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queenmuzz · 3 years

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Heat of the Moment

A Dante x Reader Valentine’s Day Special!

Your mom had always told everyone, in a disapproving tone, that you were too impulsive for your own good. You darted into the road to get a runaway ball. You bought that awesome looking jacket, without checking to see if it was on sale. And now, because you were craving pizza, and didn’t want to shell out the four bucks extra for delivery, you were in a mighty fine pickle.

You decided that taking the deserted looking street at near midnight, just to shave a few minutes off your walk to Angelo’s Pizzeria was a perfectly splendid idea. So splendid, you didn’t notice the shadowy figures following you, until you were grabbed from behind, and a cloth covered with some sort of chemical was placed over your screaming mouth.

So now, here you stood, or rather...laid, on cold grey stone, that seemed to leech all warmth away from your flesh. It was still dark, but illuminated by torches, you seemed to be surrounded by columns of stone, like you were in some knock off kid sized version of Stonehenge. You immediately attempted to get up, only to find to your irritation, your wrists and ankles were bound by industrial grade chains.

“The offering has awoken!” called out a woman’s voice, and from the darkness, like the damn Ringwraiths from Lord of the Rings, nine cloaked figures came out of the darkness. You tried to make out their faces, but both their pitch black cloaks, and blood red masks hid everything about them.

“Brothers and Sisters, we are gathered here tonight to call forth from the very bones of the earth, a power far greater than any human can imagine. The stars have aligned, the incense has been lit. All now,” she motioned to the cultist beside her, who handed her a leatherbound book, “Is to speak the incantations, and complete the rituals.”

And then, with the help of her assistant, the group began to chant. You had no idea of what was being spoken, but it sounded Latin.

“Really... Latin? Guys, there are a tonne of other languages you could use! What happened to originality?!” you grumbled, but while you could feel their glares, none stopped their inane chants

Upon each pillar, a letter lit up, one at a time. You couldn’t recognize the script, but it looked like a five year old’s attempt to write Hebrew. For some reason, that irked you. This makes no sense. Latin is an Indo-European language, and Hebrew is a totally different family! These idiots are mixing everything up!.

But the incantation seemed to do the trick, and the flames grew, and changed to a sickly green colour. And now, all these cultists raised their arms in exultation

“Lord of the Underworld, we present you this offering, a Virgin Offering, for you to consume!” The lead cultist chanted.

“Wait!” you blurted out, in a desperate attempt to avert your fate, “I’m not a virgin! I’ve had sex before, dozens...no, hundreds of times!”

Her assistant leaned over you, their mask barely concealing his skepticism.

“Name one person you have laid with,” he tested.

“Well…” Your mind was blank, and so you went with the first thing that shot through your brain.

“Your mom, for starters.”

You could have slapped yourself for such a dumb comeback, had your wrists not being tied up, but you needn’t have worried about not getting slapped. The cultist’s lips twisted into a snarl, and you felt white hot pain radiating from your cheek, and the taste of blood filling your mouth. Even though it hurt like hell, one part of you was mentally high fiving at that comeback. His hand raised up one more time, to give another strike, but the leader quickly grabbed his wrist.

“Calm yourself, brother… the offering must remain undamaged. Besides,” and you could swear you heard a smirk in her voice, “It’s not their body that must be virginal, it’s the blood.”

Well shit, you thought, as you placed your burning cheek against the cool stone to relieve the pain.

The ritual continued. “We humble servants provide both the firstfruits of this offering to open the way.” The woman took out a jet black dagger, and approached you with steady steps. Would she cut out your heart, Temple of Doom style? Rip out your entrails? Slit your throat? All you could hope was that it would be quick and painless.

What you hadn’t expected was for her to grab one of your restrained hands and with surprisingly gentleness placed the edge of the obsidian blades against your palm.

As she dragged the razor sharp edge, a line of crimson bloomed, like a trail of bubbles. It almost didn’t hurt, but you couldn’t help but get upset. All this pomp and ceremony, and they were just giving you a cut that would irritate you for weeks...if you lived that long. Whatever happens, you said as the cultist began using your blood to paint the two largest stone pillars, in a perverse parody of the Passover ritual, I hope whatever these bastards are summoning crushes them.

“COME FORTH!” The whole group chanted in unison, “Taste the blood… DEVOUR THE FLESH!”

And without warning, the blood...YOUR blood, burst into flame, racing up the pillars as if gasoline had been pumping through your veins. At the top, the flames connected and formed a gateway...a hellgate. And within it, an orb, an inferno expanded...and a roar that sounded nothing like any earthbound animal emanated.

And then, an explosion of heat and sulfur knocked down the stones, and the cultists, sending the leader flying back several feet. Only you, chained to the granite altar, remained in place.

You squinted as the searing light dissipated. Among the now dying flames stood, or hovered… a demonic sight. You could swear you saw the air distort from the heat that seemed to generate from within his chest. Four leathery wings splayed out, the inner skin swirling designs constantly shifting, almost hypnotising. And the horns! A good foot long that curved and twisted, glowing like charred wood both above and around his face. A face that reminded what was in front of you. A demon. Teeth as long and sharp as paring knives, eyes glowing like the pits of hell. As if Satan himself had come up from the depths. And for all you knew… he probably had.

You heard the sound of crumpled paper. “Oh man,” the demon rumbled, his voice distorted by the sound of the exhaust coming from between his teeth, “I was just getting to the good part…”

“Oh Great and Powerful Lord…” the devil stared at the surrounding area, at the the cultists that had recovered began following their leader’s motions and bowed prostrate on the ground, and you still chained. It was hard to make out his expression, but it seemed like...surprise?

“We are your most humble servants,” the leader continued, “All we ask...is a scrap of your power...a trifle for one such as you, as payment for summoning you..My Lord?”

The demon didn’t even spare a second glance as he strode past her, past the other shrouded forms, and made a beeline towards you. This was it, you thought, time to come up with a witty parting remark. But of course, your impulsive nature wouldn’t cooperate right now. At least the demon seemed to be the ‘fire and fury’ style, he would probably consume you quickly.

He towered over you, and even now, the stone, which had been ice cold the entire time, began to heat up beneath you...sweat, both from terror, and the inferno looming above you, beaded on your forehead.

“My Lord?” the assistant asked, “Is the offering suitable for your arrival? They have a wicked tongue, but they are perfect for summoning.

“I think you got it all wrong buddy,” the demon turned his eyes on the unholy congregation, and strangely, a chill appeared in the air, “You guys didn’t summon me….” A razor claw extended out and pointed at you, “THEY did… and if they summoned me…” the cultists slowly became aware of what he was implying, the quicker ones started making a run for it, “YOU guys must be the offering! Who’s volunteering first?”

The answer was nine sets of panicking feet trying to sprint out of the stone circle. The demon glanced back at you, “You might want to cover your eyes for this, it’s gonna get a little messy,” and with the speed of a racing forest fire, he charged, blades of superheated air swirling around him.

The scream of the lead cultist was enough for you to clench your eyes shut, and then followed by a multiple of cries of terror and death, as the coppery scent of blood, not your own this time, scented the air.

A few minutes later, there was nothing but silence, except the sound of boots on gravel. You couldn’t help it, you took a peek.

Instead of the cultists, or the demon, there was just a guy, shaggy white haired, with a worn t-shirt that clung juuuuust right against his broad chest, and a smile on his face. You looked around, trying to find either a surviving cultist, or the demon, but all you could see in the darkness were void black shapes, lying on the grounds, their robes moving slightly in the breeze.

“That can’t be comfortable, let’s get you out of there,” the man said, and without a hint of effort, he gently grasped your hands, and with the other, he gave a quick yank. Immediately the sound of snapping metal, and to your amazement, your arms were free. And if you had thought he had done a sleight of hand with those chains, the way he effortlessly ripped the chains around your ankles off immediately clued you in that this man was more than he seemed.

You rubbed your wrists as you slowly sat up, staring at him. “Who are...you?”

“Ah, yeah...forgot to introduce myself in the whole hubbub. Cultists always ruining get togethers.” He stuck out his hand, “Name’s Dante.” And as you shook his hand, with your uninjured one, you noticed that for a brief moment, his eyes momentarily glowed red, like embers. Embers that had once been blazing coals.

He must have seen the flash of panic in your eyes, because he backed away, his hands raised in surrender.

“Don’t worry! I ain’t going to hurt you… yeah, I’m the demon those jackasses called for” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “but I’m not the ‘MUST RULE THE WORLD’ type, I usually am the one people call to get rid of what was being summoned, not actually BEING the ‘sommonee.’ Wait, is that the correct term?” He paused for a moment to think it over, before he seemed to come back to the present. “Anyways, I was just relaxing in my office, reading a magazine, and then POOF, I’m in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people with horrible sense of fashion. Speaking of my magazine...where did I put it?”

You saw the magazine, its pages fluttering in the wind, and picked it up. A copy of ‘Half Cocked’, and on its cover, a buxom young brunette was getting a bit too friendly with a revolver, alongside a well toned man wearing little more than a bandolier.

“Oh thanks!… that” he quickly snatched it out of your hands, “I read it mainly for the articles…” he explained lamely, before hurriedly shoving it in his back pocket, as he looked you up and down. “Besides...I got a feeling I won’t need it much anymore…” And in the flaming remnants of ritual, you swore you saw him turn a shade of pink...although that could just be the fire.

“Welp,” He stretched, “You ready to blow this popsicle stand? All that work made me famished.”

You had no idea where the hell you were, but you were still ravenously hungry. Which reminded you how you got into this mess in the first place.

“I could go for some pizza or-”

You felt a blaze of warmth, and suddenly you felt your legs swept under you, and you looked up at Dante, now back to his demonic form carrying you bridal style. But no longer did it strike fear in you, just a sense of awe...and admiration

“You truly know how to get to this demon’s heart,” he practically purred, and with a slight grunt, he leapt up and started flying towards the nearest collection of lights on the horizon. “Pizza it is, then!”

Despite the remnant of chill from spending God knows how long on that stone, and the brisk breeze of the upper atmosphere blowing past you, you didn’t feel a little bit cold. It was like being held by a flying furnace.

“You know Dante….” you spoke, barely audible above the wind.

“Hm?”

“You’re pretty hot.” Instantly, you realized what you had said, and would have preferred him to just drop you to your death at this very moment.

You heard him chuckle.

“Yeah, this form runs a bit warm….”

And even though he didn’t say it, you were almost certain he knew exactly what you meant.

#Devil May Cry #Dante #dante x reader #dante x you #Valentine's Day Special

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high-supernatural · 3 years

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Growing Close

Kai Parker x Female Reader/Character

Word Count: 1994 (ironic, lol)

Warnings: typical tvd themes, S.Assault mentions/details, trauma themes, surgery, blood (it’s a little gruesome but I cope through writing, so just be warned it can be triggering)

Summary: Kai and V grew pretty close over the weeks. Something happens to V and he is forced to handle it like a human.

***since y’all like the one shots better than the series, I’m gonna write one shots for female readers under the name V for what I would’ve/will write in the series***

It has been a few weeks since Kai and V kissed. They grew closer in their own way. Neither of them wanted to admit their feelings for each other, they honestly didn’t know how to identify or describe those feelings anyways. All they both knew is that they wanted to be near each other always.

They started doing more things together. Instead of telling the other where they’d be in case something happened, they’d go together. They’d eat, drink, and just hang out together almost all the time. They still liked pushing each other’s boundaries, but now they were more comfortable doing it more intensely.

V liked to watch Kai get flustered when she’d walk out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and change in front of him, claiming it was what they did in her world so he shouldn’t worry about it. Kai liked to push boundaries with physical touch. He’d always be touching her in some way – surprise hugs from behind, “accidental” grazes and bumps, losing all concept of personal space.

Neither of them minded, but neither of them wanted to make an actual move on each other either.

Those few weeks were the best weeks either of them has had in a long time. There were no real expectations, no fights being had, nobody’s life to save… just vibes.

V left in the middle of the night one night and left Kai a note saying her friend called and that she’d be back in a few hours. When Kai woke up in the morning and saw the note but didn’t see her, he worried.

Kai called her friend and was told V never showed up, so he began searching town for any leads, coming up empty on each one before deciding to call it a night and try again early the next morning.

He didn’t know what to feel. He started off worried that something had happened, but as more and more leads turned out to be dead ends, he thought she might have left for good, and his emotions became unsettling.

He was proved wrong though. As he was dozing off he heard somebody fumbling with the door of the motel room and got up to investigate before V came through it, half asleep and looking like hell. She opened the door and took two grumbled steps inside before her knees buckled and Kai caught her by placing an arm around her waist, kneeling down with her and pushing the door closed.

He got down on one knee to lay her head on and tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t. She was breathing, and her heart was beating, it just seemed as though she was in a deep sleep Kai couldn’t understand.

A thousand possibilities raced through his mind. He saw her messy hair and bruises on her skin, but it still didn’t explain why she was asleep. He thought maybe something magic happened at first, so he tried to reverse it with no avail.

That’s when he carried her into the bathroom fireman style, thinking that putting her in the shower and turning the water on would wake her up like it does in the movies.

When they got into the bathroom, he got a glimpse of the back of her legs where her skirt wasn’t covering, and it all made more sense. He saw bruises in the shapes of bites and handprints, and realized that she wasn’t being attacked with magic, she was being attacked by regular people and rufies, and he became more frantic to get her conscious.

He didn’t know what to do. He had never experienced anything like this. He stuck to his shower theory and got in with her with all of their clothes on, pleading with her to wake up and tell him what happened, saying that he’s sorry and he should have been with her to prevent anything from happening.

His theory proved him wrong, she didn’t wake up in the 30 minutes he had sat there with her waiting, so he decided she should sleep it off. He took just her shirt and skirt off and wrapped her in a robe so she wouldn’t sleep in totally wet clothes. For what felt like days, he laid next to her waiting for her to wake up.

This had been the only time Kai could actually get inside of her mind; she was in a fragile state. He could see inside her mind and saw exactly what had happened. Instead of letting her remember everything, he modified her memories to make her believe she had gone for a walk, got into a fight, and came back with the bruises she had. He figured she would like that memory better than the reality and would deal with loopholes as they came, but hoped they never did.

He had expected her to wake up the next morning, but she didn’t, she was still just sleeping. He had woken by cold air as V had rolled all of the covers onto her. Kai leaned over to try to wake her, thinking she had woken and got cold, but when he leaned over, he felt her shivering and burning up. He remembered what she did when he had a fever and wet a washcloth with cold water to put over her forehead and continued watching over her, waiting for her to wake up.

He felt an unfamiliar feeling through all of this – he felt worried and didn’t know what to do about it, but also knew that V wouldn’t want anybody to know about it, so he took to google and was only met with a world of information that was useless to him in this moment. All throughout the day she was shivering and coughing in her sleep, and he couldn’t do anything to help.

To pass his time while she slept he decided to open her journal again to read the letters she had wrote to the Kai she knew in her world because the sudden silence from her began eating at him. He began to search for them, getting lost in each page she had wrote on in the process. More new emotions washed over him but he couldn’t tear his eyes off the pages. There had been so much she never told him about, so many boundaries he pushed that could’ve been triggers for her that she let him push. He felt a little guilty at this fact, even more so when he found the letters he was looking for.

He read so much expression of pain and loss she felt towards the Kai she knew in her world, and so much joy and borderline possessiveness in the letter he found that she had addressed to him that she never delivered. He felt a new type of way towards her that he couldn’t describe, but he knew he had to do whatever he could to keep her near him.

She woke up late that night as Kai was dozing off and stumbled into the bathroom disoriented. He woke up to groggily ask if she was okay, but she didn’t answer.

He sat up and listened as the shower turned on and she got inside. He heard her coughing a lot more and just closed his eyes to listen, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do. It wasn’t until he heard silence that he wished she was coughing again.

Kai walked into the bathroom and asked V if she was okay before opening the shower when she didn’t respond. He saw blood on her lips and realized she had been coughing blood, then he saw a growing bruise on her lower stomach and panic came across him when she really wouldn’t wake up this time.

His magic still wasn’t helping. For once in his life, he couldn’t do anything but be a human and rush her to the hospital.

The hospital staff bombarded Kai with questions and wouldn’t let him near V by Jo’s orders. Feelings of helplessness grew extreme as he sat in the waiting room for hours with no updates.

Eventually, Jo approached Kai as he stood up to hear her immediate accusations.

“What did you do to that girl,” Jo said with an angry attitude.

“I didn’t do anything I—” Jo cut him off, “I have a hard time believing you. We just had to remove her ovary in the worst case of trauma and internal bleeding I have seen in my career thanks to whatever you did,” she finished angrier than before.

Kai had a look of sadness and remorse wash over him, “she’s my best friend, Jo, you have to believe me… I didn’t do anything,” Kai almost pleaded with her, “we’ve been staying together for months, since before the merge, she left one night and came back the next, she wouldn’t wake up, I didn’t know what to do—”

Jo cut him off again, “yeah, well, you also murdered your family, I wouldn’t put it past you to do something this horrific.”

“If I was the one who did this, why would I bring her here,” Kai asked, “if anybody knows my tact it’s you, I wouldn’t have brought her here if I did.”

Jo processed what he had said for a moment. “Either you suddenly gained a conscious or you’ve gone crazy then. Cops will be here to take her statement soon, I suggest you stay out of their way,” she snapped and walked away.

Kai figured out what room she was in by looking into every room until he found her sitting up in her hospital bed with her legs hanging over.

He walked in and locked the door behind him, “what are you doing, you need to be resting,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder trying to get her to lay back down.

“If I’m gonna die it’s not gonna be in a hospital with zero interior design aesthetic,” she said swaying slightly from the morphine, “just do me a favor and grab my clothes so we can get out of here before people start asking questions I don’t know the answer to.”

Kai grabbed her bag out of the small cabinet in her room and handed her clothes. She slid her way off the bed and avoided standing on the leg on the side she had surgery on, grabbing onto the bed so she wouldn’t fall as Kai watched, unsure of what to do now knowing that she’s always set in her ways and won’t argue them. He figured it was easier to help so she wouldn’t hurt herself than it would be to try and stop her.

She grabbed her shirt and dropped it when trying to unfold it. Kai grabbed it before she could process that it slipped from her hands – morphine is one hell of a drug.

“Here, lemme help you,” he said rolling her shirt to put it on her.

“I got it,” she tried arguing and grabbing her shirt from him before he slid it over her head faster than she could reach for it.

She struggled to find the arm holes but found them soon enough before throwing herself on the bed to put her sweatpants on the fastest she could in her morphine state.

V let out a dramatic breath and went to grab her backpack, but Kai got to it first and snatched it before she could, “I got it,” he mumbled.

She looked at him as if she was processing what he said, “I’m gonna find a wheelchair,” he spoke against the silence.

“I’m not about to roll out of here riding bitch in a wheelchair… we gonna stroll like mob bosses,” she chuckled and took a few steps before Kai rushed beside her and put her arm around his neck, compromising a wheelchair for someone to hold onto just in case.

Kai drove back to the motel where she promptly made a bee line to the bed and fell back asleep for another half a day. Kai threw her bag down before walking over to cover her up and sit beside her to read more google searches on his phone.

When she woke up the next afternoon she was starving and ate while trying to get the story from Kai. His first loophole, questioning.

“You uh… you left in the middle of the night to go to Audrey’s and left me a note. On the way there a group of people tried to jump you, you got stabbed and came back here,” Kai explained with extreme nervousness.

She just nodded and said, “okay, and then? I don’t remember almost four whole days there has to be more.”

“I don’t know. You had a concussion, wouldn’t wake up, and were bleeding really bad, magic wasn’t helping so I took you to the hospital,” he lied again, “you don’t remember because they had you on a lot of morphine.”

“Hm, weird,” was all V said, “wanna watch a movie?”

Kai was more than relieved that she didn’t ask more questions.

#kai parker #kai parker x reader #kai parker imagine #kai parker x you #kai parker fluff #kai parker fanfic #tvd fanfiction #tvd series #tvd #tvd au #kai parker series

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zabrak-show · 3 years

Text

Home on the Remains

Presenting to you all my Valentine’s Day gift to @abnaxus from the @starwarsfandomfests gift exchange put on by @lilhawkeye3. It’s fluffy and sweet and I hope you enjoy it and have a lovely Valentine’s Day! 💝💖💘

Pairing: None, Gen

Summary: This is a found family fluff short story with Maul, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka. They are on their way to a special gala on the mostly deserted planet Lehon/Rakata Prime.

