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hyuwunjinie · 9 months

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Blood in the Snow (pt.1)

Characters: Hyunjin x afab reader (ft other skz members)

Genre/warnings: Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage to Lovers, Romance, Smut, Angst & Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining, Toxic Parents, Misogyny (Period accurate)

Explicit sexual content. This work portrays elements/themes that may be triggering, proceed with caution. Minors DNI.

Word count: 1,157

Summary: You thought you were engaged for eternity, destined to live your princess' dreams in a grand castle. But the moment you close your eyes, all you can see is the blood in the snow.

—

Today the weather was absolutely wonderful, yet you were anxiously clutching the ruffles of your dress. Your mother sitting next to you had been trying her best to reassure you, to no avail, and your behavior earned you a light tap on the back of your right hand as she clicked her tongue.

“y/n, I know you are impatient, but please, try to keep your dress in one piece, alright?”

Impatient wasn’t quite the right word. You were terrified. The carriage you were in was meant to bring you straight to the Great North to meet your betrothed, a Lord much higher in status than you were. You were already missing the golden fields of amber wheat that ruffled near your home’s stables.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t call this place home anymore, really. Home was now wherever you were headed to, or it shall become home sooner or later, you tried to reassure yourself. You didn’t even know when you could come back, of if you’ll ever get the opportunity to. This realisation was breaking your heart, but the adrenaline rushing through your veins was keeping you from becoming too emotional.

Your back was already hurting, and you wished you were horseriding instead of having to sit in a stupid carriage in a stupid ruffled dress. In your opinion, you looked like a porcelain doll. And this was not a compliment ; an overdone makeup with your skin way too fair and your cheeks way too pink, a dress that looked like it came straight from a six years old closet, and a painful hairstyle which took one hour to put in place.

“Mom, I’m just stressed, okay? I am not looking forward to this anymore.” You admitted with bitterness.

“Oh Honey, don’t say this, please. You are gorgeous, there’s no way they won’t like you. give me your hands, they must be tense.”

You always admired your mother’s way to dodge a difficult subject by redirecting people’s attention on another, but this time you silently cursed the gods you were the victim of her stratagem. With a sigh, you gave your hands to your mother who dedicated herself to slowly massage them. Looking out the small window of the carriage, you contemplated the slow change of the scenery, the golden leaves of the south trees slowly giving up their spots for their green cousins. Reminiscing the past, you let yourself drift to sleep under the careful gaze of your mother.

—

“Mom, where does he live ?” You asked, your small frame holding onto her hand in front of the newest portrait in the hall. You were four or six years old, at most.

“Way up north, sweetie.” Your mother answered, her voice calm and collected. Cold but warm, she gave you a reassuring press on your palm.

“... Why can’t he come play here ?” You let out with a pout, puzzled at how distances worked still and scratching your brain to understand your mother’s words.

“It’s too far. it would take him hours to reach this place.” She chuckled, mellowed by your cute face and visible dilemma.

“That’s not fair. I want to play.” You were eyeing the portrait now.

A youthful boy was sitting next to two adults. Their faces seemed warm and inviting, a welcoming sight for the viewer. But you learned fast enough that your focus should be on the other kid. He had short black hair, full lips and almond eyes. Dressed in expensive clothing, he sported a navy blue vest with shorts and dress shoes.

Your mother sighed, a thoughtful gaze etched on her face.

“Life is rarely fair, y/n.” Her sudden grave tone made you look up, and she met your gaze halfway. “See, this boy ? His name is Hwang Hyunjin. One day, you will be his wife. Like your mama and papa.” Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, contrasting with her small smile. “And you will have a happy, wonderful life with him.”

“...Mama, why are you crying ?” Confused, you could feel your own tears prickling your eyes, but you didn’t even know why you felt this way.

Now at your level, your mother gently put back a strand of your hair behind your ear and embraced you closely.

“... It’s nothing, sweetie. Mama is a little tired, alright ?” She sobbed in your shoulder.

You remember it snowed, that day.

—

“Y/n ! look !!” You were woken up in a rush by your mother who was gently rubbing your upper arm to get your attention.

Barely processing your environment, you focused your brain on your mother who was pointing intently at the carriage window.

You followed her hand, and all you could see was white. Snow, you realised. Snow as far as you could see. It was the first time you witnessed a wintery landscape. In the south, it did snow some times, but it never stayed on ground, melting right away upon its contact.

The light reflected so prettily upon the white mantle outside that you let out an audible gasp, mesmerized by this new sight. getting closer to the window, you could see your breath, and you shuddered, suddenly aware of the sudden drop of temperature you were experiencing. You were hurting still, but you suddenly felt glad to be inside the somewhat warm haven of the carriage.

Reaching for the bag in front of your seat, your mother pulled up an ivory chawl that she put tightly around you.

“I knitted this one myself, you know ?” She chuckled proudly.

“Wait, really ? I thought you hated knitting, mother.” You stared in disbelief at the skilled handiwork of the chawl and its flowery details. You slowly discerned patterns of sunflowers and lilies. You recognised the sunflowers to be you, as it was your favorite flower, and it didn’t took you long to remember lilies were Hyunjin’s favorites.

“Oh, I do, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted to surprise you. I was meant to give this to you after the wedding, but I suppose now is as good as ever, right?” She looked at you, gaze thoughtful and unreadable. You stared at each other for a second, before you finally broke the eye contact.

“Thank you, mother. It’s a wonderful gift. I will treasure it greatly.” You stared at the mixed patterns of sunflowers and lilies. “I will use it a lot with these temperatures, I’m sure.” Reaching out for a hug, you suddenly felt as if something changed, in that instant. A realisation that, after the wedding, your parents will return to your- their home. You won’t see your mother every morning anymore, waiting for you at breakfast with eggs and toast and fresh orange juice. You won’t be able to go flower picking together anymore. You squeezed her more tightly.

“...I will miss you, mother.”

“I will miss you too, y/n.”

In silence, you held onto these words for what seemed an eternity.

#kpop writing #hyunjin #stray kids writing #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #stray kids au #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #stray kids fic #stray kids series #hyunjin au #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin fic #fic: blood in the snow

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finnlongman · 11 months

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Keep thinking about that one KJ Charles interview where she's talking about the challenges of being a historical romance novelist when you sort of believe the whole aristocracy should've been executed, and the delicate balancing act of writing historically accurate and interesting characters who don't have awful politics and values. And, crucially, she challenged the typical rich love interest idea by asking, "But where does the money come from?"

Once you think about it, you can't stop thinking about it. Every historical romance I read now, I can tell whether the author has thought about it. Sometimes they've thought about it but tried not to deal with it and hoped we wouldn't notice that the rich aristocrat probably owns a plantation. Sometimes they've actually dealt with it. And sometimes they have not considered it and It Shows.

But I also don't want historical novels where characters have modern sensibilities! I want them to feel historical... I just also want the "desirable" characters to not be, you know, involved in the slave trade or whatever, because that seriously undermines everything the book is doing to make them seem attractive. (One does not generally read this flavour of historical romance for morally grey antiheroes, and even if you did, that would be a fairly tasteless way of developing such a character, imo.)

I really enjoyed a detail in one of Cat Sebastian's books where the love interest is a Quaker, and he refuses dessert because he's boycotting sugar. It's a way of signalling to us that this character has particular values, but one that's rooted in the historical context and doesn't feel like a modern character wearing period clothing. His Quakerism also influences a few other details – his use of first names rather than titles, for example – but it's not a major plot point and he's no intense political campaigner. It's just one facet of his character, and one that made me like him more.

This sort of thing becomes a problem, too, with medieval settings and retellings and anything where you start having to deal with kings. A king of some tiny little pseudohistorical country whose major concerns revolve around not getting invaded and ensuring his people survive the winter is a very different prospect from a king intent on conquering his neighbours and expanding his glorious kingdom, of course. Still a king, though. What do you do with that, if you're someone who doesn't approve of kings?

I ran into this problem with a book I was working on a few years back, and it's one of the reasons I shelved it. I was trying to write a book about community and friendship. I was also trying to write an Arthurian retelling. And while a brotherhood of knights is a great starting point for a story about community and friendship, in order to have knights, you need to have a king for them to pledge fealty to. Problematic. My Arthur figure did not believe in hierarchy, but the story demanded that he perpetuated one anyway, because it was baked into the building blocks of story I was using to build mine. Eventually I realised I could not write that story as an Arthurian retelling without stripping it of everything recognisably Arthurian, and set it aside to be remade into something else.

I still think about this, though. I think about my Bisclavret retelling, which by necessity has a king in it. Bisclavret is a story about feudal loyalty, about oaths, about hierarchies. Take that away and you no longer have Bisclavret; it is a story that cannot exist without a king for the knight-wolf to be loyal to. Does that mean that as a story it always inherently supports a monarchist ideal, though? Or is its portrayal of kingship (a relationship that is, crucially, reciprocal) sufficiently detached from colonialist systems of monarchy to be distinct from those?

What systems and ideals form the assumptions a story is rested on? What happens once you start to question them? Can you still tell the same stories once you ask where the money comes from, or why the king is owed loyalty? Or does there come a point where you realise there are ideas woven into the very fabric of those narratives that you can't see past?

I don't have answers. I'm just thinking aloud. Thinking about having written a book with a king who isn't the bad guy, and what that means when I approve of neither kings nor hierarchies in general. Thinking about writing the past with the eyes of the present. Thinking about the unexamined assumptions in so many historical novels I've read, and how it feels as a reader not to be able to stop examining them.

(I have also read a number of contemporary romance novels where, after working my way through half an author's backlist, I've been forced to acknowledge that despite everything, the author does in fact think rich people are inherently attractive. Not sure what the solution to that one is, but it's certainly a different, if related, problem.)

#writing #historical fiction #historical romance #kj charles

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magicxc · 2 months

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Aunt Flo

Pairings: Survey Corps x Black!Reader

Word Count: 1052

Warnings: none

A/N: Because most of us have a very intimate experience with periods, it’s come to be a normal part of our lives; and in a sense something we’ve become desensitized to. The mood swings, the cramps, the pain, the heavy flows, the birth controls we take to stop it, etc. The list literally goes on. But disassociate, if you can, a life without periods and tell me really, which guy you’d be like if your partner had them.

Eren - lowkey disgusted, but holds it together for your sake and gets better over time.

