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taestefully-in-luv · 3 years

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The Island | KTH (One)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: swearing

Notes: Alright here is the first ch to my new story! I am super nervous to post this because it is a completely different vibe. But I hope you guys enjoy! Don’t worry, it turns fluffier later:) let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @monvieesdaebak @707sblog @peacedreamer14

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Your room is blinding from the soft yet striking sunrise, each beam of light swims through the blinds in piercing waves. The intense glow hits you in your sleepy state, causing you to wake from your glorious slumber. Too bright. You sit up in your bed, attempting to rub away the sleep that crusts your eyes. You begin to slowly open one lid at a time, taking in the neat appearance of your room. Your room looks the same as always—there is a nightstand next to your wooden framed bed, it holds a pale lamp and a photo of mountainous scenery. A dresser sits comfortably in front of you, it is dressed in simple décor and a large mirror. Yup, the same as always. You glance over to your sheer curtained window where the sun very offendedly washes over the room—wait. Hold on a god damn second.

Quickly, you begin to open your eyes just a bit wider—where is your royal purple ottoman? The art that hangs on your walls? Your dresser is brown not black for Christ’s sake! You ball your hand in the sheets…these don’t even feel like your sheets, yours aren’t this silky. This is not your room. Your eyebrows climb to the top of your forehead as you jerk your head around. Where the hell are you? Suddenly, you feel something rustle against your side. No…not something—someone.

Your eyes dart to the right of you, where this someone moves against the sheets. Not just someone. A man. His dark, ruffled hair sticks out between the sheets and pillow below his head. Why is there a man in bed with you? Is it…his bed? Oh god. Immediately, your mind tries to recall the night before. Did you go out and drink too much? Go home with a rando? Super unlike you though. You pull your hair as your mind races.

Sitting up in bed, worry crosses all of your features. You try to face all the possibilities that could maybe end up being your reality. But going out and partying is nowhere in your memories. You begin gnawing on your bottom lip, knowing you stayed home last night. And that you fell asleep in your own bed…alone, you might add. So where the hell are you? And why is there another person? Fear enters the picture now, this is the last place you wanted to go. You know, that horrible, terrible, dark place? The one that says your reality is that some creepy man kidnapped you and plans on doing murder-y type things to you. Yup, that place.

You tug on the end of your hair again, you know, you know, a bad habit. But you can’t help it as anxiety grows deeper within you. Were you really kidnapped? Fuck. You have to think. You’re trying to, at least. But breathing is becoming a chore. Your breaths are quick and sharp like you are on the brink of a panic attack. Shit, maybe you are. You try to eye the room again, taking in its appearance more carefully. You can’t help the shiver that speeds down your spine when you notice how perfect this single bedroom is…it actually almost resembles your guest bedroom at home. Which is creepy in itself. You continue to eye the room curiously, while staying absolutely frozen.

The dresser has more photos of pretty scenery sitting on top, as well as a few small vases that complement the rest of the décor. Anxiety continues to grow within you, shaking you to the core. You hate the way your hands tremble in your lap. You want to do something. You truly do but fuck, you can’t even move a muscle. Your breathing begins to pick up even more. Where are you? Why are you here? Who is this man sleeping so fucking peacefully next to you? Your thoughts are going 100 miles per minute, screaming at you, taunting you, giving you the middle finger.

Before you can think through your many obvious questions and answer them, the man next to you begins to stir in his sleep. You watch with wide eyes as he slowly moves to his back from his side. You stare down at him, too scared to move. Too scared to scream bloody murder. Too scared to do anything. And nothing disappoints you more. That you are nothing but a coward. You look down at your future murderer and wait for him to wake.

Future murderer slowly opens his eyes but he shies away instantly from the beaming sunlight.

“Ahhhh.” He lets go in one long breath, rubbing at his eyes in a sleepy manner. You sit still, your own breath caught in your throat. You want to move but fear has you frozen like an evening in the arctic. The man, or Future Murderer as you seemed to have named him, begins sitting up, stretching his arms out above him and yawns a song of sleep. He finally opens his eyes fully and soaks in the room before him. His head moves around quickly, his expression becoming rather…confused.

“What the fuck?”

Yup, those are his first words. Should have been yours too, if you’re being honest. This guy gets it.

Future Murderer’s facial expression grows bewildered as he looks around the room and when he finally feels your presence, he turns his head your way.

“Uh…” the Murderer narrows his eyes at you, “Hi?”

You don’t even realize the sigh of relief that pushes past your lips, but his confusion seems…genuine. And this allows you to relax your shoulders a little bit. Maybe he is a victim to whatever is going on too? You take in his disheveled appearance; he has brown wavy hair that rests above his brow line, eyes darker than the deepest part of the sea and full pouting lips. You would totally admit he’s attractive as hell but considering the fact you’re trying to convince yourself he isn’t going to murder you and the state you’re in, you’re going to push that thought away.

“Uh, who are you?” His brows knit together as he expectantly waits for an answer.

“No, who are you?” You squint at him. How dare he ask like you aren’t the one totally frazzled here? But somehow it’s comforting that he seems as confused as you are. Mystery man (his new name, since he doesn’t appear to want to murder you) (maybe) raises a single brow at you before answering,

“Taehyung.”

You listen to his name roll off his tongue and absorb it. Taehyung, huh? You hesitate for a second before finally giving your own name.

“y/n.”

Taehyung then, has the audacity to pinch his nose in annoyance. To be fair, it looks like the one he’s annoyed with is himself and not you.

“Look, sorry…” he begins, “If we hooked up last night, I don’t really remember and I—"

Your eyes widen at his words and you begin to frantically shake your head,

“No! We didn’t—we didn’t…”

“Oh?” Taehyung gives you a curious look then has the audacity to scoot several inches away from you. Then you feel his eyes on you, they search you from head to toe. You’re wearing your cat printed PJ shorts and a simple purple t shirt. You admit your hair is probably pretty wild, so you card your fingers through your locks. You start to feel insecure under his gaze as he so shamelessly eyes you.

“I don’t know who you are or where I am…do you know where we are?” you question, looking off to the side.

Taehyung pulls his eyes away from you, his head moving around to look around the room, his arms flailing.

“Does it look like I know where I am?”

You only blink at him and he rolls his eyes, “No, I don’t.” he admits.

Moments of silence pass between the two of you. You don’t know what to say at this point even though you have a million things you would like to say. But you can’t form one, coherent sentence apparently. You don’t know anything. You’re fucking clueless and you hate it. You’re trying to gather your thoughts when you feel Taehyung rise from the bed, startling you like he just committed a crime. God, you are such a coward. What? Do you really think the bed is apparently some super safe place that will protect you from the evils of the world? Taehyung walks toward the dresser and other corners of the room, inspecting it carefully.

“Fucking weird, but nice room, right?” he asks under his breath. Taehyung throws a glance over at you. “You don’t know where you are…I don’t know where I am…we both wake up in a strange room and neither of us have any recollection of how we got here.” Taehyung takes a pause to gather his thoughts. “Have you heard anything? You know, from outside the room? There could be other people.” He waits for you to answer but you stay quiet. Yes, you are on that level of coward.

You stay in the bed, anxiety building up, growing fiercer by the second. While it seems Taehyung’s attention is being stolen by the large window where the sun invites him to come take a peak. He tip toes over to the window, lifting the blinds and exposes something you imagine takes his breath way due to his audible gasp.

“Where…the fuck are we?” he asks breathlessly.

Instead of looking for yourself, you stay seated. But are we surprised? You study Taehyung’s expressions, watching for his reactions. His face falls into one of awe but after only a few moments in settles back into confusion. He reaches for the bottom of the window sill and lifts upwards, opening the window and releasing the sound of…is that waves? You continue to observe him, too afraid to see for yourself. He stands there for several long moments before turning your way and he clears his throat.

“I—I don’t…I don’t know where we are, like, really.” He takes a hesitant step towards the bed. “But something tells me neither of us are from here.”

You need a minute. Yeah, you need a minute to process his words. Because what the fuck does he mean by that? You aren’t ‘from here’? Are you on another planet or some shit? This man needs to work on his wording, for Christ’s sake. You feel your hand move just the slightest. Then your other hand. Your toes curl in and out. Seems you aren’t so frozen anymore. Things are, yes things as in waking up with a total stranger and him saying you are in an unknown place, are starting to wake you up. You’re so ashamed your solution to all of this was to stay seated in bed…but for some reason a rushing sensation of bravery washes over you.

You rise from the sheets and step one foot on to the floor. It’s not lava. So you step down with both feet and make your way over to Taehyung. You stop in front of him, tilting your head up since he has several inches over you—but nothing too intimidating, you decide. His eyes find yours and you lock eyes for a few moments. Both of you trying to search the other for answers. You break contact to face the window and wow. Your eyes animatedly widen at the sight. Palm trees and water for miles and miles it seems. No other buildings or sign of life. An island? But not the kind of island where this room is a part of some fancy resort, no, not that kind. Instead the kind where a plane crashes and a group of people have to survive.

You blink down at your new reality. First of all, you live nowhere near an island, so there’s that. You feel the anxiety and frustrations begin to surface again and you can’t help that your eyes begin to gloss over. You snap your head back to get a look at your fellow victim and he looks just as lost as you feel.

“We need to find out what’s going on.” Taehyung takes a deep breath, lifting his head up. He locks his eyes with yours again but you break contact to look at your feet.

“We don’t know anything…would if it’s not safe?” you quietly try to reason.

“Exactly, we don’t know anything and that’s a problem. You don’t expect us to stay in this room forever, do you?”

He has a point and you know it. You want to follow him out of this room but your feet seem to be glued to the floor.

“Well, no. But—”

“Didn’t think so.” He turns away from you, his body shuffling towards the bedrooms door but before he can become out of reach your hand flies to his shirt sleeve, tugging it softly.

“Wait! Just hold on—” Your voice wavers and Taehyung rolls his eyes. Rolls his fucking eyes at you!

“Listen, come. Or don’t. I don’t really care.” Taehyung releases your hold on his shirt, unsticking your fingers and throwing your hand towards your body. “Decide.” He states before swiftly turning around to head towards the door.

Oh. So this guy is a fucking asshole. Noted.

You end up following him because although he was rude about it, feeling someone’s touch when you feel so scared was slightly comforting and yes, you are aware of how fucking pathetic that is.

Taehyung stands in front of the door, his hand reaching for the knob when he turns his head to say, “Just trust me.”

And now you are the one rolling your eyes. Trust him? You just met the dude! 10 minutes ago his name was Future Murderer. How could you possibly trust this asshole?

“How can I trust you? I literally just met you.” The scowl on your face deepens when he smirks.

“Are you always such a fucking baby?”

“Are you always such a fucking baby?” you mock, eyes rolling so far into the back of your head. Okay, you admit you aren’t being the most mature here. But Taehyung doesn’t seem to take offense to it by the way he gasps and throws a hand over his heart as if wounded.

“Oh? She’s got some sass?” His question and raised brows only piss you off.

“Whatever. Let’s go.” You aren’t entirely sure where the confidence comes from but you don’t question it. You’re breezing past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you approach the door.

You feel Taehyung’s eyes on you and hear him mumble a lame, ‘that’s the spirit’ from behind you. And with that, in one swift action you are opening the door.

You stand in the open doorway, once again frozen in place. Not feeling as confident as you were 15 second ago—maybe you just need this dude to piss you off again. Speak of the devil, Taehyung steps besides you, poking his head out into the hallway searching for any sign of life.

“It’s quiet.” He takes a few steps forward, now in the middle of the hall. You glance around, the hallway has walls full of beautiful artwork, and to the right is 3 doors and to the left is a wide staircase. An exit. Bingo.

“Let’s check each room.” And of course he wants to do the opposite.

“No, let’s just get out of here.”

You turn on your feet towards the stairs and stop at the first step and raise a brow over your shoulder, “Aren’t you coming?”

Taehyung looks conflicted to say the least. He exhales deeply, looking between you and the 3 doors.

“Shouldn’t we just—”

“No! come on…” You must sound pleading and convincing because you can see him falter, just a bit. “I just want to go home…” You say, averting his gaze. Taehyung only stares at you for what feels like an eternity before he’s finally agreeing with the nod of his head.

The two of you very cautiously step down the stairs, each foot that follows the other slightly trembles in the fear of the unknown. You two finally reach the bottom and your eyes go wide at the sight. This is basically your fucking dream house. The floor plan is very open. At the center is a gorgeous grand piano, you don’t play but it’s aesthetically pleasing you guess? To the right is a long table with picture frames and décor and down the hall there seems to be more rooms.

You scan the downstairs as you slide your fingers along the edge of this table and stop when you come across a framed photo. What the actual fuck. Your eyebrows rise and your eyes grow twice their size. You very hesitantly pick up the picture as your eyes blink down at the frame in hand when your breathing begins to pick up again. It’s a framed photo of you and your sister . Now why the hell would this be here? Why is there a picture of you and your sister?? Why would someone have this? The framed photo sits in your trembling hands as you stare down at it. Taehyung notices your shaky grip on this picture and takes it from you to take a look himself. His eyes also go wide…you look between him and the picture.

“Why…why the hell is this here?” your voice betrays you as it shakes with every word.

Taehyung glances down at the table and notices his own photos with friends and family that are disgustingly and proudly displayed.

“What the actual fuck?” Taehyung whispers to no one but himself. What the hell is going on? Why does this house have pictures of the two of you? Who is doing this? Is this some sort of sick joke?

“What’s happening Taehyung?” you step closer to him feeling entirely…creeped out.

“Does it look like I fucking know?” he snaps. He sees you flinch and his eyes soften, “Sorry…Its just… this is going too far.” He finally looks as disturbed as you feel. The two of you stay quiet for a few moments, neither of you knowing how to react to this eerie discovery.

You shudder at how ominous this all is. This is becoming way too much. How much more of this can you handle? You almost want to jump into this assholes arms and sob into his navy blue t shirt.

“We should…” Taehyung wipes his sweaty hands on his sweats, “keep going.”

The two of you nod your heads in unison and turn to your left where there is an entry way to the kitchen and living room. Taehyung stops before stepping through while you join him at his side. You two glance around to soak in your surroundings—it’s also an open space, the two open areas sharing a space. The kitchen is covered in black granite and wooden cabinets with a door that probably leads outside. The living room has two matching sofas, a wide screen TV that hangs on the wall over a fireplace and built in shelves on either side, full of books, movies and games.

Taehyung and you share a look before walking through to the kitchen and living room. You approach the rooms slowly and carefully, afraid of what you might find. What surprises could be lurking. Suddenly the white glow of the TV can be seen, making you jump with its sudden brightness. Why the hell did the TV just turn on? Is this like, a haunted house? Are you being fucking haunted? Okay, maybe that’s dramatic.

The screen is bright white with nothing else on it. You turn to face Taehyung who is already staring at you with brows pinched together in confusion. Same Taehyung, same. The two of you decide to walk closer to the TV when dark, bold numbers appear.

“10….9…8…..”

The sound of soft music can be heard playing from the TV, similar to the music that’s played in an elevator, as numbers counting down from 10 begins. You feel your insides twist and turn.

“….7….6…..”

Panicked, the two of you inch closer and closer. You two stand here waiting for something, anything to occur because these might be the longest 10 seconds of your life. The millions of questions you have only multiplying. With the seconds counting down and getting closer to zero, your breathing about fucking stops. What is going to happen? You can feel your palms grow sweaty as your heart beats out of your chest. It feels like the countdown to the end of the world.

“….5….4….3…”

You don’t think Taehyung realizes just how close he is to you, his shoulders bumping into yours. You guess fear does funny things even between strangers.

“….2…..1…….”

And then it finally happens. The timer finally reaches fucking zero. And it is safe to safe your attention has been caught…anyone’s would be if a screen greets them with their god damn names.

“Welcome Kim Taehyung and Y/N Y/LN”

Your names on the screen has you automatically feeling nauseas. What sort of sick game is this? Is someone setting you up? Pranking you? If so, shits not funny. But also, why is Taehyung here? Your eyes focus on the screen as it moves to the next slide.

“It is a great honor that you two have made it this far. You have been carefully selected in this company’s project. After a lot of consideration and impressive results—we have decided to move you to the next phase.”

Naturally, very naturally you become even more confused than you fucking started. What projects? What company? You can hear Taehyung swallow hard, his nerves spiking with each word he reads. Then the slides continue.

“To put it simply, we are in the business of love.”

Huh? Huh?

Taehyung and you break your focus on the screen to steal a glance as one another very briefly before turning your heads back to the TV. What the hell they mean love? What is this absolute nonsense?

“Our use of science, technology and logic has got us here today. We test and heavily observe our chosen subjects and decide if they are the perfect match. We then move them to the final phase: The Island. This is where the two subjects meet and get along for the first time. The place they will undoubtedly fall in love.”

You can’t help that your mouth falls open, you are sure your eyes are bulging out of your head. You dare to turn to look at Taehyung and he isn’t looking much better.

Before you can really gather any thoughts the slides continue.

“Our success rate is 99%. You WILL fall in love here, it is most probable. Other subjects will come to fall in love quickly, other will take their time. BUT don’t take too long~ If two subjects are taking too long to make progress we will send a ‘Request’ to move things along and if you fail to meet said request there will be a penalty. And you have 24 hours to complete the request. This is to help you.”

You shiver while reading the words before you. You are now too anxious to even look at Taehyung right now…you don’t want to even see his reaction to all of this. Is he anxious like you? Is he laughing because there’s no way this is real? Is he nodding along taking notes because he believes it? You don’t want to fucking know!

“We give soulmates the opportunity to meet and thrive. This particular project has been in the works for well over a year.”

You blink lazily at that. Well over a year? WELL OVER A YEAR? They’ve been watching you for over a year?!

“We have carefully observed each one of you in great detail. There is nothing we don’t know. We have matched you two to be most compatible.”

Nothing they don’t know? What the hell does that mean? How exactly did they fucking observe you two? You stand here with eyes wide open and mouth agape. Taehyung mirrors your expression. He doesn’t want to believe this either.

“And you two are finally ready to proceed with The Island.”

The two of you stand in the living room, dumbstruck. Absolutely dumbstruck. You aren’t even able to look at one another for more than a hot second. A harsh blush creeping on your face and you cringe because there’s no way you could blush for this asshole.

You just…you cannot believe any of this. You refuse to. This is ridiculous. Insane.

“This island is only for the two of you. Designed specifically for you. You are being constantly monitored. Hidden cameras are placed all around the house. Minus the bedrooms and bathrooms. The décor and food is to each of your likings, we want you to feel at home as possible. Everything including books, movies, games and rooms are to your likings and match your hobbies.”

Wait a minute. You frantically shake your head, blinking furiously. Constantly being monitored? AKA you’re being fucked spied on? How are you supposed to do anything knowing you’re being watched?

“Your families have already been notified of your absence.”

You feel your heart drop. You didn’t even consider how they might feel.

“You will return safely once we feel we are satisfied with the results. This can be 3 months, 6 months, a year or even more.”

You feel Taehyung spin to face you in complete shock.

“We understand this may seem awkward at first but things will evolve naturally. So you should not worry.”

These words do not bring the least bit of comfort.

“Besides the ‘Requests’ we will not interfere. This is YOUR time to fall in love.”

“Thank you so much for your ongoing participation and please enjoy your new home and of course, each other. <3”

The added heart at the end of the last slide has both of you scrunching your faces in disgust. With that, the TV shuts off, showing nothing but the dark black screen and the reflection of two ghosts. What. The. Fuck.

You’re sure your expression is as clear as day; a mix between anger and hopelessness. You don’t want to look at Taehyung, not after everything you just read but you know you should. So you tip your head to the side to get a good look at him. Worry. All you see is worry. Look, he might be hot as hell but there ain’t no way you can fall in love with this dude. But also, you don’t know anything. You gulp, there is one thing you know. You’re going to be sick.

Your nausea is so built up, it’s at the entrance of your throat begging for release. You stand here, running a clammy hand through your hair. You are going to puke, you know it.

Without any further thinking, you run towards the back door in the kitchen that thankfully leads to outside. You run down a path that you pray to the God’s that this path does lead to the ocean so you can drown yourself in some good ol’ waves. Your anxiety has you out of breath before the run does. You finally reach sand that is warm and grainy under your bare feet and follow it to the shore.

It’s beautiful actually. The view. You wish you could really take it all in and let the calmness of the waves relax you but you are seconds away from upchucking last night’s pizza rolls. But it never comes. Your guts never make it out of your body but the anxiety remains. Falling to the ground, you pull your knees into your chest, trying to breathe and most importantly trying not to cry. This is no use though and to be honest you don’t try very hard because tears are cascading down your face within seconds. You can feel the burning in your chest as hot tears fall onto the warmth of your cheeks and it breaks you further. You sit here and wonder if you are really stuck here in this place and with a complete and total stranger. The same thought stays with you as you ball into yourself.

You sit here, indulging in quiet sobs until they finally ease into soft sniffles. You reach up to wipe your eyes, ridding yourself of tears and the thoughts that came along with them. You need to think more clearly. Okay, positive thoughts. Come on y/n, you can do this. Positive thoughts. First off, you’re not alone. You are not the only victim here. You have an acquaintance here who you are sure isn’t very pleased about this either. But wait—would if this guy is a total weirdo? A psycho? Okay, maybe being positive is harder than you thought. Plus he was a total asshole to you earlier. But maybe that will change?

You stand to your feet, feeling more determined than before. You are going to try to make the best out of this shitty situation. You brush away the annoying leftover grains of sand from your legs and your behind and turn around to make your journey back to the house, your ‘home’. Ew, you did not just call it that, you shudder at the thought. Before you start walking, you spot Taehyung aka your ‘soulmate’ ew, you did not just him call him that— sitting, leaning against a tree. Yup, right next to where you just had snot running down your nose. Before spiraling into embarrassment, you take a good look at him and oh. You step towards him and his eyes follow your movements until you are seated next to him. He’s tense, that’s for sure. But you can’t really blame him, now can you? You are a little bit selfish, aren’t you? He is clearly freaking out too yet you ran out on him. You can see his expressions now: confused, anger, upset. And something you can’t quite figure out.

Taehyung looks your way and offers you a small, tense smile and then turns his head away from you to face the ocean again, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you.”

You really don’t want to feel offended because hey, that’s fair. But still, this asshole doesn’t even know you so you roll your eyes.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you dude.”

Taehyung glances at you and gives you a look, like he knows that’s impossible.

“Sure.” He says.

“You don’t fall in love with me.” You snap back, feeling like you won something.

“Yeah, that won’t be a problem.” He deadpans.

“Listen…you’re not a psycho, are you?” You narrow your eyes at him. Taehyung stares at you for a second before he dramatically rolls his eyes at you, then he narrows his own eyes.

“I’m not a psycho,” he defends, a serious expression drawn on his face. “But how do I know you’re not?”

You bite down on your lip as if really contemplating,

“Fair point.” You smile cheekily but then your face falls into a frown. “This isn’t…real, right?” you try to brush back your hair behind your ear but the wind makes it difficult. “The TV…this is a joke, right?”

Taehyung looks on towards the ocean, the big blue waves crashing in the distance. He is silent for several long, annoyingly long moments. You can’t help but wonder what goes inside his head, what is he thinking? What is he feeling? It’s got to be similar to you, right?

“Let’s say it is real. There’s a company who…who…spied on us for a year. What does that mean? They hacked our phones? Hacked our homes? How far did they go? They said they know everything…” Taehyung pauses, flinching at his own words. “So, say they do. They believe after all their research we make a good match…the perfect match, apparently.”

“Yeah, I highly doubt that.” You cut in. “We couldn’t even get along in the first 10 minutes—”

“That’s because you were being a baby.”

“That’s because you were being a—Shut up.” You huff.

“Who’s being rude now?” Taehyung smirks. “Listen, I think it’s best if we just play it safe. But I am serious…I won’t be falling in love with you. And I am not a psycho.”

“And I am serious too, I won’t.” you remind him, annoyed. “It’s you who should be careful.” You poke your tongue out and Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“So do you like pancakes? Mister Not Psycho.” You look at him with a playful smirk and he wastes no time to curve his lips downwards.

“Pancakes?” he lifts his brows but then a scowl takes over, “I’m not falling in love with you even if you make me pancakes. I still can’t get over this…they spied on us for a year y/n. Invaded our privacy…this is too much. Too much to be thinking about god damn pancakes”

“Yeah but it seems like we’re stuck together,” you reason, “Whether we like it or not. So you can maybe try not to be such an asshole to me? When I’m just as much of a victim as you are. And we still have to eat.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops a little, then he closes it, screwing his eyes shut. “You’re right…I’m sorry,” he stands to his feet. “This is all just so crazy and a lot to take in…”

“I know…” you pause, “It’s sort of like being on a vacation—”

“Just stop.”

Taehyung walks past you, heading back inside the house. Leaving you alone with nothing but the ocean.

