#masterfully avoiding drawing hands

[deondoneit]

Undertaker etho from my blood on the clock tower (trouble brewing) au

[ethereal-blossom]

Giving BSD boys a blowjob for the first time

ft. dazai, kunikida

warnings: blowjobs (surprise!) MDNI

a/n: kinda wrote these in mind thinking it was also giving them a handjob for the first time so I guess that's double the fun!

Dazai Osamu ♡

Your eyes looked up to find Dazai's face, searching for a sign of approval. In response, Dazai let out a validating, soft moan and closed his eyes as he nodded. "You're doing excellent, belladonna."

It wasn't unexpected. Dazai, sharp and observant as a hawk, had seen the way your eyes lingered over every small change in his facial expressions. While you were dating, both of you had agreed to take things slow. Even small milestones like holding hands was a huge thing for the man that was wrapped in bandages. The slow burn of deepening your relationship into each other's hearts until it left a permanent mark that even time couldn't erase, was wonderful.

But with time grows desire. Dazai teased you to the point of dilated pupils, hitching breaths, and a blush that cups your cheeks. Exactly like planned, the detective thought, smirking behind the mask of crafted innocence. Except, the plan had been for you to beg him to touch you; not that you would beg to make him feel good as your fingers pushed his hips onto the couch. Dazai is highly aware of his intelligence that makes him read people as if they are a children's book, but sometimes, he thinks he doesn't always grab your nature. The type of nature that has you on your knees in front of him, getting high off of his pleasure.

When you wanted to focus your attention back on the twitching cock in your hand, the sight of Dazai's fingers grabbed your attention. You knew Dazai better than any living soul. Although still a mystery novel that hides behind words of deceive and avoidance to keep parts of itself hidden until the time of reveal is there, this mystery novel was slowly showing you its pages that brought you closer to the truth.

One of the mysteries revealed was Dazai's massive self-control over his external reactions. Emotions were another vulnerable aspect of what it meant to be human, and Dazai hid them masterfully. A part of that was because it functioned as a tactic to reach his goals and stay in control, but a part of you wondered if it was because Dazai feared vulnerability more than a bullet. Emotional suffering is torture for the ones with a sensitive heart.

While Dazai's face was decorated in controlled bliss and his moans playing like a soft lullaby, the slender fingers around the sheets were clinging for dear life. You see... could you make another crack in that composed facade?

Your thumb starts drawing circles over Dazai's tip and with that, you witnessed the twitching of both his cock and fingers. A soft groan escaped Dazai's clenched jaw. "Ah, that's my belladonna. You're soo good to me, hm? Working hard for that reward." That controlled tone...

... It wasn't enough.

Dazai could tell something changed. Even though he had his eyes closed in concentration, clinging to the tiny bit of control he had, he noticed how your stroking became irregular. "What's filling your mind that isn't my- argh, shit." Dazai's eyes shot open as he bolted his hips deeper into your mouth, leaving you gagged for a good second.

That face of pure shock and arousal, the one you rarely got to see on your lover, revealed itself to you as you had taken Dazai's tip into your mouth. "Y/N, that's-"

Another lick and Dazai's original sentence was replaced by a moan, and the detective felt like all control slipped between his fingers when you placed your hands around the rest of his cock.

Dazai grabbed your hair, hissing you to go slower because oh God, he was about to cum faster than he ever did in his twenty-two years of living, and God knows he did not want this euphoria to end this soon. Oh, he really wasn't used to feeling this good-

"Belladonna, y/n, please-" Dazai didn't know what he was begging you for. For you to go slower? Faster? What it was, you hummed in approval. That little vibration was all it needed for Dazai to throw his head in his neck. His toes curled as high-pitched whines fell over lips that had become swollen in a miserable attempt to hide his moans.

When you looked up after swallowing, you were met with Dazai's bangs hanging over his eyes. "Osamu, are you okay?" Worried, you push the chocolate colored bangs aside and... oh.

He was so pretty with scarlet painted cheeks. Dazai couldn't even look you in the eyes, giving up after one second of eye-contact before shyly facing another side with his head. "That was... good. For a first attempt."

You chuckled as your hand caresses the cheek that faced your way and with a slightly hoarse voice you respond: "Good. I'll make you even feel better next time."

Dazai's hands twitch one last time before he closes his eyes and mentally picks up every string that he lost along the way. As the detective opens his eyes, you can see the control and seduction in those dark eyes that you love so much.

Dazai leans closer until you feel his breath on your ear. His lips tickle and a shiver runs down your spine as he whispers: "Someone has earned that reward, hasn't she? Let's see how long I can make you last."

Kunikida Doppo ♡

Rubies could not compete with the radiant red glow of Kunikida's face as he realized what you were about to do. The detective should have known you were up to something when he was preparing today's schedule and you had popped up behind him, placing your arms around his waist as you kissed his neck and whispered: "Keep a spot open at 8 PM, love."

Even when the blond had asked for details, your lips stayed sealed. The only hint Kunikida got out of you was "Dazai has made you work over-hours; I want to treat you."

Naively, innocently, Kunikida thought you might have a dinner or massage in mind. Not that he was wrong! It was just a... different type of massage. With your tender fingers wrapped around his cock, Kunikida clenched his jaw to not make a sound, but the moan slipped away as he sighed your name: "Y/n... I, we-"

"Does it feel good, Doppo?" You made sure to rub his tip with your thumb right then, making the detective's cock drop with pre-cum.

"It- yes... yes, it feels good."

Looking up blessed you with the sight of an orderly man turned into a mess under the tip of your fingers. A wave of arousal rushed through your body, seeing the man unravel in front of you. You figured he would be vocal, but oh-

Kunikida was sensitive. The smallest movement had him throwing his head back and trusting his hip as tiny moans calling your name filled the room. Not only were his cheeks the color of fire due to the heat of your touch, but the intimacy of it all left him flustered as well.

You felt a hand rest on your head, lightly gripping a bit of hair. "Y/n... we, you- I have to make you feel good, too."

Oh. "That has to wait."

"But- ah!" The hand around your hair tightened in response to your mouth taking his cock.

Kunikida's thoughts were twirled up in the storm that was you. Your name rolled off his tongue like worshipping prayers as you brought Heaven to earth for him.

The bliss of touching Heaven became too much, and with one closing word, Kunikida fell apart. He arched his back, forgetting to bite his lip to soften the groans that might slip through the walls where his colleagues live. His grip around you tightens, never wanting to let you go, never wanting to let this feeling go. But then Kunikida realizes he's still on earth and lessens his grip on the fear he's hurting you.

The detective looked into your eyes, but they were filled with lust directed at him and God, it felt so sinful that he had to deflect his gaze. Yet, you grabbed his chin and made your boyfriend face you.

"Do you feel better?"

Kunikida stammered, trying to get out a word. "Yes, that was," an embarrassed cough, "excellent." 

Your thumb caressed his lip. "Good."

And then, the world flipped around as Kunikida lay your back on the bed. "I have done a deep-dive research on how to please you when the time was there. Now, let me return the favor." 

[haphazardlyannotated]

So I was thinking about how Steven, Connie and Stevonnie all have a duet with one of the main Crystal Gems and I realised how masterfully these songs are deployed to tell us things about them.

First of all, On The Run for Steven and Amethyst.

Amethyst is the Crystal Gem who relates the most to Steven's experiences and vice versa. They're both the 'juniors' in their household, they've both been struggling with being respected by the older Crystal Gems for a while now, and though Amethyst is very much Steven's guardian when it comes down to it, she's also Steven's peer in a way that Garnet and Pearl just aren't even when they try to include Steven.

And now this song sets them up as parallels in other contexts, too. They're both from earth! They both don't wholly belong in one category (Steven as a half gem, half human, Amethyst as a Crystal Gem who never fought in the rebellion and whose existence runs against the Crystal Gems' original wishes for Earth), and as we are about to learn, they both came into existence at the cost of other life and might harbour guilt about it, even though they had literally no say in this.

And then later on they continue to be parallels, especially in season 3 (though they share the child of divorce energy during the Sardonyx Arc). They both compare themselves to impossible standards of what they 'should' be (Steven to the idea of Rose, Amethyst to Jasper) and it is their recognition of their own struggles in each other that allows them to at least partially overcome them. No wonder Smoky Quartz is Steven's first fusion with another gem!

Next up: Do It For Her, sung by Pearl and Connie.

Speaking of parallels! It's pretty obvious watching the episode that Pearl is spending some time in projection city regarding absolute devotion to a beloved, if not revered partner, but she might actually be closer to the truth in some respects than she realises.

Remember Lion 2: The Movie? When Connie said that she didn't understand why Steven would hang out with someone as normal as her? Doesn't this remind us of someone else who feels like she's objectively inferior to a special (in several ways) someone? Someone who stepped out of the predetermined role she was supposed to fill to join her loved one on their dangerous path? Who lived a double life to avoid retribution from controlling authority figures? Couldn't say.

Also, they're both the knowledgable planner to their all loving goofball partner.

With all of this, I think Do It For Her both draws parallels between Pearl and Connie as well as Pearlrose and Connverse, and shows us how the example of Pearl and Rose's unresolved dysfunction could stop Steven and Connie from falling into the same trap before it was too late. I think seeing Pearl demonstrate the end of the road they were beginning to walk was what enabled Steven to step in before they got to Pearlrose's point, where Pearl was to deep in her self sacrificing mindset for Rose to reach her.

And finally, Here Comes A Thought for Garnet and Stevonnie.

First of all, obviously, Garnet and Stevonnie as an embodiment of the love and harmony between Ruby and Sapphire and Steven and Connie respectively.

It also draws parallels between Ruby and Connie and Steven and Sapphire though. (I saw a great meta about that in my lurking days, which I will link here if someone could kindly direct me to it). Sapphire and Steven as people who would rather bury negative feelings, like Sapphire tries to in Keystone Motel and Steven in... the entirety of suf to name just the most prominent one. Which of course only leads to more problems in the long run, because they haven't processed the feelings at all.

On the other hand, the comparison with Ruby draws attention to a trait of Connie's we maybe wouldn't have noticed otherwise: She is, for the lack of a better term, much more confrontational about things that make her unhappy. Just look at The New Crystal Gems.

Also, letting Ruby and Sapphire demonstrate their conflict resolution for Steven and Connie gives us an insight into what goes into keeping Garnet together through everything. Love takes work indeed. It's also worth pointing out that Connverse have been paralleled with both Pearlrose, Rupphire and (a little bit in We Need To Talk) Gregrose this way.

This show has so many layers, I swear, I'll be on my deathbed and I'll still find new nuances to write an essay about. Well done, Crewniverse.

[ishgard]

Inspired by the 'Tales from the Dawn' side story, In Pursuit of Knowledge, this takes place probably a few months after that and shortly after Ahru and Erenville bumped into one another (prior to 6.X took off).

"I ought to have known you would be familiar with this curious creature."

"I take it you've met Alpha before, then." She turns her smile up at him and makes the offer before he can even consider how best to ask: "I can tell you his story, if you'd like."

There is an impish, clever glint in her eyes. For a moment he wonders if he was truly so transparent, but then he remembers that she is a bard of no small renown. Be she devil or divine on the field of battle, sharing songs and stories is her hearts dearest inclination. Save, perhaps, for that indomitable wanderlust.

He might find no one else better suited to the task of answering his curiosities about the peculiar chocobo.

He hesitates scarcely a moment before the words rush out, only avoiding barely tripping over themselves. "I would like that very much, yes."

With harp in hand she goes on to weave the story effortlessly from start to finish. At times she draws in close and personal, laughing or sighing in exasperation as if merely retelling the tale to an old friend over drinks. When her voice cracks with feelings that are far too real she masterfully weaves it into the telling, as if this too were part of some act.

At other times she is as grand and sweeping in speech and gestures as if she is performing for a crowded tavern. There are embellishments, he is sure, but more for the poetry of it than any need to make events seem greater than they were. Without doubt, they were great enough already.

There is a depth of emotion that only the hero who overcame such trials herself could hope to convey. When she sings a verse about the proud and valiant Midgardsormr, there is a fond smile on her lips and a glimmer of tears in her eyes that do not fall.

Each delicate brush of her fingers against the harp strings stir his heart along with the cadence. As if he, too, were an instrument to be played her skillful hand.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The “It” couple

A/N: Part 1 >>> here

Part 2 ~ RSVP ~

Let´s rewind a bit.

When Carmy received the invitation that Cousin literally threw at him in the form of a paper plane from across the kitchen, he verbally declined at once, to which Richie didn´t object but he did ask the Chef to RSVP in the negative and give it back to him ASAP so he could make sure Tiffany knew right away about his no-show status and made the necessary seating rearrangements.

Carmy was about to do just that when he noticed the address of the venue. It was 1521 N State Pkwy, a Gold Coast historic mansion masterfully built in 1894 by George Maher, his dream house.

Bear had spent endless afternoons during his high school years, when he skipped school altogether to avoid his bullies, drawing it, admiring it, memorizing every bit of it he could get his eyes on from the outside looking in, taking it all in. He knew everything there was to know about it that he could find online or at the Library, but he had never set foot in it. And Tiff´s wedding could change that, so he RSVP confirming his attendance, and as soon as he did that, Syd walked into the kitchen. A crazy thought crossed his mind: ticking the +1 checkbox. He almost did, but instead he put the invitation in his pocket and went about his day, postponing the ask but going over it in his head in an incessant loop, functioning on autopilot as his expert hands worked his knives like a ninja.

At the end of the day, right before Syd left, Carmy popped the questions:

“Syd, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure”.

“Wanna be my +1 at Tiff´s wedding?”

“Who´s Tiff?”

“Richie´s ex-wife. She´s getting married in a couple of months. Wanna come with me?”

“Thanks for asking, but I don´t think it´s my place, it´s a family thing, Carmy”.

“Syd… c´mon!”

“No, I'd rather not, but thanks for the invite”.

“Really?”

“Yep, really, I don´t even know her”.

“But you know me”.

She laughed, and Carmy looked puzzled, borderline offended. So Syd laughed again because he looked like a confused puppy, and she found that hilarious.

“Carmy, I´m sorry, but the answer is no”.

“Syyyyd!”

“What are you 5?”

“What can I do to change your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“I´ll do anything, name it. I´ll clean your house, I´ll do your laundry… What if—”

“Why don´t you get a date for the wedding and let me clean up my own house and do my own laundry?”

Carmy looked as if she had shot a bullet right between his eyes.

She went too far and she knew it. She regretted it immediately.

“Carmy… I´m-I´m sorry, I-”

“No, it´s OK. I understand, sorry I overstepped. Forget about it, you´re right. Sorry I asked.”

“No, no, it´s fine, you´re fine. I just don´t think it´s my place, and-and people might get the wrong idea about us if we go together, and-”

“No, you´re right, you´re totally right, Syd. I get it. You´re right”.

“No, Carmy! You don´t get it, I´d love to go, but I wouldn´t feel comfortable going because I´m not family and-”

“What do you mean you´re not family? This is a family business, and you are my partner! You are my family, Syd, my extended family!”

Those words coming out of his mouth gave her goosebumps.

She had a change of heart right there and then. She decided to go with him to the wedding, but when she was about to accept the invitation, he told her he wasn´t going to bother her anymore and that she could leave. He basically kicked her out of the kitchen, with an attitude.

She thought, “What the fuck?!” but what she said instead was this: “You, know what? Ask me later, lemme think about it. Good night. See you tomorrow”.

Carmy was flooded with something that resembled hope, something he didn´t even remember how it felt. Something only Syd could make him feel. He changed his attitude instantly.

“O-OK. Yeah, sounds good. Sure. Good night.”

He was taken aback by the turn of events, but wasn´t complaining at all, he was actually loving it.

The next day, he counted the minutes to ask her again, and when he did, she kept telling him she was thinking about it. So he started bargaining again, and Syd decided to take advantage of it and accepted every one of the things he offered to do for her, knowing at all times that she was going to accept his invitation anyway, but this little vendetta game she had come up with was way too fun not to win it after a few days of watching Carmy carry the bags of groceries for her or installing the shelves she had bought weeks ago, or fix her squeaky bed, and a bunch of other “favors” she cashed in, in the meantime.

She even asked Carmy to help her paint her bathroom walls and change her leaky faucet, while she continued thinking about whether or not to be his date for the wedding, or so Carmy thought.

One of the things she got him to do was driving her father to his eye doctor´s appointment because Emmanuel had to get a back-of-the-eye exam done, couldn´t drive himself back home, and his eye doctor was her not-so-secret admirer. Syd had had enough of his innuendos and unsolicited compliments on her outfits, every time she drove her dad there, so Carmy´s eagerness to help her in any way he could to convince her of being his date turned out to be the perfect solution to her not-so-secret admirer problem.

Another thing Carmy ended up helping her with, in an attempt to twist her arm with kindness, was helping her move around her furniture to fit the new sofa and coffee table she got at the flea market.

And as if all of that wasn´t enough, she decided that skipping her high school reunion this year was not going to be necessary because she could parade around the party with the most excellent CDC of the most excellent restaurant in the United States and get a kick out of it. Why not? After all, Carmy was easy on the eyes, and she knew he scrubbed up nicely.

What she was not expecting was an ambient hyperpop, shartcore acoustic new bossa nova band playing live at that reunion, giving a surprise concert on the dance floor. She pretended to love it just to make Carmy suffer through it with her, front and center.

When he drove her back home that night, they ran into her neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, the gayer version of Leslie Jordan, who was pretending to know how to fix a flat tire, parked on the side of the road, about 5 minutes away from their place. Syd wasted no time in asking Carmy to please stop the car to see if Mr. Jenkins needed their help, which resulted in Carmy doing all the work while Syd and Mr. Jenkins exchanged fish recipes and checked each other´s Insta feeds. Syd even introduced Mr. Jenkins to the wonder of TikTok and, of course, he loved every minute of it.

After a slightly sweaty version of Carmy emerged from the side of the car and walked toward them to inform them he was done replacing the tire, Mr. Jenkins profusely thanked the Italian Chef for his help and clarified he knew how to change a tire, but his bad back preventing him from doing it, plus he didn´t like to get down and dirty, not like that anyway, if he knew what he meant. Carmy knew, Syd knew, everyone knew. They awkwardly laughed it out and called it a night. Both cars pulled over right in front of Syd´s building at the same time, but only Mr. Jenkins got out of his. Syd and Carmy stayed in his car for a while, talking about the highlights of the night, and the catering service, which they both agreed was, an I quote, “a fucking joke”.

Carmy insisted on wanting to know her verdict, and she kept stringing him along, saying she wasn´t sure yet.