Eren vocally gagged the first time he saw your stained underwear. He’s no stranger to blood but he’s found it quite tricky to wrap his head around vaginal bleeding. He’s patting you on your back with a broom in hopes that you’ll feel better because he’s just not that far on the emotional intelligence scale yet. But as time goes on, the more he gets used to the idea of it and while he’s still a bit iffy, he’s nowhere near as repulsed as he once was.

Levi - the clean freak is not having it.

While he is an adult about the situation his efforts to ensure you, a heavy bleeder, doesn't stain anything can very easily cross over from comforting to annoying. In the beginning he’s lining your side of the bed with absorbent pads; like the ones you train your pets to pee on. But not just for sleep, you must use them for sitting as well. His hydrogen peroxide has since tripled considering he washes all the clothes for you both. But your last straw was him suggesting you wear a tampon with your pad. Levi had the physical part of things down packed. It was his sensitivity he needed training on. In time though, he becomes more considerate.

Erwin - understands that it's normal and is very neutral to it all.

He isn’t rolling out the wagon with any treats or anything because it's human nature. It is literally another day for Erwin. To say he doesn’t care is an exaggeration and a bit unfair. He does care about your wellbeing, but he doesn't really view periods as a sickness or hindrance because, well, he is a realist and doesn’t think too much of it since, once again, it’s natural. So long as you’re not in any physical pain, he’s fucking off to work somewhere. The most you’ll get out of him is herbal tea and extra forehead kisses; a back massage if you’re lucky.

Connie - The learner; literally tell him everything there is to know.

The first time Connie saw you stain the sheets from your vag of all places, he thought you were dying. He was literally two thirds of the numbers in from dialing 911 when he woke up to such a scene. That was top three funniest reasons you ever woke up laughing, and on your period no less. Even though he’s unfamiliar about most things aunt flo, teaching him has been an absolute joy because he’s genuinely interested and keeps you cackling. You’ve taught Connie the ins and outs alongside your personal preferences for such a time. And with his piquing interest eventually the grasshopper became the master; oftentimes pre-empting your visit before you get the chance to - and accurately at that.

Jean - another neutral one who doesn’t too much care for the occasion.

Jean carries on as usual in his daily activities. Periods don’t bother him and he understands that the only effective way he can help is gonna be followed by 18 years of child care. Therefore he lets you keep to yourself and tries his best to stay out the way to avoid making you any crankier. It isn't until he overhears Sasha and Mikasa talk about what a perfect period would look like for them does he get a light bulb moment to interfere a little. Jean still leaves you be for the most part, and he's still off doing whatever it is that he does, but he has made an effort to shower you in a few comfort items when the time comes.

Onyankopon - the know it all.

While you are grateful for such an intelligent man, you’ve come to dread the month for two reasons now. Ony, for whatever reason, actually knows more about the topic than you do, treating each month as a biology lesson on why the uterus sheds its lining “every 23-35 days” and the benefits behind it. That big beautiful brain of his is something that you wholeheartedly adore, but just not during aunt flo. In fact, it’s you who evades him. Eventually he comes to understand that it may not be the most appropriate time for in depth learning, but still comes prepared with a fun fact or two.

Reiner - moral support is the best he can offer you at this time.

Reiner just about doubles over at the idea of blood shed, even if this one is quote on quote natural for you. He doesn't find it disgusting but after all the fighting he’s done, he simply cannot take it. That, coupled with the idea that it brings you pelvic pain, tender breasts, and ongoing headaches? The man is practically in agony right alongside you; bedridden and anxious. He may prove useless for the time being, but he tends to shower you with gifts and good loving afterwards to make up for his squeamish ways.

Armin - he is the boyfriend these bitches can only dream of having.

Armin literally tracks your period so that he can know exactly when to expect aunt flo. He’ll have movies, hot compresses, and snacks on standby. In fact he installed a shelf in the bedroom, chocked full of goodies and essentials you’re bound to need for that time of the month. You want a massage? Hot oils are on the lower left. You forgot to restock your pads, he’s got an emergency pack all the way to the bottom. Cramps are killing you? Middle right is where you’ll find a selection of pain meds to choose from depending on the level of aching you’re currently experiencing. He is the definition of prepared and is willing to wait on you hand and foot.

Floch - the complainer.

You have cramps and can't be touched? Suddenly you no longer love him. Sex is a no go for you at this time? Maybe he’ll just combust of blue balls instead. Cravings on an all time high? Well you ate his snacks too. The saying that men catch their pregnant wives' symptoms rings all the more true for Floch during your periods. He gets just as cranky, hungry, and even once complained of tender joints. Its safe to say you want to slap him most months.

#Emmy Writes #Emmy Tries #AOT #snk #eren yeager #levi x reader #commander erwin #connie springer #aot jean #aot onyankopon #reiner braun #armin x black reader #snk floch

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streets-in-paradise · 1 month

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His Weakness - Achilles x (Fem)Reader

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Warnings: Injury, brief description of healing practice.

Summary: Achilles is taking care of you after you injured your heel and the situation iniciates a talk on the legend about his only weakness.

Note: For the medical part, i tried to make it as accurate to the period as possible through what i remember of the descriptions of medicine found in the iliad.

Tags: @zoegarfield

Racing across the landscape of the myrmidons was so much fun, but it could be dangerous for reckless racers that didn't know the grounds as well. Phtia was a rocky territory, but you were so used to run carefreely on your old homeland that you didn't entirely acknowledged the difference. The result was a fall that put end to the amusement as Achilles rushed in aid of you before Patroclus could claim the victory. He felt very bad for challenging you despite the wise advice of his cousin, but you didn't allow the sweet lad to take any guilt.

Pain aside, being carried back by your beloved hero felt very nice. He held you in his arms to ease the scare of the fall and although you tried to play tough for him, it was evident that you had trouble with your left foot and he didn't let you take one more step.

Laying on his bed for further inspection later revealed that the source of stronger pain was a badly bruised heel hurting you whenever you tried to stand up. Used to see way worse in the wounded from battle, he probably knew it was something you would recover from giving healing time to the injury. With proper rest, you would be alright in a week. However, in the meantime you would be in pain and very bored, so he wanted to be the one in charge of making you feel better.

Achilles loved you too much to stand your great discomfort without trying every measures he had available to help to go through it. Keeping you company, playing the lyre to help you relax, or telling you stories while staying in bed with you so you would fall asleep to the sound of his voice and the heat of his body.

Despite you would insist in wanting to do it yourself, he allways ended up applying the wet cloth on the wound and giving you the calming drugs to ease the painfull inflamation. The lovefull respect for your temporary fragility would have shocked anyone among the people who didn't know him for real. Those who used to see him as a fighter beast wouldn't believe their eyes regarding his caregiver performance. His hands knew how to inflict and calm pain giving death or caresses with the same amount of skill.

After finishing the task, he was carefully drying your skin when an ironically cute thought occured to you that you simply couldn't keep to yourself.

" Can you believe that, from all the chances for damage, I had to hurt my heel? " You commented to him. " Now we share a weakness, no one can deny we are meant to be. "

Achilles chuckled and your glances briefly meet.

" Where did you got that from? Didn't you hear they call me the swift-footed? You are mine, but we aren't bonded by the heel. "

" There is a local legend that the myrmidons whisper to each other, a secret they believe to be protecting. " You recalled in a mysterious tone. " Eudorus told me about it, they say that when you were a baby your mother inmersed you in the waters of the river Styx and that made your skin invulnerable to the wounds of bronze. Given that she was supposedly holding you by the heel, this is the only spot of your body that remains mortal and your preference for closed footwear has fed that rumour. "

He should have guessed that it was going to be a matter of time untill you would bring that up.

" Each city you go, they have made up a different idea of what may kill me. " He answered in a mock. " I'm like the minotaur, or the hydra. The fear I inspire forces people to invent mystical ways of feeling in control of their fright. They all believe they have found my weak spot, but nobody trully knows of my true human weakness. "

" Can you please stop comparing yourself to monsters?" You interrupted him. " You frightening, beautifull man. In your hands I feel blessed even in sickness. "

Still delicately holding your exposed leg, he placed a soft kiss in the front of your ankle.

" I'm so weak for you … Can't you tell? " He purred, teasing you. " The messengers of Agamemnon could come ríght now asking me to follow them to war, and I wouldn't leave your side not even if I would be told to be paid with lands and a share of the treasure as big as his. No fighting untill you would be back on your feet, nothing can get me away from you when i know you need me. "

He made you giggle in pure enjoyment of his love.

" Very beautifull, but not compelling for the legends. " You sweetly corrected. " When people invent a hero, they wouldn't expect him to list his lady as his mythical weakness. It's not attractive in symbolic terms. "

Achilles wasn't very concerned about the observation.

" That's why they will never guess it. "

With that, he resumed his playfull kissing in a road going up over the skin of your leg. You could tell he guessed you were starting to feel better, or otherwise he wouldn't have seeked for that sort of intimacy so suddenly.

#i'm in bed after f**cking my heel and did this instead of resting #enjoy #troy 2004 #achilles #brad pitt #achilles x reader #brad pitt x reader

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youthereader · 7 months

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Near Zero part 3.

PAIRING: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.9k words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

RATING: E; explicit smut, barebacking, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, age gap (10+ years), angst, infidelity, period-typical sexism

A/N: Though based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character. This is not intended to be historically accurate, merely written as entertainment. Thank you to @indulgence-be-thy-name for being the best cheerleader. Not a lot of plot this time but I thought the first time smut deserved its own chapter. Enjoy! 🖤

masterlist

The shame you feel is like a nausea that soon morphs into a cold rage. So cold that it burns you, making you isolate yourself all over again, despite the mixer being a genuinely enjoyable experience.

You barely wave when you see Mary one morning two days after Dr. Oppenheimer looked straight through you. You physically recoil at the idea of speaking to her or Barb for any length of time, shaking your head as you speed down the street with your pocketbook.

Luckily, no-one speaks to you, so you have no reason to speak, either. You wear your most non-descript clothes, not wanting any attention whatsoever. To be invisible on purpose is better than trying to be seen only to be rejected like the other day. He had made you feel important, and you, the idiot that you are, believed him.

If you thought about it long enough – and you have tried not to for years – you are lonely. You’re so lonely that it makes a unique kind of grief. You don’t recall a time when you didn’t feel like this. You can’t let yourself dwell too much, or you’ll combust. And you need to keep going. You need to work, to have a purpose. You can’t go home. It doesn’t feel like there’s a home to go to anymore.

