not as long as me,” Min says, grinning mischievously. “I’ve been pining since high school. Take that!”

Ryan lets his head drop onto Min’s shoulder, relishing in the affectionate closeness and warmth of him. “Man, we were such repressed nerds in high school, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe so.” Min leans his head against Ryan’s, chuckling softly. “I’m glad we’re okay now, though.”

“Me too, dude.” Ryan lets out a contented sigh. He still can’t quite believe they’ve gotten here, after all that worrying and stressing over every little detail. “Me too.”

They stayed like that for a little while, half-eaten plates of food forgotten in the back of the van. Through the open windows, the sunset lights up the sky in a fiery glow, with colors gradually shifting from pink to fiery red to deep blue.

Min hums contemplatively. “So, what now? Should we perform these onstage or what?”

Ryan toys with the paper between his fingers, absentmindedly tearing off a corner. “No, I think… I think these should be kept between us.”

“I agree,” Min says, intertwining his fingers with Ryan’s. Ryan’s heart leaps into his throat, and he’s sure his face is burning up.

“I think it would be nice if we… if we maybe wrote a love song together,” Ryan says, a little nervous.

Min smiles. “I’d like that too.”

day 2 is in the books! this one is half me projecting my experience with writer's block while writing this fic and half exploring the love they feel about each other. in their own words, what repressed nerds. love them

a whole lotta headcanons in this one c:

i didn't mean to bring sunsets back again, even for just a small detail, but i guess it's a rymin motif now. maybe i'll try to stick it in the rest of my rymin week pieces, but i won't try to shoehorn it in if it feels unnatural. god i love sunsets this is just more projection isn't it.

title is from home by edward sharpe and the magnetic zeroes! this song, just like its title implies, feels like home. it was a stigma of the songleading group i was in at camp a few years ago so it's very special to me. i'm happy to pass its lyrics on to rymin and give it a new significance for me personally!

i've been really enjoying all the rymin week content so far! good job, everyone! it's so nice to see everyone come together in support of these lovely characters

if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or my twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a like/reblog/comment if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

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redorich · 4 years

Text

We Didn’t Start the Fire (part 4)

ao3 link

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 5

Wilbur receives some shocking news, and calls in the cavalry.

Wilbur pulled his phone from his front pocket. The other three men present in the clearing were taking care of the traumatized young man as best they could, and though Wilbur felt it was remiss of him to not join them, he knew this call was more important.

“Hello?” Grian picked up the phone.

“Hi, Grian…” Wilbur didn't know where to begin. He and Grian hadn't known each other for most of their lives, and when they found out they were half-brothers… They were glad to have found each other, but Wilbur didn't want to live in the shadow of his older brother. Thus, their relation was kept a secret, though both were quick to emphasize that they were most certainly not ashamed of the other. It was easier, that way. Almost like being an only child again.

“Wil, are you alright?” The frown in Grian's voice was evident even through the distortion of a long-distance call.

“We found out what happened to Tommy and Tubbo.”

“That's great, then!” Grian said. “But you don't sound happy about it.”

Wilbur looked over his shoulder as though someone were spying on him. He fervently whispered, “It was a Watcher.”

The line crackled with static. “I see,” said Grian stonily.

“Please, I need your help,” Wilbur begged. “I know you left that behind you, but you're the only person I know who can help.”

“For a child, Wil, you don't even have to ask.”

Before Wilbur could so much as thank his brother, Grian hung up. Wilbur couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing-- he didn’t know what to say anyway. He watched as an exhausted Tommy leaned into the side of a very stiff, awkward-looking Techno. Dream and Sapnap had taken to playing some sort of violent pattycake game in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I hope you know what you're doing, Grian.

------------

Techno squinted at the sunset. The group from the clearing had moved to spawn, to better accommodate whatever drama was going on. Techno wasn’t entirely sure, to be honest, but both Dream and Wilbur were hiding something-- that much he was sure of. Whatever. They were both morons, so he’d find out eventually whatever the hell it was they were trying to keep secret.

Hm. Something about the sunset was off. The longer he spent analysing it (because, like all intelligent individuals, Techno’s hobbies included staring at the sun) the more apparent it became.

“Dream,” he said, “is it supposed to rain soon?”

“No, why?”

“‘Cause there’s a giant miasma of death and despair on the horizon,” Techno deadpanned. “Actually, it seems to be approaching rapidly. Yay.”

Dream blanched-- not that Techno could see it, of course. At least, not on his face, covered as it was. It was in the defensive raising of his shoulders, the half-step back he took, the minute fumbling for a weapon he didn’t have. While the black cloud of unrestrained summer fun drew closer, Dream seemed to be debating with himself internally.

“Techno,” he finally said, “protect my body.”

With that, Dream promptly passed the fuck out, leaving Techno to catch his body. Right as the Watcher (he presumed) made it to spawn, another Watcher materialized with enough force to create a minor earthquake.

Looking up at the second Watcher directly above him, then down at Dream’s unconscious body in his arms, Techno muttered to himself. “What is it the guy says on Danny Phantom? He’s going ghost?”

Dream-Watcher shrieked at not-Dream-Watcher. The other watcher shrieked back, and Wilbur's return went almost unnoticed. He was panting, hands on knees. He was too far away to tell for sure, but Techno was near certain that Wilbur had sprinted all the way from wherever it was he'd been. Who in their right mind would sprint toward a Watcher without a reason-- ah.

“Grian, no!” Wilbur shouted. Ah, so the not-Dream-Watcher was Grian. Good to know. Techno hadn’t seen the guy since the last MCC.

“Mine,” Dream-Watcher hissed.

“Mine,” Grian-Watcher replied, pointing a weird shadow-tentacle-thing at Wilbur. Techno's eyes narrowed. Where had he seen that before..?

Dream-Watcher lashed out with a pointy appendage. The sheer force of it tore entire branches from nearby trees. Quackity was running around like a chicken missing its head, Nikki was clutching to the side of a hill for dear life, Wilbur was Panicking, et cetera. Grian-Watcher was gearing up to do some sort of attack which would obviously be noisy and cause lots of property damage. It was at this point Techno realized, hey, I’m the only one who’s figured out that these dumbasses are OUR dumbasses. He stood up to clarify the situation, ready to shout over the noise that these Watchers were known allies and friends, when he remembered with a gasp exactly where he had seen Grian-Watcher’s shadow-tentacle-thing. “Hentai!” he shouted.

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, staring at Techno.

“N-now that I’ve got your attention,” he continued, hoping his red cheeks didn’t betray the fact that he hadn’t meant to say that, “the Watcher guy to the west is Dream, and the Watcher guy to the east is Grian. If you could please not destroy the server fighting the guy who is on your side, I think we’d all appreciate it.”

Right before their very eyes, everyone watched in disbelief as the bigger Watcher shrank, coalescing into the friendly builder they all recognized. It was impossible to tell Dream-Watcher’s expression, being a gigantic cloud made of void, but Techno imagined that the weird chuffing noise Dream-Watcher made was indicative of some sort of moue of distaste. His entire semi-corporeal mass flew straight at Techno at mach speed, so Techno dumped Dream’s body on the ground like a sack of potatoes (except no, Techno treated his potatoes far nicer than that.)

Dream groaned, sitting up. “Did you seriously just yeet my body into the dirt?!”

“Did you seriously just yeet your body into my arms?”

Grian walked over, intercepting Dream and offering him a hand up off the ground. Warily, Dream took it.

“If you’re here to help us,” Dream said, “why the fuck did you show up as a Watcher?”

Grian suddenly found his shoes very interesting. The tips of his ears were red. “Well… it’s faster, for one. Jumping from Hermitcraft to the MCC as a human is difficult enough, I don’t even want to think about how long it would have taken to get here. As a Watcher, I can jump straight to my territory, fly through some void, and make it here through some bedrock. I took off as soon as I got Wilbur’s call--” Grian gasped. “Oh no, did I leave Mumbo’s iron farm on?!”

“...Right,” said Techno, who understood some of those words. “Anyway, how are we going to get Tubbo back? That’s the important part.”

“Can you fix Tommy?” Dream demanded.

Grian took a step back. “I'll see what I can do for Tommy. If it's what I think it is, we'll need Tubbo along. Which brings me to my next point…”

“We're attacking an unknown Watcher in its own territory, aren't we?” Techno asked.

Grian smiled humorlessly. It had too many teeth. “Why yes,” he said. “Yes we are.”

#mcyt #watchers au #watcher!grian #watcher!dream #watcher!tommy #watcher!tubbo #hc x dsmp #dreamwastaken #technoblade #tommyinnit #tubbo #sapnap #quackity #nihachu #me.txt

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malikmata · 3 years

Text

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

#diary #photoblog #photo diary #midwest #kansas #travel diaries

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omgjasminesimone · 4 years

Text

Morning Routine (Kinktober Day 10)

Sawyer x MC

Prompt: Bath/Shower

Word Count: 900

NSFW

A/N: I’m still in the mood to write @choicesficwriterscreations Kinktober fics. Kind of a personal challenge to see how many different days/couples I can do at this point.

Sawyer is gone when Morgan wakes up in his bed in the morning, despite the fact the sun hasn’t even risen yet. He tends to get a very early start on the morning chores. Probably because he does such a large share of them, to keep them off her plate. Sawyer is sweet like that.

Morgan snuggles into his pillow, allowing herself 15 more minutes of blissful half sleep. But then sun starts streaming through Sawyer’s thin curtains, and Morgan forces herself out of his warm, comfy bed.

She yawns, pulling her long brown hair into a messy bun. She rubs at her eyes before sitting on the edge of Sawyer’s bed to pull the jeans he’d slowly peeled off of her last night back on. Morgan sniffs at the t-shirt she’d been wearing last night, crinkling her nose as the musty smell hits her nose. She’s not putting that back on.

Morgan makes her way over to Sawyer’s drawers, borrowing one of his red flannel shirts. It’s much too big on her, but it’s not likely the cows or chickens are going to pass judgement on her outfit.

She double checks the hallway is clear before dashing out of Sawyer’s room to the hallway bathroom to brush her teeth. She would hate to have to explain why she’s sneaking out of Sawyer’s room at 6 AM to Cliff or Duke. And she doesn’t want details of her love life to come up in Brooklynn’s latest YouTube video either.

With morning preparations complete, Morgan heads out to earn her keep on the farm.

...

Three hours later, the chickens have been fed, the eggs collected, the cows milked, the horses groomed, and she’s checked on the barn dogs’ new puppies.

Morgan feels a surge of accomplishment. After all, in Boston, she used to wake up around this time. But more than accomplished, she feels filthy, and in desperate need of a shower.

She heads up to the bathroom in Sawyer’s room, since she’s discovered it has much better water pressure than the shower in the hallway bathroom.

She drops her clothes into a tidy pile on the bathroom floor, climbing into the shower with unrestrained joy. Morgan lets out a pleased sigh as warm water cascades down her body, scrubbing off the dirt that’s an inherent part of life on the Oakley Ranch.

While she’s lathering up her hair, the shower door opens and Sawyer steps in to join her. “Good morning darlin’. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

If he’s tired from four hours of hard labor, he doesn’t show it. His eyes greedily scan over her wet, nude form.

Morgan smiles, tipping her head back to wash the shampoo out of her hair. “Here, let me help you.” She offers, moving him so he’s more fully under the warm stream of water. She squirts a generous amount of his combination body wash/shampoo/conditioner into her hand. Why men think they can combine these things is beyond Morgan, and she’ll have to remember to bring her own bath supplies next time she uses Sawyer’s shower.

She starts with his shoulders, massaging into the muscles sore from tossing heavy hey bales and lifting pounds of feed.

She runs her hands down his chest, focusing on cleansing each crease of his hard earned abs.

Her rubbing him down while nude and wet is clearly having an effect on him, and she firmly grasps his hard cock.

“Fuck Morgan.” Sawyer groans, thrusting a little into her hand. She starts to stroke him as she places kisses over his pecs.

“Such a dirty boy.” She playfully chides as precum starts to leak out of him as she continues her hand job.

It seems Sawyer has had enough of her teasing, since he removes her hand from him and pushes her back against the shower wall. “And you’re my very dirty cowgirl.” He groans as he lifts her and her legs instinctively wrap around him.

He pushes into her, and they both groan as their hips make contact. “You’re incredible Morgan, I’m so glad you’re here.” Sawyer assures her as he starts to slowly rock his hips against her.

“You’re....definitely...making it...worth my while!” Morgan gets out between Sawyer’s quickening thrusts. She clutches at his strong back, digging her nails into his skin.

Sawyer lets out a hiss of pleasure/pain, one hand leaving her thigh to brace against the wall as he speeds up further.

“Ahh, Sawyer!” Morgan cries out, moving her hips to meet him.

“Shhh, baby. Someone’s gonna hear us.” Sawyer warns. But he doesn’t seem very dedicated to keeping her quiet, with the way he’s slamming into her so good. And he’s not so quiet either as her walls tighten around him, heightening his pleasure. “Morgan.” He groans, burying his face into her neck.

“Yes, just like that.” Morgan praises as he intensifies his movements, hitting her deeper. “Sawyer!” She moans as she orgasms.

Sawyer slams into her three more times before he pulls out, ejaculating all over Morgan’s stomach, making a mess of both of them.

He gingerly places her back on her feet, leaning down to place a lingering kiss of those delectable lips of her’s. He pulls away with a warm grin, and then he gently pulls her directly under the water stream. “I think we need to get cleaned up again, cowgirl.”

#sawyer x mc #sawyer oakley #Big Sky Country #ns*w #cfwc kinktober

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satorisa · 3 years

Text

Falling: Chapter 1 - In which the Hug is Finally Acknowledged

Rating: T

Summary: "I wanna forget all this burden in my past."