A few days later, Syd got a call from her dad to know if she had plans that weekend because he needed a hand to paint his bedroom with mold-killing primer. She agreed to help him on Sunday, and off she went to have lunch with him, after which they moved around all his furniture and painted his bedroom in a couple of hours. Emmanuel ended up almost mixing up liquid dish soap and turpentine because he couldn´t read the label, and Syd reminded him that he needed to get his annual vision check-up soon, which he had been not showing up to for weeks, and kept re-scheduling and missing. He agreed and told her that he was going to set the appointment the very next day, which he didn´t, as Syd fully expected. So, a couple of days later, she did it for him, and since Carmy was getting on her nerves more than usual that day, she had the brilliant idea to redeem one of her “begging Carmy” coupons and kindly ask him if he could drive them to the eye doctor´s appointment because her old man had to get a back of the eye exam done and needed to be driven home, so if he could spare her the whole booking transportation through the insurance ordeal, she was going to really appreciate it. It took the Executive Chef literally 1 second to say “Absolutely!”. She didn´t say a word about her secret admirer oftalmologist.

After the appointment, which went well, with no attempts from the Dr. to hit on Syd at all, Carmy stuck around Emmanuel´s place, fixing a quick dinner for him, while Syd and her father caught up in the living room. Then Sydney and Carm left Emmanuel to it and went back to the restaurant for dinner service. On the record, Syd was still thinking about it, no final answer for Carmy yet, though. The next day, Syd got a few texts from Emmanuel that looked a lot like lengthy Yelp reviews of Carmy´s profile. Emmanuel loved him, reluctantly so, but it still counted. He was obsessed with the hot German potato salad Carmy fixed for him in under 20 minutes after facilitating his round trip to the doctor and cleaning up after himself, leaving the kitchen pristine and smelling like crispy bacon. Emmanuel was his fan and gave Syd his thorough feedback about her business partner in the form of two long texts and a voice memo.

Syd was tempted to finally accept Carmy´s wedding invitation right after listening to that ode to Carmen Berzatto by her father, who was always quick to find the “opportunity for improvement” in every situation. But she didn´t. She wanted to make Carm jump through hoops a little longer. So, Carmy´s last hoop was a fire hoop. She asked him to help her help her neighbor, Mrs. Langley, to bake her granddaughter´s birthday cake because she was also making about 80 cupcakes for the young girl’s entire class and soccer team. Carmy obviously accepted the challenge, but it came with a bonus. Turned out the 10-year-old kiddo was a Girl Scout who showed up at her grandma´s apartment unannounced when Syd, Carmy, and Mrs. Langly were hands deep in different flavors of batter.

She parked her bike in the hallway and knocked on the door as she smelled the delicious scent that trespassed the door. She was Rosie, a Girl Scout on a mission. Her mission was to sell cookies to raise funds for her next trip. Long story short, Carmy accidentally set the girl´s hair on fire — just the tips, and then purchased every single cookie box she sold. By the way, the cookies were utterly dis-gus-ting! Berzatto spat the bite he took after Syd gave him permission when she saw his face get distorted as he chewed. Syd didn´t even take a bite herself after seeing him spit his into his own hand. That did the trick, Sydney RSVPed in the positive that same evening and started thinking about what she was going to wear, knowing for a fact already that the best part of her outfit was going to be a 5.7, Italian, crazy talented Chef, insistent as hell, and a bit of an arsonist.

That night Carmy was so excited that he couldn´t get any sleep. He pulled a watercolor all nighter instead.

[averagejoesolomon]

Gang, I could not be more delighted to share this chapter with you. I know I always tell you to buckle in, but for this one, you ought to buckle in. I'm so serious. You don't have any idea what you're in for. And if you're new here and want to get in on this madness, you can read Full Circle from the beginning on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Five

The most prominent religion in Russia is Orthodox Christianity, but the national church is the Bolshoi Theatre, where crowds worship week after week, night after night, among gods by the name of Ramanov, Stalin, and Gorbachev. Built less than a mile away from the heart of Moscow's governing epicenter, the Bolshoi weaves ballet into the political pulse of the country. It announces a national pride on stages across the world. It is an institution. It is a sacred arthouse. It is the venue of choice for Russian chairmen and it is the top item on the visitation itinerary for any and all foreign dignitaries.

It's also a spy's worst nightmare, crawling with the sort of people Matt's made a career out of avoiding.

He can think of at least two-dozen different ways to spend this evening that don't include revealing his face to the better part of the Soviet parliament. A single misstep—one unlucky run-in, introduction, or incident—could spell serious trouble for Matt someday down the line. When he brought this concern to Rachel, she had suggested he wear a disguise.

"I can't do my job wearing a disguise," he had told her, and when she inquired as to why, he had said, "Disguises, by design, draw the eye. If you want me to be your guy in the crowd, you can't paint a three-inch scar on my face or put me in some God-awful gaudy wig."

This must have been a convincing enough argument, because she didn't have a counterpoint to match it. Instead, she calmly pointed out that he could either show his face anonymously at the ballet, or he could wait until the Soviets found it next to his name, age, place of birth, and designated passport number. The choice, she had said, would be up to him.

So now he stands at the base of the Bolshoi foyer, an exposed American nerve in a hostile crowd. "All good, Ace?"

It had been Rachel's idea to travel separately, all four of them staggering their arrivals across the past six hours. Grace has been onsite for ages, posing as a photographer for a famous Russian newspaper that took a bribe from Langley five weeks back. Abe followed close behind, masterfully playing the role of low-ranking British royalty and receiving all of the VIP tours and introductions that come with his faux dukedom. He'll join Matt and Rachel for the performance later on, watching from the elite visiting dignitaries box while the two of them slum it in twelfth-row center.

Matt, for his part, has already slipped in through the maintenance corridors under the guise of a furnace inspection that's been scheduled for seven months. He's shed himself free of the branded navy coveralls to reveal the perfectly tailored Versace below. As he fusses with his ivory cufflinks, he wonders how Rachel managed to pin down his exact measurements, but knows a fella shouldn’t ask questions he doesn’t want answers to. "Patience, Nebraska," she says, voice crackling in his ear. “Good things come to those who wait."

Last, but certainly not least to arrive is Rachel, who carries enough natural poise to breeze through the Bolshoi's front doors without a second glance from anyone in sight. From his place at the bottom of the Bolshoi's elegant double staircase, Matt spots her through the crowds above, clocking the familiarity in her movements before anything else—the stubborn set of her shoulders, a graceful glide of her hand along the banister, confident steps as she begins her descent in his direction.

And by God, she is a sight to see.

Her dress is the classy sort of affair that suits her perfectly, a solid black number sewn from silk and cut into a simple silhouette. The neckline settles along her collarbone and swoops from shoulder to shoulder, paired with soft loops of fabric that drape listlessly along either arm. This weighty, sophisticated feel curves down to her hips, where the dress drops off into an inky sheath that pools at her feet, as though she's been poured straight over the steps. She lifts her hem with a gloved hand, the motion effortless and practiced, and she never looks more like herself than when there's a string of pearls around her neck. With each step, Matt notices her anew, taking in the sheen of the silk, the red of her lips, the soft, subtle bounce of a relaxed updo pinned in place by Swarovski crystals.

Just when he thinks the sight can't get any better, she looks up at him and smiles. "There you are, darling."

Her Russian is technically perfect, the same way her shots always land dead center, and her punches always strike in exactly the right spot. "Are you ready, my love?" he responds, his own contrasting Russian forged in the streets of Leningrad. "I was beginning to grow worried."

He meets her at the final stair and passes along a sleek glass of bubbling Champagne to match his own. Neither of them will drink tonight, but the glass had given Matt a reason to look busy while he waited for her arrival. Somehow, she makes it look like the perfect golden accessory to her ensemble and, after a demure sip that doesn’t make it past her lips, he holds out an arm to her. When her sleek glove slips through his elbow, he can’t hide the warm, tingling shiver that buzzes straight down his spine.

"You will never truly understand the woes of the women's restroom," she replies, and he senses some truth in this predetermined conversation point, despite it being scripted to subdue wandering ears. "Do you have the tickets?"

With his free hand, Matt reaches into his inner pocket and produces two strips of cardstock placed by Rachel before leaving the safe house. This sparks a subtle satisfaction in her, as she mentally checks another box in her fifty-point plan for the evening. Change into her dress, check. Meet on the lower level, check. Pretend to be married, and dating, and in love—check, check, check.

Etiquette dictates that he lead them inside, for the sake of chivalry. Handily, the mission brief also dictates that he lead them inside, for the sake of discretion. Guided by the two complimentary motives, Matt greets the usher with a perfectly neutral hello, and the usher tears their stubs with a hospitable smile. They both receive a program and make their way into the low hum of chatter inside the theatre doors.

Matt has only seen the inside of the Bolshoi once before, when the agency first sent him overseas to train and take in the culture. It's just as striking as he remembers, six balconies carved from intricate gold and dressed in heavy, burgundy velvet. In those early days, a more senior agent had suggested that this place was designed to highlight its visitors just as much as its on-stage talent, because if one could afford an extravagant evening at a Bolshoi performance, then they were certainly the type of person worth noticing. This is especially apparent with the presidents’ box, which takes up two full stories at the center of the balconies and is accented by all the usual curtains and trimmings one might expect to adorn the stage.

Matt and Rachel’s seats are less auspicious, which is entirely by design. The carpet sinks beneath their shoes as he guides her toward a stout velvet seat tucked beneath the first balcony. They offset one another, Rachel’s sharp vigilance balanced by Matt’s casual covertness. As they walk, Matt spots Abe three stories up, chatting to a gentleman with a round gut and a distinguished mustache. Grace is out of sight and, if all goes according to plan, she will be all night. The ambassador to Turkey is ten yards away, the Minister of Justice is sharing a drink with the Minister of Transport, and Matt’s fairly certain that the young lady seated two tiers above them is a descendant of the long dethroned royal family—at least, she’s surrounded by enough armed goons to make people think she is.

If they get out of here without incident, it’ll be a miracle. "After you," he says, gesturing toward their seats. He wraps a possessive hand around to the small of her back, intending to let his lady lead the way like his pops taught him, but something in his brain snaps when he feels her bare skin at his fingertips, a warm and golden flood now washing every thought downstream.

So caught up in surveilling the crowd, he’s neglected to notice one key element about his partner—she seems to be missing half her dress.

The modest neckline sweeps into a wholly immodest back, a deep black V dipping low along alabaster skin. The silk hugs the outer edges of her rib cage, narrowing until meets at a single point that cradles the base of her spine in a gentle, swooping ripple. She's surprisingly soft for someone so fit, carved from demure muscle perfectly suited to the deception of spycraft. The smooth slope of her traps. The rounded angles of her shoulder blades. Matt's eyes trail along her exposed vertebrae, connecting the dots down, down, down her back until he's thinking the sort of thoughts that would have his mama clutching at her pearls. It ain't hard to imagine—except, no, he ain’t going to imagine. It ain’t right. It ain’t gentlemanly, to picture his fingertips brushing down her backbone. To hope she’d melt beneath his touch. To crave the feel of his hand at her back, reeling her in close, holding her right up against his—

"Darling?"

And it just ain’t fair, the way she puts on that alluring tone. The way she glances over her shoulder with a pout that sends his pulse plummeting. The way her dark eyes flicker over her dark dress and the way he could tear that damn thing off her, here and now—

God almighty, he has got to get a grip.

"Uh-huh." He feels his cheeks flushing, not with the sight of her, but with the images running through his own head. He blinks them away, silently scolds himself, and clears his throat with the hope that this one action will clear everything else, too. "Coming."

When they sit, Rachel makes a show of reading the program, expertly delving into the sort of bored small talk that belongs to socialites who have spent their entire lives in gorgeous theaters. But beneath the surface, she’s taking stock of every last detail around them and Matt knows he ought to join her. He knows he ought to note the exits, count the security officers, spot every diplomat that might be spotting him. Except the part of Matt that’s trained to notice everything can’t stop noticing her, all of his good sense getting tangled up in the sight, the smell, the presence of Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.

Three cameras cover his closest exit. Rachel’s lips form thrilling new shapes around her Russian. There’s a plainclothes guard sitting two rows ahead. Rachel has a birthmark below her chin. The director of ballet walks in the east entrance. Rachel’s breath hitches on the rise and fall of her chest.

The house lights dim, and Matt uses his Champagne to wash down all the want.

He takes on his own private mission of reigning in his rampant thoughts, but she doesn’t make it easy on him. She smells like wildflower fields and Nebraskan sunlight. She looks the way rock and roll feels on US-20, when all the windows are rolled down. She sounds like a good idea he can’t quite shake. And that dress, that dress. It turns his insides into a mid-April storm, and he’s not sure how he's supposed to sit beside her for the rest of the night, especially not when his brain insists on identifying and cataloging every latch he'd need to unhook in order to unwrap the rest of her.

The orchestra hums to life and the glow of the stage fades into the crowd. The low, blue light seems to catch Rachel in all the right places. The curve of her nose. The pout of her lip. The sharp edge of her jaw, the tender lines in her neck, the elegant curve of her collar bone. The Bolshoi is known internationally for its magnificent mastery of the ballet. It is, in the eyes of many, the most beautiful expression of the most beautiful art form in the world. And yet, as music fills the hall and dancers fill the stage, Matt just can't bring himself to look away from Rachel.

One day, he’s going to kiss her right there, and there, and there.

He will never kiss Rachel Cameron.

One day, he’s going to hold her close, and closer, and closest.

He will never hold Rachel Cameron.

Matt sits through five full movements of Tchaikovsky’s finest, wrestling with back-and-forth thoughts, before Rachel reaches through the darkness and effortlessly laces her fingers in between his. Her hand is cold. Her hands are always cold. It’s one of those things he already knows about her, and the familiarity is enough to send a pang of longing straight up his arm, filling all the empty spaces in his chest until he’s about ready to burst. She’s playing a dangerous game, dancing on the edge of something Matt’s barely managed to restrain. He remembers with a start that she’s wearing a wedding ring—a diamond-studded gold band made to look old and worn, courtesy of Langley’s top jeweler—and he reckons this might be it. This might be the final crack in a dam that’s already on its way out.

That is until Rachel leans in close, her words a whisper rolling over his shoulder, and he realizes that this, actually, is the thing that ends him.

Her breath raises goosebumps along his neck, his shoulders, his back. It’s all twisted up in the raspberries and walnuts they shared in the afternoon, a sweet and earthy scent in equal measure. There’s nothing between them now, except the single inch of her mouth from his ear as she leans in with all the casual belonging of his supposed wife, and he gets so caught up in the feel of her that it takes too long to realize she’s back to speaking English. “Fifth balcony,” she whispers. “Ten o’clock. What do you make of her?”

On instinct, his eyes flick up to her target. He spots it too, a young woman rapt with the dancers below, leaning along the railing just to get a better look. To the untrained eye, she looks like anyone else in the crowd, but as someone who spends plenty of time trying to blend in, Matt notices all of the ways she stands out. Her hair is tied in a low, unglamorous ponytail. Her dress isn’t couture, like so many others here. She wears modest jewelry made from mixed metals—a cardinal sin among polite society. And he’s seen that bag before, in a shop window somewhere in Manhattan.

His attention falls back to Rachel with every intention of crafting an intelligent response, but he gets caught on her eyes before he can get anything out. The way they wait for him. The way they dance between each of his. The way they drop to his lips. The way he can’t help but drop his own gaze to match.

He will never kiss Rachel Cameron.

“The bag,” he mutters instead, and he can’t tell if he’s still looking at her lips or not. He thinks he might be. He probably is. Is he speaking in Russian or in English? “I think its…”

He’s never noticed the low point of her cupid’s bow. The downward draw in each corner of her mouth. The way her cheeks divot ever so subtly, as though she was supposed to have dimples but never found the time for them. Red lips curve around the unsaid end of his sentence. “American made,” she confirms.

The flood is back, biblical and mighty, and his insides warm with the rushing current. Every nerve in his body seems to have found a way to his front, and the shift in weight sends him forward, forward, forward, heavy in her direction. She’s looking up at him—not the stage, not the ballet, but him—with eager eyes, chin raised high, just as it always is.

Except the orchestra trills to a stop. Applause surrounds them. The house lights come up.

Intermission.

The lights break through whatever feelings were fostered under cover of shadow, and the only thing remaining are Matt and Rachel, far too close to something neither one of them can explain. “I should—” he starts at the same time she says, “You need to—”

He waits for her. She waits for him. Finally, when the space between them grows too tight, she reaches through it, hands landing on his bow tie. She straightens each end, then brushes lint from his shoulder. “That’s your cue,” she tries again. “Don’t lose your head.”

It is entirely too late for that, but he swallows this thought down, and opts for a simple, “Yes ma’am.”

It takes more effort than it should to stand from his seat. Somehow, she now sits at the gravitational center of the room, and he has to strain against the pull, one step at a time. Eventually, he manages to join the dozens of other attendees who rush toward the bathrooms and the bars, and the further he walks, the weaker her pull.

When he finally makes it to the lobby, his head clears just enough to wonder what in the Hell just happened.

The events come to him like a mission outline, as though he’s about to debrief with a superior and desperately needs the notes for reference. It’s the only way he can wrap his head around the moment, working through it one step at a time. Except no matter how many times he runs through it, he comes back to the same two steps.

He leaned in.

Then she leaned in.

And he reckons he can understand the first part easily enough, but it’s the second part he keeps getting stuck on, because there’s not a room on this Earth they’ve shared without a fight. On the relational spectrum of people likely to kiss and people likely to brawl they’ve always leaned more toward the latter, and now seems like a Hell of a time to make a leap in the other direction. This is the same woman who tore him apart in Baltimore. The same woman who told him to get lost for two years straight. The same woman who, when they first met, took one glance at him and vowed to make his life harder than it had ever been before.

A lady like that doesn’t lean in. She fights, and yells, and holds grudges. She tells him where to be, when to be there, and what to wear. She gives orders. She makes plans. Rachel Cameron does not lean in—and she certainly doesn’t do so on a whim, in the middle of a mission.

And it occurs to him that this is just another check mark on Rachel’s list. Another scripted moment in her perfect strategy. Of course it is. A wife kisses her husband before he leaves. It’s a cover. It’s a legend. She’s always been one step ahead of him with this sort of thing.

At least, that’s what Matt tells himself as he meanders through the crowds, and it helps his racing heart slow to his resting rate. Mind clearing, he brings his mission objective into focus and works his way toward the fifth balcony using one of the paths Rachel mapped out for him weeks ago. He stops in bathrooms, refreshes his Champagne, and swipes a bite-sized chocolate desert from a passing cart, partly because it’s his best bet at cover, and partly because he’s a sucker for a chocolate mousse. One staircase at a time, he climbs that magnificent Bolshoi Theatre and works his way onto a balcony that isn’t his.