Word Count: 1.43k

A03

(i had to laugh at this collage I made where Maul is the only one sort of smiling hksadfhl)

“You can’t possibly be thinking of wearing that.” Kenobi gestured towards Maul’s open chest tunic. It was made of sheer silk and trimmed in leather, black as the deep space their ship was soaring through. A shadow of his bright red skin could be seen through the soft silk.

“I’ll have you know, Kenobi,” Maul smoothed the fabric over his torso, “this is designer apparel right here. The finest in the galaxy.”

Kenobi rolled his eyes and adjusted his own brown robes, tying a decorative tan belt around his waist.

“Must the Sith always be so orchidaceous?”

Maul hissed back at Kenobi.

“You know I haven’t been a Sith in years, Master Jedi.” Kenobi ignored him, while he fluffed his hair in the mirror. “You look ridiculous.”

Maul made his way out of the room. Kenobi was still ignoring him and it was no fun to bicker with him if he wouldn’t bite back. Ahsoka walked past him into the room, blocking his exit. She gave the Zabrak an up and down glance and cocked an eyebrow.

“And you don’t look ridiculous? You know we aren’t going to a funeral, right Maul?”

Maul huffed and shoulder checked Ahsoka on his way out of the room. He made his way to his private quarters. A clearing of mind was in order. All this naysaying from the Jedi was wearing his nerves thin.

To think that he was able to even cohabitate with them at all was a conundrum that still puzzled his mind at times. All he had known was hate for the Jedi, especially Kenobi. Now he was starting to feel something - something twisted up inside of him softening his hard edges and patching up his broken hearts. He resisted. It was too much too fast. He couldn’t change all that there was about himself, or else, what would be left?

Knock Knock

“Yes,” Maul answered.

“Hey, it’s me. Can I borrow one of your black robes?”

Maul opened the door and let Anakin enter.

“All my robes are black and why can’t you wear one of your own?”

“I left one on Padme’s ship and the other one is dirty.”

“You only have 2 robes?”

“Yeah, how many do you have?”

Maul opened his closet to reveal a sea of black tunics and robes.

“Many. Take your pick.”

Anakin went through his closet looking at all the former Sith’s luxurious robes. He ran his fingers down the textured fabric and seams, trying to find the perfect one for the occasion. Maul let him take his time and sat at his small table reading a book.

At last, Anakin found one he was content with and pulled it out of the closet. He draped it over his arm and turned towards the seated Zabrak.

“What are you reading?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, a book about fighting styles. Trying to brush up while I can.”

“Mm, right. Well, I was thinking about that problem you had with your legs, the clicking. And I might know how to fix it if you’d like me to take a look.”

“What problem? There’s no problem! I do all my own repairs anyway.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. I wrote down a schematic of where I think the problem is and how to fix it so that you can do it yourself.” Anakin handed Maul a folded up piece of paper. Maul’s intense amber eyes bore into him looking for some negative, mocking undertone to the Jedi’s actions. All he found was genuine friendliness pouring back at him through the Force. He reached out for the paper and snatched it down placing it underneath his book.

“I will take a look, but I’m sure it’s something I’ve already tried.”

Anakin smirked and left Maul’s quarters, the door hissing shut behind him.

--------

Lehon’s aquamarine atmosphere illuminated the ship’s walls where it poured in from the viewports. They were close to landing and excitement for the gala filled the recycled air of their ship.

Maul entered the lounge where Ahsoka was primping herself in the small mirror. She let out a long sigh and sat on the bench with a look of disappointment on her face.

“Now what’s this all about then?” Maul questioned her.

“It’s nothing. I just.. There's something missing about my outfit. I wish I had some jewelry to pull it all together.”

Maul pressed his front fingers against the bridge of his nose and sighed with more dramatic flair than the teenager in front of him.

“Come with me.”

He led her back to his quarters. Once inside he opened up a large smooth wooden box to reveal a wealth of jewels and jewelry.

“Here. Take your pick, but return them when you’re done.”

Ahsoka’s eyes grew big with delight. She went through the box of treasures, handling each piece with a delicate curiosity.

“These are all so beautiful. You should wear some too.”

Maul made a displeased noise and took a seat at his small table. It was too late, though. Ahsoka had already picked out a gold chain to loop around his horns in a decorative manner. He growled lowly but allowed it to happen.

“Hmm, you need something else too.”

“And what of you?”

Ahsoka turned her attention back to the box of treasures. She picked out a necklace with a round pendant that had four symmetrical curved lines on its surface. It gave off a strong yet mysterious Force presence. She wrapped it around the Zabrak’s neck.

“Perfect!”

“I thought we were looking for jewelry for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Ahsoka slipped a few rings onto her slender fingers and strung a silver chain necklace around her neck. The chain landed over the navy blue chiffon at the top of her dress and brought out its grey accents.

“Now we are ready!”

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

The sky on Lehon was still a beautiful bright aquamarine and the temperature was warm, but not too hot. The gala was on a small island with white sand beaches and tropical flora aplenty. The ocean waves lapped up the shoreline with calming tranquility to it. Light glinted off the water from the shining sun above.

Ancient ruins of past Jedi and Sith battles littered the planet’s surface. Altitudinous durasteel structures poked out of the water and some smaller debris took up considerable space on the island. The millennia of plant and animal life had seen to blending them into the tropical essence of the planet. Birds had made nests in them and vines, moss, and other foliage wrapped around many of the structures. Despite the years of discard and assimilation into the planet’s surface, filigree could still be made out on some of their surfaces.

The four of them made their way to the gala, towards a large off-white building not too far off in the distance. Kenobi and Maul walked ahead of Anakin and Ahsoka on a small dirt path. The two younger more energized young adults were teasing each other and laughing. Kenobi looked over at Maul and down at his metal legs.

“I see you found a way to fix that clicking noise that had bothered you so.”

“I hadn’t realized everyone was so aware of my little irritant.”

Kenobi placed a hand on Maul’s shoulder.

“Maul, my brother, we are all Force users here. We can all sense each other’s feelings and unease.”

Maul looked down at Kenobi’s hand on his shoulder and back to Kenobi’s face.

“Brother?”

“Is that not what we all are? A family of sorts?”

Maul looked back at Anakin and Ahsoka. His black robes hung around Anakin’s tall frame. His jewelry, sparkling in the sun, pulled together Ahsoka’s gala outfit. He then looked down at the pendant over his heart. The pendant his own brother had used to find him when he’d been discarded as trash. He took the pendant in his hand and warmed the cool metal with his touch.

“Yes, I suppose that is what we are. What we have all become.”

They walked on towards the gala and Maul contemplated his thoughts from earlier. Perhaps there was more to him than hate and revenge. The ancient ruins surrounding them made him feel hope. Hope that even when something was designed for destruction, the nature of its surroundings could decide otherwise while still accepting the original construction of the entity.

The twisting in his gut happened again and made its way up to his throat. He swallowed it down and decided to allow himself this feeling. He’d never admit it to the Jedi, but they made him feel like he was at home.

#valentines day exchange 2021 #darth maul #obi-wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #genfic #fluff #found family #abandoned planets #gift fic #star wars fan fic #clone wars #star wars prequels

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arianaofimladris · 3 years

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English version of my contribution to Tolkien Secret Santa 2020, written for @meg-pond

The sins of fathers and sons

Festivals and feasts at the royal palace were always a thrill for both adults and children, the latter finding each time something new and exciting. For Celegorm it was watching everything from a new perspective. At first he stayed with his older brothers, glad that he had been deemed old enough to sit with the grown-ups, but when the gathered elves dispersed in the halls and the gardens and his brothers disappeared somewhere with Fingon, he found himself being bored. So when Amme asked him to check if his younger brothers were not quarrelling, Celegorm used the pretext eagerly and left. Curufin and Caranthir had solemnly promised Nerdanel they would behave, but... Celegorm hoped he wouldn’t have to intervene. He wasn’t Maedhros to know how to deal with soothing ruffled feathers.

The festivities were also a wonderful opportunity for the younger participants to explore the palace gardens or usually unused chambers when the feast was becoming too long. It took a while before Celegorm located his younger brothers building a tower along with Angrod and Aegnor out of everything they could find, from twigs to empty plates. He didn’t really want to join them or startle them and thus ruin their work, and he was about to venture further to find perhaps Maglor, when he heard someone calling him.

“Tyelkormo, come help us!”

Turning around, Celegorm saw Finrod waving at him. He and Turgon were trying to carry a pile of boards, which was intriguing enough.

“What is it?”

“Grandfather has had the wainscot replaced before the feast in one of the halls,” explained Turgon. Unlike Feanor, Fingolfin and his family had come a few days earlier to grandfather Finwe. “These are no longer needed, but look how smooth they still are, they will be perfect,” he claimed excitedly and Finrod nodded in agreement. Seeing that Celegorm had no clue what they were talking about, they started explaining one over the other what idea they had for fun. The smooth boards, they said, should be great for sliding down one of the wide staircases in the palace. They had in mind using the one in the western wing leading to the gardens. It wasn’t frequently used at the moment and the stairs rose in a gentle flight that curved halfway up at a right angle and disappeared in a corridor on the next floor.

“Sound’s like a plan,” Celegorm grinned. He no longer needed to find his brothers to keep himself occupied. “Give me some.”

“Perhaps we can make a competition, if these boards work well,” suggested Finrod. “We have plenty of time.”

Sliding down the stairs was not something any of them had ever tried and the idea sounded appealing. The less appealing part was the fact that there were more tiny interested ears around to hear them.

“What competition?” Celegorm heard Angrod asking and wondered when he had joined them. Turning around, he saw that both his cousins and brothers had sneaked on them, their tower all but abandoned.

“Don’t you want to go check what Artaresto is doing?” Finrod asked weakly, clearly without holding too much hope that his younger brothers would leave, now that they knew what kind of play he and his cousins had in mind.

“Sure not!” puffed Aegnor. “He’s minding Nerwen.”

“We want to play too,” Curufin stated. “You can’t say we can’t.”

“Or what?” Turgon crooked his head as he teased the younger boy.

The ‘I will tell Atto’ hung unsaid in the air, but before any of them vocalised it, Finrod gave his brothers a board to carry. Curufin and Celegorm took the remaining two, while Caranthir trotted behind. Turgon and Finrod clearly had planned everything beforehand, for they led their cousins picking routes where no one could see them. The echo of the feast could still be heard through the open windows they sneaked past, but their way was clear. They found the staircase empty and waiting for them.

“Alright, let’s try them from here first,” suggested Turgon standing just a few steps above the ground floor. “We couldn’t check the balance earlier.”

While the older boys tried to stand on the boards and slide without falling, Aegnor and Caranthir grabbed one of the shorter boards and dragged it up as well. There was a short argument about who was going first, but in the end Caranthir kept the board in place while his cousin straddled it, then let him go. Aegnor slid down with a giggle, Caranthir running after him. They dragged the board up again and again, taking turns. Angrod and Curufin couldn’t really decide whether it was better to slide down sitting or standing, so they were switching from one style to the other, while the older focused on the latter. It took some practicing and quite a lot of hasty jumping off the board was involved before Turgon, Finrod and Celegorm mastered balancing during the slide enough to feel confident enough to drag the boards higher.

“I want too, Ingoldo,” Aegnor called after his brother.

“Oh, we can slide together I guess,” Finrod offered after a moment of hesitation. “I will hold you.”

Celegorm finished his slide and looked up just in time to see Curufin dragging a board up after Finrod and sighed inwardly. He hated being the adult one.

"You are not doing this alone." He ran up, taking two steps at a time.

"I'm hardly younger than them!" Curufin protested and waved at Finrod and Turgon. “And I know how.”

"You are younger. You can slide alone from the tenth step. That's-"

At a startled cry above, Celegorm turned from Curufin, but it was already too late. He could only watch as Finrod lost balance and suddenly the board escaped from under his feet. The boy sat abruptly with a grunted "ouf!", but the momentum dragged him and he slid down after the board still carrying the now screaming Aegnor. The younger boy swept Caranthir on his way and they both tumbled down, falling to the sides at the bottom of the stairs.

For a moment there was a startled silence. Finrod, blinking in surprise, sat on the last step where he had finished the slide, with Aegnor sprawled at his feet.

Leaving the cousins to take care of one another, Celegorm rushed to his brother, who laid unmoving, glued to the marble floor. When touched, Caranthir jerked and looked up, his mouth and chin covered with blood. And then the crying started.

Celegorm picked his brother, feeling utterly helpless. He was never as good as Maedhros or Maglor in comforting his younger brothers and now, between the hysterical sobbing, he couldn’t even get a proper look at his face, as Caranthir wouldn’t even let him touch him.

Aegnor sat up, blinked at his brother, hiccupped and flooded in tears. Turgon ran down to help his cousins, with Curufin and Angrod watching the whole scene in alarm from the middle of the staircase.

“Don’t just stand like that! Bring Atto!”

“Which one?” Angrod glanced at Finrod, who scrambled on his feet and was trying to soothe his crying brother.

“Whichever,” snapped Celegorm over Caranthir’s head. “Just be quick.”

Meanwhile, in one of the smaller chambers prepared for the festivities, Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin were deeply involved in a discussion regarding the necessary changes in the royal palace that would improve the functionality regarding the growing needs of their growing family. When gathered together in times like this, they would often stay for days and their father’s palace was getting crowded. Since they already had Finwe's approval and some of the works were already taking place, the brothers found themselves a relatively safe topic.

Fingolfin wished to use opportunity to force some changes he had had in mind, while Feanor brought forth new ideas about the lightning. Finarfin backed their plans with structural design details and what was at first a leisure chat about the possible ideas, the three brothers quickly turned into a vivid discussion with sketches made on the nearest available sheet of paper, with splashes of wine here and there as one of them tipped a goblet. There were healthy proportions of fun and arguing as the ideas kept evolving, but before the brothers could talk about the possible rearranging of the palace gardens, they were quite abruptly interrupted by a pit-a-pat of tiny feet and then bombarded with a chaos of explanations provided by Curufin and Angrod, both too agitated to be making much sense. There wasn’t much point in trying to make them slow down and explain what was amiss, so the fathers just followed their sons. Fingolfin joined them as well, as his own offspring was likely involved too.

The boys did well and instead of bringing one, they brought all three fathers. Celegorm would have thought it amusing, for it wasn’t everyday one could see the three High Princes going in such an agreeable haste, had his brother not smeared the blood running from his nose all over his cheeks when he had tried to cover his face. And had he not been crying so hysterically.

“What happened here?” Feanor glanced at the children, then at the board by Finrod’s feet and looked like he fought an urge to roll his eyes.

“It was an accident!” Finrod and Celegorm both rushed to reassure them.

“I’m sure it was.” The eldest son of Finwe nodded distractedly and knelt by Caranthir. He firmly took his hands away from his face and first of all made sure the nose wasn’t broken, then gently wiped the blood from the cut lip with his finger.

”It is alright, Moryo, just lean forwards and let it pass,” he instructed calmly and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Carnistir sniffed and glared, then, seeing his father still kneeling at his level, wrapped his thin arms around his neck and did as he was told, burying his face in his collar. With a sigh, Feanor picked him and stood up.

“Here, it’s cold,” Fingolfin came closer and passed him his goblet, now almost empty. Feanor nodded in thanks and forced his son to let go of his collar. Once he could see Caranthir’s face again, still red, though some of the blood had been smeared on his robes, he gently pressed the cool metal to the tender nose.

The boy yelped and tried to escape, balancing on his father’s hip.

“Be still, Moryo, it will help.”

"Whose brilliant idea was this?" asked Finarfin once he too made sure Aegnor needed mostly wiping tears and washing his scraped palms.

Finrod and Turgon glanced at each other, but stayed silent.

“We really didn’t mean that...” Celegorm tried to support his cousins.

"And you didn't know better than to stop this foolishness before someone got hurt?" Fingolfin asked, turning towards Celegorm, the eldest among all the children present.

Celegorm looked offended. "I didn't let Moryo or Curvo go all the way down on their own!" he exclaimed and Curufin's annoyed huff backed him up.

"But it was perfectly alright to let the other youngest go."

"Leave it, Nolofinwe," Feanor cut him off with a hint of annoyance, rocking Caranthir in his arms. "My son is not a handler of your offspring."

“I don’t need handling,” muttered Turgon under his breath before Finrod stepped on his foot.

“We are still waiting for an explanation,” Finarfin reminded them sternly. “How did you come up with such a foolish idea to let your younger brothers participate in your hazardous and foolish antics?”

“We didn’t!” objected Finrod weakly. “We went together, only it didn’t work...” he trailed off and winced. Aegnor nodded and looked at his hands, sniffling.

“Did you hurt yourself as well?” Finarfin turned towards his eldest.

“No, no,” Finrod reassured him and wiped his trousers. “I’m fine, Atto.”

Finarfin wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t comment. The children still were not too eager to enlighten their fathers as to what exactly had happened that had resulted in a quite unexpected landing, but any further inquiries were interrupted by Lalwende who came in from the gardens. She stopped at the doorstep, quite surprised to see the whole gathering.

“Why are you occupying the corrid-“ she noticed the boards and grinned. “Oh, so you’re here already.”

“Irime, you’re not helping,” Fingolfin sighed ostensibly.

“Don’t intend to when you’re having fun without me,” Lalwende’s melodious laughter echoed on the corridor as she regarded her brothers and nephews critically. “As far as I can see, everyone’s more or less in one piece. And don’t tell me you forgot how much fun that was.”

Celegorm had hard time trying not to snicker. His father looked a bit like Maedhros, whenever he tried to act like an adult towards his younger brothers and failed. Feanor was doing only marginally better.

And it was all the boys needed.

”Atto, does it mean you too...?” Turgon bolted a question just as Finarfin had to deal with three pairs of curious eyes looking at him expectantly. Caranthir was still sulking, but Celegorm and Curufin were too interested in hearing a story that would not involve them giving any explanations.

“Leave me out of it,” Feanor huffed at his sister.

“Oh come now, you did play too!” Lalwende objected. She was clearly having too much fun at her brothers’ expense. “If only to make sure we wouldn’t mess up.”

“That was not the point,” Finarfin cut them off. “Whoever came up with this idea, I believe you all can draw conclusions for yourselves,” he looked sternly at both his sons and nephews.

“And I think you have some mess to clean.” Fingolfin added and pointed at the disregarded boards. It seemed, though nobody said anything, that they all assumed the eldest boys were responsible for the whole idea.

“Oh...”

“Want Amme,” muttered Caranthir over the hesitant objections. His voice was still thick and he was unusually clingy.

“Yes, I think that was enough excitement for today,” agreed Feanor and passed the goblet back to Fingolfin “Let’s get you cleaned before Amme sees you and then,” he looked pointedly at his brothers, “perhaps we can finish. Curvo, you are going with me too.”

“But-“

“No ‘buts’.”

Beside them, Finarfin was having the same argument with Angrod and Aegnor, who were clearly unwilling to leave. Neither of the fathers surrendered and the youngest offspring of the House of Finwe was promptly taken away.

Not fast enough, however, not to hear Lalwende who stayed behind.

“Alright, before we clean all that. Want to see how it’s done?”

#tss2020 #@officialtolkiensecretsanta #fanfic #The Silmarillion

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katyatalks · 4 years

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Mob Psycho 100 II - Kameda Yoshimichi’s Character Design Notes

With each blu-ray/DVD volume of MP100 II Character Designer Kameda Yoshimichi gives some notes regarding his process designing each character. Here are all his notes for S2 in the order they are presented, regarding; Shinra Banshoumaru, Emi, Mogami Keiji, Joudou Kirin, Asagiri Minori, The Urban Legends, Shimazaki Ryou, Hatori Nozomu, Minegishi Toshiki, Shibata Hiroshi, Suzuki Touichirou & Serizawa Katsuya.