Alternate Reading: AO3

Lift the Veil? I don’t know her.

D.N.Angel ending? I don’t know her.

But that hug? Lives, rent free in my mind, man.

Warning: Spoilers for the DNAngel ending abound.

After Dark disappeared, the hours continued to flow as if the incident had never occurred. Satoshi brought Risa home that evening before he visited the Niwa household to brainstorm a story for Commissioner Hiwatari’s disappearance. Daisuke slept next to him that night and, while comforted by his friend’s rhythmic breathing and familiar warmth, Satoshi kept his tired eyes on the window, watching as the evening skies brightened to a morning blue.

Commissioner Hiwatari was declared missing the next day, and Inspector Saehara decided to take Satoshi in for the time being. He moved into the Saehara household that same evening, everything he owned packed in a duffel bag weighing on his shoulder, and Takeshi showed him around the house.

Satoshi met Mama Saehara through a video call that same evening. She worked as a fashion designer, and her job had flung her off to Paris this time. He quite liked her.

After they hung up, he had a warm dinner with Takeshi and Inspector Saehara. It was leftovers from last night, but he enjoyed the food nonetheless.

That night, Satoshi slept next to Takeshi, who snored in his ear while either kicking him or rolling on him. Satoshi kept his tired eyes on the window, watching as the evening skies brightened to a morning blue.

He went shopping with the Saeharas the next day. They bought a bunk bed, a desk, and whatever else they thought that Satoshi would need. After that, the days fell back into their familiar rhythm as if the incident had never occurred.

Satoshi slept in the top bed for privacy. Takeshi took the bottom bed since he didn’t quite care. Their desks sat side by side in front of the window: Takeshi’s impeccably spotless and Satoshi’s covered in manila folders and schoolwork.

Everyday, Satoshi woke up, went to school, and attended the art club that Daisuke finally convinced him to join. On some evenings, Inspector Saehara would ask him for help on a case, and they always headed home after work with fried chicken for dinner. For the most part though, Satoshi spent his time after school with Daisuke and Takeshi.

Then Riku moved away.

Risa began to hang out with Daisuke and Takeshi just as much as she hung out with Ritsuko and the other girls, but she still maintained the same distance she had with Satoshi prior to the incident. She’d greet him, cordial and courteous, and she’d smile and laugh with the boys, just like him, but that was the extent of their relationship: friends of friends.

And that was how Satoshi’s second year in middle school came to an end.

…

The last of the art club members finally left. They were a group of giggling girls who clearly only joined to get closer to Satoshi but, after realizing that he wouldn’t pay any attention to them yet again, they decided to call it a day.

Satoshi sighed in relief when the door closed behind them and ran his hand through his hair. Daisuke, president of the art club, laughed at the strands that were sticking up.

“How long are you going to let them stay here?” Satoshi asked, watching the group walk and giggle down below.

“They’ll get tired eventually.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Just wait. They’ll eventually realize how boring you are and set their eyes on someone else.”

Satoshi shot Daisuke a look. He laughed before slipping off his stool.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“My painting.”

Daisuke, eyes shining with curiosity, scurried over to Satoshi’s canvas. His jaw slacked.

Before him was the familiar visage of Dark outlined in pencil. The sharp angle of his eyes, his chiseled features, his charismatic smile, and his dark hair flowing around him: everything was detailed to utmost perfection.

“Oh my god.”

“How is it?”

“It looks just like him.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Daisuke nodded, awestruck, but that eventually gave way to a darker expression on his face. “…why are you doing this, though?”

Satoshi shrugged. “I don’t know. Still life practice got boring, so I decided to try doing something different.”

“You could have done something else besides starting on a portrait of Dark.”

“I know, but this is what I ended up making.”

“…are you okay?”

“That’s a rhetorical question.”

Daisuke sighed. “It’s just—we’re worried about you, Satoshi. We don’t want you to hurt yourself, you know? If you’re not ready to face it, you don’t have to.”

“What? Would a portrait of my father have been better?”

“No, Satoshi, I—”

“Sorry,” Satoshi said before getting off his stool. He grabbed his bag and made his way to the door. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.” At the entrance, he turned around to face Daisuke. “But when the hell am I going to ever be ready?”

…

The sun began to set, casting its golden hue on the busts and wooden stands by the wall. Since Inspector Saehara didn’t need his help that evening, Satoshi stayed after the club meeting to work on his painting. A palette full of varying hues of purple floated gracefully in his left hand while a worn brush sat precariously in his right, waiting to lay down another thoughtful stroke.

The door opened.

“Hello, Hiwatari-kun!”

He tore his eyes away from the canvas to see Risa standing there. She no longer had her customary pink ribbon tying her hair up; her dark locks cascaded down just like Riku’s. If she trimmed some off, she’d be the spitting image of her sister.

Perhaps that was why she changed her hairstyle.

“Are you heading home soon?”

He glanced at his watch: 6:04 PM.

“Maybe.” Satoshi noted the bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m assuming you’re on your way back?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “Saehara-kun kept us all late today because our monthly issue is coming out. What a workaholic.”

Satoshi smirked. “Like father, like son.”

“His dad’s just like that?”

“Absolutely. His mom’s the same way, too, so it probably runs in the family.”

Risa giggled. The door opened again, and it was the man of the hour himself. He pouted.

“I’m not as bad as my parents.”

“Sure,” Satoshi sarcastically drawled.

Takeshi just shook his head. “Whatever, bro. You headin’ back soon?”

“Maybe. Don’t wait for me if you need to head out.”

“Nah. I kinda want to hit up the arcade for a bit before we go grocery shopping.”

“Can we drop by the bookstore, too? I need to grab a couple of things.”

“Yeah. I think I need some stuff from there, too.” Takeshi then turned to Risa. “You wanna stick around with us, then? No hard feelings if you need to jet, though.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass. I don’t want to stay out too late and worry my parents.” She waved with a smile. “I’ll see you two tomorrow then. Bye!”

Risa skipped out of the room while Takeshi walked over to examine Satoshi’s painting. He whistled.

“Yanno, you’re a little too talented for someone who doesn’t like painting.”

“Shut up. You know how I feel about it.”

“And yet you joined the art club.”

“I have to start somewhere with that positive reassociation and all.”

“And how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“Terrible. I’m hating every second of it.”

“Well, uh, nobody asked you to make a painting of that Dark Mousy fellow, yanno?”

“Couldn’t help it. His handsome face kept bothering me.”

…

Mama Saehara popped up on his phone screen with the Parisian skyline behind her.

“Good evening, Satoshi.”

“Good morning, Saehara-san.”

“No need to be so formal with me! Please, call me Mama.”

“I’d rather not.”

She laughed. “Alrighty, hun. How’re you doing?”

“I’m alright.”

“And the therapy? Have you decided to go?”

“No. I don’t think I can.”

“That’s alright. You’re doing alright. No need to push yourself if you’re not ready.” She sighed. “I just need this project to finish and then I’ll take the first flight I can back to Japan. Just wait for me, okay?”

“No need to rush. Take all the time you need.”

“Oh honey, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t know if I trust those buffoons to take care of you. Speaking of them, how are they treating you?”

“They’re very nice. I like living here, Saehara-san. Thank you for taking me in.”

“I’m glad, Satoshi. And you’re very welcome! It’s the least we could do, truly.”

Her phone rang. Mama Saehara answered before launching into a furious tirade of French. After she hung up, she sighed and began to massage her temples.

“Sorry to cut this call short, but there’s an emergency. I’ll call again as soon as I can. Toodles!”

“Bye. Have a nice day.”

Satoshi saw himself reflected on his phone screen, and he took out his earbuds before leaving the room. He went downstairs to see Inspector Saehara at the table, can of beer open in front of him, while Takeshi began plating the food.

“How’s Ma?” Takeshi asked.

“Alright. Busy,” Satoshi answered. He grabbed some plates and bowls from the cabinets.

“Sound about right,” Takeshi said. “And you?”

“Hm?”

“How’re you?”

“Alright. Tired.”

Takeshi smirked. “Who isn’t?”

He patted Satoshi’s back before putting the plates full of table and hounding his dad about drinking: just another meal at the Saehara household.

Satoshi smiled as he began to set the table.

…

After the club meeting, Satoshi stayed behind to work on his painting, unrestrained by a request from Inspector Saehara. He mindlessly toiled away until the door opened.

“Hi, Hiwatari-kun!”

Risa’s voice broke his focus. Golden hour had passed and the blue hour settled in, dying the room a muted blue. Even Risa, despite her chipper demeanor, seamlessly blended in with the mood.

“Hey, Harada. Did the newspaper club meeting just finish?”

“Nope. It ended a while ago, but I stayed back to wrap something up.”

“So Takeshi’s already gone?”

“Yeah. I think he went to the arcade with a couple of our club members for some bonding time.”

“Ah.”

Risa swayed her head. “Are you heading home soon?”

“Yeah. Let me tidy up here, and I’ll leave with you.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Satoshi covered his painting with a tarp before leaving the room to clean his brushes and palette. He returned to see Risa on a stool, watching something on her phone. She laughed until she noticed he had returned, and she paused her video before offering a weak wave and smile.

Satoshi grabbed his bag. “You ready to head out?”

“Yup!”

She hopped off the stool. Satoshi closed the door behind them before they walked to the faculty office. He bowed before entering, leaving the keys to the art room with the frazzled student-teacher, and bowed after leaving. Risa trailed behind him uncharacteristically calm and quiet the whole time.

When they got to the shoe lockers, Risa finally broke her silence.

“Hiwatari-kun,” she began as he took off his slippers, “did you know him?”

“Know who?”

“The person I was waiting for that day at the lamppost.”

“It took you this long to ask me about that?”

Risa giggled. “Sorry. I couldn’t find a good time to bring it up.”

“Really? I thought you’d do it by screaming at me about hugging you and overstepping boundaries.”

Risa giggled again. Satoshi raised his eyebrow as he slipped on his shoes. “I was thinking about it, but I thought it’d be too rude to. After all, you appeared when I needed someone the most. Thank you for that.”

“I had a snarky reply to that but, since you’re being genuine, I’ll keep it to myself.”

They reconvened at the entrance. Risa’s smile looked more genuine that the one she had earlier.

Good.

“So, why bring it up now?” Satoshi asked as they began walking out.

“I tried to forget about it. Why should I stay hung up over someone I don’t remember? But, well, long story short, I couldn’t. I want to know who he was.”

They stopped at an intersection. Cars rushed by while commuters joined them, preoccupied with their own lives. Satoshi focused on the red light of the crosswalk, trying not to look at Risa’s expression.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Of course I do! Why else would I be asking you about him?”

“And what if I tell you that it might be overwhelming?”

“So? I’d still want to know!”

“Even if it’ll make you cry?”

“Of course! I don’t want to just forget about him!”

Satoshi sighed. The light at the crosswalk turned green, and they began to move. Risa’s head bobbed with each step, and Satoshi focused on the sidewalk to avoid looking at her.

“Harada, I’d rather not see you cry,” he said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Okay then. I’ll try not to cry.”

“You? Who displays your emotions for the whole world to see? Forget it.”

Risa grabbed his arm, and he turned around. She forced him to look at her. He saw the determination in her eyes, burning just as much as it did when she was chasing Dark mere months ago.

“Hiwatari-kun, please.”

How could he say no to her?

“Alright. Fine. Just give me some time, okay?”

He brushed off her arm, frustrated by her stubbornness. But he saw the softness in her expression when he yielded, and he etched it in his memory.

#DNAngel #satorisa #satoshi hiwatari #risa harada #takeshi saehara #daisuke niwa #dn angel #d.n.angel #My writing #my fanfiction #falling #this was a long time coming but i can't believe it took the end of the series for me to finally write it

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risottoneroo · 4 years

Text

Between His Fingers, Ch. 4

a/n: i have removed all sexual scenes and references from the parts where the characters are underage. this fic is and will stay sfw in that regard. when i started writing this and wrote the aforementioned scenes, i was seventeen. however, posting it now that i am an adult is against my conscience. there will continue to be references to violence and smoking, but not any more than are already in the show. i am also restarting my tag list, please pm me, send me an ask, or reply here to be tagged. sorry for my inactivity, enjoy chapter 4!

warnings: teen boys being awkward, cuddling, fluff, pining, my canon now

Jotaro wasn’t asleep. He was grumbling to himself in his head, thinking about the conversation he’d had with his grandfather.

Joseph had shut the door behind you and Kakyoin, then looked at him carefully. “I know I never spent a good deal of time with you in your childhood, but these past days have shown me who you are, Jojo. You like her.”

Jotaro had looked down and refused to answer. Joseph sighed. “Good grief.”

Jotaro bit his lip. “Tch. Mind your business, would you? Bothersome old man.”

Joseph frowned. “Being nicer to her would help you a good deal. Maybe ask her out. Get to know her.”

Jotaro shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you, old man? Whatever I choose, she will never be mine. Kakyoin… He just looked at her and she was his.”

Joseph had put his hand on Jotaro’s shoulder. “You don’t give up a battle before it’s lost. She isn’t anybody’s but her own.”

Jotaro had closed his eyes. “Stop it, old man.”

He walked out and slammed the door.

Back in the room, you picked up your bag. “I’m gonna shower, Nori.”

Kakyoin smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

You walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, letting it run until it turned hot. As steam filled the room, you pulled off your clothes and stepped under the water. The stream ran down your body, soothing your tense muscles. You bit your lip, thinking. So much had happened since your last shower.