In Rachel’s grand Moscow plan, Matt has six pre-approved options for approaching a potential target. Since the first requires their target to be a man and the second requires there to be a gun pointed at his head, Matt settles for option number three—the confused tourist gambit or, as he prefers to call it, the National Lampoon. “Excuse me, miss?” he says, in the best lost American voice he can muster. “Do you know the way to the—?”

She turns, and any commitment Matt had to his cover immediately shrivels when he realizes he knows the young lady perched in the fifth balcony. He used to have dreams about her. Spent the better part of a year trying to remember every detail about her, from the red hair, to the ring on her finger, to the way she threw a baseball in the basement of Wrigley field. He last saw her skipping down a stoop in Georgetown and if she’s here now, he knows in his gut that something has gone horribly, staggeringly wrong.

“You?” he says, abandoning all pretense as he bolts toward her. “What are you doing here?”

The redhead moves quick, snatching her leather messenger bag and pulling it in close as she scans the balcony for an escape route. Every instinct Matt’s got tells him that she can’t leave with that bag, so he makes himself big and impassable, barely hooking the leather strap as she tries to slip past him. “Let go of me,” she hisses. “What are you doing? Let go.”

“Drop the bag.”

“We’re on the same side.”

“Drop. The. Bag.”

She’s slippery, in that same way Joe can be slippery when he wants to be, and Matt wonders if everyone in the Circle of Cavan learns to run before they fight. She wriggles against his grip, bright eyes wide with panic, but Matt pins her down easy. He’s got plenty of experience keeping runners in one place. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. “Who’s your buyer? What are you—?”

“On the ground!”

When a third voice interrupts, Matt mistakes the accent for Abe and says a quick prayer of thanks for the backup. This relief is quickly doused when he looks up to find a tall, slender stranger holding a gun to the girl’s head. “Whoa, hey,” he says, holding out his free hand. “Easy with that thing.”

“Get on the ground,” says the stranger, and Matt realizes that the gun is actually being pointed at him. “Now.”

Thirty seconds too late, Matt suddenly understands that he hasn’t intercepted a trade. He’s walked right into the middle of it. What’s more, he’s gone and done the exact thing Joe’s always warning him about—he’s backed himself into a corner, stuck between the buyer and the seller with no good way out. “I’ve got company,” Matt tells the team in his ear. “What’s my way out?”

Grace’s voice is absolute, ready with an instant reply. “Through,” she tells him. “There’s a stairwell to the right, but you’ll have to get off that balcony first.”

“I’m coming up,” says Rachel.

Matt shakes his head, even though she can’t see him. “No time.”

“I’m coming up,” says Abe.

“Better make it quick.”

“I won’t tell you again,” the stranger says, adjusting his grip on the gun. “Get on the ground.”

He holds his pistol like law enforcement, all rigid shouldered and stiff stanced. The sight makes Matt sick to his stomach. “You don’t want to do this,” Matt tells him. “You’re putting real lives at risk, doing this.”

The stranger huffs, like he knows everything and Matt knows nothing at all. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he says. “Give up the passports and no one gets hurt.”

“A lot of people get hurt,” Matt argues still pulling at the bag. “Let’s figure something out. Let’s—”

“We are well beyond figuring something out,” says the stranger. “That ship has sailed, and you’re going to jail for a long time.”

“I’m—” Matt’s already started rolling into his next argument before this sentence has time to land. When it does, it stops him in his tracks. “Hold on, I’m what? What are you—?”

In this profession, there are plenty of people Matt never wants to cross. He spend his days with spies, con men, assassins, and rogues, all of whom know how to make his life miserable in horrible and exhausting ways. Right then, Matt adds another name to the list as he watches Abe Baxter sneak up behind the stranger, grab hold of his weakest joints, and bend them in ways that bring the man straight to his knees.

And when Abe looks down at the man’s face, it’s clear that he isn’t truly a stranger after all. “Townsend,” he groans. “You absolute twit.”

Over comms, Grace says, “What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

“I fully intend to find out,” Abe answers. With a glance up at Matt, he gives a nod. “You got the passports? Good on you.”

Matt doesn’t have the passports, so much as he still wrestling for them, but when he goes to point this out, he realizes that his sparring partner is nowhere to be found. In the time it took for Matt to talk his assailant into Abe’s hold, the mysterious redhead has completely vanished. In her place, the strap of the messenger bag is looped around a small golden gargoyle, and Matt’s been wrestling with a ghost.

“Get up, Townsend,” Abe says, and even though the not-so-stranger Townsend has an extra foot of height on Abe, there’s no questions about who’s in charge. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Matt unloops the strap and digs inside the messenger bag. Sure enough, he finds a pile of little leather covers. He looks over his shoulder, toward the audience below. Toward Rachel, who knows better than to meet his gaze, but does it anyway. He nods, and so does she.

For a single moment, Matt lets himself fall into his own relief. Mission accomplished. Lives are saved. He won’t have to worry about agents arriving at the ranch, or an assassin knocking on the door of the M street apartment. At least, not for now.

But there’s something scratching at his instincts, like he’s being watched, and not just by Rachel. There are eyes everywhere in Moscow, and there are eyes on him now. When Matt scans the crowd below, he spots a gentleman looking back at him. Wide face. Bushy eyebrows. Armed. Matt's short-lived relief fades in a flash as he remembers where he is, and remembers how deadly it can be to be spotted in a place like this.

The house lights flash once, twice, three times, and Matt steps back from the edge of the balcony. Intermission, he thinks, is over.

[ox-imagines]

Just a little drabble about Nakami and Akira!

This is them if you've missed my other posts about them! I seriously adore them 😭

"You look better in my clothes than I do."

Frowning, Akira fussed with the edge of the shirt, trying to get it lower. "No I don't; your clothes are too tight for me. You just like how I look in fitted clothes." Akira felt wrong: his upper torso and arms constricted, his midriff exposed, his chest exposed. He wasn't self-conscious, so to speak, hell he didn't care how anyone but himself and Nakami thought he looked, but Nakami's clothes were uncomfortably different from his own wardrobe. The clothes were supposed to be fitted on Nakami, so then they looked and felt even tighter on Akira than they were supposed to.

"You're just not used to wearing tight clothes. I promise it doesn't look as tight on you as you think it does, it looks like it fits well!" Nakami pressed a cool hand to Akira's heated cheek and turned his avoidant gaze upward. "You're positively celestial." His hand tightened subtly on his boyfriend's jaw, drawing him close and fitting their lips together.

With a soft gasp, Akira surrendered himself to the kiss, leaning in to the other boy. Nakami took a single slow step back without parting from Akira. He guided them so his back was against the wall before pulling Akira closer, masterfully pinning himself between the firm surfaces of the plywood and Akira's body. He smirked against Akira's lips.

"You just like me in your clothes because it's easier to objectify me like this than when I wear something loose," Akira murmured, surveying Nakami with half-lidded eyes.

"Baby, I can and will objectify you no matter what you're wearing," Nakami giggled softly, his thumbs tracing circles against Akira's hips.

The taller boy grinned and rolled his eyes. "Then I suppose you won't mind if I go change?"

Tangling his hands in the glossy black of Akira's hair, Nakami pulled him into a much more insistent, impassioned kiss, wasting no time in pressing his tongue between Akira's lips to play with his. Humming, he slowly pulled away. "If you must. I don't care if you don't believe me, though; you look really good."

[misscakeshop]

Photography

Elements of Design

Line

Definition: The path of a moving point is a mark made by a tool or instrument as it is drawn across a surface.

Types: Vertical, Horizontal, Curved, ZigZag, Diagonal

Notable Example: "The Eiffel Tower" by Henri Cartier-Bresson - showcasing elegant vertical lines.

Shape

Definition: The area stands out from the shape next to or around it because of a defined boundary or because of value, color, or texture.

Notable Example: "Migrant Mother" by Dorothea Lange - illustrating the emotional impact of the human shape within its surroundings.

Color

Definition: A visual sensation caused by light.

Notable Example: "Afghan Girl" by Steve McCurry - using vibrant color to convey the subject's striking gaze.

Components: Hue, Value, Intensity

Hue refers to the pure, basic colors of the color wheel. It is what distinguishes one color from another, such as red, blue, or yellow.

Example: In a rainbow, each band of color represents a different hue.

Value represents the lightness or darkness of a color. It is determined by the amount of light reflected by a color. A range of values creates contrast and depth in an image.

Example: In a grayscale image, the variations from black to white represent different values of gray.

Intensity, also known as saturation, refers to the purity or vividness of a color. A highly saturated color is pure and vibrant, while a desaturated color is more muted or grayish.

Example: A highly saturated red will be bright and vibrant, while a desaturated red will appear more subdued.

Space

Definition: The area occupied by form. The main area is positive, everything else is negative.

Notable Example: "Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico" by Ansel Adams - masterfully using negative space to emphasize the moonrise.

Value

Definition: How light or dark a given color or hue can be.

Notable Example: "The Old Guitarist" by Pablo Picasso (photographed by André Villers) - utilizing value to evoke emotion in a monochromatic context.

Form

Definition: Where light and shape collide to create images with depth and a sense of touchability.

Notable Example: "Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2" by Marcel Duchamp (photographed by Man Ray) - playing with form and movement in a surreal way.

Texture

Definition: The visual depiction of variations in the color, shape, and depth of an object's surface.

Notable Example: "Migrant Mother" by Dorothea Lange - highlighting the weathered texture of the subject's face and hands.

Practice:

Take 5 photos demonstrating lines or explore more variations.

Principles

Balance

Definition: Feeling of equality in weight.

Types: Symmetrical, Asymmetrical, Radial

Notable Example: "The Birth of Venus" by Sandro Botticelli - showcasing symmetrical balance in a classic painting.

Proportion

Definition: Deals with the ratio of one part to another. Ratio implies comparison and is expressed in size, number, position, and space.

Notable Example: "Vitruvian Man" by Leonardo da Vinci - exploring the proportions of the human body in a meticulous drawing.

Harmony

Definition: Creates unity by stressing the similarities of separate but related parts.

Notable Example: "Starry Night" by Vincent van Gogh - achieving harmony through the use of color and swirling patterns.

Variety

Definition: A change or contrast within one or more elements to add interest and to avoid monotony.

Notable Example: "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon" by Pablo Picasso - introducing variety through diverse and unconventional forms.

Movement

Definition: Where your eyes look in a picture.

Notable Example: "Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette" by Pierre-Auguste Renoir - capturing the lively movement of dancers in a joyful scene.

Unity

Definition: The whole or total effect of a work of art that results from the combination of all its components.

Notable Example: "Guernica" by Pablo Picasso - achieving unity in a powerful anti-war painting.

Rhythm

Definition: A continuance, a flow, or a feeling of movement achieved by the repetition of related visual units; the use of measured accents.

Notable Example: "The Dance" by Henri Matisse - creating a sense of rhythm through repeated, flowing shapes.

Emphasis

Definition: The stressing of an element to make it more interesting or important through one position, color, object, or texture.

Notable Example: "Girl with a Pearl Earring" by Johannes Vermeer - emphasizing the subject's enigmatic gaze and the play of light on the pearl.

Composition

The way the principles of art are used to organize the elements of art. It determines the movement or direction it takes your eyes around the picture. There are many types of compositions; some of them resemble an S, O, U, T, L, S, and more. Understanding composition enhances the overall impact and storytelling in your photographs.

Composition in photography refers to the arrangement and organization of visual elements within a frame to create a compelling and harmonious image. It involves making deliberate choices about how to position and combine various elements like lines, shapes, colors, and textures. A well-composed photograph not only captures the subject but also guides the viewer's eyes in a way that enhances the overall impact and storytelling of the image.

Key Aspects of Composition:

Framing:

Choosing what to include within the frame and what to leave out is crucial. The frame acts as a boundary, focusing attention on the subject.

Rule of Thirds:

Dividing the frame into a 3x3 grid and placing key elements along these lines or at their intersections can create a visually pleasing balance.

Leading Lines:

Lines within an image (like a road, river, or architectural elements) can guide the viewer's eyes toward a focal point or create a sense of movement.

Symmetry and Asymmetry:

Symmetry can create a sense of balance, while asymmetry adds visual interest. Both can be used to guide the viewer's focus.

Contrast:

Contrast in color, tone, or texture helps certain elements stand out, drawing the viewer's eyes to specific areas of the photograph.

Depth and Perspective:

Creating a sense of depth enhances the three-dimensional feel of a photograph. This can be achieved through techniques like using leading lines, overlapping elements, or varying focus.

Balance:

Achieving balance ensures that no single element dominates the composition. Balance can be symmetrical, asymmetrical, or radial, depending on the desired effect.

Guiding the Viewer's Eyes:

Visual Hierarchy:

Establish a hierarchy of importance within the image. This can be achieved through the use of size, color, or contrast to make certain elements more prominent.

Focal Point:

Clearly define a focal point to which the viewer's eyes are naturally drawn. This can be the main subject or a strategically placed element within the composition.

Leading Lines:

Utilize leading lines to guide the viewer's eyes toward the main subject or a specific area of interest within the frame.

Contrast and Color:

Use contrast and color to create emphasis. A pop of color or a high-contrast element can immediately attract attention.

Positioning and Flow:

Consider how the viewer's eyes will move across the image. Arrange elements to create a natural flow that leads the eyes from one point of interest to another.

In summary, composition is about purposefully arranging elements within the frame to create a visually pleasing and impactful image. By understanding the principles of composition, photographers can effectively guide the viewer's eyes, control the narrative, and evoke specific emotions or reactions.

Practice:

Here are three famous photographs where you can circle or draw an arrow to the focal point:

"Migrant Mother" by Dorothea Lange:

Assignment: Circle to highlight the focal point. Consider how the photographer uses the expressions and gaze to create a compelling focal point.

"Afghan Girl" by Steve McCurry:

Assignment: Circle or draw an arrow pointing to the focal point. Notice how the intense gaze creates a powerful focal point and draws the viewer into the subject's emotions.

"The Falling Soldier" by Robert Capa:

Assignment: Draw an arrow pointing to the focal point. Reflect on how this focal point captures a decisive moment in the chaos of war, conveying both action and vulnerability.

For each photograph, consider the composition techniques that contribute to the effectiveness of the focal point. Pay attention to factors like framing, contrast, and the placement of elements within the frame. This exercise can help enhance your understanding of how photographers use focal points to guide and engage the viewer.

[selfishegoista]

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 9/10

A Glimpse into Mental Health Realities: "Safe Place" (2022) - A Powerful and Compelling Portrayal

"Safe Place" (2022) is a heartfelt and daring film that offers audiences a raw and realistic portrayal of a family's travails while dealing with a loved one's first psychotic episode and subsequent suicide attempt. Directed and written with exceptional finesse, this emotionally charged drama delves deep into the struggles and challenges faced by both patients and their families. With an unwavering commitment to authenticity, "Safe Place" offers a poignant exploration of the confusion, desperation, and hurdles faced by those grappling with mental health issues and their interactions with medical professionals and law enforcement.

One aspect that sets "Safe Place" apart from other films centered around mental health is its distinct focus on the family's point of view. The narrative unfolds through the eyes of the main character's loved ones, exposing their confusion, desperation, and earnest willingness to help. As the story progresses, the film delves into the complexities of the protagonist's first psychotic episode, carefully capturing the gradual disintegration of his mental state and the subsequent fallout within his household.

"Safe Place" excels at providing a painfully authentic representation of the challenges encountered by individuals battling mental health issues. The film masterfully captures the distressing effects of psychosis, presenting it not as a mere plot device but as a deeply human experience. The empathy and compassion exhibited by the filmmakers go a long way in ensuring that the characters' struggles are portrayed with integrity, avoiding stigmatization or exploitation of their condition.

One of the film's standout features is its unwavering dedication to depicting the profound impact of mental illness on a family unit. It goes beyond showcasing the turmoil experienced by the individual in crisis and explores the emotional and psychological toll on their loved ones. The film effectively illustrates the frustration, helplessness, and even self-blame experienced by family members as they grapple with their inability to fully comprehend or alleviate their loved one's suffering.

"Safe Place" bravely addresses the often-overshadowed issue of trust between mental health patients and the medical and law enforcement establishments. The film portrays the inherent difficulties patients face in confiding in professionals due to fear, stigma, and an overall lack of understanding surrounding mental health. This theme is accentuated through poignant scenes that highlight the skepticism, skepticism, and frustration experienced by the protagonist's family as they navigate the seemingly unhelpful or indifferent systems in place.

The performances in "Safe Place" are remarkable, delivering a multi-dimensional, emotionally charged experience. The cast transcends traditional acting, breathing life into their characters with sincerity, nuance, and impeccable skill. The director's deft touch guides the film with a steady hand, skillfully navigating the fine line between stark realism and offering audiences moments of respite amid the darkness.

The cinematography of "Safe Place" exudes intimacy, creating an immersive experience that draws audiences into the family's tumultuous journey. The visual composition skillfully supports the narrative, using lighting and camera angles to evoke a sense of unease or tenderness as required. Accompanied by a haunting and evocative score, the film's sound design enhances the emotional impact, allowing viewers to deeply empathize with the characters' experiences.

"Safe Place" is a cinematic tour-de-force that portrays mental health issues with the sensitivity and intelligence that they deserve. From its realistic portrayal of a family coping with a loved one's first psychotic episode to its exploration of the difficulties encountered within the medical and law enforcement systems, the film leaves an indelible mark on the viewer's psyche. With powerful performances, exceptional direction, and thoughtful execution, "Safe Place" earns its well-deserved rating of 9 out of 10. It serves as a poignant reminder of the urgency for greater understanding and support for individuals and families grappling with the challenges of mental health.

Available: HBO Max

[songbirdsingingthings]

Lavender Haze - Shoto Todoroki x Reader

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DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

WARNINGS: none

A/N: lol hi this is inspired by queen TS

Word Count: 1.4K

Your body was cold, but your hand was warm as snow began to lightly fall. It was December in Musutafu, one of your favorite times of the year. The city just seemed to hold an all encompassing sort of glow – while the days became shorter, the lights burned brighter. Children all around were cradling carefully crafted snowballs in their hands, all the while ducking behind bushes and trees in order to get the jump on their friends. Garlands filled with ruby red ornaments adorned the streetlamps, menorahs were displayed in window sills, and holiday cheer was in full swing. And, holding your hand, your boyfriend.