Your guts churn every time you think Oppenheimer is about to walk into the laboratory. You consider faking illness, but you’re weak enough as it is to the men in your group; to give them more ammunition would be a mistake.

The cold rage stays there, and the work cannot get rid of it. You wait for your mind to clear, but it remains the same, equations forever swimming around, along with dark thoughts you would never name aloud. You stay at your desk many hours after everyone else calls it a day, and you walk home alone at night.

For three nights, it’s the same. The fourth night, you write basic chemistry equations to solve, ones you remember from high school, the movements so practiced that you don’t pause for minutes at a time, your hand hurting from how hard you grip the chalk. Your writing becomes less legible with effort, and you regret so many things when you step back, the board full. You should start again, write more neatly, empty the ashtray. You should leave, you should take a big sleeping pill and lie down.

You hear footsteps and know who it is before you turn around, your stomach dropping, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

“I hoped it wasn’t you.”

“No-one else here but me,” you reply, gaze slipping up to Oppenheimer’s face, and you swallow. “It’s always me.”

“The light was on, I-”

“Whatever you have to say,” you interrupt, turning back to the board, picking up the eraser. “I’m sure it can wait for tomorrow when you have a larger audience.”

You begin clearing it all away, hating that he saw your equations, your sloppy hand. You put the eraser back with an audible clatter. Your carelessness leads to it falling to the floor, but you don’t pick it up. You don’t care about whatever he has to say, either. It’s all just noise.

“Okay.”

He sounds defeated, and you shoot him a glance. It’s nighttime and he’s wearing his hat, like some kind of costume. He’s a phantom, prowling around his town. Of course he walked straight past you the other day, he has so much more to do.

“Why are you here?” you ask before you lose your nerve.

Your eyes lock and your heartbeat ricochets. He takes a couple steps, but you continue:

“I mean, you’re married, right?”

You haven’t met Kitty, but everyone knows her. You can’t avoid her if you know Dr. Oppenheimer. Mentioning her might be a mistake, but all of this already feels dangerous, bordering on idiotic. He could expel you, find some way to snuff out your career, too. You’re reckless, and you never have been before, so it’s hard to know when to stop.

“Yes,” he replies. His jaw tenses. “I came here because I was out walking. Again.”

“And you happened to see the light and decided to come up?” you throw back. It comes out as a petulant sneer.

“I was looking for you. I didn’t want to stay away anymore.”

Your face flushes. A week ago, his words would have made you swoon. Now, you grit your teeth.

“So you charm me, then you ignore me. And now you expect me to believe that you’re suffering some kind of… some kind of burden because of me? That you were sparing me?”

“We work together,” he says, and his tone is completely different.

He’s speaking to you like he does the men he argues with. You’ve seen it from a distance many times before. Even if you hadn’t, you’d heard stories.

“We… we work together?” you repeat, and you half-laugh. “So if I was someone’s wife, that would be preferable?”

“Yes, it would,” he says, and he watches you scoff.

His eyes never leave you. He’s determined.

“But you can’t say away?” you say.

“No.”

He takes the few last strides to meet you and reaches for your waist, hands catching you to bring you into a swift kiss. You close your eyes on impact, gasping, and he doesn’t let go, moving you both towards the desk. Your legs hit the wood and you take hold of his face, fingers splayed on his high cheekbones, opening your mouth to him as he conquers you with his hot tongue. You moan, the sound slipping out as his thigh presses between your thighs, pinning you.

He suddenly pulls back with a smack of your lips, his eyes searching you, his hands cradling your face like yours are his.

“You’re not seeing Richard?”

Your mind reels, his breath on your lips as you pant, screwing up your face in confusion.

“Feynman?” you say, and he nods. “That’s absurd-”

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m not,” you insist. You blink. “Were you jealous?”

You remember the mixer and how Feynman had joked around with you. He spent a lot of the night near you, but he was never friendly in that sense. You didn’t know if he was spoken for, but he never treated you like a potential target.

You are half-joking but see Oppenheimer’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“You were jealous…”

The thought of him being possessive of you is strange, and somehow flattering. It’s entirely foreign.

“You ignored me because you thought something happened,” you muse, and it doesn’t stop feeling bizarre. “You were that upset?”

“It was cowardly of me,” he says. “And it’s silly.”

“It’s so silly,” you agree, and he kisses you again.

He groans when you suck on his tongue, renewing your courage. The desire ignites in your belly, pulling you deeper down. His touch, beginning to show a kind of desperation, makes you wet, and you moan against his lips, feeling him press into the apex of your thighs.

He pushes you down, hands shifting up to your wrists, his whole front pressing into yours, his lips breaking contact to hover above you. His eyes are addictive in how they rove you beneath him.

“Are you still upset?” you tease, and he shakes his head, for the first time smiling.

“No.”

Your voices drop to whispers, and the intimacy of that makes you weak. You jut your chin at him.

“Can you take off your hat?”

He obliges, freeing your wrist for a second, before he’s back again, staring at you. You can feel how hard he is through his trousers that press into your crotch, your heart hammering. If someone were to walk in, there’d be no explaining this away.

“Come here,” you whisper.

He kisses you again, and you wrap your thighs around his narrow waist, your tongues tangling. He groans once more, and lets you slip out of his grip to help undo his belt, his fingers deftly pulling down his fly. You reach inside his pants to feel the hard length of his cock and he give a huff of a laugh against the corner of your mouth, pushing you back down, his hands slipping down your sides and then up under the bottom of your dress.

You shiver as his fingers glide up your thighs. Stockings are hard to come by, your bare skin breaking out in goose bumps all over.

It’s been a long time since a man touched you. It’s never been like this, so electrified. Your nerve endings alight when he meets the cut of you over your underwear, finding you soaking through the cotton. He grunts, pushing aside the offending material to reach your cunt, your gasp smothered by another rushed kiss. Your hands no longer attempt to stroke him, he’s distracting and precise, filling you with two fingers, as you ride his palm.

“Fuck…”

This isn’t a dream. If it were, you’d be awake already. When you fantasize about this, he never gets this far. You climb, his lips peppering your cheek as you rock, his thumb rubbing your clit, your body tightening. His teeth graze your jaw and your back bows.

“Come, my darling,” he whispers. “Come for me…”

You explode, vision whitening as he brings you off, your hands gripping his arms to keep you steady. You ride it out, thighs shaking as he pulls back to look you in the eye.

“How was that?” he murmurs, and he’s smiling again.

He’s so beautiful when he smiles. You kiss him instead of answering, still twitching deep inside. His fingers slip away, sticky on your thighs as he widens them.

In a rush, you lift your hips to pull your underwear down, while he rearranges his own to free his cock, and then he’s there, he’s right there –

He grunts as he pushes inside you, your arms wrapping around his neck to kiss him, to pull him back down. He rocks, filling you, and you both still, sighing.

“You feel incredible,” he whispers, and you grin up at him. “Are you alright?”

“Better than alright,” you whisper back.

He moves again, almost all the way out before slamming into you, both of you groaning. The delicious drag of him makes you tremble and moan, your head falling back against the desk as he picks up speed.

“Don’t finish in me,” you whisper, and he nods, his breaths turning to pants.

He buries his face in your neck, and you hold on for dear life, taking everything, feeling as if you are floating above your body with how reckless he becomes so quickly. He pulls back at the last second, kissing you, one hand gripping your jaw.

He comes, sweat on his forehead, and you pant along with him, dazed.

For several moments, you say nothing, resting together, still lying on the desk. He peels away, offering to help you up. You pull your underwear back on, and he tidies himself. You wait for the other shoe to drop, but he takes out two cigarettes, lighting them both and inhaling them before handing you one.

“Can I walk you home, now?” he whispers.

He’s so quiet, so utterly elsewhere in that moment that you stare at the side of his face, smoking, before he finally looks at you, hopeful.

“Yes,” you whisper back, exhaling.

Let me know if you like this one! Thank you for reading. 😘❤️

#oppenheimer x y/n #oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #fem reader #near zero

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the-s1lly-corner · 17 days

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hello! it’s my first time requesting something, so please lmk if there is a problem with what i am requesting ;v; i was wondering if you could make a Laughing Jack x reader who is really into Victorian Era/classy stuff? e.g. they dress, talk, and own objects of that era. i hope this does not break your rule of no ocs- but other than that, thank you, and have a nice day/night! :)

Laughing Jack x Reader who loves the Victorian era

No need to worry! You're not breaking any rules at all!

Notes: Reader is GN... Admin knows very little about the Victorian era so a lot of this is based off of quick googling and observing themes! Whoops!

CWs: None

Laughing Jack is... old. Very old, actually. In fact he was around during the era in question!

I enjoy the idea that he still has some mannerisms from that era, it would make sense as he doesnt interact with many people all that often... it's a little jarring hearing him combine modern sayings and slang with what was common back then

He helps you with keeping things period accurate, if being.. well accurate... is important to you! From clothing to furniture, he has a sharp memory!

Looooves your fashion sense, it feels familiar..

Always offers to tie anything- laces, bows, ties, and so on! Sometimes gets carried away and makes the knot look really fancy and intricate

Bro makes the monkey knot from spongebob with your laces/j

Tries so hard to not get too rowdy, he doesnt want to accidentally break any of your belongings.. but alas, accidents do happen. Pretty apologetic and tries to make it right

Asks with genuine innocence if you want time period accurate makeup. Not just style wise, but.. ingredient wise as well

Does not understand why things like lead is bad for humans- you... might want to make sure Jack isn't using makeup containing lead or any other not good things

Not that it would mess with him, his body doesnt seem to react the same way a normal person's would but you'd like that peace of mind..