You stare off into the wide unknown, the oceans blue emptiness swallowing you whole. This looks like a dream vacation spot, if you’re being honest. But this? This was about to be the vacation from Hell.

~~~~~~~~

You and Taehyung walk through the door back into the kitchen, a look of grimace on his face while you frown. You two decide to check out what this place has to offer. You’re both clearly skeptical of this whole entire situation, well at least he is. He feels like the only one who is acting appropriately. But he can safely assume you probably are feeling a bit skeptical yourself. You two check to see is there is anything safe to eat—if there even is food. He doesn’t know what to believe. Was this situation, he doesn’t know…real? True? Every word he read, is a loud echo in his mind screaming at him. How could he even take this seriously? How could you take this seriously? This is fucking insane! He looks over at you, who is rummaging through cabinets, you look the same as a few minutes ago—calm with an unsure expression painting your features. He hates how calm you look, he can’t help but feel so annoyed by you.

He takes a look in the large, silver fridge and is pleasantly surprised to see many foods that he likes; lots of fresh fruits, juices, milk, sandwich meats, so on. It is fully stocked. He reaches inside the fridge for a bowl a fresh fruit, his other hand grabbing for a can of whipped cream. He gives you a look and nods towards the bowl.

“Should we test them? See if we die from poison or some shit?” he half jokes, his bitter tone shining through. You try to ignore his bad attitude and smile.

“We’re testing them with a can of whipped cream?” you go for a lighter approach but he just rolls his eyes.

“Go big or go home, am I right ladies?”

You snort. Real life snort. And you consider being embarrassed but you see Taehyung’s eyes light up in amusement before they’re darkening again.

You reach for a strawberry and pop that thang in your mouth, so he does the same. You two chew cautiously, the flavor and juices bursting. These might be the best god damn strawberries either of you have ever had. Such a shame they are being enjoyed in such a situation. He turns to face you, the you who is now stuffing your face with strawberry after strawberry, he can’t help but let a chuckle slip between his lips.

“What? Go big or go home…” you pause, a smirk playing at your lips. “Right ladies?” Taehyung only rolls his eyes at your smart mouth, he won’t allow himself to laugh.

Taehyung is still trying to gather his impression of you. When you first met you were a total cry baby, then you were just annoying and now you’re trying your best to be calm. He recalls how you ugly cried just outside—god, you have been a roller coaster of a person but considering your situation he understands why.

He believes he was more unbothered and brave after having first woken up…but after seeing those framed photos he got freaked the fuck out, to put it simply. Then the TV…everything just went downhill from there. And he sees what you’re doing…you’re trying to be strong. And he hates you for it. Why is he being the weak one here? How are you doing it with such ease? He’s spiraling. His whole life just got put on pause. His dreams and aspirations? Pause. Friends and family? Pause. His love life? P-Pause? He can’t help but worry over every detail, not to mention…is any of this the truth? Are you two just supposed to believe the god forsaken words that you read on the TV screen? And you went on about this being like a damn vacation. Unbelievable! But all he can do right now is breathe in and breathe out and try to be himself. Which at the moment is a really unhappy person.

You and Taehyung continue reaching into the bowl for more refreshing fruit, your fingers brushing against one another like this is a god damn Hallmark movie, but you don’t seem to be fazed by it so he won’t either. Even though it’s driving him crazy, he doesn’t want to touch you. He wonders what your thoughts are on the whole ‘love’ thing? It’s ridiculous. Don’t get him wrong, in a different situation he could see himself getting along with someone like you, maybe even hook up…but fall in love? Not likely. Plus he already has someone. Sort of.

“Ah, wait…” He pauses mid bite.

“Hm?” you hum, mouth full.

“Aren’t we like, supposed to be finding pancake mix or whatever shit you wanted to find?”

With a roll of your eyes, you lick your fingers clean while the other hand lays rest on you hip. (And no, his eyes did not linger when you sucked on your fingers and no, they did not travel down to your hand that rest comfortably on your nice hips.)(And no, he did not just think your hips are nice.)

“Couldn’t find any!” you dramatically yell out, “You guys FAILED us!” you then look over at him with a smirk, “So much for being experts right?” you scoff, he almost wants to laugh at your dramatics but he just stares at you blankly.

But soon that blank stare is changing into a sour one when he realizes just who you are talking to…the very company that trapped you here. The one that’s watching over you right now. Or so they say.

“We should inspect the whole house.” He says seriously, “You know, get to know this ‘vacation home’ or whatever bullshit you said.”

You look down at your feet, feeling fucking embarrassed.

“Sorry for calling it that I—”

“I know,” Taehyung kind of smiles, “You were just trying to make us feel better. I get it.” His tone is softer than even he intended.

“It didn’t really help, did it?” you scratch the top of your head, feeling sheepish.

“Not really.” He answers honestly, with hard eyes. “Now come on, let’s check things out.”

You nod your head with an eye roll, he still chooses to be dickish.

The two of you walk into the living room to the entertainment center. The TV is surrounded by shelves of books, movies, and games. Apparently all to your liking, so you guess you will see how true that is.

“Woah, there’s Mortal Kombat. Sweet.” You comment, the game case in your hand.

“Woah, I can kick your ass at Mortal Kombat. Sweet.” Taehyung plainly responds while shuffling other games between his hands.

“Don’t even. I will play you right now.” You try lightening the mood but he just rolls his eyes.

“We have other important things to do, need I remind you?” he begins lecturing you and you scoff.

“You don’t need to remind me our shitty situation. Your stupid face is reminder enough.” You bite.

“Oh?” Taehyung continues to look through cases, barely paying attention to you.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “There’s tons of movies here and TV shows as well,” you gesture toward the bottom of the shelf. “Some I have never seen before,” you squat down, your fingers brushing against DVD cases until you stop at one in particular, pulling it out. “Like, what the hell is ‘Castaway on the Moon’?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, “UH, only my most favorite movie ever?” he says, taking the case from you.

“Looks weird.” You comment plainly.

“Weird—it’s not weird! It’s actually really good I swear, actually you know what?” Taehyung huffs out, it’s the first time you’re seeing him get so worked up. It’s amusing. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He pouts, clearly wounded you would think to call his favorite movie ‘weird’.

“Plus, who’s weird?” he asks, “What’s with all this anime? I know it ain’t mine.”

You jut out your bottom lip in guilt, your cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“Well, well…”

“Well, well…” he mocks, feeling satisfied.

You raise your eyes to meet his and walk an inch towards him, never breaking contact.

“I’ll give yours a shot, if you give mine a shot?” you challenge, sticking out your hand. He guesses you want him to shake it.

He takes a moment to let his eyes linger on yours. They’re dark. Plain. Boring. Nothing special. He looks away and scoffs but the idea of sharing his favorite movie with someone does pique his interest.

“Deal.” He says, going in for the handshake. He feels your hand in his and doesn’t expect your skin to be so soft.

“Deal.” You say with an evil glint in your eye. “I’m going to make you watch so much good shit.” You continue to hold on to his hand, you look down at them and become slightly shy. You just remembered your situation. You keep staring for an odd amount of time before you drop his hand and shake your head.

“Should we check out the other rooms?” you start walking towards the entry way back into the main area of the house, but stop to turn and look at him.

“Yeah, I suppose we can do that.” He answers back, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

The two of you walk back into the main area where the rooms are located. He hesitantly creaks open the first door. He’s met with a room so fitting. A room full of art supplies. Drawing boards, brushes, paint, etc. He feels his palms pool with sweat.

“Do you make art?” you question, looking up at him.

“Yeah.” He gulps, feeling creeped out all over again. “They really did their research, huh?” he whispers to himself.

You two stand in the doorway, taking it all in. Taking in what this could really mean for you two. It begs the question: Were they really spying on you for over a year? Do they really know everything there is to know about you two?

You softly nudge Taehyung, “Why don’t we move on to the next room?” you suggest. He turns his head to face you as he swallows hard, nodding his head in agreement.

The next room is nothing spectacular, just a home gym.

“You work out?” he asks.

“Barely,” you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I always have the excuse of not having time or not wanting to go all the way to a gym. Guess I have no excuse now.” You look up at him with a sheepish grin. It’s hard to believe you don’t work out, Taehyung thinks. You have great legs.

“I see.” He turns his back to you, exiting the room.

The next room really wows Taehyung. He doesn’t mean for it to. He wants to hate this place.

It’s a room full of musical instruments and recording equipment.

“Holy shit.” He accidentally lets out. He walks around the room, touching things with just his fingertips. “This is like grade A equipment, I could only dream of owning shit like this.” He truly does not mean to be in awe of the music room, you know, because the enemies gave it to him but holy shit!

There’s only one room left and you swear to god it better be for you. You two slowly open the door together to reveal an interests of yours.

“Is this…? Like, a dance studio or something?” He questions, glancing around the room, “Are you a dancer?” he finally looks at you and he seems quite impressed.

You look…surprised, to say the least. Your brows shooting up all the way toward your hairline, your eyes darting all around the room.

“N-Not exactly…I mean, kind of?” you admit, your eyes falling to your hands. He tilts his head in confusion.

“I…I just have a serious interest I guess you could say,” you look all around the room again, “But I,” you play with your fingers. “I have never said it out loud to anyone.”

“Oh.” Taehyung breathes out in understanding. So, these fuckers really did spy on you guys. In depth. You both feel goosebumps rise on your arms, making you both feel a chill.

“Let’s head upstairs. Shall we?”

The upstairs has 4 doors in total. You both know the door closest to the staircase is the bedroom you woke up in.

“There’s no bathroom in this room,” he motions towards the door. “And the closet was empty. So, it’s not the master and that—”

“That means there’s multiple bedrooms.” you finish for him, and you both sigh in relief.

He means, this place has a goal of getting you together, so he wouldn’t be surprised if they only offered you one bedroom, but thank the God that he doesn’t believe in that there’s more than one bedroom.

“Yeah exactly,” he breathes out. “I’m willing to bet the door at the end of the hall is the master. Wanna just skip ahead?”

“Sure,” you agree, walking past him to beat him to the door at the end of hall. But you wait for him to reach the door as well before you’re reaching for the knob and slowly turning it, swinging the door open.

The room is big, a huge king size bed in the center of the back wall. Thankfully, the drapes are dark so not a lot of natural sunlight enters the room, Taehyung thinks.

“Hell yeah, dark curtains.” You say excitedly. Obviously reading his mind.

He follows behind you, keeping his comments to himself as you ooh and aah at your surroundings. He is impressed by the rooms simple yet he guesses you could say intriguing décor. Definitely fits his style, but he won’t say that out loud. As an artist himself, the paintings on the walls are very pleasing to the eye. He wonders if they suit you as well. If you’re his ‘soulmate’ they would, he thinks bitterly. He could see himself adding his own artwork to this room. He wonders if you would be okay with that as well—wait. What is he saying? It’s not like you two will be sharing this room!

You drag your fingers across the comforter on the bed.

“Soft.” You mumble to yourself.

He chews on his lips for a moment before speaking, “You can have it…” he shifts from one foot to the other. “The room, I mean. I’ll just take the other bedroom.”

“Really? You sure?” The excitement is evident in your voice. “Wait no—that’s not very fair. We could thumb wrestle for it or—”

He raises a brow, “Thumb wrestle? Really?”

“Mortal Kombat?” you offer.

“That just wouldn’t be fair, I would win too easily.” He says, not impressed. “Just take the room. I’m sure.”

“Fine…thank you.” you bow your head down in defeat.

The two of you walk towards the master bath and your eyes come close to popping out of your heads. It is huge! And super fancy! He’s not good at fancy words but he’ll put it simply, the countertop is long with two sinks. Two sinks. The shower has one of those rain shower head things and woah. That’s for like, rich people. The way you are gawking at this bathroom tells him you’re having the same thoughts as him. Yours are probably fancy like, “This extravagant marble bathtub looks exquisite against these cream colored walls. Very…dashing.” Or some wild shit like that.

The closet is next, He’ll be completely honest. He forgot you would need clothes and shit. But holy moly, there are rows and rows of clothes, both yours and his. There is jewelry (Not really sure why that’s necessary but like, okay) and shoes on shelves against the walls. It was more than he owned himself back at home.

“Honestly I forgot about needing clothes…since we like…live here now.” The words are sour leaving your mouth, he can tell. But also, you are obviously reading his mind again.

“What? You thought you would be wearing your cute little PJ’s 24/7 or what? Wear nothing at all maybe?” he asks, shuffling from one foot to the other. He’s uncomfortable.

“ha-ha.” you deadpan. “I just haven’t really thought about what this all entails is all.”

He frowns at your words,

“We should probably talk about it, right? What this all means, I mean.” His questions causes a shift in the atmosphere. The air becoming a little thicker.

You only nod and turn on your feet to head back into the bedroom. He quickly follows behind you, both of you stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Let’s talk then.” You bite your lip, swaying side to side.

He needs to be honest. He is clearly so confused about all this. Fucking puzzled. He means, what if just what if this company was real? And this company was…right? Are you really a match made in heaven? No, that can’t be. That would be fucking ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous for even considering it. But you two obviously need to talk. Have a fucking chit chat.

You plop down on the edge of the bed and he follows your lead, finding a spot right next to you. Your knee shakes up and down quickly while you play with the hem of your shirt. You’re obviously nervous as fuck, which he can’t really blame you. He watches you for a few moments before hesitantly placing a hand over your shaking knee, trying to stop the anxious movement and hoping to God he is not crossing any serious lines, he’s just really getting annoyed by your shaking knee and needs that shit to stop. You turn your head to face him and he is met with a look of frustration. He turns his head to face straight ahead and with a heavy sigh he says, “I feel that way too.” Because it’s true, you both must feel the same. It’s not like you want to be stuck here with him either. Right?

You finally let out a long breath, “How long?” you whisper. “How long will we be stuck here?” you begin to sniffle as your eyes become wet. Shit. He brings his hands to his lap and interlocks his fingers together.

“I…I don’t know.” He answers honestly. “But what are your thoughts? On what we read…” he clears his throat, clarifying as if it wasn’t already obvious.

You suck in a sharp breath, “I don’t know what to believe.” You admit. “But we are…” you gesture between you two, “This is—This is not happening.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes as if that wasn't the most obvious statement in the world. He. Could. Not. Agree. More.

You continue, “Someone deciding for me? On this part of my life? That doesn’t sit right with me. No fucking thank you.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“I mean,” you turn to face him, “You seem decent and all, when you’re not being an ass, but this is all insane. Just insane.” You wear an annoyed expression, shaking your head in disbelief. He breathes out of his nose in attempt to laugh.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

“But…” you pause, choosing your next words carefully…you have to be careful with this next part. “But if it’s real? What are we—” and yup, just as expected, you are cut off with just a look. He furrows his brows together and pushes his head back in surprise.

“This can’t be forced y/n.” he states firmly. You raise your hands up in surrender.

“Oh my god, Taehyung. I know that! I fucking know, jeez. But we have to talk about all the possibilities.” You say firmly, “We’re stuck here for who knows how long and you read the same thing as me, right?” you push on, “3 months? 6 months? A fucking year?” you drag a heavy hand down your tired face. “And don’t even get me started on these damn ‘Requests’ and whatever they are!” You are clearly very frustrated…Taehyung looks at you with the same pity you’re sure he feels for himself.

“Okay, okay.” For the first time Taehyung speaks to you much more softly. “Listen, they can’t keep us here forever? We are going to prove we are that 1%. We just got to stay out of one another’s way and just wait it out until they return us home.” Then his frown deepens, “But wait, what about the ‘Requests’?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.

You strum your fingers on your thigh, staring down at your lap, in deep thought.

“I know this is weird but…” Taehyung starts.

“I know, we have to talk about it.” You finally look up at him and your entire face has gone pink.

“If the ‘Requests’ are, I don’t know, “pure” enough, we could just like do them?” you look at him with doe eyes, “Or like, if the penalty isn’t that bad…. I don’t know.” You ramble on.

The thing is, neither of you know what to expect from these ‘Requests’ and their penalties. It’s one huge mystery. And neither you nor Taehyung are a fan of mysteries. Taehyung watches as you begin shaking your knee in total panic again when he clears his throat.

“Hey…I think we can worry about that when or if the time comes, okay?”

“When or if…” you repeat slowly. “Okay.”

He stands from his place at the bed and begins walking towards the bedroom door.

“As long as we stay out of each other’s way, we should be good.”

“Stay out of each other’s way…” you nibble on your lips, “Like, we don’t talk or anything?”

“Precisely. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.”

“But—”

“That’s just the way it’s got to be.”

“Fine.” You speak bitterly, “Fine by me.”

Stuck on a beautiful island in a beautiful house with a beau—with a man. What could possibly go wrong? Vacation from hell, here we go.

#bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #the island chapter 1

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oh-my-moomin · 3 years

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NGE: You Deserve Love

This is an analysis based solely on the og NGE anime series and not the movie or rebirth series so I won’t be mentioning those.

NGE is a psychological horror/apocalypse story dressed up as a mecha. This farce is only totally dropped in the last 2, even 3 episodes. This can make the ending jarring and seem in cohesive, but ultimately my understanding is that none of the ‘plot’ really matters. Seele doesn’t matter, where the angels come from doesn’t really matter, and the final battle doesn’t matter. This is a story exploring loss, the need for connection, loneliness, and humanity. We see this through not only the interactions of the human characters but also through the angels.

THE HUMANS

The Children

A defining trait of all the characters is that they are lonely. The isolation from human connection is brought on both by the high stress apocalypse they all live in, as well as the personal demons they face. The characters all attempt to create bonds with other people, but are held back by their insecurities, fear of vulnerability, and past traumas.

Let’s start with Shinji, as the main character. Having lost his mother at a young age, and being abandoned by this father, he was never able to feel secure. Therefore he takes on a people pleaser attitude, constantly apologizing. His want for validation (particularly from adults in his life) causes him to continue to take action that he doesn't want to, including piloting the EVA. His self hate and insecurity makes it hard for him to make and trust his own choices. So he relies on others to guide him. When this fails, when he doesn't get the love and validation he craves he tries to quite entirely. But this often leads to the people he cares about being hurt. He's trapped between a rock and hard place.

Asuka was also abandoned, however rather than craving support like Shinji, she chooses to live for herself. She craves independence. She needs to know that she is no longer a child that can be hurt and vulnerable. This is largely shown through both her overt sexuality, and her piloting the EVA. She must be in control of the EVA, she must have power, she must be able to prove herself as the best, the strongest. Because inside she still feels like that hurt desperate child, and that is what she hates most about herself. Unlike Shinji, Asuka is brash and rude, and she expects others to give her the same. She barks and expects you to bark back, but can’t always handle it.

Both of these characters are constantly looking for connection, with both their peers and adults. While Asuka often pushes herself on to people, out of a need to be seen. Shinji cannot take active moves to make meaningful connections, and will shy away from people trying to connect. Asuka hates herself and needs to prove that others love her. Shinji hates himself and cannot imagine that people love him.

The Adults

One of the running themes in the show is motherhood. Typically it is the mother that is expected to love and care for the child, to raise them, show unconditional love, give unwavering support. None of the characters have had this, Shinji and Asuka search for validation that they lost in adults in different ways. Unfortunately for them, none of the adults present are suitable to be parents.

The show makes a point to show that the adult characters are all more complex than the children. They have lived longer and therefore had more time to make mistakes, to get stuck in toxic ideals, to ‘be problematic’. They are not concretely good or bad people (mostly), but rather the result of people who grew up in a post apocalyptic world, trying desperately to stop the salvage it, while also trying to make their own connections. Like the child characters, their past traumas make it harder for them to be more open, vulnerable, and weak, to form that human connection.

I am going to focus on Misato and Ritsuko, since they act as foils when it comes to human connection.

Misato being left as a lone survivor to a terrible accident has left her scared both physically and mentally. Before this she had issues with her parents, as her father seemed to abandon his family in favour of work, leaving her mother devastated. Misato doesn't want to become like her mother, abandoned by a loved one, and she also doesn't want to be her father, a slave to work. To counter this she looks for easy connections, but she never wants to get too close.

When her relationship with Kaji was beginning to feel too real, she began to find flaws. His resemblance to her father was terrifying, so she broke it off. Similarly, when in scenes with Shinji, talking about his insecurities or his want to give up, she is hidden by shadow. She cannot be seen as weak, she cannot offer comfort, she cannot be a mother figure to Shinji. Other ways her searching for easy connection is her drinking beer, or eating take out. She searches for the most basic ways to fulfill her needs, so that she can focus on her main goal of defeating the angels.

Ritsuko is also desperate to find human connection without vulnerability. By fully closing off the whole world she can have no weakness, something which she resents in Misato. She views herself as above the need for connection in that way, and would rather follow in her mothers foot footsteps as a scientist and a woman.

She loved and admired her mother, and hated her. She wants to follow in her footsteps but also would hate to fail in the same ways. She saw how her mother failed to actually mother her, and chose to completely reject that part of herself. Instead she cares for cats, and uses those as a surrogate to having a child. She continues her mothers work as a scientist, constantly striving to improve. And when it comes to the ‘woman’ that her mother was, she knew a stubborn woman who focused solely on one man. So Ritsuko also focused on him, to the point of giving up her cat to her grandmother. Both women tried to create an easy connection with him, both felt that they were his equal, and that they found the one connection that mattered. When it was proven to them that they were a second (third) woman this caused them both to break down. For Ritsuko this meant that even though she closed off the whole world, except for one man, she was still too vulnerable. And her only response was to completely shut down. Because she had no one else.

All of the characters are constantly searching for this connection, trying to show affection without getting hurt. Trying to make sense of the end of the world while also making sense of interpersonal relationships. Their own inner demons getting in the way of honest connection.

Rei

As a clone Rei is a particular case. She is aware that she is not a ‘person’, she isnt meant for human connection. Her isolation is so ingrained into her, planned before she is even ‘born’ so she feels no need to care for anyone except Ikari. She latches onto him, would do anything for him, and has no value in her life because she is aware that she is not real.

However, she still has a human source, Shinjis mother. A human person, who also needed human connection. Rei, when given the chance, does care for people. Shinji is the first person to see her as a peer, and to treat her with kindness. With this start of forming connections, she begins to feel more human, to develop a further need to connect. Even if it's hard to fully separate from the man who created her.

THE ANGELS

The angels act as a foil to the human need for connection. While all of the human characters are lonely and searching for connection with each other, the angels are also lonely and trying to learn what that even means.

There is no scene where the angels are working together, they are solitary, all having the same goal of reaching Adam, but incapable of planning together to achieve it. They instead try to create connection to humans, trying to bond and understand them, without knowing that their methods are harmful.

I believe this can be first seen with the 12th angel. When Shinji is absorbed into the EVA, it is safe to say that the angel was able to understand the merging of human and EVA. This connection allowed Shinji to control the EVA to break free of the angel's shadow. The following month where Shinji is trapped within his EVA, is our first insight into what the human instrumentality project will be like, as well as the goals of the angels.

Since angels cannot connect to each other, the 15th angel attempts to create connection by forcing itself into Asukas mind. It wants to understand her, her emotions, her thoughts, her connections, her love. For her this is a painful experience, akin to rape. She feels dirtied after it. But the attack is a beam of light, with holy music playing, what should be a calming experience. I believe it is fair to say that the angel cannot understand that it is putting her through pain, as it cannot understand any human experiences. Angels are incapable of understanding their own feelings/experiences/wants, and try to use humans as a study from which they can learn.

The following angel confronts Rei about her loneliness. Instead of breaking into her mind through light, it directly entered her body. While talking with her, it questioned what loneliness was, trying to understand its own pain and isolation through understanding hers. Its solution is to merge with Rei, as it believes this would solve both problems.

However, when she refuses, the angel then tries to find another source of connection. Rei cares about Shinji, as both a clone of his mother, and a friend as her own person. The angel can see that this connection is something that she finds precious and tries to take it for itself, as it cannot understand why Shinji wouldn’t feel the same. It cannot understand how complex human connections are, that it cannot simply take Reis form. However, it has learned what pain is, and how to communicate its own pain. As seen when Shinji attacks it. Whether this pain is physical or emotional doesn't matter, because it is the first pain that the angel could express.

The angels discovering what loneliness is acts as a way for the human pilots to begin to explore their own isolation in more depth. For better or worse.

THE FINAL MESSENGER

Our introduction to the final angel is him singing. He takes a human form, can fully communicate to other humans, and doesn’t immediately attack them. This is such a contrast to all other angels that it isn't immediately clear that he even is an angel. Kaworu's first words are (as per the netflix english subtitles)

“Arent songs great? Songs enrich the heart. They're the crowning achievement of Lilin culture”

He loves humans, human culture, human lives, and the human world. He is the first angel who is able to show this. His ability to understand humans allows him to form human connections, and he does so with Shinji.

Kaworu loved Shinji. He would seek out Shinji, take time to bond and communicate with him, and help Shinji open up. He wanted to be close with Shinji, and knew how to be gentle in ways that no other human or angel could. He was patient, because he had time. And Shinji was able to open up to him more than with any other character. Shinji was able to take the initiative to ask to stay with him, to try and form that connection.

All the human characters are struggling with their own demons, with an apocalyptic world. The whole earth is at war and Shinji is in the front lines, surrounded by adults who may want to help him but ultimately can't. Saving everyone is a higher priority to saving one kid, especially when that kid is your strongest soldier. Throughout the series Shinji is given conditional love. It is only when he pilots the EVA, defeats the angels and saves the day that people give him validation. Then comes this boy, who is gentle and kind, who listens. And it's easy, its comfort, its understanding and unconditional love, and its exactly what Shinji has needed for the whole series.

But as a messenger he could never stay, he's temporary and by the end of the episode he understands this. He still is driven to ‘Adam’, he has a mission, but instead he is confronted with Lilith. Kaworu understands that humans and angels cannot live together in harmony, only one can survive. Both Adam and Litlith were made in god's image, but only Adam could stay in the garden of Eden. Death and Life hold equal value to Kaworu, so he doesn't mind the sacrifice, he would rather die to protect humans, to protect Shinji. He can also understand that this is difficult, this is murder, this is killing a friend. So he says “thank you” and he waits.

In other episodes when in a battle, Shinji is constantly being yelled at, told what to do, under constant pressure. But here there is just the same patient understanding that Kaworu has always shown him. No rush for him to take action, just time to process and grieve. Because Kaworu knows Shinji will make the hard choice and he waits, and he smiles, and he continues to love Shinji.

The final angel came down as a messenger and said

“You are important.

I want to talk to you, to know you.

You are in pain, you are fragile and should be protected.

You are worthy of my affection.

I like you. I love you. I was born just so that I could meet you.

Our kind cannot survive together, one of us must die. And you deserve to live.

I will take this burden of death because you deserve a future.

I am glad I could meet you, thank you.

I know this is hard, and I know you need time. I will wait.

Thank you.”

That was the last message to humanity.

And because Shinji is human he says back

“We are the same. I love you too. If only one of us could have lived it should have been you. You are better than me. You should have survived.”

#nge #neon genesis evangelion #shinji ikari #nge analysis #asuka langley sohryu #misato katsuragi #rei ayanami #ritsuko akagi #gendo ikari #kaworu nagisa

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viperbarnes · 3 years

Text

Longer Than Forever – One of Four

[B. Barnes]

Medieval/Fantasy AU

Summary: You’d heard rumours of him. Terrible stories of horror and brutality, of merciless bloodshed. The Winter Knight was a demon in every way imaginable, and you expect your arranged marriage to him to be no different. However, the truth is far more complicated, and the man you anticipate fearing the most may just be your only solace.

Warnings: Major warnings for a scene with dubious consent, smut, talk of depression, attempted suicide, and attempted assault.

Note: This story was previously posted on another platform!

You keep your eyes down and your head lowered as you’re guided through the Imperial Palace. You’re led by a severe-looking man who tips his nose high as he moves, as if despite his role as a steward, he thought this task beneath him. At your side, your father’s hand is curled gently around your arm, and you’re thankful for the small amount of comfort it lends. In a castle as large and cold as Palais de la Hiver, you would need every comfort you could find.

You already know it would be a hard task, the stoney walls, large echoing rooms and passages, finely furnished, but not enough to hide the sheer level of discomfort the Palace was built to offer. It was entirely different from your family’s cozy manor. Entirely different from anything you’d ever known.

Your family was wealthy, your father owned great stretches of land near the border of the kingdom, but you’d earnt that wealth and land through generations of hard work. Your ancestor’s had been allies with the former ruling empire, they had worked the lands they’d been gifted to sell crops, and their children had made it into a business.

But the former royals had been deposed of many years ago, when you were still a child. Your kingdom had been conquered and now the lands your father owned were the reason you were in your current situation.

Lord Pierce may have extended the offer of an allying marriage between you and one of his loyal knights, but it was never really an offer at all. Lord Pierce was not a man known for his leniency or tolerance of discord. Outwardly, he may never lift a hand himself, but he had spies and agents everywhere and it would only take one misspoken word and entire families would disappear, their land ceased.

Any pretence of choice or power your father held in this situation was just that; pretence.

You’re led into a drawing room of sorts, though it lacked any real amount of recreation, discounting the small chess set in the corner and the bookshelves lining the walls. A fireplace crackles away on the far side, and in the centre of the room two chaise lounges sit opposite one another, a small table between them.

The servant waits for you to be seated before he bows low.

“Lord Pierce shall be with you soon.” He tells you, though you hardly listen. You sit numbly with your hands in your lap, staring across the room at the fire. Your father paces, occasionally stopping to stand behind you with his hand resting on your shoulder briefly, before nerves take him again and he paces once more.

Under any other circumstances you might’ve been at least a little excited to meet your future husband. You wouldn’t have picked him yourself, but you were hardly expected to anyway. Any excitement was quelled by rumour. Lord Pierce’s most loyal and trusted men, those knighted were all ruthless soldiers.

Although natives to your lands had lived with your conquerors for many years now, there was still an air of mystery, a divide between the two cultures. The Hydran’s kept to themselves in the castle, dishing out edicts and enforcing the law where necessary, but never fully integrating themselves into society.

It didn’t help that the knights were all universally feared. It didn’t matter that you were no longer at war, Pierce ruled with an iron fist and his men had total authority when they deigned to visit the towns or villages. They acted with complete impunity, and their known violence and unforgiving nature only served to further the peoples’ fear.

And you were to marry one of these men.

You had done your best over the past days to remain positive, but the reality of your situation was setting in. You could only hope now that your future husband’s reputation was reserved for the battlefield.

The door opens suddenly and both you and your father jump in your places, standing immediately as Lord Pierce comes sweeping into the room. Perhaps in his heyday he might’ve been a handsome man, but his features had since shrivelled, giving away his age, though he still looked spry, still moved with ease.

His warm smile is almost convincing as he approaches, holding his hand out for your father to shake in greeting.