You’d met Jotaro, and Noriaki, and the rest of the gang. You’d gotten punched in the jaw by a… let’s face it, really hot guy. He was a dick, though.

You looked down at yourself. Jotaro was really attractive, and so was Noriaki. But Noriaki was the only one who really showed interest in you. But Jotaro seemed pretty reserved and bad at expressing himself, so… Maybe? Well, thinking about it like that wouldn’t do anything. You had to talk to him, get to know him.

You moved to wash yourself, quickly scrubbing and rinsing before stepping out and drying off.

You slipped into pajamas and stepped back into the room. Jotaro was the only one there, writing in a small, leatherbound book. Without looking up, he said in Japanese, “Kakyoin is out getting food for us to eat in here.”

You nodded, setting down your bag and sitting on the bed he was on. You said in Japanese,“Jotaro, I think we got off on the wrong foot-”

He glanced up and interrupted you. “Jojo.”

You stuttered, “Huh?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Call me Jojo.”

You flushed. “Okay, uh, Jojo. I’m sorry.”

He nodded. You cocked your head at him. “What are you writing?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You were in the shower a while.”

You flushed deep red. “I- Uh. I take long showers.”

He nodded again, seeming disinterested. You sighed. “You’re goddamn hard to have a conversation with, Jojo.”

Jotaro looked up at you. “And you’re belligerent.”

You flared up. “Don’t be a dick.”

He shrugged, returning to writing in Japanese. “Don’t be a bitch.”

Luckily for you both, Kakyoin walked in the door at that moment, holding bags of takeout. You smiled at him and helped him put them out on the hotel table. You reached for a container of rice at the same time that he did, and your fingers brushed.

Kakyoin looked shocked and started to pull his hand back, apologizing. You shook your head and caught his hand. You entwined your fingers, smiling up at him. He relaxed and smiled at you. His hand completely enveloped yours, as large as it was. You let him go after a bit, looking back down at the takeout. “Jotaro, what do you want?”

He sighed and got up, walking up behind you and looking over you at the food. You felt yourself tense with his bulk so close. You began to move to let him through, but he put a hand on your waist gently to let you know you were safe. His hand reached from your side nearly to your bellybutton.

You turned and looked up at him, only to find him already looking down at you. His hand now rested on the small of your back, just above your ass. You flushed even deeper red. Kakyoin was looking between you two with unrestrained interest. Without looking away, Jotaro said, “That chicken is fine for me.”

He didn’t break eye contact, and you felt like you were being sucked in. Kakyoin coughed gently. “Not to quote Jojo, but if you two are done making eyes at each other…”

Jotaro broke eye contact to glare at Kakyoin. You breathed a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You looked at Kakyoin bashfully. “Sorry, Nori.”

He chuckled. “That’s okay. It’s rare to see Jotaro show true interest in someone.”

Jotaro rolled his eyes and grabbed his food, walking away from you two. You looked up at Kakyoin, smiling a bit. He looked back at you, also smiling. You looked at the food and chose what you wanted, walking back to sit on the bed. As you all ate, there was a gentle silence. Not awkward, just an understanding.

Going to bed was a completely different matter. You were dressed in pajama shorts and a tank top, and after you brushed your teeth, you got in bed and snuggled into the comforter. You turned off the room lights, leaving you all in darkness. Kakyoin came out of the bathroom in his pajamas and stood in front of the bed you two were sharing. Jotaro was already asleep in the opposite bed.

Kakyoin got into bed, on the opposite side from you, deliberately not touching you. You sighed and scooted over to him. He was lying on his side, facing you. You wrapped your arms around his torso and snuggled into his chest, sliding a thigh between his legs. Kakyoin flushed cherry red and gingerly wrapped his arms around you. You looked up at him and asked softly in Japanese, “Harder.”

He flushed even deeper. “Uh- what?”

You smiled at him. “Hug me harder. I won’t break.”

He nodded and pulled you into his chest tightly. You breathed in deeply and smiled. He smelled good. You shifted against his broad chest. “I feel so safe with you already, Nori.”

He smiled. “I hope you know I’m not like the men you’ve been with before.”

You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Kakyoin was avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know what Dio is like with the people he’s close to, but from what I saw… He doesn’t have much respect for women.”

You frowned. “I never met you when I was there, so you didn’t see how he acted around me. It was very confusing.”

Kakyoin nodded. “What do you mean?”

You looked down. “He thought I was his ticket to- Heaven? I think.”

Kakyoin nodded. “He told me about that. Not much, though.”

You rested your head on his collarbone. “He called me a holy woman. Said I was pure, that he didn’t deserve to look upon me, let alone touch me.”

Kakyoin put his chin on your head. “He never let you out?”

You shook your head. “He trained me. Him and a few others. Vanilla Ice, the other vampires he’d made. He would make vampires to test my Stand. None of them could get close when I materialized her. He knew he couldn’t kill me. He taught me. I know English, Japanese, French, and Spanish fluently, and fragments of German and Italian.”

Kakyoin kissed your forehead. “Your Japanese is excellent.”

You looked up. “It was weird. One day I was struggling with just the alphabet, and the next I was fluent.”

Kakyoin shrugged. “Things like that happen around Dio.”

You nodded. “It was the day after he brought in that kid, Pucci?”

Kakyoin laughed softly. “Pucci’s Stand could take parts of someone’s soul and implant them into other people. Stands, languages, memories.”

You nodded, “That makes sense.”

He nodded. “What’s your most comfortable language?”

You shrugged. “I still like Arabic most, next English, but those were my first two. And I can only speak Arabic with Avdol. But I like talking to you in your language.”

He nodded. “Japanese is pretty.”

You agreed. “I enjoy the flow of it.”

You yawned and snuggled into his chest. “Sleepy time now.”

You passed out in his arms. The last thing you heard was his soft chuckle.

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until-we-fall-in-love · 5 years

Text

Into the Hush: Chapter One

Into the Hush Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Reader undertones

Summary: It's only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn't anymore.

(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)

Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: howdy ya’ll lol don’t know how i came up with this one but it’s an A/B/O cowboy historical gothic au. it’s gonna get dark! also gonna be a real nasty slow burn lmaooo so mind the warnings, if you don’t do well with gore or violence, perhaps this isn’t the fic for you. also if you don’t like the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, this isn’t for you, either, though i will be taking some liberties with this and trying to give my own take on it because there are aspects of it that i don’t like lol. im not quite sure how long this series will be, but i have plans for it. that being said, saddle up pardner lol and pls let me know what you thought of this first chapter!!!!

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Wyoming, 1872

The early morning air is crisp with new spring, cold and a little damp, dew glistening on the grass and glinting gold in the morning sun. Your breath still comes out in soft puffs that curl into the air as you step out onto your creaking, front porch. It overlooks the barren dirt road that leads up to your humble and charming farmhouse; weathered by time and storm and pleasantly cluttered with life and home at every turn. Off to the left is the freshly tilled ground that has been planted in; herbs and fruits and vegetables that will take over in the warm summer months. Trees have shaken the snow from them and have turned green and budding and new again.

You wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to gather more warmth from the worn cream, crochet wrap. You know once the sun rises higher into the afternoon, you’ll grow too warm for it, but now it’s needed. The wind curls around you, rustles your hair, lifts your skirts. It carries the promise of warmth, the reminder of winter.

All is peaceful in the morning, before the day has broken over the hills. All that sings is the birds, lovely and bright and flitting from tree to tree.

You lift your skirts, head over to the back porch, which wraps the entire way along your house. In the back is the barn, the pasture for the animals to graze when it’s warm. The creek towards the back, bubbling softly over the stones, crystal clear and cool. It’s perfect on a summer afternoon, but now would be too cold for you.

And you begin your day, head over to the shed where you ready the feed for the chickens, grab a basket for eggs. You enter the coop, greet the clucking hens with a coo, spreading food for them which they hurry to eagerly. As they eat, you gently reach for warm eggs in their nest, gather it into your basket and rush on to your other chores.

Milk the cows, get them fresh water, fresh hay and in the afternoon, you’ll let them out in the pasture to warm in the sun.

A few of them are round with calves, ready to give birth any day now.

You tend to the single horse, only one now after your father’s male passed away last spring. The one left is yours; a dappled, brown mare you’ve affectionately called Clover.

You’ll take her to town later, to sell extra eggs and milk, all the goods you can in exchange for bread or spices or money for the tax collector. By the time you’re finished with your chores, which is taking longer and longer as the farm extends and your father grows older and older, it’s around noon, the sun beginning to warm into pleasant rays of topaz and canary.

Your father sits on the porch, in his old rocking chair, smoking a pipe. His knee has been bad since this past fall, has a harder and harder time helping you. Not that you mind; this farm has practically become yours, but he hates leaving you to it all alone.

He’s been dying to set you up with an Alpha, find a good man to marry and help you with the farm. But none of the men from town pique your interest, few good Alphas in the small town of Longbrook, Wyoming. The train, not far from town, brings newcomers once and awhile, but it’s mostly quiet, tucked away in a valley, a river snaking its way through and out into the plains of wildflowers and fields.

You know Longbrook’s secrets, the quiet, beautiful places that you run to when you have the time. Spend your evenings lazing in columbine and aster flowers, beneath old, crooked trees near quiet, turquoise lakes. Or on a bluff, looking high above the world, cool wind in your face and the fluttering of birds nearer to you than planted on the grounds below.

You know where not to stray to, when the wilderness grows too rough and dangerous. Unrestrained in both it’s beauty and viciousness.

So independent that you can’t quite imagine your life beside another, especially not beside an Alpha, with their combative, controlling natures. You can’t imagine a husband that wouldn’t mind you taking off, disappearing into the wilderness and returning when you fancy; like some feral cat, your father always remarks gruffly.

He isn’t a fan of your disappearing acts, either. Alpha that he is, he’s kept careful and close watch on you since you discovered you were Omega, as irritating as it is. Controlling, but only because he means well. You manage to sate him by coming home before nightfall, when dusk is lavender and rose and the moon is only beginning to take the sun’s place. Besides, there’s not much he can do with his bad knee, can’t keep you cooped up the way he used to.

Ever since your mother had passed, you had to step up around the farm, grow up a little too quick. Responsible and resourceful, you work hard for you and your father. But your father has grown rather overprotective, wary with the Alphas he let come around; well respected in the town, no one has dared disobey him. A few had tried; Brock Rumlow, the tax collector, was the most notable of them. Pushy and irksome, he’d tried to convince you to disobey, sway you to sneak out with him or let him come by but you always turned your nose up at him.

You have no interest in someone so aggressive, so controlling.

You aren’t one to roll over or lower your eyes submissively; many Omegas aren’t, in your opinion, but it’s expected. There’s no time for that, though, not for you. No use or desire for it. You have a farm to take care of, to keep running smoothly. You have a life to live, adventures to have, open sky to chase.

And there’s certainly nothing and no one that’s going to stop you.

“Be careful goin’ into town,” Your father speaks up finally, smoke curling from his lips, voice rough and fogged, “Heard there was a few newcomers.”

Your father is always wary of newcomers, prefers to assess them himself, rather than hear from others.

“Yes, pa.” You respond, not particularly interested in them, nor sticking around for one of your father’s infamous lectures. You hurry on, grabbing all that you need, loading up Clover for the journey. You saddle her up, throw yourself over her with practiced ease, hitching your skirts up slightly and out of the way.

“Be home by nightfall!” Your father hollers after you, but you’re already easing Clover onto the dirt path.

“Of course!” You call back, just as you urge her into a faster pace, your voice carries on the wind, distant and as light as the new blossoms.

You push her into a gallop; not because there’s a rush, but because it’s fun. Because the wind is in your hair and the sun is warm on your shoulders and Clover thunders across the ground, kicking up dirt and making a mess.

You let a grin hitch onto the corner of your lips, lean forward, ease into the speed. The town is only a twenty minute ride, fifteen if you pushed, but you want to enjoy the ride. The landscape blurs past you in shades of olive and juniper, butter cream, robin’s egg blue. The pop of lily white, a sudden burst of dainty pink or blushing red. But it’s just you and the trees and the pounding of your heart along the beat of hooves against the solid ground.

Free and open and bursting, you race away from home eagerly and into the wilderness.

You end up slowing Clover halfway through your journey, appreciating the spring air, new and linen clean, shadowed patterns falling over you beneath the trees. The wind tickles your cheeks, the distant sound of the river can be heard when you listen carefully, a soft rush of water. It’s soothing, like the creek by your house, the sloshing lake you visit often. You let it carry you into town, peaceful, lazily letting Clover step onto more worn dirt roads.

Town people shout to you in greeting, wave as you pass by; you’re a familiar face to them. You give them smiles, holler back to some as you make your way to the grocers to sell your eggs and milk. You swing down from Clover, hopping easily onto your feet.

You end up walking out of the grocer’s with some extra money and a few cans of preserved vegetables and fruits. You buy some bread at the bakery, a pastry to split with Wanda, who you’re hoping can join you for the afternoon.

You catch sight of her outside the dress shop, peering at the finely made clothes through the window. She wears her own dress of dove grey, similar in fashion to yours rather than the ones she gazes at; your dresses are looser, easier to move and work and play in, aprons tied around your waists instead of the ruffles and frill of the dresses in the window. Her long curls cascade over her shoulders, near copper under the afternoon sun.

You call to her, watch as her features light up upon seeing you, before she picks her skirts up and bounds over to you. Her scent hits you; sweetly Omega, soft clary sage, warm rose, and damp patchouli. Mysterious and floral, she’s always been a little offbeat with her wide, wondering eyes that linger in darkness.

Some of the elders call her a witch, little demon child, with her Eastern European ties and mischievous curl of her lips. But to you she is only Wanda, your dearest.