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #laughing jack x you #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack imagine

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

Text

𓃮 Even the Sun Influences the Tide: Chapter Eight

Even the Sun Influences the Tide: After the death of your foster brother, King T’Challa, you had spent much of your year of mourning in isolation. When your mother gathers you and your sister to end your mourning period, you encounter the newest threat to Wakanda: Namor. You don’t know what to think of Namor, but you do know one thing: he probably shouldn’t be making trips to see you at your beach hut.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Namor/K’uk’ulkan x Fem!Reader, I Tried To Make The Yucatec Maya & Xhosa Translations/Traditions As Accurate As I Can Get.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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K’uk’ulkan had kissed you deeply one last time, not being able to help himself after staying away from you for so long. You thought you were going to pass out from the heat burning beneath your cheeks at the intensity of his kiss… but no, you were just left in a daze. Then he guided you out of the tent, eager and looking forward to seeing you in the traditional wedding attire of his people. He had only ever seen you in the simple clothes you wore while living in your hut, and dressed in the clothing Namora had prepared for you? He had an almost impossible time taking his eyes off your beautiful form, let alone keeping his hands from wandering. K’uk’ulkan could only imagine what you would look like dressed in the traditional ceremonial garb. Calling for Namora, he spoke a few quick sentences in his native tongue, informing her of what he needed her to do for you. Namora was shocked to say the least, but she was pleased that you were making an effort to end the violence between your people. So with a promise to take good care of you, Namora bowed her head and guided you back the way you both had come.

You didn’t speak Yucatec Maya and didn’t have Griot with you, so you had no idea what had transpired between Namora and K’uk’ulkan. At the very least when you were brought to the room you had woken, you were surrounded by more blue skinned women, and not hardened soldiers. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? More rapid fire illusive words were exchanged, the faces of the women soon glowing with excitement and happiness. You felt more reassured by their reactions and your shoulders relaxed. Then two of the women approached you, taking your hands and tugging you in the direction of another hall. You glanced back at Namora with wide eyes, but she only nodded her head at you.

You trusted Namora, so you would trust these women.

The women had led you to a hot springs that bubbled and gurgled with steam and mist, inviting and making your body ache. You needed a moment to relax. You were going to get one because the women, Zyanya and Tlalli as they had told you, were carefully stripping you out of the dress you wore and motioning for you to step down into the warm water.

You had long since gotten used to bathing naked around other women, it was a common practice at the hot springs in Wakanda… but you couldn’t hold back your nerves this time. Not when you were such an outsider. You felt self conscious of your body, of your skin, of your being. Neither Zyanya nor Tlalli made any inclination at being judgmental over what they saw, busying themselves around you as you submerged yourself into the water. Wrapping your arms around your folded knees, you closed your eyes and took several deep and calming breaths.

You were alone, surrounded by the enemy of Wakanda, whose leader you had just shared a very intimate kiss with, and without a plan. You had also just agreed to a ceremony you knew nothing about.You might as well have sold your soul to the devil… but it if prevented needless death, you would take it. Yet you had thoughts of doubt, you were the ordinary one in the family. The black sheep whom T’Chaka and Ramonda had welcomed with open arms years ago. You didn’t know the first thing about how to make an alliance or be diplomatic, you never had the need to learn despite it being your choice of action. It wasn’t like you were ever going to be an influential figure from the royal family. At least you were smoothing things over with K’uk’ulkan, that was good. You were doing something right.

Hands gently stroked your hair and began to run scoops of water over the strands, soaking them and combing them. You were reminded of the times Ramonda had lovingly washed your hair for you when you were but a child, combing your hair neatly before braiding the strands in one of the many traditional styles of your new home. For a moment, you felt a flicker of homesickness. You had spent so much time trying to get away from your family to lesson your hurt, only to start wanting their company the moment you had the space you desperately craved. Were they even looking for you? Or were you simply assumed to be running from confronting the pain you had been stewing in for an entire year?

Those thoughts made your lip wobble and you harshly pressed them together to stop yourself from being consumed the sadness you had battled for so long. You were stronger than this, you had burned your funeral clothing. It was time to let go. Fingers began combing something that smelled nice, into your hair, lovingly tending to your hair and overall treating you with respect and reverence. Then Tlalli began massaging perfumed oils into your skin and you loosened up, letting her maneuver your limbs and treat every inch of your skin with devotion. You let them. It was probably part of a ritual, such as cleansing your body for the ceremony, or preparing your spirit in one way or another.

By the time your skin was buttery soft and a pearlescent sheen for being massaged and treated so delicately, your hair was fully washed and combed and you were being helped out of the hot springs. A beautiful stitched and embroidered robe was held open and you happily allowed them to cover your naked, damp skin with it, relishing the softness of the material. Led back to the cavern full of women, your jaw went slack.

While you had been bathing, they had been very busy. There was now a space where several women were fussing over white fabric, needles and silver thread in hand. A corner now had a table with several jars and brushes, squabbling women standing in front of it with scrolls of symbols… your eyes then caught a few boxes of jewelry, all a bright and vibrant jade that matched the ones K’uk’ulkan wore. Your hand was taken and you were led over to the jewelry.

You curiously looked around at the beautiful pieces, wondering how you were to wear some of them as they were obviously body piercing pieces. Then a women turned around and brandished a needle. Your eyes went wide and you gulped, panic washing through your body. Apparently you had unconsciously stepped backward, as you backed right into Namora. She gave you a soft smile and gestured for you to sit down. You wanted to whimper but held it back as you reluctantly sat down and nervously eyed the woman with the needle.

Less than a minute later, after one of the women had demonstrated that they could, in fact, pierce your body with little to no pain, you were allowing them to pierce the places they wished. The Talokanil had created a compound that numbed the surrounding flesh almost instantly, enabling for fast and painless piercing. Your ears were the first to be done, an industrial bar, much like Namora’s being placed along with an orbital, several helix and cartilage ones. You were fairly sure most of the argument the ladies ended up embroiled in, were about what jewelry would look best on you. You took comfort in the fact that they cared about placement.

Then they had wanted to pierce your septum. You had to resist screaming when the needle drew close to your face, but again, you felt no pain, and a beautiful vibranium ring had been placed. You had to admit that you liked the look in the mirror. The patterns in the metal reminded you of those you saw in the mayan murals and upon the fabrics around you. Shuri was going to like your new look, that you knew. Your mother? She was going to do a double take and possibly balk at your appearance. That wasn’t to say she would hate them, but she would probably want you to have piercings from Wakanda, not from the people who she was convinced were a threat to both you and her people. But what had you on edge the most, was when they moved to pierce your lip.

You panicked once more and Namora had come over, soothing you and reassuring you in the language you didn’t understand. You hated that you needed to hold her hand as they pierced your lip, adding a lip ring that divided your lower lip in half. When it was done, with no pain which you once again felt silly about, you were left staring into a handheld mirror in wonder. You looked like a completely other woman, with a tribal elegance. You looked different, more mature, regal, elegant in an ancestral way… but you felt that you now looked more like yourself than you ever had.

Someone took your hand, and you were tugged to your feet. Brought over to the women who had been arguing over markings on several scrolls, you were sat down once more, only this time, you were confronted with paint brushes. Your right foot was grabbed and held out, and then you watched with wide eyes as they started painting swirls of crimson on your body. You didn’t understand what the purpose of the symbols were, but you could figure out that they were probably a part of their culture, so you let them paint to their hearts content. Even when they tugged at your robe to get to your upper thighs, back, and stomach. They wouldn’t put so much time and effort into it if it wasn’t important.

You were perfectly fine with the paint, it just itched as it dried on your skin and you had to force yourself not to scratch the flesh where beautiful lines of red had been artistically drawn. Before they moved onto your back, your hair was once again brushed out before being braided back from your face. Once your hair was out of the way, the paintbrushes descended onto your back, and it tickled. You found yourself biting down on your lip, which only made you remember that you had a lip piercing now. Your mother was going to do a double take when she saw you, you were now certain. You also entertained the idea that she wouldn’t take kindly to you going off and doing some ceremony you didn’t know anything about, just for the sake of peace. But at the same time, hadn’t she lost enough family, enough people, already? Someone had to do something.

That happened to be you.

While you were staring off into space, wondering what your mother would think about what you were about to do, the Talokanil finished up their work and began fussing over the outfit you were to wear. It was a handmaid of course, embroidered with equally white thread to accentuate the red and green adorning your body. When it came time to dress you, you were herded behind a screen and the robe tugged from your body. Your cheeks blazed with fire while you cradled your arms to your painted chest. The moment you saw white fabric you were relieved to be dressed in something.

The white gossamer material was dropped over your head and blue fingers were quickly holding onto your arms while they tied the sleeves and the neckline of the fluttering fabric against your skin. While they were fussing over the ties and plucking at white fabric, you came to a realization: undo the ties resting off your shoulders, and the dress could very easily be pulled from your body… you weren’t going to have to do anything naked… were you? You might draw the line at that.

“Really should have thought this through,” You fretted to yourself. Desperation for peace had convinced you to jump the gun so to speak, but if this worked, you would have no regrets. So you let them fuss over you until they were happy and chittering in Yucatec Mayan. The screen was pushed to the side and you picked at the cuticles of your left hand.

“In reina,”(My queen) You took in a deep breath, realizing that you could no longer stall. You twisted on the ball of your foot to see Namora standing next two others holding a large mirror. Your reflection caught your breath. You recognized yourself, your reflection, but this was the first time you had felt like you were someone. Not necessarily someone important, but someone. You didn’t feel like you were going to fade into the background, forgotten like so many times before. Between your plentiful new piercings, the pure white gossamer of the off the shoulder dress, and the red markings upon your skin, you found yourself staring at your reflection with a faraway expression.

“Ki'ichpanech,”(You are beautiful) One of the women murmured, the others nodded. Your skin prickled from the chill in the air and you finally looked to Namora.

“K’uk’ulkan?” You asked softly, knowing that she would at least know what you were indicating with his name.

“Chukpaxten, In reina,” (Follow me) She responded with a nod. The women who had helped you made the hand gesture you were now associating with a sign of respect. You felt compelled to return the gesture and did so, carefully raising your hands and copying their actions. Bright smiles appeared not heir faces and you turned to follow Namora, grabbing the skirt of your dress so you didn’t trip. As you walked, you saw flashes of red from your legs, bright and vibrant compared to the white skirts you held away from them. You hoped that you didn’t get any of the paint on the dress. It’d look like a bloody mess.

The path that Namora followed led back to the cavern where K’uk’ulkan was working on murals, that you knew… but there was a change of scent in the air. As if someone had burned incense. It tickled your nose and you forced yourself not to sneeze. Upon entering the cavern with the murals, you stopped short, your eyes widening. The space was clouded with the smoke from what had to be incense. There was now what looked like an alter set up with several items placed on a table. Colored flowers were placed at four points, red, yellow, purple, and white.

“Mayor,” (Elder) Namora spoke, bowing to an older looking Talokanil who stood draped in traditional garb.