“Sir, how good to see you well.” Pierce firmly shakes your father’s hand, before his eyes turn on you. You curtsy, just in time for his time-ripened fingers to take your hand, and he tuts at your formality. You pause, uncertain of what to do when he does a slight bow of his own, bringing your hand to his lips.

“As lovely as you described.” He compliments, standing straight once more and you duck your head in gratitude. He releases your hand and holds his arms wide for a moment.

“Well, let us not stand around, please, sit!”

You do as asked, eyes traveling to where Pierce now gestures to a man who had entered behind him, though you’d been far too involved with the feared ruler to pay him mind previously.

The man steps around the couches, not to sit, simply to stand at the end between both, his gloved hands clasped before him. It takes you a moment to see beyond the dark mass of clothing he wears and make out the individual parts of his pitch black armour, the cape that is swung around his neck and over his shoulders, billowing out behind him. Details of silver stand out to you as you look closer, spying several belt buckles and—

You swallow at the sight of the large sword hung on his hip, and your gaze flickers up to take in the man again, this time as a whole.

Tall, broad, and dark. Despite his pale skin, dark is the only word that comes to mind to describe him. His hair was long and hangs about his face, perhaps neat at some point prior to now, but had since been windswept. His eyes are directed to the floor, so you can’t see them, but dark shadows linger underneath, making his complexion rather sallow in the dim lighting of the sitting room.

His face is rather handsome, you can’t help but think, a thick but shortly trimmed beard covering the lower portion of it. It’s then however, your eyes catch upon something shiny at his shoulder, a pin that holds his cloak in place and you freeze, blood running cold.

A skull, six curling tentacles reaching out from underneath it.

You look away from the knight and lace your shaking fingers together in your lap. Your father and Lord Pierce had been speaking all this time about your marriage, and your dowry of at least half your family’s land. That was Lord Pierce’s ploy all along, there had been no denying it.

He could care less about forming alliances with local families, it was the border land he wanted most. You don’t doubt that your husband would only act as a proxy for Pierce’s control, carrying out whatever the warlord wished for it, no questions asked.

You swallow thickly as at last Lord Pierce and your father stand, stepping toward the Knight, but you find yourself frozen to the spot. They don’t immediately notice, Pierce holding a hand out to gesture at his knight.

“This is my Winter Knight, Sir James. I’m sure you’ll have heard of him,” He speaks to your father, still ignoring how you haven't moved yet. You had heard of him. You weren’t sure of anybody who hadn’t.

Among Lord Pierce’s Knights, The Winter Knight was perhaps one of the most storied. The man had never lost a fight, and was obedient to Lord Pierce as if he were a hound. When talk of Lord Pierce’s Knights came about, the whispered deeds of The Winter Knight were among the most feared.

All of them awful.

All of them horrific.

You feel your stomach drop to your knees, but you have no more time to dwell as suddenly all eyes are on you, and you blink up at the men, Lord Pierce giving you an unsettlingly encouraging look, and you follow to where his hand is still held out in gesture to his knight.

You stand, like you’re supposed to, and step closer to the knight, like you’re supposed to. Your shaky hands gather your skirts and you curtsy like you’re supposed to, offering out your hand, like you’re supposed to.

You nearly gasp when black-gloved fingers take your own, far lighter than you might have thought, his fingers certainly holding yours, however the touch feels as soft as a feather.

The knight bows deep, bringing your hand to his lips gently. You keep your eyes firmly on the floor, afraid you might begin shaking worse than you already were, afraid that your future husband may feel the tremble in your fingers. The brief glance you do steal does nothing to settle your growing anxiety or nerves, his features seemingly devoid of any emotion at all, and the dark, imposing man only becoming darker, more imposing in your mind with his complete lack of reaction.

His movements were swift and smooth enough to appear natural, but something tells you diplomacy was not his calling. No, in your mind's eye you conjure wicked images of the man in the midst of a heated battle, blood marring his still emotionless features.

You’re thankful when he drops your hand at last and you take an involuntary step backwards, toward your father. The knight’s eyes remain downturned. Lord Pierce claps his hands.

“A handsome couple I should say!”

Your father hums along feebly, agreeing.

“The wedding shall be tomorrow. A servant will escort the Lady to her temporary rooms for tonight, and I will act as her guardian at tomorrow's nuptials.” Lord Pierce informs you both, making your heart begin to thump wildly in your chest, and your head snaps to your father with wide eyes.

“B-but Sire, I—” Your father begins, stepping forward, but he’s swiftly cut off.

“—I understand your people have your wedding traditions, but we are in the midst of important siege planning, it would be unwise for me to allow you to stay. As it is, nobody enters the Palais and nobody leaves it until we are finished. Your arrival and departure are the only exceptions, of course.” Lord Pierce tells him with a wave of his hand. There was no room for argument, a sternness now to his words.

Your father sputters, but turns to look at you, eyes brimming with unshed tears and apologies. You silently beg him not to leave, but somewhat reluctantly, his gaze hardens, and he looks away, bowing to Lord Pierce.

“Very well, My Lord. I shall depart with haste…”

You force fight the urge to throw yourself at him, beg him to stay, but instead curl your fists tightly into your palms, remaining rooted to the spot as your father leans in to kiss your forehead.

“I… I love you. I’m so—” Before he can finish his apology, he shuts his mouth, lips forming into a thin line. He nods at you firmly, finally.

You watch as the same man who had escorted you inside the palace leads your father from the room, the door shutting loudly behind them. A few tears escape your eyes and trail down your cheeks.

You jump when a hand lands on your shoulder.

“I know it is unfortunate, but you will be just fine. Before you know it, Palais de la Hiver will be home.” Lord Pierce tells you, and if you hadn’t heard all the stories about his cruelty, his sympathetic smile and warm eyes might have fooled you.

You swallow and let your eyes fall to the stone floor.

Home?

This would never be your home.

—-

You feel numb.

Everything about your wedding was already planned and organised, and you float through the day like a fog in a valley. The ladies that were clearly assigned to help you prepare hardly speak to you, and while they aren’t outright unkind, the room is filled with tension. You can tell they wished to be elsewhere.

They don’t know you. They don’t trust you. You aren’t one of them.

You see nothing of Lord Pierce or the man you’re set to marry right up until the ruler appears and takes your arm to lead you to the altar. The whole ceremony plays out unfamiliar to you, Hydran traditions and weddings vastly different from your own native ones, but that hardly seemed to matter.

The ceremonial room isn’t large or particularly grand. A few other knights, ladies and officials seem to have gathered to pay witness, and in the few moments you lift your eyes from the floor as you’re led forward, it seems as though all watch on with fascinated boredom.

When you finally reach the officiant, Lord Pierce releases your arm, taking your hand and transferring it into the clutches of a dark glove. For a moment you peek up at your soon-to-be husband, only to find him once more with that blank expression. You cast your eyes back to the ground and try to keep your lip from wobbling.

You must disassociate, your mind travelling elsewhere, because the ceremony is over before you know it, the Hydran officiant untying your wrists from where you and Sir James’ hands had been symbolically bound together. There is a polite clapping as you both turn, presented to the bored audience as man and wife and Lord Pierce announces a feast.

The feast has far more guests than your wedding did, and although you and Sir James sit at a long table joined by other apparently important figures, you feel as though the celebration has more to do with the acquisition of your father’s lands than your union.

You sit quietly and watch the festivities, the whole room loud and laughing, music playing raucously as couples drink and dance. Nobody approaches either you or your new husband. Nobody seems to care at all. You can’t even bring yourself to cry, as numb as you are now.

Throughout the meal, you briefly steal glances at your husband, and part of you feels almost angry for his impassiveness, the way his eyes flick slowly around the room. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

You do think it odd that for a knight he seemed to have no colleagues willing to come congratulate him. In fact, it’s odd to you that nobody seems to address him at all. The only person who does is Lord Pierce, and even then he only ever seems to command him. Did the tales of your husband’s brutality isolate him from those within his own circles as well?

Were you truly now married to a man feared even by his own people?

You swallow, and smooth your hands over your lap for the hundredth time since the meal had begun. At any moment now you would retire to your new rooms, the chambers you will share with your new husband, and you will find out how much of a monster he really is. The thought should have made you scared, at the very least nervous, but you felt too numb for that, one small blessing.

It only takes another twenty minutes, and you notice Lord Pierce lean into Sir James, speaking quietly into the man’s ear. Predictably, the knight’s face doesn’t change, he only nods shortly. You feel your heartbeat jump when Sir James stands, and he doesn’t even speak, simply holds his hand out for you expectantly.

For the first time ever his eyes fall upon you and you realise with some amount of surprise, that they’re a stunning bright blue.

You take the hand offered, and keep your head low as you’re led from the table. You might’ve thought the feasting crowd would have noticed the bride and groom leaving, dreaded the whistles and cheering on from the men, but there’s nothing, not a soul seems moved by your exit from the evening.

The hallways are cold and empty as you move through them, doubly so with your company, and you attempt to distract yourself by keeping track of which hall led where and what staircases you climbed and which you didn’t, but the palace is a maze.

You do stop eventually, at a large wooden door Sir James pushes open with one hand. Unfortunately, your numbness takes leave of you then, your heart thumping and you feel as if you’ve been dropped in frozen water.

Your blood pumps loudly in your ears as you are guided inside, and you distract yourself once more by taking an inventory of the chambers before you.

They were large enough, though not particularly lavish, and the furnishings that were present seemed like they might have been put there by someone else. A fireplace with a seat and table by it, a tall bookcase nearby. On the other side of the room, opposite the fireplace was an armoured figure, and it takes you a moment to realise that it is only a mannequin, with your husband’s armour placed upon it.

The back of the room holds the bed, and directly to the left of it, curtained doors that you suppose lead to a balcony. On the right side of the bed is another door, a washroom you suppose.

There are few cupboards and trunks for things, and you wonder how suddenly this marriage was thrust upon Sir James if he had not yet found time to acquire more furniture for your own possessions. It matters not, you spy your own trunk by the wall, a maid clearly having collected it from the room you’d occupied last night.

Your husband closes the door and immediately moves to the fire, stoking it. You take several deep breaths before moving toward the table, where you spy a bottle of something and two glasses, clearly placed there in anticipation of your return to the chamber. You wonder by who, though. You hardly think your husband the sort.

You don’t speak or offer him a drink, you simply pour a good amount into each glass and take a hefty swig of your own before you look up again, nearly jumping when you find Sir James stood, just watching you. He doesn’t move, he just stares at you and for a moment you think perhaps you should have waited, but then he does something that catches you completely by surprise;

His head cocks the tiniest amount, and his eyes narrow in interest.

It’s the first sort-of expression you’ve ever seen cross his face, the first acknowledgement of you being in the same room as him at all, and you wonder what on earth it meant. You see his eyes flick down to your glass, and then back to your face.

You swallow thickly before taking a final drink, finishing the remaining wine and placing the glass back down on the table.

This was it, whether you liked it or not. You look down at yourself, not even really sure of what your gown looked like, or how it came undone. You knew what was required of you, you wouldn’t struggle or fight. Perhaps if he knew this, he’d be kinder. You decide to voice as much, but spare yourself the embarrassment by turning away, moving toward the bed.

“I know what is expected from me. I will yield.” Your hands shake almost violently when you begin pulling apart the fastenings of your dress, but you push down the fear and the worry, focusing instead on undressing. If you could be quick, perhaps he would be too, and you would be left to sleep sooner.

You don’t look back at your husband as you do this, but you know he watches, the prickle of skin on the back of your neck alerting you to his attention. It feels wrong, and yet, this man was your husband. This was the only right way for a man to see you like this.

By the time you’re fully nude, and you’ve gathered the courage to look back at him, you find him exactly where he was the last time you’d looked at him, but now, his eyes seem to be averted, cast downwards.

A moment of panic fills you. What if he did not like what he saw?! You had no desire to be married to this man, but you were now, and his approval of you was important!

You lie down quickly, unwilling to entertain the crazed, panicked thoughts rushing through your mind. No man could be truly displeased with a woman lying ready for them, yes? All you had to do was be a good wife and perhaps your life would not become completely miserable. You could take joy in that, at the very least.

Hours seem to pass in the time it takes his footsteps to near, and you steal a look to where your husband appears in the corner of your vision. You watch him pull his coat and doublet off, each being placed neatly back into a drawer, and the sight almost makes you laugh.

This strange, fearsome man would prioritise cleanliness on his wedding night?

You stay silent however, and turn your eyes away as he continues to undress. He nears at one point, and you tense up, readying yourself, only to stop when he bends low, takes your own clothes from the floor, and sets them tidily inside the same drawer. Your mind spins and whirs and you can’t decide if it's an act of kindness or of his own desire to have his chambers clean.

He approaches you for good then, to the side of the bed and you shift slightly to make more room if he needs it. A tiny peek at his body tells you the man had survived more injuries than you can count with the number of scars that cover his muscled body.

You hold your breath when he gracefully climbs atop you, and you stare up at the ceiling of the four-poster bed, begging your nerves to calm down. You jump when a warm hand grasps your ankle, you gaze snapping to the touch. Sir James seems to pause with your movement, his eyes locked onto yours and your heartbeat quadruples. He dips his chin just slightly, still looking at you, and then continues to move your leg, slowly, perhaps even gently.

You can’t help but watch him as he settles between your legs. You swallow, and with his eyes now moving elsewhere, you look back to the ceiling, your jaw beginning to shake some as you feel him shuffle forwards. He doesn’t lie atop you, instead he places his hands on your hips and carefully tugs you down the bed.

You talk yourself down through each movement he makes, staring upwards even when your vision becomes blurry and you’re forced to close your eyes. One of his hands keeps your body against his while you guess the other guides his length to your entrance. You force yourself to swallow the gasp that climbs up your throat when a hand, a finger prods there instead.

Confusion fills you, and you gasp when the finger pushes into you, dragging and a little painful, but it’s pulled away again in a few seconds, and you keep your eyes closed, too embarrassed now to open them, too scared to move as more fingers glide up your core, settling at the place just above. You wonder what he’s doing, but as he slowly moves his fingers in small circles, you feel the muscles in your core twitch.

It takes you a moment to realise that the ministrations aren’t unpleasant. It’s an odd sensation, warmth crawling over your skin like you were sinking into a hot bath. It doesn’t calm your nerves, but you do feel your body begin to relax.

After a few minutes, the movement stops, and you feel his fingers travel down again, back to your entrance where, just like before, one digit presses in. It doesn’t drag or hurt this time, aided by a wetness you had not realised had spread there. A second finger joins a moment later, and this time he pumps them slowly, sending a slight thrill though you involuntarily.

The fingers stop then, and the hand seems to be pulled away completely. For a moment you debate opening your eyes, but then you feel something warm and hard press against your entrance, and before you can even think a second more, you’re gasping sharply as he sinks inside.

He doesn’t stop or pause like he had with your ankle, but his press forward slows some, both his hands moving back to your hips. You take shallow, hurried breaths as you feel his cock stretch you out, your muscles screaming in discomfort, but you force yourself to be quiet, even when your eyes begin leaking again, and you shake uncontrollably as the tears drip down your cheeks and onto the bed below.

He’s sheathed all the way inside you when a hand leaves your hip. You yelp softly, not expecting the fingers that clutch gently at your chin, holding it still from your shaking. His hold is so soft and gentle, you can’t help but open your eyes, half expecting to find another man.

Sir James leans forward slightly, his expression almost entirely the same as it always is, except for a tiny furrow in his brow. Looking at him almost distracts you some, and you can only stare in mild surprise as he then lifts his hand from your chin, and uses the rough, calloused pad of his thumb to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks, one, and then the other.

Your breathing stutters at the tenderness of it, and even though he speaks no words, the message is clear: He did not intend on hurting you, on making this more painful than it had to be.

Shock only makes you shake more, but the pit of anxiety in your chest seems to dissipate.

He pulls his hand away, and back to your hip.

His first thrust hurts, and you wince. The second does too, but less so and soon he seems to have carved out a place in you that feels somewhat comfortable, and you manage to relax. You keep your eyes fixated on the ceiling, your tears drying.

At last his hips stutter and his breathing gets heavier, and finally with a deep exhale and juddering last thrust forward, you feel the fruits of his labour pool inside you, the feeling of which surprises you for. You swallow thick at the thought of bearing a child to this man, but decide to consider such subjects later.

He pulls out of you quickly, and in seconds is on his feet, moving away from the bed. You watch him as he goes for a new drawer, and he pulls several items from it. He dresses himself in breeches made for sleeping, but steps back toward the bed with a rag and a plain tunic held out.

You blink in surprise, and gingerly take the items from him, using the rag to wipe at the mess between your legs, and then slipping the shirt over your head, taking comfort in the warmth of no longer lying nude. Your husband takes back the rag, disappearing into the washroom before stalking out of it once more. You watch him as he moves about the room, putting out any candles until the chamber is cast in only the small light from the fireplace.

When he returns to the bed, he keeps to the opposite side, but pulls back the blankets and furs and allows you to climb beneath them before he himself follows. He does not touch you further, or bid you goodnight, and you are left with your own dizzying thoughts.

You were confused, and grateful, and in slight disbelief, but you fall asleep with more hope for your future than you had woken up with.

—-

Life in Palais de la Hiver is different in every way than what you knew.

You were a Lady now, and as such had no chores to do, no work, no schedule to keep you busy. In fact, as long as you stayed out of the way of any private business, nobody seemed to notice you at all. Every morning your husband was gone before you awoke, returning only near midday to wash and change from his training, before he left again to do who knows what.

In the evenings he would return and quietly eat whatever meal had been delivered to you by the servants, before climbing into bed and the cycle would repeat. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

You had begun imposing your own schedule. When you rose in the morning, you would dress and eat, before taking a stroll in the castle grounds. You’d given yourself the task of memorising the layout of the areas you were allowed, and in the process, you’d discovered the training ring where the knights would spar.

The ring was overlooked by a balcony that was often occupied by many ladies of the court, clearly vying for the attention of various men. Eventually you make a habit out of watching the knights too, though you keep to yourself, all too aware that you were unwelcome.

You observe your husband more than any of the others, seeing his skill and prowess for yourself. Unlike the other knights, who appeared to take pleasure in violence even within a training scenario, there was never any rage behind your husband’s movements. Much as he was outside of the ring, he always appeared to be indifferent, his actions almost effortless.

If any one thing had become clear to you over the past several months, however, it was the fact that your husband was… different. Aside from the fact he never spoke a word to you, and appeared to hold zero capacity for emotion, the other knights treated him as though he were a dog.

Snide comments and barked orders, your husband obeyed every one of them, even if they, the orders or the man, were below him. The other knights didn’t treat each other the same way, they seemed to have camaraderie, if not friendship.

It makes you confused, and almost angry, but it’s not your place to address.

So you continue on.

After you watch the training for a while, you return to your chambers. You had taken up embroidery and knitting, but you weren’t particularly good at either, so you usually end up reading. When your husband returns at noon to clean up, you always stand to greet him, though he never gives you more than a polite nod as he passes to the washroom, eyes downturned.

You’d begun a ritual of cleaning off his boots and armour when he hung it up. You’d seen him do it every so often, when it was well and truly caked on, and so once he’d left again to oversee his other duties, you’d take a cloth and water and wipe down each piece, before placing it back on it's mantle.

You don’t know if he’d noticed or not, as usual, he never said anything.

You observe one morning while watching the men train, the winter chill in the air requiring you to wrap yourself in a thick shawl, that your husband’s long hair appears to bother him. You’d seen him flick it out of his eyes on many occasions, but for some reason this morning with the wind whipping around the ring non-stop, he appears to be truly frustrated.

Well, as frustrated as he could manage. Nobody else would have noticed, and if you weren’t so used to him by now, you wouldn’t have either, but his hand clenches by his side before he tucks the hair behind his ear, his brow furrowing deeper, and slightly more telling, his nostrils flare. You briefly wonder about offering to cut his hair, before you realise that you had no talent for the art.

It isn’t until you’ve returned to the warmth of your chambers, your embroidery in your hands, that you get an idea.

You make him a ribbon.

It takes you two whole months, and even though your design was fairly simple, your talent was truly non-existent. You also had to contend with the cold that makes your fingers and hands ache after short periods of time, but eventually you sit with a completed ribbon.

It’s black, like the rest of the clothes he wore, but with a dark blue thread you’d created a row of flowers along it, connected by thin white diamonds. You aren’t quite sure what he might think, but you were rather proud.

You’re inspecting it one last time, sitting in the chair by the fireplace when the door swings swiftly open. You jump slightly, ribbon falling to your lap as your husband stalks inside, closing the door gently behind him.

You stand quickly, as you always do, clutching your gift tightly in your hand now as you step toward where he already moves toward the washroom.

“Wait! Please… if you might…?” You realise rather suddenly, that you have no idea how you should address him, but you see him stop anyway. He turns to look at you slowly, brow creased barely noticeably, and you quickly take several more steps toward him.

“I noticed that your hair keeps bothering you while you train… I made this for you, to keep it back…” You hold out the ribbon, trying to keep your hand from shaking too much. Your husband’s eyes drop from your face to your hand.

You see his brow furrow deeper, and hesitantly he takes the gift from you, holding it’s length with both hands as he inspects it closely. You think your heart might burst from your chest in anticipation. When his eyes meet yours once more, and he bows his head deep and low, you have to suppress the urge to jump up and down.

You let out your held air and watch as he stands straight again, turning on his heel and continuing on toward the washroom. It was more of a reaction than you had expected, and even with his silence, his mostly-blank expression, the acknowledgement makes you feel as though you float through clouds.

The next morning when you come to watch the knights train, you hardly recognise Sir James, his face on full display for perhaps the first time you’ve ever seen, his dark hair pulled back from his face, held together by a dark blue and black ribbon.

In a moment between spars, when he rights himself and rolls his shoulders, his eyes cast upwards toward the balcony. Your breath catches in your throat when his eyes lock with yours, staring for just a moment longer than necessary.

—-

Despite the steps forward you make in turning Palais de la Hiver into your home, you’re possessed continually by a pervasive loneliness and depression that refuses to leave you. Some days you were alright, you’d read and walk and find things to fill your time. On other days, you’d stand on your balcony and stare at the massive drop below, wondering if it would be enough to send you away for good, to release you.

As the winter joins you in full force you spend more time out there, standing, staring down below you.

If you were to die, nobody aside from your family would care. Your husband would likely hardly notice your absence, and anybody else at the castle would probably be unsure of your name, let alone if you disappeared or not. However, heights scare you, and any time you attempt to climb up onto the bannister, you scramble back again, afraid.

You would have to try something else.

Your husband has many weapons, he keeps them, his swords and daggers, on his person always, but there was one item he owned that he did not bring with him. A small knife that you’d seen him occasionally clean and place under his pillow. Perhaps once it might’ve scared you to know your husband slept with a weapon so near, but at some point you had either stopped caring or realised he wouldn’t use it on you.

So you take it, one cold and drizzly afternoon, after your husband has returned and left once more for the day, and you know you’ll be alone for hours. You think about perhaps leaving a note, but decide against it. Your life intersecting with his would be nothing more than a passing breeze, you imagine. He would find you, alert Lord Pierce, you would be buried, and life would go on.

Still, you don’t want to make a mess on the carpets, or on the chair you’d spend most of your days in. You think you’d like to be in the open air, so that perhaps your soul can fly freely, return home, and escape the castle walls.

You stand on the balcony once again, eyes dipping down briefly before you shakily lift the knife. It’s cold and heavy in your hands, but you weren’t scared of the pain. You’d thought about this for a long time, one whole year in fact, and it would be the easiest conclusion to your tale.

Despite this, your eyes leak warm tears against your cheeks as you finally place the sharp, gleaming tip of the knife against your chest, directly over your heart. You wouldn’t risk a wound you could survive. You swallow and just hold it there for a moment, calming yourself and evening out your breathing.

This is what you wanted.

You don’t hear the door to your chambers open, the wind and your heart too loud in your ears, but you do see the flicker of movement at the corner of your eyes. Your head snaps quickly to the left in fright, and you find your husband standing by the door to the balcony, his hand on the handle as if he were about to close it when he’d seen you.

For the first time in the whole year you’d been married, his expression is no longer blank, his eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise. For a split second you can only stare at one another, before his eyes drop to the knife held to your chest. A frenzy seems to overcome you both then and you cry out as he lunges for you.

You try to escape him, lifting the knife high and attempting to bring it to your chest before he can reach you, but your hands are grabbed tightly. You thrash against his hold, even manage to drive an elbow into his chest, forcing him back. As you try to clamber away from him, you’re grabbed roughly around the middle with one arm, another hand shooting out and wrapping around your wrist tightly, forcing it, and the knife, away from you.

“Let— Let me go! Let me go!” You gasp, struggling and squirming against him, but he doesn’t listen, only forcing your arm back even more, until it almost hurts, before his thumb suddenly presses down against the inside of your wrist, the force and pain of which shocks you. You cry out again, even as your hand is involuntarily forced open at the move, the knife tumbling from your grasp and over the edge of the balcony.

A sob is torn from your throat as you see it fall, and your husband’s hold on you slackens enough for you to shoot forward, hands clutching the ledge as you lean to watch. He doesn’t release you entirely, his arm around your middle still tight, as if he thinks you may try to jump. You don’t however, instead collapsing in a heap against him, allowing him to hold you up as you begin to sob.

Why did he have to try and stop you?! You want to scream and shout and strike him, but you can do nothing but weep pathetically. Your husband makes no move, not until the rain begins again. You’d have been happy to stay right where you are, but the arm around your middle shifts, and your legs are swept out from under you. You droop even more as he carries you out of the wet, deflating completely as you cry.

In the warmth of the room, you realise how cold you are, your body shaking involuntarily now. Your husband sets you on the chair by the fire and walks away, making you wipe at your eyes, sniffling softly. You jump when he steps in front of you again.

His serious and intent expression as he wraps the blanket from your bed around your shoulders might’ve been funny had the circumstances been different. He seems to fuss for several moments, pulling the blanket securely and tucking it up. When he stops, he pauses, before crouching down in front of you.

You blink tearfully at him, unsure of what to say or do. You watch him as he hesitantly raises a hand, and then lays it on your lap, palm up. You’re too upset and shaken to think clearly, and you react instinctively, unfurling your own hand and placing it in his. He’s warm, and even though his hands are rough and calloused, there’s a comfort in the simple touch that makes your cry again.

You realise that it has been a whole year since someone touched you.

Your mouth seems to work unbound then, and you find yourself sobbing once more as you begin to tell him of your unhappiness. His face remains still, though for once you’re thankful that he appears emotionless. You needed that, for just a moment as you bared all.

“And— and I—” You stutter, lip trembling as you finally stop to catch your breath, eyes falling to your lap as your shoulders lose all tension, and you feel yourself all but slump down in the chair.

“I miss my mother… I want to go home,” You whimper, quietly, lip trembling.

Your husband doesn’t speak, but he does squeeze your hand gently, making you look up at him. When you do, he releases his hold on you, and reaches out to wipe your eyes, like he’d done that very first night, first one, and then the other. He nods softly, frowning slightly.

He doesn’t leave again that afternoon, as you might’ve expected him too, like he probably had planned to when he’d first come back for whatever reason in the first place. Instead helps you into bed, and then sits himself in the chair by the fireplace. You drift in and out of sleep as the rain pours outside, exhausted from your outburst.

When you wake briefly after the night has fallen, you find that he has joined you in bed, though he does not sleep. His eyes open when you shift, and he watches you for several moments as you settle again. He moves slowly then, extending his arm to the vast space between you, his hand once again offered, palm up. You breath in shakily as you place your hand in his again, closing your eyes as he takes proper hold.

When you wake the next morning your hand is still outstretched, but your husband is gone.

A sudden knocking on your chamber door startles you, making you jump up in bed. When it continues, you stumble to your feet, wrapping yourself in a gown before meekly pulling the wooden door open. You almost never had visitors, and you always woke after your husband had taken his breakfast, your plates left for you on the table.

A young man in the armour of the castle guards greets you, his bow half-hearted at most.

“Sir James has asked for you to dress and meet him in the stables, my Lady.”

“My husband?” You ask, confused.

“Yes, my Lady. He urges you to hurry, due to the weather.” He bows again before you can reply, and you’re left standing there blinking into the corridor.

You really felt no desire to leave your rooms at all today, not after the stress of yesterday, and you’d rather been hoping to be alone, but you find yourself hurrying to dress anyway. When you’re ready, you step out of your rooms and find your way to the stables.

You arrive to find your husband standing by a large, stocky horse that was tacked up and even lightly armoured in traditional Hyrdan fashion. He appeared to be fiddling with part of a strap when he notices you.

“Good morning,” You greet nervously, his own head nodding slowly before he lifts his hand, holding it out towards you. It was strange how suddenly you had both taken to the touch.

You give your own nod, heart jumping to your throat when he releases your hand, and leans down, taking your waist in his hands and lifting you to the horse's back as though you weighed nothing.

You have to shuffle to sit properly, your skirts quite in the way, but you sit side saddle, holding tightly onto the saddlehorn when Sir James’ hands leave you, and he climbs up easily, situating himself behind you, much closer than you are expecting.

It isn’t that you’re embarrassed for your husband to be so close, but the fact that the two of you had hardly interacted before yesterday, let alone physically, makes you feel as though it’s something taboo. Moreso when his arms come around you on either side, taking the reins in his hands.

You briefly cast a look up at him as he gently nudges the horse into motion, your hand shooting out to grip his arm when you jerk a little off balance, and he glances down at you. Releasing the reins to hold them with only one hand, he wraps his arm around your middle, holding you more secure as he guides the horse from the stable.

You want to ask where exactly he’s taking you, but you keep quiet, knowing you won’t get a reply. Once you’ve ridden out of the Palais gates, you feel his hold on you tighten even more and quickly the horse is galloping fast down the road, mud and dirt flicking up behind you as you go.

You were never one for horseback riding, apparent as it is, and your nerves jitter anxiously at the edges of your vision, held back only by the strong arm around your middle, and the trust you’ve decided to place in the owner.

You ride for two hours, stopping briefly under a tree when the rain passes through, taking the chance to stretch your legs some, before you mount once more and go on your way. You begin to wonder what exactly you’re doing when the land starts becoming more familiar, and when you pass a signpost that leads you toward your hometown, your hand squeezes at your husband’s arm, just as your heart squeezes in your chest.

You’re swallowing thickly, and trying to blink the tears from welling up in your eyes when he slows his horse, bringing her into a light trot as you approach a large manor house. Servants and maids mill about, collecting water, and doing their chores, and when you’ve finally come to a stop, you all but slip from the staddle, your husband’s arm around your middle preventing you from outright falling, but he does lower you gently, only letting go once your feet have found the ground.