SHINRA BANSHOUMARU

My highly recommended character from season 2, Shinrin Maruo! … that’s not his name, it’s Shinra Banshoumaru!! I super, super love Shinra to the point where it’s unbearable, and I even put him into season 1!!! Do you know where, though? These lovable, chubby characters - they’re lacking in recent anime, but I figured I’m in the position to change that!! I made him bigger than he is in the manga and upon drawing his rough design, Director Tachikawa told me I was going too far and had me draw a retake. I was like a bulldozer - ‘That’s so stupid!’ - so I managed to save his nice body (laughs).

After episode 2 he doesn’t appear at all, but please be sure to love Shinrin!!! How about a spin-off!? “Shinrin Psycho 100”, how’s that!?!?!? Ah, Shinra, actually. Sorry.

EMI

The amount of people who wanted to see this story animated!!!! Since it usually ranks either first or second place in polls that assess the most popular story in the Mob Psycho 100 manga, we figured we’d have season 2 start with it, and since it’s such a popular part, there was an agreement that I’d be animation director for it! Which I was enthusiastic about, until - huh? Episode 2 has Shinra Banshoumaru? Then, I’ll do episode 2! And with that, I left episode 1 in the hands of Yoshida-san! It’s a story with drama at its heart, and that’s what Yoshida-san specialises in, so I was happy with that!!! I’m pleased with Emi-chan’s hair colour. I made it a caramel-pink. My type 100%.

MOGAMI KEIJI

Truth is, work on Mob Psycho 100 II began from Episode 5. Because of that, the first of the fresh new characters to be drawn was Mogami. Just before getting to work on Mob Psycho 100 II I’d been working on something else where the proportions are quite short, so I kept in mind that I had to make sure that didn’t affect my designs here - as a result, for the first rough draft for Mogami, I had him with full on shoulder pads so he’d look taller, in a Saeba Ryou kinda vibe (laughs). Well, maybe not as far as Saeba Ryou. As expected, following a check with the director I was told the balance of his body isn’t Mob Psycho-ish! And now his design is as it is. And yet… maybe it would’ve been nice to have his shoulders be raised, just a little?? In the manga he’s quite a handsome man, but my Mogami isn’t that handsome… that’s regrettable.

JOUDOU KIRIN

I have Joudou-sensei wear a kesa [Buddhist priest’s robe] in the anime - it’s pretty cute, isn’t it? Something I paid attention to was the lines from where his kesa ends to his tip toes! He appears in episodes 4-7 and more so than Mogami does, but he’s fun to draw. His deformation in episode 4 was super funny, so we included more of those (laughs). However, the wrinkles on his forehead and his hair barcode are a bit of trouble, and he’s got three rosaries on, and vertical stripes on his kesa… a lot of lines, and animating all those lines is a delicate matter. Also, he has huge eyes. They must get dry easily, I’m sure that’s tough for him.

ASAGIRI MINORI

We get three design variations for Minori - the one in the bed, the one that’s possessed by Mogami, and the one wearing Salt Middle School’s sailor uniform. Her chipped nails while she’s lying in the bed are an anime original. I wanted something in her design that’d counter her cute face. Above everything, what stands out in her design is her hair colour!!!! Her final design has her with purple hair, but at first I imagined her with a cute pink, like Minky Momo-chan. However, the pink hair didn’t really match with her skin colour and overall ghastliness when she’s possessed by Mogami, so after a revision, I went for purple. The way she is now… well, she’s cute, but I think pink hair would’ve been reeeeeeally cute! There’s not many illustrations in the manga where the characters are given colour, so it was very fun getting to choose colours for the anime!

URBAN LEGENDS

With the characters that appear in the Urban Legend Arc, it was super fun to envision how they might move around, and what details to add and/or remove!! Regarding Wriggle Wriggle from episode 1, in order to give a sense of scale in comparing its height with Mob’s, on its character sheet I drew it with an extreme use of perspective. An angle similar to that image gets used in the anime.

In episode 2, Red Raincoat is as he is in the manga, but The Dragger dragging her dolls behind her is an original design. I gave the three dolls she drags a sense of individuality & a ghastly feel, then thought about wetting her clothes and skirt with mud and rain, deciding to make her simple. The dragger has very long hair, which appeals to my 80s-anime-loving taste. I guess when it comes to original designs I always drag out something that I’ve been stocking in my own drawers (laughs).

On the other hand, with Dash Granny all we see of her is her running blurry form, so even on her character sheet her references are all smeared - kinda like me declaring, ‘right, I’m the animation director for episode 2, so let me handle drawing the granny.’ (Laughs).

Season 2 is filled with a lot of deep stories, so if we get to continue the Mob Psycho 100 anime, I’d like for us to do more light-hearted stories where cases related to urban legends are solved like this!!

SHIMAZAKI RYOU

The member of the Ultimate Five who gets the most time in the spotlight, Shimazaki - easy to draw, isn’t he?? His eyes are lines, the corners of his mouth are a little lifted - just draw that and there you go! Shimazaki! He fights with Teru-kun twice - episodes 9 and 11 - but I’ve been told that the jersey Teru-kun wears from episode 10 onwards is quite perplexing (laughs). In the manga it’s a black jersey… of course I know that. It’s just… he fights Shimazaki, who has a black colour scheme, and then Mob and Sakurai also have black colour schemes… Suzuki is more or less the same, as is Koyama, so to say. Way too many characters with a black colour scheme. Having all these characters with black colour schemes in one scene? That’s a No, Thanks from me. With all that blackness, you wouldn’t be able to understand who’s who!!!!!! Huh? You’d understand because Teru is blonde? W-well...

HATORI NOZOMU

You noticed, right? Hatori’s very cute pigeon [hato] crest!! A crest I highly recommend! … and yet, Hatori doesn’t appear much, does he… plus, the pigeon really didn’t stand out at all either (laughs). As much as I could, I’d leave the style of clothing that each character wears in the manga more or less the same for their anime design, then apply colour, then add a design that matches the character - designing their clothes was fun! Teru-kun’s jersey has a seagull, and Koyama’s hoodie has a spiral-like design - I think it’d be fun to search for these designs!! Actually, why does Teru-kun’s jersey have a seagull on it, you might ask?? Well, flip the seagull upside down… and you get someone standing… pigeon toed!

MINEGISHI TOSHIKI

I felt like the kinds of plants Minegishi manipulates would be of a carnivorous nature, so I ended up learning a lot of stuff when I was doing research! When thinking of carnivorous plants, what immediately springs to mind is Rafflesia! Even when reading illustrated encyclopaedias as a kid, I thought Rafflesia plants looked pretty scary. I’d read something about ‘man-eating plants’ and thought to myself, man, I want that to be about Rafflesia - I looked it up and it was! It stinks, so it’s as if it eats both humans and insects! I feel sorry for it - it’s just a stinky flower. Also, I made a big discovery!! Seems like you can drink the digestive fluids of pitcher plants!!! *gags*. Apparently you can only drink it before they catch insects, but it’s close to being germ-free, so please, drink without worry! Also, in Malaysia or somewhere like that, it seems they put rice inside the mouth of a pitcher plant, then steam and eat it, like bamboo chimaki [Rice dumpling wrapped in bamboo leaves]. ...In a pitcher plant… really…? *gags* *gags again*. With venus flytraps, too, people put minced meat in their mouths and grill them or something… those of you who own carnivorous plants; please, give it a go!! But the result is your own responsibility!!!

SHIBATA HIROSHI

He brings the pressure in episode 10 - when I read the manga, I felt this incomparable atmosphere when Shibata transforms and roars noisily around. I think the anime was amazing in amping that up! Looking at the manga, when Shibata’s on his rampage, he takes on more of a swarthy tone. So when I came to choose his colours for the anime, I first had his skin tone be pretty dark, but I felt like that didn’t give the same impact as it did in the manga, so I proposed giving him a scarlet tone as if he came from the Asura realm! And I’m glad I had the sense to! Actually, speaking on this now, he’s kinda like The Hulk (laughs). I guess it would’ve been funny if I made his skin green.

SUZUKI TOUICHIROU

Truth is, I’d finalised Suzuki’s design during season 1. Only because he appears for a split second during the final episode, though (laughs). But, while working on the main story, something I noticed with my design that troubled me was that alongside being slender and baby-faced, his height left something to be desired… so he didn’t look like a boss character in the slightest. After I finished work on the final episode, I thought it’d be good to make his face a little longer, ie. more mature. To make him appear more aggressive, I tried to make his eyes smaller, but then his design strayed too far from his manga self. Of all the things that caused me grief, the worst one of them all was his hair - does he have a jagged hairline because he’s brushed his hair back, or is the jaggedness there a very short fringe due to him having short hair? After I finished work on the final episode, I unexpectedly had the chance to see ONE-sensei, live, drawing Suzuki - from there, my problem was solved!!! Jagged hair (laughs). (It’s due to him having short hair, right?) I apologise for never grasping the true form of his hair, right up to the end.

SERIZAWA KATSUYA

Translated previously here.

Twitter crosspost here.

Season 1 notes here.

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #my stuff #shinra banshoumaru #emi #mogami keiji #joudou kirin #asagiri minori #shimazaki ryou #hatori nozomu #minegishi toshiki #shibata hiroshi #suzuki touichirou #serizawa katsuya #booklet #kameda yoshimichi

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kumeko · 4 years

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A/N: For the @academy-emblem-zine, which is having a leftovers sake! I couldn’t resist putting all the Royals together as one big kinda happy family. As happy as they can get, with Leo and Takumi in the same room. XD

…

“This isn’t fair,” Hinoka grumbled, sprawling forward onto the table and wrinkling her school uniform. Her arms dangled off the edge and she rested her chin on the wooden surface. Shooting a baleful glare at Azura, she pouted. “Why can’t you represent us? You’re from our house. Kinda.”

Kinda was how Corrin would describe it too, the strange mishmash that was her family. Put together a twin brother, two sets of adoptive siblings, and kidnapping, and it made the holidays very strange, to say the least. The nice thing about going to Garreg Mach was that her entire family was bundled up into one house. For once, she didn’t have to flip a coin to decide which side to live with it.

If anything, sharing a house might have helped her two families intertwine. Inside the Purpure Kinshis classroom, Ryoma and Xander were sitting in a corner, writing an essay together. Camilla was standing behind her and Kamui, braiding their hair in dozens of different designs. Even Elise and Sakura were sitting in the front, watching intently as Azura taught them how to dance. It had been decades since the last time Nohr and Hoshido were this close. It was almost like they hadn’t nearly started a war, fully intent on wiping out one another.

Well, everyone was close except for her other brothers of course. As usual, her grumpy middle brothers were ignoring everyone as they sat separately at their own tables. Leo was studying magic, and Takumi frowned deeply as he restrung his bow. At least they weren’t arguing, their normal default. Corrin sighed. It felt like they were a small push away from really integrating with everyone, but that push was going to be a hard one.

“Me?” Azura paused mid-dance, her long robes swaying around her as she came to a stop. Pleased, she rubbed her wrist as she gently reminded, “I’m a teacher. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Fair shmair.” Hinoka puffed her cheeks and jutted her lip, looking every bit a sad puppy. “They’re just scared we’d win. You’re the best dancer in the school and they know it.”

“Oh no.” Azura smiled bashfully, her cheeks pink. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Olivia is a great dancer too. She’s taught me a lot of things.”

“Really?” Leo looked up from the magical history book he was paging through. Doubtful, he raised a brow and asked, “She can barely handle teaching a class, but she’s teaching you things?”

“Like what, how to be even more shy?” Takumi grumbled at the same time, leaning back into his seat.

As soon as they realized what’d happened, Takumi and Leo snapped their heads toward one another, their lips already curling into an insulting snarl. There was a long silence, as they realized how similar their statements were. Their faces twitched, torn between anger and praise, before they slipped back into what they were comfortable with: a distrustful glare.

So they were paying attention after all. Corrin sighed as she watched her two brothers eye one another. “Even Elise doesn’t do this to Sakura anymore.”

Camilla quickly and neatly gathered the dozens of braids she’d already made on Corrin’s head, weaving them into one larger braid. Glancing at them, she gave a fond laugh. “That is part of what makes them both so adorable.”

“That doesn’t really help,” Kamui sighed as well, eyeing them over his book. Sometimes it felt like she and Kamui were the only ones with common sense. “At least they aren’t challenging each other to duels anymore.”

“You both are so stupid,” Elise grumbled, hopping off her seat. She marched toward Leo and stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. Gripping his book, she growled, “You both like almost all the same things, just be friends already!”

“Elise.” Leo tried to tug his book free, but she refused to let go. Gritting his teeth, he gave up. “Everyone can’t be friends.”

“Why not?” Elise argued back, glaring at Leo. “That’s the only way to bring peace, by being friends. And if we can’t do it, then how can we expect our people to do it?”

Ryoma lifted his head from his paper, warmly regarding Elise. He nodded approvingly. “That is the right attitude. You are quite wise, despite your age.”

“Despite her childishness at times, Elise has always seen things differently,” Xander agreed proudly. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “She’s even taught me a few things.”

“…I don’t know why, but I’m feeling insulted,” Elise muttered, crossing her arms and squinting at her brother.

“Now, now, back to the matter at hand. Perhaps I can be our representative?” Xander sat up a little straighter, a little prouder. He glanced at Ryoma. “You are teaching me the traditional Hoshidian dance. What better way to show our two families united?”

“That is an inspiring thought.” Ryoma stroked his chin thoughtfully. Considering it for a few minutes, he proposed, “Perhaps after a few more lessons? I am sure we can find time this week, after we hand in this paper.”

“What? You’re so busy as is.” Elise snorted. Stomping over to Sakura’s desk, she grabbed her by the hand and pulled her up. “We can be the representatives.”

“U-u-us?” Sakura stuttered, flushing a deep red at the idea. She shook her head violently. “N-no, we can’t!”

“Come on, it’ll be great. And cute.” Elise pulled Sakura closer and whirled her around. “Everyone’ll like it.”

“Ohhh.” Letting go of Corrin’s hair, Camilla clapped her hands in delight. “This is a wonderful idea. We should take you both dress shopping.”

Corrin felt her hair bounce on her back. Picking up one of the braids, she stared at the impressive texture it had, the dozens of braids her sister had managed to make in minutes. Was that a frightening skill or an amazing talent? Or both, probably both. “Aren’t we only allowed one representative?” she pointed out regretfully.

“Yeah.” Hinoka groaned, looking at Azura once more. “And that should have been Azura.”

“That still can’t happen,” Azura replied ruefully. “But I can teach one of the little ones, if you like. It wouldn’t be against the rules.”

“But which one?” Camilla muttered, tapping her chin as she looked from Elise to Sakura. “Ohhh, it’s far too hard to choose.” With a defeated sigh, she wrapped her arms around the two young girls, squeezing them into a tight hug. “To pick one and hurt the other…I simply can’t do it.”

“T-thank you,” Sakura wheezed, Camilla’s grip far too tight.

“Can’t breathe,” Elise gasped, hitting Camilla’s arm.

“If you’re going to have to teach someone anyway, why not Corrin?” Leo suggested, a snide sneer on his face as he looked at her. “She’s already learning from Azura as is.”

This was revenge for pointing out his tie was inside out. She just knew it. Corrin glared at her brother, sliding a finger across her throat execution style. Revenge would be sweet, once she got out of this situation. If she got out of this situation. “I think Sakura and Elise are better options,” she quickly said, trying to erase Leo’s idea before it settled into anyone’s mind.

“Corrin?” Camilla drawled out, her head slowly turning toward her. It was like reading a horror book, where the victim had gained the monster’s attention. Her eyes glinted as the idea took root. “That would be lovely, I know exactly how to dress you.”

Corrin swallowed. There had to be something she could do, someone she could—

Next to her, Kamui buried his nose deeper in his book and Corrin stared. Well. What were siblings for, if not saving one another? “Kamui might be better,” she suggested desperately, tossing her brother under the bus. “He’s had lessons too.”

He glared at her, not wanting any part of this. “No, no, you can do it.”

“You’re more graceful,” she bit out, kicking his leg. I’ll make it up to you, she mouthed.

He gritted his teeth and kicked her back. Still not doing it.

“Corrin, Kamui, don’t fight.” It was too late. While they weren’t paying attention, Camilla swooped down like a hawk catching her prey and gathered them both in her arms. Tightly squeezing them, she shook her head. “We mustn’t argue about such petty matters.”

Suddenly, Corrin understood why Elise had turned redder than a tomato. “Too…tight…”

“No, I will just have to ask Lady Rhea to allow both of you to dance.” Camilla stood up straight, dragging them both up with her. “To be denied the chance to get both of you outfits, to see you dance together, I cannot allow that to happen. Not you, my precious darlings.”

With what little conscious she had left, Corrin glared at Leo. She was going to kill him for this.

#fe fates #corrin #azura #leo #takumi #xander #camilla #elise #sakura #hinoka #ryoma #fanfic

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andtheyweredeskmates · 4 years

Text

Of Lattes and Lingerie- Chapter 17

Finished the chapter we’ve all been waiting for! I hope you guys like it and I can’t wait to write the next chapter!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 16- AO3

Taglist: @toodaloo-kangaroo @catsssmeow @le-na-co

The day of reckoning was upon her. A day where literally everything in Marinette life could go wrong, right or a mix of both. She had her day of relaxation the day before if you could even call it that. Somehow being waxed and exfoliated on every part of her body was not relaxing, though Marinette had to admit she felt a little special walking out of the parlor, shiny and new.

On Friday, Marinette arrived early at eight in the morning to the venue. Audrey had instructed her that she was to put on the lingerie the moment she got there but to wear a robe to avoid any unfortunate accidents. Marinette supposed it was meant to be a way to get Marinette comfortable before the show but Marinette wasn’t entirely sure how that would be anymore helpful than practicing for literally days in her red piece. At three in the afternoon, a mere three hours before Fruit of Passion was set to start, the hair and makeup process began. Marinette spent most of that time texting Adrien.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Do you think you could distract me from the sense of impending doom I’ve been feeling?

Coffee Buddy

Mari, tonight is gonna be great because you’re great. I’m gonna be there supporting you the whole time.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Oh good. At least someone will support me when I fail miserably and destroy my whole career

Coffee Buddy

Don’t say that! Think about the after party! That’ll be fun! And I haven’t seen you since our date so I can’t wait to spend some time with you!

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

If I become the laughing stock of the show, will you still go to the party with me?

Coffee Buddy

Yes

Marinette grinned stupidly at her phone as the stylist pulled on her hair.

“Oh honey, you have it bad,” he said, not looking away from his work. Marinette laughed awkwardly.

“Yeah… I know.”

…

Adrien was beyond excited to wake up on Friday. He was excited to go to his stylist, he was excited to get to his fathers to get dressed up in a custom suit and he was excited for the chauffeured ride he’d have on the way to the venue. These were things he’d never in his life been excited for but now that he’d be going to support Marinette, these things were no longer a chore. He hoped in the back of his mind that these would be things he’d get to be excited about for a very long time.

When he arrived at his fathers house after having his hair trimmed and styled, Adrien came face to face with Nathalie.

“Would you like something to eat? We’ll be leaving here at 4. Until then you’re welcome to do what you please.” Adrien grinned.

“I’d love something to eat,” he admitted. Nathalie nodded and turned to walk away before Adrien caught her shoulder.

“Wait, Nathalie, I just wanted to let you know I’d be bringing a date with me tonight to the afterparty.” Nathalie raised an eyebrow.

“Who?” Adrien blushed.

“Does it matter?” Nathalie gave him a look.

“Look can’t you tell my father it’s a surprise?” The last thing Adrien wanted was for Gabriel to judge Marinette tonight in a whole new light tonight based on her associations with his son. At least not until the show was over. Tonight, was her night as far as Adrien was concerned.

“You and I both know how your father feels about surprises.” Nathalie contemplated for a moment.

“It might be best for both of us that we pretend this conversation never happened, and you, as they say, ask for forgiveness rather than permission.” It was comical to hear that sentence come out of Nathalie’s mouth without so much as an octave change in Nathalie’s voice.

“Right…” Adrien muttered.

…

With T-minus one hour until the show would begin and the venue already beginning to fill with occupants, Marinette was on the verge of panicking.

Coffee Buddy

Hey I’m here. I don’t suppose you could sneak away to say hi before the show.

Marinette snorted.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Not a chance

Coffee Buddy

It was worth a shot.