“What am I getting myself into,” You whispered as the eyes of elder Talokanil gazed upon you. This all looked very… official. Fear crept into your veins. Of course it did. This was a serious alliance you were negotiating/commencing, you had to respect their traditions. If you screwed this up, you felt like you were dooming your nation to certain war.

Date Published: 4/23/23

Last Edit: 4/2/23

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#namor x y/n #namor fanfiction #namor #namor of talokan #namor x reader #namor fic #k'ul'kulkan #marvel #black panther 2 #wakanda forever

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babyrdie · 3 months

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I gave my Patroclus curly hair and, as a fellow member of the "naturally curly hair" club, I wondered what it would be like to come back from the fight with some parts covered in blood. Really, in Patroclus' place, I would look forward to a bath at the same time as I would regret in advance the amount of time I would spend just on my hair (and in his case, a beard too). That's why he looks so sulky here lol

Armor

I remembered that Achilles' second armor (the one made by Hephaestus) was highly described, but I didn't remember the first one. So I went back to the scene where Patroclus wears it (Book XVI) to get a clue and there is a description, although short: the breastplate was made of bronze and had stars, the ankle cnemides were adorned with silver, the helmet had a horse's plume and the shield was huge. It's mentioned that Patroclus also took a bronze sword with silver ornaments, but I cannot say whether it belonged to Achilles as well. The Iliad clearly says that although Achilles is primarily a spear user, Patroclus did not take his ash spear with him because of the Achaeans only Achilles could lift it (it was a gift from Chiron to Peleus). As you may have noticed, this still leaves a lot of detail out, so the rest I made up from imagination.

I'll make it clear now that none of the armors in my drawing really matches Mycenaean times, they're more like "resembling" Mycenaean times. But in my defense: I've never seen anyone use the Mycenaean armor design when drawing the Trojan War characters either! In theory, it would look like this (although obviously we consider that this piece is old and has already been greatly altered by external conditions until it was found):

Dendra armor. See here.

So I tried to improvise to still get something close to the things I found, but that's it: I still doubt that my drawing is accurate, so let's use artistic freedom.

I was a little inspired by this vase, taking the Mycenaean tunic from it and the clothes decorated with fringes. Another site has attempts at reconstructing Mycenaean armor, which is convenient. Even more convenient is that the site indicates by name who is wearing whose armor (it also has Agamemnon, Odysseus, Diomedes, Hector and others from armies instead of specific characters). There are two versions for Achilles, but both are Hephaestus' armor, so neither is what I was looking for. I used a little of each for inspiration.

However, I still simplified the design instead of copying the reconstruction because I'm not much for drawing very detailed things. I'll probably change it more often, since here I only managed to draw the chest part due to the framing and the pose. And because it's after a battle, not even the helmet is present. So, I didn't do the entire armor design all at once, but rather "chopped it up". Result: I can't guarantee that I will keep what I already have because I don't know if it will be harmonious with the rest when I design it.

As for Achilles' hairstyle…well, truth be told! I've seen male characters being represented with a bun, as is the case with Apollo, but there is a catch: these representations of Apollo do not follow the Mycenaean period! From the Mycenaean period, you can tell that men had long hair, but I imagine by that they mean something more like at most chest length (average, at least). But my Achilles has hair so long it almost goes down to his butt. As a bonus, it's voluminous! It's a very impractical amount of hair, it can't be left loose. I could make a ponytail like Patroclus' (there's even a representation of Achilles with a ponytail), but I think with that size it wouldn't be enough because it's still easy to get in the way, so a bun and an accessory that helps move the bangs away. Of course, this would conflict with the helmet, but that's precisely why it's a low bun. From the images I saw, this part of the head was uncovered.

As for Patroclus, we have no description of an armor he wears other than Achilles' as far as I can remember. In other words, his armor had to be entirely invented, but I still used the same sources to get an idea of how to do it. I admit that I considered doing something generic for him, with the internal justification that he's neither a prince nor a king, so it wouldn't be so unrealistic and I would save time on this drawing too! But then I thought to myself if it would make sense with Achilles' character to not find a way to put Patroclus in a good armor and I came to the conclusion that it wouldn't make sense, so here we are. It took some work, but I'll tell myself that my man Patroclus deserves his non-generic armor too. And since he also has long bangs, I also had to add something to keep it out of his sight.

#tagamemnon #IK #patrochilles #the iliad #epic cycle #patroclus #achilles #achillesxpatroclus #patroclusxachilles #greek mythology #digital art

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therhythmafterthesummer · 2 years

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Odd Eyes ~I.N | Jeongin

Pairing: Demon!Jeongin x PalaceWorker!F.Reader Themes: Fantasy AU, Period setting, Mild Angst, Mild Fluff if you squint? Warnings: Violence, abuse of power, mentions of outdated ideas around intimacy, questionable moral choices, kissing Word Count: ~5k | AO3 Summary: Being cursed was not something you ever planned for your life–clearly–but now that you were, your demon will help you make the most of it.

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Author's Note: this idea has been haunting (heh) me for a while, and i was finally able to capture it on paper. as we're still in October, i feel like a demon still fits within the Halloween theme of the month :D

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“You?! Again?!”

You winced at the Head Court Lady’s angry tone, your eyes drifting from her face towards the heap of clothes now on the floor, trying your best to not show the annoyance you felt creeping into you. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It was an accident…”

It was not an accident, but it was easier to tell her that than to even try to explain what had happened.

“It’s the third ‘accident’ of yours this week! You’ll have to wash those again, you’re not leaving this place until you do”, with that, she turned around and left.

The incessant snickering coming from your side made you snap your head in the sound’s direction, glaring at the man–or maybe it’d be more accurate to say the creature–that was mocking you now. “It’s not funny, Jeongin”, you moved, grabbing a basket, and proceeding to kneel by the heap of clothes and start depositing the pieces in it so you could take them to the laundry area.

“Oh, it’s so funny, my dear”, Jeongin held his belly as his laughter intensified, tears running down his face the longer he spent looking at you kneeling on the floor.

With a sigh, you decided to ignore him. Whenever you reacted to his pranks it always made everything worse, so you tried your best to focus on your task. These were a lot of clothes, clothes that you had just finished sorting and folding, all that work now down the drain because of him.

Jeongin was, to put it simply, your own personal demon.

He’d been haunting you for over a year now. He liked to prank you, to inconvenience you, and you could never stop it. If you said anything you surely would be hanged because they’d think you were crazy or they’d burn you at the stake because they’d think you were a witch–even if you were neither of those things–so you always took the blame for his antics.

No one else could see Jeongin either, not because you had any sort of special sight for spirits, but because that was how Jeongin liked it. ‘Only you get the great honour of seeing me, darling!’ He had told you with the widest smile on his face the first time you tried to rat him out to one of the Court Ladies, so you stopped trying since then.

How you came to be involved with Jeongin was quite the story… Not one of your proudest moments, you’d admit.

You’d always been bad at politics, the worst at keeping your thoughts concealed, your face always giving away too much, or your words of disapproval slipping past your lips before you could ever stop them–which was one of the worst traits to have when you worked at the palace. People here loved to fake their true nature, they loved to play a part, and you had such a hard time doing so yourself you stopped talking altogether after the incident.

It happened a long time ago, but you could still remember it as if it had happened yesterday.

The abusive governor, your friend hunched over on the floor as the man kicked and punched her, the heavy weight of the wooden plank in your hands as you quite literally broke it in half on his head, your friend’s wrist in your hand as you tugged her out of there, the screams of the governor’s wife when you were already too far away for her to see the culprit, ‘whoever did this, I curse you! I curse you for all eternity!’

The governor’s wife’s words haunted you when you went to sleep that night, and, as you held your friend tightly in your arms while she slept, those incessant screams changed shape, turning instead into a wicked laugh. When you had woken up the next morning, your friend was gone for the day already, but in her place you found a boy, a man, with carob hair, a devilish smile on his lips, and his two toned eyes–one blue like the sky above your heads and the other red like raspberries–staring at you.

You had screamed, because of course you had–there was a random-ass man on your yo as you woke up, so obviously you screamed, scrambling as far away from him as possible. ‘So loud for this time of day! Tone it down!’ was all he had said as he rolled around on the bedding. After running away from your sleeping quarters you started to question people around the palace about the man with the odd eyes–as inconspicuously as you could, of course. People had looked at you like you were crazy, telling you such eyes didn’t exist in this world.

You had let them gaslight you into believing that, into believing that the man with the wicked smile and two-toned eyes had probably just been a product of your imagination, of your post-sleep, post-trauma hazy mind, even when it had felt so real… It wasn’t until later in the day, when you were cleaning boxes upon boxes of royal cutlery that you saw him again, standing by one of the piles of boxes as he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

It was almost as if the situation had played in slow motion, his hand moving to the tallest box he could reach, his eyes locked with yours, as he pushed the box with as much force as he could for the thing to fall, the delicate utensils clattering loudly on the floor. ‘What are you doing?!’ you remember asking him, to which he simply smirked and shrugged. The noise had attracted people’s attention, so when one of the Court Ladies rushed into the room and saw the mess she had shouted at you, to which you desperately pointed towards the man by the boxes and laid the blame on him.

The Court Lady hadn’t believed you, of course, alleging there was no one there, and urging you to go to the infirmary as you were clearly sick and hallucinating. But you weren’t, he was standing right there. That was your first real encounter with Jeongin, the one that, unbeknownst to you, gave you a taste of what your life would become moving forward.

“Come on, darling. It’s no fun if you don’t fight back!” Jeongin was pouting, crouching next to where you were kneeling, still shoving clothes into the basket.

You could feel your whole body tremble, feeling utterly helpless, his constant pranks had worn you down more than you would’ve liked to admit, that, coupled with the sheer amount of work you had around the palace these days with the upcoming royal wedding had a knot building in your throat. “I don’t have time for this, Jeongin”, you weakly murmured.

“Aw, come on. I haven’t even–”

“Stop it!” Your voice came out louder than you intended, but worst of all, you couldn’t help the sob that came right after, tears of frustration starting to pool in your eyes as you looked into his two-toned eyes. “Do you have any idea how much work I have now because of your stupid prank? I haven’t slept more than three hours each night for the past few months, Jeongin!”