Her fingers, nimble and quick, find yours, lock and lace together. “Hello, darling.” She says, pressing her lips to your cheek in greeting, her voice melodic and smooth; velvet dark and sweet twilight.

You let your cheek brush hers, lean into the touch eagerly, soft, rosy and warm skin against yours. “Hello, Wanda.”

She pulls back with a flutter of her lashes, wide eyes finding yours. There’s a familiar glimmer in them, which makes your heart leap amorously, excited and playful. “Are we going to sneak off to the meadow today, still?” She asks, dropping her voice to a hush and stepping nearer. Your hands tighten over hers as you draw closer, duck your head so you catch another breeze of her scent in her hair, the nape of her neck.

“Yes,” You reply, an eager smile pulling at your lips, “I bought us a pastry to split and a book to read.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” She nearly purrs, bouncing lightly on her toes in excitement. You’re about to pull her along, drag her towards Clover when someone clears their throat behind you.

You both turn, fingers still interwoven, pressed to one another’s sides. Her warmth is welcome and comforting, especially as you both find Rumlow gazing back at the pair of you with depthless, cold eyes. His face, so marred and twisted, gleams pink and shiny with scarred and new skin under the afternoon light. The rays of white gold sunlight do nothing to lighten his features, nor the darkness of his gaze.

It pierces deep into you, as if he wants to pry and prod and pick you cleanly apart. It’s the gaze of a conqueror, you think, the gaze of someone who wants something that can never be theirs. It’s a disturbing hunger, the kind that sends a deep chill down your spine.

Wanda squeezes your hand in comfort. So attuned to you, she perhaps can tell by body language or the dip in your scent that you’re frightened in some way, that Rumlow has caused you distress and he has yet to even open his jagged, scarred mouth.

“Lovely afternoon for you ladies.” He says very coldly, as if he is not in fact concerned with the weather nor you both.

“Yes, it is.” Wanda replies for you, a dark, protective little gleam in her eyes. You can smell the shift of scent with her light aggression, the flare of sage that burns and tickles your nose. It sharpens and spices, makes you blink with it.

“You’re both looking mighty fine, rich with spring. Omegas always were sweetest in spring. Isn’t that right?” He muses and it chills you to the bone, makes you press closer to Wanda’s side, as if you could fold into the safety of her body.

There is old folklore; spring being associated with Omegas. It’s all about fertility and the new life that blossoms in spring, old wives’ tales of Omegas getting their strongest heats in the spring after long, dormant winters. Perhaps there is some truth to it, biologically, because winter can get so harsh and so sparse with food if one isn’t careful. Bearing children in winter would never be easy, but it’s something you don’t wish to linger on, particularly not with the way Rumlow is eyeing you.

Like ripening fruit to be picked. A flower blooming, awaiting the moment to pluck it from the earth.

Wanda grows uncomfortable now, too, you can feel it in the bunching of her slim shoulders. But she steps in front of you purposefully, a show of challenge to Rumlow, one of protection for you.

“Isn’t that right, ladies?” Rumlow urges, taking a step forward and Wanda sharply takes a step back, forcing you back as well. You cling to the back of her skirts with tense, seeking fingers.

“I sure hope you’re not botherin’ these girls.” Another voice speaks up, authoritative and strong and sure. The kind of voice that gives commands, ones you think many eagerly would follow. Not unkind, but unwavering. When you both turn to the source, it’s a blond man, broad shouldered and wide and tall. He’s dressed simply, the top few buttons of his shirt popped open to reveal a muscled chest. Pretty, light blue eyes. He has an honest face, a strong jaw, trustworthy and noble.

His scent is distinctly Alpha, strong and commanding; cedar wood and leather. The soft notes of something gentler like cotton and the way your linen smells on a summer day fluttering in the breeze to be dry. It’s soothing, a deep comfort compared to the off-beat, metal tang and sour blood smell of Rumlow’s scent.

Which, has become bitter and salty with his anger and aggression for this newcomer.

“I wasn’t bothering them. Was I bothering you Omegas?” He asks sharply, prickling with agitation and it makes you grip Wanda’s skirts a little tighter. “And who are you, anyways?” He then almost growls, “Newcomer isn’t gonna tell me what to do.”

You can tell Rumlow’s itching to pick a fight by the tightening of his shoulders and baring of his teeth. The air becomes charged with scent, territorial and angry and pungent. Wanda’s is still spiced and agitated, too, with the threat of Rumlow. Your own is dipped into distress, irritation, and the newcomer’s becomes stronger, cedar wood sharp. Rooted in place, he cocks his head slightly, challenging.

“Why don’t you move along.” The newcomer says, and he’s not asking, he’s telling. It’s bold of him, with the way Rumlow’s face; twisted and angry, settles on him. No one challenges Rumlow in this town. He holds too much power, is too strong; both physically and socially. Even protected by the law by being a tax collector for Alexander Pierce.

Another man steps up behind the blond, eyeing Rumlow with particularly cold and dark eyes; midnight blue, the evening sky bleary with stars, depthless and all consuming. His hair is longer, brushing the tops of his shoulders, half pulled back from his strong face--

When your eyes settle upon his features for the first time, it feels as if you’ve been struck; a blow of lightning, the sudden shock of cold water, the gasp you take when you resurface. It’s damning, you think, as if you’ve seen him in your dreams or in hazy, unknown past lives. As if you’ve known him your whole life, somehow, as if you recognize him now and wonder how you ever could’ve forgotten him.

He looks like the tragic heroes you read about; the ones that rise only to fall, crumble down after being so noble and wide-eyed. He is breathtaking and standing tall and strong against Rumlow’s piercing gaze. There’s a warning in his eyes, a half-dare, begging Rumlow to try something and see what happens now. Where the blond is golden-hearted and bright-eyed, he seems darker, more eclipsed.

And surprisingly, it works, Rumlow eyes the pair of them, weighs his options, and then promptly steps down. He mutters something about leaving, about how this isn’t the end. But you can’t help the quirk of a smile, the hint of cruel amusement you get from watching him ease away. Slink off back into the hustle of town.

Wanda smiles wider than you, sharper, a little more mischievous, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rumlow cower like that.” She says and turns towards the newcomers with a radiance that is hard to match.

And the blond smiles, easy and gentle, “Glad we could help.” And then with deep courtesy, “Steve Rogers, by the way.”

“Wanda Maximoff.” She pulls you back up to her side once more, offers your name to them, too.

Steve claps the other man on the shoulder, an ease is shared between them that is not unsimilar to you and Wanda. Steve adds, “James Buchanan. But we just call him Bucky.”

And Bucky nods, his eyes finally sliding over to you; his scent hits you at nearly the same time. Offbeat and pine, the sharp, cold smell of metal. There’s evergreen and winter, maybe the soft spice of juniper, the low cut of musk. It makes your eyes flutter, makes your head go soft and bleary with it.

“Pleasure to meet you both.” Wanda says and her voice refocuses you, her fingers skimming yours to ground you. You flit your eyes away, but can feel Bucky’s suddenly sink over you the way the red sun will drop below the hills.

You become keenly aware of your bare neck, hair pulled from your face and shoulders to reveal it to him. The cut of your dress suddenly seems both revealing and not revealing enough. Like it could constrict you, or maybe you’re showing too much skin.

“What brings you here?” You ask, perhaps a little cooly, eyes seeking out the horizon rather than them. Anything but him.

“Passing through. Looking for work for a few weeks.” Steve answers politely and his eyes glitter like the creek in the high summer. He’s pretty, you think, long lashes framing those eyes.

“Oh!” Wanda exclaims and she loops her arm through yours solidly, her body warm and soft beside you, “You’re in luck! She needs help running her farm!”

You almost choke. Throw Wanda a glare but she only meets you with that impish, precious smile you can’t stay mad at for very long.

“I don’t--” You try to protest.

“She does!” Wanda interjects, “Her father injured his knee awhile ago, been looking for someone to help out.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps Buck and I will have to stop by.” Steve says easily, a half amused grin tugging at his lips as he gazes between you and Wanda. Almost as if he’s endeared by your antics. You bristle.

“My father doesn’t take to newcomers very well.” You warn, as if that’ll scare these two Alphas away so easily after their little stunt with Rumlow. You worry that few things will scare these two off.

Regardless you don’t need them on your farm, don’t need them trying to help or care for you or order you around. It’s always been you, and no one will change that. You’re not about to let them treat you like some soft, little creature who should be inside baking them pies and fetching them water.

But you can feel Bucky’s eyes on your face still, as if he’s trying to burrow in there, make a home upon which he gazes.

You grow even tenser, teeth grinding. No home to find inside you; just the unruliness of nature, the ever-changing seasons, or unforgivable storms. The river that churns too fast, dives between the mountains and the forests, the sly, sharp-toothed fox.

You turn your nose up, “Besides,” You say, insolent and dry, “I don’t really need any help.”

“‘Course.” Steve agrees and you aren’t sure if it’s to placate you or if he’s genuine, “But if you’re looking for an extra pair of hands to order around, we’re your guys.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You say, though decidedly won’t.

Daring yourself, you finally force your eyes to Bucky once more. His face is stern and closed off, reserved. He hasn’t spoken once, and stupidly, horribly, you long to hear his voice. You wonder what it sounds like, if it’s rough or smooth or everything at once. Does he speak loudly or softly? Will you have to lean in to hear him or will you step back at the crack of it?

And yet, he hasn’t needed it once yet. His presence, formidable and strong and raw, is enough.

You blink, look away just as he glances back at you. This strange game of cat and mouse with eyes is making your fingers twitch and tighten in your skirts.

“We should be off,” You tell Wanda, wishing to flee, to feel the wind on your face and Wanda’s body beside yours and the afternoon sun bursting on your skin.

Steve wishes the pair of you well, gentlemanly and sweet. Tips his hat with a boyish sort of grin that perhaps would leave other’s swooning.

And Bucky, gruffly, and with a sort of gentleness you aren’t expecting to find, says to you, “It was nice meeting you both.”

Something warm settles into your chest, sliding down like molasses, dripping into your stomach and core, spreading throughout you like it owns you; settles deep into you like it won’t leave, real deep into the marrow of your bones. And you inhale, breathe as if this is your first real breath in the whole of your life.

You find yourself replying, almost as softly, “It was nice to meet you, too.”

His lips twitch upwards in the barest hint of a smile, as if it’s the first time he’s smiled in a long, long time and he needs you to show him how again.

So you do, you give him your own smile that isn’t much bigger, but it’s much easier and sweet as honey, clever as a fox. Almost like you want him to chase you, follow that curve of your lips.

Wanda giggles, before pulling you away and back towards Clover to begin your adventure for the day, but you think you can feel the dark of his eyes on the back of your neck still, the line of your shoulders. It lingers, until you ride off into the heather hills with her and disappear on the gauzy horizon.

---

Wanda and you roll in the wild grass on the sloping hills. Laughing and chasing and playing like you’re girls again, half-savage and free and untempered. You tumble and shriek and hitch up your skirts, loosen your dresses and unbutton collars. The sun is a gold glow, warming the earth and your skin, shimmering dreamlike on the new green buds, the wheat yellow of the tall grass. You tip your face up to the sky eagerly, just as you let yourself flop back into the field, back hitting the ground that catches your fall, cradles you. Clouds pass overhead in cotton shapes, free and darling, and you’re still breathing a little hard from romping around with Wanda, feeling your heartbeat inside the cage of your chest. You feel flushed with life; ferocious and curious and excited.

Wanda drops down by your feet, before slowly, languidly crawling atop you. She straddles your waist, her skirts spilling out over the two of you. You sit up on your elbows, jostle and try to dislodge her a little with another round with warm laughter, but she holds fast, nails digging into your shoulders.

“I saw the way you were looking at Bucky.” She says and there’s too much mischief in her eyes, a clever glint that the sun turns amber and honey hazel.

You roll your eyes at her, but even the mention of his name on her lips makes something inside of you stir. But you indulge her, leveling her with an unamused gaze, “And how was that, Wanda?”

She leans over you, her fiery hair brushing your cheek, your shoulders. She fits herself closer, twines her arms around you all close and snug.

“Like you wanted to bare your throat to him right then and there.” She teases playfully, voice dipping into a warm, rumbling purr. Her nose drops, nuzzles lightly at the sensitive scent gland at your neck. It makes you squirm, your fingers tightening in the skirts of her dress.

You allow her so close, allow lips and teeth and nose into the dips of your body because she’s so familiar to you. A piece of your heart is firmly in her small, warm hands. It blurs the thin, unsteady line between you two, though. Scenting at the neck is usually romantic in some way; often times sexual. Comforting, when it needs to be, but you’ve laid so many times with Wanda, gotten so close and tangled together that you often find your nose at her throat, the nape of her neck, tucking your face into the crooks of her body and she to you. You know her like a lover, you think, sink into her body beneath the sun and the moon and the open skies that spread out before you both. As if the whole world opens for you two.

“Your scent got sweeter; milky lavender and dark jasmine.” Her lashes tickle your collar bones, her mouth warm and open against the skin there. It makes you flush deeply, sink into the earth beneath you, “Want him to bite you?” She jibes, flashes pearly teeth, her canine gleaming in that white sun.

“Wanda!” You yelp, shoving at her and she throws her head back and laughs, “No!” And you begin to wrestle with her once more, pushing her off and sending you both tumbling down another hill. You shriek and peel with laughter, pulling and grabbing at each other until you roll apart.

She gets on her hands and knees, feigns a growl from an Alpha in her throat, the kind that rumbles out from deep within them, but the sound is a little muted, and too light in her mouth. She suddenly pounces for you again, playful and light, sending you belly up and onto your back, though. “You want him to tackle you like this,” She torments, grabbing at your wrists as you try and squirm and fight with her.