You don’t watch him dismount, too focused on running as fast as you can toward your mother, who must have seen you approaching from the window. She comes stumbling down the front steps, skirts held in her hands, her face pulled into a wide, desperate smile as you throw your arms around her.

“Mama!”

“My baby! My baby! You’re home!” She cries into your neck, and you feel the flow of warm tears down your own cheeks as well. You pull back a little, enough for her to kiss your face, and you coo, excitedly giving your father a hug too when he appears, almost dumbfounded behind her.

“You— You’re— You came home?!” he stutters, holding you tightly, a hand stroking down the back of your head and you nod, pulling away to wipe your face.

“F-for the day, I suspect…” You smile, and look over your shoulder, searching for your husband who stands rigid by his horse, face impassive as ever, but he watches you closely.

You look back to your parents, who have both followed your gaze, their faces suddenly nervous by the knight’s presence. They knew the rumours too, but at this point, you had no idea what to believe. Your husband had been kind to you, for the most part, it didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen him train, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t a seasoned warrior

Letting go of your mother to step back toward your husband, you hold out a hand for him. His shoulders seem to straighten, and you get the feeling he had intended to keep away while you reunited with your family. He steps toward you quickly, his eyes flicking to your parents, then back to you before he places his hand in yours.

“My husband, Sir James.” You introduce him properly.

“Well…!” You mother blinks in surprise as she takes him in fully, his height and size intimidating without all his armour, let alone with him currently in it.

“I… I will set the tea on…!” She announces, turning away and ushering you all inside.

For a moment before you step through the door, you turn back, unable to keep the grateful smile from your face. Your husband blinks down at you, perhaps startled by your sudden spin. Your sheer happiness spurs on your next movements, and you quickly lean forward and press a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

“Thank you,” You say softly, pulling back and watching his eyes dart around your features for a moment. You see his lips part, and he swallows before closing them again, and nodding.

With his hand still in yours, you lead him into your family home.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you

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ignitification · 3 years

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Two Sides of the Same Coin.

So, I actually hinted at this in my Yoichi Shigaraki's post - but as I found myself thinking about it, it becomes even more clear that the parallels between Deku/Bakugou and Yoichi/2nd User are way too many to be ignored (and that at the same time, they can be applied to Deku and Shigaraki).

Now, I'd have to consider in this post that the 1st and 2nd movie are, if not canon, an alternative universe which directly links back to the main story (as we saw with the Compression Gauntlet made by Melissa in the 1st movie, and which Izuku sports in Ch. 309).

But at the same time, I am not going to mention of some implication which might be related to this post entailed the possibility of Heroes Rising and Bakugou or one of his ancestors being an OfA user because of two reasons: I. because I am not a fan of the theory and II. because as things stand now, it has little to no relevance for the post.

Now, onto the main part: if we think about it, it makes absolutely sense that a foreshadowing of the relationship between Izuku and one or both of his counterparts is shown through the Vestiges of OfA. As I already wrote in the past (and I am particularly referring to this post), the Vestiges are somehow an enclosed space where Izuku is free to explore the Consciousness of his own Quirk. At the same time, it allows him to have insight in himself and occasionally others from within the same environment. Point in case, this happens with Shigaraki - when after touching him through AfO's Quirks's wires, Shigaraki (possessed by AfO, that is) enters the Vestiges.

This narrates of the fact that, mostly - appearances are not everything. I guess, this is also why the Vestiges look like a piece of crumbled building; not only because they managed to fully shape after the power evolved - which means through Toshinori towards Izuku - but also that the Vestiges are a kind metaphor for the people inhabiting the Vestiges. If the Vestiges are a shared consciousness formed due to the embers of an identity left in it and embed with a personality before being passed, it means that there is a sort of personalisation of OfA. Well, that should have been clear when Horikoshi made Izuku develop Shoot Style, and manifest OfA in different ways from All Might - freeing Izuku form the shackles that is his admiration for the hero. But most importantly it also means that this personalisation comes from within, while the power and that is, the core and the shared value of these people, stays fundamentally the same. Which is then represented by the Vestiges. But, the fact that this Quirk Personalization makes its way through the cracks on a shared identity, is evident in the fact that every user if free to decide whether to acknowledge the other (and foremost Izuku) and what to think of the situation. As the 2nd User speaks, he is still not entirely convinced that Izuku's is the way to go (I wonder, whether the fact that Izuku cannot properly speak also depends on the fact that User 2 and 3 haven't fully accepted Izuku yet).

This brings us forward to the notion of Hero, of Saving and the 'Room'. As it is clear by the panels above, 2nd User and Izuku play the role of Saviours, offering a help which is thought maybe not needed, but it is offered all the same. It is also at the beginning of a life-long journey, even if Izuku and Bakugou's comes way much after. Yoichi considers 2nd his hero, and the initiator of the story. Bakugou considers Izuku not his hero, but at the same time - Izuku, time after time, 'saves' Bakugou and offers him a hand to get out of the room full of himself in which society closed him in. But, these consideration, in my opinion, fit more the Shigaraki and Izuku storyline.

First of all, notwithstanding everything, Shigaraki is the main 'antagonist' of the story. He's the leader of the LOV, and while not the brain of the operation, he is still the one who puts in practice. He is the one actually influenced by AfO. He is the one, again, to be closed off from the world by AfO. Same as for Yoichi - as a form of absolute control. AfO encloses in a definite space, both mentally and physically Yoichi and Tomura both. He wants from them to be dependent of him. Wants them to be grateful to him for what he has done. Because he is the one who saved them, who gave them the necessary power and helped them survive in this world. It is not a case, that looking-wise Yoichi and Tomura are so similar, especially after the 'Hibernation' Tomura went through. And this scenario also brings to mind the way Shigaraki's body gets hijacked by AfO's consciousness, and Shigaraki tries to fight it - but instead, he is put to 'sleep' and rest, as to recover - because of the amount of energy used during the battle against the heroes.

As for the Hero part played by the 2nd User in the original scenario, Izuku is the one most likely to represent it in the upcoming occasions. Lately, there has been a lot of speculations about Izuku saving or not Shigaraki (the whole Vestige talk is after all, about Shigaraki and Izuku), but in the end, as said countless times: the set up talks clearly. Izuku is dead set on offering the tentative hand to Tomura, because in the Vestiges he saw that Shigaraki Tomura is nothing else than an identity created by AfO out of spite, hatred and manipulation. It's a mask, which Tomura executes as its best capabilities.

And if Izuku, who is the one who actually puts the seed of ‘But after all, maybe, there IS something to save, if you can understand what made villains the way the are’ is, despite the double expressed by Ni-sama, the hero of this scenario - on a very evident side that Shigaraki, or rather, Shimura Tenko, is the one who embodies the concept of Salvation and Destruction (Restoration), that is at the core of the entire manga series (and of course, of the ideology brought forward by the OfA users). Izuku Midoriya is, after all, walking the same steps of the 2nd user: going to save someone tossed aside and in AfO’s control, giving birth to a new stage of society and consequently reality. It’s a change in tide. The beginning of something new, and the end of something long overdue. It’s the beginning of a new, reformed society which does not see murder as a way of salvation, but rather understands that Heroes can show and bring forward another way, while working on themselves and working to save the villains. And it’s, at the same time, the End of an era holding Heroes in the highest regard, and glorifying power and strength (All Might’s Quirk. Endeavour, even the criteria of the UA entrance tests). An Era which held All Might accountable for everyone else, too - and made him bear the burden. An Era which made society lazy and uninvolved with the villains and the ugly side of themselves (which I already explored in this take). As Yoichi puts it, it’s thanks to him that the OfA’s story begins - and it may be because of Izuku that it ends, as it will fulfil its greatest mission: to free the world from AfO and to save Shigaraki Tomura.

This is why, the parallels between becoming a hero, and offering a hand to someone who probably never even consider the possibility of needing it, is a foreshadowing for what is likely to go down between Izuku and Tomura.

But as always, parallels, even when everything, still might be just a perception of the real situation. A perception of a situation which is where different, also similar because, as we all know - history is a fickle thing and it has a terrible habit of always repeating itself.

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years

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Demigod Dossier: Velstrac Demagogues, part 1

Pictured: Aroggus, the Abbey-Maker

Lawful Evil Mad Artists of the Shadow Plane

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 120~121 Additional information is also present in Adventure Path: Return of the Runelords: The City Outside of Time, pg. 74~79

Our second-ever Demigod Dossier, now fully in-swing! The Velstrac Demagogues are the rulers of the Shadow Plane and all the lives within, though many of said lives within aren’t really fans of them. Natives to the Netherworld find the presence of the Velstrac an annoyance at best and a threat to their lives at worst, and would much prefer if they went back to Hell where they came from, but unfortunately for everyone everywhere they don’t appear too eager to throw themselves into the jaws of the inferno just yet. Instead, they’re busy throwing themselves into the jaws of one another.

The Demagogues represent the pinnacle of a specific subset of the Velstrac’s twisted senses of ‘art’ and ‘perfection,’ either because they’ve mutilated themselves into something wholly unlike anything else that can, did, or could exist, or they’ve pioneered a form of artistry that other Velstrac couldn’t even conceptualize in the first place and gathered a fandom. It takes some very twisted, alien forms of thinking to become a Demagogue and get others rallied behind you, even moreso because the Velstrac themselves are, putting it kindly, completely out of their gourd. When your audience already expects the insane and outlandish, you have to go even further, and many of the fiends you’ll soon see have.

We’ll only be covering four in this initial post, with the rest to be saved for later...

Demagogues view mortals as little more than primal clay to be shaped, and thus see little worth in investing true divine power into them, worshipers receive Boons that are are relatively simple: a trio of spell-like abilities, each of which may be used 1/day. Boons are normally gained slowly, at levels 12, 16, and 20, however entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes can see the Boons gained as early as levels 10, 13, and 16. Note that while they are Lawful Evil fiends originally from Hell, they are not devils, thus you cannot enter the Diabolist Prestige Class to obtain their Boons without DM fiat.

Aroggus, the Abbey-Maker

Demagogue of Possibility, Revenge, and Sanctuary Domains: Evil, Law, Protection, Trickery Subdomains: Deception, Defense, Fear, Tyranny

Obedience: List the names of those who have wronged you until the writing covers a page, then consume the parchment. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws to resist compulsion effects.

What a completely normal, sane, and healthy thing to do! As the first of the Demagogues to flee from Hell, Aroggus is EXTREMELY angry at the devils for locking them up in the first place. Angry enough to want revenge on the whole of the diabolic race, as well as the Asura... Angry enough that he hasn’t yet even started getting around to enacting his revenge, instead just constantly thinking about and refining it as if no iteration of suffering is perfect enough to match his fury.

True to form, he wants you to ruminate in your anger rather than doing anything to enact your vengeance, blacking out a page with the names (or just one name) of all who’ve wronged you no matter how petty or insignificant the inconvenience they may have caused. Unfortunately, no two ways about it, you’re going to look insane (in the literal definition of the term) doing this every day, especially if you only have one or two people who’ve wronged you enough to get onto your list. Scrawling their name, front AND back, until the page is filled and then eating it is behavior that will raise eyebrows no matter who you’re adventuring with. Best to keep this one behind closed doors. Make sure you have a glass of activated charcoal after, because all of that ink day after day (unless you write with, I don’t know, berry juice or blood) is going to do amazingly terrible things to your constitution.

The benefit is good. Compulsions are typically Save-Or-Suck effects, so having more Save means less Suck for you later on. It’s useful at any point in your adventure, so I can’t say anything bad about it! My only wish is that it was a little stronger, since some other gods give +4 vs compulsion and charm effects.

Boon 1: Nondetection Boon 2: Forcecage Boon 3: Imprisonment

Nondectection is a good spell for those times when you need to sneak by diviners, hide magic items from scrutiny, avoid the gaze of a Paladin who’s a little too judicious with Detect Evil, or to add another layer of shroud over Invisibility and the like. It’s a spell that’s a pain to prepare every single day, but useful to have when you need it... but you only have one casting of it per day, so using it wisely is paramount. Ironically, it combines well with your own Divination to find out if you’ll even need it later. More often than not you won’t be using it at all except to idly ward yourself when going into town or diving into a dungeon.

Forcecage is a completely different animal, the offensive and defensive applications of the spell simply mind-blowing, to the point that keeping this to just one paragraph to save space is going to take some herculean effort on my part! So, the basics: Forcecage has two versions, both of which halt all movement through them: A 20ft square of force bars that allow spells, projectiles, and line-of-effect through, and a 10ft cube that blocks line-of-effect and all forms of magic and supernatural abilities. A Forcecage is effectively invincible (having Hardness 30 and 20hp/level) and impossible to move, so anyone trapped inside without the ability to teleport is likely to stay there for the spell’s duration. Also, to put it simply, shoving enemies in the cage is the main point, but if you cannot, a 10ft/20ft square is an enormous roadblock to stop up narrow passages with.

Which leaves Imprisonment, a portable hole you can shove all sorts of problems into, which will likely create new problems down the line if the target had anything you needed on them. I recommend knocking out a foe, stripping them of their valuables, and then shoving them into their baby jail for all eternity! With the Freedom spell being the only means to undo Imprisonment (even Wish and Miracle fail), you’ll have no actual way to undo the spell against any target you cast it on for one or two more levels, if at all (depending on the party composition). Make sure to use it only when the villain has no MacGuffins, or is a powerful recurring threat. Imprisonment works on anything and everything capable of failing the Will save (take note, anyone wanting to fight Kaiju, Great Old Ones, or Spawn of Rovagug), which gets a -4 penalty if you know the target’s name and some facts about its life, so famous villains are even more vulnerable to being thrown into the Eternity Marble!

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Barravoclair, Lady of the Final Gasp

Demagogue of the Elderly, Fatalistic Insights, Resurrection Domains: Death, Evil, Healing, Law Subdomains: Murder, Restoration, Resurrection, Undead

Obedience: Practice breath control, holding your breath until you nearly pass out. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on checks to resist drowning and on saves against inhaled poisons.

A hell of a step down in terms of unhealthiness in terms of Aroggus, and significantly less suspicious, too. Breath control is practiced by people of all stripes, from athletes to explorers to simple monks attempting more profound meditation. While ‘nearly passing out’ is skirting an edge most people won’t approach, it’s not exactly as dangerous for you as, say, inhaling water or eating poison every day. Without any materials needed, the Lady of the Final Gasp is one of the simplest and probably the single cheapest Obedience ritual one could ask for! There is a minor caveat in that races who can’t breathe can’t technically do this Obedience at all, but those aren’t the audience Barravoclair wants anyway.

Unfortunately, the benefit is as weak as the Obedience is easy to do. Drowning is unlikely to come up as a danger unless you’re physically dragged into the water by a monster (which means holding your breath likely isn’t an option anyway), and inhaled poisons are the least common poison type in the game. Against the odd Catoblepas or Green Dragon it will come in handy, but it’s protection from injury poison you really need, which the Lady of the Final Gasp doesn’t provide.

Boon 1: Speak With Dead Boon 2: Resurrection Boon 3: Soul Bind

Alright, let’s face it. Some days, you need Speak With Dead to keep the plot running smoothly. Whether your overzealous DPS kills everyone in the room, your Fireball-lobbing Sorcerer kills everyone in the room, or your summoner’s unchained beasts kill everyone in the room, chances are at some point in your career you’re going to save the party a lot of headaches by being able to pull answers from a corpse. Having Speak With Dead available every day will likely not matter 80% of the time (meaning you can typically use it at your leisure just before going to bed), but much like with Water Breathing and spells like Remove Curse and Neutralize Poison, having it for those 20% of times you need it can keep the wheels spinning and stop unneeded side quests.

... And speaking of side quests and things you’ll need once in a blue moon, Resurrection? For free? Even 1/day? With the hefty cost of 10,000gp for the normal spell, even a well-off party will feel the impact every single time they have to use Rez, but the removal of the cost ups the power level of the spell by a margin so enormous that it doesn’t really matter what Boon you get before or after this one; THIS boon rewards worship of Barravoclair enough to justify putting up with her empty benefit. Even without factoring in the ability to raise party members, you can now curry favor with people of all stripes and demand all forms of insane payments for your ability to raise centuries-old dead at no cost but time... or do your work for free and call in favors at a later date. Do note, however, that you’ll also need someone else on standby to remove the negative levels/stat drain caused by the resurrection process.

I said it didn’t matter what the third Boon was and I stand by it. Unlike with the free Rez above, Soul Bind’s enormous cost still makes its use as anything but a once-per-campaign finisher of an annoying enemy irritating and unfeasible. Spell-likes normally require no components, but Soul Bind operates in a gray area of the rules in that its focus component becomes the subject for the spell, meaning that a DM can very easily and very rightly say you DO require the gemstone whose value must equal or exceed the target’s HD x 1,000. Binding even a simple 5 CR creature requires the tall order of a 5,000gp gemstone, and if you want to use it on a target that’s worthwhile, it gets expensive fast. It’s way cheaper and easier to just hire a Cacodaemon.

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Fharaas, the Seer in Skin

Demagogue of Experience, Murder, and Patterns Domains: Evil, Knowledge, Law, Repose Subdomains: Ancestors, Fear, Memory, Souls

Obedience: Study the interior of a freshly severed limb. Benefit: You are immune to bleed effects that deal 6 damage or less.

This Obedience is deceptively simple for what its implication is. You’d best get yourself a Sack Of Rats or have access to a lot of disposable prisoners (or the Regenerate spell)! But thankfully, there’s some wiggle room in the wording: ‘freshly severed’ means no cheating and using Gentle Repose on the same arm over and over, but it ALSO means you can carry around a single corpse and slowly slice it apart, as the limbs themselves don’t have to be fresh, just freshly cut off for the purpose of the ritual. Also, you can use the bodies of Undead, Constructs, and any other creature that technically has severable limbs! Though Fharaas, the Seer In Skin, will likely punish you if your ritual doesn’t involve the examination of actual flesh.

You’re going to look really weird, is what I’m saying. At least if someone barges in on you, you can claim you’re inspecting them for something or other. Infection, signs of magic, etc, whatever you can come up with to blunt the blow. You can cover yourself moderately well by being a butcher or a hunter in your day job, as the severed limb doesn’t have to be human, or even sapient (hence why I suggest a Sack Of Rats), letting you freely slice up and examine your kills.

Bleed effects are fairly uncommon in the grand scheme of things but are also a pain in the neck to deal with in the middle of battle, so this giving a +4 bonus aga--wait, sorry, hold on no, this isn’t a bonus to saving throws? Or skill checks to heal bleed? It just... Stops them if they deal 6 or less damage? You don’t even have to make a save?

Okay. Okay, alright. So you’re just immune to bleed, then?

More or less, really. There are very few monsters that deal more than d6 bleed damage with their attacks (be warned that higher-level ones can sometimes stack their bleed!), and this ability also works on the rare but dreaded stat bleed, and off the top of my head there are NO monsters that deal more than a d4 dice in stat bleed damage. My main problem is that it doesn’t reduce the bleed damage you take by 6, so taking even 1 more point of bleed damage makes this ability useless. Still, though it’s fairly narrow, being effectively immune to a dangerous and irritating status ailment at level 3 or so (when bleed is at its most threatening) is well worth taking up butchery.

Boon 1: Keen Edge Boon 2: Vision Boon 3: Foresight

Keen Edge is a spell you absolutely want to slap onto any vaguely pirate-y or hoity-toity party member you may have, as cutlasses, rapiers, and scimitars all leap from a dangerous 18~20 critical range to a terrifying 15~20, meaning they threaten to critically strike 1 out of every 4 attacks instead of just once every other fight or so. With a duration of 10 min/level, the enchantment will likely last multiple fights even if you only have it 1/day, but unfortunately it refuses to stack with any crit-boosting enchantments or feats the wielder may already possess, lessening its usefulness as your adventure goes on and your martial party members pick up increasingly fancy gear and pad out their collection of feats. Still, it’s useful for when you get it, and will remain useful for several levels after.

Vision is a whole different beast, and a dangerous one at that. It operates as the Legend Lore spell but vastly accelerated, allowing you to scrape the public consciousness for any information it may have on a specific person, place, or thing. I’ve complained about the general niche uses of Legend Lore before, but Vision grants the information in a much shorter time (a single standard action) at the cost of a potential for failure and a slap of fatigue whether you succeed or not. I don’t like 1/days that do nothing on a failure, but since Vision is purely a downtime spell (unless you need to know the boss’ weakness or info on the Evil Doom Artifact right now immediately), it’s not as much of an impediment to lose out on whatever information it could give you. That being said, the DM will likely have ways for you to do whatever plot-relevant research you need anyway, so Vision is more of a way to speed up the process than anything.

Which leaves Foresight, a spell whose main benefit relies intensely on DM cooperation, as I’ve ranted about here. Mechanically it’s fairly unimpressive, but if the DM reads the spell carefully, they should realize it gives whoever you cast it on a 6-second glance into the future at all times. Whatever horrors befall the victim 6 seconds from now should spring into your mind before they happen, making you the best trap radar on the planet, and the spell’s warnings for the best ways to protect yourself will urge the DM to grant you information about the enemy’s capabilities you may never otherwise know... but what do you expect from 9th level magic? It SHOULD be filling you in with details you’d never figure out!

------

Inkariax, the White Death

Demagogue of Preservation, Absolute Cold, and Solitude Domains: Evil, Law, Void, Water Subdomains: Fear, Ice, Isolation, Slavery

Obedience: Inventory your collection of hoarded knickknacks, reciting your unique name for each item as you do Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws to resist effects that would petrify or paralyze you.

God, finally, someone normal. At worst you’ll look like someone with a few obsessive issues, but at least you won’t look like a menace to society as you lay out your, I dunno, marbles or bone dice or dolls or what have you and make note that they’re still there, cooing to them with names only you know. It’s fitting for Inkariax, of all the Demagogues, to have an Obedience that requires no self-harm, physically or psychologically; unlike all the rest, he was born perfect and doesn’t need to chase after it. Instead, he pursues finding perfection in others, freezing and collecting people and items he believes represent perfection in whatever unusual way he desires that day (having perfect posture, or a perfect scream, or a perfect pair of eyes, etc). Much like him, you’re encouraged to expand a collection of whatever you deem perfect and desirable, which you’re often going to do just over the course of normally adventuring. I’ve yet to see a player character that doesn’t start amassing all sorts of junk in their pockets the moment they get a Bag of Holding or similar.

Indeed, you can just pick up whatever catches your fancy, be it stones, sticks, or severed bits of an enemy, though I’m sure Inkariax will ever-so-slowly raise a disapproving eyebrow if you just pick up any old junk. Make sure to curate your collection now and then! Being able to perform this Obedience with anything you happen to gather is especially helpful if you’re ever separated from your collection (always a danger) and need to start again, but note that each item you gain in your collection must have a completely unique name. That’s only really a danger for especially RP-heavy campaigns, but in such campaigns Worship of the White Death isn’t for everyone who just names all their collected bird feathers Jeffery. Start getting in the habit of stretching out your inventory sheet with names for all your items!

The benefit you get from lovingly counting up all your stolen statuettes and dusty books is resistance to two of the worst status effects in the game. While petrification is relatively rare it typically appears in Save-Or-Suck form, which makes protection against it far more valuable than, say, protection against something like the far more common fatigue or exhaustion. Paralysis is an ailment just short of a death sentence by itself, costing the victim their turn at best and their life at worst, so even a +4 between you and that is something you need to cling to with your entire being.

Boon 1: Sleet Storm Boon 2: Sequester Boon 3: Microcosm

Sleet Storm is a very simple spell with a decent number of functions. Its Long range means that any enemy in your line of sight can potentially be a target, letting you lash out easily at ranged enemies or dangerous casters by creating a 40ft-wide and 20ft-tall area of concealing sleet that’s impossible for any vision to pierce (except the rare and niche Snowsight or Fogcutter Lenses). Anyone inside will have to rely on Tremorsense or Blindsense (though the jury’s out on if the splashing of the sleet would confound those, as well) to navigate it, and 40ft of difficult terrain can feel impossible to clamber through when you start right in the middle of it with no idea which way is the way you need to go. It’s one of the strongest vision-blockers in the game due to its immunity to common tactics that thwart lesser spells (Gust of Wind, True Seeing, etc), forcing enemies to either blow their valuable uses of Dispel Magic or suffer for its entire duration. My only complaint is that you only get it 1/day and that it screws over your party just as hard if you use it incorrectly.

Sequester is as niche a use spell as there ever was for players, requiring a bit of forethought about what or who you’d want to hide with it. The target must be willing or inanimate to be affected, so tricking an enemy via Charm or Dominate into accepting the spell can keep them fresh as a daisy for weeks at a time if you ever have a reason to do such a thing. More often than not you’ll use it to conceal items you seriously don’t want seen or detected, such as a Bag of Holding or similar loaded with your collection of knickknacks or emergency supplies, a particular hostage, an NPC you need to keep alive, or your phylactery if you’re a Lich. If you’re especially sadistic, using it on an item someone else needs and throwing it into a well or a hoard of other objects will keep them occupied for a while. If you’re a more martial character, using it to hide your armor is viable, making it seem as though you’re invincible when enemy blows bounce straight off, or even your weapon to confound your enemies who seem to be taking wounds from an unseen item. Your mime routine will be killer, literally! Just... Just don’t drop the thing, because in the heat of battle you’re never going to find it.

Microcosm is one of the best spells you can hurl into a crowd of commoners or a swarm of foes meant to gum you up instead of actually threaten you. Its 30 HD limit will mean it likely will only strike one or two creatures capable of actually threatening you, but it’s brutal even then. The spell is permanent, trapping your victims in an illusory world in which everything goes right for them even as their bodies starve to death in the waking world. Anything with less than 10 HD is automatically affected with no saving throw, the spell easily mopping up mobs, while anything with 11~15 HD escapes automatically after 10 min... per level you have. On a successful save. There’s Save-Or-Suck, and then there’s the immensely rare Save-And-Suck! No wonder Microcosm is ONLY on the Psychic’s list! Anything with more than 16 HD is unaffected if they succeed their save, but all their allies are likely in an everlasting dreamland now. The big issue is that the HD restriction is way tighter than you may think; creatures, especially at higher levels, usually do NOT have HD matching their CR, but if you’re mainly battling level-appropriate Humanoid or Monstrous Humanoid creatures, Microcosm is fairly reliable in such battles, as those foes typically have HD that roughly matches their CR. But if you’re up against, say, Dragons or Outsiders, good luck bud.

Side note: Microcosm and Sequester used in combination make for excellent ways to start your own morbid collection of living creatures, just like your icy master! Just make sure you have some non-Divination means of seeing them, as Sequester blocks even True Sight.

#Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons #Demigod Dossier #Spiritual Spotlight #Sinister Spotlight

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killing-all-joy · 3 years

Text

I got inspired to write after Virgil wearing a skirt. Prinxiety with blink-and-you’ll-miss-it implied Moceit. I finished this late last night so I thought I’d post it today. I hope you like it!

cw: vague mention of food, self deprecation

Virgil stood in front of his room’s mirror, pivoting on his heels to turn his body left and right forty-five degrees. Patton and Logan had recently picked out skirts to wear, and Virgil decided in a (rare) rush of confidence that came after a particularly persuasive conversation with Patton to wear a skirt himself. His best friend was so excited about the skirt he wore, and Virgil had to agree that the skirt looked quite good on him (so didn’t Janus). Virgil figured that he wouldn’t be ridiculed so severely for wearing a skirt considering Logan, Thomas’ logic, had done the same recently.

He was in a purple and black plaid skirt, short sleeved hoodie, white shirt, white and black vertically striped tights, and black shoes with purple laces. He knew the look was adventurous, and was now trying to decide whether he looked okay. The anxious thoughts screaming in his mind that he looked terrible were momentarily muffled by his love for the outfit.

But, as they say, all good things must come to an end, and the negative thoughts started to get louder. As they started to get to a volume and intensity that started to pull his hands to his hoodie with the intention of removing it and changing back into his old outfit, his door slammed open.

“Viiiiiiiirrrgiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiil,” sang the most familiar and distinctive voice Virgil knew. Roman was in his room.

Virgil started to panic. He forgot to lock his door (of course he did, things always go wrong), and now Roman, perhaps the least considerate of a person’s privacy (excluding Remus) in the mindscape, had opened the door without knocking and was now able to see what an absolute moron Virgil was to wear a skirt, I mean what kind of misplaced confidence-

Roman almost wished he’d knocked. That way, he would’ve been prepared for the sight that awaited him when he opened the door to Virgil’s room.

Why ‘almost’? Virgil was the most anxious thing to ever come to existence. If he knocked, Virgil would have snapped his fingers to change his outfit (they were imaginary, after all, and could change their clothing at will), and Roman would never have been blessed by the most beautiful sight ever to grace his eyes.

However, those things did not obscure how embarrassingly not composed Roman was after he laid his gaze on his fellow side. He couldn’t really blame himself, since he expected Virgil to be scrolling tumblr (as he normally was). It’s not like today was a special occasion either. Just that the afternoon had now become the evening and it was time for dinner.

Patton had made chicken and broccoli that smelled like heaven, and Virgil was nowhere to be found. Roman had volunteered to look for Virgil, his first instinct being his room. He had heard the quiet sound of shoes sliding against wooden flooring, and decided that Virgil was in his room. So, he did what any person would expect him to do and threw the anxious side’s door open while singing his name, holding out the vowels so long that only someone trained impressively well in breath support could be able to manage.

“Time for di-oh,” Roman said, voice loud at the beginning of his sentence but starting to lower in volume as he noticed Virgil (particularly his attire).

Virgil was decidedly not in his normal outfit. Or his old one. No, the emo now donned a short-sleeved hoodie, a white shirt, tights, and the ultimate killer of Roman’s composure, a skirt.

Sure, Patton in a skirt, while adorable and attractive, did not surprise Roman. At least, not after he saw the design. Roman had smiled when he saw Patton’s skirt and told him that he looked quite good. Logan was a bit more (very) surprising, but Roman just gave him a teasing remark and then a more serious compliment without any gay-related problems. But Virgil....

Roman’s ultimate wish was that he could’ve received a heads-up before this. That way, he could have prepared. If he’d received a warning, he, well aware of his crush on Virgil and how much that could affect him in any given situation, would have been able to enter Virgil’s room without half the issues. Or maybe not. But still, it seemed like anything would have yielded better results than what was happening in the present.

Because Roman’s eyes were wider than the sun, his jaw dropped lower than the Mariana Trench is deep, and his movements ceased faster than someone turned to stone by Medusa. He was thankful he wasn’t holding anything, because he would have dropped it then and there. Roman wasn’t fully sure he was blinking or breathing, hell, his heart could’ve stopped and he wouldn’t have noticed or cared. All he could do was let his eyes stare at Virgil.

So, yeah. Roman almost wished he would have knocked.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, voice too quiet and shy to be a sign of anything positive. “Are you okay?”

Roman wanted to reply, say either “yes” or the truth. But, his brain failed him and he was unable to make any noise.

Virgil blinked. “A...um...I imagine you came to tell me about dinner. I’ll be right down, just let me change.”

Roman walked into the room slowly, not saying anything. He stopped in front of Virgil, grabbing his arm. Virgil had the tendency to slouch, so Roman had to look down slightly to meet his eyes. He tried to speak again, to tell Virgil that he didn’t have to change and could wear his outstanding outfit to dinner, but he found himself unable to find the words.