Marinette sat in the dressing room in wait. She glanced nervously around the room until she spotted a coffee station. She stared longingly at it. The last thing she needed was to be more jittery. God she just wanted this to be over with

…

T-minus thirty minutes and Audrey is giving Marinette a pep talk.

“Everyone worth a damn is out there Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Every person that will ever matter is sitting out there waiting to see what you’re made of. And I don’t mean your mom. I don’t mean your dad. I don’t mean your little friends because they are actual piles of grabage compared to the people sitting in that crowd.”

“This has got to be the worst pep talking I’ve ever heard,” Marinette thought to herself.

“And every single one of them is about to be blown the fuck away because you are sexy, you are talented and most of all you’re going to go out there and pretend like you don’t give a flying shit about their opinion because YOU KNOW that you’re a star. You know that you deserve to succeed, and you know that no one can stop you. Do you understand?” All Marinette could do was nod.

…

T-minus one minute and someone is shouting at Marinette. But Marinette has left the building and in her place is a woman with a game face on that exudes conviction. And suddenly, Marinette is the woman who knows that she deserves to be worshipped.

….

T-minus five seconds until Marinette walks on to that platform and her mind is clear of everything but one thought.

I can do this.

…

Adrien is unbelievably bored while he’s waiting for the show to start. He’s next to his father who’s stoic and quiet as ever and Marinette has stopped texting him back. When the show does start, Adrien picks up on the structure relatively quickly.

Ultimately, Gabriel picked four designers that he collaborated with (although collaborated is a stretch and commission is likely more accurate) and each had their own line that was being showcased. Each line was shown in a set that lasted roughly thirty minutes and Marinette’s line was last.

Adrien is not often impressed by clothes. He’s grown up his whole life watching his father create designs that had been deemed modern art. So, Adrien was a little numb and frankly bored with the fashion world and it’s members. This carries into the first three sets of the show.

The first woman who steps out wearing one of Marinette’s intricately designed pieces catches Adrien’s attention. He can’t help but be mesmerized by the tedious stitching in each piece that makes its way across the runway. And suddenly Adrien feels stupid. He feels stupid because he spent so much time telling Marinette that her work was brilliant because that’s what his father thought, and he’d had no earthly idea what the fuck he was talking about. Studying her work, Adrien realized that Marinette was more than brilliant. She was phenomenal.

When she stepped out, Adrien didn’t realize it at first. He was too busy staring at the patterns of lace and the deep, rich color of the red. But when Adrien glanced at her face…

Adrien couldn’t really admire the lingerie itself the way he had with the other pieces when she stopped in front of him and his father. Because all Adrien could look at, was her.

She didn’t even look at Adrien. She didn’t spare a single person a glance. She walked with poise and elegance that didn’t scream look at me, but rather, I know you’re looking at me. She did not smile, but there was no question that she was exactly where she belonged, and she knew it.

Adrien felt himself blushing and couldn’t help but think, that of everything that paraded down that runway, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the masterpiece.

…

Seeing Marinette made Adrien feel things. But he didn’t realize how many things until he adjusted in his seat. He felt like a teenager again. He tried to inconspicuously cross his legs and think of the most disgusting things he could conjure before the show was over and he had to stand up but he was terrified that even if managed that, his red hot face would give everything away. Marinette was making him feel things and it would take every ounce of strength to keep his “feelings” at bay.

…

Marinette wished she could say that this whole thing taught her a lesson about confidence and that from then on, she was the most powerful woman alive, but in reality, the moment she stepped back behind the proverbial curtain, she nearly collapsed.

“That was excellent Marinette,” Audrey said smiling.

“I hate you,” Marinette muttered back.

…

When everything was over, Marinette was almost too scared to look at her phone. She knew Adrien had been in the crowd but she’d spent so much time focusing on not looking at everyone’s faces, she hadn’t been able to search for him. She wondered what his face had looked like when she walked out. She picked up her phone slowly to look at her messages.

Coffee Buddy

I feel like there’s a lot to unpack here but I’d like to start by making sure that was the THING you were nervous to talk about on our date because I think if there’s another surprise tonight my heart will explode

Marinette wasn’t sure how to respond. She elected playing dumb was her best bet

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to

Coffee Buddy

So are you gonna pretend like you weren’t the most beautiful creature to grace a stage like, not even twenty minutes ago or?

Marinette felt like the weight sitting on her chest turned into a balloon and it was floating away. She was positively beaming.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

So I didn’t embarrass you?

Coffee Buddy

If I may be so bold princess, I was definitely embarrassed tonight but it wasn’t by you

Next Chapter

#my fic #miraculous ladybug #mlb fanfic #adrienette #adrinette #MLB #miraculous fanfic #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette fanfic #adrinette fanfic #of lattes and lingerie #coffee shop au

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inorganicone2230 · 5 years

Text

Divine Intervention (Part 2) Yandere!Erasermic x Fem!Reader

Part 1 Part 3

Summary: Sometimes a little divine intervention is necessary to take back the ones we love... whether they want it or not.

Warnings: Suicide, kidnapping, forced relationship, emotional and mental manipulation, typical Yandere behavior, possible non-con in future chapter.

Side note: Mild smut in this chapter, nothing TO graphic but you have been forewarned nonetheless.

You could say you hated sleeping, but that wasn't entirely accurate, you enjoyed a good night's sleep as well as the next person. No, what you truly hated was dreaming! No matter how hard you tried you always ended up passing out in exhaustion at some point. Usually after a few days of making yourself to stay awake and your body finally entered a kind of forced self-shutdown.

When you sleep, you dream. And you hated your dreams. They had started occurring when you turned 15, and at the time you and your parents -who you spoke to about these dreams- had simply chalked it up to youth and teenage hormones. But now -years later- you still had them and you we're terrified every time you felt yourself nod off. The dreams were never the same but they always shared similar things. The same locations and the same two men. Only ever two.

These dreams weren't frightening in a traditional sense but more to the point that they made you feel uneasy. Like they were a long personal series of warnings meant only for you.

In these dreams you were fully aware of everything that went on around you, but it was like only your eyes existed in them. You could not move, speak or even blink! You were like a living, invisible statue, unable to interact and only able to see what was right in front of you, everything was dictated by the will of the dream and the two men.

The two men in question -one dark and subdued, the other bright and boisterous- were always the main focus of your dreams. You had spent a lot of time in your early years trying to focus and pay attention to them, to hopefully learn something about what all this meant. But after a while it soon became obvious that it would never work. The dreams had a way of tuning certain things out. For example, even after all these years you still did not know the men's names, their voices would become mute whenever they were spoken by each other and you were unable to read their lips, nor did you know who or what they were. You had the vague impression that they weren't meant to be human, as deduced when you saw the Golden One hold his glowing hands over an oak seed and grow the tree to full height in a matter of seconds. Or when you saw the Dark One become upset over something once, black smoky tendrils slithering out from beneath his elegant robes to strike out and kill all the living things around him.

Sometimes you were made to watch them alone, each going about his own business separately in what you have come to figure out was their palace. Sometimes you watched them talk softly to each other while sitting in their lavish garden. And in these quiet moments of theirs, you could occasionally catch them mentioning someone named (former name). They both seem to love and miss her quite a lot, you learned once that she had died a long time ago but you knew nothing else beyond that. And you really didn't want to know anyway.

But the worst though, was when you were made to watch their intimate moments. These were the bits you had never told anyone about, not even your parents.

The first time you saw them had started off like all the other dreams. You saw them go about as usual until day rolled into night and they began to retire. Usually the dreams ended here, but not this time. You learned they shared a room… and a bed. You saw the Dark One approach the Golden One, taking it upon himself to undo his wheat colored hair from whatever way he had styled it, running his fingers through it softly. You saw him kiss his neck as he reached around to expertly untie his robes and grasp the other man's hardening member. You saw the Golden One throw back his head in ecstasy and give a long and low growl. You saw him spin around, the Dark One dropping to his knees to eagerly take the appendage in his mouth while the Golden One dug his fingers in his black locks. You heard the filthy words that spilled from his lips, the dead woman's name gasped over and over along with what you guessed was the Dark Ones. Both names were rasped with what you could only describe as pure carnal desire.

The Dark One did not seem to mind another's name spilling from his lovers lips. But you soon learned that both enjoyed speaking it when in the throws of their passion, like a fantasy they couldn't live without. And finally, after what felt like a lifetime of sheer embarrassment, the Golden One finished, spilling his seed into the waiting throat of the Dark One who seemed more than happy to drink it all down. Both wore contented smiles on their faces as they pulled away from each other. And as the edges of your dream began to fade and you felt your conscience being pulled awake you saw that the Golden One was about to reciprocate the act. You couldn't be happier to wake up.

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

Soon though, you began to dread the dreams after that as the men's intimate moments came more and more often. Just like right now.

You wished that you would wake up. You normally did right after they were done but sometimes you were made to stay for their pillow talk. Like this time...

“I cannot wait to see her. It will be so wonderful to have her here with us again, to have her laying down between us. To hear her breathing and see her smile.” The Dark One eagerly said.

The Golden One nodded in agreement. “Yes! To feel her bare skin against ours once more. To hear her sighs and moans, to be inside of her and spend ourselves between her legs and lips! It will be so perfect!”

This back and forth went on for a few more minutes and if you could have rolled your eyes you would have. But this was different than usual, they spoke as if she was going to be coming back any day now. As if she was going to come back from the dead!

‘Is that even possible? If they could bring her back why haven't they done it yet? Oh fuck, am I going to have to watch the three of them the way I have these two? Gods I hope not!’ You cringed at the very idea, even as you felt the beginnings of your waking. And as you begin to wake and uselessly pray that this dream will be the last, you miss the lecherous smiles the two men shoot your way.

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

“Do you think she suspects anything? Do you think she remembers anything?” Hizashi asked his partner.

“No. There is still no recognition in her eyes when she sees us, she most likely will not remember anything until we give her the medicine. It has taken five thousand years to get to this point, anything could have happened to set our plans back, but I feel like we are in the clear now. We're so close to having her again, the last few steps will go flawlessly. Of this I am sure.” Shouta spoke, his tone final and his words ironclad.

“My thoughts exactly Shouta. My thoughts exactly.” The God of Life agreed as he straddled Shouta from behind once more. All this talk of you had worked him into a frenzy and it seemed the God of Death agreed.

It was a long and miserable eternity to get to this point. They had spent centuries upon centuries crafting and re-crafting fates design for your rebirth. They wanted you to look and act as close to yourself as they could. And while there would always be a few minor differences between you and your past self, they had done the best they could. Of course, once your memories of the past were returned to you, those differences would hardly matter. Everything would be perfect again.

Everything.

I decided to push this chapter out now since I'm going to be doing doubles at work over the weekend and probably won't have time to do any writing! 😥 I hope you like this chapter!

And as I said before, thank you again to @jadepillar18 for the inspiration on this story!

Enjoy!

#yander!erasermic #yandere!erasermic x reader #erasermic #shouta x hizashi #dreaming #bnha smut #smut #yaoilove #forced voyeurism #yandere bnha #bnha #reader insert #gods au #typical yandere behavior

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violet-knox · 5 years

Text

Split in Two

Year 6 - Chapter 40

Summary: Struggling to make sense of his emotions, Severus decided to take a stroll down Hogsmeade in the hopes of clearing his mind.

Word count: 5817

Warnings: Language

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

It had been almost four weeks since his birthday, since he spoke to you last. It was as a rather gloomy afternoon when he found himself in the library searching for a new book to read, the selection in his trunk becoming rather mundane. He wanted so badly to open his bag and start reading the book you’d given him, but he knew that if he tried to, the pages would be ruined by the salty waterfall his eyes would create. So, he came here instead, seeking for a book, the type of book he was used to: old, used and not worthy of being cared for.

The days were hard for Severus at first. Hard to get out of bed, hard to fall asleep, hard to eat, to pay attention during class… to keep his mind off you. But how could he, how could he stop thinking about the girl he didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye to? The girl he’d grown so close to these last few years had disappeared from his life, snatched from him just when he thought he’d never go another day without her, without her love.

It wasn’t until Slughorn held him back after Potions one day that he’d started to get back into his usual school activities. The Potions Master voiced his utter disappointment in his grades that day, stating he’d even gone out of his way to talk to his other Professors, all saying the same thing; Severus had been greatly slacking in class, resulting in a deterioration in his grades.

But how could he focus on school when his heart had gone so cold? Slughorn rambled on about his duties as his Head of House to get Severus back on track, something rather about his potential being wasted. In all honesty, Severus wasn’t really listening to him. His mind flickered between grasping at his Professor’s words and memories of you, more specifically, the last memory he had of you. He’d held onto the image of you in the astronomy tower telling him ‘happy birthday’ since that day. Seeing you smile again was the only reason he’d been able to remove himself out of his bleakness to start concentrating on his studies again.

He still found it hard to focus however, feeling uneasy at the fact that he’d so badly hurt you, but it was at least enough to get Slughorn and the rest of his Professors off his back. It wasn’t hard to get back on track. He’d easily caught up to his fellow students as the material covered was elementary to him. But as soon as he abandoned his most prevalent activity of sulking in his bed all day, he suddenly found his hands full of free time. Time, he realized, he’d normally spend with you, but seeing as how that wasn’t an option right now, he opted to get back into reading. The only friends he seemed to have left were his books as he’d grown apart from his other Slytherin peers long ago, choosing to spend his time with you instead.

His frustration crawled up his skin as his body tensed, unable to find a useful Herbology book he hadn’t already read. Finally, he gave up and found a seat nearby, placing his bag on the table as he slowly reached for the crisp new book in his bag. He traced the outline of the design on the front cover, carefully examining every detail before flipping it over and doing the same to the back. He wanted so badly to read it, to thank you for it, to ask if you’d indulge him in sharing the knowledge that it offered, but each time he so much as caught a glimpse of the book, he was reminded of the broken bond between you two. He traced the front cover one last time before deciding he’d at least look at the first few pages, up until the beginning of the first chapter at least. With a deep breath he turned to the first page and was shocked to see a note from you. He froze at the sight of his name in your writing. He knew it so well, he could pinpoint the places where you’d added extra pressure to the quill.

His heart began thumping against his ribcage, reminding him of the only two trinket’s he had from you stashed in his pocket. He reached into his robe and removed the pin along with the folded piece of paper which he unraveled, placing on top of your note, below his name. His eyes flickered between his own name, written twice now by you; once on the wrapping of the very book that held the second occurrence. Severus circled his thumb around the pin in his left hand as he rubbed his eyes in fear of breaking down in the library if he attempted to read the rest of your note. His own name already tore him up, how would he be able to handle the rest of the note?

Slowly, he removed the torn wrapping away and glimpsed over the nicely printed writing, matching that of which his name was written. It was only a few lines, surely he’d manage to read it without making a scene. But as soon as his eyes focused on the first word, his right hand instinctively went to cover it again as his left gripped your pin tighter than ever. This is stupid, he thought, I can’t be scared of a note. It was indeed ridiculous how fearful he’d become of reading what you had to say to him. But perhaps that wasn’t the problem. Severus soon came to realize the reason your note was something he feared reading wasn’t because it was you who’d written it, it was because he knew you’d written it before what happened, before he pushed you away and wrecked your relationship. He knew your note would be filled with nothing but love and he wasn’t ready- no, he wasn’t deserving of that yet.

It felt like cheating. Like he was somehow handed your love without earning it first. Or perhaps this was some sort of test he had bestowed upon himself. If he could feel some sort of burning passion when he read this note, maybe there was still hope he’d mend your relationship. But what if the exact opposite happens and he instead finds himself thinking of someone else. He’d been convincing himself this past month that he didn’t harbor feelings for Lily, it didn’t even cross his mind that he could potentially fall out of love with you. Problem was, he thought he’d fallen out of love with Lily when he’d fallen in love with you, but that clearly wasn’t the case. His feelings were jumbled up, he’d been so afraid to try and sort them in fear of finding a truth he wouldn’t like.

Enough of this, I have to read it. It’d only right. It was unfair to you if he didn’t read it. You’d written the note for him and it would be rude if he simply ignored it. He convinced himself that reading it would be to show you respect whereas ignoring it would be like shunning your love, and he didn’t want that. No, it was best he get over this absurd fear and prove to himself, he indeed still loves you.

As if moving in slow motion, his fingers gently slide the cover over your note down until he could see your signature at the bottom. His eyes cautiously lingered over the beginning of your note where you’d written his name before moving to the right, carefully reading every word you wrote.

Severus,

You once handed me your most loved book to show me how much I mean to you. I carry that book with me every day to remind me that there is someone in this world that cares about me as much as I do them. So, I hope that this book can show you how much you mean to me in return.

Happy birthday, Sev.

With all my love,

(Y/N)

Severus read the note over and over again until his vision blurred, unable to take in another word. He couldn’t flip to the next page and he couldn’t close the book. He couldn’t believe you felt this way about him. Or more accurately, how you used to feel. You no doubt didn’t feel this way about him anymore, not after what he’d done.

He wondered what you really would have written if you’d done so recently. Would you have put so much care into keeping your words aligned? Would you have put so much love into your signature? Or would you have written a long winded ‘fuck you’ instead? All these questions swam in his head as he continued to obsessively read over your note, seeking the answers. But as he read, the number of questions only seemed to increase. He had to stop before this got even more out of hand. At least he hadn’t broken down, or worse, thought of Lily when reading your note. He finally closed the book and stuffed it into his bag as he leaned back in his chair, trying to sift through all his thoughts about you.

Hours went by and he found himself unable to get his mind off your note. He still hadn’t read a word of the book, but he cherished it so much. It very quickly became his most prized possession as he slept with it that night, feeling it was the only way he could be close to you right now. He’d occasionally open it to read over your note, finding himself completely unable to sleep, but it was more just to linger his fingers over your writing as he’d already memorized the words on the page. It comforted him to see you sign something to him with so much love and he could feel himself clinging to your words, depending on them even. But there was something else that caused him to reopen that book, something in your note stuck with him. Something you said seemed to resonate within him, as if you had given him the final piece of a puzzle he didn’t even know he was solving. It was strange and he could feel something clicking in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was your words were trying to tell him.

The next morning, Severus found himself sitting in the corner of the common room, legs crossed with ‘Potions: A New Perspective’ opened on his lap. He’d been the first to rise each morning, unable to find peace at night because of the current predicament he’d found himself in with you. He read over your note again and again without the slightest interest in turning the page. He wanted to figure out what it was about your note that kept him up at night, but this was one puzzle, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to solve.

“Did you hear about Madam Gladstone’s shop? She’s closing down,” Severus shifted in his seat as he glared at the two third year girls making their way into the common room, finding seats near the fireplace.

“That old jewelry store near the Hog’s Head?” asked the other girl.

“Yup, that’s the one. Come with me, I hear she’s trying to clear all her inventory. I’m hoping to bargain for these earrings I’ve been wanting to get for my mum.”

Severus scoffed. Jewelry. Who could be thinking about such an insignificant thing at a time like this? It angered him that the world kept spinning, his peers enjoying their time, talking about the Hogsmeade trip today when he was in such a dilemma, trying to figure out all the emotions he felt. How could everyone else be having fun while he sat there, sulking over the loss of the only good thing in his life? He felt revolted as he listened to the two girls talking about the type of things they wanted to buy from that damn jewelry shop. How dare they interrupt his train of thought; how dare they speak of such trivial things.

Severus couldn’t take it anymore. He got up, stuffing his book in his bag and stormed out of the common room, making his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Things only got worse for him as student’s slowly rolled into breakfast talking about nothing other than the Hogsmeade trip. His frustration grew as he listened to others laughing, talking happily about the lovely day they had planned. Severus sighed and leaned back in his seat, slowly scanning the room. Going to Hogsmeade wasn’t even a question he considered debating as his day to day life was always the same since the night of the Yule Ball and he never thought of doing anything else. Though perhaps it would be prudent for him to get some fresh air and needless to say, everything in this castle irritated him as he would always find himself thinking of your broken heart.