With a grunt and all your strength, you roll her right onto her back now, hook your legs over her hips like she did.

“You want to simper and cry under him,” She says and this time her voice gets soft and breathy and pouty and she is good at that. Her back arches beneath you and you push at her more, tighten your hands around her wrists, shove them down to the ground, feel her heaving chest and trace the curve of her smiling lips and rose touched cheeks with eager eyes.

“I don’t!” You laugh, playfully bare your teeth at her and try and growl back the way she had. It’s better than hers, a little more bite to it, but it’s still too light and soft. She laughs with you at your attempt now, laughs and growls and yells with you until you’re both breathless because there is nothing and no one around to hear you but each other.

You howl and chase and fall into each other with giggles and wildflowers in your hair, get lost in her and the way the sun begins to fall from the sky and cast everything in a rosewood haze, slow and burning and beautiful.

She lays her cheek on your back when you ride Clover back to her home, and she kisses you goodnight, lips at the corner of yours. Promises to see you tomorrow.

And then you ride home, race fast and hard before the sun is swallowed by the moon, before the stars blink into existence and your father scolds you to all hell and back.

------------------

Home seems eerie with the darkness that creeps around its edges, night drawing out all the creeks and aches and splinters in the old house. All the memories pushed towards the back of your mind rush forward like skittering spiders. The last sliver of light sits on the horizon, fighting, railing against that inky sky as you get home.

And when you rush through the front door, shouting, “Pa, I’m home before the sun’s set!” You aren’t expecting to nearly run right into the broad chest of Steve Rogers.

You blink hard and he steadies you with a hushed, “Easy,” And his big hands on your shoulders.

You look up at him in disbelief, brows furrowing, quickly lurching away from him, only to realize Bucky stands to his right.

“What--” You start to snap, and this time your teeth are baring with aggression and irritation, gone is the lightness and playfulness you had with Wanda. Your eyes flash with the last cut of light that slashes through the old windows of your house.

“There’s my feral cat of a daughter, fellas.” Your father says and your head whirls to him.

He begins to introduce the three of you again, but you cut him off, “I met ‘em today, Pa.”

“Oh, good.” He says dryly, unappreciative of your tone. You force back a wince, know you’ll get scolded for that one. “They’ll be helping you out on the farm for a few weeks.”

You whip back to face Steve and Bucky, narrow your eyes at them, “Thought I told you both I don’t need any help?” You snap, unruly, wildflowers still caught in your hair that now slips free of what it’d been pulled back in earlier. You’re sure you look half-wild.

Steve holds up his hands as if he means no harm, palms up to you and you see they’re rough and calloused and scarred. Used, working hands. Hands that have seen a lot. You glance at Bucky, notice that one of his hands is gloved, the other free. You try not to stare, flit your eyes back to Steve.

“In our defense, we didn’t know this was your farm. We were sent this way after inquiring in town for work.” Steve says calmly, and then puts his hand over his heart, “Honest.”

You scoff lightly, turn back to your father, “I don’t need them, Pa.”

“No,” He agrees and pride swells in you, a small bubble of it for a heartbeat, “But they’d be a great help to you.”

There’s no amount of arguing or protesting that’s gonna change your father’s mind once it’s been set. He seems settled on this, content and confident. You try not to pout, try not to stamp your feet or snap or glare them right out of your house.

Final discussions are had; pay and what times they’ll arrive and leave. Your father, thankfully, warns them to listen to you, and if he finds differently, they’ll be kicked to the dirt as quickly as they’d gotten the job.

And then he warns them, quite frankly, to mind themselves around you and you can feel your cheeks deepen into crimson. Bucky and Steve dip their heads, though, say obedient and firm, yes sir’s, as if they expected it.

Your father finishes with, “Alright, then. You two start tomorrow.” And then he looks to you, “Walk them out, will you?”

You huff, but do so, walk them to the porch where the crickets and frogs have begun to chirp and croak and sing. The night crawls onward, the wind rattles this old house. A chill overcomes you, a little shudder. You think you can hear the far-off sound of baying coyotes, erie and high pitched in their frenzied yelping.

“Suppose I’ll see you both bright and early in the morning, then.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Suppose so.” Steve says, lowers his eyes a little, “I did mean it, we didn’t know this was your farm.”

You eye him, “Nothin’ I can do about it now, is there?” You counter, unwilling to give an inch, no matter how sweetly he looks at you with those darling, blue eyes. You’re sure that boyish charm works everywhere else, but you refuse to let it here.

He has the good sense to dip his head submissively, nodding slightly, “We’ll get out of your hair for the night then, let you rest. Goodnight, ma’am.” He says respectfully, before easing down off the old wood that protests beneath his heavy steps.

And for a heartbeat, it is only you and Bucky and the rattling tree branches and the croaking night. A moment frozen, as if you’d captured it in a bottle like a letter that you’ll throw into the sea. Just this sliver of time that makes the whole world stand still, as if it’s been waiting or fearing for your coming together.

You have nothing to say, but he inclines his head, holds your eyes like he’s holding the world in his arms, and murmurs all low and rumbling, “Goodnight, miss.”

Then turns his back on you, and hustles over to Steve, to their tethered horses.

And this time it’s you that watches him, eyes glued to his muscled back, the nape of his neck, as he eventually is swarmed by the darkened, reaching horizon.

---

You fall into bed, feeling strange and wary, a little weary, perhaps a little hopeful, too. For what, you don’t know. You can feel the wind changing, coming with new spring. But there’s something else, something heavier; the pressure is building, as if there’s a storm brewing. The kind of spring storm that bring destruction and clamor and the kind of rain that threatens to sweep you away in their flood and ferocity.

Your bed creeks, the shadows are tall and reaching in your room. The moon spills in, but instead of painting you with wonder or lovely, pearl light, it only makes the shadows that much darker. The night brings the cold, makes you pull tight and inwards. You curl up beneath your quilt, try and ward off all that presses in.

Eventually, you sleep.

And you dream.

You dream in visions of phantom grey and oil slick black, syrupy red, and flesh pink. You step lightly in a graveyard, the earth freshly turned and dark. Stones jut out from the ground like jagged, crooked teeth. It swallows you whole. The fog is thick and evasive, surrounding you and gathering around you, a train to your skirts that murmur and brush against stones and dirt and the hollowed out ground.

A grave with your father’s name grows from the earth, forces you to stop, stutter backwards. Your teeth begin chattering, the clanking of bone against bone. You can feel the whispers of wind, something so near. Your heart plummets as you read his name, as you see his grave, which you now see is besides your mother’s.

The ground trembles.

Their graves crack, splinter like a dropped glass, bursting outwards in a wave of skittering, flaming stone.

Frantically, you drop to your knees, try to put them all back together, as if that will somehow help. As if that will fix anything. You curse and cry and there are tears-- there are tears that drop onto burning stone. It sizzles and smokes but you can’t put them back together. You are alone, and you can’t.

Your hands begin to burn, flesh pink and blister white. Mud sucks at your legs and your knees and then you are sinking, sinking, sinking--

Oil drowns you, forces its way down your mouth and your throat and clogs your lungs. Seeps into every part of you. It’s invasive, forceful in it’s push and pull of you, it sucks at you and you are forced downward, kicking and screaming. Forced to swallow and take and be filled.

You twist, frantic. Try to fight back, but you are caught in the thick of it. It devours your screams and cries and pain.

And from above, there is a cut of silver, a star in the inky sky. A hand; metal and unnatural plunges in for you. And he pulls you clear out of the muck, the earth’s blood and into his arms.

When you emerge, it is as if you’re cleansed by the light. Gone is the slick oil, gone is the choking and drowning and thrashing. Bucky holds you to him now, crushes you to his chest where you can hear the live, thundering beat of his heart.

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs, cradling your skull as if it’s precious, something to be protected. Your nose is pushed to his neck and you--

You cling to him, swallow down clean gulps of spring air and the juniper bright and metal sharp smell of him. Pine, there is pine and evergreen, too. Clean and fresh and dipping into musk. Your heart slows, lulls, with his voice in your ear; that voice you’d so desperately wanted to hear.

You feel as if you’ve heard it your whole life now, as if you can’t imagine going another day without hearing it. And he says your name, not Omega, just your name. And he breathes and is warm and alive beneath you.

When you look around now, the earth is fertile and bright and warm. Spring damp roses and sweet, honeycomb sunshine. The fauna is in full bloom, an overabundance of life that leaves you inhaling the fragrant air. It’s so thick, almost cloying.

And there is no breeze, you think.

And Bucky’s lips are at your neck.

And there is a stirring in your stomach but its--

It’s all wrong.

He tries to lay you down. And you don’t protest because there’s something so tempting about it all, so safe, or so instinctual. There’s an ache and a burn and you want to shed your skin, you want to let him in and never let him out, bury his body in the ground with you. Become the earth and fertilize the flowers and feed the foxes you love so much. You wanna lie with him until the crow calls, until you’re nothing but him and you and the gem stones deep in the ground.

But when his face lifts from your vulnerable neck, it is not him.

Rumlow stares down at you, his scarred face so close and imploring. He croons Omega and you shriek, you try to get away, but it’s like the oil all over again; you trapped and thrashing and stuck. Rabbit in a snare. Fox in a trap. You scream, scream for Bucky or Wanda or even Steve or your father. You scream until it tapers off and burns into something ragged, shredding your voice.

He is just heavy atop you, and his face is morphing and shifting, like he’s a new creature altogether. Blackened eyes that are too wide, too large and there is a gaping whole where his mouth should be--

You claw at him, scratch with nails, pull at pink flesh and cartilage and bone until he starts dripping blood and saliva, growling like a rabid dog. You twist his face away so sharply, so horribly, that there is a sickening crack and then the full of him collapses atop you.

You squirm and you are crying, choked sobs because it feels like you are burning, or aching. Lonesome and longing or horrified and fearful of everyone. You want to be held in equal measures that you want to run away and never see another face again. You are torn, split in two and unraveling.

When you scramble away, deeper into the fragrant wild grass. You realize there is wetness, slick and warm and--

There is blood. So much blood coating your legs and it seeps through your skirts, stemming from between your legs. It pools beneath you, waters the flowers and seeps into the earth as if it belongs there.

You howl like an animal, fingers squabbling in the dirt and the blood and your body as if you can put yourself back together again--

You wake with a hard, sucking gasp. Blinking hard in the darkness. Your hands pull at your nightgown, shift to feel your skin, still warm and dry and clean beneath your heavy quilt. Reassuring, gulping breaths bring back cool air into your lungs. I’m safe, you tell yourself, it was just a dream.

But the night is still dark and the bed still creaks and the wind still howls, almost the way you had when you’d found all that blood-- No.

But now you’re just awake, in a lonely room. And there is no comfort, no warmth or forgiveness in the hollowness of it all.

You rise in the morning, heavy bags beneath your eyes, and begin your day in hopes of a better one.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #a/b/o verse #alpha/beta/omega au #cowboy au #bucky barnes fanfiction #alpha bucky barnes #omega reader

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kiwisfics · 5 years

Text

Galra!Keith with an S/O

- Galra mate for life and Keith most definitely inherited that.

- Keith does not know this.

- Most of his childhood was riddled with mocking for his lack of even small signs of romantic interest.

- He really wasn’t interested at all though and he never really cared enough to force a relationship.

- And then he met you.

- He still doesn’t know that galra mate for life, but the moment he met you, he knew he wouldn’t want to spend his life with anyone else.

- He couldn’t say how he knew, but he most certainly did.

- He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky.

- He acts like a lovesick kid, following you around like a puppy and fawning over you from the moment he met you.

- Pidge is the first one to know, not only because he’s obvious but because Keith needs to talk to someone.

- I live for Keith and Pidge being friends aha.

- I headcanon that, as bad as I think he would be with confessing without all the galra traits, he’d be so much worse with the traits in place.

- Especially if you didn’t know about him being part galra beforehand.

- How is he supposed to tell you his mother was a member of the race you’re all fighting?

- And how was he supposed to explain all the traits he’d begun to display?

- Oh whoops now you’re confessing to him and he’s SHOOK.

- Also yeah, you literally couldn’t care less about what he is.

- You find pretty much all of the traits enduring anyway since they’re a part of him.

- Immediately, you know Keith is gonna be difficult when it comes to your affection.

- He shows it fine, but when you show it…

- Oh boy.

- As soon as you show him affection, he’s burying his face against your shoulder.

- And you’re having none of it.

- When you first see him blush you’re absolutely swooning because oh my lord, he blushes purple.

- “Keith you’re so cute!”

- “I’m not cute!”

- So, everyone knows humans can be awful about showing off, especially when trying to impress someone they’re interested in.

- Galra with their mates are the absolute worst.

- He sneaks glances at you when he’s training and when he knows you’re looking he will do something he thinks will impress you.

- Most of the time, while he is impressive, you can’t help finding his search for your approval absolutely adorable.

- If you do compliment him, he acts like it’s not a big deal, but he definitely becomes even more obvious about his glances toward you.

- His ears will flick if you compliment him while he’s in his galra “form”.

- Seeing him puff his chest out after your praise, you can’t help but think he looks like a dog that was getting praised.

- It’s hard not to compare him to a puppy when he also nudges his head under your arm when you aren’t paying attention to his display.

- He will pout if you call him cute, but it’s more out of embarrassment.

- Please don’t let the others hear that.

- Cuddle him now please.

- Cuddling is a must.

- And that does include in the ridiculous places he chooses to nap.

- He nips at your neck while cuddling.

- The others don’t understand why you’ve started wearing headphones around your neck constantly.