“Roman? You’re stopping me. Have I done something wrong?”

Roman shook his head.

“Wh- oh god, it’s the outfit, isn’t it. It looks bad. Too much. I know, I’m sorry. Patton and Logan did the whole skirt thing so I thought I’d try it out but that was obviously a terrible idea because now I’ve made my already bad appeara-”

Roman’s mind started to go on full alert when Virgil started explicitly voicing his self-deprecation.

“No.”

Virgil’s words died in his throat. He blinked. “What?”

“Do-...don’t...don’t change,” Roman managed to blurt out in a croaky voice. “Not unless you...you want to.”

“B-but I don’t loo-”

“Yes. Wait- no.” Roman threw his free hand to his forehead. “You look good.”

Virgil’s face pinkened. “Don’t just say that to be-”

“I...I’m not-” Roman took a deep breath, forming his next sentence carefully. “If you want to grade your appearance for some godforsaken reason even though that is very unhealthy, base it on me from two minutes ago unable to speak or move, hell, base you can base it on me now: unable to articulate my thoughts properly. Virgil, you need to...um...I am very very gay, and you need to understand that...that’s why I am acting this way. Be-because...because you are very pretty. Handsome. Beautiful.”

“Huh?” Virgil’s voice was two octaves higher.

“Yeah. Don’t change,” Roman repeated, “unless you truly don’t like it. Please.”

Virgil swallowed, looking back down at his outfit. “Alright. I won’t.”

Roman’s phone vibrated, signaling a text. He opened it and found that Janus had texted him saying he and Logan had been working all day without food so they started dinner already, and that Roman was a “slow jerk who takes his time” for not being at the dinner table faster.

“What is it?”

“They’ve already started eating.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. That’s my fau-”

Roman, still looking at his phone, put a finger in front of Virgil’s mouth. Virgil stopped talking, and Roman kept his finger there as he put his phone away. “Don’t apologize. This is good.”

“...How?”

“We can have a dinner date in the Imagination together tonight,” Roman suggested, staring lovingly into Virgil’s eyes. “Just you and me. If you’d like.”

“I’d, um, really like that,” Virgil said, cheeks red and eyes cast down to his skirt. He started to play with its hem. “A lot.”

“I figured, since this incident is basically my, albeit terrible, love confession- wait, you would?”

Virgil turned his head back up and met Roman’s eyes. “Yeah. It sounds cool, or whatever, to go on a date with you,” he cringed at his awkwardness, “romantically.”

Roman’s eyes widened as he grinned and his entire face alit with happiness. “I am so glad, Stormy Knight!”

Virgil bit his lip. He looked a bit nervous for half a second, but then straightened his posture and stood on his toes, planting a kiss on the tip of Roman’s nose. “I’m glad you’re happy, Princey.”

Roman’s face flushed and his brain went blank at the kiss, but as soon as he registered it, he (somehow) grinned wider and picked up Virgil, spinning him in his arms. Virgil shrieked at Roman to put him down. Roman could tell he only did so because he was blushing up a storm.

Roman set Virgil down, then gently pushed Virgil back two paces so his back was against the mirror. Roman’s expression turned sincere.

“Virgil,” he said softly, like the name was fragile and could break if uttered at a louder volume, “may I, perhaps, have a kiss before we eat?”

Virgil nodded, unable to speak.

Roman put his arms around Virgil’s waist and brought their lips together. He kissed him intensely, but not roughly, and held him like he was a glass case holding all the things Roman treasured most. Virgil kissed back, wrapping his arms around Roman’s shoulders.

Dinner could wait for a couple of minutes.

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff

My first fic published to this account! Yay! I’ve always wanted to write another side being gay about one of the sides in a skirt, and I finally got the motivation to tonight with Virgil’s cool outfit! I hope you liked it!

#prinxiety #ts fanfic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #romantic prinxiety #virgil in a skirt #roman is gay #ts roman #ts virgil #food mention tw #kissing tw #virgil #roman #kill writes #fic #sides in skirts

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cassianus · 3 years

Text

Diverting a bit from my approach to the writings of the Philokalia, I wish to put forward a few thoughts about how we often think about illness in our lives and how the Holy Fathers offer us fresh insight into the mystery of evil, sin, illness and their place in our struggle for holiness.

Often, when we are young, we do not think much about physical illness and the spiritual life. Life passes quickly as we are fully engaged in our work, studies and ministry and many of us rarely struggle with ill health except for the occasional flu or cold. But when illness does strike, in one form or another, suddenly our busy and “productive” lives can be disrupted and we are forced, as it were, to reconsider a great deal of things; not merely the meaning of health, that we have perhaps taken for granted, but the nature of our relationship with God, the depth of our faith or lack thereof, the meaning of suffering and how to engage it and not to become discourage even when we have been completely humbled by the burden of our physical and emotional vulnerabilities. When such circumstances arise, we are often unprepared for the trial - never imagining or wanting to think about the possibility of such a cross - a cross the comes to most all of us at some point. When illness plunges us into unfamiliar territory, even to the point of death, what place does it have within our struggle toward holiness? How do we pray when prayer seems impossible and when it feels as though our heart has been turned to stone? Where do we find our hope and with what faith must we enter the mystery of illness and suffering in order to know the healing touch of Christ, the Physician of our souls and bodies?

I offer for your consideration today brief excerpts from “The Holy Fathers on Illness” compiled by Bishop Alexander Mileant; in particular those thoughts from the Fathers on “Illness and Work of Perfection”. Their words offer some perspective on sickness and redemptive suffering as a means of glorifying God. There is much to say certainly about the meaning and origins of illness well beyond the purview of a simple post, but the Fathers show us in word and deed that it can be and often is a privileged way of holiness. Through thankfulness, endurance, and patience one can realize the highest form of ascetic practice and follow a spiritual path to intimacy with God. At such moments, one may exhibit no extraordinary virtue other than to suffer illness and its poverty with patience and so have this as one’s path to salvation. Thus, the Fathers’ words are full of hope and challenge:

“The desert ascetic Father, St. Abba Dorotheus, exhorts his disciples to "take the trouble to find out where you are: whether you have left your own town but remain just outside the gates, by the garbage dump, or whether you have gone ahead little or much, or whether you are half way on your journey, or whether you have gone two miles, then come back two miles, or perhaps even five miles, or whether you have journeyed as far as the Holy City and entered into Jerusalem itself, or whether you have remained outside and are unable to enter" (On Vigilance and Sobriety).

Illness helps us to see "where we are" on life's road: "sickness is a lesson from God and serves to help us in our progress if we give thanks to Him" (Sts. Barsanuphius and John, Philokalia).

No one may use illness as an excuse for resting from the labor of spiritual living. "Perhaps some might think that illness and bodily weakness hinder the work of perfection since the works and accomplishments of one's hands cannot continue. But it is not a hindrance" (St. Ambrose, Jacob and the Happy Life).

In the life of Riassophore-monk John, latter-day disciple of St. Nilus of Sora, we see how bodily infirmity is not allowed to interrupt the struggle for salvation. Riassophore-monk John was a cripple; because of this he had been compelled to leave the Monastery of St. Cyril of New Lake. Feeling sorry for himself, he shortly afterwards was standing for an all-night vigil in the deep of winter. "Suddenly he saw an unknown Elder in schema come out of the altar to him and say: 'Well, apparently you do not wish to serve me. If so, return to St. Cyril.

"At these words, the Elder struck him with his right hand quite strongly on the shoulder. Noting that the Elder exactly resembled St. Nilus as he is depicted on the icon over his relics, John was filled with great joy, all his grief disappeared, and he firmly resolved to spend the rest of his life in the Saint's skete" (The Northern Thebaid).

Even if we are bedridden, we are to continue the struggle against the passions, producing fruits worthy of repentance. This work of perfection demands that we acquire patience and longsuffering. What better way to do this than when we lie on a bed of infirmity? St. Tikhon of Zadonsk says that in suffering we can find out whether our faith is living or just "theoretical." The test of true faith is patience in the midst of sufferings, for "patience is the Christian's coat of arms." "What is it to follow Christ?" he asks. It is "to endure all things, looking upon Christ Who suffered. Many wish to be glorified with Christ, but few seek to remain with the suffering Christ. Yet not merely by tribulation, but even in much tribulation does one enter the Kingdom of God."

To those who suppose that they can only progress in the spiritual life when all else is "well," St. John Cassian replies, "You should not think that you can find virtue when you are not irritated — for it is not in your power to prevent troubles from happening. Rather, you should look for patience as the result of your own humility and longsuffering, for patience does depend upon your own will" {Institutes). Towards the end of his life, St. Seraphim of Sarov suffered from open ulcers on his legs. "Yet," as his Life tells us, "in appearance he was always bright and cheerful, for in spirit he felt that heavenly peace and joy which are the riches of the glorious inheritance of the saints."

"You are stricken by this sickness," the Holy Fathers say, "so that you will not depart barren to God. If you can endure, and give thanks to God, this sickness will be accounted to you as a spiritual work" (Sts. Barsanouphius and John, Philokalia).

Bishop Theophan the Recluse explains: "Enduring unpleasant things cheerfully, you approach a little to the martyrs. But if you complain, you will not only lose your share with the martyrs, but will be responsible for complaining besides. Therefore, be cheerful!"

In order not to lose heart when we fall sick we are to think about and mentally "kiss the sufferings of our Savior just as though we were with Him while He suffers abuses, wounds, humiliations...shame, the pain of the nails, the piercing with the lance, the flow of water and blood. From this we will receive consolation in our sickness. Our Lord will not let these efforts go unrewarded " (St. Tikhon of Zadonsk).

The patience we can learn on a sickbed cannot be overemphasized. Elder Macarius of Optina wrote about this to one who was ill:

"I was much pleased to hear from your relation how bravely you are bearing the cruel scourge of your heavy sickness. Verily, as the man of the flesh perishes, so is the spiritual man renewed."

And to another he wrote: "Praised be the Lord that you accept your illness so meekly! The bearing of sickness with patience and gratitude is reckoned highly by Him Who often rewards sufferers with His imperishable gifts.

"Ponder these words: Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed."

St. Ambrose of Milan compared an infirm body to a broken musical instrument. He explained how the "musician" can still produce God-pleasing "music" without his instrument:

"If a man used to singing to the accompaniment of a harp finds the harp broken, and its strings undone...he puts it aside and instead of calling for its notes he delights himself with his own voice.

"In the same way, a sick man allows the harp of his body to lie unused. He finds delight within his heart and comfort in the knowledge that his conscience is clear. He sustains himself with God's words and the prophetic writings and, holding these sweet and pleasant in his soul, he embraces them with his mind. Nothing can happen to him because God's graceful presence breathes favor upon him....He is filled with spiritual tranquility" (Jacob and the Happy Life).

Quite often the most God-pleasing spiritual "music" of all is produced in anonymity, by unknown or nearly-unknown saints. But such holy "melodies" are all the more sweet because they are heard by God alone. One such modern sufferer who lived an angel-like life in spite of advanced and terrible sickness was the holy New Russian Martyr, Mother Maria of Gatchina. Her story is known to us only because it pleased God to providentially arrange for one of her visitors, Professor I. M. Andreyev, to record his memories of her.

Mother Maria suffered from encephalitis (inflammation of the brain) and Parkinson's disease. "Her whole body became as it were chained and immovable, her face anemic and like a mask; she could speak, but she began to talk with half-closed mouth, through her teeth, pronouncing slowly and in a monotone. She was a total invalid and was in constant need of help and careful looking after. Usually this disease proceeds with sharp psychological changes, as a result of which such patients often ended up in psychiatric hospitals. But Mother Maria, being a total physical invalid, not only did not degenerate psychically, but revealed completely extraordinary features of personality and character not characteristic of such patients: she became extremely meek, humble, submissive, undemanding, concentrated in herself; she became engrossed in constant prayer, bearing her difficult condition without the least murmuring.

"As if as a reward for this humility and patience, the Lord sent her a gift: consolation of the sorrowing. Completely strange and unknown people, finding themselves in sorrows, grief, depression, and despondency, began to visit her and converse with her. And everyone who came to her left consoled, feeling an illumination of their grief, a pacifying of sorrow, a calming of fears, a taking away of depression and despondency" (The Orthodox Word, vol. 13, no. 3).

"Thus God has acted. Like a provident Father and not like a kidnapper has He first involved us in grievous things, giving us over to tribulation as it were to schoolmasters and teachers, so that being chastened and sobered by these things we may, after showing forth all patience and learning, all right discipline, inherit the Kingdom of Heaven" (St. John Chrysostom, Homily 18, On the Statues).”

Excerpts taken from:

Missionary Leaflet # EA30

466 Foothill Blvd, Box 397, La Canada, Ca 91011

Editor: Bishop Alexander (Mileant)

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pregnant-piggy · 4 years

Text

Cursed - one

|~|CHAPTER ONE|~|

series masterlist

A/N: The first chapter is here! I loved all the comments on the prologue and I really appreciate them. Those comments keep me motivated to post more! (even if they are just random letters or a single word) Enough about the comments; like i wrote at the prologue, this series is full of pain, scars and blood. So if you don’t feel comfortable with that i suggest not to read it. I will put warnings on every chapter, but this is just a heads-up. Love ya!

Warnings: blood, scars, wounds and cuts

Words: 2.7k

PROLOGUE

- - - - - - -

Four boys shoot up in their bed. Shocked faces look at each other and at the open door. A light comes on. Five seconds it takes them to find you. On the floor in a puddle of liquid. Even with the small light it is immediately clear what the puddle is; blood.

Sheets are being thrown away and within a second eight pair of knees are placed around you. Some touch the blood, others are placed more delicately and further away. They all see the cuts right away. All across your body. On your arms, your legs, your chest and your neck.

Two strong hands pick you up carefully. But the tension is real. Not one of the boys has said another word than your name. The hands that are carrying you are strong and stable, but the person they belong to is everything but that.

The door bursts open with magic without even one of the boys taking their wand. Steady, big steps take you down the stairs, through the empty common room, through the abandoned, dark corridors.

Two loud bangs on the heavy doors and they open. You are being carried into the Hospital Wing, placed on a bed and shielded from the four scared boys. Madam Pomfrey immediately starts to whisper difficult, melodious incantations.

Outside the night bleeds into day. The first rays of sunshine light up the space. Slowly, like it is afraid to disturb the night, the sun rises on the horizon. Birds start to chirp cheerfully, but the ambiance in the Hospital Wing is the exact opposite. The four boys haven’t moved since they brought you here. Their gazes are focused on the curtains around your bed and they concentrated listen to the incantations.

After hours madam Pomfrey appears from behind the curtains. She says nothing, but nods. Four sighs escape the mouths of the worried boys. They get up to see you and when they step through the curtains they find you asleep.

The expression on your face is relaxed, but your body tells a different story. All across your body are fresh scars. The blood stains are on the sheets and the clothes on the floor. Your body has a strange pale colour. But the boys can’t stop looking at the scars. And they cannot even see all of them. Just your arms and neck are exposed to their view. A dark red line walks from your right forearm to the left side of your neck. From under the covers another line appears, just as red, and moves up to your collarbone. Even under your chin a scar walks to the right corner of your mouth.

The edges of the sheets are red and soaked with your blood. The stains are everywhere on your body. On your arms, your chest and even in your face. But the boys aren’t spared from your blood either. Their pants are red and so are their hands. They have swipes of blood on their faces from their hands.

The four boys stay at your bed until madam Pomfrey makes them move for professor Dumbledore. She sends the boys to the other side of the room aware that she won’t be able to make them leave.

All they can do is wait again. An hour they sit on chairs and beds staring at the silhouettes of the nurse and headmaster. They see your arms getting lift and sheets being pulled up. Dumbledore’s deep voice can be felt in their bones, but it is not clear what he says. After what seems like forever Pomfrey and Dumbledore step away from you. Without exchanging any words madam Pomfrey makes sure the curtains around you are closed and then walks to her office. Dumbledore walks to the boys and gestures them to follow him.

Still no one talks. In silence the four Gryffindors follow their headmaster to his office. The whole school is just as silent as that night but not as dark. The sun has risen fully and shines through the windows. But no sunshine breaks through on the faces of the boys. The corners of their mouths hang down and their eyes are pointed at the floor. Two by two they follow Dumbledore not even paying attention to where they are going.

‘Caramel toffees.’

The first words the boys hear this night. The weirdness wakes them from their trance. The walls in front of them disappear to reveal a stairwell. Dumbledore precedes the boys. He walks up five treads and stands still. The boys follow him and the stairs start to move. The higher they get the more the boys wake up.

A wooden door appears and opens when Dumbledore places his hand in front of it. In the round room there have already been four comfortable chairs placed. The Gryffindors sit down and stare at Dumbledore who sits down in front of them on the other side of the desk. His bright, blue eyes, that usually sparkle even in the dark, look like they have burned out. The sunlight glides over his face and his wrinkles get very obvious. He looks like an old man. An old, worried man.

For minutes the room is filled with silence. Not a single sound breaks the silence, not even a sniff. Even Felix the phoenix is silent, like he can sense the tension in the room. It is Dumbledore who breaks the silence by closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, but James who talks first.

‘What happened?’

And it is like his words unlock the waterfall of questions and comments the boys have gathered throughout the night.

‘Will she be okay?’

‘Who did it?’

‘The scars…’

‘How long until she will be able to talk again?’

‘It must have been dark magic…’

‘I’ve never seen such a thing…’

Dumbledore lets the boys talk until they have nothing left to say. He keeps his eyes closed the whole time and when he opens them again, he is greeted by eight worried eyes staring at him. Placing his fingertips together he takes a deep breath and starts to talk.

‘(Y/N) will be fine. She is in wonderful hands right now; Poppy is the only person I trust to take care of her. If you had found miss (Y/L/N) a minute later, she wouldn’t have made it. I know you want to know what happened to her and I will try to satisfy your thirst for the truth as much as I can, but I can only tell what I think happened. It is up to you to decide if you believe me.

‘Miss (Y/L/N) must have been hit by a curse less than fifteen minutes before you found her. This curse is not a simple one. In my life I have come across it only twice and twice the victim didn’t make it. But (Y/N) will make it,’ Dumbledore adds when he sees the worried faces. ‘She is a strong girl and will walk out of this incident with only the memory…’

‘And the scars,’ Remus mumbles while staring at his own scars.

‘Scars only show that we are strong survivors. There is nothing about it to be ashamed of.’ Dumbledore looks ahead of him but his words are pointed at Remus. ‘To answer your next question: yes, it is indeed Dark Magic. The wizard who hit miss (Y/L/N) with the spell must have done thorough research in the Restricted Section of the library. The teacher who signed the form will be examined.

‘Sadly this is all I can tell you for now. I want to ask you to fill me in on what happened. Together we can paint a more clear picture. Two minds accomplish more than one. And in this case we have five minds.’

It is Peter who tells Dumbledore what happened, sometimes with help from James. Remus keeps staring at the scars on his hands and arms. In the chair on the other side of the room Sirius is sitting. His face is pale and he has dark bags under his eyes. He is covered the most in your blood; he is the one that carried you to the Hospital Wing. His hands are red from your blood and his clothes are covered in now dried blood. He doesn’t react to anything Dumbledore or his friends say.

When Peter is done talking Dumbledore gets up and turns to the painting of Phineas Nigellus Black. ‘Phineas, please tell Horace that I will meet him in the dungeons in ten minutes.’ Then he turns to headmaster Viridian. ‘Vindictus, will you tell Minerva to assemble the professors in the teacher’s lounge?’ The two men disappear without complaints and Dumbledore turns back to the boys. ‘Don’t worry, we will find the perpetrator and (Y/N) will be well soon. Go get some sleep.’

The door opens and the four boys walk down. In silence they walk to their dorm. No one wants to talk. The picture of your body is still in their mind.

When they enter the common room there are only a few people awake. They look up weird when they see the four boys, deep in thought, sad and covered in blood. But they figure it is probably another prank they pulled and unaware of the terrible incident that happened in the school they turn back to their friends to chat about upcoming exams.

In the dorm, in the middle of the floor, is still the puddle of your blood. With a flick of Remus’ wand the blood disappears, but it still feels like it is there. James, Peter and Remus fall down on their bed but Sirius hides in the bathroom.

~-~-~

No one leaves the sixth-year-boys dormitory that day. Not until McGonagall enters it in the evening and asks the four boys to follow her. They do as told and after a few minutes they reach McGonagall’s office. She leads them in and closes the door behind her.

‘Dumbledore told me what you have told him, so no need to repeat that. Miss (Y/L/N)’s parents have been informed. They are with her right now. They would like to talk to you, but understand if you don’t want to.’

McGonagall looks at them like she just asked a question. Eventually James nods.

‘Good, I will send them here. They will just have a few questions I guess. You must be hungry,’ McGonagall says and she conjures four plates with food on her desk. ‘Eat this while I go and get Mr and Mrs (Y/L/N).’ At the door she turns around and watches the four boys dive into the food. A small smile appears on her face and then she walks away.

Ten minutes later McGonagall returns with your parents. The four boys, who had only managed to eat very little, look up to them. The tears are on your mother's face and your father looks ill. As soon as they walk in, they thank the boys. Your parents thank them for saving your life. Your mother can’t stop crying and your father’s voice is raspy. He tells the boys that you will be kept here and not go to St. Mungos.

There is not much to say. Your parents know what the boys told Dumbledore and the boys have nothing to add to that. Seeing your mother has shocked them. They can’t imagine what it is like to hear that your daughter is attacked by dark magic and she is in a life-threatening situation.

After a silence your parents announce that they will be going home. You’re not awake and there is no reason for them to stay any longer at Hogwarts. They thank the boys again and step into McGonagall’s fireplace. Your father disappears first and before your mother steps into the flames she turns to the boys.

‘I trust you to take care of my daughter. I know that that is what she would have wanted,’ she says and a tear escapes her eye. Then she steps in the flames and disappears.

~-~-~

You are still asleep and madam Pomfrey won't let the boys see you. They beg to differ, but the nurse declines. There is no point of seeing you, she says and with that she closes the door.

Defeated the four Gryffindors retreat to their dorm. No one knows about the incident yet. Every student is happily enjoying the beautiful weather and the common room is almost empty.

The boys try to act natural as they walk through the common room but their faces reveal more than they want. Fortunately for them, the expression on Sirius’ face is enough to keep any unwanted conversations away.

In the dormitory every boy focuses on himself. Remus turns to his emergency chocolate-stack, Peter opens and closes his favourite book again and again, James starts to play with his stolen snitch and Sirius isolates himself from his friends by closing the curtains around his bed. The room stays silent, with only the sound of chocolate breaking and pages being turned.

The evening turns into night, but only Peter falls asleep when the sun rises again. The other three boys stay awake, too scared of what their sleep will bring them. The whole night they don't move. Remus on his back in his bed, covered with blankets hoping to catch some sleep but knowing that he won't. James is laying on his stomach, feet dangling off one side of the bed, arms off the other, with his head buried in his pillow so no one will see the tears that escape his eyes. Sirius, still hidden away from his friends, sitting straight up in his bed, eyes focused on one point, not letting himself slip into sleep.

But even though Peter fell asleep at sunrise, he doesn't sleep much. His usual snores have disappeared and every thirty minutes he wakes up with the image of your body covered in blood. Every time he wakes up the images get worse and worse, until Peter doesn't fall asleep anymore.

At six o'clock Peter gets up. He can't stay in his bed any longer. After getting dressed he drags the other boys out of bed too. James grumbles but gets up too, Remus follows just a few minutes later but Sirius doesn't respond.

‘Pads, if you don't eat you'll get sick.’

Nothing.

‘Sirius, come on. You have to eat something.’

Still nothing.

Fifteen minutes later, only the promise of dropping by the Hospital Wing after breakfast gets Sirius out of bed. He looks terrible. The bags under his eyes are darker than the other boys' and his cheeks more hollow. His skin is pale, but less pale than yesterday. His eyes are red from crying and the shock is still in them, like he just heard what happened.

The Great Hall is empty. No one is at breakfast this early. Not even one teacher is at the teacher's table. The deafening silence fills the hall with mystery. The empty spaces seem reserved for spirits, not living teenage boys.

The ceiling shows today will be just as a beautiful day weather-wise as yesterday. The last red from the sunrise disappears and a blue sky stretches out over the space. The sunlight breaks in through the big windows and bathes the hall in golden light.

But neither the blue sky nor the sight of the food makes the boys feel better. In silence they eat their breakfast, chewing but tasting nothing. The toast tastes like cardboard and the coffee is bitter.

Sirius is the first one to drop his food. His barely touched breakfast lies on the plate but it doesn't look appetizing. Sirius stares at his eggs, shining in the light from the sun that comes from the big windows behind him. His throat is dry and all he can think about is you. He misses your presence, your positivity and the way you make butterflies appear in his stomach. Your smile is the only thing Sirius gets up for in the morning. That gorgeous smile that creates dimples in your cheeks. Your giggles are the most pure sound in the world and Sirius misses them. Missing your smile reminds him of home, the only time of the year when he doesn't get to see your smile.

Your absence and the reminder of home are enough to almost make Sirius throw up the little he had eaten. But he has to be strong. For you.

----------

taglist:

Cursed: @starcross16 @racerparker

Sirius Black:@treestarrrrrrrr @bumbelbeeesblog @with1love1anu @transparentttttttttt @sirius-satellite @cheoco @girllety @figlia-della-luna @malikinglove @alwaysinmydaydreams @eateraa @bi-andready-tocry @fangirlofbooksandpasta @littlemissgothgirl @always394patronus @heavenly-ascended-melodies @mrs-moony @coldlilheart @fific7

Marauders: @secretsthathauntus @ronniethelost @sognatrice-as-a-hobby @hxrgreeves @belovedadam @wecouldbreakthedistance

Harry Potter: @kitkatkl @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti

let me know if you want to be added! (also it won’t let me tag some people? idk why, but it makes me pretty pissed)

MASTERLIST

#sirius black x reader #sirius black #marauders #marauders x reader #sirius black imagine #marauders imagine #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew #harry potter #harry potter x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius x you #sirius black x y/n #cursed

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ecclais-fouoras · 3 years

Text

SOFTER ON THE INSIDE

"if you hurt me again, I swear I won't forgive you"

Previous one here

WARNING ⚠️: Slight violence, mention of abusive relationship and sexual violence.

Dinner time was around the corner, sometimes you and mina arrived at the table at the same time. Gaining looks from everyone else at the table, they had already been suspicious when they'd heard you make her laugh, to which she had replied that she was just laughing at how ridiculous you were.

People were really wondering what you had done to gain Ms Venable's clemency.

Wilhemina venable was a strong woman, she needed to keep her bitter and strong look in front of everyone else, even if she truly loved you, at times she had trouble trusting herself enough to let you help her and show you her true self. When the lights were down she'd let herself sweep in your love as you'd hold her in your arms, and spray kisses up and down her neck. You're love making was tender and passionate most of the time, you were still surprised at how well she could let you fuck her recklessly. Here moans filling your hears so nicely.

She had never known love before you, and she convinced herself she would never. But you showed her true adoration.

At dinner tonight everyone was sat down she entered the room and made a move to lower herself on the chair, but as she was bending down, a pain shot trough her back and she stepped outwards before stumbling. She fell on her ass and Everybody started laughing.

You immediately stood up to pick her up, leaning down to help and she flinched when your arms reached her shoulders. She lashed out suddenly at you. "AND WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING MS Y/L/N." She stood back up regained her scary posture, straightened up her back. The look in her eyes was unlike anything you'd ever seen, the mina you knew was far gone. With those eyes she could have killed you. You're hands reached up to hold her steady and you muttered.

"Mi..ms..venable....are you okay.."

Something flashed before her eyes and she raised her hand in the air and slapped your face. You stubbled and backed away into the corner of the room.

"Everybody out."

She ordered the other survivors and guards when they didn't move.

"Grey's too"

You were shaking badly and starting to hyperventilate. Head resting between your knees as you held your body in your hands protectively.

She tried to get on the floor next to you when she realized what she had done.

"Oh god. I'm sorry y/n" when you didn't reply she tried to place her hand in your hair, the movement in your shock state made you push her away.

"DON'T touch me !"

"Y/n.."

"I SAID DON'T TOUCH ME"

"IF YOU want to have it this way."

She got back on her feet and left the room.

The evening passed and you were able to calm down a bit. You're heart was still racing fast form the panic attack and you're palms were sweating.

Another grey came to you and tried to make you feel better. They talked to you and brought you some water.

When you had fully came back to your senses you got up.

The nauseated state you were still in made it hard for you to go back to your room but you still managed to make it.

You were definitely not expecting wilhemina to sit on the edge of your bed.

"What are you even doing here"

"Come on. You can't be mad at me for such a simple thing"

"Get out. I'm not in the mood. I'm too tired to fight with you"

She stood up and went to you.

"Y/n..."

"Seriously mina. Go back to your room, maybe some sleep will actually show you how much you fucked up"

"How does it feel to be such a touchy feely person"

"I'm not a "touchy feely" person you slapped me ! In front of everyone"

"I can't treat you any differently than anyone, they'll get suspicious..."

"I don't care. We are dating ! And the real problem isn't that you can't treat me different. It's that that's how you treat everyone else."

"You never had a problem with how I treated people, that's who I am."

"No. That's not "who" you are, that's how you act. Now get out" she let out a Laugh before trying to place her hand on your arm.

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this ?"

"Because I was trying to help you up and you hurt me ! For no reason ! I saw the look in your eyes Mina ! I saw what you are capable of."

"Is that really what you think of me ? Do you really believe I'm going to hurt you ?"

"I honestly don't know. And I can't take that chance so please leave"

"I..i don't understand...i thought..i thought you loved me ?"

"I do. But that has nothing to do with what you did"

"I don't understand... Slapping is nothing.."

"Slapping isn't nothing"

"My parents slapped me and I turned out just fine !'

"Yeah, that's why you're scared of being vulnerable, never show you're feelings, has a shit tone of self hatred. Seriously ? "

"I..I'm.."

"Yes slapping isn't the most violent act ever, bit it's usually the first one before them. I can't let you hurt me. I can't even take the chance."

"I...I would never hurt you again...I'm sorry I was just out of my mind... humiliated..I didn't know how to react anymore..."

"I know. And I'm sorry for that, I truly am."

" I never thought you'd react so badly"

"That's the thing, you don't know what people might feel when you hurt them. Some of us have trauma, some of us have complex and singular PTSD, some of us can't bear being yelled at, some of us have spent our lives being degraded by people we loved, you can't just go around treating people like shit."

"I...know..I'm just..."

"Trying to protect yourself I know, but you don't need to anymore, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere unless you hurt me ever again, and I love you"

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are, you should be"

"I really am, that's why I came here, I feel terrible about it. I should have never raise a hand on you" she didn't know all of your past, of course you had talked about it a bit, but you left the hardest parts away, she didn't know about the tremendous amount of times where she had apologized to you like this after hurting you, you swore to your life you'd never fall for that again, and here you were forgiving her, you needed to make things clear, wilhemina had her own demons, but sharing them would make them easier to fight. Together.

So, you took you're clothes of and went to bed, signaling her that she could do the same. Your gaze following her silhouette across the room while her hand ran through her hair, and the other one adjusted her nightgown.

You both laid facing each other, mina's apologetic Look piercing your skin and you battling away when was the right moment to speak. Her hand found your cheek where she'd hit you, her delicate fingers caressing you as if to say, 'you are safe, I made a mistake and I'm deeply sorry, but I love you still'. You took a deep breath and started

"..I reacted badly because...I've been there before. I've let it happen once, what's to say it's not gonna happen again. Here. Where I don't have anywhere else to run to. I can't let that happen again, it hurt to much then. It took me years to build myself back up, years of medication, therapy, and it had taken me years before that to build me again. I've been shattered to many times, I've had people break me for fun, for love, for traditions for family to many times before."

She listened in silence a single tear leaving her eye as she tried to sniff quietly.