It was odd, really. Jeongin was here to haunt you, to inconvenience you, but throughout the past year you had somewhat become used to his presence around you, so much so that you had formed a rapport of sorts. ‘You’re the first person I’ve haunted that has actually talked to me, like, talk talk, not just scream in fear. You must be insane’, Jeongin had told you once while you two were conversing under the moonlight. You remember that day had been particularly taxing, someone had attempted to poison the king–just as he deserved, honestly…–and the entire palace was distraught, or pretending to be distraught, at least. So, at night, you had gone to the most secluded area you could find in the woods, just sitting there, looking at the moon’s reflection on the stream. And somehow, in the quiet of the night, you and Jeongin simply started talking, almost like acquaintances.

That day–before the entire assasination attempt thing–Jeongin had thrown two rows of books off of the library’s shelves while you cleaned the space, snickering and cackling as you had to pick them all back up again, a fact you couldn’t stop but remember as you sat there talking with him. ‘You’re here all the time, and you’re too annoying to ignore’, you had told him back then, because it was the truth. You talked with him because he talked to you, and in a way, when he wasn’t pulling one of his stunts, it almost felt as if he was keeping you company.

Tears spilled freely from your eyes, quiet sobs escaping you here and there as you stared at Jeongin. He stared back at you, completely stone-faced now, the devilish smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes now completely gone. This was the most serious you had ever seen him since you met him, but you were too hurt to think about it too much. “Just leave me alone, Jeongin. Even if just for tonight, please…”

Jeongin’s eyes jumped from one of yours to the other a few times, only to finally give you a minute nod. His body turned to smoke shortly after, suddenly disappearing from the room, and you couldn’t do anything other than cry and stare at the heaps and heaps of clothes. It was too much work, just too much for yourself alone, and you were having a full-on meltdown about it.

You weren’t sure how long you spent crying in that room, your chest burning with exertion and the lump in your throat growing heavier and heavier the longer you sat there. All you knew was that you woke up the next day curled up into a ball on the floor and that the heaps of clothes–all of them–were neatly folded on the shelf, smelling clean and fresh. Wow, you must’ve worked a lot last night, you couldn’t even remember doing all this. Stretching your limbs, you stood up, finally leaving the room to go freshen up and start your duties for the day.

The royal wedding certainly had everyone preoccupied around the palace, Crown Prince Seungmin was getting married to a princess from a faraway land, and everyone within the lowest ranks in the palace was speculating that someone would try to stop the wedding, some said through the assasination of either the Crown Prince or his betrothed, some said that the Crown Prince himself would run away… All this was pure palace gossip you had no interest in indulging in, as being imprisoned for treacherous tendencies was certainly not within your life-long plans.

Three days had passed since you last saw Jeongin, which oddly worried you. The longest you’d spent without seeing him was a day at most, so, to you, his sudden absence was strange. In a way, it was for the best, you had been able to carry out your tasks with ease, without any otherworldly delays, but after having experienced Jeongin’s antics for so long, the sudden absence of them made you realise how… Boring working at the palace was. Had it been like this before he started to haunt you? Maybe it had been, you had just been too focused on keeping your job at the time to notice.

It was only the next day that you saw Jeongin again, standing by a stack of wooden cups in the kitchen. He locked eyes with you, his serious expression contorting again as that familiar mischievous smile crept on his lips. Before you could stop it, he had already knocked over the stack of cups, the things clunking against each other as they rolled on the table–some of them even falling on the floor. Thankfully, you were alone, and the noise caused by the cups falling wasn’t that loud, so you could probably manage this without anyone bursting into the kitchen and calling you crazy or lazy or clumsy.

You simply sighed in response, shaking your head as you started to pick up the cups from the floor. “Was this really necessary?”

“I’m here to haunt you, remember?” Jeongin took one of the cups, walking over to pick up a jug of water and serving himself a glass. “You’re still cursed, my dear”.

“Lucky me…” You mumbled, stacking the cups again where they belonged. “Is there no way to get rid of this curse?”

You had asked Jeongin about it many times before, and each time he had given you the same answer ‘why would I tell you how to get rid of the curse?’ which, honestly, you could understand why he wouldn’t tell you about it. You weren’t sure what it was, but he was definitely getting something out of haunting you, that much was obvious to you, otherwise why would he keep this up for a year?

However, right now, when you asked him, his expression suddenly got serious. Again, there was that stone-faced Jeongin you had only seen a few days ago. He inhaled deeply, only to exhale right after. “The governor’s wife that cursed you… She’s been delving in dark magic” Jeongin’s words surprised you, for someone so deeply involved in the government to be practising witchcraft… If anyone found out, their titles would be revoked and she would definitely be burnt at the stake. “When she said those words, she cursed you for real, clearly. Which is why I’m here. And honestly, you’re kind of lucky that I was the one to answer her call…”

Jeongin moved, standing right in front of you, staring down at you with those mismatched eyes of his, staring so intensely you started to feel weak in the knees. “To break the demon curse… You would have to either destroy the caster’s altar, or…”

Jeongin trailed off, his eyes darting all around your face, as if he was debating whether to tell you or not. You wanted to know, needed to know, so you pressed him further. “Or…?”

“Or…” His eyes snapped back up to yours, staring deeply into yours once again. “You can get the demon to stop it”.

“So you could–!”

“But!” Jeongin interrupted you, bringing a finger up to signal you to stop talking. “It’s not easy, nor cheap to get demons to stop curses. You’d have to pay a hefty price”.

With a sigh, you returned to your cleaning duties, moving past Jeongin to the basin in the kitchen, so you could start washing the plates there. “Who knows where that woman’s altar would be… Plus, I don’t have any money, and somehow I don’t think you’d give me a discount”.

Jeongin was silent for a while, but you knew he was still there, you’d become used to his presence, so you could tell when he was or wasn’t around you. Suddenly, you felt warmth at your back, which made you tense and still your movements, your hands still submerged in the basin. Jeongin’s hands appeared in your field of vision, gripping the basin’s rim, caging you right there, between his body and the goddamned basin. There was space between your bodies still, he kept his distance enough for you to feel him there but not to touch you, and somehow, deep, deep within you, an intrusive thought was forming, a dangerous, dangerous thought, worming itself into your brain and making it hard for you to stay in place.

“Money’s of no use to demons, darling. The price for getting a demon to release the curse that’s been placed on you will differ from demon to demon, to be honest…” Jeongin’s tone was low, his breath fanned your neck, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine. You hoped he hadn’t noticed, but considering how close you were the chances were slim. If he did notice, he didn’t say anything. “As for me, if you want me to, I’ll consider what that price might be, my dear”.

The sudden lack of his warmth once he retreated from your frame made your head spin, that is, until he talked again. “But until then, remember. You are cursed”, the water from the basin splashed upwards, soaking you from head to toe as a gasp left your mouth. You whipped your face back to stare daggers at him, but all you saw was his snickering form for a few seconds, until he disappeared under wisps of smoke.

You’d truly gone and done it this time. You weren’t sure how you allowed yourself to get in this situation again, but here you were, looking at your few belongings going down the river. It was that same governor again, the one whose wife had cursed you. You had no proof, but you knew it was the truth.

The day before, you had had another encounter with him. Once again, he was mistreating one of your friends, screaming at her and pushing her around for things you didn’t care about. All you cared about was just how unfair the entire thing was, so you got involved, getting between the man and your friend, even pushing him back and calling him an ‘abusive monster’. You should’ve known he would do something like this, if the look of disgust on his face and his words of ‘how dare you speak to me like that? Looks like someone must be punished, too’ were anything to go by.

You had taken your friend’s hand in yours and ran away from there as quickly as you could, but he had seen you, so now, you were paying the price. You couldn’t help but sob, the tears running freely down your cheeks as you stood there on the bridge. Oh, how you hated him… You hated that man more than you hated the king, which was saying something. But you were powerless, there was nothing you could do against someone like him, you were but a palace maid, after all. A palace maid with no money, no connections, no power…

Even in your emotionally broken state, you still felt Jeongin’s presence when he appeared next to you. You could feel his gaze burning as he stared at you, but you couldn’t look back at him, all you did was continue to cry as the last piece of your belongings got lost in the distance. Shutting your eyes tightly, you brought your hands to your face, sobbing and hiding from him and his searing gaze.

“I’ve thought about it”, Jeongin said abruptly. With the tears that clouded your vision, you could barely see his form when you opened your eyes and looked at him. “About the price to stop your curse. I know what I want in exchange”.

You hiccuped, unsure of why he was talking about this now of all times. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with it, my dear. Everything”, Jeongin stepped into your space, and, to your utter bewilderment, he cupped your cheeks, his eyes intently scanning the features of your face.

It was odd for Jeongin to touch you. He hardly ever got this close to you, you could count the encounters with one hand–the first day when you woke up with him cuddled up in your arms, one night when you sat down by the Queen’s pond under the moonlight and he slung his arm over your shoulder in a friendly–or almost friendly–gesture, the other day when he almost, almost pressed his chest to your back… Had you always remembered these things in detail? Maybe you had… Your hands trembled slightly under his heavy gaze, loaded with so many emotions your teary eyes and racing mind could not even decipher any of them.

“Jeongin…?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the surprise of having his hands on you effectively stopping the tears from spilling from your eyes.

“I don’t like it when you cry”, he was dead serious, his fox-like eyes scrutinising every single feature on your face.

Your lower lip quivered slightly, tears threatening to fall again under his disapproving tone. “I can’t help it, Jeongin…”

“No, you don’t understand”, his hands tightened their hold on your cheeks, essentially forcing you to pout slightly. “I don’t like it when you cry. I can’t stand it”.

Confusion fell on your features, only for a moment, the expression replaced with that of shock as you suddenly felt Jeongin’s lips on yours, pressing a soft, brief, and almost shy kiss to your lips, making your heart do involuntary flips in your chest with the action. When Jeongin pulled back from your lips, his eyes were still dead serious, yet you couldn’t help but notice the slight pink tint on his cheeks, and the feel of his thumbs softly stroking your cheeks.

“You shouldn’t be crying, you’re too pretty to cry”.

You blinked slightly, the unshed tears that had pooled in the corners of your eyes falling with the motions, even when you suddenly didn’t feel like crying anymore. “So you… You think I’m ugly when I cry?”

“A bit, but I like you regardless”, he sounded so sure when he said it, and your jaw could’ve dropped to the floor right then and there.