- Keith is smug about it.

- But he isn’t jealous or anything.

- Even though he does love seeing the little marks later.

- He honestly just really likes nipping at your skin.

- You joke that he’s teething, but it just gets you a couple harder bites.

- He trusts you to handle yourself with other men and would never accuse you of cheating or flirting with someone.

- “Why would I? I’m better looking then all of them combined.”

- He blushes as he says it and he’s SO CUTE.

- But if he sees someone touch you without permission he WILL start and finish a fight.

- Honestly, he’s pretty much always ready for a fight so messing with you is just going to end in chaos.

- He trusts you so much I can’t not emphasize this enough.

- If anyone ever cheated on this boy I would transcend the laws of dimensional travel and fight them.

- Then again I get the urge to when anyone even looks at him wrong so I guess that’s no surprise.

- He loves to rough house!

- He could spend hours hunting you down and pinning you when you’re trying to accomplish anything.

- When he gets it in his mind to “hunt” you, its better to just go along with him and try to hide from him.

- At some point the glorified hide and seek turns into you rolling around on the floor, attempting to pin each other with the winner getting to be the big spoon during his next nap.

- He only loses when he wants to be the little spoon.

- Jokes on him, you win either way.

- The rough housing ends with both of you giddy and blushing because neither of you can resist smothering the other’s face in kisses when they’re pinned.

- On the subject of naps:

- Keith is the best big spoon.

- It’s not that he completely engulfs you or anything, but the way he nuzzles against your back and presses his face into your hair with his lips leaving little kisses up until the moment he falls asleep is incredible.

- The kisses get cuter and cuter the closer he gets to sleep because he’ll start mumbling little compliments.

- You don’t understand most of it since his mouth is still against your neck but you know he called you his inspiration at one point and it made you melt.

- He has also called you a chicken nugget before and you literally had to leave because you were laughing so hard.

- He misses chicken nuggets.

- As the little spoon he holds your hands as they wrap around him and brings them to his face for kisses.

- He’s the best nap buddy either way.

- Sometimes he just lays down on you and falls asleep.

- You call these times piles because all the animals follow.

- He has an AWFUL habit of saying “good girl” or “atta girl” and sending you into moments of pure shock.

- Normally in the middle of training.

- Does he NOT know how hot that is??

- Babe you can’t do this.

- We are in the middle of a war stop making me want to kiss you.

- His predatory stalking is also extremely hot.

- Like imagine him just walking toward you with a grin on his face and pinning you against the wall with the predatory stance.

- Someone who looks exactly like Keith needs to pin me to a wall right now.

- I need kisses.

- His fangs frequently leave little cuts on the inside of your bottom lip.

- He apologizes sincerely every time but you *know* he’s doing it on purpose now.

- You also know it shouldn’t be so hot that he likes to taste your blood.

- Likewise, his claws leave little pinpricks on your hips and sides.

- You adore his claws and fangs.

- Other than those marks, he’s very gentle with you.

- He refuses to yell at you since he knows it would likely come with a growl and the last thing he wants to do is scare you.

- There’s surprisingly little to argue about though.

- You understand the danger he puts himself in, even if you hate it.

- “Keith I normally stay out of it, but if you EVER fly toward certain death again I will kill you before you even reach it.”

- "What if you’re not there?”

- “Fury will give me the ability to defy the laws of physics and teleport in order to knock some sense into you.“

- Besides, you’re not sitting around yourself.

- He likes to have physical contact with you in any way he can.

- Hand holding is the most common, but you’ve also learned to be ready for him to simply hoist you onto his shoulders.

- He lives for physical affection and you’re the only one allowed to hear him purr unrestrained.

- He is impressively loud.

- And his chirps are something to LIVE for.

- Pretty deep, but still surprising to hear when considering his voice.

- He’ll press his head against your hand if you mess with his hair and will nuzzle against you whenever he wants attention.

- You tried to give him the nickname "kitten” on account of all this, but it backfired and now he addresses you by “kitten” nearly as often as he calls you by your name.

- He enjoys having your hands on him in any way, but giving him massages no matter how bad will make him melt.

- He really fawns over compliments too.

- Of course, its not hard to find something about him to compliment.

- I mean, have you seen this boy’s outfits?

- You can’t tell me this boy’s butt wouldn’t look FANTASTIC.

- Okay, but as much as he appreciates compliments about his appearance, he also needs words about who he is aside from that.

- He has moments of self doubt like everyone.

- He thinks he’s not affectionate enough or just simply isn’t pleasant to be around, but you shut that down immediately.

- When he’s having an energy spike he’ll pick you up and run with you.

- Piggyback rides are pretty much a daily occurrence.

- He catches stuff you drop super nonchalantly and it always leaves you stunned.

- When he naps in high places he generally doesn’t drag you along.

- But sometimes he can’t help it.

- You might as well be a safety blanket for him.

- All the little critters that follow him around become just as attached to you.

- Sometimes you even get tasked with carrying around Pocat (the name given to the mini cat Keith carries in his pocket.)

- Keith is such an animal parent.

- He refers to himself as their dad and you their mom so often its not even a surprise anymore.

- “So (Name) why is Keith’s alien bat on your shoulder?”

- “His name is Pancake and he loves me.”

- Shiro has to keep you from running into danger to protect them.

- Between you and Keith trying to fight and telling people to fight you, Shiro is constantly holding someone back.

- You always carry something in your pockets for him to chew on.

- If you don’t he’ll get his lips or fingers bloody from biting on them.

- He’d never tell you but he finds your concern over him beyond endearing.

- When you do something particularly attractive or cute, his eyes will involuntarily turn yellow.

- You love booping his nose since it always makes his eyes turn and that lovely purple blush show up on his cheeks.

- Since he sleeps in spurts, you often just spend time cuddling him while reading or messing with his hair as he sleeps.

- You braid his hair quite often.

- He’ll keep the braids for as long as he can.

- His hair is very soft, so its hard not to mess with it, even when he’s not napping.

- You also trace his freckles.

- Yes, you’ve used an actual pen to make constellations.

- He let you and kept the lines for the whole day.

- He likes sleeping on your thighs and on your chest since they’re so much softer than his pillows.

- Also he gets to have his physical contact.

- His freckles are adorable.

- You kiss and poke them all the time.

- The ones on his shoulders get the most kisses because kissing the ones on his face normally ends with regular kisses.

- Not that you’re complaining.

- He’s so proud of you when you do anything remotely funny, sarcastic, or cool.

- He’ll toss an arm around your shoulders and give everyone around this cocky grin that you adore.

- Even though he has a quick temper with most people, he’s beyond patient when it comes to you.

- Because you’re his mate.

- He still doesn’t know that.

- Because he loves you.

- When he finally learns about the whole mate thing you’re with him.

- “Wow that explains a lot.”

- “What’s that supposed to mean?”

- “Well, if I was just your girlfriend I don’t think I’d have gotten away with the cat jokes this long.”

- “Good point.”

- Did I already mention hanging off his back when he’s too busy to pay attention to you.

- By the way, he can pick you up easily no matter your weight.

- Him stronk.

- Keith loves memes.

- His favorite are those that you think are dead and then reappear.

- “Keith, if you rickroll me one more time I’m leaving you.”

- “No way. You’re never gonna give me up.”

- “Pidge, throw me the spray bottle!”

- He also references memes in day to day conversation and it always kills you.

- “Bone app the teeth.”

- “KeiTH OH MY LORD.”

- Once he said “take a sip babe” after handing you a glass of water and you IMMEDIATELY threw it in his face.

- He has also received a very sincere talk from Shiro because he said “guess I’ll die” in his ear shot.

- He said it after you told him that the animal he was about to pet could hurt him.

- Sometimes when a galra ship shows up he says “this is fine” and you have flicked him for it.

- He has the x-flies theme downloaded and played it so much Coran actually banned it from being used in the Castle.

- He also references vines all the time.

- One time Shiro accidently startled him and his first reaction was to yell “Stop! I could’ve dropped my croissant!”

- You refuse to let him live it down.

- You almost strangled him when you were sick and asked for him to make you some lunch and he replied with “go back to sleep and starve.”

- He didn’t reference vines for awhile after that.

- “Hey, hey guys, I’m in me boys lion.”

- “Get out me lion!“

- “WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT!“

- And yes this is when with a s/o because you make him the most fun version of himself.

- Sometimes you make eye contact with him and just start laughing because you know you were thinking of the same meme.

- You know the one scene where Lance gets jealous because Nyma says that maybe Keith will give her a ride?

- That convinces me that some aliens do find him attractive.

- Which means flirting.

- The whole mate thing makes it hard to be jealous but just like he doesn’t like anyone touching or flirting with you, you don’t like anyone touching or flirting with him.

- "That shirt really brings out your eyes.”

- “Thanks, Keith thinks so too.”

- You give a look that clearly says you know she wasn’t talking to you.

- “Oh wow, look at those muscles!”

- “Yeah, I do everyday because they’re mine.”

- Keith is shook because you referred to his muscles as YOURS so you were referring to him as YOURS.

- He’s really flustered.

- Being flustered doesn’t stop his ego inflating.

- Heck yeah he’s yours.

- But only if that means you’re his.

- It also doesn’t stop him from calling you his girl a few minutes later.

- Please give this boy love marks.

- He absolutely adores when you return his bites.

- You thought he would be embarrassed of them but he makes absolutely no effort to hide them.

- He’s so proud that you want people to know he belongs to you.

- Keith definitely has dimples on his back, right at the base of his spine.

- He loves when you touch his back.

- Please kiss his shoulders while you give him a massage he will melt.

- The boy is always hot.

- Like, I’m talking him complaining about being hot.

- There are like… Three fans running at all times if he has any say in it.

- He’s not ticklish pretty much at all and it sucks.

- It sucks, because, if you are, he will use it against you.

- He loves surprising you and getting squeaks and yelps out of you when he tickles you.

- His hands and feet are super ticklish though.

- You found out when you were playing with his hands one day and he jerked and let out a little giggle.

- The look on his face after was pure panic.

- Keith can and will sing Disney songs unprompted and pull you in to dance with him.

- He’s such a NERD oh my lord my heart.

- Catch me crying in the club because these headcanons are out of control.

- He also gets very in character for the songs and its *adorable*.

- His favorite are The Lion King and The Lion King 2, but he also loves Lady and the Tramp and 101 Dalmatians.

- He knows all the songs from every single movie and its honestly impressive.

- He cries easily.

- Like, related to movies but also not.

- He frequently tears up when you tell him how much you love him and how much he means to you.

- He also tears up when he sees something Too Cute™

- He’s the worst with movies though.

- You once watched the Notebook for the sake of being a cheesy couple and he was sobbing by the end, so hard you were actually worried.

- The Notebook is banned forever.

- Up is also banned for the same reason.

- Movies with the trope of dogs dying will send him into a fit and you will never even suggest them because he makes you cry MORE than the movie.

- He’s a tough boy but he’s also so sensitive.

- Movie nights that end in tears normally end early, since crying wears people out.

- Extra fluffy cuddles after crying because both of you need each other.

- On that subject: movie tears won’t make him protective, but any other tears?

- He’s ready to fight anyone or anything!

- He’ll fight himself!

- Boy same.

- Did you trip over something?

- It’s gonna die.

- “Keith that’s a chair.”

- “Not anymore!“

- “KEITH THAT LITERALLY MAKES ZERO SENSE!”

- Okay but he really does get protective if you cry but he’s just as happy to give you comfort as to fight.

- He’s probably more happy about comforting you but he will fight.

- Just say the word.

- “Leave the chair aLONE!“

- Keith is surprisingly good with kids.

- But any thought of him having his own kids sends him into borderline panic mode.

- He’s happier with the idea of being the uncle to everyone else’s kids.

- This headcanon is probably more influenced by my fear of being a parent than anything else so feel free to ignore.

- Do you collect literally anything?

- Because that collection is going to get a LOT bigger.

- Keith is like a golden retriever or something, always bringing you something for whatever you collect.

- If its weapon related though, you’re now sharing a collection.

- Seriously though, tell this guy you just collect cool random objects and you are going to end up with a treasure trove.

- Its like he’s got sonar or something.

- You have no idea HOW he does it.

- Even if you follow him where ever he goes, you look away for a fraction of a second and he’s holding out a really cool pin or coin.

- He also collects cool rocks so if you collect rocks he gets excited and has to show you all of his.

- Just an adorable nerd getting excited about his rock collection.

- I’m being overwhelmed again this needs to stop.

- His animal companions help too!

- Okay, author just imagined the bat-creature flying up with like… A common tree nut or something and looking so proud and Keith is too soft to do anything except take it and thank his little buddy.

- Author might actually draw the creatures eventually even tho I suck at drawing aha.

- Next to Shiro, Keith is probably the best member of Team Voltron to have taking care of you when you’re sick.

- Not that the others wouldn’t take care of you, Keith is just so attentive its hard to beat.

- Shiro’s only better because he understands the concept of needing space better.

- Keith is not leaving your side unless its to get you something.

- It gets a little overwhelming if you have a fever, since he’s like a personified heat pad.

- He gets pouty if you make him sit in a chair beside you or anywhere away from you.

- He wants cuddles!

- He recovers quick though.

- He’s more than happy to bring you anything and everything you could possibly need.

- He’s actually a surprisingly good cook!

- But don’t trust him cooking alone because there will be smoke alarms going off within minutes.

- He gets distracted too easily without someone there to keep him focused.

- He is absolutely the best when it comes to shark week.

- He’s such an attentive boyfriend as it is, the moment you’re in pain he’s all over you.

- If you want anything he’s going to get it for you.