"There was the person I called my best friend, there was my biological father, there were my other relatives. They all hurt me by using my body for their own pleasure, some more violently, but in the end Sharon was the only one who apologized, she was the only that I loved and the only one who claimed to love me back. In the end she ended up with her hands around my throat and my blood on her clothes in front of my son."

Her hand found my neck while she tried to bring me, or was it herself, some comfort.

"And I need you to promise me that you will never ever do anything like what you did to me today, I don't care if they know, my safety should be more important than hiding our relationship."

"I know...I'm sorry for what I did today, I love you so much" she said while crying sofly.

"And I love you too mina baby"

You said cupping her face and kissing her lips gently.

"Now we should sleep it's late and I'm exhausted."

You both laid in each others arms, the live you had for each other was enough to heal the bleeding wounds that you both wore on your heart.

A/n sorry for the delay I'm very very very very busy

#sarah paulson fanfiction #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhelmina venable #soft!mina #sarah paulson characters #wilhemina venable #ms venable

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Long Way From Home: Chapter 13

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Look what’s back again! I’ve got another three chapters written now, so that’s approximately three weeks’ worth of content coming along (provided I remember to post!) Sorry for the delay on this one, TOS!Scott and TOS!Virgil decided to be rather tricksy, but I finally got them wrangled!

<<<Chapter 12

Other-Virgil was just leaving his room as they turned the corner, a sketchbook in hand.

“Oh, hello there,” he said. Scott didn’t miss how his eyes flicked to his brother for a moment. “Successful trip?”

Scott shrugged, spreading his arms slightly to show that he wasn’t wearing Other-Scott’s clothes any more. “Successful enough,” he said. “There’s more on order, but we managed to find some things to bring back with us now.”

Brown eyes, painfully familiar and just like Virgil’s, glanced over his outfit. He didn’t comment, but it was obvious that like Other-Scott, Other-Virgil found his idea of casual clothes to be different.

Well, at least it meant no-one was going to be muddling them up any time soon.

“That’s good to hear,” the man said, glancing towards his brother again. Scott glanced across as well, wondering if Other-Scott was sending him any cues. His doppelgänger seemed quite content to stay out of the conversation, although he likewise wasn’t leaving them to it and carrying on to the games room without Scott. “Tin-Tin said I should talk to you,” Other-Virgil continued. “She said something about appearances?”

His voice raised questioningly at the end and Scott recalled Other-Gordon making a similar suggestion back while the others had been out on the rescue.

“Appearances?” Other-Scott asked. “What does she mean by that?”

Scott sighed, realising that he hadn’t mentioned to the others about the different appearances yet, and rubbed his face with one hand.

“My brothers don’t look like yours,” he explained. “Not as much as we look alike, anyway.”

“They don’t?” Other-Scott asked. “That’s strange.”

“Tell me about it,” Scott agreed. “Gordon – your Gordon – suggested I talk to you about it,” he continued, nodding at Other-Virgil. “I guess Tin-Tin got there first.”

“Not ‘our’ Tin-Tin?” Other-Scott jumped in. “You differentiate the fellas, but not her?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t call mine ‘Tin-Tin’,” he explained. “We call mine Kayo.”

“Kayo?” Other-Virgil asked. “That’s a mighty strange name.”

“You’d think her a strange woman,” Scott replied. “I wouldn’t say she’s nothing like Tin-Tin, but the similarities are a lot more subtle than between you guys and my brothers.”

“Interesting,” Other-Scott commented. “You’ll have to tell us about her.”

Scott chuckled, remembering Tin-Tin’s reaction to his attempts at describing his sister. The men were likely to be even more horrified. “At some point.” He turned back to Other-Virgil. “So, did you want to do this now?”

“Whenever works for you,” Other-Virgil said. “If you’re busy with Scott now, we can do it later.”

“He was just coming to watch me remind Gordon which one of us is the billiards champion,” Other-Scott said. “You’re welcome to join us if it won’t disturb your concentration.”

“I think I can draw with you two in the room.” Other-Virgil rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t be the first time, if that’s okay with Scott?”

He found himself pinned with both blue and brown eyes and wondered if this was how Gordon and Alan felt when they were on the receiving end of him and Virgil. “Sounds good,” he agreed. The idea of staying in the vicinity of Other-Gordon for a while longer, as he found his feet properly with the rest of this universe’s Tracy brothers, was a comforting one now that the younger man had fully proven himself on their semi-disaster of a shopping trip. He wondered if Other-Scott suspected that – whether or not he did likely depended on what, exactly, Other-Gordon had told him down in the hangar.

“Come on, then,” Other-Scott said, leading the way along the hallways – Scott once again finding himself passing the door to the lounge and hoping Not-Dad wasn’t going to appear – and down the stairs. “Laundry room’s here,” he said, pausing and sliding open a door. “You can just put them in here and Kyrano or Grandma will deal with them.”

Scott padded into the room, glancing around at the contraptions that had to be washing machines, although just like everything else, they didn’t look much like the technology Scott was used to. What was at least somewhat familiar was the splash of blue in an open wicker basket – while not identical to his own uniform, it was clearly this universe’s IR blue. It was also smeared with dirt and clearly waiting to be washed, so he dropped Other-Scott’s borrowed clothes on top, fighting the inquisitive desire to get a closer look at the uniform.

Making sure that this universe’s International Rescue knew what they were looking for if any of his brothers had somehow also fallen through trumped his own curiosity and he retreated back into the hallway where Other-Scott and Other-Virgil were waiting for him, before they all entered the games room.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Other-Gordon commented as the door slid open. He had his back to them and seemed to be poking around with the balls. “What took you so long?”

“I thought we’d like an audience,” Other-Scott shrugged, and Other-Gordon spun around.

“What did you do to prompt all this?” Other-Virgil asked him. “You’ve not even been on the island for several hours.”

“Precisely,” Other-Scott said, striding forwards and selecting a cue from the wall, which he inspected carefully. “Gordon, off the island for several hours and more or less unsupervised.”

“Not entirely unsupervised,” Other-Gordon protested, as Other-Virgil moved further into the room and settled in a chair by the chess set. Taking the cue, Scott followed and sat himself in the other. “If we didn’t already have Brains and John’s word that he’s you from another universe, I’d be suggesting it myself after that trip.”

Scott thought that was a bit of an exaggeration, considering how off-centre he’d been the entire time, but he appreciated the words regardless.

“Another me or not, that didn’t stop you telling the world you could – and did – beat me at billiards,” Other-Scott pointed out. Other-Virgil choked back a laugh that showed just how unlikely that scenario was in reality.

Other-Gordon seemed entirely unrepentant about that, which didn’t surprise Scott in the slightest. “We can always make that true now,” he said. “Ready to play?”

In answer, Other-Scott headed for the table and scrutinised the balls his brother had been poking at. Scott suspected he was checking for sabotage.

Other-Virgil rested his sketchbook on the table, drawing Scott’s attention away from the billiards table and towards the blank paper.

“How about age order?” the brown-haired man suggested. “Should we start with John?”

“Might as well,” Scott agreed, staring at the blank page and trying to find the words to explain just how his John differed from Other-John. Without another word, Other-Virgil started to sketch. Scott blinked, not expecting him to begin before he’d started describing his brother, but it didn’t take long for him to realise that it was a sketch of Other-John that was forming on the paper, rough and ready to be amended.

Watching him was oddly relaxing – Scott had never been an artist himself, but he had memories of watching both parents and Virgil sketching throughout his life. The sight and sound of graphite over artist’s paper was familiar, homey, and Scott propped his head on his palm and tried to focus more on what was being drawn than the emotions it was drawing up.

The background clack of ball hitting ball, and smug brotherly noises as Other-Scott presumably made good on his promise to teach Other-Gordon a lesson, helped him keep his mind in the present. He glanced away from the rough sketch of Other-John to see Other-Scott grinning triumphantly at Other-Gordon as the two brothers set up a new game. One victory for Other-Scott, it seemed.

“I thought it would be easier to start with a base,” Other-Virgil said suddenly, snapping Scott’s attention back to the now-complete sketch. “Tin-Tin’s recounts of your descriptions suggest you’re just as bad as our Scott in that regard.”

“I have you for anything to do with art!” Other-Scott called over, and Scott grinned ruefully in agreement.

“He’s not wrong,” he shrugged.

Other-Virgil shook his head, and tapped the paper with a finger. “We’ll get to colour later,” he said, “but what changes do I need to make to the sketch?” He spun it around until Scott was looking at the sketch the right way up, and he squinted at it.

It was clearly John, but at the same time not. The challenge was picking out what made it different to his brother, exactly.

“What do you mean, colour?” Other-Scott called across.

“I thought you were teaching Gordon a lesson?” Other-Virgil retorted. “Keep getting distracted and he might be the one teaching you a lesson.”

Other-Scott chuckled, and then there was another clack as they started playing again.

“John’s… younger,” Scott settled on. “Slightly less angular, maybe?”

Other-Virgil whisked the paper back around to face him and started changing lines. “How old?”

“Twenty-five,” Scott said, watching as the sharpest edges to the sketch were smoothed out slightly. It was a good thing Other-Virgil, just like Virgil, was so artistically adept, because Scott knew his descriptions left a lot to be desired. He really wasn’t an artist.

It was a long process, as Scott frowned at lines and Other-Virgil redrew and redrew them again. He knew exactly what his immediate brother looked like, of course, but descriptions had never been his strong point. Thankfully, Other-Virgil was patient and seemed to have expected Scott to be pretty terrible at them.

In the background, the clacking of balls hitting balls continued, complete with commentary and occasional brotherly snipes. Scott wasn’t sure how many times they’d played by the time Other-Virgil finished his latest redraw of a line of John’s hair, and a lump formed suddenly in his throat.

“That’s him,” he said around it, trying to swallow it down before any of the other men in the room noticed. “That’s John.” Still in the grey and white of a sketch, his genius of a brother stared out of the paper at something in the distance, intent and determined. It was a painfully familiar expression, one Scott saw most often on rescues, when his brother was amassing more data even as he talked him through what he already had.

A hand slammed down to cover the sketch and Scott blinked.

“Gee, really, Virg?” Other-Gordon quibbled from where he’d suddenly materialised right next to Scott. Next to him, and peering over Other-Virgil’s shoulder, was Other-Scott.

“You fellas can see it once it’s coloured,” the artist said firmly. “And not one moment before. Go back to your game.”

Both brothers grumbled good-naturedly, but did as they were told and retreated back to the billiards table. Other-Virgil pulled his hand back and looked up at him.

“I don’t have my colours here, so what do you say about doing all the sketches now, and then we’ll go to my room to sort out colours later?” he suggested.

Once again caught by the sketch of his brother, fiercely determined and no doubt wearing that exact face right now, wherever he was, Scott just nodded numbly.

It was gently tugged out of sight as Other-Virgil turned to a fresh page in his sketchbook and started drawing again. This time, Scott was anticipating the appearance of Other-Virgil in graphite so it wasn’t a surprise when he formed out of lines of graphite on paper. The artist was clearly used to self-portraiture as the sketch was just as flawless as Other-John’s had been; it was almost a shame that he’d have to completely alter the hairstyle this time – Other-John’s wasn’t all too dissimilar to John’s, but the two Virgils appeared to have markedly different ideas on hairstyle.

Even before the sketch was presented to him, Scott reached across and tapped the brow. “Same scar,” he said, noticing that Other-Virgil hadn’t bothered to add that in, presumably because he hadn’t expected something like a scar to carry across universes. It was a fair assumption, especially as Other-Gordon had already made an observation about how his own scars differed from Other-Scott’s, but in this particular case a wrong one. Scott wondered if, like the hydrofoil, the cause was also the same.

Other-Virgil’s eyebrows raised, showing off his scar particularly well, but he dutifully added it in.

“Also younger?” he asked, and Scott eyed the paper critically. The sketch was spun around so he could see it better, and he nodded his thanks.

“Twenty-three,” he confirmed. “But don’t soften the cheekbones much.” Other-Virgil made a noise of comprehension and took the paper back to begin the long process of amending it to Scott’s awkward specifications. “And you might as well scrap the hair entirely,” he added. Other-Virgil paused and gave him an incredulous look.

“There’s no similarity there at all?” he asked. Scott shrugged and peered again.

“Maybe the hairline,” he allowed. “But completely different hairstyle.”

He got a contemplative noise for that, but Other-Virgil dutifully erased most of the hair, leaving just enough to keep the head shape obvious, before following Scott’s instructions to amend the face shape until he was happy it was his Virgil, and not Other-Virgil looking out of the paper.

“However does he keep his hair like that?” Other-Virgil commented when they finally reached the hairstyle, the sweeping peak taking shape on the paper after several amendments as Scott tried to get it just right.

“By stealing my hair gel,” he replied dryly, “and short circuiting the entire island’s power with his hairdryer.” Gordon was not the only one who remembered that incident well, even if Scott usually refrained from mentioning it – it wasn’t like he needed to, what with the squid bringing it up at every opportunity. One day Virgil was going to make minced squid out of their brother, and it was probably going to have something to do with that incident. Probably.

Other-Scott chuckled, proving that he was still eavesdropping even as he continued to thrash Other-Gordon at billiards. The younger man sounded like he was getting quite tired of being defeated, although he hadn’t yet begged off entirely. Then again, Scott suspected Other-Scott wasn’t the only one using the game as a pretence in order to listen in.

Other-Virgil ignored them as he once again redid a line in Virgil’s hair, and Scott did likewise, although in his case it was mostly because Other-Virgil had once again taken his breath away with a likeness of one of his brothers. Unlike John, Virgil was looking straight at him, greyscale eyes still warm and the slightest bit concerned, mirrored in the set of his jaws. It was another painfully familiar expression that Scott had found himself on the receiving end of many times.

“That’s him,” he said after a moment, once his lungs remembered what to do. Other-Virgil hummed and flicked the page over before the other two could make it over.

“Aww,” Other-Gordon protested when he realised. “Not even one peek, Virg?”

“Once they’re coloured,” his brother said firmly, “and not one moment before.”

“But it’s his version of me next, right?” Other-Gordon whined. “You gotta let me see that one, Virg!”

“Once they’re coloured,” Other-Virgil repeated. “If it’s too much of a trial for you, I’m sure you can leave. Aren’t you tired of losing yet?”

Other-Scott laughed again from where he seemed to be setting up another game. “He still thinks he can beat me if we play enough times.”

“I will beat you,” Other-Gordon vowed, heading over to the table again. “My turn to start.”

Other-Virgil rolled his eyes once the ginger had his back to them. “Say, how about we skip Gordon and come back to him later?” he suggested, a gleam in his eyes that was all-too familiar.

“Virg!” came the complaint from the brother in question, and despite himself, Scott found himself grinning just a little, even if the familiarity of the banter ached.

“We can do Alan next,” he agreed, although something heavy and unpleasant settled in his stomach as he realised he wouldn’t be able to dodge just how young his Alan was for much longer.

Despite the words, it was still Other-Gordon that appeared from Other-Virgil’s pencil, and the artist grinned at him conspiratorially. Scott returned it, although he was fairly sure it was weaker than it would normally be. Other-Virgil didn’t comment, or even raise a concerned eyebrow, however, so he assumed he’d got away with it.

“Younger again?” Other-Virgil asked, and Scott nodded. “Squarer jaw, but don’t soften the face,” he said. “He’s all angles.” Sharp cheekbones, sharp jaw, sharp wit. There was a lot of sharpness with Gordon, although like all of them he was soft where it counted. Squinting at the sketch as Other-Virgil made the amendments, Scott realised that while their eye colour was identical, one of the biggest differences to their faces was in fact the eye shape.

As with everything else, describing that was difficult, and Other-Virgil had to erase the same lines over and over again as between them, they tried to get it right. Then, of course, it was the hair, and it was quickly apparent that Gordon – and Alan, when they got there – had a hairstyle that Other-Virgil struggled to even conceptualise in his head. In this universe, it seemed that bangs always flopped down, not out.

“More hair gel?” the man asked, resigned, as he erased the lines of Gordon’s bangs for the umpteenth time.

“More hair gel,” Scott confirmed. “The other one is similar, by the way.”

“I will get this,” Other-Virgil said, low and determined. The stubbornness was just as familiar as everything else about his mannerisms. So far, Scott was getting the impression that while he might be a little quieter than Virgil, Other-Virgil was otherwise almost the same in temperament.

“His Alan giving you trouble?” Other-Gordon called across. Other-Virgil ignored him as, with a set jaw, he once again amended his lines.

“Almost,” Scott encouraged. “That’s close.”

“I’m not settling for ‘close’,” Other-Virgil told him firmly. “What’s still wrong?”

Scott surveyed the art critically, before pointing at a line. “Here,” he said. “Maybe loosen it up a little?”

Other-Virgil erased it and drew it again, and Scott found a familiar, fond smile creep onto his face. “That’s him.”

Like Virgil, Gordon was looking straight out of the paper at them, full of mirth and a little cheeky, like he’d just set a prank and was waiting for someone to fall into it. Unlike John and Virgil, who had both ended up drawn wearing expressions they’d wear on a mission, Gordon was all home comfort.

Scott decided not to think to hard about what their resulting expressions implied about his mental state.

Other-Virgil eyed it triumphantly for a moment, clearly basking in his success of finally nailing the unfamiliar hairstyle, before turning the page and starting to sketch out Other-Alan.

“Last one,” he said. “He has a similar hairstyle to your Gordon, you say?”

“What?” Other-Gordon demanded from over by the table. There hadn’t been any clacking of balls for some time, Scott realised, and he glanced over to see both brothers were leaning against the table, watching the pair of them from a distance. “You mean that was your Gordon you just finished?”

Other-Virgil grinned at him. “I’m doing his Alan now,” he said, and Other-Gordon whined dramatically. Other-Scott shifted his weight against the table slightly and rolled his eyes fondly.

“You should have known Virg would do that,” he said. “And aren’t you the one that keeps saying Scott’s just like me?”

Other-Gordon grumbled.

“I didn’t expect that to mean he’d be able to fall in so seamlessly with one of Virgil’s schemes,” he huffed.

“Sorry,” Scott shrugged, entirely unrepentant. Other-Gordon had spent enough time analysing him that catching him out felt a lot like a victory. From the way amber eyes narrowed, the younger man was well aware of that.

“So,” Other-Virgil said, offering him a rough sketch of Other-Alan. “How much younger do I need to go?”

Scott swallowed. “Fifteen,” he said, and was entirely unsurprised when he saw Other-Scott jerk out of the corner of his eye. “And you might want to make him a little more… smiley.” Other-Virgil had drawn a neutral expression, which was at least less antagonistic than Scott had actually seen Other-Alan wearing so far, but for his Alan it just felt wrong.

“Younger and happier,” Other-Virgil repeated, taking the eraser to the sketch and all but redoing the entire outline. “And with a Gordon-like hairstyle.”

What came out of his pencil the second time looked a lot closer, more like a base that Scott could make minor adjustments to than the initial sketch had done.

“He’s fifteen?” Other-Scott asked, and Scott braced himself for the upcoming explosion. “He’s not a part of International Rescue yet, I assume.”

Scott didn’t answer him, watching Other-Virgil tidy up the sketch before pointing out a line that needed amending.

“He’s not part of International Rescue?” Other-Scott repeated after a few moments, disbelief colouring his voice. “At fifteen? He oughtn’t even have all the licenses by fifteen, surely?”

Scott sighed, and pointed out another line that needed changing. “Alan’s been a fully fledged member of IR for a year,” he admitted. “He’s got all the licenses he needs.”

“He’s what?” Other-Scott demanded. Other-Virgil’s pencil stopped, and Scott found himself scrutinised by three pairs of eyes. “But- how does a fourteen year old get an astronaut’s license? You’re not telling me he’s Thunderbird Three’s primary pilot in your universe?”

“Youngest astronaut in history,” Scott said, letting the pride he always felt whenever he remembered that fact bleed into his voice and carefully keeping the accompanying panic back. “John was primary pilot for a while, but he’s always been happiest in Thunderbird Five, and Thunderbird Five really needed a monitor. Alan proved himself on the sims and we needed a pilot for Thunderbird Three.”

“You couldn’t do it?” Other-Scott asked.

Scott chuckled humourlessly, remembering the hollow guilt that had welled up inside whenever he’d even considered going to space without any of his brothers. That didn’t bear mentioning, however, and there was another, stricter, reason why it hadn’t been possible. “I’m Alan’s legal guardian. I couldn’t leave him to go off into space for days or weeks on rescues.” Or an unknown amount of time in another universe, but he hadn’t had a choice on that front.

“So your solution was to send him off into space?” Other-Virgil asked dubiously, inadvertently cutting off what Scott suspected was about to be a too-accurate remark from Other-Gordon. Scott shrugged.

“If he’s in orbit, it’s only a day and he’s in range of Thunderbird Five,” he said. “If he’s leaving orbit, someone – usually me – goes with him.”

“Gee,” Other-Gordon whistled, apparently deciding to keep whatever observation he’d made to himself after all. “Our Alan’s young enough to send out there. I can’t imagine him piloting Thunderbird Three as a teenager.”

“He’s a natural,” Scott said, glancing down at the half-finished sketch, currently sitting somewhere between Alan and Other-Alan in appearance. “If he couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t let him, no matter how old he was.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Other-Gordon said, emphatically enough that his brothers looked at him in surprise. Other-Gordon didn’t acknowledge them, however, and Scott found himself under another heavy yet understanding look. No doubt the other man was remembering their conversation in the car about limits. “I said it before: I bet you’re just as much of a smother hen as this fella is.” He jabbed a thumb in Other-Scott’s direction and got a lacklustre hey! of protest. “I’m sure you do a swell job of looking after him.”

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped a little. It was Other-Virgil, who was looking at him in some concern. “Do you want to take five?” the man asked, gesturing at the half-finished sketch. Scott shook his head.

“I’m good,” he said, peering at the paper again. Other-Gordon made an aborted noise that could well have been resigned disapproval. “His bangs go the other way.”

“You fellas have mighty different hairstyles,” Other-Virgil muttered, but dutifully began erasing the lines before pausing to shoo away his inquisitive brothers. “Are you done teaching Gordon a lesson already, Scott?”

“Not at all,” the older man said. “Come on, Gordon, if you still think you can win.”

“One day,” the ginger mumbled rebelliously, before moving back to the table to set up another game. Both his brothers laughed, and Scott found himself joining in.

Alan proved almost as difficult as Gordon to get right, with Other-Virgil again finding the hair the most complicated to get right, but a couple more games behind them later, Scott’s youngest brother was beaming out of the paper at him, wide-eyed in adoration and looking even younger than he was. It wasn’t the best expression for supporting his case that Alan was perfectly capable of handling a rocket and the responsibilities that came along with that, but it was quintessentially Alan in its essence nonetheless.

“That’s him,” he confirmed, and Other-Virgil surveyed the sketch for several moments in silence before his brothers once again tried their luck at seeing a completed sketch.

“I told you fellas,” Other-Virgil said firmly, closing the sketchbook against their curious glances. “Not until they’re coloured.”

“Whatever you fellas are up to will have to wait.” Scott’s eyes snapped to the doorway, where Other-Alan was standing, arms crossed and looking just as displeased as he had in every encounter he’d had with the young man so far. “Kyrano’s finished making dinner, so it’s time to wash up.”

“Right you are, then,” Other-Virgil said. “I’ll get these stowed in my room and we can finish after dinner?” He offered the suggestion as a question to Scott, who saw no reason to disagree and nodded.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“What are you fellas doing, anyway?” Other-Alan asked suspiciously.

“It seems that we don’t look like his brothers, even though he might as well be Scott’s twin,” Other-Gordon explained, putting his cue in the wall holder. Other-Scott did the same, before stashing the balls away as well. “Virgil’s drawing them for us so we know what we’re looking for just in case they fell through somewhere.”

“Didn’t John say they’d come through here if anywhere?” Other-Alan pointed out, still standing in the doorway and watching as his brothers tidied up. Scott found his way to his feet and waited for them to finish.

“Yes, but this is an unprecedented event, Alan,” Other-Virgil replied, walking over to him. Scott followed. “John’s still got Thunderbird Five looking out for them in case he’s wrong, and we’ll all be looking out as well. It stands to reason we should know exactly who we’re looking for.”

“Well, I suppose,” the blond said. Other-Virgil patted him on the shoulder a couple of times.

“Well, I’m off to put this in my room,” he said. “I’ll be down for dinner in one minute.” Then he left, leaving Scott standing with Other-Alan by the doorway, waiting for Other-Scott and Other-Gordon to finish packing up their game.

“So, what are you going to be doing until Brains and John find a way to get you home?” Other-Alan asked him. “Are you just going to laze about the villa?”

Scott raised an eyebrow at him. “Not if I have any say in the matter,” he said bluntly. “I’m not a fan of lazing around.”

Other-Gordon choked back a laugh at that, and Scott narrowed his eyes at him.

“Use your head, Al,” the ginger interjected. “We’ve got some of the best planes in the world here; you think the fella’s going to be content keeping his feet on the ground? He took a fancy to your Tiger Moth down in the hangars ‘til I told him Scott’s not allowed to touch it.”

“I haven’t seen a Tiger Moth in years,” Scott defended himself.

“Yeah, well, you’re not touching her either,” Other-Alan told him firmly. “No Scotts are getting their hands on that baby.”

“We hear you, Alan,” Other-Scott said. “Now, come along, fellas. I, for one, don’t plan on being late to one of Kyrano’s feasts.” He pushed past them and headed into the hallway. His brothers and Scott followed, ducking into a small washroom to clean their hands before trailing through the kitchen to where the dining table was set up.

Chapter 14>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #long way from home #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy

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suilinbride · 3 years

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Making a Confession, Stepping Away from Kemetic Orthodoxy, and Kicking My Own Ass in the Process

I know I've been a little quiet again here recently, save for building upon the foundation of this blog and occasionally setting up some of the framework for how this blog is going to look, feel, and act in the future. That's very much by design actually, as I've been dealing with family shenanigans again, taking care of my own personal and physical health, helping to finish taking care of a long term problem that's been festering in my personal Blind Pagan community for over ten months now, and finally, though not the last nor the least of what's currently going on with me on my end, I just finished up participating at the national convention for the National Federation of the Blind this weekend. Yes, I'm fully aware I'm busy like headless chick in staked to the back of a fucking Roadrunner.

Anyway, I have a confession to make here and I'm fully aware that actively choosing to become a Remejt and ignoring the issue at hand puts me squarely in the wrong for sure.

During this weekend while I was resting and waiting between two events being held by the convention that were hours apart from one another, I decided to do a lot personal soul searching and decided in the end to take no further steps with Kemetic Orthodoxy and instead allow my membership to falter, fall, and fade away like dust in the wind in the end. I actually regret agreeing to stay on as a Remetj at the end of the beginner course. I regret doing so because agreeing to stay on as Remetj was in a number of ways me lying to myself and not being completely honest all around. Some of my beliefs are incompatible with Kemetic Orthodoxy's beliefs and practice, and I should have said something right there and then. I plan on emailing someone on the site and asking them to go ahead and remove my membership or whatever it's called on the forum.

I came into the beginner course with two goals in mind, one of which would only work if I ended up becoming a Remetj. First, I wanted to learn some decent structure to help jump start my Kemetic practice, as I am currently unable to get ahold of any accessible copies of materials that are recommended as must have reading resources for getting into practicing Kemeticism. Second, I confess that I was extremely tempted by the idea of the Rite of Parent Divination or at least the idea of it as an easy way to figure out who one's gods are without doing the proper work and all the blood, sweat, and tears that usually go into that kind of work in the long run to be successful at forming healthy and strong relationships with beings, deities, etc.

I'm ashamed at the fact that I tried taking the easy way out in a way, instead of taking the first real step on the road to figuring things out on my own. I've never done that before. Yes, I've sought aid from other Diviners to obtain clues that I was missing out on to help me narrow things down and find the right trail to get where I want to go, or to confirm or debunk a conclusion or possibility when I think I'm at the end of the road, end of my rope, and there's not really anything else I can do except get a yay or nay on the subject at hand. But I've never shyed away from the work before, the real hard personal work that goes into building proper healthy relationships with beings, deities, etc, and I'm kicking my own ass hardcore for trying to take the easy way out this one time.

It's not an excuse I'm trying to offer here but merely offering the facts or at least what I think happened or at least the processes that were going on in my head when all of these things happened, but I think the struggle that I've been going through the past year regarding straightening out my practice between Greek or Roman (I'll talk more about that in a later post), that my exhaustion of sorts got in the way of my proper mindset of things and I ended up throwing my own rules and personal protocols of doing the work tofigure things out straight out the window for something that would make things easier. Just typing the words leaves ashes in my mouth.

Either way, in the end Brighid made the whole thing moot in a very interesting way. See, Brighid and I have a personal deal or pact you can say, that among other things, she gets to call the shots on which deities I can and can not worship. This is something I entered in with her with my eyes completely wide open and understanding completely what it meant to give her that kind of power. I made this deal with her several years ago as a last ditch attempt as a desperate and last resort sort of action to save my sanity and most likely my life. I mean that in all seriously. I was being attacked by a deity that refused to take no for an answer, refused to respect my sense of consent, and was gunning for me in a way that would either see me as her's and her's alone, or dead in the process. I'm not kidding when I write that, not one bit. I can tell you some crazy horror stories regarding what happened during that terrible year, as it was the kind of year where everything crashed and burned as if it was ignited by Napalm of all things.

But I digress, as I tend to do way too damn much. I got my second vaccination shot for Covid on the eighteenth of June, which was a Friday, and ended up obtaining a Fever of One Hundred Five that Saturday morning. Brighid decided to take that as an opportunity to rekindle our relationship in the exact same way she did when she first healed and claimed me Fifteen years ago this past February. We've been struggling with just about every aspect of our relationship for the past seven years or so, and while this didn't fix everything completely (as there is still a lot of work for both of us to get things where we both want things to be in our relationship), this whole crazy spiritual ordeal cleared the way for us in so many ways that I can't even begin to describe properly.

One of the things that got brought up was the status and nature of every relationship I have or hoped to have with every deity I've been building a relationship with for years now. A lot of uncertainties, confusion, illusions, and chaos all fell away. There are some major changes in my practice I need to write about at some point, but I'm still wrapping my head around it all first. I haven't had the time to do so yet, and it's something I'm working on as I type this all out.

With all of the things that were cleared away, she showed me which of the Egyptian gods I had a fledgling relationship with, many of which I should have known (all things considered with my brief history with Kemeticism), but didn't have a clue until this crazy shit happened. That doesn't mean that everything is fine and dandy. It's far from it actually. I may know which of the Netjeru I have fledgling relationships with, but I need to do the work to actually build said relationships with those Netjeru on my own. I need to and I'm going to put in the blood, love, respect, sweat, and tears I put in with every relationship I have with deity and non deity alike.

And with all of that now written, here's my confession for whatever it's worth. If nothing else, I now have a clear mind and a far more cleaner heart. I'm a firm believer in stepping up and speaking out about making mistakes, fucking up, and not being or doing my best and then work on fixing those mistakes and doing my damndest to be and do even better next time. This is the first step in doing so, in my heart and mind anyway.

#Kemetic Orthodoxy #Kemeticism #Rite of Parent Divination #Personal Confessions #Remetj #Netjeru #Deities #Brighid #Covid #Brighid Deity #National Convention #National Federation of the Blind #Personal Ramblings #Personal Spiritual Ramblings #Fixing Mistakes #Methods of My Madness #Deity Relationships #Posts by Blind Rob #Long Posts by Blind Rob

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violetnotez · 4 years

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Is the this the longest fic Ive ever written? Yes. Does it suck? Also yes. Will nobody read it because it makes no sense but Im still going to post because I wasted way too much damn on this thing? TRIPLE YES.

Word count: 10.4k words (she thicc)

Genre: Angst and Fluff, sfw

AU: Fantasy AU!, Hanahaki disease

Prompt: “How could your keep this from?”

Warnings: blood

Summary: You are born into a worls where you must marry your best friend, Prince Shoto, in order to unite your kingdoms in harmony. You are happy to marry your childhood friend and love, until he leaves for a quest unannounced, and you are left questioning if you really want to marry him. Once he returns a few weeks before your planned wedding, you begin to not fall in love with him, but one of his comrades- the barbarian, Bakugo.

*this is for the even for @bnhabookclub! Heres the link to the post if your interested!

Again. welcome to the shitshow that is my blog. read at your own risk cause this gets REAL WIERD REAL QUICK