Turning your head to the right, you find Shoto Todoroki keeping perfect pace with you. He looked perfectly content – his lapel jacket and scarf providing the little warmth he needed. He wasn’t even wearing gloves, but you knew that was because he was holding your hand. Using his quirk, he was able to keep your right hand nice and toasty, relieving the chill that tended to creep down your spine every time you exited your apartment.

He squeezed your hand. “I can feel your eyes on me, what’s up?” He asks, drawing a roll from your eyes.

“I’m not looking at you.” Shoto huffs a light laugh and sends an extra flicker of warmth through your palm.

“You’re right, you’re not looking at me. You’re staring.” His comment makes you laugh, leaning your body into his further.

“Fine. I’m staring.”

“Any reason why?” You frown, slightly, at his question and wiggle your left hand further into the pocket of your down jacket.

“I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Your admission was fair. For the past few months, a frenzy had descended upon you and Shoto. All of the tabloids wanted every detail of your relationship. It was bad enough that you were both Pro-Heroes, but due to Shoto’s standing in the rankings, he was a hot topic. Ever since a picture of the two of you at a fundraising gala went viral, the conversation regarding your relationship became public gossip. Sure, your relationship has been public since the very beginning. Shoto asked you for a first date in the mid to latter half of your third year at UA, and since then, he has been yours ever since. 

It was peculiar – no pictures of the two of you had sparked this much popularity previously. There had been plenty of pictures before, ones much more “scandalizing” than this one, however the public seemed to zero in on one tiny detail; a delicate band of silver resting on your left ring finger.

That damn ring caused an absolute frenzy to occur at every news station and magazine publishing house. You and Shoto could not catch a break. No matter how many times the question was masterfully avoided in interviews, it always seemed to work its way back into fruition.

“I am too.” Shoto’s response was solemn and understanding. This was the first time in quite a while that you weren’t bombarded on the street with fans asking when the wedding was. It didn’t matter that it was your grandmother’s ring that you were wearing in her memory, or the fact that people wouldn’t care to hear your genuine explanations – all they heard were excuses. “But,” he continued, swinging your hands back and forth a little, “let’s try and be in the moment.” He leans down a bit and presses a whisper of a kiss to your cheek, keeping you pendulum of hands going. You smile and nod, letting a timid flush creep onto your face.

“Okay. Holiday shopping it is then.”

It took only five minutes of you and Shoto being in a store for a crowd to descend upon you two.

“Shoto, is it true you popped the question?!” A young fan asked, their eyes boring into the center of your boyfriend’s skull.

“Y/H/N, please show me what your dress will look like! Is it a custom design?” A teenage girl demanded, clinging onto your arm.

“Please televise the whole wedding! It’s basically the closest thing we’ll get to a royal wedding.” Another begged.

You laughed awkwardly as the bombarding questions continued, stepping closer to Shoto, whose arm snaked around your waist almost instantly.

“Um, look guys, we appreciate the, uh… support. But we’re not engaged.” You explain, gripping onto the cashmere sweater you were fawning over earlier tighter. Out of the corner of his eye, Shoto noted that small movement and drew you impossibly closer to him.

“Come on, we can’t wait around forever. Get married or move on so the next person can get in line.” You could hear a pin drop, the room became so silent. Eyes flicked around to find whoever said it, but whoever the perpetrator was didn’t matter. The comment struck the both of you so hard that you were gobsmacked. In a flash, Shoto took the hanger that the sweater was on from your hands and hung back on the clothing rack.

“Okay, we’re done here.” He murmured, shuffling the two of you through the throng of people. 

The cold now, as you exited the store, was much harsher than before.

“I told you, I’m fine. I was just surprised at the comment. You were too!” You say, cradling a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Beneath a chunky knit blanket and lounging on the plush couch of your apartment, you watched Shoto walk towards you. He himself held a steaming mug, green tea in place of molten chocolate, and tugged some of the blanket over his legs.

“I’m not saying I wasn’t, I’m just saying that the comment was ridiculously out of line.” He paused to take a sip of the tea. “And, I know you’re upset that we didn’t get to finish looking at that store.” A small smile spread across your face but you kept your eyes on your mug. “Y/N?” His voice is softer now, much more cautious.

“I… I-yes, I’m bummed that we couldn’t really spend a normal day out, but I guess I sort of signed up for that when becoming a Pro-Hero.” You say as Shoto laid an arm over your shoulder. “I just wonder when it’s all gonna stop.” Shoto hummed in acknowledgement, massaging a knot in your neck gently.

“I think that all this frenzy will never completely disappear,” he says, keeping his eyes on yours. “But as long as we’re here,” he kisses your cheek, “together,” a peck to your other cheek, “and we just enjoy each other,” a lulling kiss to your lips, “then we’ll be okay.” You sigh in comfort, curling into Shoto’s boy as his hand moves from your neck to playing lightly with your hair. You bite your lip, suddenly, to suppress a laugh. Shoto, of course, notices and raises his brows. “Something funny?”

“No,” you admit, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “Just thought a nice plan B was to get married.” His body shakes in laughter.

“Oh, I plan on proposing to you. Just not for the sake of the public.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.” A smirk spreads across your face.

“Then the rock on that ring better be huge. You know, so everybody can see it when they watch the live broadcast.” You laugh as Shoto leans his head back over the edge of the couch, releasing a fake groan of annoyance.

“And the flowers?” He asks, egging you on.

“No flowers. I want lavender, dripping from every corner.” You answer earnestly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shoto contemplates your answer before pressing a smacker of a kiss to your lips, making you shy away in laughter.

“Lavender it is.”

“So, are you gonna propose to me or not? I mean, we’re deciding our wedding before I have a ring on my finger. It’s counting your chickens before they hatch.”

“I suppose so. But, the difference is, I’m telling you – I will propose.” You smile and settle back into his arms.

“Alright then. That’s good enough for me. Is it good enough for you?” You ask.

“It’s good enough for me.”

“Good. That’s all that matters anyways. That we’re both happy.” One final kiss seals the conversation with a wax stamp, putting it out of the way. Off your desk and off of your chest. And now, you two can just stay in that lavender haze.

Taglist:

@luluwiie​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@maiacroson​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@nerdypuppytimemachine​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@softvanlla​ All-Flora Florist

@catguinsstuff ~ All-Flora Florist

@smallxbunny​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@the-emo-asgardian​ ~ Snowbell Florist

@lovers-liability​ ~ Snowbell Florist

@palenightmarepersona​​ ~ All-Flora Florist, All-Tree Arborist

[yurimother]

The Best Yuri of 2020

2020 was hell in every way, and many of us are looking forward to new possibilities and advances in 2021. However, the year brought us many small moments and gifts worth celebrating. Among these, the explosive growth and change within the Yuri genre are among the most precious and most outstanding achievements. This second century of Yuri opened with a bang, as phenomenal new works, creators, and moments made their mark and helped change the future genre.

This annual list is a celebration of just a handful of the fantastic titles, people, and events in Yuri. There are likely some even greater ones that did not make the list because there is so much content in both English and Japanese that even I cannot keep up. However, among the troves of treasure, these titles stood out as shining examples of Yuri excellence. Some were released this year, others were recently adapted into English, and still, others are established titles that rose to prominence to dominate the conversation and my mind this year, but every one of them is worthy of being on this list and in your heart.

Here is the Best Yuri of 2020!

15: The Curse of Kudan Remastered

Japanese Yuri visual novel developers show no sign of slowing down as they continue to push to new heights and try new ideas. These are the same amazing people who brought us the delightful educational Yuri game The Expression Amrilato and the hilarious and surprisingly queer OshiRabu: Waifus Over Husbando’s. However, this most recent release, The Curse of Kudan Remastered, is their best work yet. Released near Halloween, this game brings a new edge of dark mystery and the occult to Yuri audiences worldwide.

The Curse of Kudan is available on MangaGamer, JAST USA, Denpasoft, and Sekai Project.

14: Adachi and Shimamura

English audiences were finally treated this year to Hitoma Iruma’s long-running and wildly successful Yuri light novel series, Adachi and Shimamura. Although the story struggles to gain traction, dedicated readers’ have their patience rewarded with a sweet tale full of gay pining. Alternatively, you can jump into its stellar anime adaptation, with gorgeous visuals and realized characters you will actually be willing to put up with the annoying Yashiro just to see where the title characters go. The series shows no sign of slowing down either, as the manga adaptation is coming to Western audiences next year.

Adachi and Shimamura is available to stream on Funimation. The light novel series is published by Seven Seas - https://amzn.to/3rTSZTK

Honorable Mention: Happy Go Lucky Days

The OVA adaptation of Fragtime got most of the attention this year. Still, director Takuya Satou and Pony Canyon also gave us this much-overlooked “love is love” anthology movie based on Takako Shimura’s manga (Sweet Blue Flowers, Wandering Son). The first short in the film, “Happy,” is easily the best Yuri anime of the year. It follows the beautiful yet realistic queer love story of two women hooking up at a mutual ex-girlfriend’s wedding, only for the relationship to blossom and warm viewers’ hearts. Sadly, while stylized, the budget demanded the animation cut a few too many corners. Additionally, the subsequent stories are at best tedious and at worst alarmingly problematic, which is why Happy Go Lucky Days only gets an honorable mention.

The OVA is streaming on HIDIVE

13: Mieri Hiranishi

The Yuri scene has many colorful creators with a breadth of different ideas and stories in the genre, yet few have provided as much humor and joy as Mieri. This talented creator spectacularly tumbled into the scene with her manga essay The Moment I Realized I Wasn’t Straight, which embodies the brutal honesty and realism of Nagata Kabi and matches it with exaggerated hilarity. She continues to chronicle her painful struggles of being a butch girl in love with butch girls in the monthly series The Girl that Can’t Get a Girlfriend. Alternatively, you can follow her on Twitter for just as much heart and laughter.

Read The Girl that Can’t get a Girlfriend on Tapas and Webtoon.

12: My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!

My Next Life as a Villainess has what can only be described as volcanic bisexual energy. Every character protagonist Catarina Claes encounters is entirely enthralled by her. Of course, she is far too preoccupied with her quest to avoid doom flags and change her ultimate fate to notice any romantic interest. The series is rewarding and well structured, as views are just as focused on how Catarina plans to avoid certain doom as they are with the various romantic misses her band of companions cooks up. While the “friendship ending” did not capitalize on its Yuri potential, it was perhaps the most satisfying possibility for this crazy harem, at least until season two comes out, which looks, unfortunately, to be significantly less queer.

My Next Life as a Villainess is streaming on Crunchyroll

11: Love Me for Who I Am

Kata Konayama’s manga series is less Yuri than a general LGBT work, but it has a lesbian character and explores her identity and struggles in great detail. Few titles before have captured the exciting and nervous waves of emotions that young people feel as they explore gender and sexual identities and try to find themselves. This heartfelt and extremely queer series rubberbands between cute moe dress up to tragic and gripping backstory, keeping readers on their toes the whole time.

Love me for Who I Am is published by Seven Seas - https://amzn.to/3rTSZTK

10: A Summer’s End – Hong Kong 1986

Oracle and Bone’s debut visual novel, A Summer’s End, is set in a vibrant and electric 1980’s Hong Kong. Drawing inspiration from classic Asian cinema, music, and fashion. The worlds of Michelle, a young office worker, and a free-spirited woman named Same collide. The two struggle to comprehend and accept each other’s feelings just as they struggle against society’s expectations and prejudices. An incredibly thoughtful and touching adventure, the creators incorporated vital contemporary elements include Asian LGBTQ rights and growing political unrest in Hong Kong, into this illustrious game.

The visual novel is available on Steam.

Honorable Mention: Goodbye, My Rose Garden

In the same vein as A Summer’s End, Goodbye, My Rose Garden is a beautiful period piece that incorporates LGBT views into its shattering narrative. The story follows a bright-eyed immigrant, Hanako, wanting to make a new life in England as an author at the dawn of the twentieth century. She takes a job as a maid to noblewoman Alice, but their relationship takes a turn when Alice asks Hanako to kill her. This poignant tale is beautiful and an honest depiction of love and its conflict with responsibility and society.

Goodbye, My Rose Garden is published by Seven Seas Entertainment - https://amzn.to/3hFSyaG

9: Shio Usui

Usui’s hit Shaikaijin Yuri manga Doughnuts Under a Crescent Moon could easily take this spot even though it is not even out in English until February 2021. The manga is already making waves and receiving constant praise. The characters and their journey to discover love and self-acceptance are as charming as they are relatable and grounded. However, it is the creator, Usui, who really deserves acclaim. Not just for their work on Doughnuts, but having a second serialized story, Onna Tomodachi to Kekkon Shitemita, in monthly Yuri magazine Comic Yuri Hime simultaneously. It is even more remarkable when you consider these two iconic stories are Usui’s first long-running works, as they only contributed one-shots before.

8: Bloom Into You: Regarding Saeki Sayaka

Bloom Into You is possibly the most iconic Yuri series in the past decade, and while the manga deserves its own place on this list, the best thing to come out of the series as a whole is easily the light novels. This trilogy by Adachi and Shimamura creator Hitoma Iruma dives deep into supporting cast member Sayaka. Readers are treated to a delightful journey as she discovers her sexuality, experiences heartbreak, and finally finds herself breaking free and falling in love. With the help of gorgeous illustrations by Nakatani Nio herself, Iruma masterfully captures Sayaka’s unique voice and emotions in this wonderful series. Whether a fan of the originals or not, every Yurijin must check out Regarding Saeki Sayaka.

The light novel series is published by Seven Seas - https://amzn.to/3hFSyaG

7: Our Teachers are Dating

The best a Yuri can get. This workplace romance follows two teachers at the start of a new relationship taking nervous yet enthusiastic first steps, including saying I love you, going on their first date, and even sleeping together. It is so heartfelt and salacious that readers will squeal the whole time. Additionally, our heroines are supported in their relationship by everyone they know, their students, colleagues, and even the principal. It is a perfect world for these two lovebirds! Our Teachers are Dating would easily be number one or two in any other year, but the competition is fierce in 2020. So even though this is only number seven, it is still a master class Yuri manga.

The manga is published by Seven Seas Entertainment - https://amzn.to/38XY3O9

6: Amongst Us

Who would have thought that a comedy alternative universe story spinoff of a fantasy action series would be the single best Yuri webcomic this year? Shilin’s astounding artwork illustrations the hilarious and irresistible journey of girlfriends Blackbird and Veloce. These two eccentric young women get into all kinds of everyday mischief that bounces between tender and touching romance, completely outrageous comedy, and downright thirst-inducing sorcery. Seriously, you should buy the first volume for Veloce’s back muscles alone. The storyline skips between time, but both their established relationship and their meeting as teenagers are adorkable and captivating.

Amongst Us is available online free on Webtoon and the comic’s website. The first volume is in paperback on Shilin’s site.

Honorable Mention: Éclair

There are a lot of Yuri anthologies out there, and they have done some beautiful things. Many focus on themes like Syrup. Others collect a series of stories by an author into one bound work. However, out of all of them, Éclair is the most successful. ASCII Media Works took some of the genre’s most extraordinary creators and let them do whatever they wanted, and the results are spectacular. The incredible talent behind Éclair somehow packs a full volume’s worth of story and character into just a few pages with every chapter. While the first volume came overseas a few years ago, Yen Press gave Yurijin a gift this year by releasing the entire rest of the series in which readers can get lost.

The anthology series is published by Yen Press - https://amzn.to/38XY3O9

5: I’m in Love with the Villainess

A small trend of isekai Yuri with villainesses emerged recently, and I honestly had few hopes of I’m in Love with the Villainess. The series is pretty popular, but I often find that this does not denote quality, and with isekai having some institutional issues, I suspected this would fall flat. Then the volume three cover showcased an incredible accomplishment, allowing for a lesbian relationship to blossom into a family with children, and it blew me away. Finally, I read volume one and realized that the series has incredible character, some of the best world-building I have ever seen in a light novel, thoughtful discussions of inequality and societal issues, and most impressively, open and frank discussion of queer identity and life Yuri has ever seen! This one is something special.

The series is published by Seven Seas Entertainment - https://amzn.to/3nedvdZ

4: The Last of Us Part II

Yes, I know this one is not Yuri and that a portion of the population despises this game and will likely be exceptionally angry at me for including it. However, I maintain that it was an incredibly challenging masterpiece. Naughty Dog did not take the easy route out and delivered one of the most devastating media experiences I have ever seen. As I said in my article about the game, playing it changed me, and it sticks with me to this day. The Last of Us Part II earns its spot on this list because it pushed boundaries more with LGBTQ inclusion than any other AAA game. From brave inclusion of LGBTQ themes to queer characters and storylines at its center, the game changes gaming and it will never go back.

The Last of Us Part II is available on PlayStation 4

3: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

She-Ra feels like the culmination of all the LGBTQ progress western cartoons have made over the past few years. From The Legend of Korra to Steven Universe, young people are finally seeing more LGBTQ people represented on the small screen. This epic fantasy concluded with an amazing and powerful lesbian romance, delivering on its queer promise and revolutionized representation in a trope-defying crescendo.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is streaming on Netflix

2:  The Conditions of Paradise

The greatest single Yuri work of all in 2020 was the English release of Akiko Morishima’s breakthrough manga, The Conditions of Paradise. Initially released in 2007, this anthology detailed the love between adult women. It was in every way a manga ahead of its time, and seeing it finally get a small piece of the recognition it deserves overseas is a true gift. The fact that we can own this legendary piece of Yuri history and Morishima’s other anthologies is nothing short of a blessing from the Yuri goddess.

The Conditions of Paradise is published by Seven Seas Entertainment - https://amzn.to/38bh4xq

Honorable Mention: Otherside Picnic

This eerie sci-fi horror series combines the best of pulse-pounding thrillers, complex and intelligent hard science fiction, and exciting Yuri romance. Author Iori Miyazawa spends as much time crafting a well-paced and intriguing narrative about a mysterious world where occult creatures roam as he does establishing two believable and grounded heroes in Sorawo and Toriko. The romance between the two may be slow to start, but their chemistry is undeniable and as the stakes and story build, so too does their relationship. Not only are the light novels incredible, but the series’ manga adaptation is coming soon to the West as well as an upcoming TV anime in early 2021.

Otherside Picnic is streaming on Funimation. The light novels are published by J-Novel Club - https://amzn.to/3niiv1g

1. Yuri subgenres

For a long time, Yuri was not a genre of its own, but elements of romances or bonds between women found in other works. Now, thanks to an increasing library of works, the advent of social media, and a wider audience, Yuri is a genre on its own, with many creators telling different stories in different styles. However, 2020 saw the continued emergence of something extraordinary, subgenres. Yuri is now so vast, we can actually categorize the works within. Depending on their characters, like classic schoolgirl romances or spicy shakaijin office affairs, their world, such as fantasy or isekai series and thrilling science fiction adventures, and even other elements within. One of my personal favorites is the feminist Yuri that emerges from titles like Sexiled, where women celebrate the accomplishments of other women and dismantle power structures stacked against them. Now, no matter what kind of Yurijin you are, there is something for you to love.