“Jeongin you… You’re supposed to be haunting me. You’re supposed to be my curse. What are you talking about?”

“Do you really think what I’ve been doing this past year is what being cursed is truly like?” His thumbs wouldn’t stop moving, each stroke making you shiver, making your mind wander into those dangerous territories deep within you that you dared not acknowledge. “My dear, I’m an inconvenience at most. When I first met you, I knew I couldn’t curse you curse you. I had to, because that’s what demons do when summoned, but I couldn’t fully do it, you were too good of a soul for that. If I had, you most likely wouldn’t be alive right now”.

“…Thanks?” You couldn’t help but blink repeatedly, shocked at this sudden piece of information. Your brain was racing, looking back into the past year at incredible speeds as you dissected every single encounter with Jeongin–the ones you could vividly remember anyway. He appeared next to you every single day without fail, he’d be a nuance, he’d prank you, he’d tease you, he’d keep you company, he’d walk next to you at night chasing away any person you didn’t know, he’d talk you out of speaking out of line with officials, and he’d–oh… Oh.

“The governor…” Jeongin’s hands finally moved away from your face, settling on your shoulders, squeezing them lightly. “It’s about time he gets a taste of his own medicine”.

“I can’t do–”

“But I can”, a mischievous smile crept onto Jeongin’s lips. “I’ll do anything so you don’t cry anymore. I’ll ruin him, if that’s what you want. But you’d need to pay the price for me to stop your curse. If I do anything with the curse still in place, it could hurt you”.

“What’s your…” You gulped, your eyes jumping from his red one to his blue one a few times. “What’s your price?”

“Your heart”, his hands moved from your shoulders to your upper arms, gently squeezing the flesh there, the mischievous smile he had on his lips now turning to a sincere one. “Not literally, of course. But I want you for me, I want your affections. I think that’s a fair price to pay, considering you have already gotten mine, whether you planned it–wanted it–or not”.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for his arms, not to pull him away but just to get a hold of something–anything–sturdy to keep you up, since you suddenly felt light-headed. Was he… Was Jeongin confessing to you? Jeongin the demon? How could you have possibly endeared a demon enough for him to even consider breaking your curse? It was crazy, ludicrous, absurd… But the craziest, most ludicrous, most absurd part, was that–as you stared into his fox-like, two-toned eyes–you realised Jeongin had endeared you, too. He had all this time, even when he annoyed you sometimes, you liked his presence near you, close to you, more so than you ever did any other human.

Before you could even register what you were doing, your hands found the collar of his shirt, pulling him to you. His eyes went wide in surprise at the sudden movement, you saw it for only a second, though, as your eyes closed when your lips connected to his immediately after. A surprised yelp left Jeongin, his body tensing up and unmoving at the contact. His lack of response started to worry you, it made you think you had made a mistake, that you had misinterpreted his actions, but right as you were about to pull away from him, you felt his hand on the back of your head, tilting you ever so slightly to deepen the kiss as his lips started to move against yours.

His free hand found your waist, pulling you flush to him as his tongue swiped over your bottom lip. Your breath hitched in your throat at the contact, your lips parting slightly in surprise. Jeongin took advantage of the opening, sneaking his tongue in your mouth to shyly brush against yours. You had kissed people before, a handful of them, but never had anyone gotten their tongue inside your mouth. You’d only ever read about it in the adult novels you’d shamefully indulge in in the confines of your sleeping quarters, the novels that were filled to the brim with sinful words and fantasies that hardly ever reflected your cruel reality.

Your tongue pushed back against Jeongin’s firmly, eagerly, finding a rhythm as you continued to kiss. Your hands moved from where they held onto his shirt so your arms could cross around his neck and pull him closer to you as his arms wrapped around your waist. It was so much, it felt like so much, so much of Jeongin, and you felt fire burning in the pit of your stomach, you felt yourself craving him and his touch.

When your lips separated, you didn’t pull away, nor did Jeongin. You held onto each other, your faces still close to each other as your chests heaved and you panted lightly, looking into each other’s eyes, your gaze getting lost in those two-toned eyes of his that had plagued your mind since the first time you saw them.

“Jeongin…” Your voice was barely a whisper, your arms still holding onto him tightly.

“Hmm?” His arms tightened even more around your waist, as if he was trying to pull you even closer to him, as if he was trying to prevent you from leaving his hold.

“Is this part of the curse? The way that I’m feeling right now, are you doing this with your magic?”

Jeongin chuckled softly, smirking. “Who do you take me for? I don’t do shortcuts, my dear. At least not with this, there’s no fun in that. Besides, you think I would’ve asked for your heart if I could’ve influenced it like this with my magic?”

“I suppose not…” You had the overwhelming urge to kiss him, so you did, pressing a soft peck against his lips only to pull back right after. “But you are a demon, after all…”

“That I am”, Jeongin’s arms released their hold on you, only to let his hands find purchase on your waist, holding you tightly. “But I am your demon, after all”.

You looked deeply into his eyes in silence for a moment. This was crazy. It was nuts. But you realised then that regardless of your wish to make the governor pay, you were willing to give your heart to Jeongin, even if he gave you nothing in return. So you told him this, how you wanted for him to continue being your demon, as long as he wouldn’t make you work extra with his stupid pranks.

“But where��s the fun in that?” Jeongin chuckled, moving his hands to rest on the small of your back, tracing shapes there, having you shiver under his touch on those previously unexplored areas of your body. Sure, you had let people touch you, but not this… Creatively. People, men, usually had one goal in mind, there were only four places for them to touch and grope to reach that goal, rear, core, and breasts, and it wasn’t like they were particularly good at touching those.

As you let Jeongin hold onto you, you figured a demon had a broader imagination when it came to touching someone intimately. You’d lie if you said you weren’t trembling with excitement at the thought, realising then you would really let this demon do anything to you, anything to feed this fire burning bright inside of you. And possibly his, too.

“Direct your need to annoy people somewhere else, then”, your face came close to his once again, your mouth coming shy of his, not pressing a kiss yet, only for your lips to brush against his with every word you said. “Ruin him, Jeongin. Ruin the governor. Make him suffer for me… You already have my heart, you always had”.

Jeongin leaned in, connecting his lips to yours and sneaking his tongue inside your mouth in a heated kiss, groaning into your mouth. His hands greedily roamed the planes of your back, only to finally settle one on your nape and the other on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him, eliciting the most embarrassing sounds to spill from your mouth.

“I knew you were going to be fun, my dear”, Jeongin whispered against your mouth, pressing another peck to your lips. “I’ll give you anything you want. We’re going to have so much fun”.

“I can’t wait”, was all you could reply with a giggle as you reconnected your lips to his.

You had always been a moralistic person, a person that wanted justice to be made, even when you were considered nothing by those above you. But now, with Jeongin, you felt like you could do anything, like you could bring justice to this world. All as you enjoyed his company, his touch, and his affections. And you truly, truly could not wait.

Constructive feedback is always welcome and appreciated :)

#stray kids fantasy au #jeongin fanfiction #jeongin x reader #i.n fanfiction #i.n x reader #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #✨🌙✏

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rogueddie · 2 years

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Hi hi, for the prompt thingo perhaps 2 and 25?? 💖💖💖💖

2 ; Masquerade party + 25 ; "you alright? you look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Usually Steve loves listening to Robins rambling, especially when it's about a topic she finds interesting. Masquerades and period clothing are one of them which, now that he's at what is supposed to be an 18th century style masquerade? He's just noticing everything wrong with everyones dresses or suits.

"This is awful," is the first thing Robin says when she finds him. "No one has even tried! God, they aren't even wearing stays. This is miserable. Who thought this would be a good idea?"

"Don't ask me, I'm the one who said this would be a bad idea!"

"Whatever. I'm gonna try and find Nance, surely she won't be a disappointment."

"Hey!" Steve flips her off when she glances back.

It's not as difficult to get a mens suit period accurate but he did his best. He thinks his little get-up is atleast alright.

"Boo!"

Steve flinches, spilling his drink. "Jesus fuck! Dude, what the-"

"Sorry, sorry," they snicker.

"Eddie?!"

"You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost!" He worms his fingers out so he can wiggle them at him.

"What... why are you wearing that?" Steve frowns, pocking at him. "Is that a bed sheet?"

"Yeah! What, it's a little funny, isn't it?" He adjusts the eye-holes he's obviously cut into the bed sheet himself. "I think it's very funny. We should dance."

"What? No, Eddie, wait-"

Eddie has already grabbed his wrist though, pulling him into the center of the hall. He steps close, closer than is probably safe for them to be in such a public setting.

"Come on. No one will know it's me under here. I could be anyone. I could be some dorky girl who wants to make you laugh."

"You're a little tall for a girl, E." But he lets Eddie pull him into a slow dance, pulling him that last step closer with a hand on his lower back.

"I don't know, maybe I'm wearing heels."

It's weird, but... good. Steve has been wanting to do something more typically romantic with Eddie for a while, struggling to find any way for them to do so safely, especially when most of his date ideas are things like a movie and restaurants.

"Good, yeah?" Eddie whispers, leaning close so their cheeks are almost touching.

The sheet keeps brushing against his cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, this is good. Thank you."

"Thank you," Eddie repeats, a little mocking, huffing a little laugh. "I want to do this shit too, you know? I love you. I want to show that off."

"When we get to the city," Steve parrots. It's something Eddie always uses as reassurance. And they're almost there, thanks to Robin finally agreeing to move with them. Just a little longer. "This is good for now though."

#ask #prompt #I mean for this to be funny but I always get fluffy #oops?#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #ficlet #225 #OCTPMT

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archiveikemen · 11 months

Text

Koihana Bakumeiroku Prologue: Chapter 1

I do not own any of the Koihana Bakumeiroku content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD and Animate. Please support them by playing the game and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

— *thud*

Someone’s hand sent me flying into the dense vegetation.

The dull pain that spread through my body caused me to groan in agony.

(Ouch…)

(My vision… is getting darker…)

As I was slowly losing consciousness, I felt my memories fading away.

Memories that were dear to me and I wanted to cherish forever.

Memories that were too painful to remember.

Even when I reached my hand out towards them, it didn't make them stay.

(All of them are disappearing.)

Giving up, I lowered my outstretched hand and slowly shut my eyes.

What kind of memory was the last one that came to my mind?

(Was it about my family? Or my companions?)

(Huh…)

(... Who am I?)