He shook his head, annoyed in how ridiculous it was considering going to Hogsmeade. Yet he found himself heading back to his dorm to grab a sweater in preparation to join the excited crowd gathering at the Entrance Hall. A change in scenery, that’s all. That’s what I need, he thought. He’d convinced himself that roaming around a place that didn’t constantly remind him of you would do him some good, that it would help clear his mind and help him figure out what he needed to do next. But a small part of him felt guilty. Guilty for trying to escape this internal prison he’d created for himself as a punishment for breaking your heart. But what good would sitting around staring at your handwriting do? He hadn’t gotten anywhere last night simply reading over your note. He hadn’t figured out why he’d said Lily’s name instead of yours, he hadn’t figured out what part of your note kept him awake at night, he hadn’t figured out how to get you back yet. So what harm would a change in scenery do? Perhaps a butterbeer could help him find the answers to all these questions, or maybe if he visited that bookshop, he could find something to give you. A gesture to thank you for the gift he’d received. Or perhaps this was all an excuse to escape the perpetual state of sorrow he found himself in every morning.

He grabbed his money bag and shook it, revealing how little his mother managed to give him this summer. It was all he had though, and he’d gladly trade everything he owned to have you back in his life. He opened his trunk and placed the book you’d gifted him safely atop the rest of his textbooks before locking it with a quick flick of his wand. Hesitantly, he made his way out of the dungeon finding groups of students heading to the Entrance Hall on his way. He’d always enjoyed these trips because it meant that the castle was a lot emptier than usual. During the last Hogsmeade trip, he had spent the entire day with you in your favorite parts of the castle, uninterrupted by other students. Oh how he wished he’d be heading to meet you in the library rather than surrounding himself with ecstatic insolent children.

Severus walked the streets of Hogsmeade watching fellow Hogwarts students zipping from Zonko’s to The Three Broomsticks, not knowing where to go or what to do with himself. He’d barely been here three minutes and already he felt it was a mistake to leave the solitude he’d created back at the castle. He seeped in his thoughts as his feet dragged him down the street where Beverley’s Bookshop stood.

Pausing outside the store, he peered inside and remembered the first time he’d brought you here. How your eyes lit up as you browsed the latest arrivals, and when you saw the price tags, you didn’t revolt back as he thought you might. No, you simply told him that though you might not afford it now, you would in the future. A smirk began to form ever so slightly on the corner of his lips. At the time, he thought you mad for having such high hopes, but he now admired you for it and was humbled that you’d also believed he could have just as bright of a future.

He sighed as the old memory of you faded and made his way into the store. But as soon as the door swung open and he began to scan the room, he froze in place, his eyes landing on a very familiar book, displayed at the top of the new arrivals section as if being showcased as a rare treasure. It was the same book you’d gifted him, and he wondered if this was the store you bought it from. He can’t look at the price, he knew it would be expensive and he knew that if he saw that number, it would only increase his guilt. The thought that you’d spend so much on him weighed heavily on his shoulders. His own mother would never have been so selfless as to spend a small fortune for him, so why would you?

He resisted all those small urges telling him to pick up that display book and turned his attention instead to the clearance section. Read it. Boring. Complete rubbish. None of these books brought him any joy and he didn’t even bother looking at the ones he had yet to read. He turned once more and saw that damn book in the corner of his eye. That’s it. He had to leave. He’d come to Hogsmeade to try and clear his mind from your note. He couldn’t stay in a place with a different copy of the book you gave him, tormenting him. Perhaps this was a sign. A sign that he deserved the pain he felt, to be constantly reminded of what he’d done, of the look on your face when he broke your heart.

He sprinted towards the door in frustration, wanting to melt into the ground along with the thin layer of snow beneath his feet. He let out a long heavy sigh and watched the cloud of air escape his lips. Shaking his head, he made his way to the Hog’s Head thinking perhaps a butterbeer would help ease his mind.

As he entered the gloomy establishment, he finally found himself relax if only just a little. The one thing he liked most about this place was how little attention it got. He’d be able to read in peace whilst enjoying the reward of an occasional butterbeer. He took a seat near the window, away from the group of three in the corner, feeling a slight bit of solitude. Instinctively, he reached into his bag searching for your book, only to remember he’d left it back in his dorm, safe in his locked trunk. It was probably for the best it stayed there, not that he needed it as he knew he still wouldn’t read a single word. He soon began repeating your words to him in his head, dislodging himself from the real world enough that he didn’t notice the bartender standing beside him.

Severus jumped in his chair as he turned away from the window and peering into the hard-blue eyes of the man beside him.

“I asked what I can get for you,” he irritably repeated.

“Butterbeer,” replied Severus. He watched as the man nodded and walked back to the bar. Looking around the bar, he noticed how few students showed up here. Most would opt for The Three Broomsticks, and indeed he assumed that’s where the groups of friends leaving nearby shops were headed.

Severus handed the bartender a few coins before picking up his glass and indulging himself in his drink. The taste was odd. It wasn’t as sweet as he’d remembered. It seemed watered down, more depressing than before. Though perhaps the drink wasn’t the problem as he couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head. He’d tried so hard to take a breather, to try and get back into his usual schedule but it was no good. He had to figure out how to answer some of those damn questions swimming in his brain like a cobra waiting to pounce each instance his thoughts strayed away from you.

He chugged the rest of his drink, hoping he’d stop thinking about the last time he’d sat at this bar with you. Looking outside he watched a group of students emerging from that jewelry store he’d heard those two young Slytherins talk about this morning. The three Ravenclaws seemed content with their purchase as they walked down the street. In fact, all the students he saw outside seemed content with their day. His eyes went back to the store as he examined the ‘Closing. Everything must go’ banner overtop the old chipped sign of the shops name.

You were never a jewelry person, being a Quidditch player and all, jewelry just wasn’t your thing. Which was probably why this was the only shop he hadn’t explored with you when you’d come down to Hogsemeade in the past as he also shared no interest in what this store had to offer. Rolling his eyes, he got up from where he sat and made his way to the exit, finding his feet dragging him to Madam Gladstone’s Jewelry shop. He entered the shop carrying his final shred of hope of finding whatever it was he was looking for.

As he opened the door, he immediately noticed the crowd of students that were browsing her diminishing selection. The layout of the store was split into so many sections, so many walls filled with antique metals and shimmering stones. It was a lot larger than it appeared from the outside, and it surprised him how well assorted the selection was. He was so overwhelmed by everything going on in the little shop, he seemed to have stopped in his place, in front of the entrance.

“Can I help you look for anything dear” a short thin old woman with tired-looking hazel eyes had approached Severus. This must be Madam Gladstone, he thought, looking at her with a blank expression.

“I’m… not sure what I’m looking for” he replied still gazing around the shop. More like he wasn’t sure why he was here at all. He felt so out of place, but it seemed entering this shop finally allowed his mind to clear, giving him the chance to think without the worry of a blood curdling headache hitting him. The more he gazed around the shop, the more at ease he felt. He walked over to one of the only sections not surrounded by intrigued students and browsed the antique watches. It was rather peaceful watching the hands tick, tracing the intricate designs with his eyes.

Of course, he wasn’t interested in purchasing any of them. What would he do with a watch? He’d tried wearing one once around his left wrist, but he hated the weight, feeling it slowing him down as he read. Worse than that was when he tried brewing a potion in class with it on. It completely threw him off and he finally took it off completely disregarding it with no interest in ever trying to carry a watch again.

Severus moved on from the watches and slowly began walking to the more precious section of the store. Everything in this corner was encased in glass, safely tucked away behind an enchantment he assumed only the shopkeeper would be able to break. He eyed the two girls beside him as they brought their faces so close to the glass, he could see a bit of green in the brown of one of the girl’s eyes. There were all kinds of things in here; tie clippings, broches, earrings, even buttons. But unlike the other items in the shop, each piece here was accompanied by quite a lengthy description card, explaining all the magical properties the object emitted as well as a brief history. As he leaned in to read the card under the three buttons, he began to understand why these items were so highly protected.

Charmed with an old spell created by the late Amelia Adley, these buttons obtain the ability to re-stitch any tears on the item to which they are placed. Simply replace your buttons with these and watch as your clothing return to their once past glory.

Fearing her work stolen, Lady Adley refused to share her inventions with others and only trusted her journal which is now kept in the Museum of Old Magic in London. The spell used to charm these buttons was never recovered and though many have tried, all have failed in replicating it. Only a handful of buttons remain holding her magic, three of which are available right here in this very shop. ~Estimated date of creation: 1796-1803

2050 Galleons - Sale Price 2000 Galleons

It must have taken a lot of work to preserve all of these items if they all contained magic as old as the one enchanting these buttons. Severus moved down the selection, reading each card until he reached the end where the two girls had been hovering. He had to admit to himself, it was quite intriguing to learn of these delicate items and he suddenly found himself pleased he’d decided to venture out into the village tonight.

Disappointment edged its way to his temple as he read the last card of the cufflinks displayed and as he turned away from the case, he found himself on the hem of what appeared to be a section dedicated to couples. Most items were accompanied by its matching twin though there was one item on the other side of the section that caused him to question whether or not the shop owner bothered to check the validity of the magic in the items before putting them out for sale. He walked closer to it and began reading the ticket under it.

Two in one. In addition to keeping one of your most precious memories safe, this special trinket will…

He paused as soon as he saw the second half of the card and shook his head. No, there’s no way it would be capable of such a thing. Love was such a complex emotion, something he knew from personal experience. How could this locket tell him who it was he cared about most in this world? His heart thumped against his chest as he grew angry with the necklace hanging on the wall. This had to be some sort of trick. Something to simply entice the customers into buying the stupid thing, thinking it would help them find happiness and yet, he found himself reaching for it. The card said that a name would appear on the locket’s front simply by touch, so what name would appear if he grabbed it? It had to be your name, right? He loves you, he knew that. He couldn’t admit it until recently, but he’d loved you for a while now. Then why had he said Lily’s name the night of the Yule Ball? Was it true? Did he still love Lily? Did he love her more than he loves you?

His fingers trembled as his nails brushed the cold metal around the edges of the locket. He’d hold it and see your name, prove to himself that he wasn’t wrong, that what happened was a mistake, that the doubt deep in his gut was wrong. And if it displayed someone else’s name, then he’d simply have proven the magic to be faulty.

“Ah, I see you’ve found Love’s Locket,” Severus immediately yanked his hand away from the hanging necklace, snapping his head back to find Madam Gladstone smiling up at him. “That’s been a very popular item with you Hogwarts kids.”

She was talking to him as if he was interested in buying it. As if he’d consider purchasing something like that when he had trouble believing its authenticity.

“How does it work? Did you charm it yourself?” he asked, his tone betraying his cold expression, revealing his frustration and sorrow.

She gave a small chuckle in response, ignoring his rude demeanor. “No dear. I unfortunately don’t have the skill set for such a spell. I imported these lockets from France where they were made,” she watched as his shoulders dropped and his gaze hesitantly shifted back to the necklace. Well if she’d imported it, they no doubt were created by an experienced wizard, meaning his theory of the magic faulting was collapsing. “Go on then,” she said as she watched him cautiously eyeing it. “Try it, see who it is you desire most.”

Severus narrowed his eyes, irritated with her words, with himself, with the locket. The audacity that she had, the audacity of this locket. He could feel his heart angrily thumping against his chest in disapproval as he reached for it once more. He was much more hesitant this time as he very much doubted his original claim of the locket being a fake. He was scared. Scared that he wouldn’t like what he would see. Scared it wasn’t going to be your name he saw. Scared it would be her name. Scared of the truth.

His slim fingers finally clasped around it, gently holding it in his palm and as he removed it from the hook on the wall, he watched letters slowly fade overtop the design of the locket. Madam Gladstone peered over as she stood beside him. “Ah, I see,” she said as Severus tried to read the faint letters that refused to focus into place, desperately seeking every letter in your name, spelling it out in his head.

“W-what?” he asked nervously, confused as to why he couldn’t read a name, your name.

“Well, this doesn’t happen quite often,” she began, “but it seems you have your heart set on two separate souls.” Severus looked at her in shook. How could that be? All that talk about finding ‘the one’, having soulmates, how could one person’s soul be bound to two others.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well that’s the problem with love dear. It isn’t… black and white as they say. It’s quite dynamic in fact. It grows as you do and changes with time. Many will fall out of love or find themselves caring for more than one person.”

No. She’s wrong. This locket is wrong. It’s not true. This can’t be the truth. But as he looked back down at the little object in his hand, he began to understand what she meant. He could ever so slightly make out your name before Lily’s over took it. His heart was split in two and that’s why he’d been afraid of facing the truth, because it wasn’t a truth he was willing to accept.

“Not to worry dear,” his mind snapped back to reality when the woman spoke once more. She was wearing an expression of glee, as if his predicament was entertaining to her. “You’re still young. There’s plenty of time to figure out what it is you want.” But Severus felt like this was a choice he needed to make soon as he feared that if he waited too long, he’d lose you forever. What if you found someone else? You’re such an amazing person, he couldn’t see how you’d simply wait for him to figure out why his heart had split in two, or rather why half of it still hung on to his childhood crush.

“That’s the last one I have,” she commented, bringing his attention back to her as she pointed at the locket in his hand. He stared back down at it, knowing she was simply trying to make a sale. But he was seriously considering purchasing it as it was the only thing he’d found over the last month able to help him sort through his emotions. He looked back at the card on the wall where the necklace had hung above it.

20 Galleons - Sale Price 10 Galleons

This was unbelievable. If anyone told him this morning he’d be standing here seriously considering spending all he had on a locket, one he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do with, he’d laugh and tell them to bugger off.

“I’ll-I’ll take it,” he mumbled, handing her the necklace. It was such an impulsive decision, one he knew would drain him of any money he had, but deep down, he knew it was the right decision to make. His mind had finally cleared holding this locket, finally able to answer some of those lingering questions. He is still in love with Lily and when you said you’d wait for him in the astronomy tower, you meant you’d wait for his heart to pick between you or her and boy did he hope it’d pick you.

He walked up to the counter and watched as the old woman gently placed the locket in its case before placing it in a bag with the store’s logo on its side, alongside a small card. Severus took out his coin bag and emptied the whole lot on the table. Picking out the Galleons first, he began to count out the appropriate amount to give to her, placing two Knuts back in the bag. He stuffed his now worthless money bag back in his backpack before grabbing the bag on the counter and shuffling out the door with his head hung low.

The cold prickled his cheeks as soon as he stepped outside and as he began to make his way back to the castle, he took out the locket and watched as it struggled to display a name over its front cover. He now knew what he had to do. It was ever so clear to him, and though he wasn’t happy with what he’d learned today, it was a slap he’d need in order to make sense of himself and his relationship with you.

It was unfair what he’d been doing to you these last few months, being with you when his heart wasn’t in it. Though he hadn’t done it intentionally, he had been playing with your emotions, trying to fill the hole Lily left when she broke off her friendship with him. It wasn’t fair to you and it made him feel so much worse. He wanted to go to you, talk to you, apologize to you, but he knew he still had a lot left to figure out and he couldn’t make amends with you until only one name displayed over that locket.

Next Chapter

A/N: I know many people have different opinions on soulmates and their existence, so hopefully I didn’t offend anyone with this chapter 🙈

@hoppingsnape @dusk-realm @a-slytherin-sin @trashandshook @gbatesx @sneezy-s @emsdroid @leah-halliwell92 @xxaamzxx @sparklingkeylimepie @nameless-sovereign @living-in-margins @justanobodyinthisbigworld @soft-slytherin-sweetie @youtube4life10

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readbeneaththelines · 4 years

Text

His Possession Pt. 13

A/N: Debts are collected, one way or the other. Unfortunately, you were the collection for your father’s debt.

Yoongi is ruthless, cunning, and obsessive.

Characters: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: soft Yoongi, in his own way, teeny bit of crack if you look closely, angst, talk of character injuries

Word Count: 2281

Wedding Day!

Yoongi helped you dry off, wrapping the towel around you before leading you to the bedroom. He watched you closely as you picked out your clothes and got dressed. Once you wer settled in bed, he set off to handle the business for the day. Everyone stopped by to check in on you, bringing you books, food, and anything else they thought you might want. Yoongi allowed you to join them downstairs for dinner, but only if you let him carry you down.

Honestly Yoongi! This is embarrassing. I can walk, you know.” You sighed when he shook his head and picked you up. He carried you down the hall and down the stairs, only setting you on your feet when you reached the foyer. You followed him to the dining room, your chair being pulled out by Jungkook. They smiled at you, your cheeks blushing at all the attention you were getting. The dinner progressed over discussions of future mergers and stock inventory. You listened carefully, learning how he ran his business. When the room grew silent as they ate, you spoke up.

“I have decided that as soon as I am healed up enough that Yoongi won’t carry me everywhere, I am going to merge our families. It will be the best for everyone involved. I hope you are all okay with this.” You looked around the room, six sets of eyes wide as they turned towards Yoongi.

“I agree. But will we have to make sure a few things are settled before that happens. One of them being you getting better.” You knew that look in his eyes,even though he tried to hide it from the others. After the shower earlier, there was only one thing still on his mind. You needed to get better quickly, and he needed to make you his, but only via proper channels. That meaning getting married and waiting on you to tell him when you were ready.

The next few weeks flew by, you had managed to get in contact with the families that were allies with your family, holding meetings to discuss the mergers and what would happen after you and Yoongi were married. There were a few utterance of question, but you assuage their hesitations. You and Yoongi worked well together, taking the time to understand the importance of what you were both about to step into. There was the case of Siwon’s allies getting wind of the merger and what the implications of that would be. By the fourth week, you had decided that enough time had passed and you were ready to plan the wedding.

Yoongi let you have free rein in picking out the decorations, your dress, and who would be invited. You had a few dear friends from other families that you wanted to be a part of the wedding, and after assuring them that this is what you wanted, they readily agreed.

Yoongi, on the other hand, was a near nervous wreck. He had never seen himself getting married, and having to plan his part was about to drive him mad. Hoseok and Namjoon stepped in, helping him find the perfect tuxedo and even convincing him to get pampered the day before the wedding.

Three months later, the day before the wedding had come. You were taken by your best friends to a salon of Yoongi’s choosing, getting a massage, mani-pedi, and haircut and color. You then went to a small dinner and then ended the night with wine and talking about your lives up to this point. Tomorrow your life would change. You would be a married woman, with one of the largest mafia families under your belt, and you would become a Mafia Wife. When the evening hours brought the stars to the night sky, your heart beat a bit faster and your eyes closed to the sound of the world ending another day.

Yoongi spent the final night of bachelorhood with his men. Whiskey filled glasses and cigars. Laughter filled the air around them. Yoongi sat back, looking around the room as his friends, his brothers, wished him well for his future. The only thoughts that filled his mind were those of how you would look, walking down the aisle to become his wife. Would your first night together be like that of every other newlyweds, or would your journey start differently? Only tomorrow would tell. Just as the dawn began to break, did he part with his brothers and sleep for the last few hours as a single man.

Morning came bright and full of excitement. Your hair was styled to frame your face, highlighting your cheekbones and bringing your smile out. YOu makeup was soft and simple, your natural beauty glowing from within. You stood in your robe, gazing at your dress as it hung on the back of the bedroom door. The bodice was lace and sheer chiffon with intricate details that twisted and swirled down your arms. The skirt was a soft ivory that flared into s small train. The white lacing details flowed from waist to floor, the intricate design standing out against the ivory. Your shoes were white lace heels, adding a few inches to your height. Stepping into the dress, your were overcome with a sense of being the princess of your childhood dreams. Just outside the doors of your bedroom was your prince, waiting to steal you away to his castle and to live happily ever after with. Your maid of honor buttoned up the back of the dress, finalizing the last minute details of your makeup and hair. There was a knock at the door. You jumped in surprise, smiling softly when you heard Jimin on the other side.

“You about ready?” He asked as he stepped inside. His eyes misted over when he saw you. “Wow! Y/N, you look more beautiful than I could ever imagine. Yoongi is one lucky man.” He took your hands in his, kissing the backs gently before looking at you. “Let’s go get married, what do you say?” He chuckled when your cheeks blushed.

“Jimin, I hope you find someone that makes you happy and sweeps you off your feet. She’ll be one lucky lady to snag you.” You kissed his cheek, then draped your arm over his. With a deep breath, you began the walk to the back lawn where everyone had gathered to celebrate the union of you and Yoongi.