I am happy to leave 2020 behind, but I bring with me a renewed love and admiration for Yuri. 2021 looks to be a somehow even better year for the genre, and I am thrilled to experience every minute of it that I can. Yuri has transformed into something far greater than I ever thought it would be, and let us all enjoy its evolution and expansion together in 2021.

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 13 - The Sixth Year (Part Three)

My dear friend @abimess, I keep stealing your gifs and making updates without telling you. I hope you never get tired of it.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: Magical torture with minors, cursing, angst, ptsd, derogatory thoughts and behavior, dark magic.

Chapter Words: 8.486 K

A/N> Yes, I've gone for a month without warning anyone, and yes that might go on, but at least i'm near ending this (I'm already writing chapter 21). Once I'm finished, I'll just programe tumblr to upload them all for me because i'm lazy. I hope anyone like this yet, i don't even know what i'm doing anymore. Good reading!

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 13 - Part XIII - The Sixth Year (Part Three)

Gossip really starts to irritate you when you go to lunch after potions.

"You want to say something to me, girl?" You charge impatiently when you hear the giggles behind you again, coming from a group of students sitting at Ravenclaw's table.

The group turns around with wry smiles on their faces, and you notice the editions of the Daily Prophet in the hand of one of the boys. It is Hope Summers, your classmate, who speaks first:

"We're just sharing some theories, Stark." She says in a provocative tone. "Some of us find it an interesting coincidence that just now that Mephisto is back, you and Maximoff are losing control of magic."

You frown.

"What are you talking about?" you ask in surprise, referring to Wanda, but Hope thinks you want her to keep mocking you.

"It's just suspicious that no one knows what happened to you in that dungeon, or at the ministry of magic." Hope counters. "And now you two are blowing things up, and we have a dark wizard on the loose."

"Fuck you, Summmers." You curse as you stand up, leaving the girl in shock at your aggressiveness.

The same auror from the first day stands in front of you as you try to approach Slytherin's table.

"Students must respect..."

But you interrupted his speech with a loud shove that sent him staggering backwards, and drew the immediate attention of several people.

You were seeing red by now, the man's wry smile only making you more irritated.

He drew his wand, but so did you. And the room held its breath.

"Put your wand away, Miss Stark." Warned the auror angrily, but you didn't.

Wanda stood up as she noticed the confusion, rushing to reach you, but the auror put his arm in her way.

"Now, miss." He warned again, and you grunted in irritation.

"Get your hands off her." You retorted, feeling your body fever with hatred.

"Stark." The man said, his arm reaching down to push Wanda back, and you exploded.

You didn't even finish thinking about the spell, the magic exploding out of your wand.

The auror masterfully blocked it, and you dropped your wand to jump on top of him.

It was a confusion of shoving, other bigger students pulling you away from the man and he away from you.

" Never fucking touch her again!" You warned snorting in anger, Thor Odinson stopping you from jumping on the man's neck.

"I just pushed her away from the line of fire, you crazy bitch!" The auror retorted indignantly and angrily. "Go to the headmaster's office now!"

"Fuck you!"

Thor pulled you out of the hall as the crowd of students whistled in celebration, excited about the whole fight. The auror was too busy dissipating everyone to follow you.

"Hey, hothead, calm down." The blonde warned as he released the grip of you by the courtyard. You grunted angrily, wishing you could break something.

"Fuck this school, fuck that asshole." You complained aloud, as Thor looked at you curiously.

"You have quite a rage, Stark." He comments, and you grumble in irritation.

But Wanda catches up with you the next moment, and she looks even angrier than you.

"What the hell was that?" she asks and you roll your eyes, running your hands through your hair.

"I think you are going to be fine for now on." Thor comments, smiling at the thank you Wanda says to him before leaving you two alone.

"So?" Wanda insists, arms crossed. You bite the inside of your cheek as you look at her.

"What do you want me to say?" You retort angrily.

"You just started a fight for no reason! Again!" She accuses. "Only this time it was with a wizard who could kill you. I want to know what's going on!"

"I don't know, Wanda!" You exclaim angrily. "Why does everyone expect me to have answers? I don't know! Do you understand that? It feels like I'm going to explode in frustration any second, neither you or Gamora seem to get it. I don't understand what's happening to me!"

"Because you won't talk to us!" She shouts back, just as annoyed as you are. "You're pushing everyone away! Even me! We can't help you if you don't talk to us!"

You grunt impatiently, turning around. There was a strange throbbing in the back of your head, a strange whisper. Like a voice telling you that no one was telling you the truth, that your friends expected too much of you, that Wanda didn't care...

This last thought made you sob. Wanda softened her expression immediately, taking a step toward you and touching your shoulder, but you pulled away from her touch as if burned, wiping your tears away quickly.

"Leave me alone, Wanda." You mutter between teeth. She hesitates, raising her hand toward you again.

"Please."

"I need some time from you." You insist, pushing her hand away, and walking away.

A part of your brain is begging you to go back and make things right, but there is a cloud of anger and irritation that keeps you walking.

//-//-//-//-//

You roll over in bed in discomfort.

Nightmares. Again.

It has only been five days since you had your fight with Wanda, and you are getting worse every day.

With Summers' teasing, you end up noticing other things too.

How the school really found the theory that you and Wanda were somehow related to Mephisto, because the minister had covered up what happened in the dungeons and in the ministry, and everybody thought it was strange that two students were showing an increase in magical potential with the return of a dark wizard.

Unlike you, who were failing considerably in any simple execution of spells, Wanda was demonstrating exceptional abilities. Kaecilius was more than willing to make her the face of progress at Hogwarts, you heard the gossip about bringing in reporters to share the news of the new direction.

You know that the only reason Wanda hasn't come after you yet was because you're running away from her like the plague.

And you couldn't even explain why.

You were also blocking out your real health condition from her. Just like you two practiced during the summer.

Besides hiding this from Wanda, you have kept your friends away too, isolating yourself from everyone else in search of a little rest, only succeeding in taking a nap when you are running away between classes.

And the detentions with Kaecilius keep increasing as you skip classes.

You begin to consider learning to write with a different hand, just so the bruise has time to heal, but at this point you don't even care about the scar anymore.

"You really must like pain." Loki teases wryly as you sit in an empty room, waiting for the aurors' shift change again after your detention.

You don't ask him what he's doing on that floor again, and he doesn't ask why you haven't spoken to your friends in two weeks.

"Sure, that must be it." You joke back, massaging your injured hand.

He assumes a pensive expression for a second.

"Are you sure you haven't been cursed by someone?" He asks, causing you to frown in shock and confusion.

"Excuse me?"

He gives a little chuckle, settling himself better against the wall.

"Everyone's been talking about you being sick." He says. "I heard some of the Ravenclaw people theorize that you became a werewolf over the summer."

You laugh helplessly, massaging your temples lightly.

"I guarantee that's not it." You say making Loki smile.

"If you are sick for no reason, it could be a curse." He says. "I wouldn't be surprised, the way things are."

"But how do I find out if I've been cursed?"

Loki takes a thoughtful stance.

"I don't know." He says. "But I'm sure you can learn that in the no longer reserved session of the library."

You laugh at the joke, but soon you both return to silence. When that hallway's shift ends, Loki sighs, getting up and helping you to stand.

"Still can't perform spells?" He asks, already drawing his wand.

"Only if I want to blow things up." You scoff making him laugh.

"Fine, I'll enchant you." He says. When you are transparent, he looks at you with an amused expression. "See you next Saturday, troublemaker?

"Don't worry, I plan on skipping DADA, maybe I'll be here tomorrow." You retort in the same tone before turning to leave.

//-////-//-//-//-//

It takes three more days for Wanda to finally corner you.

You are skipping class in an empty room on the seventh floor, trying to doze off, and almost fall out of your chair with fright when the door opens and Wanda comes in, looking annoyed.

You grunt impatiently, without lifting your face from the desk.

"I told you I needed time." You complain, but tense up when you notice the tears in her eyes as she moves closer to sit at the table next to yours.

" You want to break up with me?" She asks in a whisper and you raise your head immediately, feeling your chest tighten.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Wanda gives a humorless laugh at your expression. "Why are you acting like this is an absurd idea? You've disappeared. You've been avoiding me, not even talking to me anymore."

You shake your head quickly, feeling the urge to cry.

"I don't want to break up with you." You say. "I..I would never want to be away from you."

"You just said you need time away from me." Wanda retorts with annoyance, and you feel your stomach clench as she sighs. "I don't know what's going on with us. And I miss you, but you won't let me near you."

You are exhausted. So you cry.

You rest your head on your arms, and let your sobs fill the silence, hoping that the tears will take this bad feeling away.

It's Wanda's gentle touch on your back that helps.

"Babe, tell me what's wrong." She whispers to you, her tone concerned.

It takes many minutes for you to calm down. But when you do, Wanda holds your hand, kneeling on the floor beside the chair you are in.

"I can't do magic." You breathlessly tell her from crying, "And I can't sleep. I've been sick for weeks, and I'm angry all the time. Healer Cho doesn't know what's wrong with me, but everyone at school seems to have a theory about it. I think I'm going to suffocate, Wanda. I'm messing everything up. Between us, between my family, and at school." You sob as you finish and Wanda shakes her head, her hand coming up to your cheek.

"Don't say that." She urges. "You didn't ruin anything. Hey, look at me. I love you. Your sisters love you, your friends love you. We'll figure out what's going on."

Wanda hugs you tight, and you sob, shaking.

You want to believe her words, so you push the intrusive thoughts away, and believe it.

//-//-//-//

Wanda takes you to a door in that same floor you two were before, but you have never seen that door until that moment.

And you are very surprised to realize that it is a bedroom.

"How...?" You ask confused as she closes the it.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement." She says with a smile, pulling you by the hand around. "We hold our Avengers meetings here." She counters and you frown.

"In a bedroom? Interesting choice." You comment and she giggles.

"No, my love." She says. "That's how this room works. It is charmed to meet your needs. That's why I asked you to come in first."

"Oh, that's pretty cool." You say looking around. Wanda smiles at you, and then you both reach the bed. "The room thinks I have to sleep?"

"I do too." Wanda retorts, pushing your shoulders gently for you to sit on the bed. "Go on, nice dreams."

You hesitate. "You gonna leave me here alone?"

Wanda denies with her head, pointing to the chair that probably just magically appeared next to the bed. You frown.

"Can't you sleep in the bed with me?"

She giggles. "We don't have much time for you to sleep. If I lie down, you'll want to kiss me. So I'll be sitting in that armchair, studying as I should." She explains seriously, and you pout.

"Stupid rules." You grumble moving your hands up to her waist. "Lie down with me."

"Babe..."

"Please."

Wanda sighs, then nods. You smile, quickly removing your shoes as she does the same. You quickly adjust yourself on the bed, opening your arms for her to lie on top of you, and she gives a little giggle before doing so.

"Are you cozy, sweetheart?" You murmur against her hair, and Wanda squeezes her arms around you.

"Yeah, your boobs are good pillows." She teases, making you laugh with reddened cheeks.

Your eyes begin to heavy quickly, fatigue catching up with your body relaxed by the comfort of the moment.

"Go to sleep, babe." Wanda whispers. "I'll be here when you wake up."

You smile with your eyes closed, surrendering.

It's the best sleep you've had in weeks.

The problem is that as soon as you start to wake up again, you are feeling sick.

You touch the emptiness in the bed, mumbling softly. When you open your eyes you find Wanda sitting in the armchair, the darkhold in her lap.

"Damn it, Wanda, this book again." You complain in a hoarse voice, but she just sighs.

"Why the attitude?"

"I hate that book." You grumble sitting up in bed, massaging your face lightly. "Why do you keep reading it anyway?"

"It's interesting." She says, closing the item to look at you. "Agatha really told me a lot, but there are also things I didn't know."

"For example?"

Wanda bites her lips, appraising you.

"Scarlet witches are forged, for instance." She says and you frown in confusion. Wanda sighs. "Many powerful witches, born scarlet witches, never got to fulfill their destiny because the forging didn't happen."

You straighten your clothes uncomfortably, pensively.

"What exactly does that mean?"

"What the headmistress did last year was my forging." She clarifies and you swallow dryly, feeling your stomach turn. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you ask confused.

"Everything." She says upset. "I know we've talked about this, but it seems like all I do is cause you problems. With the bond, and with the forge. If Agatha didn't want my powers, she wouldn't have taken you to the dungeon and you wouldn't have suffered."

You poke at the knot of your tie, feeling yourself suffocate slightly. Wanda is speaking, you blink to focus on her words.

"I'm sorry, could you say that again?" You ask out of breath, sweating. You blink to find Wanda's concerned gaze on you.

"Babe, what's wrong?" She asks worriedly, her hands around your face.

You feel your head spin, and everything goes dark before you can answer.

//-//-//-//

You smell the scent of grass when you wake up.

Then you blink in confusion, getting used to your surroundings to realize that you are in what looks like a ward bed.

"Hey, all right, take it easy getting up, Miss Stark." Asked Professor Strange with one hand on her shoulder. In the other he held a potion that you imagined he had given you.

"W-what happened?" you mumbled confusedly, sitting up in bed. Only now did you notice Professor Munroe and Wanda standing in front of the bed, both with worried expressions.

"You passed out, but you're better now I imagine." Stephen explained gently, but you were still feeling very weak.

"Professor, she simply blacked out." Wanda commented in a tearful voice. " Don't you have any idea what's wrong?"

Stephen sighed, and then pointed at the chair, the darkhold.

"Where did you get that book?" He asked, and Wanda frowned, taking a step toward the chair in a defensive posture.

"What does that have to do with my question?" she retorted dryly, and Stephen looked at you one last time before standing up.

"There's a reason it's called the Book of the Damned, Miss Maximoff." He says."It damns its readers."

"That's ridiculous." Wanda retorted, crossing her arms. "I've been reading it for weeks and nothing has happened."

"Not with you."

Wanda hesitates, widening her eyes. And then she takes a step back, swallowing her cry as she reaches out to grab the book and hand it to Stephen.

She turns her gaze back to you, and lets the tears fall.

"I am truly sorry." She says with a mixture of guilt and shame before turning to leave the room.

You call out to her about three times, but she leaves and you don't have the strength to go after her.

"Damn, couldn't I have said that in a different way?" You complain angrily to Stephen, who just sighs, exchanging a look with Professor Munroe. "How come you two are here anyway?"

"It was Wanda." Professor Ororo replies. "She asked the room for someone trustworthy to help her with you. Then there was a door opening in the potions room. Stephen was there with me, and we both came."

"Great." You mutter annoyed, thinking about how you are going to talk to Wanda and convince her that you were not angry with her. "Would either of you happen to know how to make me better now?"

"Sure." Stephen comments by raising the book in the air, and with a wave of his hand, the item dissolves into several pieces until it is gone. "I didn't destroy it, if that's what you're thinking. I just put it away, to prevent something like that from happening again."

"Congratulations." You grumble wryly as you straighten up in bed, the same migraine from before is now weaker, but it's still there.

"You know, you had a better attitude when you didn't have a magical doom on your spirit." Stephen complains, causing you to frown, but Professor Ororo gives a chuckle.

"Thanks professor." You comment wryly, making him laugh. He sits back down beside your bed, and pulls out of the cover a small notebook.

"Now that Miss Maximoff has stopped reading the book, I suppose you will get better." Stephen says, making you sigh.

"You suppose? That's encouraging." You say moving to stand up.

"Where are you going, Miss Stark? You need to rest." Warn the professor, but you ignore him, and ignore the weakness in your body as well.

"What I need, Strange, is for people to stop lying to me."

"No one is lying, Miss Stark." Professor Ororo states next. "We really don't know the extent of the magic the darkhold carries."

"And why is that I imagine?" You sneer. "Because someone omitted the truth from you, and it's been passed down for generations, isn't it? Well, that's over now. Because we've finally studied everything in this place, including a book that condemns anyone who reads it." You exclaim impatiently, stooping down to put on your shoes. "If you two will excuse me, I'll figure out how to get better on my own. But first I'm going to explain to my girlfriend that none of this is her fault."

Ororo and Stephen are silent, but you wouldn't have been paying attention to anything they said anyway.

Soon you are up and out of the requirement room looking for Wanda.

//-//-//-//

She seems to have disappeared from the castle, so you must concentrate to use your instincts.

The hardest part is dodging the aurors, but you finally reach the astronomy tower.

You're a little out of breath from the run, but it's the image of Wanda standing on the edge, the sunlight in her hair that leaves you breathless.

"Hi." You say in a low tone, your hands in your pockets as you approach. She startles slightly, wiping away tears as she keeps her gaze forward.

"What do you want here?" she asks in a husky voice. You sigh.

"That you stop hating yourself and listen to me." You say and she lets out a short laugh.

"And what do you think you can say?" She questions turning her body toward you. "All I do is hurt you."

You shake your head, but Wanda lets out a tearful laugh.

"No you don't understand." She says. "Since I met you, you have only brought me good things. Affection, happiness, hope. You've been that kind warm feeling that I need on my worst days. Hell, you're even the memory for me to cast a patronus." She confesses with emotion, her face wet with tears. "But me? All I bring you is pain and suffering. And now I even bring sickness. This is wrong, I hurt you. You need to see this, and understand that we can no longer happen."

"Don't say that." You ask, reaching up to touch her face, wipe away her tears. "That's not true, Wanda. I love you, you make me..."

"Stop it." She interrupts with a sob. "Don't make it any harder than it already is."

"Please, Wanda, listen to me." You plead, resting your forehead on hers, your hands on her cheeks. "You make me happy, you are the only thing that makes me happy, I love you, please..."

Wanda kisses you hard, and you respond with the same intensity, both of you gasping into each other's mouths.

But then she is pulling away, thrusting you farther apart.

"I'm sorry." She cries, taking a step back. "We're over."

And she's running away again, and this time you don't go after her.

//-//-//-//-//

Without Darkhold's being consumed, you really start to improve in terms of physical health.

The only problem is the emotional ditch you find yourself in.

Gamora, Nebula and Mantis find you, again in the Room of Requirement, skipping class.

"My god this is worse than last time." Gamora remarks as she looks around at the mess of junk food and pillows. The room had been transformed into a "comfortable place", which basically had the appearance of a living room, with several soft armchairs, and lots of unhealthy food. "Why did you guys break up this time?"