Petals-all you could see were the petals.

Your mouth and throat felt so dry, your forehead damp with sweat as your back convulsed painfully, raspy coughs wracking out of your chest as you forced the petals out of your body.

They were so pale, like creamy vanilla, a stark contrast from the droplets of your blood splattered on the delicate buds.

You quickly reached for your handkerchief, wiping the residue off your dry mouth in fear of it dribbling on to your white dress-your wedding dress. Your hands were shaking, unable to cry any more tears at your misery-you had come to terms many weeks ago that you were going to reach an unhappy end.

Why did it have to be him?

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

You were the princess of your kingdom, destined to marry Prince Shoto of the neighboring kingdom. It was something you two had been accustomed to from birth- in order to connect the two kingdoms and end the quarrels between the two civilizations, you had to marry. It would be a harmonious marriage: Prince Shoto was kind, soft spoken, and a natural born leader. You two had been wonderful friends as siblings, your fathers putting away their troubles in order for you two to get along. They were hoping that by making you friends at a young age, you would learn to grow feelings for each other.

For a time, it worked-you had fallen for Prince Shoto, his soft yet powerful demeanor making you blush each time you remembered him, your young hands writing your name with his last in your journal like a prayer. At 13 you already began to count down the days until you would turn 18, because on that day, you were set to marry your predestined lover- Shoto Todoroki.

For years you had felt so lucky you were blessed with such a sweet boy to be with, being able to live out your lives harmoniously and in peace, something both your parents didn't have the luxury to have. It sometimes left you feeling frustrated- Shoto was truly kind, but very quiet about his thoughts. Your love felt one sided, Shoto seemingly only tolerating you because he had to.

Once he got older, he became more distant towards you, clearly wishing to rebel against his father’s wishes by being distant towards you. It hurt you immensely to see your best friend and crush plainly reject you, but you still held on to the hope that you two could be happy with each other. Yet all that changed when the Prince had left for a quest.

He had been gone for what seemed like an eternity and for a time, you were extremely worried. You could barely focus on your studies, only imagining your poor friend somewhere cold, hungry, and alone. You knew he would be fine, he was a resilient fighter, but yet you couldn't help but allow the worrisome thoughts to collect in your brain. After news that the Prince was in a neighboring kingdom, safely traveling with a young boy, a witch, and a warrior, you felt at ease- with all those comrades, he was sure to be safe. You finally breathed a sigh of relief, able to calm your anxieties after a long time of being unable to.

Information continued to trickle in, sometimes good and sometimes bad, but it always stated that the Prince was spotted safe and sound. You took solace in that information, and for awhile, you began to worry less and less about Shoto, until he was barely a memory.

During that time, you had begun to take on the habit of reading. Before it was a task you simply did when forced or extremely bored, only reading books and stories from your own kingdom.

With so much extra time on your hands waiting upon the Prince to return, you began to learn of other stories, ones that were trully a delight to you: stories of nomads who traveled the country and did rituals to bring them fortunes, women who sold potions by gathering mystical ingredients from the woods, people choosing their own destines and their own paths. It intrigued you- from birth you had one mission for your life: to unite your kingdoms. Once you married Prince Shoto, your destiny would be complete: and then what would you do? You had no other purpose, except being a symbol of that peace for the rest of your life, sitting pretty on a throne until your last breath.

It began to eat at your insides, gnaw at your conscience that you were merely a pawn in your father’s legacy. You could now fully understand why Shoto had been so defiant: he had realized the truth of his life as well.

Slowly, you began to learn to dread instead of anticipate your wedding day. With the Prince being gone, it was sending quite a ruckus in your home, your father more annoyed with each passing day that the Prince had not come back. You, on the other hand, rejoiced. The kings had both agreed at your times of birth that if anything happened to either child before your 18th birthday, the agreement would be cancelled and the marriage no more. They would rely on their children to fix their broken ties.

You had just turned 17, the mental clock beginning to tick in you and your father’s minds, as the Prince still wasn't back form his quest. Just a few more months, and you would both have your wishes: Shoto seemed to have no interest in marrying you, and why should you even for that matter? You two truly didnt love each other- your friendship was a hoax your fathers had created in order to save their own legacies. Your love for each other was man-made and a lie. Just a few more months, and you'd be free of this terrible fate.

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

The day you turned 17 and a half, you were busying yourself on your plush pink bed, reading another novel about free spirited women in a far off land.

“Princess y/n,” your hand maiden opened the door quietly, afraid of disturbing you, “the King would like to speak with you.”

You gave your shy handmaiden a small smile, delicately marking the spot in your book as your feet landed on the cold floor.

“Thank you,” you replied, “Ill be there shortly.”

You entered your father’s study, his feet stomping the room heavily as he paced in deep thought.

The room was grand, a golden chair sitting in front of an old ebony desk, the room surrounded by maps, battle plans, and bookcases full of legends of stories written long before your time. Light flitted through long windows against the wall, looking out to the rural countryside and a matching red carpet run the lengths of the stone floors.

Your entrance seemed to have disturbed your Father’s train of thought, his head instantly looking to see who had interrupted him. Once he saw it was you, he sighed, greeting you with a tight smile.

“You wished to see me Father?’ you asked politely, your fingers tugging nervously at the sleeves of your dress. Your father never called upon you unless it was extremely important- had you done something wrong? You wracked your mind for any actions that would had been unwise for your father to find out, but to your surprise, you couldnt think of a single thing you had done.

“Yes, yes,” your father said hastily, waving his hands toward a small wooden chair at the foot of his desk, “please-sit. We have much to discuss.”

You sat on the hard chair, a chill traveling your back as you watched your father sit in his plush throne, his face clearly tired.

“As we all know, Prince Shoto has been on a quite a long quest for some time,” your father began, his voice deep with annoyance, “and has not come back. And with your 18th birthday fast approaching, and it worries me that the boy wont be back in time for your marriage. I have talked to King Todoroki about my worries, who also had the same fear, and he promised to bring the boy back and end his little shenanigan. But Shoto refuses to leave until his quest is complete.”

Your father took in a deep breath through his nose, his face a mix of anger and agitation.

Your heart beat excitedly- the prince wasnt coming back? The news bounced happily inside you, giving you some hope that you needed- that must have been why he had gone on that quest in the first place! Even though you were excited, you felt a tightness in your chest- you were childhood firend after all. He really didnt like you that much that he felt he had to run away?

“Oh dont look so solemn daughter,” your father comforted, his voice soft with sympathy,” Shotos father allowed the boy to finish his quest in 5 months’ time, and he is forced to return to his kingdom. In the meantime, we can not forget the whole reason for your marriage like young Todoroki has- you must connect the kingdoms in order to bring harmony.``

“Which is why,” your father added, “we must begin to plan the wedding.”

Your head shot up, the feeling of shock flooding your body. It was still going to happen? Your body began to feel heavy, your father's words fuzzy against your ear- you didn't want this, any of this. You felt trapped like a songbird in a cage, unable to scream out what you desperately wanted to say: if he didnt love you, you didnt want any part of this.

Your father seemed to not notice the look of terror on your face, continuing to inform you of his plan. “We already have sent out invitation to relatives and noblemen in other countries, as well as begin to plan out the festivities. It will be a 3 day event, full of food and parties and, of course, the celebration of our kingdoms coming together. The closer to the date, we will begin to need you for fittings of your dresses as well as rehearse your wedding vows and such. I promise I will make this as wonderful as I can, for you are my only daughter.”

The king smiled at you, wrapping your stiff body into a hug. You could barely feel his embrace- the world was numb to your screaming mind. You wished upon everything in you to end this, to make this all go away, but you knew you couldn't- you would be forced to do this whether you wanted to or not.

You simply nodded your head to your father’s parting words, and then ran to your quarters, shutting the door and ceremoniously throwing yourself on your bed in defeat.

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

For days you felt numb and broken, all fight leaving your body. You watched as all your handmaidens and servants ran like chickens around the castle, preparing for the enormous festivities coming in close time. You were a good and proper princes, silently placid and allowing everything around you to happen.

Flower arrangements, samples of sweets, and fabrics for your dresses all came to you, and you agreed to all of them or just randomly choose. You could care less for your “special day”- the only thing you could truly hope for was prince Shoto ignoring his father’s wishes and not coming back.

That, of course, was a wishful fantasy. You were having a blissful dream when your hand maiden barged into your room, clearly too excited to be considerate of your sleeping state.

“Miss y/n! Miss y/n! Oh please wake up! There is most wonderful news!” she cried excitedly, gently pulling the covers off your body, “You must get ready at once!”

“Prince Shoto- he is back from his quest!”

---------

The whole of the kingdom rejoiced at the news, since he had arrived a month before the wedding. He was here, ready to marry and unite the kingdom. That was all that truly mattered.

Your handmaiden dressed you in your most elegant gown, the icy aqua color bringing out the rosiness of your cheeks, as she placed pearly ornaments in your hair. You felt like you were being presented as a gift to the Prince, a reminder of what he was destined to do. You sighed, dreading having to reunite with your once friend and secret love.

Shoto was standing in the ballroom of your castle, very accustomed to it since you both played here occasionally as children. He was used to the golden floors and the crystal chandeliers the sizes of boulders, all hung gracefully in a row on the ebony ceiling. Him and his company were standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the polished staircase cascading towards them.

He looked at his new found friend’s faces, their expressions clearly in shock. Izuku, his face ruddy with dirt and his cheeks aflame from nervousness as he twisted his shirt between his fingers (a nervous tick Shoto had noticed). Uraraka gawked at the room around her in awe, her wide eyes drinking up the scene in front of her. Bakugo was least impressed, his arms crossed in front of his exposed chest and his eyes formed in judgmental slits.

Shoto had told the others before why he had to go back, but only after the quest was over- he wanted to help his new found friends, and after promising to help them in their battle, he would have felt extremely guilty leaving them behind.

Their reactions were mixed when he revealed he had a marriage in a few weeks time- Izuku was clearly shocked yet in awe hed be marrying a princess, while Uraraka seemed to find the situation romantic. Bakugo simply laughed, mocking him from being such a “sissy” for actually getting married in the first place.

Shoto was feeling conflicted inside at the moment- it had been so long since he had last seen you, and when he had, he was less than kind to you. He was quiet, distant, and quite petty about the whole situation of your marriage. You had turned barely 17 when he left, his young body desperate for some adventure and resilient to his father’s wishes. He merely saw you as a nuisance, someone in the way of his freedom. He knew it was unkind and unjustified, you didn't know what was going on inside him, but he was angry nevertheless and desperate to leave. So when he was approached by young boy in need of a friend for his quest, it was hard to resist the offer.

But as nights when on and he had time to be alone with his thoughts, his mind always seemed to travel to you. The way you giggled, your laughs sounding like chimes in the wind, or how your smile always seemed to make his skin tingle with warmth.

You were always a strange girl, but always in the best way, daring Shoto to races even thought your father said it was “unlike a princess to do so” or trying to braid Shoto’s mix-matched hair.

He would never forget the day he had allowed you to do so, your nimble fingers soft against his skin and making him burn up from nervousness. Your touch was so calming and soothing, your small compliments and soft voice sending his soul soaring with pleasure. It was then he realized he had loved you for you, not because he was forced to.

Shoto felt guilty for forgetting those cherished memories in his fits of anger, but he had agreed to help Izuku and he vowed to not give up on that promimse. Months went on, and Shoto couldnt tell how much time had passed: he only hoped you were doing okay without him.

It wasnt until his father had came to collect him that he realized how short he was on time. He had still stuck by his friends, yet the constant reminders of your wedding was in the air, haunting him. They would travel through kingdoms, the whispers of this event following him as the townspeople began to talk. It was a wonder his friends never caught on except him, only to find out weeks before your wedding.

Now Shoto was standing in the ballroom, feeling quite nervous- he hadnt seen you in so long….would you look any different? He was certain your beauty had grown by then, the thought of you looking older and more womanly bringing a blush to his cheeks. How would you see him? He had become quite a different person on his quest, his body becoming more hardened from battles with bandits and the harsh life of travelling. Would you feel the same for him still? Were you just as excited as you were so many years ago to finally be together?

Shoto heard the clicks of shoes on the wooden floor, a man with the straightest back he had ever seen standing proudly at the steps of the stairs.The man took a deep breath, his voice traveling through the room as he announced your arrival to the group of travelers.

Yet Shoto didnt hear a single word he said- he was enraptured by your beauty. You had seemed to turn into a fine young woman since he had last seen you, your curves accentuated by the tightness of your gown, the blue complimenting you perfectly. Your hair flowed in soft ringlets on your back, the pearls in your hair like stars. You were an angel blessed to this planet- an angel he was destined to marry.

The only thing that was worrying him was your expression- he had expected you to seem so much more lively, welcoming the bright smile you would always give him when you saw him. But now, your face was gone of any warmth, looking almost numb to the situation as you looked down at the group.

You traveled down the stairs, hating the way your name sounded in the announcer's voice. This was all so cliche- the Prince comes from a quest, and there is the Princess, simply a prize for his hardwork. A trophy of sorts for doing a good deed. Why did it have to be this why? Why couldnt you feel anything? The world had felt so cold for so long, feeling trapped due to the lack of control you had. Everything had seemed to loose its splendor and color, your vision for weeks turning gray in sadness-

Until you saw him.

The ash blonde boy, his hair unruly and his eyes a bright red like blood. He was clad in strange clothes, like a barbarian, his chest completely open and showcasing his taut muscles. You were intrigued by him- you had only seen likes of him in books and stories you read. He was so different, so menacing, and you wanted to know more. He was the only thing you could focus on, not taking any time to look at the others in the group, including Shoto.

Shoto was the first to reach you, unafraid to approach you like the rest of the group as you reached the bottom of the steps.

“Y/n-” he said, his voice deep and airy, “you look-wonderful.”

You gave him a small smile, but it made his heart sink- you didnt look happy at all. It seemed forced, far from the bright grins you used to send his way all the time.

“As do you, Shoto. You look quite different from when we last saw each other.”

You quickly turned your attention away from him, focusing on his new comrades instead.

“I assume these are the young heroes that accompanied you on your journey?”

“Y-yes!” the young boy with the unruly green hair stuttered, nervously bowing his head. He was quite adorable in a way, his small stature and freckles dusted on his cheeks giving him a child-like quality (even though he was most likely your age). “My name is Izuku Midoriya!”

You gave a reassuring smile to the young boy, trying to make him feel comfortable.

“It is wonderful to meet you Izuku.”

You began to walk towards the girl know, her pointy yet colorful hat signaling that she was a light witch, a sorceress who used your powers for good.

The girl shimmied in her dusty boots, clearly as nervous as the boy. She lifted the corners of her cloth dress, bowing slightly.

“My name is Ochaco Uraraka, your highness,” she smiled sweetly, her cheeks dusted in a pinky glow.

“Ochaco…” you mused over the name, its sound foregin yet light on your tongue, “you are a light witch, I assume?”

“Yes, yes I am!” the girl practically squealed, relief seemingly flooding her face. ‘How did you know?”

You giggled a her amazement at you, completely unaware apparently that she had the most witch-like outfit you had ever seen.

“A lucky guess,” you shrugged your shoulders playfully as you began to walk again, your heart beginning to race as you edged toward the barbarian.

You stopped in front of the man, his stature a head taller than yours. You eyes looked slightly up at him, your cheeks reddening- he was much more handsome up close, his rugged features making you feel breathless. He un-apologetically judged you with his vermilion eyes, looking you up and down with scorn.

Why did you find that so attractive?

“And you are-”

“My name is Bakugo.” he instantly interrupted you, his voice deep and velevty like syrup, “thats all you need to know.”

“Bakugo?” Your brain searched for any name similar to that, but found none- this boy was definitely a foreigner, most likely from far off lands you could only dream of. You had no idea why he followed Shoto back to the kingdom, but you were happy he did- he was definitely a sight for sore eyes.

“A warrior, I assume by your garments,” you nodded, your eyes trailing to his torso “and by the looks of your scars, an experienced one.”

He scoffed at your observations, his eyes rolling in his sockets.

“For a princess, your eyes wander a damn lot. But yeah- Im hella of a good warrior. Best in the kingdoms.”

You cocked an eyebrow at his language, your cheeks red by his comment. He was so unapologetic and rude, yet- it was intoxicating to you.

“I’m glad to here that.”

Shoto was eyeing you sadly the whole time- what was so different between you two? Why did you seem so welcoming to the others but so distant to him? His face began to turn red with fury as he watched you interact with Bakugo, the way Bakugo insulted you so plainly and cockily making him want to yell. He watched as your face had light up for just a moment when you spoke with him, something Shoto didn't get the luxury to experience.

He also noticed what Bakugo had vocalized- you eyes did wander when you looked at him. Shoto at first tried to rationalize that you were simply being curious, since Bakugo was definitely a strange sight for you, but the way your cheeks blushed and you smiled so warmly at him made him think otherwise.

What did you see in that barbarian that you didnt with Shoto?

You looked again at the odd group, taking a deep breath through your lungs.

“I want to congratulate you all for your successful quest,” you began, the lines slightly rehearsed, “and as thanks from my father for bringing back Prince Shoto, he would like to welcome you all for dinner tonight. We would love to hear all about your journey then,” you then snuck one last look at Bakugo, his eyes boaring into yours. It was making you feel a warmth inside that you had thought long ceased.

You instantly looked down at your hands, your cheeks feeling hot. You knew this was wrong- you shouldn't feel smitten for any other boy, especially this warrior, yet you couldnt help it- you were entranced by his resilience and the freedom he had, something you could only dream of.

“If youll excuse me, I have - things to attend to. It was a pleasure to see you all” you gave the group a tight smile, turning your back quickly from the group to follow your handmaiden back to your quarters.

Shoto watched you until you were gone, his heart beating painfully. He wished he could run up to you, grab you by your wrist and ask you what was the matter. It was still him, your friend for all those years, and you were still you, his love and his best friend. Were you beginning to forget, like he did? He felt his stomach drop painfully at the idea- he would ask you, tonight. He would figure out what had happened between you two, and fix it.

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

You were now at dinner, sitting stiffly as you moved your food around your plate, your tight corset making you feel un-hungry. All night you had been detached and quiet, feeling almost sick by your surroundings. Your father was overly outgoing to the guest,giving you side-eyed glances and trying to enter you in the conversation. You would simply smile and nod, occasionally throwing in a comment before returning to squishing your food between your utensils.

The only time you ever seemed interested was when Bakugo would speak. His comments were all snarky and rude, completely self centered about how strong or intelligent he was.

He was constantly proving his worth throughout the dinner, taking over the story of their journey when he saw fit, making sure everyone knew he was the most capable one of the group. It was obscene, his remarks, his language, even his personality, but- you were intrigued by it. The only person he had to listen to was himself. It was so intoxicating to watch him talk, to hear what other remarks would leave his mouth. Whenever he spoke, you stood up a little straighter, taking time to take in any information he gave about himself and immortalize it into your brain.

Shoto had felt awkward the whole meal, not knowing how to gauge your emotions. You seemed so distant, as if a stranger was sitting next to him. He wished he could enter your mind, detangle all the emotions and thoughts that were keeping you from being yourself around him. There was no laughter, no genuine smiles, no happiness came from you. This bothered him- you were usually so cheerful. His nervousness was eating the inside of his stomach, as his mind still couldn't figure out how to approach you after dinner.

“-and the wedding will be a three day celebration, full of festivities,” your father continued boisterously, his voice booming embarrassingly around the room, “Shoto and y/n will be the main attention, of course, over 200 noblemen will see them share vows-”

The sound of your chair pushing away echoed throughout the dining hall, making the whole group look to you. You cleared your throat delicately, a hand resting on your chest.

“Excuse me for my rudeness, but Im feeling- unwell,” you sighed a quick smile.

“Are you alright, do I need to-” the king asked, his eyes full of concern as you shook of his worries.

“Oh no, Im completely fine- just a headache,” you gave a pained smile, “I hope you all enjoy the rest of the meal.”

Shoto watched you walk away, desperate to make sure he knew which way you went in this large castle. He instantly pushed away from the table as well, rising quietly.

“I- uh-am full, thank you for the meal,” he bowed to the King slightly, placing his napkin on his plate as he rushed out, confusing the group that was left.

Izuku and Ochaco looked at each other, their cheeks red with embarrassment and shock as they looked at Bakugo, who was clearly not bothered by the disturbance. Ochaco then looked at the king, who was clearly confused by the whole ordeal, as an awkward air lay heavy on the table.

Ochaco hastily took a large bite from her plate, filling her mouth with food- “MMMMMM!” she exaggerated, trying to start up conversation again, “I LOVE the ham!”

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

Shoto ran around the castle, looking through every corridor and door, searching for you.His head was racing, trying to organize his thoughts in his minds. He needed to figure out how to speak to you- should he act normal, like nothing was wrong? Should he be formal and see how that went? Angry? Upset? He didnt know how to approach you, but he knew he had to do it.

He finally saw your gown turn an empty hallway, his feet picking up pace. He quickly was able to catch up once he could pin point your location, his hand wrapping around your wrist in order to stop you.

You felt slender,cool fingers wrap around your skin, making your body run cold. You instantly jumped by the sudden touch, all breath leaving your body as you turned around quickly.

Your wide eyes met the mix matched orbs of Shoto, a small pang of annoyance filling your body from getting so scared.

“Shoto,” you replied breathlessly, slightly happy though it was only him and not somebody else that had grabbed you.

“I-uh-y/n,” he replied back, his mind going blank.

He let go of your wrists, his hands resting at the side of his body. “I-Im sorry to scare you like that,” he apologized, “I just- wanted to speak to you. If you’ll let me.”

You looked at the boy, his eyes now averting yours, probably from nerves. You decided to listen, turning your body to him.

“Apology accepted,” you said plainly, “What did you want to speak about?”

Shoto drew a blank- what did he want to talk about? He loved hearing your voice, finally only reserved for him, but yet you seemed preoccupied. Distant. Like you were on another world and not truly there with him.

He stared at you lightly, looking extremely conflicted. “I-I wanted to talk to you about what happened while I was gone.”

“You explained quite plainly what happened on your journey,” you replied, clearly not in the mood to talk, “I applaud you for your bravery, it must have been quite a difficult journey-” you gave him a small bow, your eyes gone of any warmth. “I really must go to bed, Im sorry, but i do feel-”

You began to walk away again, Shoto desperate to keep you near him. He walked in font you, blocking your path.

“You didnt here me correctly-” he changed his wording this time, trying to be as specific as possible. “I want to know what happened to you while I was gone.”

You eyebrows turned down in confusion. “What are you trying to say Shoto?”

He swallowed, trying to clear his dry throat as he licked his lips, conflicted.

“You seem-different.”

“Its been a year and a half since I last saw you, Shoto,” you reasoned, “of course Ill be different.”

“Yes, but-” he paused, “youre too different. Youre not the same y/n I knew.”

“Why? Because Im not following you around like a love sick puppy?” Annoyance began to bubble inside, feeling attacked by Shoto’s words. “Because I finally got over the fact you didnt love me ? You dont have to pretend Shoto, I know full well you only see me as a nuisance.”

Shock flooded Shoto’s system as your icy words pierced his skin. What happened to you? Yes, he was rude to you before he left, but he didnt feel like that anymore. That was a simple phase, were you going to define him by that?

“I dont see you as a nuisance, y/n.”

“Really?” you scoffed at his words. “then tell me why your father had to go out to find you twice before you finally decided to come back?”

“I made a promise to my friends. I had to finish my quest before-”

“You had a promise to me, Shoto!” you yelled exasperatedly, your heart bursting with hurt. “To your family! To my family! Our people! What was so much more important than that?”

“I was so worried about you Shoto, terrified for you. Those first few months I couldnt think of anything but you.” You were beginning to reveal a lot, too much, but the emotions, the hurt, the anger, was flooding out of you like a broken dam and you couldn't stop it.

“But then I realized that you didnt care for me. You thought I didn't notice how you gave me the cold shoulder those last few months? How you ignored me, only gave me quick answers, acted as if I was just a pest following you around? I remembered all of it, and then I realized- you left because of me.”

“You left because of me, didn't you, Shoto?” your voice was harsh and crude like metal, stabbing into Shoto’s conscience.

He stayed silent- how could he say anything back? Your words were making him feel small and foolish- he should have known that you would have noticed his change in demeanor, just as he noticed yours.

You smiled painfully at his silence, feeling a fresh cut of pain slash inside you. “I knew it.”

“Y/n, I-” There was so much he wanted to say, things he wanted to take back. He didnt want this meeting to go like this- with you even more distant to him. Out of all the possible outcomes, this had to be the worst one.

“Dont even try to backtrack Shoto, I know the truth now,you just confirmed it.”

He knew he was less than kind to you before he left, but know it wasnt like that anymore. Why were you so angry?

“Fine-yes-I left, and it wasnt right,” he admitted, his voice deep, “but Im back. Why are you putting my old self against me now?”

“Because I couldn't for the year and half you were gone! I-I loved you Shoto, and you-”

“You dont love me anymore?” Shoto looked down at you sadly, his eyes full of sorrow. It felt like his heart was breaking in two, the way those words spilled out your mouth so easily making it sting even more.

You swallowed, filling a pit grow in your chest. Everything felt so cold, so empty. This was your best friend- why couldn't you just be nice to him? You thought you had gotten over all this.

“You dont love me-so why should I love you?” your voice was barely a whisper, cold and empty in the frigid hallway.

Shoto stared down at you, his voice caught in his throat. Did you really believe that? That he didnt love you?You had been friends since children- you really thought all those times, all those days you played together, were all fake? Who even were you?

“I just want you to know,” you spoke, your voice monotone and icy,” Im not doing this for my father, or your father, or even you. Im doing this for my people and thats it.”

“It” meaning the wedding.

Tears began to prickle your lashline, confusion flooding your numb body as you began to walk away from Shoto-

you hadnt cried in what seemed like forever.

Why were you now?

“Y/n, please, can we just talk-” he tried to reason, harsh with desperation.

“No.” your voice was plain in its tone that you were done with the conversation.

“Im just curious Shoto- why did you come back? Because if I had the luxury to have all that freedom, to be free for once- I wouldnt.”

Shoto’s heart felt broken as he watched you walk away, your dress ruffling as you continued on your path. He felt defeated, confused, even angry- what had happened to you since he had been gone? Did you really hate him that much? What did you mean you had no freedom? More questions flooded his mind than what were answered, but he now knew one thing- you didnt want anything to do with him.

As Shoto’s was returning to his corrdiors sadly, you were lost in thought, just feeling- empty. You didnt feel sad, or angry, or even spitefu anymorel. Just- numb to the world. You could walk for miles and miles it seemed and you wouldnt feel a thing.

Why was that? Why were so mean to your long lost firend? You should be hugging him from happiness and relief-not meeting him with coldness and hate.

As you were lost in thought, you didn't even notice yourself running into a person. Your hand instantly reached out, meeting soft yet rough skin. You looked up in confusion ,and your breath hitch- it was the barbairan, his vermilion eyes like rubies as he stared down at you in scorn.

“Oi, watch were your going you damn princess,” he scolded,pushing you off him gently. You stumbled slightly, trying to get your footing right- you had run in to him, you had even touched him. If you were feeling alright, and if the circumstances were different, you could practically squeal. “Youre gonna hurt someone.”

“Did I hurt you?”

He scoffed at your comment. “Like you could ever hurt me,” his voice was deep and velvety, his comment sending shocwaves into your system. The reply was prideful, yet it could have been- sweet. Kind, in a way in a different light- maybe he meant it like that?

“How do you know that?” you blurted out, a small smirk crawling across your lips.

You just wanted him to talk more, to hear that velvety voice directed towards you- but you were close to flirting with him. What were you doing? What was going on with you?

One second you were chewing out your life time friend weeks before your wedding, and now you were being smitten with a random man you didn't even know.

He chuckled slightly, his canines glinting. “Your a fucking handful, arentcha?”

He eyed your wobbling feet, as you still were finding your footing slightly.

“You clearly cant walk right-you feeling fine, because Im not gonna be the one who carries you-”

“No, no , Im fine.” you reassured, your cheeks rosy. ‘Thank you for catching me.”

“Youre the one who ran into me.”

“You could have just pushed me off though, you seem like the type to do that,” you gave him a cheeky grin, it disappearing when you heard a slight growl come form him.

“The hell you mean princess?” he was trying to be menacing, but you could tell there was something behind it- he was curious. You loved how he called you “princess”, making it sound like a pet name than a title.

“Your a lone wolf, are you not? You are strong, independent, free-” you began to list off, your eyes focusing on his, “you follow your own code and beliefs”

“Damn right I do,” he agreed, your heart soaring that he looked so proud of you for describing him so perfectly. “-which is why Im confused as hell that half-and-half prince is allowing himself to get married.”

Ouch.

The small amount of hope that Bakugo seemed to like you had quickly got destroyed, feeling hurt flood your body. You quickly tried to shake it off, so Bakugo couldn't see it on your face.

“What he even want to talk to you about anyway?” The boy shifted in his stance, his muscles moving with his movements.

You gulped, guilt filling your body- Shoto, the one who had just fought with. You couldnt tell this boy what had happened- that was private, and really, it was embarrassing.

“Just-uh-about-” you stammered, your cheeks red as you searched for a lie.

“Ugh, let me guess, you two were trading spit werent you?” he interrupted in disgust, taking your red cheeks as a sign you two were doing something unholy in the hallway.

You swallowed, licking your lips as you gave him a tight lipped smile. You were just going to follow along with Bakugo’s line of reasoning- you didnt have any other better ideas.

“Y-yep, just- please dont tell anyone?”

He gave a bitter laugh, his voice booming against your ears. “You guys cant get dirty? I guess that makes sense, since you all our royalty, cant be having any scandals-”

“Do you promise?” you rushed him, now feeling uncomfortable- if anybody heard you and Shoto were kissing in the hallway, and you two were really arguing-

“Yeah, dont worry princess, youre secrets safe with me.”

You sighed a breath of relief, feeling your heart jump at the smirk the boy sent your way.

“Thank you- I- uh- best be going now,” you stammered, rushing past the warrior, “have a nice night Bakugo.”

You rushed to your room, your heart feeling on fire. Your hands were shaking, your mid racing- all you could think about was that boy. Your world had seemed so dark, until he showed up. His rude responses, his chaotic personality, his snarkiness, that overly prideful speech, his freedom- it was so intoxicating to you. You felt your heart pumping against your chest- you hadn't felt this alive in so long.

You suddenly felt very sick, your head feeling drowsy- maybe you were actually catching something, and thats why you were acting so strange? You were gasping for breath it seemed, your corset making it hard to breath. I felt like something was tightening around your chest, small prods poking into you from the inside- it was a strange sensation, one you did not welcome in the slightest. You stumbled to your bed, holding on to the post as your lungs felt tight with no air, liking something was blocking your passageway. Coughs began to erupt out of you, wracking your body until you finally felt you could breathe. You sucked in a deep breath, welcoming the sweet night air, your chest still feeling tight. You looked down at the ground, trying to slow your stammering heart, until your eyes feel upon something new- a single white petal, resting softly on the ground.

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