Yoongi stood at the bottom step of the gazebo. Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook were behind him, their tuxedos a toned down version of Yoongi’s. Yoongi looked every part the prince. His tuxedo hugged his hips, the vest accentuating his chest that was puffed out a bit with pride. The sort tails fell relaxed as the coat laid pen to exposed his pinned silver tie and matching silver shirt. The waistcoat had a silver chain draped across his waist at an angle. When he heard the wedding march music begin, he looked up from the ground. His hands fidgetted behind his back as he saw Jimin coming into view behind the bushes. When you came into view, his chest became tight with pride and adoration. You were stunningly gorgeous. He could even fight the tears that filled his eyes when your eyes met his. It was at that moment that he really felt his love for you swelling from deep with his soul. He had loved you through the years, but today, today that love changed to the feeling of being in love. He didn’t know if you felt the same way, but he knew he would wait an eternity for you. As you stepped closer, he reached out his hand, taking yours from Jimin as he handed you off to your future husband.

When you saw Yoongi, your breath hitched in your throat. He was the most handsome thing you had ever laid eyes on. His smile reached his eyes, that gummy grin full and bright. Your eyes met his tear filled ones, and you too began to fight back your own. The look in his eyes told you that he loved you, and you had to admit that over the last few months you had come to love him too. Even after everything, the truth you had learned, the hell and pain, he had never failed to be by your side. He had changed, grown and softened over the time you had been with him. He protected you, adored you, gave you everything you needed, and shared his secrets and dreams with you over these past few months. He wa patient, kind, caring when he wa around you, never pushing you into things, never questioning your feelings. He waited for you, and tonight you would tell him how your felt. That this was more than just a marriage of convenience, but a marriage of two lives, two hearts together. Today you would tell him that you loved him, after all these years, he would hear the words he had longed to hear form you.

You shared your own written vows to each other, you promised to honor and cherish, love always, lift each other up and support one another through the future that you would now share as one. You swore to stick together, no matter how hard things got, and to stand side by side, as equals and as partners.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Yoongi, you may now kiss your bride.” The officiant was barely finished when Yoongi took you in his arms, pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss. Cheers erupted from those attending, and you smiled into the kiss.”

“May I introduce Mr and Mrs. Min Yoongi.” Yoongi took your hand and led you from the gazebo and past your families and friends. As soon as you were out of view, he spun you around into his arms once again.

“I can’t wait to get alone with you. I don’t want to share you with anyone tonight. What do you say? We just run away and leave now?” He smiled down at you before kissing your cheek then forehead.

“Yoongi! We need to make an appearance, just for a bit, then I am all yours. I promise to make it worth your while.” You kissed his lips tenderly before taking his hand and walking with him into the reception. You greeted hundreds of people, danced your first dance as husband and wife, then danced with each of the six closest men to you and Yoongi. You ate, drank, then cut the cake, classically smearing your piece on his face as you fed it to him. You ended up with cake in your hair and face, the giggles filling the vast ballroom. When you saw Yoongi was ready to go, you thanked everyone for coming, announcing that you both felt the love that filled the room from everyone. You walked out as a toast was raised to a fruitful and happy future. Yoongi half drug you up the stairs to your shared bedroom, shutting the door with a slam behind him.

“We have one night before we leave for our honeymoon. How would you like to spend it?” He asked, his fingers nimbly undoing his vest and untying his tie. The two steps it took to close the distance had you looking up at him as he approached you. His hands slipped around to your back, undoing the buttons of your dress. You shuddered as you felt his skin touch yours. You flesh heated at his touch, your face flushing when he stared into your eyes.

“I. how do you want to spend it?” you stuttered as his fingers slipped the dress down your shoulders. It fell to the ground in a pool at your feet. His eyes looked over your now scantily clad body. Your curves teased him, your innocent look had his heart racing and mind thinking of all the things he could do to you. It was only when he really looked at you, the shy look on your face, that he took a step back.

“Are you?” he questioned. His hands dropped to his side when you quietly nodded.

“Yes.” you muttered shyly. Your face dropped when you saw his expression. You two had never discussed the fact that you were still a virgin. You had figured he was experienced, but it never came up during your many conversations.

“Shit. Really? You mean, you’ve never. Never done anything?”

“I’m not saying I’m a prude by any means. I have fooled around, just never went all the way. I actually wanted to save myself for my husband, which now, is you.” YOu let your head fall, looking at your feet as your nerves had you shuddering against your will. He had always been with experienced women. He was not used to having to be gentle when it came to sex. There were never feelings involved, just the physical aspect of it all. He also had never taken a woman’s virginity. This was an entirely new thing to him.

“Y/N, babe. Please don’t cry. I’m not mad or anything, just surprised. I think it’s a good thing you waited. I just don’t want to hurt you. What i mean by that is, I have, well ummm, not been used to having to be gentle. I’m not saying I can’t be, cause I can. I just want you to enjoy your first time. If you want to wait, we can. I’ll wait for you to be ready.”

“Oh I am ready!” you nearly shouted, taken aback by your own enthusiastic response.

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi@trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@zombiewerewolfqueen @crazybutcutecatlady @spicykoreantatertots

#mafia!yoongi #mafia bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff

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writing-with-dragons · 4 years

Text

So, I wrote a thing?

I have not written anything in YEARS so this will probably be dreadful and have an unforgivable amount of grammar and style errors. Oh, well.

So how do I explain this...? This is a kind-of Frozen inspired fix-it / re-imagining / alternative universe Reylo fanfiction?? I’m really just using the some of the SONGS from Frozen and not much of the story itself as inspiration. Frozen 2 and TROS are both available to watch at home now and I’ve been kind of bored during self-isolation and well, this is the result?

In this AU, Ben and Rey are only 5 years apart. Their storylines and the major events in their lives are even more closely linked together than they are in the original story. This is just the first part. I’m posting this now, as a sort of test I guess. If anyone actually likes it I might polish it up a bit and continue it? Here it is kiddos:

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The day Rey is born, on the other side of the galaxy and many planets away, 5 year-old Ben Solo feels a shift in the force. It was as though a wave was crashing over him. Overwhelming and drowning him in its intensity while also completely wrapping him in its welcoming warmth. Being only a child he is unable to put his feelings into words. He is both uncomfortable and fascinated by these new ripples in the usually still water-like presence of the force. His confusion leads to unprecedented tantrums and outbursts of the force from the usually sweet-tempered child, leaving his family concerned and starting to fear the worst. This disturbance in the force becomes the new normal for young Ben as he continues to grow, he subconsciously begins to accept and even expect this other presence in his mind.

Every time he mentions or tries to explain this foreign feeling to any of his family he can sense the fear and even grief it brings, so he begins to keep both the presence and his own feelings to himself. As he grows Ben discovers that as it turns out, his abilities in the force are even more rare and unusual than he had originally thought. They frighten and confuse his teachers, they alienate his classmates. His mother skirts around the issue, finding increasingly subtle ways of advising him to conceal his abilities as much as possible. Being a very astute little boy, Ben quickly realizes that his abilities are very much tied to his emotions and so the solution becomes quite obvious. In order to conceal his abilities he must first keep a firm hold on his emotions. It was simple, really: conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let it show. Very quickly, the young Solo becomes quite skilled at pretending and hiding behind a mask of self-control. A skill he would later learn was more of a family trait.

At around the age of eight, Ben was playing outside by himself as his mother kept a loose watch over him. Normally, he would make his toy ships fly around the garden using the force. He would stage what he believed to be elaborate battles, using small rocks as asteroids and his mother’s rose bushes as canyons and mountains to maneuver through as his nursery droid kept a detailed score of battles won and lost. But not today, not with his mother around. The young Solo knew that his frequent use of the force was unsettling even to his parents. He didn’t want to give her a reason to leave, not when this was one of the few times she decided to work at home rather than at her senate office. So he pretended to make repairs on his ships, like he had seen his uncle Chewie do on his father’s old ship so many times before. He muttered to himself about compressors, leaks and motivators while his mother worked on the seemingly endless documents she always had to prioritize.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw his mother suddenly stiffen and turn completely towards him. The rare gesture caught Ben’s full attention as he pretended not to notice the sudden shift of atmosphere in the quiet garden. He kept up the air of nonchalance as he heard his mother approach him and tried not to flinch as he felt her hand stroke his hair.

Slowly, he put down his toy x-wing as he turned to face his mother, trying to keep all apprehension from his face and maybe even smile at the touch. Turning to look at his mother, he could tell he was not the only one forcing nonchalance. His mother looked at him the way one looked at a wild animal they were being careful not to startle, fearing what might come from its agitation.

Her hand moved down to his cheek and stroked it as her eyes searched his and her mouth parted slightly. She was weighing her words, he realized. She was being careful around him, trying not to spook him. They always seemed to be walking circles around him as of late, it no longer surprised him. Finally she spoke, her voice saccharine, completely unlike her normal tone. “Sweetheart…” she said softly. Trepidation hiding behind her smile. “Do you remember a long time ago, you said you felt a presence? In your mind?”

Ben nodded, keeping his face as still as possible.

His mother nodded along with him before pausing and stroking his cheek with her thumb once again.

“Do you… do you still feel that presence?”

Yes. Everyday. That presence felt like a part of him now. Sometimes he felt it more strongly than others, but it was always there in the back of his mind. Like an imprint on his very soul. He wanted to tell her; he wanted to be honest, to be able to share all of his secrets with his mother. His fears of this presence and even how sometimes, the presence comforted him and eased him into sleep at night.

But he saw the fear in his mother’s eyes, felt it in her touch. He wanted her to tell him that whatever it was, they would figure it out together and that nothing would change. He wanted her to see his entire self and accept him, regardless.That wouldn’t happen, of course. His mother feared the presence more than he did, so did his father and his uncles. But they would never tell him that. And more importantly, they would never tell him why.

So he lied.

Forcing a smile, he shook his head.

“No. No, I don’t.”

The change was instantaneous. His mother’s shoulders relaxed and her smile seemed to finally reach her eyes as words left her lips in breathy sighs. “Good, that's good.” She said, leaving a kiss on his temple as she rose, turning her back to him and walking back towards her work.

Ben kept his eyes on her back for as long as he could before being caught and turning back to his toys. He traced the design on the x-wing with his finger as he finally felt his own tension leaving his shoulders.

He had done the right thing, he thought to himself. The truth would have only upset his mother, it would have made her turn away from him. People always fear what they cannot understand, and she wouldn’t understand. She couldn’t understand. Neither could his father, or uncle Chewie. Least of all uncle Luke.

No, he would keep the presence to himself for now. He scratched the paint on the miniature x-wing with his nail as he continued to ease his nerves. He had painted it to look just like his Uncle Luke’s old ship, or at least as close as he could make it. His uncle had long since turned in his flight helmet for jedi robes and all that remained of the young rebel pilot were the stories he would pry out of his father and a few blurry holos.

It was then that a sudden realization struck the young Solo. Just because he couldn’t share his secret with his uncle, it didn’t mean the legendary jedi couldn’t help him understand the mysterious presence.

The presence, he knew, was tied to the force. And so, in order to understand it, he had to first understand the force. He had always been fascinated by the myth of the jedi, the legend and the hope they embodied. And taking into account his heritage and family legacy, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to his parents if he suddenly showed an interest in learning more about the force and the jedi. He decided then and there that he would become one of his uncle’s apprentices, he would learn the way of the jedi and on the way he would learn the truth of this other presence in his mind.

*************************************************

Ben waited about a month after his encounter with his mother to mention his desire to learn the ways of the jedi to his parents. It was one of the very rare occasions in which his entire family was sitting down, sharing a meal together. His father and uncle Chewie had already had a few drinks, they were cracking jokes and challenging each other to not-so friendly games of Dejarik. His mother and uncle Luke, ever the more solemn members of the group, looked on with pleasant smiles on their faces as they quietly reminded the ex-smugglers just how badly their last Dejarik competition had turned out.

This was good, they were all enjoying themselves. This was the right time, they were happy and relaxed, there was no way they would say no!

Ben reached out his small hand and grabbed a hold of his uncle Luke’s sleeve, both he and his mother, who sat close to him as usual, turned to face him with comforting smiles. Yes, this couldn’t go wrong!

“What is it, Ben?” uncle Luke asked. His face was open and welcoming and it filled Ben with confidence.

“Um, I was thinking…,” his excitement was growing, he could feel the smile on his cheeks as he spoke and he met his uncle’s eyes with his own.

“I want to train to be a jedi! Just like you, Uncle!”

Ben regretted his words only seconds after they left his lips. There was another shift in the force, but this time the source was not unknown. It was more than obvious as the glass in his mother’s hand shattered, and the banter coming from his father and uncle screeched to a halt.

Ben let go of his uncle’s sleeve as though the fabric might burn him, clapped his hands together and placed them firmly on his lap. He stared at them as his mind raced, trying to figure out how to undo his mistake.

“I- I’m sorry… I didn’t mean. I just… I thought-”

Panic enveloped him, words stuck in his throat forming a lump that made it hard for him to breathe.

“I’m sorry”, his face was hot and his vision was getting blurry… was he crying?

A heavy hand was placed firmly on his shoulder, he willed himself to look up to his uncle Luke, his expression once open was now serious and questioning.

“Ben, are you feeling the pull of the force?” his uncle’s voice betrayed no emotion.

He wanted to be honest, he wanted to tell him the truth. But he could feel it, he could see it; their fear, their rejection just lurking on the horizon ready to tear him down. Ben’s eyes darted across his uncle's face, looking for any clue as to what the right answer might be but the jedi offered him no life line.

His mother’s voice broke through the thickening silence. “Is it…,” she swallowed heavily as she pushed the words out of her throat and Ben thought he saw her eyes watering. But no, it must have been a trick of the light. His mother was the mighty General Organa, she wouldn’t let her emotions overpower her.

“Is it the presence? Are you feeling that presence again? In your head?”

All eyes were on him, he could feel himself shrinking under the weight of their stares.

Ben started to speak, “I -”

His words died on his tongue as his father shot out of his chair, the shriek of wood over tile stunning the boy into silence.

“Absolutely not.” Han spoke out harshly, he was looking directly at his uncle Luke. Ben had never seen his father turn so serious. Han’s hand was twitching over the spot where his blaster used to reside and immediately Ben felt as though he was no longer part of the conversation but rather, just a spectator.

His mother’s hand was resting on her forehead now, shadowing the rest of her face. She looked so prematurely tired, as if she knew the conversation that followed would use whatever strength she had left.

“Han... “ she started, already sounding out of breath. “Please.”

His father bristled, and turned his attention towards her as uncle Luke kept his eyes firmly on the ex-smuggler. Uncle Chewie stood slowly and silently behind his friend, placing a paw on his shoulder, clearly trying to act as a calming force during the increasingly tense situation. His father’s temper and volume of his voice only seemed to rise. “No. No, we talked about this Leia! We agreed! A long time ago, when he first started…” His eyes flickered quickly towards his son, never actually looking at him as he struggled to find the right words.

“When he first started showing signs…” he said, his tone now more resentful than enraged.

Showing signs. He spoke of his abilities as though they were a disease, something he should be cured of, expunged from his body like a plague. Ben knew his father was not intuned with the force like his mother and uncle Luke; he generally avoided talking about the subject all together. They bonded over different things, like flying and ships even games and stories. It had never occurred to him, until that moment, that his father might have actually hated his force abilities; that his father could actually hate a part of him. Ben felt completely stupefied by this realization, the conversation being carried out in front of him started going in and out of focus.

Ben registered Luke’s voice in the distance, “Showing signs? Showing promise is more like it.”

Han’s lip twitched as he consciously tried to ignore him, refusing to acknowledge his words and keeping his stare directed at Leia. Han’s voice picked up once more, “We agreed we would try to give him as normal a life as possible. Away from all this... “ he waved his hands wildly in the direction of Luke, “mystical force mumbo jumbo!”

His mother’s head snapped up as her hand slammed down on the table. She rose from her chair, her voice now matching her husband’s.

“Well clearly, that HASN’T WORKED!” she screamed, while aimed a well-manicured finger towards Ben; pointing but not looking.

Han walked towards her, towering over her smaller stature, “You cannot be seriously considering this.”

“What other choice do we have, Han? He’s not…” her voice grew quieter for a moment. “He’s not like other children, Han. He needs guidance, a kind of guidance that neither one of us can give him.”

Ben watched as his father raked his fingers through his greying hair. Slowly, Han looked up to Luke, giving him an expectant stare. Luke simply raised an eyebrow in response. An exasperated sigh escaped his father as he scratched his stubbled chin. “Well?” he questioned. “Can you do it? Can you promise me Luke -”

The jedi master interrupted him, “I would not have made the offer all those years ago if I wasn’t sure.” Luke stood up slowly, “I can train him, put him on the right path.”

His uncle’s words started to sink in, all those years ago, he could have started his training years ago but his parents had forbidden it! He could have been closer to understanding the presence, he could have been feeling less alone, like less of an absolute freak all this time but his parents had kept him from others like him. And what’s worse, they had done it on purpose. Ben knew his uncle Luke had other students but he had always assumed they were much older, that he would have to wait a couple more years to even be considered a proper apprentice. But no, his uncle had offered to take him under his wing years ago! A cold resentment started to wash over him as he looked up to adults surrounding him. Ben had never felt smaller than he did at that moment with those four towering figures casting shadows over him, deciding his fate without giving him any say, as though he wasn’t even in the room. He felt angry and powerless, and in a moment of desperation he reached out to the mysterious presence, hoping to find some semblance of comfort.

He closed his eyes and the loud voices around him began to fade away. He knew they were still arguing with each other, he could hear their screaming but he was no longer listening to their words. He barely registered his uncle Luke smugly stating, “If anyone can help him, it’s me. And you know it.” Then, it all faded and he was sucked into what seemed to him like a whole other realm. He felt the presence all around him, it covered every part of him. For the first time in his young life, Ben Solo felt truly safe and comforted. For the first time, he did not feel alone.

And then he heard it, a voice. Sweet and innocent, like a child’s.

“Aah, aaah…”

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done-mer-moved · 4 years

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i Also don't know ur OCs but: 1, 4, 5, 8, 15, 22, 23, 24, 25, 33, 42, 50, 54, 56, 61, 73, and 78 please? -drunkmiraak

[[LKdghlkj sorry this took so long!! I got super sick so it sat half-done in my drafts for 84 years. @drunkmiraak]]

Oh boy oh boy oh boy!

So, while I’ve got half a billion OCs by technicality, my main idiot is Azaryne Redoran who takes the role of the Vestige in the ESO story I write with @sinnaroll by the name of Soulbound. (Ima also just casually pass on these questions for her to answer in reply for D'tannen, who is the other main character in this thingy so you can get to know him too!)

Thank you so much for asking!! Here we gooooo~!

1. What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Az’s main nickname is the self-explanatory name shortening from “Azaryne” to “Az”. But D'tannen has kinda stuck on jabbing him with “pretty boy” to the point where it’s basically a nickname lol

Also, in-game plot reasons dictate that the Five Companions also know him by “Vestige”, much to his dismay. It’s what the Scrolls named him by, so the Prophet tends to slip and refer to him that way, and the others kinda do too by proxy for a while. However, after Az makes it clear that he’s really uncomfortable with it, Lyris and Sai specifically make a point not to call him that.

4. What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC?

So I memed twice earlier before I got to these questions lasdgkh gomen, but my goofier answers are Dorito Shape and Resting Trouble Face

But more seriously, one of his major notable physical features is that he’s pretty much covered in tattoos from his neck down past his waist and starting down his legs. They’re being redesigned from scratch right now because I can’t ever allow myself to have characters that can be adequately represented in game i guess lmfao but here’s the in-game tattoos with some photo-editing for an earlier visual draft on where they might cut off—

It’s a total personal headcanon but I decided that since the in-game body marking style was pretty clearly influenced by Maori-style kiriituhi, that Az’s tattoos are also highly significant in a similar way. Each piece symbolizes or connects to either his ancestry, or his own life and skills and milestones. His designs weren’t finished, but have the indication of where they were meant to continue as he hit new points in his life. Unfortunately, since his life was cut so short, that’s as far as they ever get.

On a lighter note, he also has pretty big ears?? Lmao

5. What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

He likes clothes that are comfortable but flattering. He knows what his assets are and enjoys looking well-dressed – a bit of a remnant from his previous life as a noble.