…

Rin: Wow…!

My eyes fixed onto the unfamiliar people and foreign-looking architecture.

Rin: This is Tokyo…!

Looking around, I felt both nervous and excited about the scenery I had never seen before in my life. It was completely different from the countryside I had previously lived in.

(Their clothes look very different from kimonos… these must be western-style clothing.)

???: …

(Uwah! Could that person be a foreigner?)

I was fascinated by the deep-set features of the red-haired person who looked different from the other people in the country.

(There’s so many kinds of people here…)

As I looked around the place curiously, a child who happened to pass by pointed at me.

???: Ahaha! That big sis over there is so strange, goggling around!

Rin: …!

(H-He’s laughing at me… . Right. I shouldn't be doing this right now.)

I gave myself a light slap in the face, reminding myself of the reason why I was there to begin with.

(I’m in Tokyo to search for what I lost.)

I lost something a long time ago.

And that was — the “memories” from my childhood until a few years ago.

I came to Tokyo in search of clues that could help me regain my memories, so that I could keep on living by myself.

I took a letter out of my bag and read the name and address written on it.

(This person is my one and only clue. It’d be great if I could meet them right away, but…)

(This is harder than I expected.)

On top of being in an unfamiliar land, Tokyo was going through a crucial period of change.

(My initial plan was to get around on my own, but this is harder to do than I had anticipated… should I ask that man over there for help?)

???: …

Rin: Excuse m—

The moment I took a step forward,

Rin: !

A man who looked like a samurai bumped into me.

Samurai Descendant: Oi! What the hell are you doing!?

Rin: I- I’m sorry. But it was you who bumped into me…

Samurai Descendant: Shut up! Hang on, you’ve got a rather lovely face… . I’ll forgive you if you put me in a good mood!

Rin: Stop!

The man violently grabbed my arm, and I reflexively tried to shake him off, but that only worsened my situation.

Samurai Descendant: Damn it, getting too cocky, aren't you!?

Rin: …!

In a fury, the man drew the sword on his waist and I pulled out the sword I had hidden in my bag.

Samurai Descendant: … Ah? A woman with a sword?

(Keep calm…)

(I don't have any real fighting experience, if he charges at me, I can just deflect his attack…)

I pulled myself together and faced him head-on.

In the midst of the tension, the man stepped forward and—

???: — Hold it.

I heard a dignified voice coming from somewhere.

Rin: Huh…

Before I knew it, a man stood close by me.

(Ah, isn’t this the man I tried to talk to just now…?)

When he saw my fighting stance, his eyes blinked in surprise.

???: That stance…

???: Are you from Aizu? No wonder you have such a strong look in your eyes.

(Aizu…?)

When I tilted my head in puzzlement upon hearing the name of an unfamiliar place, the man who looked like a samurai raised his voice.

Samurai Descendant: Who the heck are you!?

???: The Police.

Samurai Descendant: Wha…!?

The moment he heard that response, he immediately fled the scene.

???: There should be another police officer stationed over there…

???: Anyway, back to you.

The man turned to face me. Despite the unfriendliness in his tone, his face looked more gentle than I expected.

(Erm… he helped me, didn’t he?)

Rin: Um, thank you so much for helping me.

???: Don't mention it…

He looked down at my sword.

???: Why do you have a sword?

Rin: Uh… it’s a family heirloom.

???: A heirloom?

Rin: Yes. Something very precious my family left behind…

The man gave a slight nod in response.

???: … Nevermind. Anyway, are you from Aizu?

Rin: Huh?

(Come to think of it, he did mention “Aizu” just now…)

Rin: No, I’m not from Aizu.

???: … But your fighting stance tells me otherwise.

(What is he talking about…?)

No one taught me how to wield a sword.

I just naturally knew those moves, so I kept on practising them on my own.

(I thought they were unique to me, but could it be that I have connections to Aizu…?)

That was what I thought, but the man denied it.

???: … Nevermind. There are people who pick up some moves from masterless samurai. Sorry, don’t mind what I said.

???: But still… it felt nostalgic.

Rin: …?

I couldn't catch the words that followed as they were too faint.

???: … Sorry for holding you back. I know you’re from the countryside, so be careful while in Tokyo.

???: Moreover, there are many lawless people here.

???: Even though this country has been opened up to the world, it’s a rare sight for a woman to be carrying a sword, so it catches a lot of attention.

When I saw him turn to leave, it suddenly hit me.

(He’s said he’s from the police, that means he’s familiar with the area…!)

Rin: Um! I don’t know the way to…

???: The way?

Rin: Could you help me, if it’s alright with you? I just arrived in Tokyo today from the countryside.

???: … Yeah, sure.

When he saw the address written on the letter I showed him, he rubbed his chin and had a troubled expression.

???: It’s easy to get lost on your way to this place. I’d be glad to show you the way, but I don’t exactly have the time…

???: … No, scratch that. It’s better than leaving you here and having you potentially get into trouble again.

The man turned to look at me, seemingly having made up his mind.

And—

Saito: My name is Saito Hajime. I’m the captain of the Drawn-Sword Regiment in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

Saito: Come with me. — We’re headed for the Meiji Government.

#koihana bakumeiroku #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #cybird x animate #koibaku prologue #niki translates

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marybeatriceofmodena · 1 year

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Two of the biggest problems with HOTD's costuming is that it's simultaneously *too* similar to GOT, despite being centuries ago, and all over the place. Clothing would have been similar within a time period but class and cultural differences would also influence style. Both Alicients had costumes that doesn't indicate a cohesive Hightower look beyond green. With ROP, the costumes had rhyme and reason because the designer designed for each culture and actually worked on the Hobbit movies too.

Yeah, like, one thing Michelle Clapton did very well in GoT was making the different regions in Westeros and Essos look distinctive, and stay coherent about it. I'd argue the quality went down in the later seasons, but the basic ideas and concepts were there throughout, and for the most part, they had decent wigs! And keep in mind season 1 of GoT didn't have that big of a budget and it still looked better than HotD!

Like, I can see a few Tudor references here and there (Alicent has a veil that looks like a French hood from time to time, Rhaenyra has a gown that looks like an Elizabethan era dress with the white collar and all), but I don't really get why it's "Tudor-inspired", given the ASOIAF universe is basically an AU of medieval England (Aegon I is William the Conqueror, Rhaenyra is Empress Matilda, ASOIAF itself is the Wars of the Roses). The styling is just not different enough for me to really notice how it changed from one period to another - and you don't need to make it more simplistic, just give me something. Hell, they could have gotten away with a Roman-inspired look where Rhaenyra, Rhaenys and Laena wear hairstyles like this:

And if you want Alicent to be a Livia Drusilla type where she presents herself as a "traditional woman" who doesn't have time to look frivolous, you could go with something like this:

Seriously, have fun with it! You could also have the Hightowers with the traditional Roman inspired fashion, and have the Targaryens decked out like Byzantine emperors. Like, you'd THINK the fall of the Targaryen dynasty would lead to huge changes in dress, because the Targs would probably opt for Valyrian fashions that the court would have tried to emulate, and then Robert Baratheon basically throws all of that out of the window and the "fashionable" style is now pretty much dictated by Cersei, since she's the queen.

Kate Hawley meanwhile is the costume designer for RoP, and she did design for opera, AND IT SHOWS. She also did the costumes for Crimson Peak - which is probably one of the best I've ever seen in a period drama, and I'm not even kidding. Take for instance Edith and Lucille - Edith is a rich heiress, so she wears silhouettes that were in vogue at the time and has a Gibson Girl look to her:

And even then, even if the silhouette is pretty much prefectly accurate, she's still able to have fun with it! The fabrics used here weren't necesarily used in the Edwardian era, but the idea was to use some that looked similar to butterfly wings, and it works!

Lucille, meanwhile, wears gowns with a silhouette that was in vogue in the 1870s-1880s, with the bustles and all, but not anymore. It looks out of place during the evening party where she plays the piano for everyone, and her clothing is one of the things that awakens Edith's father's suspicion. It would be one thing if she was an old lady (since they tended to wear dresses that had gone of fashion 20-30 years ago, hence why in P&P 2005, you'll see Mrs. Bennet wearing a rococo dress at the Netherfield ball), but Lucille isn't that old.

And the thing is, the Sharpes are low on money, but fashion was meant to be sustainable at that time and Lucille could easily adjust her dresses to have a more fashionable silhouette, and use the removed fabric for other stuff, instead of having to buy something new. She chooses not to, and it's deliberate, probably because the dresses she wears belonged to her mother.

See? That's thought and care right there.

Meanwhile, see this dress? Alicent Hightower wishes she looked that good:

And the thing is, with all the pleating, the belt thingy she has, it would be so easy to mess up and have her dress look frumpy. The belt is perfectly adjusted and provides the watery effect it's supposed to have, the pleating is nice, and the dress actually looks like it was made specifically for her. Which makes sense, because Galadriel is a Noldo princess and she'd absolutely have her clothing tailor-made, and have it be from the best Elven seamstresses you can find. It looks so simple at first, but the more you look at it, the more you see all the little details it has. And they didn't mess up her hair, either (and anyone who's read the Silmarillon knows Galadriel's hair is important!). They used Morfydd Clark's natural hair, added extensions, made sure there were golden and silver undertones, and voilà.

And the costume department did their homework when it comes to the design - they took inspiration from pre-Raphaelite artists when it comes to the Elves, and also a little bit for Númenor as well - which makes sense given the connection they have to Elves, but they still look distinctive, with plenty of little details referring to Elros' origins here and there. Bronwyn has a dress that looks different from the other villagers, yes, but given she's a healer, she'd probably know how to dye her clothes and would dress more lightly due to spending a lot of time outside looking for herbs. The Dwarves look VERY different from the rest, and Disa has some great outfits, but you can tell their clothes became the way they were given they spend more of their time underground. The Harfoots seem to be wearing stuff they found while travelling, since they don't seem to have equipment to weave cloth and they often seem like they're wearing stuff that's too big for them. And I'm only scratching the surface here.

#hotd critical #rings of power #costume nerd tag #costumes #every time i see someone on the internet saying the costumes on hotd were better than in rop i lose a year of my life #just say you looked at the elven pompadours and not much else and go #“BUT BRONWYN IS SLEEVELESS” yeah so? women's arms excite you #mkay #how you got through hotd without a heart attack is beyond me but okay

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