"Please don't talk to me." You grumbled, your voice coming out muffled because you were lying on two soft puffs, your face buried in the pillow, your hand inside a bag of muggles snacks.

"I bet you five bucks they'll be back together before the end of the month." Nebula commented and you sniffled against your pillow, hearing a noise that sounded like Gamora hitting her sister.

"We talked to Wanda." Mantis said. "And with Professor Stephen, too. We're sorry about everything, but have you decided you're not going to study anymore?"

"I don't care about school." You grumble against the pillow. "Leave me alone, I want to cry."

Nebula gives a short laugh, and Gamora elbows her.

"Stop hitting me, you crazy." Nebula complains loudly, moving away from her sister to approach you, taking the bag of snacks you have, and making you complain softly. "And you stop being such a drama queen. Aren't you two like soul mates or some shit? It's just a fight, you'll work it out. You're acting like you've never broken up before."

"Your sensitivity is admirable." Gamora scoffs, pushing her sister away to sit next to you, stroking your back until you look up at her. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You feel the urge to cry arise again. "Wanda thinks she is bad for me." You say. "And she doesn't want to be with me anymore, and I want to die."

You start crying again, stuffing your face into the pillow as Gamora strokes your hair.

"How did this happen anyway?" Nebula asks, confused, chewing on salty snacks."You barely slept at home over the summer to be with her, and now you guys are breaking up. It's hard to keep up with this relationship."

"Merlin, Nebula shut up." Gamora asks impatiently, and her sister raises her hands in surrender with an ironic expression. You want to scream against your pillow, but all you do is try to control your crying.

"You can't keep disappearing, sweetheart." Gamora says as she runs her hands through your hair, trying to calm you down. "Kaecilius has already noticed. He's trying to figure out where you're going, and eventually he'll figure it out since you can't stay here forever."

"Maybe I can." You mumble making Gamora laugh softly.

"Come on, I'm sure you miss a decent meal." She says. "Why don't you join us for lunch?"

"I can't sit at your table."

"Who said anything about a table?"

This is how you end up on the edge of the great lake, at a picnic.

Mantis gets several dishes from the house elves, and since lunch is a free social hour, nobody seems to mind that you are eating outside.

Your sisters are not the only students who, over time, have learned ways around school rules.

You grumble slightly as you feel the sun on your face, but lie back on the grass, closing your eyes.

Your mind wanders back to last summer immediately, the memories of Wanda, and you feel horrible. You just want her back. And then you swallow the urge to cry again to accept the juice Mantis offers you.

"We wanted to tell you that we've found a way to help you, too." Gamora says after a moment, causing you to raise your eyebrow. "About the darkhold, and the eternal damnation thing."

"Light topic." You sneer, throwing your arm over your face. The day is hot. "I appreciate the help, of course."

Gamora giggles. "Merlin, I had forgotten how grumpy you get when you're upset."

"I'm not upset, Gamora." You retort angrily. "I'm frustrated."

"Sexually." Nebula sneers, making you grunt in anger, but Mantis holds back a laugh.

"What's your problem with my feelings lately?" You accuse the girl with irritation.

"Not everything is about you, you know." She retorts and you sit up quickly, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nebula laughs, rolling her eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a war going on." She says. "We're all stressed and scared. And the three of us have been in the same classes as you, having to watch the same things. But you only have time for Wanda. And now you've broken up, again, because there's some mortal danger, again, that she's caused for you. So, I don't know, but maybe she is right to break up. Ever since you guys started dating everything has been about her, and the trouble she causes!"

"Fuck you, Nebula!" You exclaim angrily, advancing against the girl in front of you. Gamora and Mantis quickly separate you.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Gamora shoves you. "Were you really going to hit her?"

"Fuck this." You curse angrily, taking a step away. "I didn't ask any of you to come after me. I don't need you. I just need Wanda. Fucking leave me alone."

You turn back to the castle, cursing the wild on your way.

//-//-//-//

Loki is the only friend you have now.

You wouldn't call him a friend exactly.

Kaecilius has put you in detention for three days a week, including Saturday, but mostly you just clean the castle. But when he takes you to the seventh floor, and makes you scrape sentences against your own skin, you don't worry about being alone anymore, because Loki is always on that floor.

It takes a week for you to tell him about the requirement room.

" You could have mentioned it earlier, we would have stuck around here." He comments without sounding upset.

Soon it doesn't take long for you two to start seeing each other even when you're not in detention.

You are not surprised that Loki also skips classes, he has always been quite mischievous, but the reason is different from yours.

He knew dark magic. Much more than you or your classmates. And he has no interest in practicing it in class.

"It's stupid." He comments as you are sitting in the armchairs. "Most people will never have the courage or willpower to cast a death curse. It's useless to learn."

"Is that the only reason you don't agree with the teaching at Hogwarts now?" You ask in surprise, setting up the chessboard for yourself as Loki shrugs his shoulders.

"I feel like you're judging me, Hufflepuff." He sneers but you smile, rolling your eyes.

"Honestly, I don't give a damn."

And you really didn't care.

Wanda was avoiding you in the halls, and you were doing the same with your friends and family.

When Iron delivered the mail to the Slytherin table, including Nebula's birthday presents, you wanted to throw up, but all you did was walk away from the Hufflepuff table toward the requirement room.

Without the darkhold, you didn't feel sick, but the anger didn't go away.

Your magic hadn't stabilized, and you were failing at everything, but you couldn't bring yourself to worry about it.

Erik wrote to you, commenting on the importance of you and Wanda practicing magical balancing together, and you burned the letter while crying on the carpet.

And at this rate, time went by.

It was almost the middle of the school year when things started to take a turn for the worse at Hogwarts, and in the wizarding war as well.

Mephisto is getting stronger, and the order is losing. And Kaecillius must be under some pressure from the ministry, maybe for answers from organizations like the Avengers, which are forbidden, because his detentions get too horrible.

It is Saturday again, and you drag yourself to the room where you are supposed to fulfill your detention, but unlike the other days, Kaecillius locks the door.

You only notice because he seems tense and distracted, and there is no feather or book.

"Professor, what will my punishment be today?" You ask confused, and he is nodding to the center of the room as he stands in front of the desk, a few feet from you.

"Miss Stark, today I want to ask some questions and I expect honesty." He declines as he turns to you.

You hiss softly, putting your hands in your pockets.

"Shoot."

Kaecillius doesn't even mind your lack of formality, looking at you with an impassive face.

"What is Mephisto's location?"

You choke in surprise and disbelief. "Excuse me? Why do you think I know that?"

"The ministry has reason enough to suspect that the Order of the Avengers is nothing more than a cover for the death walkers.Your brother, whom I had suspected of being part of that order of delinquents, is no longer at Hogwarts, but you will have to serve." He speaks and with each word you become more outraged. "Now answer me, where is Mephisto?"

" Did you just fucking call my brother a delinquent?" You mutter incredulously. "I have no idea where Mephisto is, what's your problem?"

But you widen your eyes when the professor draws his wand, and you barely have time to swallow dry before the spell hits you in the chest.

It's the cruciatus curse. You know the second it hits you. The sharp pain fills every cell in your body and you scream, not having the strength to stand or with your eyes open, hugging yourself.

"We must not tell lies, Miss Stark." Kaecillius says as soon as he stops enchanting you, the pain disappears in the same instant, but you continue to tremble.

In complete shock and fear, you sob.

"I will ask you again, where is Mephisto?"

You let the tears flow, and shake your head. "I don't know, professor."

Kaecillius lets out a sigh of disappointment. "Some cases are more difficult than others." He comments somberly, taking a step toward her. "Did you know that the record for enduring the Cruciatus curse before madness is six hours? Incredible, isn't it? It happened during the first war, with a muggleborn. You're a half-blood, maybe you can take longer"

He has a devilish grin as he finishes, and you clench your jaw at the threat.

"I don't know where Mephisto is." You repeat, but the professor points his wand at you again.

"My bet is seven hours."

And then the pain returns.

You don't know how long you stay in that room.

But it is long enough for your consciousness to begin to fade. The pain gets so severe that it gradually fades away. You begin to gasp breathlessly, not even able to scream anymore.

Someone help me. Please, help me. Help me. Wanda.

Between the tears you see the floor of the room, and between a twinge of pain, a red light. And everything is dark again.

//-//-//

“Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Warcraft and Wizard is arrested in flagrant by aurors from the ministry of magic this week, full coverage on page..."

You blink confusedly, your eyes getting used to the clarity, while the headline of the Daily Prophet was the first thing your vision caught.

And then you shifted in bed, realizing that you were in a hospital room , and whoever was reading next to you put the paper down when they heard you, and you could behold the curious look on your brother's face.

"Tony?" you whispered confused, and he smiled as he stood up quickly, the newspaper forgotten on the armchair.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked as his hand reached for the loose strands of hair on your face and put them back. "You scared the hell out of me."

"What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

You thought, and then sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Kaecilius."

Tony bit his lip nervously before speaking.

"I'm sorry." He said, lowering his hand to his own. "I came here as soon as I got the howler from Professor Strange, but honestly, I didn't even need it, because all the newspapers are talking about it."

"What...?" You started in confusion, but Tony hurried to explain.

"Wanda found you, Y/N." He told. "She, well, wasn't exactly happy about the whole thing. I think she lost control. Kaecilius is lucky to be alive if you ask me. She almost destroyed the seventh floor, it was a huge mess. And then the aurors interfered, and soon there were reporters everywhere. I guess now everyone knows she's a scarlet witch."

You widened your eyes, straightening to sit up and grumbling a little in pain. Tony looked at you with concern, asking you to take it easy, but you were already asking about Wanda.

"She's at the ministry of magic." He clarified. "Kaecilius is going on trial for torturing a student, and she will answer for putting everyone in danger."

" What?" you ask incredulously, and Tony sighs.

"Yeah I know it's unfair." He says. "But the minister of magic seems to be looking everywhere for people to blame for his lack of control. The problem is how much of that information will get to Mephisto. The whole ministry seems to be full of walkers."

You ran your hand across your face, frustrated.

"I'm so tired, Tony." You confess in a whisper. "It feels like everything is falling apart around me, and things are only getting worse."

Tony squeezes your hand. "I'm sorry, I really am. This whole situation sucks, and I wanted to help you. I'm trying, sister. I haven't been talking to you as much as I should, but I didn't want you to think you're alone. I'm working on breaking the bond. To free you and Wanda from the prophecy, and the wizarding world from dangers like Mephisto. I'm sorry I haven't been by your side."

You swallow your cry, and nod, trying to smile at Tony. He reaches up to hug you, and you gasp softly, taking a few seconds to relax and let the tears flow.

When you calm down, Tony tells you that he is going to get a Mediwizards to check your situation.

You lie down again, sighing softly. The memories come back with full force, and you choke softly, feeling your body tremble.

It's as if you can feel the curse again, sense the pain on your skin. Opening your eyes and shaking the memories away, you swallow dryly and reach for the glass of water on the nightstand.

You just want Wanda by your side telling you that everything is going to be okay.

//-//-//-//-//

You stay under observation for two days.

Doctor Hank makes a joke about you enjoying St.Mungus more than you should since you keep coming back, but Tony doesn't laugh.

Then you' re going back to Hogwarts by train, because the doctor thinks you shouldn't use magical means of transportation for a few days, and it's weird to take the empty express, but as soon as you arrive at the station, Gamora and Nebula are waiting for you with boxes of candy bought in Hogsmeade, and tight hugs.

You are not surprised by the stares you receive from the other students, but you ignore them as your sisters escort you around the castle to the Hufflepuff communal hall.

"Did you get to talk to Wanda?" Gamora asks as soon as you sit down on your bed, sighing with exhaustion from the train ride. The mention of the other sorceress' name doesn't help.

"Not yet." You say. "And I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she's ignoring me."

Nebula exchanges a look with her sister before sitting down on Mantis' bed, who is hugging her knees and looking at you.

"Honestly, I just want to finish this year without any more problems." You confess as you take off your jacket. And there is a moment of silence before you swallow dryly. "I also wanted to apologize to you guys."

Gamora frowns slightly, but says nothing. You take a deep breath.

"I know I was under the influence of an evil book, but that was still no excuse for treating you guys like that." You begin. "Tony told me about how things are in the wizarding world. Everyone is going through something, and it was selfish of me to think that only my problems matter. I'm sorry."

"Really, Y/N, it's okay." Nebula says, surprising you a bit. "We were all stressed, and well, I think an evil book is a pretty fair excuse." She jokes, making you smile. "Maybe things will get a little better now that Strange is the director."

"Oh, that's right" You comment just then remembering the things Tony updated you on while you were at St.Mungus. Like Kaecillius' resignation, and the position being passed on to Professor Stephen. "But honestly, I won't be at peace until I hear from Wanda."

"The trial isn't until Friday. And the way things are going, we won't get any news until it's over." Gamora warned as she sat down on the bed next to you. "I think the Maximoffs are probably too busy to write."

"What do you think will happen to Wanda?" You ask as you tug at the loose strands of the comforter. Mantis sighs lightly.

"I don't have a good feeling about things, Y/N." She confesses and you frown in concern. "And the stars never lie."

"Thank you, Mantis." You mock softly, and Gamora runs her hands through her hair.

"Let's not be pessimistic, okay?" she says. "Maybe the predictions are about, I don't know, the school finals? It doesn't mean something bad is really going to happen."

You grumble unhappily, grabbing a pillow and sinking your face into it. Gamora strokes your back.

"I'm sure things will work out, Y/N." She says. "Wanda will write as soon as she can."

"Do you guys think Kaecilius will be sent to Azkaban?" Nebula asks next, making you raise your head curiously.

"I wouldn't be so sure." You grumble. "I was actually surprised that he was put on trial at all."

"Well, with the whole mess that happened, it was bound to happen." Gamora said. "More than half the school became aware that he used the cruciatus curse on you, and then the daily prophet. And I didn't even know they were in the castle."

"It was because of Wanda really, wasn't it?" Mantis added. "Kaecillius caused his own ruin. He called the journalists to show what he called progress and decided to torture a student while they were in the castle. Then Wanda destroyed the entire floor and the next morning his arrest was all over the pages."

"I'm just really outraged to know that if no one had seen it, he would probably still be at Hogwarts." Gamora says angrily, and you sigh, agreeing as well as the others.

"Well, you must be hungry, shall we go to the great hall? It's almost dinner time." Gamora comments next, pulling you by the hand. You grumble softly, but agree, and soon you are leaving the communal hall to join the rest of the students.

//-//-//-//-//

You are tapping your fingers gently against the desk as you wait for the History of Magic class to begin.

It is Friday, finally.

You have barely slept because of anxiety about news of Wanda's trial.

Things at Hogwarts have changed a lot this week, all because of Strange's administration.

He restored the old classes, banned the teaching of dark magic, the scandal at the Daily Prophet being enough of an argument that the Minister of Magic no longer had a defense over this kind of teaching at Hogwarts. The restricted session of the library was also put back, and the seventh floor was off-limits because of the destruction Wanda caused, and you unfortunately lost access to the Requirement room.

Mantis was writing what looked like a lunar calendar for the divination class while Professor Okoye didn't arrive, and you started whistling distractedly.

And then Thor Odinson was poking you in the back to get your attention, and you turned around in your chair.

"Hi, Stark, what's up?"

"Fine." You grumbled suspiciously. "Can I help you with something?"

Thor looked almost unsure. "I was just wondering if you know of anything going on with Loki."

You frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I mean if you know if he's sick or something." He explains. "We had a fight, and well, he's not talking to me. And I've noticed that you guys have been kind of close lately, and I was curious if you knew anything and..."

"No, Thor, I'm sorry." You interrupt with a sigh. "Maybe you should ask him that."

Thor assumes a sad expression. "I would, but he's ignoring me. I think it might be about our mother."

You make a confused expression, and Thor looks surprised.

"Our mother, she...died earlier this year, Y/N." Thor counters, and you widen your eyes. "Our family is a name of reference against Mephisto. With the war, the walkers came to our home. She was there while we were here, and Dad was at the ministry."

"I'm so sorry, Thor." You whisper to him, still shocked by the information. He shrugged.

"I thought Loki told you."

"We don't talk about things like that, I guess." You say. "Sorry, I wish I knew how to help you."

"No, it's okay." Thor says with a sad smile. "You being his friend this year is more than enough. I don't like seeing him all alone out here."

You nod lightly, settling into your chair as you notice the teacher entering the room.

Mantis exchanges a look of understanding with you, having overheard the conversation even if accidentally, but she says nothing, and soon you are hearing about the witch hunt in the United States, and you try to focus on that rather than curiosity about how Wanda's trial is going or Loki's current emotional state.

//-//-/-//-//-//

As soon as lunchtime begins, you join the Slytherin table, where some of the students have placed a radio on the table, equally with other students from the other houses, to listen to the trial.

You are not surprised that a student's trial is such an interesting topic for everyone, but after the school started talking about Wanda being a scarlet witch, and the theories circulating around the halls, it was to be expected.

So you sit back while biting your fingertips and listening.

"And now directly from the Ministry of Magic, the trial of seventeen-year-old witch Wanda Maximoff, daughter of legendary witch Erik L-"

Your attention is slightly diverted from the narrative when loud laughter catches your ears.

They are Gryffindor and Slytherin students, exchanging coins. You don't need to hear the conversation to know they are gambling about the trial, the mean laughter and glances in the direction of you and your sisters are enough.

And as if she could feel your growing fury, Gamora touches your shoulder gently.

"Just ignore them, Y/N." She urges and you clench your jaw. " Everything is going to be okay with Wanda."

"I hope you're right, Gamora." You grumble, turning your attention back to the radio.

The narration of the newspaper is generic, and you discover that the audience has been closed off to the reporters.

You take a deep breath, concentrating.

No strange feeling, so Wanda is safe.

You wonder if Erik and Pietro are by her side during the whole thing.

It is only at the end of lunchtime that you have the result.

"It's amazing how things unfold in the ministry this afternoon." Counted the reporter with almost excitement. "After a unanimous vote, the witch Wanda Maximoff was found guilty of endangering her fellow students by not registering as a scarlet witch to the ministry of magic, after it was proven that her father, the sorcerer Erik Lehnsherr knew of her condition, as well as the affiliation with the criminal, Agatha Harkness was also mentioned. The ministry finally decided on Wanda Maximoff's expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding"

You felt your stomach plummet.

And everything became a little muffled around you, a soft whistle in your ear. You think Gamora and Nebula were calling for you, but you were getting up, feeling the room getting too small.

Stumbling out, you loosened the knot of your tie, finally stopping in the courtyard as you leaned your body against a pillar.