- Normally though, you’re content with just pain medicine and cuddles.

- All in all, Keith is a fantastic boyfriend without having galra traits.

- With them, he’s an absolute angel of a boyfriend.

- And he’s dead set on becoming more than a boyfriend.

- He wants to be with you forever, even if being his mate means just that, he still intends on marrying you.

- And you wouldn’t want anything less.

- "Keith, you’re like a cat.”

- “…How?”

- “I love cats.”

#keith kogane #galra keith #keith kogane x reader #galra keith x reader #headcanons #x reader #galra keith headcanons

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lassluna · 5 years

Text

Let the Stars Remind You (20/20)

“It’s ok Papa, you don’t have to worry. We can trust her, she’s just like me,” She says holding his hand. “She can hear the stars. She’s just like me.” she repeats, a look of wonder on her face, pure belief in what she’s saying. Killian looks down at her. His little girl, his Starfish, and isn’t sure. He still isn’t sure if rescuing Emma Swan is the best thing he’s ever done, or their undoing.

AN: This is the last chapter, and honestly it's been written for weeks but I was holding on to it. Didn't want it to end, then had to work on my CSRR. Honestly, I'm going to miss this story a lot. But all good things come to an end. :)

Ao3 FFN

Six weeks later…

Emma’s dress was pink. That was the first thing Killian saw when she opened the door for him. She looked surprised to see him, or perhaps it was surprise at the suit he was wearing. He’d wanted to surprise her.

Her hair was up; she had a gold chain on her neck. She smiles.

“Hey.” She says. “Are you ready?”

Killian nods. “Of course.” He throws in a smirk, presenting her a rose. Emma smiles at the sight of the flower. He loves seeing that unrestrained joy on her face. It had been a common thing ever since they decided to move to Storybrooke.

“I told you, you needed a flower!” Alice announces behind him, a book bag filled with her pajamas and favorite books. She always tells him he needs a flower, so he never disappoints.

“You look really pretty Emma.” Alice says, looking at her dress with wide eyes. “Is pink your favorite color?”

Emma brightens when he sees Alice. “Thank you, kid. It is today. Are you going to be good for Zelena?” She asks, inviting them both inside. Alice nods enthusiastically looking around the small living room, before she bolts past Emma. He hears her yell for Robin.

“Don’t run in the house!” Killian calls after her.

“Don’t bother.” Zelena drowns from her seat on the couch, a martini in hand. “Those two are wild children apart, together they’re walking tornados.” She takes a sip of her drink. “You should be thanking me for my last minute babysitting.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You know you love them.”

She did. Zelena mostly kept to herself, so having the added entertainment of the girls plus Emma seemed to always brighten up her mood.

It didn’t take long for Killian himself to notice how much Zelena appreciated the girls’ spirits. It was a little odd at first getting to know the red head, she was quick tempered and rather snarky, but he’d warmed up to her. She loved Alice so that was enough for him.

Especially since it was her who called in reinforcements to get all of Eloise’s ex-coven to the sea side town; under the supervision of Mayor Nolan they got everyone reunited with their loved ones. The ones who had no loved ones looking for them were introduced to Mother Superior, the head nun at the orphanage who matched the young ladies with families who wouldn’t bat an eye at their magical talents.

It helped that Mother Superior was in fact a fairy, and said mayor also had a magically gifted young son.

Apparently the town was a little bit different than most towns. It made it special, it made it home.

“How was the farm?” Emma asks, breaking through his thoughts.

“Good. Some of David’s pigs escaped so we had a good time rounding them up.” He says with a laugh, closing the door, leaving Zelena to the girls.

He could hear Zelena threatening to turn them both into monkeys, then a round of giggles.

“Leo and Alice worked pretty well together when they weren’t arguing.” He murmurs, hooking his arm around Emma’s.

The Mayor and her husband had taken them all under their wings since the moment they met. Mayor Nolan had invited them all into their home, wanting to make them feel as comfortable as possible. It wasn’t long before their son; Leo Nolan had butted heads with Alice.

It started with him telling her that the tooth fairy wasn’t real and had gone downhill from there.

“Did Alice make Leo levitate again?” Killian nodded.

“But it was only after he turned her hair blue.” That made Emma laugh, leaning into his side ever so slightly.

Her perfume smells of flowers.

“How was the station?” Killian asks.

“Good. Someone broke into Elsa’s Ice cream store; they got drunk at Bullseye and came in looking for something sweet.” Killian nods in understanding.

Most of the refugees and their families ended up starting new lives here in Storybrooke. It wasn’t a hard decision for most, given how understanding most of the residents were to the unusual. Everyone here either had magical talent or related to someone with such abilities. The families, after having lost their loved ones for so long relished the opportunity to make them feel at home.

Everything just fit here. It was the perfect place to settle down. After everything that happened, Killian had no intention of returning Alice to their solitude.

Not to mention that Robin was moving here, thus a perfect friend for Alice.

“Ready?” Emma asks. He gives a nod before she snaps her fingers, whisking them in front of the town square right by their favorite Italian restaurant. Emma’s magic was now nearly—if not completely—under control.

Once everything settled down, they were finally able to talk about everything, about Emma’s magic, about her fears of telling anyone, about her dedication to both him and Alice.

“We could have driven.”

“I want to share a bottle of wine.”

“I’m guessing no drinking and poofing isn’t a thing?”

“Not that Zelena’s mentioned.”

“Do you think Zelena would have mentioned it?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

He smiles, leaning forward and kissing her, kissing Emma Swan shamelessly in the middle of the street. She giggles, pulling him in for another kiss. He feels elated by her, by this, the life they’re building. He picks her up; the fabric of her dress is soft in his hand.

“I love you Emma Swan.” He tells her. He never thought he’d have this, have her, have a home again.

“And I love you Killian Jones.”

They’re nearly bursting when they head inside the restaurant.

He orders the chicken picatta, Emma orders the lasagna. She gets tomato sauce on her cheek. He kisses it away.

They do in fact drink the whole bottle of red wine. He’s learned that red wine makes her gigglier than usual.

“Can we go see it?” She asks as they stroll out of the restaurant. His jacket was snug around her shoulders. He smirks.

He knew she was going to ask that.

“Of course Swan.”

He once wondered if rescuing Emma Swan was the best thing that ever happened to him or if it would be their undoing.

He was glad she was both.

She changed everything that day. She still changes things every day. Like this morning when Alice came home with braided hair, talking a mile a minute because Alice loves braids now. Emma had done it in a booth at Granny’s before school.

She takes his hands, and they teleport. The landing is rocky, courtesy of a bit too much wine.

“Sorry.” Emma says, swaying slightly, but smiling regardless. “Maybe coming here was a bad idea…” She says uncertainly. He steadies her, pulls her against him and walks her inside.

“It’s never a bad idea.” He takes out his key; the one Marco had given him when he made the down payment.

The door opens to a deserted house, free of furniture, the kitchen in the midst of being gutted. There were half painted walls, the stairs missing a step. It was in far worse condition when he bought it, nothing remotely safe enough to live in. Thankfully Marco, the local contractor, offered his services to remodel it at a discount.

Killian wanted it perfect.

“How long?” Emma asks. She’s been practically counting down the days since he signed the paperwork.

It doesn’t help that while they waited, he was staying with David and Mary Margret Nolan. Emma was crashing with Zelena.

They had felt it was a good way to both not impose too much on one person as well as gain some healthy distance to properly explore their relationship. It wasn’t like they had the most ordinary of relationships to begin with.

It meant meeting up for lunch, talking on the phone, sneaking make out sessions in the car. It felt juvenile and sweet and perfect for a pair of people who had been on the run from the world for so long.

“A few more weeks.” He replies. ��Alice still hasn’t picked out what color she wants for her room.”

“I thought she picked pink?”

“Apparently pink is lame, now she wants rainbow colors.”

Emma laughs. He grips her hand. “Want me to give you the tour?”

She does. She always does.

“There’s the living room, where we’ll have a TV for family nights, a large coffee table where we can play games like Monopoly.”

“Alice is totally going to cheat at that.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Are we going to have a lumpy couch?” He nods. He thought about getting their couch from the Lighthouse, but decided against it. He wanted to create newer happier memories.

“The lumpiest of couches.”

He takes her towards the kitchen. “We’re replacing the worn out appliances, getting some new stainless steel ones.”

“Fancy.”

“There’s going to be a small kitchen table and an island.” He adds. “And granite.”

“Granite.” She repeats. “What about upstairs?”

He takes her in his arms, so her back is snug against his chest and he just hold her. “A master bedroom.” He says pointing, “It has big windows overlooking the docks, a master bathroom, plenty of closet space.”

“Sounds like a lot of space for one person.” She teases.

“It is. Perhaps you know anyone who’d like to share it with me?”

“Perhaps.” She hums.

“There’s the guest bedroom for Liam, Alice’s room, even an office.”

“Where’s Liam at these days?” Emma asks suddenly, turning in his arms. He’s honestly not sure. Things with Liam had been tense once the initial shock of everything had faded. It had started with a few biting comments he threw Emma’s way, and ended with a blowout fight that he is absolutely not telling Emma about.

He did not need to tell Emma that Liam didn’t approve of her. It would break her heart.

He hadn’t heard from his brother since, just knew from Zelena that he was off in search of more lost souls looking for a place like Storybrooke.

Liam will come around. Killian knows. He always does.

“I think in New York, last I heard.”

They show up the next morning bright an early at Zelena’s door.

The woman looks grumpy when she opened the door. Her red hair in a messy bun, an emerald green robe tucked tightly around her body; he can see Robin sulking from here.

Robin’s usually grumpy in the early mornings. “Finally.” She muttered impatiently, letting them inside.

“Hey Little bird.” He says with a smirk.

“I’m not a little bird.” She replies instantly, arms crossed even tighter. “I’m Robin.”

He laughs, going over to pat her head. “Of course.” Robin shoots him a glare.

“Why does Alice always have to go to breakfast? Why can’t she have breakfast with us?”

Emma takes a seat at the table. “Because family time is important.” She replies. It does nothing to fix Robin’s sulking.

“Alice! Your dad’s here.” Zelena calls. “Is it me or does she take longer to get ready every week?” Killian shrugs. He’s not sure, and he doesn’t want to think about his little girl growing up.

Thankfully, Alice picks that moment to skip into the kitchen, glitter in her hair and her bag around her shoulders. “I’m ready for pancakes!” She announces. “Can Robin come over for dinner? Mary Margret says she’s making apple pie!”

“I hate apple pie.” Robin says back.

“You’ll love it.” The little blonde assures her. “Plus with you around Leo will stop being a jerk.”

Killian shares an amused look with Zelena. “Come on Starfish, time to go, Granny is expecting us on time.” Alice nods in agreement, and follows him and Emma out the door.

“How did your sleepover go?” Emma asks once they’re in the car. It’s only a short drive to Granny’s, and while they could teleport freely, it’s always nice to bring a little normalcy into their lives.

“Good.”

Things were good. Things were right, they were home. They were together, they were a family. He reaches out for Emma’s hand; she gives it gladly, squeezing tightly. He wonders what her ring size was, it’s a distant thought, something to think about after their house is ready, but a thought none the less.

“Papa?” Alice asks out of the blue. She’s looking out the window thoughtfully.

“If boys give girls flowers when they like them, what do girls give girls when they like them?”

Will there be a sequel? Perhaps.

Tagging: @hollyethecurious @therookshiningthrough @branlovestowrite @celestial-fire-writer @winterbaby89 @kmomof4

#Captain Swan #knightrook ff #captain swan fanfiction #mentions of gothel #let the stars remind you

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tumblunni · 5 years

Text

I had a kinda weird but nice daydream last night. It was more of a daydream cos i was concious enough for it to make a little sense, but also drowsy enough that its a bit more incoherant and Edgy than my usual oc thoughts

I just got the sudden strong imagery of a guy walking through a destroyed town and all the dead people blossoming back to life as he passes

And i kinda thought a backstory for him maybe? He's an alchemist who devoted himself so much to honing his craft that he used himself as a test subject for all the most dangerous and heretical experiments and is now barely human anymore. One detail i could remember is that he had empty eye sockets that glowed, and sometimes spurted out into huge gushing tendrils of blue flame that twined around his head and wiggled like antennae. They'd kinda replaced his entire nervous system so if he wiggled them he could just sense all the facts about an object. Spirit sight or something? And probably some cool singular claw arm in a lopsided frankenstein aesthetic or something. Basically he's nothing more than Pure Poison Itself vaguely wrapped in a human shell. Like an undead look but more like a boneless husk whose skin has turned to cracked porcelain.

The backstory behind him making so many sacrifices for science is that his mum died of the plague when he was a vvery young child and he wants to become the world's best doctor who can save everyone from meeting the same fate. And he actually achieved his goal of defeating death itself, even if all he could do was turn himself into such an abomination that he can never die. Now he's travelling the earth trying to save people even though theyre all scared of him, while also trying to figure out which mixture of the million experiments he did on himself finally achieved this result.

I think maybe he can sorta partially manage to ressurect people? Like they come back as ghosts or skeletons or vampires or something. And he's all weeping with guilt that he's sentenced them to the same monsterous life as him but then a little kid hugs him for bringing her mom back. *sniff*

Also i think maybe he has a kid sidekick that he's sorta adopted as a little sibling? They were one of his earlier attempts to raise the dead, and they got ostracized by their parents for being unholy and stuff. So he adopted them, but he's always trying to find another family that can adopt them cos he feels like he isnt good enough. Also, ghost dog!! He accidentally spilled his magically-charged abomination blood onto his childhood pet's ashes and it came back in a spooply form! I just imagined his sheer unrestrained joy and weeping as the lil guy immediately recognises its owner all grown up and jumps up all happy like YOURE TALL NOW HEY HEY LETS PLAY! This poor dude needs a little relief from his angsty life honestly. I imagine him just running around super 100% hyperactive happy with this little pupper and adoptive sibling who's never seen him not being grumpy and sad is like "oh my god he's been replaced by aliens"

ALSO!! I WAS THINKING!! YES!! THE MUM DOES COME BACK!!