He tends to favor sleeveless tops and cool-colored fabrics with neutral accents. He particularly likes blues of all shades, and some purples. He’ll also occasionally wear red. On his travels he wears leather armor that fits within these features, and notably has a Khajiiti-style jack because he liked the aesthetic of it when he saw the style in a tailor’s display.

When he’s dressing up, he’ll wear more flowing robe-like attire. He had more reason to do so while he was alive, and at the time it was usually specifically Dunmeri cultural clothing. Over the course of Soulbound, he only dresses up the once so far for a date with Sinna. That takes place in Orsinium, so it’s Orcish formal wear.

Even if the situation’s not a fancy one, though, he’ll usually still wear kohl eyeshadow, which D’tannen gives him shit for, of course lol.

8. How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like?

Az’s voice is light, crisp, warm and friendly. It’s between tenor and baritone in range, and the expected Dunmeri accent. He’s well spoken, and you can tell he’s well educated, but his phrasing isn’t snobbish or condescending, and there’s a firm sort of sincerity to his speech, even when he’s being playful.

15. What was your OC’s childhood like?

Az’s childhood was a little complicated in that it came with a great deal of privilege, but also a great deal of expectation. He was noble-born— the eldest son of House Redoran’s Archmaster— so before he was even old enough to have an awareness of the world, his parents had already decided many things about his future.

In spite of both this and the constant pressure of the Redoran philosophy that “a light, careless life is not worth living”, Az had an untamable spirit that continuously tried his parents’ patience. As a child, his impulsivity, tendency to bend the rules, and headstrong defiance on points he fundamentally disagreed with led to frequent discipline, and a particularly strained relationship with his father.

Over time, he begrudgingly learned to play by the rules, but would still disappear from time to time for brief moments of freedom.

He had two younger siblings— Eralane and Meril, and they had very close and loving relationships with each other. Az always did his bes to see right by them, so they felt safe in knowing that he would always have their backs. They didn’t ever keep much from him, as a result, and Meril specifically often looked up to him as a role model.

By the time he was fourteen, he’d been arranged into a political betrothal to solidify clan relations within the House, and it was decided that the two would be married in 16 years when they were both fully grown adults. Neither he nor his intended fiancée were really comfortable with this, but even as young as they were, they knew it was a sticky situation far bigger than just the two of them. So, they quickly established that, future aside, they didn’t feel entitled to each other’s feelings. They would both rather have a straightforward, honest friendship than try to force things between them.

Because of this, there was no tension when other chemistries developed in later years. Instead, they continued to ignore their inevitable marriage, and turned their performative date nights into formally-dressed vent and gossip sessions. Using the expectations put upon them to their advantage as they got older, they also happily became each other’s alibi when either of them needed time away with other people.

22. Who is/are your OC’s closest friend(s)?

Since arriving back on Tamriel, he’s been shuffling company a lot on his journeys. He’s also pretty introverted, despite being fairly socially adept. He doesn’t have any real connections from his previous life anymore, but has met many people and made casual friends and positive acquaintances with a solid chunk of new ones.

In terms of more serious friendships, D’tannen is honestly the closest, which is kind of incredible honestly laksdhg. But, they travel with each other day in and day out, so there’s a tight bond there that’s developing fast.

He’s also particularly attached to Irvane, who was his first friend since coming back to Nirn.

23. Who are the people your OC surrounds him/herself with?

Along the same lines as I just said above, he’s never in one place for very long right now, so he is constantly around new people. His kind heart and need for hands-on activity means he tends to gravitate toward people he can help in some way or another. His empathy and sense of honor do most of the weeding. He’d rather be around someone who has shown good intentions, even if they are rough around the edges, than someone who rests on the laurels of past deeds and judges others against themselves.

24. Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates?

It’s pretty damn hard to make this list, at least if you have any sort of good bone in your body. He’s really very empathetic and patient, and will forgive so quickly once he feels amends have been made that it’s honestly gotten him into trouble.

But, even with that said, he’s got some strong resentments for some strong reasons… Notably: Mannimarco and his Worm Cult, ol’ Molag Bal himself, and pretty much anyone who allies with them… Malacus is another name that quickly finds its way on the list under “kill unflinchingly” as he becomes closer with D’tannen.

25. If your OC has a soulmate, who is it?

oh my god im so sorry this joke is just right here its too easy to grab i can’t help myself –

Doesn’t a soulmate require… a soul…?

33. What subjects interested your OC?

He’s always done whittling as a hobby, so he’s currently kinda advancing on that in woodcarving. Since he was also trained in maintaining and repairing his own weapons and armor in life, that’s carried over into an interest in actually crafting weapons on his own. He does wind up making his own bow way later on, and even spends a bit of time with the Morkul Orcs in the Orsinium arc learning to do some metalwork.

42. What makes your OC happy?

He’s very attached to his dog Blackjack, and the mutt can always seem to pick him up when he’s otherwise faltering. He loves whittling and tends to carve little objects to occupy his mind. Complicatedly, D’tannen makes him happy as well, lol.

He also tends to have moments where he finds happiness in specific things, but the emotion related feels strange or misplaced. When this happens, it’s usually because whatever he’s experiencing— a particular sight or smell or flavor— is something that ties directly to a positive memory he’s lost from his life before. A sort of unwitting-nostalgia that’s hard to pinpoint or replicate.

As a general rule, he’s pretty easily contented. He lives very much in the moment, which combined with his adaptability and natural optimism, means that he’s usually able to find some small spark of cheer for himself anywhere he goes. He’s always wanted the freedom of life as an adventurer, so if circumstances were different, this would honestly be an ideal life for him. However, it’s pretty dampened by the stress of current events, along with the nagging restless and hollow feeling of having lost his soul.

50. What secrets does your OC have?

This is a bit of a tricky one. He’s not a super open person, but he also doesn’t like to lie to cover things up. However, there are many things about his life at present that he finds he has to dance around giving knowledge of. In some ways, the very nature of his current existence is something he keeps tucked away. It’s not very easy to explain to anyone, so he’s grateful that for the majority of the people he interacts with, direct questions never really come up.

In the second act of Soulbound, however, after he becomes very close with Sinna, Sinna asks him directly for his story. He dodges it for quite some time before finally giving him the details, but he’s kind of nervous at that point to state it. He doesn’t know how Sinna might react. But, he lays it out on the table anyway: He’s not truly alive. He’s what remained of himself after he was sacrificed by cultists to Molag Bal. His soul was stolen, and he has only vague pieces of memories from when he lived. And now, he’s been prophesied to assist in stopping a daedric invasion.

Sinna’s response was heartfelt. But, nobody could blame him for the fact that all he could manage for a brief moment after listening was “Wild….”

54. Does your OC think with his/her head or heart?

Heart… His upbringing tried its best to instill an ability to detach for the sake of duty, but honestly, he’s never been able to. Even when he knows there’s no way he can avoid a difficult situation, and is able to approach it tactically, emotion will be gnawing at him all the while, and he’ll be completely staunch on the things he believes the most if those interfere with the “logical” course of action.

56. What are some of your OC’s strengths?

He’s honestly got a wide range of skills in a lot of ways. He’s a highly skilled archer, and has a very well-rounded set of combat and survival skills that have been hardwired into him since a very young age. He’s also got a great sense of aesthetics, which he likes to express in woodworking and whittling when he can. He’s intelligent, but a lot of his skill specifically in emotional/social intelligence comes from his powerful empathy, and how dramatic swings of circumstances in his life have given him many perspectives to draw from, even subconsciously through the massive amnesia he struggles with. He’s incredibly adaptable. He’s intensely loyal, courageous, and firmly optimistic even through the worst circumstances. He’s got an incredibly strong character to him, and it tends to be both charming and inspiring, even when he doesn’t recognize that he’s producing these effects himself.

61. What is the general impression your OC gives other people?

Honest. Empathetic and selfless. Good-natured, down to earth, and a bit wild-spirited. Patient, incredibly forgiving. Helpful. Playfully charming. A protector. A defender of good.

73. What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment?

He likes art, stories, nature, animals, and adventure. Crafting from time to time as well.

78. What is your OC’s favorite time of day?

Late morning. The point in the day when you’re up and awake and setting off. The whole day lies in wait before you, and you’re ready to meet it

#eso #the vestige #dunmer #redoran #the elder scrolls online #drunkmiraak #thank you again!! <3 #az #azaryne #soulbound

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memoirsverse · 5 years

Text

Dresden Files/The Authors of Paradise: Dark Days

This is a crossover fan novel featuring my own characters and world of The Authors of Paradise, blended with those of Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files. This derivative crossover work is being written for the sheer fun of it, with no financial gain. Jim Butcher owns Harry Dresden, The Dresden Files, and all associated characters. I own Evelyn Alvar, Arabella Thorne, Thornebridge Manor, The Authors of Paradise, and all associated characters. I’ve taken the two worlds, mashed them together, and whipped up this meandering thingamabob. Mmm, tasty.

This novel is rated M for Mature, because it’ll get bloody. This chapter isn’t bloody, though; just dreadful.

i. Evelyn

I emerged in a room that shifted and warped, always in motion, always changing, and turned my attention to the figure standing at the far end. A softly glowing, color-changing mist curled around my ankles as I walked past impossible staircases and other Mobius-like structures, approaching the figure. It stood dispassionate, sexless, an endless void that glimmered with distant stars. Its name was Thornebridge, and this was the form it took in this place.

If I looked too deeply into that void, I would be drawn in, tumbling helplessly for eons as every potentiality, every reality, every actuality, every universe seared itself indelibly onto my conscious mind. I would know the truth about myself if I did that. I didn’t want to know. I most certainly did not want to know. I was confident it would drive me mad.

My bare feet settled into place, concealed by the mist, as I stopped directly in front of Thornebridge. I was wearing the filmy white thing that I always wore when I Traveled, and hair the color of moonlight tumbled over my marble-toned shoulders. I’d seen my reflection before in this form. I looked like a marble statue with intensely purple-jewel eyes, inhuman and profoundly alien. I had grown accustomed to it, but I still didn’t understand the why of it.

“You have something to tell me?” I ventured finally. I would never be entirely comfortable talking with Thornebridge-- if talking was the right word. The entity had its own language, one that didn’t often translate well into English, or any other language with actual words.

The response was instantaneous. From out of the mist, a great tower pushed its way out of the hidden ground, rumbling like thunder as it grew to a great height. Dust and debris rained down from it as it stretched higher and higher like some kind of monolithic tree, until its top vanished into the star-studded, nebula-swirled darkness above. A pair of winged figures circled the tower, armed with swords, their wings beating the air into a whirlwind as they flew around and around and around it.

A low, animalistic growl surged behind me, and I turned to see a man dressed in robes and expensive finery, crowned by four inverted pentacles that spun around his head. The man looked like a photograph in negative exposure, black and white, light where he should be dark and dark where he should be light. He ran at the tower and leaped on it, clawing at its base, digging to its foundations, tearing off huge chunks of stone and dropping them into a large canvas bag he carried slung over one shoulder. The two angels didn’t seem to see him, continuing their high-altitude patrol.

I sighed. The overall message was obvious, but the details were still obscured. “Who’s attacking you?” I asked.

The robed man vanished from his place by the tower and appeared before me so suddenly that I took a couple of steps backwards. I took a breath to steady myself and turned my eyes to Thornebridge. “But who is he?”

The human-shaped starry void said nothing. Of course. It stood still, its head turned towards me.

I could look into its void and See...

Shaking my head, I motioned with my hand to the diorama. “If you want our help, you’re going to have to be a bit more clear than that. Okay?”

Thornebridge just watched me. This was apparently the entirety of the message; I wasn’t going to get any more unless I Looked.

I ran my hands through my hair and sighed again. “All right, fine. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Thornebridge nodded, and the scene vanished, replaced once again with the Escher-like environment. Closing my eyes, I let myself phase through the layers of reality, back to whatever dimension my Traveling form was held in. I felt the threads of silken energy close around me like a cocoon, and my conscious awareness faded to gentle black before becoming aware of the weight and solid mass of my everyday form.

I lay there for a minute, eyes closed, letting my consciousness re-align with physical reality. Slowly, my senses re-connected and began to filter information back to me: the lingering scent of incense, the soothing flow of the meditative music that I had set to play in a loop, the spongy feel of the mat between my body and the hardwood floor, the slight chill in the room that raised gooseflesh over my arms. It was September, and morning, and my stomach informed me that I had not yet eaten breakfast.

Opening my eyes, I stretched, then rose to my feet. The room my housemate Arabella and I had designated for communication sessions with Thornebridge was sparsely decorated with a couple of small tables, a bowl for incense, a scattering of candles, a few carefully placed crystals, some calming prints framed on the walls, a small rock garden, and an iPod set up with a meditation playlist. It was simple and zen, intended to cultivate the kind of relaxation needed to put one’s self into a deep trance.

I turned off the iPod, blew out the candles and the incense, and left the room in the heart of the house, winding my way through corridors that never seemed to follow the same path. I had gotten lost on multiple occasions while trying to find my way through the less stable portions of the house, until I had learned to open my senses enough to navigate my way to the space Arabella and I lived day-to-day.

I saw the door, and my senses told me it was the one that led to the mundane part of the house. It was always a different door, sometimes massive and intricately carved, sometimes simple and rustic. Today, it was narrow, arterial red, and half my height, sporting an ornate silver knob. I turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped out of the dizzying instability of Thornebridge Manor and into the dimensionally stable, comforting warmth of the house’s living space.

The difference in energy always takes a moment or two to adjust to. It’s a little bit like waking up from a dream, as reality re-establishes itself around you, solid and fixed. After taking a few slow breaths and doing a little grounding exercise by placing my palm flat against a wall and feeling its solidity, I moved on, making my way to the kitchen.

_________________________________________

The coffee tasted hot and sweet as I sipped it from my favorite old coffee mug, which depicted a calico cat similar in appearance to my own Nimue, batting playfully at a Victorian-style fairy. The house was strangely quiet and felt vast and empty; Arabella had left town to attend some sort of bookseller’s conference. Slowly, I ate a breakfast of eggs, biscuits, and fruit, as I held my battered, leatherbound notebook in my left hand and read over the notes I had written on this morning’s communication with Thornebridge. A well-worn deck of tarot cards, its colors faded and its edges tattered, rested beside the notebook.

I took a bite of scrambled eggs, set my fork down, and flipped through the cards, withdrawing the Tower, the Emperor, Temperance, and the Four of Pentacles, laying them out on the table beside my plate. Chewing thoughtfully, I studied the cards, static images embodying the living diorama I had seen in the communication room, but I came no closer to achieving clarity. The only thing I knew for certain was that someone was attacking Thornebridge, someone Arabella and I-- the Guardians of Thornebridge Manor-- had not yet seen or encountered.

That... was not good. There was an endless list of reasons why that was not good. But I still had precious little to go on. It would be nice, I thought, if the damn house would learn to speak English.

An alarm sounded on my phone, alerting me that it was time to get ready for work, so I put my plate in the dishwasher, returned to my bedroom to dress, made sure my cat and Arabella’s dog Ghost had plenty of fresh water, checked on Virgil the ferret in his little house, and hurried out the door to drive to the shop. There wasn’t a lot I could do until I had more information, and I certainly wasn’t going to figure out the puzzle sitting here all day.

_________________________________________

I own a little shop called Boreas Curios, Antiques, and Odditites. It’s a quaint little place, sharing a storefront with a pizza parlor and a jewelry store, and is situated directly across the street from Arabella’s place of business, an antique bookstore that she inherited from its former owner when he retired. It was something akin to kismet that the two of us spent years working in these places, across the street from one another, before we met for the first time through completely unrelated events. And it wasn’t for a lack of browsing each others’ shops either-- I love books, and Arabella is a bona fide pack rat and loves to collect all sorts of strange and wonderful things. And vice versa. We just always managed to visit when neither of us was in our respective shop.

The shop was slow throughout the morning, giving me time to sort through inventory and clean a little bit as I tried to shake the lingering feeling that something wasn’t quite right. I chalked it up to the vagaries of my communication session with Thornebridge and carried on. A few minutes to eleven, Violet breezed in through the front door, smiling brightly at me with her black-lipsticked lips as we greeted each other. Her hair was short and spiky, black tipped with blue, and she wore black-and-white striped stockings on her arms and legs, a green corset, a knee-length black tulle skirt, and a pair of worn old army boots. She waved at me with a black-fingernailed hand and disappeared into the back of the shop, re-emerging a short time later wearing a blue apron that absolutely clashed with her getup.

I didn’t mind her eccentric way of dressing; in fact, I felt it fit the atmosphere of the shop perfectly. She cashed in to her register, and then set about helping me sort through a box of mini-Furbies that had been programmed to say diabolical things. The store rang out with sinister phrases such as, “I am Lord Beelzebub, hear me rooooar!” and “Sacrifice your virgins on the altar of the Goat King!” for several minutes as we inserted batteries, cataloged everything in the system, and put the Furbies in a wire bin near the register. The Diabolical Furby Collection was Violet’s idea, and I thought it fit nicely in with the theme of Strange and Bizarre I had cultivated in the shop. After all, I kept a constant supply of haunted dolls on a shelf situated on the back wall. People loved creepy things. They always sold well.

Right around 1:45, just as the lunch rush had mostly dissipated, the sky went dark, not gradually, but in a quick fade, as if somebody had used a dimmer switch to turn off the sun, cloaking the world in night.

Violet, looking up from where she was ringing up one of the last customers in the store, frowned. “Um. Evelyn?” She paused, then added, “Did somebody forget to pay the sunlight bill?” The joke fell flat as her voice trembled a bit.

I was busy staring through the glass door, blinking in confusion. The slight uneasiness I had felt earlier amplified itself, evolving into the kind of dread that speeds up the heart rate and sends butterflies swarming through the stomach. Violet clearly felt the same, but it was probably just from the inexplicable celestial event. Right?

“What in the blazes...” I murmured. Casting a glance at Violet and her equally confused and anxious customer, I strode across the shop and out the door, peering up at the sky, searching for the sun. Violet joined me a minute or two later, after shooing the customers out and locking the door.

“Is... is it an eclipse?” she asked, doubt slowing her words. I shook my head, but pulled my phone from my apron and began pulling up an online almanac to be sure.

“Probably not,” I said. “Wouldn’t have gone dark that quickly.” I scanned the almanac long enough to determine that there had been no eclipses predicted for the day, and then my phone went dark.

So did the rest of the block. All around us, the lights illuminating the buildings flickered out, plunging the world into heavy darkness. Even the cars on the street died, rolling to a stop. I heard the metallic clatter of a car wreck somewhere in the near distance, and somebody screamed.

The creeping dread flared into visceral, heart-pounding terror, and for a moment, I was lost in it. I wanted to fall to my knees, pull at my hair, and moan with it. I wanted to dig into the ground and hide from the darkness, to curl into myself, to lose myself to the fear, to be consumed by it. It coiled around me, a primal, atavistic horror that threatened to strangle the life from me. I was barely aware of Violet next to me, frozen and trembling with the same terror.

A long moment passed, and the dread eased of its own accord. It still lingered, pulsing softly on a psychic wavelength, but it no longer threatened to drive us mad. I found I had indeed fallen to the ground, and slowly got to my hands and knees, reaching out to help Violet to her feet. The girl was still shaking, her blue eyes wide in the gloom, but she let me stand her up and steady her.

“What was that?” she cried, but then seemed to realize how near to panic she was edging, and took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She leveled her gaze on me and said, “I’m going to guess you’ll be leaving the shop to me for a bit.”

I hadn’t ever told Violet about my other job, the one where I worked for the sentient spirit of a dimensionally transcendent and unstable house, but the girl wasn’t stupid. She’d picked up on the fact that I had a tendency to deal with the out-of-the-ordinary things that seemed so often to happen around me. I sighed and ran my hand through my short, wavy hair, a deep chestnut with hints of red and a stark contrast to the flowing silver locks of my Traveling form.

I turned on my heels and strode around to my car, a 90s-era silver Accord parked in the employee-designated spaces in the parking lot. Violet followed. Unlocking the trunk with the key set I had in my jeans pocket, I removed the emergency bag I kept packed and ready. “Close the shop,” I told her, then frowned. I had been about to tell her to pack up and go home, but she lived several miles away and it seemed as if the cars had all died too. “Stay indoors, keep the doors locked, and watch for looters.”

“That baseball bat still under the counter?” she asked.