After that night, You became obsessed with this boy, learning bits and pieces from him though conversation you had overheard from Shoto’s friends and workers inside the castle. You learned he was from an extremely far off land, past even the Mountains, which surprised you. He lived alone, and apparently had a dragon as well. He had gotten in many fights due to his overly prideful personality, which was why he had so many scars decorating his taut body. Your handmaidens seemed to look at him with annoyance, saying he refused to wear anything “civilized” and would plainly cuss them out if they even set foot in his room to clean.

You knew he had a softer side though- he had kept your “secret” safe, right? You heard nothing around the castle about any make-out session or argument between you and Shoto. That little act made you feel special in someway- maybe he had a soft side for you?

Whenever you would feel yourself getting sucked into the sadness of planning your wedding, you’d think of fantasies with that barbarian boy. Him taking you in the middle of night, taking you far away from this place. His hands placed around your waist, that snarky smile looking down at you again.

Seeing him walk around the castle grew a desperation and love in your body, watching his handsome face stare around the rooms, his voice loud and prideful- you wished he could look your way, acknowledge you again. His vermillion eyes sent fire into your soul whenever you closed his eyes, his face being a beacon of warmth in your life.

Yet that beacon of life was killing you from the inside- every day and every night you fantasized about Bakugo, the sickness taking over you grew worse and worse. The closer you got to your wedding day, the worse it felt, the vines inside you prickling at your soft organs. They were growing, you felt it, as you coughed up more and more petals.

For a few days you had no idea what was going on, fear striking you as you wondered if you should ask to see a doctor. But you decided to do your own research, scourging through books until you found your sickness: Hanahaki. The the mythical disease for unrequited love. It was quite rare, but it came to the most lonely, delusional, and desperate of lovers.

It made sense, really- it all started when you talked to Bakugo, after falling in his arms. It hurt he didnt love you back- but why should he? One run-in shouldn't make people fall in love with each other, but somehow it made you. You welcomed the pain alittle, as it was a reminder you still had some feeling other than emptiness inside you. It also terrfiied you- you were supposed to be in love with Shoto, not some barbarian from a far off land you barely spoke to.

How had this happened, how could you let this happen?

Even if you did tell others you had Hanahaki, they would point the finger at Shoto, calling him cold and callous for not loving you. You were the one who was the cold one, pushing your old friend away. Even if you felt some residue of anger for him, you wouldn't put him through that- he didn't deserve it. You let this disease do its course- if it went away youd be freed, knowing that Bakugo loved you back, and if not- well, you’d figure that out when you got there.

You had barely talked to Shoto or even noticed him since that night, not realizing the amount of worry he felt towards you. Everyday that went by he noticed how sick you looked, your skin paling and you eyes losing any life. Every cough you tried to hold back he noticed and it rang in his ear like a terrible siren- there was something wrong with you.It ate at his insides, his fear of you pushing him away again making him scared to ask what was wrong.

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

It was now the night before you wedding and you were feeling less than hopeful. You were supposed to be lively and happy, as your father had thrown a party to celebrate the events of the next day, yet you had no energy left in you to dance or socialize. You stayed in a dark corner, trying your best to blend in and not be noticed.

The coughs were not leaving, and it felt like your chest was being constricted until you could barely breathe. The annoying tickle of a cough was constantly at the back of your throat, as you tried to keep the petals at bay. You were miserable.

“Princess, are you doing alright, you seem a little- pale? Do you need some water, or maybe fresh air,” the young witch Ochaco approached you, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes looking at you.

“Hello, Ochaco,” you greeted, your smile strained, “you know-fresh air would be nice.”

The sweet girl smiled at you, gingerly taking you by the crook of your elbow and out of the ballroom. The fresh air was rather nice, soothing your hurting brain and your sore lungs. You two walked in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Your mind was shifting around, thinking about Shoto and what would happen tomorrow. It hurt too much, though- you still were both not at speaking terms, and now you had to be promised to each other for eternity. The thought made your throat itch even more, and instead, you switched to own of your many fantasies of Bakugo that brought you some comfort.

“So, how are you feeling? Nervous, excited, scared?” Ochaco asked gingerly

“About what?” you asked, looking at her with curiosity

“Uh,um-your wedding,” she giggled nervously, her cheeks growing red again.

Oh-you cursed yourself for getting to invested in your fantasy, feeling embarrassed for thinking of Bakugo and not about Shoto.

You really didnt know how to answer her question-You felt yourself dreading it-how could you tell her that? But you didnt want to lie to her- lying to her would be practically evil, like giving a child a promise and not fulfilling it.

“Its expected of me to marry him,” you reasoned out carefully, “Ive been thinking of this day since I was a child.”

She gaped out you in awe. “Really?That early? In your kingdoms is it a tradition to marry from each other’s kingdoms?”

You gave her a wihsful smile. “Actually- no, it isnt. We’re the first ones.”

Her brown bob fluttered against her cheeks, her eyes staring up at you in confusion.

“I-if you dont mind me asking,” she asked nervously, “why is that?”

You sighed, giving her a small smile.

“Its kind of a long story….”

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

“Long ago our two kingdoms began to quarrel against one another. But that happened years back- we still continued to fight against each other, and quite frankly, we forgot about why. We just knew we hated each other and wanted to see the other fail. My father had always said to me that my mother wished for her children to be born in a peaceful kingdom, yet my father’s pride prevented that from coming true for her.

“Until the day I was born- my mother, sadly, died while giving birth to me. My father now had no queen, and really, no future ruler, since I am a girl and only men can become ruler in my kingdom. In his grief, he began to feel sympathetic, I suppose- he knew King Todoroki had a young boy who was barely turning 4, and my father got an idea. He travelled to his kingdom, and somehow was able to talk King Todoroki into an agreement.”

“In order to end the suffering of our two kingdoms, Shoto and I would marry once I turn 18, in which would bind our kingdoms forever in peace, with Shoto as ruling over both.”

Ochaco breathed out a large sigh, giving you a conflicted expression.

“So-thats why you two are getting married? Its arranged?”

You looked at her in confusion-“Didnt-Shoto tell you that? I thought Bakugo at least knew-”

“Bakugo?” Ochaco blinked a few times, clearly puzzled. “Bakugo just thought it was quite, well, wierd Shoto was getting married- Bakugo is just a lone wolf who cant understand love I guess-”

You strangely felt angry at her words- how could she even say that about him? Yes, he was cold and callous at times, but how could she know he couldn't at least love? You knew he had to at least have some way of having feelings for another person, you had to at least hope for that-

“-it must be why he left last night,”

You stopped in your tracks, feeling a ton of bricks pound into your chest.

“He-he left?

“Um yeah! Something about being ‘bored waiting around for a stupid’- oh my gosh, y/n are you alright!?”

You were coughing up quite alot, your lungs dry and painful as your heart tore in two. He-he left. Without you. Without even a goodbye.

After all that daydreaming, all that hope, that dedication to him, hoping he would notice you- he left. He never loved you, and you knew it- you were just so desperate for someone to take you, to teach you how to be free.

You wanted him to teach you, to see potential in you that you could be just as defiant to the world as him.

Uraraka wrapped her slender arms around your body, patting your back softly to help you rid your body of whatever had attacked you. It was taking everything in you to not let a single petal fall out, the itching in the back your neck unbearable as your heart beat agonizingly against horribly.

You felt a few silky petals slip out of your mouth, soft against your dry tongue. Miraculously, Uraraka didn't suspect a thing- most likely from the darkness she couldn't see the disease overtaking you.

You gulped desperately for air, finally getting a hold on your lungs.

“I-Im fine,” you panted out, raising from the floor on shaky knees. “Thank you”

Urarka gave you a pointed look, clearly not convinced. “Of course, but are you sure? Do you need water, or maybe I should get Shoto-”

“No!” you yelled out, covering your mouth in case of another attack.

You felt a little guilty for yelling at Uraraka so harshly, her wide eyes looking at you in shock-you just couldnt bear seeing Shoto when you were grieving over a lover that was never yours- and apparently dying from it too.

“No, Im fine, really,” you said more calmly, trying to be reassuring, “lets, just- walk back, if thats okay-”

“Yes of course! Ill walk you to your room, just in case you get sick again-”

You two walked in silence again, you mulling over your broken heart as Uraraka watched you in worry. You two passed the ballroom, everyone seemingly enjoying themselves and not noticing you two as you lead the way to your room.

You stepped up to the door, your hand grasping the doorknob until you paused, a question entering your mind. You were still confused why Uraraka said she didnt know your marriage was arranged-you would have expected Shoto to have told his group after saying he was getting married.

Was he embarrassed by it, that he was marrying you?

“You said you were surprised to here our marriage was arranged,” you asked quietly, “Shoto never told you?”

Uraraka shuffled in her pink boots, her shoulder hunched close to her chin.

“He-uh-no,” she breathed out, “he said he made a promise to marry a girl he loved.”

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

Morning.

Daylight.

Wedding.

You should be feeling happy, excited, optmistic-you had been imagining this day since you were a child. But now, all you could feel was a coldness you couldnt seem to shake off- after your talk with Uraraka last night, you felt so confused.

The person you “loved” had never loved you, leaving you sick and hurt.

The person who did love you, you most likely pushed away to the point where they didnt love you anymore.

You couldnt even understand your emotions yourself. All night your sickness wouldnt leave your poor lungs alone, making you cough uncontrollably all night, the petals piling up around you.

You wouldn't allow anyone to see you in the morning, snatching your wedding dress from your hand maidens and putting in yourself. You fixed yourself up, trying to make yourself look as lively as possible, but it seemed impossible- you felt too empty inside to really put your heart into it.

Another round of coughs attacked your chest, a single petal dribbling out of your mouth, along with a speckle of blood. It dripped on the inner folds of your creamy white dress- easily disguisable if you made sure it was covered- yet it made you begin to cry.

What was going on? Why did you have to do this? Why were you still sick?

Your knees hit the cold floor, wave after wave of tears and coughs struck your body in a terrible symphony, the petals piling up on your dress.

You couldnt take it anymore- this sickness was going to have to take you, because you had no energy left to fight it anymore.

You felt a knocking on your door, the sounds harsh against your temple. You sniffled, one last cough feebily spilling out of your bloodied lips.

“Go away-I promise Ill be out soon-” you began sadly, until you heard the door swing open.

You looked up, your face in shock as you did not lock eyes with your handmaiden, but with Shoto’s.

He looked around the floor, noticing the bloody petals, his face completely torn-he knew what was going on.

Shoto stared down at you, his eyes boaring into yours-he knew something was wrong with you. He had came by your room in hopes of fixing your relationship before speaking your vows, working up the courage until he heard you crying. No matter what was between you two, he wouldnt let you go through pain by yourself.

Now he watching you cough up your life, those sickly petals flowing out of you, each one taking a toll on your body.

He gasped out your name, the words like honey as he sat next to you on the floor. You looked so beautiful in that white gown, like an angel from heaven.

But the paleness of your skin, the bags like bruises under your eyes, the blood on your lips- it all reminded him that you were human, and you were hurting inside. He reached for your hand, his fingers grazing your skin-so cold- but you pulled it away quickly.

“Please, dont Shoto-” you whispered hoarsely, “Im-”

Another wave of coughs wracked at your chest, this time the rasps painful against your chest as the vines squeezed.

Shoto didnt know what to do- how could he help you? There wasn't anything he could do to help, except watch his best friend and love slowly cough her life away. A few petals cascaded out of your mouth, adding to the piles as you heaved air back into your lungs, your knuckles white.

“How, how could you keep this from me?” he asked sadly, ignoring your pleas and pulling you into his lap.

You felt how warm he was, and realized- he did love you. He had been there for you as a child, and he was here for you now, comforting you in your worst moment.

Your heart felt like it was exploding as tears cascading down your face, salty and warm against your skin.

“How-how could I Shoto?” I shuldnt have been so mean to you,” you sobbed, “Im so sorry, so sorry, this is all my fault-”

“Please, no, dont be sorry,” he said softly, his arms cradling your body, “we both have our own faults. I shouldnt have left you for so long, and Im sorry for that, I-” he gulped, his heart beating harshly against his chest.

“I-I do love you,y/n, I do.”

You picked up your head, forcing yourself to look at him- he was so handsome, his mix matched eyes softly looking down at you- he was still the little boy you knew from a child, though, always so calm and sweet.

“I know, Shoto, I just, I-” you gulped, fighting to keep the coughs and sobs at bay.

He sighed, feeling his heart sink.

“You loved Bakugo, didnt you? Thats why,” he motioned to the petals, “this is happening to you.”

You gave him a shocked look, your eyes wide and glassy. You forgot how observant Shoto could be- you felt your cheeks grow red, realizing now he must have known by the way you stared so much at Bakugo.

“Was-it that noticebale?”

“Y/n,” he sighed, his chest feeling heavy, “very.”

You giggled at his remark, feeling strange for laughing for once. But Shoto was so abrupt with his words, it always made you laugh at his remarks.

Shoto’s heart soared at your laugh, the sound like chimes against his ears. It died down, the room quickly feeling closed in again.

“I just dont want to do this. I-I want to be friends again. To figure out who were are, without us being forced to be with each other.” you sighed, your heart rattling against your chest. “ I-I want to be with you and marry you- when we decide. Not my father, or your father- I want to be free to choose.”

You turned to Shoto, your hands touching his cheek.

“I-I did love you-and I still do-Im just so confused, and trapped, and-”

“You just want to be your own person,” he finished your sentence, his voice so much stronger than yours.

He looked down at you, his face surprisingly smiling.

“I think I may have arranged that,”

You jumped up, your face in shock. “H-how? Tell me!” you squealed, not unilke a child, your eyes wide with anticipation.

Shoto grinned at your face, loving how excited you could get so quickly.

“Do you remember my oldest brother?” he asked

“Of course I remember Natsuo! He was always so kind to me as a child,” you reminenscenced, “but how is he going to help us?”

“Well, as it turns out, I spoke to our fathers and my older brother,” he said, a small grin on his face, “they agreed that my brother could rule both kingdoms in my place. By himself, and my sister will accompany him if he ever needs help.”

You sucked in a lung full of air, unable to believe what you had just heard-

“So that means-”

“We are free to do what we want now.”

You yelled in happiness, happy tears cascading on your face as you wrapped his body around yours, “thank yous” spilling out of your lips.

Shoto hugged you back, smiling sadly- he had to admit, it was hard negotiating that new deal. After the night, that remark of how you didnt feel “free” stayed in his brain, haunting him until he found a solution. Knowing it would make you happy made it worth it- even if that meant you could leave him now. He loved you, but if that meant you could be happy with or without him, he would be content with the knowledge that you were finally able to be your own person.

“You can now be yourself,” he said sadly, his eyes staring down at the floor, “and even if that means you do not love me, I accept it. You dont have to feel guilty.”

You looked at the poor boy, his eyes shaded as his bi-colored locks cascaded onto his foreheads. You felt a warmth fill your chest, the sensation soothing and calming as the tightness in your lungs dissappeared. The tickling in your throat seemed to wane slightly. Your hand found his as his eyes instantly rose to meet yours.

“I wont feel guilty,” you smiled gently, “I want to be free- with you.”

Taggings: (if you want to be added, just shoot me an ask or a reply on this post and Ill add you on to my future fics!)

@freckledoriya @orokayagi @leeeah-loooser

#bnha #bnha x reader #bnhabookclub #bnha au #bnha fantasy au #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todorki x reader #mha todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto #mha shoto x reader #mha shoto todoroki #bnha prince shoto x reader #prince shoto x reader #prince shoto x you #prince shoto x y/n

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sxvxrxssnape · 3 years

Text

minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5

aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287 @blog4snape

The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again.

It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved.

He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard.

Minerva was definitely winning.

Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head.

He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible.

He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley.

Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh.

He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on.

The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.

He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.

Perhaps two.

The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.

There were some new additions.

There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster.

All of them had candy canes peeking out.

There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.

The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame.

He scowled at the thought.

Later, he realized he had spoken too soon.

Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black.

Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows.

He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle.

There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible.

Tuesday was a bad potions day.

Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor.

By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years.

He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face.

Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone.

Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.

Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did.

The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal.

Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson.

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”

Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.”

Thursday morning he slept in.

He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.

“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”

“Professor?”

He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.”

“I think your robe might be inside out.”

He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out.

“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.”

“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”

“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.�� Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.

“Detention, Greenwood.”

“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.

“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk.

He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting.

Friday found him having a panic attack.

Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?

He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.

It didn’t quite work out as planned.

His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.

His resolve was breaking.

He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.

The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable.

Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display.

Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound.

It didn’t work.

The footsteps paused, their owner faltering.

Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood.

He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.

“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”

“Do you need help?”

“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”

He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.

“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”

Again, he knocked.

“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects.

He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse.

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that.

“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”

He choked out a laugh at that.

“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.”

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”

“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here.

“Oh!”

“Professor Snape?!”

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply.

“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.”

Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left.

He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp.

He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green.

He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling.

“Severus?”

“Panic attack.” he mumbled.

He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room.

Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.

“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table.

The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with.

“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”

“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort.

“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.

He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”

“We didn’t need to.”

“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”

Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”

“You still flinch when people touch you.”

“Can you blame me?”

Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”

He kept silent.

Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”

“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.

“You never talk about her.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -”

He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso.

“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”

He scowled.

“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed.

“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”

“Are we?”

“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”

He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”

They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered.

“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard.

“Biscuits?”

The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters.

“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”

Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess.

He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”

“You’ll have to, eventually.”

He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”

Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.

“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue.

“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”

Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”

“I’m aware.”

The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.

“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.

“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”

“How delightful.”

Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.

“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”

“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand.

“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”

“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”

“Min-”

“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.”

He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”

“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.

She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.”

“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.”

“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated.

---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin

#snapedom #pro snape #snapemas #snoliday2020 #severus snape #professor snape #snapecember #holiday writing challenge

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nakunakunomi · 4 years

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Congrats to the 300 Followers. Cam I ask for number 9 with Sakazuki (or Kuzan if you prefer him)?

Hey love! I am INSANELY nervous to post this because dang, I just hope it is a bit like you had pictured in your mind. I chose to go with Sakazuki for the very reason that he’s the one you initially asked for and like I have stated before, I will not back down from a challenge! That’s not saying I don’t want to write for Kuzan, actually want to write something for him too sometime… all in due time. For now, I hope you like your cliché with Sakazuki!

An Awkward Start - Sakazuki x Reader

Cliché with Bae event: Prompt #9: There’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling Character: Sakazuki - Word count: 2.1k (added a cut cause it was getting just too long)

This was insane. Inappropriate. Straight up ridiculous. You had to take a few deep breaths before you looked over at the clerk and asked her to repeat what she had just said.

“I’m sorry, but there was only one room booked”

One thing was sure: you were going to murder someone back at headquarters. How was it even possible for such a stupid mistake to be made on such an unusual mission.

“Okay, can we still add on an extra room?” “No I am sorry, we’re fully booked.” “No other inns on the island probably?” The clerk shook her head, obviously feeling very bad for something that wasn’t even her mistake. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you thought over the whole situation.

Ever since his promotion to fleet admiral, and actually already from the promotion to admiral, it was extremely rare for Sakazuki to leave headquarters. He preferred to hold meetings in his office, he preferred having information being brought in. He liked order, overview and control. Which is something you hand over when you enter unfamiliar environments.

But every now and then, there’s a mission where the information was just so important he trusted only himself to go get it or do the talking, or some other reason where the fleet admiral was absolutely needed in order to get everything done.

Today had been one of those missions. It had only been him and you, his assistant, on a tiny island you had never even heard of before. It was all very top-secret, with one special crew dropping you off at the location and another coming for pickup tomorrow. Even you did not know entirely what it was about, you were mostly there to arrange the smaller details such as side paperwork, and accommodations, such as the lodging. Which is where it went wrong, and which was the reason you were now starting to feel a pit form in your stomach in pure panic. What the hell were you going to tell your boss?

You thanked the clerk for her help, and took the key from her hands, walking back to the table where Sakazuki was sitting. You gently placed the key in front of him. “The key to your room sir.” He looked up from the food he had ordered for the both of you, and you could nearly feel yourself breaking out in cold sweat. “Why did that take so long?” You had hoped he didn’t ask for anything and you could maybe find some rest on the couch in the general area of the inn, but alas, he asked the question and you didn’t want to be lying to your superior. You calmly explained the mistake of only one room being booked, profusely apologizing, and immediately adding that you’d make the couch your bed for the night. He was silent for a bit. “Nonsense. Besides, most of those rooms have multiple beds in them, that’s probably why they only booked you one room when you clearly mentioned two people.”

You felt kind of stupid. Of course, he was right, that made a whole lot of sense. The panic of your mistake had made it impossible to think straight, but now that he stated it like that, your nerves were calmed immediately.

“Sit down. Eat. And don’t worry so much. The mission was successful, we’ll be back at headquarters tomorrow and you completed a job well done.”

You sat down, mumbling a ‘thank you sir’, grabbed your plate and focussed on the food. It was rare to hear praise from Sakazuki, mostly because he was of the firm belief people don’t need to be praised for simply doing their job. You still worked hard every single day to impress your superior, for more reasons than just wanting to satisfy your boss. But those reasons were wildly inappropriate to even admit, so you simply didn’t speak about it and tried not to even think about it.

It got worse on missions such as this one, where it was just the two of you for longer periods of time. You had to admit that the one-room debacle, something that sounded like it came straight out of a terrible romance book, had made your heart jump at the mere thought of the possibility of sharing a bed with him. Even if nothing happened. At night you were at your most vulnerable and sharing a bed, even if just for sleep, is an ultimate sign of trust. But again, you were way too terrified to think your fantasies true and panic had quickly taken over. You were pretty sure you were actually blushing a little now too, so focused of the food as you dined in silence.

After dinner, the both of you made your way to room 23, the number neatly engraved in the key you had handed over earlier. Sakazuki opened up the door and stood still in the door frame for a bit. His broad posture made it as good as impossible for you to make out the inside of the room, and you weren’t planning on stepping closer to find out earlier. So you waited until he eventually entered, stepping aside to allow you entrance. You immediately noticed the reason why he had stood still for a bit.

One bed. A big, king-sized, perfectly neatly made-up bed. But just one. You couldn’t help but stare at it as the mix of panic and inappropriate excitement washed over you again. It was dead silent for a second, before you closed the door behind you. Whatever the plan was going to be, it didn’t need to be discussed with an open door so anyone else staying at the inn could listen in on it.

You took in the rest of the room: two nightstands, a lamp on each, some small cabinets and a mirror. A door, presumably leading to the bathroom portion of the room and a nice big window, probably letting in plenty of light throughout the day, but now only displaying a clear sky with some moonlight to add to the strangely awkward atmosphere in the room. It was clean and simple, and the bed took up most of the place.

The silence was only broken by the sound of a match being lit, Sakazuki lighting a cigar, as he also seemed to think over the predicament you were now in.

“It’s big enough” “I’m sorry sir?” “The bed. It’s big enough. You’re not that big, we should probably be able to each take a side without bothering each other.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and blinked a couple of times. You were not even sure you heard that right, you almost couldn’t bear to look up and ask for confirmation. Surely he couldn’t be serious? “That is, only if you are okay with it?” there was almost an uncharacteristic softness in his tone and you were pretty sure you could melt right then and there. You stuttered as you replied. “No.. I.. I mean, yes, sure, sir… I could also, you know, couch in the lobby, but if you… I mean…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sleeping on a couch will ruin your back. Go change, then I can finish my smoke.” You nodded, too confused to even say anything and disappeared into the bathroom.

You splashed cold water in your face multiple times to ensure you were actually awake and this wasn’t the strangest, most real-feeling daydream you’d ever had. You actually spent so much time looking in the mirror in disbelief that you had to scramble changing into your marine-issued pajamas, not wanting to make Sakazuki wait too long for his turn, even though he’d probably not even be bothered this much.

The hour following you stepping out of that bathroom was probably the most awkward you had ever felt in your lifetime. Even though this whole situation ticked so many of the ultimate fantasy checkboxes, the more realistically thinking side of you was constantly reminding you of how weird this whole situation was, and you were relieved there was not too much awkward conversation nor other events before you finally slipped under the covers. Sakazuki seemed surprisingly unbothered by the events, and you inwardly cursed yourself. There were so many situations that were way worse than this, it was kind of pathetic to be panicking over this. You just hoped he didn’t notice too much, the last thing you wanted was to give him a bad impression of you.

You lay down on your side, shuffling as close to the edge of the bed as possible without falling off, before turning off the lamp that was on the nightstand on your side. “Goodnight Sir” “Goodnight y/n” And with the click of the switch of the other lamp, the room was dark and quiet, and you had no idea when your nerves would let you sleep.

----

Apparently, tiredness from the mission and your emotional yoyoing had taken its toll on your physical state, because you didn’t lie awake for much longer. Soon, dreams took over, and you were not surprised that the subject of your dreams was the very person you were now sharing a bed with.

But it was now nearing morning, and you felt yourself wake up with some reluctance, wanting to hold onto your dream just a little longer. It was that strange moment right before you actually wake up, where dream and reality intertwine and you were pretty sure your brain was tricking your senses, the comforting smell, warmth, and closeness actually becoming real for a moment.

But then it didn’t go away, as it normally would. This all happened in a matter of seconds before realization struck you and you opened your eyes wide in shock. There was the pleasant pressure of an arm wrapped around your waist and your entire body was pressed against his. You knew you were prone to moving in your sleep, but never knew it was this bad. Panic washed over you again as you went over the possible plans of action in your head.

Sakazuki himself seemed to be fast asleep still, blissfully unaware of the situation you were in. You decided to try and slip away without waking him up and in the event of him waking up, you’d lie and say you had had a nightmare and accidentally kicked him or something like that. It could get you into trouble, but you doubted the trouble would be worse than those you were in if you just waited for him to wake up like this.

You managed to succeed, tiptoed off to the bathroom to already get changed back into your uniform, and to calm down again, practicing a straightened out face in the mirror. When you stepped out of the bathroom, you gasped audibly, Sakazuki sat at the edge of the bed, fully dressed and ready to go. Just how long did you take to change clothes? Were you that much out of it?

“Rather rude of you to just leave without so much as a ‘good morning, sir’”.

You looked at him wide-eyed and confused, the slight amusement in his tone was barely audible, but you were sure it was there.

“I’m sorry, Sir?” You had to stop yourself from groaning at yourself, why did your vocabulary seem reduced to just those three words whenever he caught you of guard? “You talk in your sleep. A lot.” You could only blink in response. “And you move quite a lot, but I figured you noticed that too when you woke up a little earlier.”

Your brain felt like it short circuited, and you had no words formed by the time he stood up and grabbed his bag, ready to leave in a bit, you still had to be on time for the pickup ship.

“Of course”, he spoke up again when it was clear that you were still too speechless to contribute, “we’d have to find some way for neither of us to get into any serious trouble”. He opened the door for you, gesturing for you to take your bag as well. “I expect you in my office tomorrow morning after you’ve unpacked and settled back in at headquarters. I’m sure we’ll find a solution for our little predicament.” You were close to slapping yourself across the face as he offered you a slight smile, and you were convinced you were simply still dreaming.

You couldn’t help the smile spreading on your face as his words finally sunk in and you realized you were not dreaming at all. You grabbed your bag and walked through the door with a slight spring in your step.

“Of course sir!”

“And drop the ‘sir’ when we’re alone.”

#sakazuki x reader #akainu x reader #sakazuki #akainu #One piece #one piece writing #one piece headcanon #one piece x reader #headcanon #reader insert #one piece HC #request #HC request #300 followers event #cliche with bae #beastofflevance

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