I was thinking that probably using his imperfect ressurection power costs a lot of his energy and he has a problem with being so self sacrificing he always ruins his health for the sake of others. He's like 'well i cant stay dead so i may as well die as many times as possible to help people'. Him coming home riddled with arrows and collapsing into a bloody pile at his sibling's feet and then in the morning when he's still stuck in bed sleeping off the enormous pain he cant understand what his sibling is upset about. Like he has no value in himself because he's so guilty that he hasnt finished the ultimate panacea yet. Disregarding the fact that nobody even asked him to, and he's already done so much to help so many peopke!! TAKE CARE O YOU SELF, BRO!!

Anyway, where was i?

Oh yeah! Well i was thinking maybe he was doing some mass healing in a town somewhere. Cos oh yeah even his regular cures for stuff are still made with his own blood. He's like a walking vessel for every poison ever made in this world or the worlds beyond. ELDRITCH ASPIRIN MAN! oh actually it could be a cool aesthetic to have him all bandaged up like an edgy anime character

WHERE WAS I

Oh yeah! Well he's super mega exhausted from expending all of his magical energy and working until the crack of dawn. So he's stumbling home down the same usual route, but he passes out halfway there. And then he wakes up to see his mother tucking him into bed and bringing chicken soup. Like "I DUNNO IF IT WORKS FOR MAGICAL SICKNESS I AM VERY CONFUSED OKAY" Turns out that just by pure coincidence he'd accidentally found the spot where the mass grave for plague victims was made back in the day. And he's extra super mega sick now cos he subconciously reached out to their souls and ressurected them in his sleep. And he's just weeping so much cos he thought he'd never find her and he's guilty he subjected her to a life of being an undead monster too, and he's like 'dont look at me ive changed so much you must be ashamed' and just MAXIMUM EMOTION OKAY!! And also 'oof ouch my everything' cos flailing around panicness aint good in your condition, dude!

So big happysad reunion and him having the longest most peaceful nap he's had in years, lost in distant memories of her reading him bedtime stories as a child. (Maybe even wakes up as she's reading a bedtime story to little sib, and gets so emotional he wakes them up with his sobbing?) And its not all perfect, there's a bit of a rift in the way of just being perfevt family again cos well its been so long and he's grown up and its basically like meeting a new person and starting over. Yet also with all the pressure of knowing how things used to be and being terrified of messing up. ALSO there are like fifty other zombies walking around outside confused as fuck! I think maybe the mum becomes the new mayor of a weird little shanty town that springs up overnight and the neighbours are all like 'what do we do with suddenly acquiring a new trade route with another city state' and also 'AAA ZOMBIES'. Complex futures await out heroes! But i have faith that this little awkward family will make it work!!!

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swimintothesound · 6 years

Text

March 2018: Album Review Roundup

This is getting out of hand.

As I do my best to stay up on “the culture,” my monthly lists of notable releases seem to be growing longer and longer. While I’m trying to limit these roundups to fewer than ten albums per post, roughly thirty albums came out this month that grabbed my attention in one way or another. There’s so much new stuff I almost don’t know where to start, yet I must.

Here are some of the best/most notable releases from March of 2018.

Previous Roundups: January, February.

Soccer Mommy - Clean

While she made some waves in 2017 with her career-spanning Collection, Soccer Mommy (whose real name is Sophie Allison) has arrived in full-force this year with her debut album Clean. This 2018 release finds Allison moving away from the solo bedroom recording of her previous work and into full-band indie rock territory. With sparkling guitars, a rumbling rhythm section, and of course Sophie’s passionately-delivered vocals, Clean is the raw emotion you’ve been waiting for. Sometimes spiteful and vitriolic (“Your Dog”), other times writhing in insecurity (“Last Girl”), and occasionally wholly-triumphant (“Scorpio Rising”), the tunes off this record have cemented Soccer Mommy as a well-deserved star of the indie circuit, and the voice of a million awkward people fumbling through their own relationships.

Camp Cope - How to Socialize and Make Friends

Fists clenched and voices raised, the outspoken Melbourne trio has returned with the follow-up to their much slept-on 2016 full-length. Striking while the iron’s hot, How to Socialize is an album for right now. Fraught with political commentary and much-needed callouts, this is less of an album and more of an open defiance. The catalyst for change and the soundtrack to a long-overdue rebalance, this record is a blunt and open dialogue giving words to a group that’s needed them most. The music itself is beautifully-goosebump-inducing. Exploding with unrestrained vocal takes, cresting guitar strums, bouncy basslines, and rocksteady drum patterns, Camp Cope is the exact type of band that the music industry needs right now.

Sorority Noise - YNAAYT

YNAAYT is a full-album reimagining of You’re Not As _____ As You Think that casts new light on last year’s landmark emo record. Not content to merely swap electric instruments out for acoustic ones, YNAAYT indeed is best described as a “reimagining.” With loving acoustic arrangements, beautiful orchestral flourishes, and a remixed tracklist, Sorority Noise transformed what could have been a one-off gimmick into a gorgeously-composed piece of art. The songs are reworked, shifted, and changed just enough that it’s almost unrecognizable from the LP upon which it’s based, making for a compelling back-to-back listen. Released alongside a hiatus announcement, this would be a graceful note for the band to go out on (as much as I hate to think about it). This album is concrete proof that there’s beauty, serenity, and eventual recovery in grief.

Jack White - Boarding House Reach

I’d describe myself as a “begrudging Jack White Stan.” For better or worse, White has played the single biggest role in the formation of my musical taste. The foundation for everything I like, and an artist that has loomed large in my library for a majority of my life. In spite of (or perhaps because of) his importance to me, his work post-White Stripes has been hit or miss for me. While I eventually came around to Blunderbuss, Lazaretto came across as the musical equivalent of jerking off while staring into a mirror. Perhaps feeling the need for a pivot himself, White described his 2018 album as "a bizarre one" that sounded like "good gardening music or roofing music or… back-alley stabbing music." The craziest thing is he isn’t wrong.

It seems that in between unearthing old music, sounding like an old man, and being hopelessly conceptual, Mr. White actually had time to cook up a decent record. I’ll admit that (of the two sides of Jack) I’m a bigger fan of his more thrashy garage rock half, so the fact that this album takes that distorted riffage and cranks it up to 11 makes me a very happy stan. There’s still a decent amount of jangly country Nashville sound, but “Rock” (with a capital R) is this record’s primary language. There are moments of unbridled weirdness, which are to be expected (ironically), but at its heart, Boarding House Reach is the best album that I can expect from Jack White in 2018.

Earthless - Black Heaven

Speculate what you will about where music is “headed,” but there will always be room in my heart for a great rock album. On Black Heaven, the typically-instrumental Earthless gives us a collection of sprawling and hard-charging metal tracks. Their fifth album as a band, Black Heaven is a psychedelic heavy metal odyssey. 39 minutes of forward momentum and chest-inflating riffs that fire on all cylinders up until the final notes. An album for driving through the desert as fast as your car will allow while the sun is at its highest point.

Yo La Tengo - There's A Riot Going On

While Yo La Tengo may not be the biggest band in the world, their influence can be felt all over the indie rock sphere. Over the course of their thirty-plus-year career, they’ve hardly ever made a misstep, and There's A Riot Going On only adds another layer of greatness to their legacy. Half ambient, half traditional Velvet-Underground-Esque slow jams that they’re known for, Riot is best described as a pleasant album. A record you can devote yourself to entirely, or let run in the background, both to equally-enjoyable ends. A calm, relaxing, and chilled out hour of new material that will provide the soundscape for years of creativity to come.

Haley Hendrickx - I Need To Start a Garden

On I Need To Start a Garden we witness as Haley Hendrickx attempts to balance the cultivation of her soul with the well-being of those around her. With deeply-cutting lyricism, haunting, fragile vocals, and wonderfully-arranged instrumentals, Garden is a carefully-crafted record. At its best moments, the album’s minimalism serves Hendrickx’s style well as the songs crest from held-back whispers into full-blown explosions of sound and emotion.

Easily my biggest surprise of the month, and an early frontrunner for album of the year, Haley Hendrickx is a person to watch, with a record to love. For my full review of I Need To Start a Garden, keep your eyes on Hooligan Magazine in the coming weeks.

Quick Hits

Two Dozen albums from the past month. All summarized in one sentence.

Donovan Wolfington - Waves: Released posthumously following the band’s untimely demise, Waves is a textbook shredder of an album. Proof that it’s better to go out on top than not at all.

Disco Inc. - The Boredom Keeps me up at Night: Five forthright and punchy punk rock tracks stretched across 15 electrifying minutes. Equal to or greater than the energy received from a cup of coffee.

Titus Andronicus - A Productive Cough: Eschewing all previous conceptual frameworks and punk-leanings, A Productive Cough finds frontman Patrick Stickles embracing, emulating, and achieving a pitch-perfect version of the singer-songwriter music that he was brought up on.

The Breeders - All Nerve: As if the last two decades never happened, the Deal sisters are back alongside their primo ‘93 line-up. Together they deliver a collection of 11 beautifully-grungy tracks that prove the 90’s aren’t dead yet.

Superorganism - Superorganism: Eight pseudonym-clad bandmembers deep, this synth-laden indie pop group formed, and turned this record around within the space of a calendar year. Bright, vivacious, and charming as all get out, Superorganism have already made a name for themselves with this bubbly debut.

Lucy Dacus - Historian: Slow-moving and heavy-minded singer-songwriter moodiness for a rainy day or a broken heart.

Gulfer - Dog Bless: Tappin’ guitars, screamin’ vox, bombastic drummin’, Gulfer deliver emo revival goodness on their gleaming sophomore album.

Lil Yachty - Lil Boat 2: Coasting off the recognition of his breakthrough mixtape, Lil Yachty offers up 17 sleepy and unfocused tracks that only occasionally meander into genuine entertainment. Overall, it seems like Yachty has lost the plot.

Logic - Bobby Tarintino II: Rick and Morty skits aside, the latest Logic mixtape isn’t as cringy as the internet would have you believe. Packed with dense lyricism and hyper-technical bars, this release cuts out all the fat and gets straight to the rapping.

Young Father - Cocoa Sugar: Electronic, unpredictable, and utterly new, Cocoa Sugar is future music.

Vile Creature - Cast of Static and Smoke: Optimistic queer black metal from the fantastical Canadian duo.

Remo Drive - Pop Music EP: A trio of fresh tracks from the breakthrough pop-punk band. Aptly-titled, this 8-minute release is catchy, bright, and colorful. Essentially the musical equivalent to fructose-laden soda.

Of Montreal - White Is Relic/Irrealis Mood: A groovy, dancy, funkwave inferno of radiant two-sided indie tracks.

Nap Eyes - I’m Bad Now: Indie rock with Lou-Reed-esque vocals that display resolve, even while in the calamitous eye of the hurricane.

Mooseblood- I Don’t Think I Can Do This Anymore: The UK pop-punks offer up a vague and uniform 36-minutes of relationship strife on this blue follow-up to Blush.

Mount Eerie - Now Only: Another long-form meditation on the death of a loved one. Heartwrenching and spell-binding.

The Decemberists - I’ll Be Your Girl: The Portland, Oregon five-piece return with a mixed bag of brightly-colored election reaction tracks.

Preoccupations - New Material: sharp and bombastic post-punk from a future that almost didn’t exist.

Citizen - Live at Studio 4: Live in-studio versions of three of the best cuts off 2017’s As You Please.

Hot Mulligan - Pilot: Chicken soup for the modern emo’s soul.

Blessthefall - Hard Feelings: Neon-lit metalcore with a hyper-clean and poppy approach.

The Sword - Used Future: Equal parts jammy, psychedelic, stoner, and riffy. This is a chill and laid-back album that’s perfect for the outdoorsy metalhead.

Trace Mountains - A Partner to Lean On: Chilled-out Alex G-esque Americana with an electronic slant.

The Voidz - Virtue: An hour of political indie rock from the outspoken and leather-clad Julian Casablancas.

Frankie Cosmos - Vessel: Verbose (professional) bedroom folk from the Princess of Bandcamp.

Czarface x MF DOOM - Czarface Meets Metal Face: Bars. Just. Bars.

Casey Musgraves - Golden Hour: Lovely, lovesick, loveless country music made for sun-drenched valleys and porch-lit beers.

The Weeknd - My Dear Melancholy,: Six smutty, spacy breakup songs from the void of heartbreak.

Plus singles from The Voidz, Gucci Mane, The Wonder Years, Snail Mail, Jack White, DJ Khaled, Royce Da 5’9”, God Is An Astronaut, Parkway Drive, ZHU, Half Waif, Anderson .Paak, Beach House, Dj Khaled, Vince Staples, The Decemberists, A$AP Rocky, Grouper, Dr. Dog, Parquet Courts, Courtney Barnett, Weird Al, Panic! At The Disco, Underoath, Flatbush Zombies, Miguel, Jens Lekman, MØ, Our Last Night, Iceage, Cardi B, Migos, Manchester Orchestra, Alvvays, Lil Pump, CHVRCHES, Rae Sremmurd, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, Hop Along, and N.E.R.D.

#Soccer mommy #camp cope #sorority noise #jack white #earthless #yo la tengo #Haley Hendrickx

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