Wanda had been expelled from Hogwarts, publicly exposed as a Scarlet Witch, and tried as a criminal. You wondered if they would break her wand. Banned wizards led horrible lives.

Your sisters and friends caught up with you quickly, and you let them hug you.

In a few minutes Director Strange is catching up with you as well, and you release Gamora's grip to talk to him.

"Professor, I need to..."

"You cannot leave Hogwarts, Miss Stark." He interrupts with a wave of his hands and you frown in confusion, ready to protest but he is already speaking. "Tony sent a patronus as soon as the results came out, he already figured you'd want to see Miss Maximoff. The ministry is a mess, and Wanda will be staying with her father there for the minister's final decisions. You should stay here, where you are safe."

"That's not fair!" You squawk angrily. "Wanda needs me, I must-"

"She needs you to be safe." He interrupts again seriously, and then lowers his tone slightly as he notices the curious looks of the surrounding students. "Be rational, Miss Stark. Now that the Wizarding community knows the nature of Wanda's powers, how long before Mephisto has enough information and discovers your identity as protector."

You swallow dryly, clenching your fists begrudgingly. Stephen is right. You look away, and he sighs, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Wanda will be fine, even without her NEWTS, she is an extraordinary witch." He says. "And the year is coming to an end, soon you will be able to see her again."

"She needs me now." You grumble annoyed, turning away from the professor's touch. He looks at you for a moment and then clears his throat.

"I'll see what I can do, Miss Stark." He says."In the meantime, focus on your studies, and be careful."

You frown at Stephen's words, but he is already turning and leaving before you can ask.

As you turn to your friends, Gamora has a worried look on her face.

"Are you okay?" She asks, and you sigh, agreeing to hug her again as you mumble no.

"I can feel how upset she is, Gamora." You grumble against your sister's shirt, wishing you could hug Wanda now. Gamora squeezes you against her arms, and you thank her for her intention even if it isn't enough.

The next few days are like a blur for you.

Many letters arrive, as do many editions of the Daily Prophet.

When the picture of the day Wanda's wand was broken comes out on the front page and you see her tired face, you have to run out of the common room to keep from crying in front of your colleagues.

Everyone writes to you, even Carol, everyone but the Maximoffs.

It is frustrating, and honestly, it breaks your heart in many ways.

The news of a Scarlet Witch after a century is almost as bombastic as Mephisto's return, and you're not surprised that many of your colleagues would start to comment on the possibility of Wanda working with him or against him.

It's overwhelming how everyone talks about her, but all you can feel is how much you miss her around the castle, around you.

You couldn't even remember that your magic is stable, and with everything that has happened, you haven't had time to figure out how to fix things.

Stephen tried to help, but he didn't know what was going on. At least the theoretical part of magic you were able to master, and you hoped to get at least an acceptable score in some subjects.

Only almost a week and a half after the trial, Professor Strange interrupts the potions class to talk to you.

Ignoring the curious stares and whispers of your classmates, you ask Professor Munroe to excuse you, and leave the room.

"What is wrong, professor?" You ask curiously as you close the door, watching Stephen with his hands in his pockets.The dungeons feel emptier without the ministry aurors around the castle.

"Saturday, in the Astronomy tower, nine-thirteen at night." He says as he hands you a small gold key, causing you to frown in confusion. "You will have exactly one hour, Miss Stark. Not a second more."

You stare at the object in your hand, and understand. A portal key. To Wanda.

"Thank you, Professor." You say, and Stephen nods before leaving.

You turn back to potions, the object in your pocket. You could barely contain your anxiety.

//-//-//-//-//-//-//

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A/F/N> Place your bets for my next comeback (a week, a month or tomorrow?). If I delete the blog, and you're in love with this story for some reason I don't know about because there are so many better things to read, know that I'll post everything on AO3 if I ever do.

[audreydoeskaren]

Thank you for posting a review on the book Evolution & Revolution Chinese Dress 1700s - 1990s. It’s so disappointing how the book potentially could’ve been good. What are your favorite books on Chinese fashion history?

Hi, great that you found the review useful! To be completely honest, I haven't really read any books on Chinese fashion before I started this blog, because I mostly used online resources like museums' websites, archaeology reports and other blogs. I actually started this blog in the hopes that people might recommend me some books😅 And I only ever read about the Ming, Qing and republican era so my knowledge is very limited.

Anyway, here are some books people recommended to me that I found great, some that I'm currently reading and some I know to be objectively good:

Ming Dynasty

Q版大明衣冠图志 (2011) 董进著

A classic made by the popular fashion history blogger 撷芳主人 (real name Dong Jin), this book is the ultimate compilation of Ming Dynasty looks illustrated by the most adorable drawings. It has basically everything you need to know about Ming Dynasty garments from informal civilian fashion and theater costumes to the most formal court dress and military uniforms. My only quibble with this book is that it doesn’t specify the decade/year each look is from, giving the false impression that everything could be worn throughout the Ming Dynasty (I heard that he did specify some eras in the new version? I don’t have it so I’m not sure). You can follow the author on Weibo where he regularly posts stuff about the Ming Dynasty, or check out other books and articles written by him. Even if you don’t have the book, you could probably find images of individual entries on the internet. Unfortunately all of it is in Chinese and no English version is available :(

华夏衣冠 中国古代服饰文化 (2016) 孙机著

More of a collection of essays Sun Ji wrote on historical Chinese clothing from a variety of eras, I got it for the chapters on Ming Dynasty xiapei 霞帔 and headwear. Professional, academic language that is still easy to read, plenty of references and neatly traced line drawings of artifacts. Useful diagrams on the structure of 狄髻 diji. However if I remember correctly, Sun had some beef with Dong Jin on the terminology of parts of diji, not sure if that was ever resolved; here’s an article about that. Also only in Chinese (that I know of).

Qing Dynasty

Chinese Reverse Glass Painting 1720-1820 (2020) by Thierry Audric

This is the book form transcript of a dissertation given by the author in 2016. It's more Chinese painting than Chinese fashion but has a lot of wonderful images of 18th century export paintings (with dates even), which depicted fashion realistically. I love 18th century export art in general, they're really beautiful and unusual so I would recommend everybody to check them out. I love this because Chinese oil painting outside of a court context (and all other forms of art that were not literati painting e.g. woodblock print, lithograph, pen and ink illustration) gets very little attention from Chinese art historians. This book could be downloaded for free in pdf form the publisher Peter Lang.

A Fashionable Century: Textile Artistry and Commerce in the Late Qing (2020) by Rachel Silberstein

This book focuses on the 19th century and has some interesting insights on the impact of commercial workshops on Qing fashion, which is a welcome break from the “dragon robes” and women’s domestic work stereotyped in most literature on the Qing. It has rich descriptions of the decoration patterns and fabrics used in the 19th century, accompanied by paintings and photographs. It did kind of fall into the trap of “the late Ming continued into the early Qing” and just dismissed the 18th century altogether, which is a shame. Silberstein’s dating of several prints also appears somewhat incorrect, but it’s still a very useful analysis of the 19th century nonetheless. I read this for free on JSTOR through my university login.

Cinderella’s Sisters: A Revisionist History of Footbinding (2005) by Dorothy Ko

This book is absolutely epic and an undeniable classic on the subject. Ko masterfully avoids all the surface level problematic takes on footbinding and offers an extremely nuanced, extremely well researched overview on the history of footbinding in the Ming, Qing and republican eras, the reasons for its popularity and demise, with a most interesting analysis of the problems with the way people in the republican era went about the abolition of it. The book is more heavy on the social analysis side but also contains a lot of factual description of the process of footbinding, styles popular in different eras etc. I just love how she approaches the topic in the most factual and non-emotionally charged way possible, which is refreshing considering the sheer volume of literature on footbinding that is just brainless condemnation without any nuance, a lot of which also unconsciously perpetuate misogynistic ideas rather than combat them. I don’t know of a way to read this for free, I bought it from Amazon.

Every Step a Lotus (2001) by Dorothy Ko

I haven’t read this yet but apparently it works well as a supplement to Cinderella’s Sisters. Also on footbinding.

China Trade Painting 1750s to 1880s (2014) by Jack S C Lee / 中国外销画 1750s - 1880s 李世庄著

Another book on export art, focusing more on the established painters. Lee digs a bit more into the painters’ experiences and biographies, with big portions on George Chinnery and Lam Qua, but also includes plenty of portraits and scenery paintings depicting men’s clothing and the architecture of the studios at the Guangzhou factories (十三行). It’s great because the paintings included were super realistic and well made with accurate proportions and anatomy----the quality on a par with those produced by the European academies----so they contemplate conventional Chinese portraits made in the same era in showing how the clothing fits on the body. Again I bought this book second hand from Amazon.

----

I don’t know of any reliable books for republican era fashion because for some reasons most discourse on it is centered around the glorification and mystification of the cheongsam... Fortunately, due to the abundance of extant originals and photographs, books are largely not necessary for the research of republican era fashion :3

There are some other books and articles that were recommended to me but I haven’t yet read: x, x

@fouryearsofshades also made a post recently recommending books and it covers other time periods as well.

If anyone knows any other books on the Ming, Qing or republican era please tell me regardless of good or bad. I need to read more😅

[barbika1508]

May Your Souls Take Flight

Word Count: 4,7k

Genre: Soulmates AU, Demon Au

Pairing: Demon! Jeon Jungkook x Demon! Reader, Demon King! Taehyung x Reader

Inspiration/ Author’s Notes: Atli Örvarsson - The Eagle soundtrack One of my favourite soundtracks of all time, I’ve just played it and let my imagination run, plus emotions. The tension, the built up, romance all of it. This one-shot is sort of the end of a story I’ve not written. But there is fighting in it, undying love, twists, they are demons, what more can one wish for?

The vivid sparks have me flinching, body thurming with adrenaline and fire that burns inside me. Given my reaction Jeongguk takes advantage of it drawing his sword back the clash from our blades letting the sparks die down. Blindly not knowing where his next attack might be aimed at, I push myself backwards onto the ground with enough momentum to roll over and further away barely avoiding the swing from the demon, his Geom scraping the ground damaging the masterfully crafted ground of the courtyard. Not something I have to worry about, given the villa we are hiding in belongs to my friend, Seokjin who I’m sure is not going to shy away from the issue later at dinner.

Ending on my knees my glare shifts onto the amused solider smirking cheeky, impressed I’d say at the manoeuvre I just pulled off.

No words are needed to be spoken, the tension of the air surrounding us falling like a heavy blanket, keeping both of our bloods running hot. His pointer finger is taunting as it thumps against the handle of his weapon, cockiness something I’ll attribute to his age. Readjusting my grip on my own blade it sits secure fingers grasping it with comfort - I’m more secure with my sword than any other utensil even something as ordinary as a spoon - my wrist remaining loose putting this illusion so to speak as if I’m unable to hold onto my own blade properly. In most cases this is how my enemies earn their downfall - by underestimating me.

But he is different. Soul-bonded he knows my tricks, reading me with ease.

Lucky for me and my survival purposes the same goes for me, the subtle readjusting of his footing not something I miss. It's why his next attack swift as a snake pouncing on its prey comes as predictable. Foregoing on destroying my weapon more than necessarily I push away similarly like before jumping out of his range, skipping left and right the following swings powerful enough to have a real threat to kill me if he would manage to make contact.

Instead, in his attempt of wining points my counterpart begins heavily breathing inexperience and over-confidence showing, his body giving out if only for a moment. His next swing is done out of desperation, and necessity to survive this himself.

The foolish thing that is youth pulls him down like chains as I grasp the blade letting the sharp edge rest between my pointing finger and thumb the lack of power not even scraping my skin as I thrust my own blade forth the now scratched but mostly untarnished metal resting underneath his Adam’s apple.

He gulps standing in the most inconvenient position, ready to topple over. Body leaning in a pouncing stance he’s forced to keep his left leg up, right arms stretched palm and the hilt of his Geom near my face as my left hand holds onto the blade firmly just behind my shoulder.

While his stance is all wrong, something of a beginner’s foolishness almost - even though he is far from a rookie or being a foolish young boy training to move into manhood - I stand on both of my feet, stance in line with my shoulders holding my enemy secure, steadying my blade right under his chin.

Now I’m unable to hold a smirk admiring his pretty features tasting the dread through our bond that sinks its claws into him.

‘’Cute.’’ I find myself complimenting, taunting dying on the tip of my tongue, his emotions influencing me to redirecting my cockiness. Blush hits his cheeks and ears, my soulmate pulling back – something I let him do – embarrassment I find endearing as he’s trying to act and portray himself as an independent demon, ready to take on anything, making himself seem to be stronger than he looks. He puffs his chest out even, entire body tensing – aka flexing.

‘’I think you have me confused for someone else my lady.’’ He deepens his voice making me roll my eyes but send a glance around specially towards a group of ladies in waiting standing near the entrance of the living quarters having been lingering there for a while now. At my look they begin to scurry inside, their whispers reaching my earshot.

‘’I’m rarely mistaken, lover. You know that.’’ the teasing easily slips back his flush deepening as he’s the one looking around this time, jumping into my personal space in panic. As if to shield me away, the whispers not something to concern ourselves about, pettiness easily squished in most cases.

‘’Not so loud.’’ He urges our height difference something I only dislike in times when I don’t have the advantage of kissing him ‘’The walls have ears.’’ He continues, our relationship something fresh Jeongguk still of young age only now gaining reputation, partially thanks to me and our soul-bond an occurrence the only thing I did not anticipate of happening in my life.

‘’Let them hear.’’ I keep my voice at a normal level, rising on my tiptoes not coming closer to his lips, which I do admire even as his head and eyes are going everywhere ‘’My husband to be.’’

His eyes snap onto me at my statement, my grin reaching the sky at his feelings of astonish flood through our bond, warm tingles following. His rigid form softens the whole unbreakable character he keeps portraying in front of the others, disappearing gradually the more he looks at me and feels my own emotions of ease, and amor the fact that I am smitten with him a huge factor in breaking down his steel-built doors.

‘’One day.’’ I add pleased that he reaches and takes my hand into his. He’s warm. Very warm.

‘’Soon.’’ Forgotten are his worries for the moment, my charming Jeongguk making an appearance as he raises my hand and presses a kiss like he is a princeling and has been his entire life and not the rugged soldier that climbed up the ranks by hard work earning his spot by my side eventually ‘’Very soon. My beloved.’’

-

His cry is vicious rattling my bones, easing reassurance into my being even if I have found myself in this peculiar position. A sharp cold blade pressed against my neck should be of great concern the promise of an end to something I've wanted before in this long life I've lived. And yet it has me grinding my teeth, grip around my hair firm not letting me move an inch besides my rising and falling chest as my breathing remains laboured after the fight of my life some might say.

My opponent’s hold is cruel as it should be, the king of hell unchanged after millennia of knowing him our crossed path having been spent adorned in pleasure at times and in others in conversation of all things. An unlikely friendship and companionship for a few years. But not this time, gone are those days. Showing his real face finally, he returned with vengeance a new purpose in life.

A goal that involves myself something akin to the position he’s holding me in now, minus the blade and my soulmate shouting in rage across us, his frustrations lying out in the open as well as his weakness - me.

Taehyung chuckles under his breath tipping the blade higher forcing me to raise my chin as it nicks my jawline.

Somehow in the back of my mind I knew my end was nearing my past actions not too far behind me, karma working relentlessly. Even with my soulmate being one of the strongest beings in all realms unfortunately for him he cannot go against the fates.

I think that’s why his agony will be so much worse than my own. His need to protect almost pure in on itself it has always been a ridiculous notion to me. Not that I don’t care about my beloved because I’m here willing and ready to sacrifice my life for him. But he was always better in everything he did. He is better.

‘’My, my.’’ Taehyung’s deep timbre sends goosebumps to rise on skin, the hold on my hair lessening but not disappearing as he keeps me close at his feet back to him forcing me to stare at Jeongguk across the ravine created by the demon king himself to separate us in the midst of the fight, his army of 500 having been thinned out to dozen demon’s barely standing against us two. Until he interfered himself determined to separate us pulling the earth apart using our past to get to me.

Unlucky for my better half, he’s left fighting off the best of Taehyung’s general’s their black angel wings furling and unfurling blazing swords clashing against my beloved as he fights at times with ease pushing or slamming the fallen angels away, the weak times that do occur he barely makes it out uninjured. His stamina is what I think impressed the demon king holding me captive, hand in hair keeping me from running, his blade under my chin there just for theatrics and thill.

‘’Stubborn, isn’t he?’’ The demon says in wonder I’m sure mesmerized as I always am with my soul bound as he despite his fatigue and past injuries catching up to him remains graceful as ever, knocking the supposedly unbeatable creatures at their own game.

I hum in agreement ignoring the heaviness of my heart knowing that end is close. Knowing there’s a chance he could be killed. Despite the burning in me, fire brewing in the pit of my stomach my body remains pliant Taehyung’s unflattering mark in the form of a bite resting uncomfortably at the nape of my neck, the metal of my armour having been torn from my form leaving behind already formed bruises I presume under the chainmail I’ve still on.

‘’Death looms over your fated one, darling Y/N-ah.’’ the demon king speaks gently bending so he’s kneeling behind me, grip losing its strength to relocate to my neck the sword tipping front the blade resting over my still protected thigh but across my body nonetheless threat loud and clear even in silence ‘’And yet you feel no remorse, no fear, no desperation to even beg for your beloved’s life.’’ I slightly frown as his long tongue comes out licking a stripe over my cheek his mood twisted but not unfamiliarly so.

As on que Jeongguk lets out another yell, covered in more splatters of blood having beaten the generals literally into the ground, none of them getting up.

‘’Not a day goes by without me thinking about us, petal.’’ The kisses he applies are soft tender on my cheek, holding lessening as if to test my patience and resolve. ‘’What we had was special.’’ It's not hard to pick up on the hidden desire in his tone.

Stubborn as my soulmate I keep my eyes trained on him watching as he moves against one of hell’s best generals Min Yoongi, descendant of royal blood strapped with powers Jeongguk couldn’t even comprehend if unleashed. And yet my brave, skilled and handsome lover remains fighting sword clashing against the generals with no less strength or vigour.

‘’I couldn’t just let go of you, my treasure.’’ I half smirk at the nickname his agenda not too far-fetched, yearning unwanted but impossible to oppose ‘’You were made for me as much as you were made for him.’’

My body shudders at his words something unsettling in my heart clicking into place. It lodges itself in my chest forcefully stealing my breath away as something untangles emotions for the moment static, as something no…a part of me laid dormant begins awakening

‘’That’s it my beloved that’s it.’’ Taehyung sings sword dropping on the ground, his hands holding me against him, hardness hard to miss as it presses against my backside.