“Yep,” I said, and paused. If that feeling of dread had been city-wide, it meant we’d be dealing with mass panic, and panicked people can be violent. “But don’t try to be heroic, okay? If anybody gets violent, just get on out of there. Find somewhere safe. There will probably be some sort of organizational effort to keep things under control, maybe a place for people to gather for shelter, a church or something. Try to find it if you can’t stay in the shop.”

“Gotcha.”

From the bag I removed a pair of silver rods, slender, about the length of my forearm, and etched with runes, then slung the bag over my shoulder.

Then, taking a deep breath, I stepped into the darkness.

#not roleplay #ok to reblog but don't try to roleplay with it please!#so this is the first in what will hopefully turn into a series #in which i'll explore other tAoP characters as well #this chapter is a doozy at over 2600 words #other chapters will probably be shorter #maybe #next chapter will be from Harry's POV.#fic #Dark Days

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mayor-crumblepot · 6 years

Note

Honeythief by Halou + Valeyne

i’ve literally never heard of this song before, and it totally isn’t my style, but i definitely can go places with it for sure.

Bruce will never admit it, but he knows that he’s a control freak. Most people are more than happy to let him have his way— He watched his parents die, it only makes sense that he’ll act this way.

There’s something to be said about the fact that people are only willing to indulge him after he lost his parents, after he sat in an alleyway with his mother’s blood on his hands; he tries not to think about it. Instead, he keeps everything he loves under lock and key, under intense security, lest he lose that too.

It isn’t materialism, it’s self preservation.

And, you know, it works. More or less.

Bruce still has his parents’ room exactly how it was the night he lost them— his mothers’ second choice dress is laying over the seat of her vanity, his father’s box of cufflinks is sitting open on the dresser. It feels easier this way, easier to pretend, in the middle of the night, that they’re just out late at a gala, alive and well, laughing and very much in love.

(Bruce knows this is unhealthy. He knows that he shouldn’t be pretending, he knows that he needs to face the truth and accept that nothing will ever be the same. Still, sometimes, he finds himself in their bed, all these years later.)

He knows that he’s too old for dramatics. Alfred will remind him of it, most days, albeit gently.

The only thing that Bruce has left that he doesn’t protect is his own life.

That choice, in and of itself, counts as the most extensive form of dramatics that Bruce can think of. Nobody can ever tell him what to do with his life, though, so he lives on the edge and accepts that this might be the only way he can accept what’s happened to him.

If he tempts fate, forever and ever, with the offering of his own life, it’s the only way he’ll be able to balance the scales. If the universe could take him away at any time, but it chooses not to, that’s the only way he can feel like he’s truly supposed to still be alive.

This is hope he copes.

And then, he meets Jerome.

He meets Jerome, a boy who burns down the house to get to the basement, born from violence from all angles and a missing sense of empathy. A boy whose entire identity is built around how much damage he can cause, about how many lives he can ruin, how many nightmares he can make true.

Jerome wants to thrust the entire world into darkness and Bruce wants to understand. It’s a wreck, and it’s doomed from the start. They both know it, they both know that if they keep circling they’re going to end up together in the same grave, bleeding all over the stones and one another— they’ll rot together, and they don’t mind.

So it goes.

Every time Bruce sees Jerome, it seems like there’s more blood on his hands. Ultimately, he doesn’t know what he’s expecting— Jerome is a criminal, a murderer and a vagrant, a curse with legs. The list goes on, and even though every title added is more cruel than the next, it all sounds like poetry to Bruce.

“He’s fucking crazy,” Selina tells him, dirty shoes propped up on the vintage lounge, “he doesn’t deserve your time.”

“Sometimes, I think what happened to me made me crazy, too,” he can’t face her, instead presses his nose further into the books lining the walls. “I don’t know if he and I are very different.”

The sound that Selina makes is full of aggression, a snort so hard that Bruce thinks it might hurt her. “Just because you’re both fucked up doesn’t mean you’re the same,” she takes a handful of what’s in the candy dish and then makes for the window, “he handles pressure a whole lot differently than you do, B.”

Upon reflection, Bruce realizes that she’s right. Jerome isn’t a mirror, he’s an inversion. He’s the same image cropped and reversed, doused in blood and godlessness— Bruce wonders how he’d look under similar conditions. What imagery would he cling to, who would he be casting the blame onto; who made him what he is?

Faintly, he wonders if Jerome knows the answers, himself. Probably not.

“You’re just going to kill me, without an audience?” Bruce asks Jerome, head held high but still not tall enough to hold his unfocused gaze.

“I was thinkin’ we could get a little time alone,” Jerome chucks his knife somewhere, likely landing it in the stomach of one of his various goons, “and who said anything about killing you?”

“I mean,” as the hired muscle leaves the room, Bruce wonders exactly how Jerome managed to gather all these people up, “the knife to my throat had a certain implication.”

“There were plans, I’ll admit,” he settles into the tattered remains of the couch, as if he were in his own home, “but you’ve got this— you’ve got chutzpah.”

“You don’t pronounce the ‘c’ like that,” Bruce tells him, still standing against his desk, fingers running over the new cuts on the surface, “it’s all wrong.”

“If you come sit down, I’ll let you tell me all about it.” And of course, Bruce does.

Jerome is convinced to leave Bruce out of his plans, this time. He leaves Alfred unconscious in the kitchen, makes his men put back most of what they had intended to steal, and Bruce thanks him.

“Next time,” Jerome says, waggling another knife in his hand as he leaves, “I might not be so charitable.”

To his credit, Jerome holds true to his word. Barely a few months later, Bruce is hauled off by idiots in stupid clown masks, dumped in a warehouse, and left to wait. It wouldn’t be the first time that Bruce is taken against his will, or the last; the entire city knows how wealthy he is, and it’s his own fault for walking around the narrows without any kind of protection.

“What a difference a few months makes,” Jerome says, face scarred but still mostly intact. “My, how you’ve grown.”

“You haven’t,” it’s hard for Bruce to inject an edge into his voice when he’s tied up, but he tries his best.

“Don’t give me an attitude,” he warns, looking over at the men who brought Bruce to him. “What happened here?” There’s blood dripping from Bruce’s nose, a wound on his otherwise clean skin, “Did the boys not behave?”

“I also had a Rolex on when they picked me up,” Bruce isn’t all that sure if the question was serious, but he figures it’s worth the effort to be honest.

“Oh, poor baby,” with a gesture of his hand, Jerome has someone marching over to his kidnappers, violently killing them. “You won’t be getting that back.”

“Figures,” he tries not to seem afraid when Jerome comes close to untie him, tries not to focus on the fact that he smells like blood and crisp dollar bills. “What do you want?”

“Rude. Can’t I just want to see you?” The air leaves Bruce’s lungs, like he’s been thrown off of the clocktower in the middle of town. That can’t be all this is.

“You don’t have to kidnap me to get a date,” he counters, stretching his arms out and popping the kinks from his joints, “you could just ask.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, darling,” the term of endearment doesn’t sound quite right on Jerome’s tongue, but Bruce is willing to listen to it every day, “but I’m not exactly a public figure. More like public enemy.”

“You could always ask for my phone number—”

“As if you’d give it to me—”

“Give me a pen.” They sit for a moment, frozen, as if waiting to call each others’ bluff but the time never comes. Jerome has a sharpie tucked behind his ear and he holds it out to Bruce with an unsteady hand. On the back of one of his business cards, Bruce scribbles his cell phone number, signing it with a handsome flourish of a signature.

Maybe it’s because Bruce has never had a “proper” relationship, but he welcomes Jerome’s off-color courtship. Deep down, he disagrees with everything Jerome is doing, and he knows that if their lives were normal, he’d be fully in opposition. Right now, though, he knows that he has no room to judge. Instead, he only hopes that things can get better.

It’s a lofty dream, but he’s willing to try.

At night, on the phone, he listens to Jerome argue with himself over plans, listens to him talk through ideas and designs for weapons. It all sounds very childish, but he can just as easily hear the slight tinge of genius. Jerome plans his way around technological failures, builds things with his bare hands, plans a night’s mayhem only hours before it’s set to begin.

And one night, it goes wrong. It goes wrong, and there’s fire, brimstone, police, and the threat of death, so Bruce does something monumentally stupid; “You can come here,” he says, holding his phone against his shoulder and drawing a robe around himself, “come here, right now. Please.” And Jerome does, mainly out of desperation.

“I’m not afraid to die,” Jerome says, bleeding on Bruce’s floor, “but I don’t want to go out without a bang.”

“Be quiet,” dragging Jerome through the empty house, Bruce repeatedly has to shush him, “Alfred will kill me if he sees you.”

“How do you balance the risk?” Bruce asks, rinsing dirt and debris out of open wounds. “How do you decide what’s worth doing?”

“You’re adorable,” through gritted teeth, Jerome tries to seem as though he isn’t in pain, “thinking that’s what I do.”

“What, then?” His cheeks burn, bottom lip caught between his teeth, “You just do everything you think of?”

“It’s all chaos, sweetheart,” Jerome is grinning, eerie and just a step away from the abyss, “and that’s what I’m about.”

“Chaos needs to wait,” snippily, Bruce gives Jerome a heavy eye roll, “for as long as you can stand it. You’re a mess.”

“If I have you to keep me company, I think I can manage.” He plants a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kiss on Bruce, on the corner of his mouth, and Jerome tastes like gunpowder and dirt. Bruce goes back for seconds.

He knows that no matter how long he can keep Jerome holed up in a guest room, eventually, he’ll have to let him go. He’ll have to watch Jerome walk right back out into the city, into a teeming mass of snakes and scorpions, men who shoot first and ask questions later. The most he can hope is that Jerome is faster than the people who want him dead— Bruce knows he has no control, once Jerome leaves.

And what’s the world without him? If Bruce is the moon, then Jerome is the sun; the vibrant mania that Bruce can only hope to reflect, to project through a filter. Without Jerome, what does he have to keep him interesting? What does he have to guide him further away from him past?

“You think too much,” Jerome tells him, swallowed up by fancy pillows and bedsheets, “you’re making my head spin, and I don’t even know what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” he says truthfully, running a hand through his hair.

“Trying to rationalize being in love with a murderer?” He laughs, but surprisingly, it doesn’t quite sound like he thinks it’s funny.

“Who said I was in love with you?” Bruce is smiling, and when Jerome laughs again, it’s sincere and knowing.

#answered #valeyne #bruce wayne/jerome valeska #jerome valeska/bruce wayne #valeyne fic #fills #this got away from me and i don't have answers for why #me? writing something in a universe that is vaguely canon? it's more likely thank you think #this is either pretty okay or sucks a wad and im too stupid to know the difference anymore #enjoy!!#and if yall have sent me any requests? im working on them ALL at once lmfao #so bear with me they'll be coming out as time goes by #Anonymous

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thosewhoruleegypt · 6 years

Text

The Pharaoh’s Lotus Garden (1 - 4)

The Pharaoh’s Lotus Garden is a collection of oneshots and drabbles within the TwRE-verse; Ancient Egypt AU. Each can be read separately, but they’ll make more sense with context~ Part I happens between For Love of Pharaoh and King and What Followed the High Priest Home.

Main Story Begins Here! Also available on AO3~ Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Part I; Chapter 4 In which Pharaoh Atem makes preparations for eternity 1600 words; rated T (gets a little M at the end?); warnings for sexual content

The Pharaoh, King of Egypt, stood before his polished bronze mirror; with the utmost care, he drew a black accent at the corner of his eye, and smiled.

"Pharaoh... come back to bed..."

"Cannot, Yugi," Atem replied gently. "I have a meeting with some of my priests."

"You're a god. You can reschedule."

Atem chuckled. "A god should live up to expectations, my partner. You know that." He turned his attention and brush to the other eye, holding several strands of hair carefully out of the way.

"What about my expectations, Pharaoh?"

Atem jumped at Yugi's voice, shockingly close to his ear, and the makeup brush skittered wildly across his cheek. Atem turned to glare mildly at his snickering betrothed, a jagged black line streaking his face.

"For the love of Ra, Yugi..."

"What about my expectations, Pharaoh?" Yugi repeated, and Atem frowned.

"When I get back from the meeting," he said, turning back to the mirror. As he began to wipe the makeup from his face, Yugi's fingers found and began to toy with the beaded decorations threaded through the Pharaoh's hair. Atem tried to swat his hands away, but Yugi tangled their fingers together until Atem's hair got thoroughly snagged in his own rings. "Yugi—my hair—I have to look presentable, Yugi...!"

"I much prefer your hair a bit messy, Pharaoh."

"Gods help me, Yugi, I will make some excuse to call your grandfather up here and we'll see if you behave a bit better!"

Then I was Yugi's turn to frown, and he slowly retracted his hands. "My grandfather?" he repeated, with a note of umbrage. "Exactly how much of a child do you think I am, Pharaoh?"

"You are acting like a spoiled child, right now," Atem said, combing his hair out anxiously, assessing the damage. He caught sight of the makeup smudge again, too, and scowled. "This is an important meeting, Yugi. I'm still the Pharaoh; you know."

"I know that..." Yugi muttered, having retreated to the bed. Atem finished making himself up properly; fluffed his hair a bit higher in its typical spiked style, and then selected a few necklaces to wear. When he rose, smoothing down his clothes, he turned to where Yugi sat shuffling through some cards on their bed. With a sigh, he went over.

"I love you, partner," he said. Yugi didn't respond, so he leaned in and kissed Yugi's forehead. "When I get back, alright, love?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Yugi replied.

Atem shifted uneasily; said, "Yugi, I'm sorry if I was harsh. It's just that this is a very important meeting that I have to keep, understand?"

“Yeah, and sometimes meetings are more important than me. I get it. Sometimes I need my grandfather to keep me under control, right?"

Atem sighed; leaned in and kissed Yugi's cheek. "I'm sorry, love. We'll talk when I get back."

It was harder for the Pharaoh to leave than he let on; he hated the idea that he'd upset Yugi, but the meeting was as important as he'd tried to impress upon his young Betrothed. He supposed Yugi's expectations were his own fault, as well—many times he had delayed meetings and other responsibilities, if not neglected them entirely, to spend time with his Betrothed.

"Horus," one of his lesser priests greeted him, and Atem inclined his head. This particular temple was within the palace grounds, built primarily to honor Horus and Osiris. "Right this way."

Atem followed; the priest led him to a hidden room, where several craftsmen waited. A shrouded stone tablet stood between them.

"Well?" Atem prompted, with a wave of his hand. "Let's see it!"

One stonemason nodded; removed the linen covering, and revealed the scene that had been chiseled into the stone. The Pharaoh stood on one side and, on the other, his young Betrothed. Their noses touched, in the portrayal, as did their hips, their eyes closed in bliss. The stone around them had been not only encrusted with jewels and precious stones and gold, but carved with everything good in the world—food and music and scented oils and pillows and finery and wine and lotus flowers. Above them, Magician of Black Chaos stood as guardian.

"Does it please you, Pharaoh?" one of the artists asked, when Atem offered no immediate response.

“Very much..." the Pharaoh murmured, and reached out to touch the cheek of the stone Yugi. "I am very pleased."

The artists exchanged congratulatory, somewhat relieved smiles. Atem turned, then, to one of the builders present.

"And the expansions I ordered? How are they coming along?"

"Very well, Pharaoh," the man said, bowing. "It was a bit difficult, to maintain structural integrity through the remodel, but we've figured it out, I believe."

"Good. I do want it to be ready, you understand, should anything happen."

At this, the Pharaoh's priests exchanged uncertain glances. "Pharaoh, the sarcophagus... the design you gave us is—"

"I meant exactly what I wrote down," Atem said briskly. "Make sure it's done, exactly in that way."

The priest lowered his head; murmured assent.

Yugi... Again, the Pharaoh looked at the stone portrait of his beloved. He'd told Yugi nothing of these plans; he didn't want to trouble his precious partner with such thoughts. We will be together, my love, in the afterlife... I'll prepare it, for us both. The sun will rise, on the day after we both die.

The Pharaoh's sarcophagus had been built for some time, even if preparations of the tomb were always ongoing. When Pharaoh Atem had ordered it expanded to accommodate two mummified forms, side by side, he'd been very specific in his instructions.

The original structure, my side of the sarcophagus, can be sealed off and then later reopened from the outside. The newer portion, however, cannot be sealed independently. If the newer portion... if his portion must be sealed, the whole thing must be closed and can never be reopened. His priests knew what this meant—anyone could figure it out, with a bit of thought. If I die first, my partner, you will take my place. When you come before Osiris, in your own time, I will be waiting. But if you are the first, I will stand with you, and Osiris will judge us both, at that time. Then we will walk into the afterlife hand-in-hand.

"Make sure the tomb is well-prepared. Fetch me the inventory for things to be included. I want to go over it again."

"Of course, Pharaoh."

... ... ...

By the time Atem returned to his chamber, the lanterns were out and Yugi was curled in bed with his back to the door.

The Pharaoh gave a soft sigh; called, "Yugi. I'm back."

Yugi gave no reply, although Atem could tell from the faint feeling of his mind that he was awake. Atem approached slowly, shedding clothes and jewelry as he went, broadcasting his intentions mentally so as not to catch Yugi by surprise. His betrothed didn't respond, verbally or mentally, but didn't pull away when Atem climbed into the bed beside him.

"Yugi, darling, partner, love..."

Yugi didn't respond to any of the words, whispered against his neck between kisses. When Atem rolled him onto his back, he kept his head turned to the side.

"How was your meeting, Pharaoh?" he asked, his voice businesslike.

"Hideously boring." Atem kissed his throat; tugged his robe down and kissed his collar bone, shoulder, sternum. "Only the thought of you waiting for me got me through it."

"Hmm... that so?" Yugi asked disinterestedly, lying still and unresponsive. He wore only a simple robe, a nightgown, tied at the waist—no jewelry. For as much as Yugi was fond of glittering accessories, Atem thought, there was something uniquely gorgeous about his unadorned body.

"What can I do, partner? How can I make it up to you? I'm sorry for our fight... it was my fault, love..."

"It wasn't your fault, Pharaoh. You're the Pharaoh—you have responsibilities other than me."

Atem cringed at how detached Yugi sounded; he could tell, from the slight brushing of their minds, that Yugi was trying hard to be understanding, despite the fact that his feelings were still injured.</p>

<p>"My love, you are my greatest and most joyful responsibility." Atem dipped his head; kissed his way down Yugi's body, nimble fingers undoing the tie of the robe. "You're worth more to me than the whole of Egypt, all the gold in the world, all the water in the Nile, the gods' power, every priest's opinion of me, and every pleasure promised in the afterlife."

Yugi glanced up, surprised. "The afterlife?" Though they rarely spoke of such things, they both took the afterlife as seriously as was typical of their culture—Atem even more so, as Pharaoh, and Yugi gave him a questioning, mental nudged. "What's got you thinking about the afterlife, Pharaoh?"

Atem smiled; replied aloud, "Nothing, partner. Don't worry about that, for now." He kissed the hollow beneath Yugi's jaw, hands roaming over the smaller body beneath him. Some of Yugi's stiffness began to melt away, despite his efforts to the contrary.

"Pharaoh..."

"I'm sorry, Yugi. We should never fight, you and I."

"I'm sorry, too, Pharaoh."

Atem was silent for a moment, mouth preoccupied with things other than words—kisses and gentle nips and other teasing. Yugi's body reacted, even if his mind remained stubbornly unresponsive.

"Pharaoh..."

"My name, Yugi..."

Yugi wriggled as his robe fell to the sides. He laughed breathlessly as Atem's persuasive efforts redoubled. "Ph-Pharaoh..."

Perturbed, Atem focused his attentions lower, and Yugi gasped with surprise. Atem felt, with a surge of triumph, Yugi's thoughts haze over with pleasure; his lingering anger fizzling out, like dying embers drowned in a wave of corporeal passion.

"Unh... Atem..."

Atem smiled. "There it is, my dear partner... I love you... and I will continue to, for all eternity."

"Love you... too... Pharaoh..."

#puzzleshipping #blindshipping #pharaoh atem #atem #yugi #yugi mutou #yu-gi-oh!#TwRE #those who rule egypt #TPLG #TPLG PI #the pharaoh's lotus garden #the pharaoh's lotus garden part I

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