I grind my teeth together conflicted with his words, them not making any logical sense. Jeongguk’s emotions slam against my own overwhelming me, as he falls on his knees in front of General Min who heave’s as much as my soulmate does but stands victorious above him.

As if I called for him, Jeongguk's head turns right, our eyes meeting, fear quick to ripple through my system. It’s not my fear. Oh no. He’s not afraid of death or dying, torture at the back of his mind.

It takes my breath away leaving my lungs constricting. The mind-numbing fear that courses through Jeongguk leaving him almost delirious and half-crazy with the intensity of emotions and thoughts memories going through his mind - even at the doors of death my soulmate fears more than anything else for me My safety, my wellbeing.

‘’Adorable, aren’t you?’’ Taehyung coo’s head resting against my own hands getting bold as he tears away my bounds, breaking the fine crafted leather belts that hold my armour together metal falling on the ground with a silent clatter ‘’Sad, isn’t it?! Millenia of solitude for fate to pair you up with the likes of him, fragile and spendable.’’ the hum he lets out is too cheerful for the circumstances, Jeongguk’s eyes never leaving my own even as General Min raises his blade intent to strike waiting for his king's final order.

The plates over my thighs fall apart, leaving me in chainmail and under clothing - the odd thing is that I don't feel exposed as I should be without the layers of metal.

‘’You should have accepted my offer, petal.’’ he runs his sharpened teeth over my neck again forcing a shiver to run down my spine ‘’Should have let me claim you.’’ a wet kiss under my jaw has me trembling my eyebrows furrowing as I stare at Jeongguk wishing he was the one holding me, as another wave fear makes an appearance unsettling me.

‘’Should have let me crown you.’’ Taehyung hums, rutting his hips into my back, fingers digging into the fine crafted dwarven chainmail tearing it like it means nothing. His touches grow bold over the cloth long tongue tracing my skin ‘’Would have saved you the heartache.’’

I tilt my head away as he licks over the bite mark on the left side of my neck, the newly formed connection tingling as he licks away my blood seemingly coming more alive behind me, body encompassing my own.

Still keeping my eyes on Jeongguk I’m left incredulous at the smirk he suddenly offers.

A cocky little smirk that I chided him for so many times, to keep serious, to keep his head cool, to not show anything to his enemies, his teasing not helpful my soul bound persistent in trying to be devious. A smirk that made me fall for him harder and faster as by each passing day, I’ve fallen hard for him. A smirk.

It has my heart speeding up, love blooming for the man across me, my soulmate somewhat at peace as he stares into my eyes the same way I stare into his. Unable to hold back I reflect the easy-going feeling’s that have settled in his gut as I offer a smirk of my own in return the one that always draws itself over my features whenever I end up triumphant over him.

Taehyung’s restlessness is getting worse behind me, hands needy as he runs them underneath my clothing touch burning my skin - and yet it doesn’t matter. All will end soon enough.

‘’How about I give you my wedding gift to you huh?’’ His words have my smirk faltering as disgust builds in my mouth, despite my body starting to heat up thanks to his touches, to his need being translated through the bond he forced upon me, his mark painful and ever present. One hand comes up to cup my face holding my head straight ahead as he tut’s his front pressed flush to my back making it known that he has entrapped me, that there is no way out and that I am his, bloody shoulder I’m sure visible even to my soulmate whose expression hardens numbness setting in after a final whisper of his love cursing through the bond, my soul already weeping for what is to come.

‘’Watch very carefully my darling bride.’’ the demon kind taunts in a gentle tone enjoying this torture he is unleashing upon me, drawing things out.

With a heavy heart, and barely working lungs I stare as the general raises his sword, the handful of demons left alive circling my soulmate like ominous pillars just to make sure he’ll stay put.

Jeongguk my beloved Jeongguk tares his eyes away, hands falling to his sides as he closes his eyes. His eyes that hold galaxies in them, eyes that were the first thing I’ve fallen in love with, expressive even when half opened, always finding my own in complete darkness or blinding light. As he kneels, he accepts his fate, love radiating from the debts of his heart unrattled as it grows and burns for me.

Cockiness fills me, other emotions deeming useless.

The sword pointed towards the sky, begins its descent. I'm sure sharp as a needle ensuring a swift kill.

My eyes close shut thanks to a flinch just like they did the first time I’ve sparred with Jeongguk, instincts making me do so. Even now behind my closed eyelids I can see the very same sparks reigniting. If only for a passing moment.

Smoke fills my lungs engulfing my body changing the air around me, changing the surface under my knees. Taehyung’s hold doesn’t lessen it relocates to my front as I find my hands tied instead of behind my back, above me my head landing against something soft.

‘’There we go.’’ he coo’s leaving me puzzled, his body nestled in between my spread legs wrapped around his waist. My eyes shoot open in question, sanity still present as I stare at the demon king, who is looking at me like a lovesick puppy, stirring the branches inside my heart gaze alone tearing them apart pulling out more and more unwanted feelings of deep and hidden love for him. Similar to the one I felt from the first day my eyes landed on Jeongguk, our souls having bonded right then and there.

Puzzled I’m speechless like I have been this entire time not finding my voice having lost it seemingly.

‘’So pretty, aren’t you?’’ Taehyung murmurs looking entranced, eyes gleaming with molten gold as he leans above me, hands propped near my head not touching me further only admiring ‘’Finally marked untouchable to anyone else, safe and sound.’’ he ends in a whisper lowering himself, inching closer displaying his strength, encompassing me one more time ‘’Finally you are mine to have.’’

His voice turns into a growl. Yet instead of going in for a kiss as many men would want to devour a maiden let alone their new bride, he rests his head near my heart leaving me as lost as ever.

Breathing heavily, he remains still enabling me to take in the room he must have teleported us into. It must be his given the lavish furniture and the massive size of it let alone the bed we are on. That still doesn’t answer my question as to why I’m not left insane. Why hasn’t part of my soul die with the death of my soulmate.

‘’Even as your heart beats for me now…’’ Taehyung begins raising his head looking at me with a bit of hurt twisting my gut at the mere sight ‘’...you are still thinking about him.’’

I open my mouth to reply but find nothing in my lungs, giving him an apologetic look instead as he makes my heart ache. It’s conflicting, maddening so to switch my emotions from my literal soulmate destiny having paired us since birth onto Taehyung who I’ve loved in the past, and who has bonded us despite my resistance - at first.

‘’He was my soulmate Tae-yah.’’ I whisper tears glazing my eyes as his previously mentioned heartache fills my already overflowing heart forcing pain and grief to surface the newly formed bond with the demon king forcing me to steady it as he is my bonded partner now.

‘’I know.’’ the demon whispers cupping my right cheek, his eyes darting over my face as he wipes away the falling tears.

His words only bring anger forth my mind, unable to comprehend the game he is playing. It twists badly in my stomach my love for him forced, repelling the fire within me ready to burst from the onslaught of emotions.

‘’Shhhhh my beloved, don’t fret.’’ leaning in he presses a kiss to my unmoving lips as I continue glaring not even able to wish death to grace him. Our bond prevents it, so it prevents me from any malicious intent towards him as he is all I have now.

Pulling back a lopsided smirk full of confidence draws itself over his pretty lips, golden eyes still shimmering with something I am unable to read. He crawls back up straightening hands gentle as he caresses my curve’s, fingers curling in the fabric clinging onto my body. He tears my clothing to shreds entirely leaving me bare for his eyes only, them being hungry as they devour me, his big hands not as warm as Jeongguk’s placed over my knees smile not faltering for a moment, his lips pretty.

‘’There is no fire like the fire from hell.’’ he begins voice taking a melodic tune to it out of all things ‘’And yet your fire burns brightest and strongest my beloved. I’m eager to let you corrupt every part of my damned soul, my queen.’’

‘’Corrupt and destroy, my king.’’ finding my voice it comes out melodic as his, his bite not only bonding our souls, but empowering me his power something I can taste. The blaze in my heart feels like it’s ready to explode from within the confines of my chest, Taehyung aiding my inner conflict providing fuel.

He looks absolutely delighted feeling the rage build inside me, feeling it tether the edge of its destruction. I know for a fact I am ready to destroy hell itself.

‘’Hmmmm how much I adore you I cannot even put into words, Y/N-ah.’’ he groans chest ending up growling as he grins a boxy smile showing off his sharpened fangs.

‘’Amazing, isn’t she?’’ The voice has me kicking against the demon in defiance, the cherry on top toppling over as he is in murderous waters toying with me.

‘’I’m going to end you.’’ I growl the onslaught of grievance and rage surfacing. I pull my arms down breaking the spell he put on me with not effort. Pushing him over is easier than I expected it to be the demon king falling flat on the bed in surrender – something that clicks later in my head – giving me the chance to crawl over, position familiar as I summon a blade to my dominant hand the weight of it familiar, as I press the sharpened tip to his neck unlike him not doing it out of theatrics.

Even if our bond something that has been studied for thousands of years it limitations written down, I’m determined to be the first one to break it, I’m intent on doing anything and everything that will hurt him the hesitation the literally slowing down of my body making me snarl losing my control for a mere moment, his shinning smile of pride not helping.

What captures my attention are a pair of eyes in the corner of my eye just above me, where Taehyung head is resting not on a bed but on someone's lap. Looking up despite everything in me telling me not to do so and to end the demon king and end myself after, my eyes dart upwards meeting more molten gold paired with familiarity I’ve started calling home.

Stunned but with a murderous grip on the demon king beneath me I stare at my soulmate in bafflement not knowing what to do or how to react. His cocky smile spurs me to tighten my hold on the already choking demon beneath us.

‘’You have no clue how mesmerizing you are at all, my Beloved.’’

Not even thinking I press my hand on Taehyung’s neck, redirecting my sword - Jeongguk sword I notice belatedly – pressing the blade over the muscular chest of who appears to be my soulmate. He doesn’t flinch, only tilts his head to the side like he does whenever he thinks about something hard.

Turning my glare down to the demon king he looks red in the face but otherwise giddy, eyes sparking as they look at us ‘’It is not an illusion.’’ the man acting like my soulmate says voice painfully accurate. Meeting his eyes, it's hard to believe he’s not a demon in disguise, the colour of his irises throwing me off as much as is the familiarity of his gaze.

I tilt my head to the side the habit I’ve picked from him as I try to comprehend and think of solutions as to what is happening.

‘’Y/N-ah.’’ Jeongguk calls beginning to shift forcing me to straighten upright hand tightening around the handle as he proceeds uncaringly to grip the end of the black coloured linen shirt, he wore under all his gear. A shirt I’ve helped dressed him in before having descended into hell taken forcefully by Taehyung’s generals.

‘’You’re not my Jeongguk-ah.’’ I growl sceptically. Despite my words, things start to align in my head the lack of insanity, the overbearing emotions bubbling underneath my skin, the appearance of deeply buried emotions peeking out, fear still being something that’s hard to adjust to after all the years of bearing down on it.

The man pulls the shirt off leaving him bare to my eyes, his well-built muscles and body a perfect imitation of my lover. His tattoos are the same, the shaky one I've engraved into his skin ever present, words promising eternal love tugging at the strings of my heart, the bond to Taehyung trotting right along.

With the revelation of his skin, it's not hard to miss a bloodied bite mark over his left bicep. It strikes this rattle of cold to strike against my rising anger leaving me shaky and conflicted. I’m not one to run away but when strategy calls for it I do so, same as in the sparing matches with Jeongguk I used to make him run after me.

Pulling myself across the bed my back hits the headboard sooner than I’d like hands for the first time since I was a girl shaking barely able to hold the weapon that’s my last line of defence. Even as my walls begin crumbling down, their love overwhelming.

‘’When?’’ my voice comes out demanding, Jeongguk staying still while Taehyung props himself up keeping the distance, his aura of strength the raw power he contains making itself known. It has me almost snorting as ‘My end is inevitable.’ Phrase ringing out in my head.

A memory flashes right before my eyes, the fight at that point having gotten beyond serious a few of the generals legitimately bringing me down almost. My preceptive shifts from fighting with an always deadly Jimin to Taehyung’s own point of view, showing me the moment, he joined the fight managing to bite my soulmate, the progression of him separating us revealing he used only a fraction of his power.

Something to keep in mind. He might look like an enamoured puppy, but he is far from it. So, my soulmate’s bond was belated, emotions needing time to process unlike the pull of my own emotions as I’ve had a connection before with Taehyung.

It was his plan all along. Isolate us, kill any and every ally I’ve had, or get them to their side Seokjin the one that unfortunately aided in our descend to hell. Huh clever.

Same as using our ‘affair’ to his advantage, his love now steady almost transmitting through the bond my arm giving out Jeongguk’s sword clamouring to the ground, my soul-bound jumping forth eagerly pulling me into him Taehyung not far behind, his touch not as familiar as Jeongguk’s warm hands are but ever present.

‘’I truly meant when I said you were meant for us.’’ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Masterlist / Ao3 Copyright 2022© by barbika1508. All rights

[solomonish]

You Burned So Brightly (Simeon x Reader)

Simeon has fallen, and he left his memories in the Realm that cast him down. They sent him straight back to you, but nothing is ever that easy.

ao3 link: here!

With a single, brilliant streak of light across the Devildom sky, the battles that were on the brink of becoming a second war came to a halt. Smoke curled up in the distance, light and airy like nothing you've ever seen before. The demons near the impact seemed to itch, the holy energy burning off into the air burning their skin. In the middle of a small crater, barely bigger in diameter than the fallen angel was in height, Simeon struggled to bring himself to his knees. As you stood before the impact site, Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Lucifer near your side, you did your best to avoid cringing at Simeon's groans of pain.

Diavolo called for his attention, his authoritative voice only engaged for the sake of the surrounding, curious citizens. After a moment, Simeon forced his head up, clear blue eyes scanning the crowd. His eyes fell to you last, and though he held his gaze for a long time, recognition never flashed within him.

Simeon had fallen, and he left his memories in the Celestial Realm.

---

Barbatos led you to the room where Simeon was staying, informing you of any progress he and Diavolo had made and updating you on their search for a suitable place for him to live. Vaguely, you heard Barbatos ask if you agreed that a nice, cozy area on the outskirts of town would be nice, preferably something with enough yard space for a small garden. You hummed in agreement, and even though the both of you knew you had no say in the matter, Barbatos still gave you a displeased glance. He knew you weren't listening.

He stopped outside the door, hand faltering before the doorknob when you called out to him. Green eyes as impassive as always, he turned towards you fully and let his hand fall to his side. Before speaking, you glanced at his eyebrows and nearly sighed in relief to see his eyebrows weren't furrowed in the slightest. Despite the side-eyes and rather tense atmosphere, he wasn't truly mad at you.

Keeping your voice low, you asked, "Does he remember any of the exchange program?"

Barbatis kept his expression flat, but he did jut his chin just a hint, the closest thing you would get to a frown. "Bits and pieces. Nothing new."

"Why does he still only remember things in fragments?"

There was a pause. This was information you were permitted to know; but just because Barbatos was allowed to tell you did not mean he should. Still, you were notorious for snooping around and getting what you wanted anyway. "We believe he had too much sensitive information about the Celestial Realm, but the job was done in haste to bring the battles to a close."

"Oh." You didn't have any expectations set for his response, but you still felt a heavy stone, similar to disappointment, settle in your stomach. Perhaps dread was more appropriate - though anymore, your gut was always tied in knots and your emotions were just as jumbled. "Does it hurt him?"

"Physically? No," Barbatos answered, reaching for the doorknob again. You opened your mouth to ask for more details, but Barbatos gave you a look that said, clearly, you'll see. Shutting your mouth, you squared your shoulders and allowed him to open the door.

The room, grand yet somehow seeming plain for a palace's guest room, looked the same as it had all the times before. None of the chairs moved from their expertly-placed positions in the room, having been unoccupied for the entirety of Simeon's stay. Each book was nestled into its place in its case, and not a single gap ruined the uniform, brick-like image of the surrounding bookshelves. Even the bedsheets, still perfectly tucked beneath the mattress, looked unused, the only crinkles in the sheets coming from directly beneath the occupant.

Simeon sat in the middle of the bed, knees drawn to his chest and arms resting atop them. You could see his blue eyes surveying the room, a change from the past days but not exactly an improvement. The aura surrounding him was menacing, and if you strained your ears you could almost hear a low growl. Despite sitting in one spot for days like a scared animal, Simeon never felt more like a predator.

"Hello, Simeon," You said. You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, but Barbatos' hand on your shoulder stopped you. When you turned to look at him, he was already shaking his head. This was as close to Simeon as you would be allowed to get.

"You're back," Simeon noted, his voice devoid of any fondness. It was still the same pitch as before, but it no longer sounded like a delicate tune carried on the warm summer breeze. Instead, it felt more like a warning shot, sharp and threatening yet drawing no blood. He sounded dangerous.

"I am. I was hoping you might remember something new, but...it seems that's not the case."

Simeon looked you up and down before scoffing. "What makes you think you're so memorable?"

Not wanting to anger him, you chuckled in response, hoping it didn't sound as awkward as it felt. Simeon's eyes never left your form, and you missed the way his pupils widened, almost like a cat's.

You could hear him murmur under his breath, "Perhaps I could recognize you by the way you taste…" It was a poor attempt at intimidation, but it was intimidation nonetheless. When you looked up at Simeon, his pupils were blown wide, making his eyes almost entirely black. Instinctively you stepped back, watching as Simeon unfolded himself for the first time in days.

Barbatos' grip on your shoulder tightened right as Simeon pounced, pushing you behind him as he chanted some spell you'd never heard before. Though the attack seemed to move in slow motion, he ushered you out all too quickly, slamming the door shut and locking it physically before casting another spell. Right as he finished speaking, something solid slammed against the door, and you could hear Simeon snarling on the other side.

"He's reconciling," Barbatos explained vaguely. "He's not used to craving human souls, or to the shifting energies inside him. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Good. Come with me. We'll have to report what happened."

Though you didn't want to, you followed Barbatos again down the hall, this time taking care to trail a bit behind in your own petty act of defiance.

You knew, at least for a while, that you would not be seeing Simeon again.

---

When you were permitted to visit him again, you were relieved. Whatever rehabilitation efforts Diavolo and Barbatos were working on took longer than you thought, and days stretched into weeks until you were wondering if they were losing hope in his recovery as you were. Of course, the pair had more information than you did, but in a situation that seemed as dire as this, your worry was warranted.

The hallway you walked countless times before was the same as always, yet you found yourself surveying the walls. Barbatos was not relaying any information to you this time, which was strange; clearly, if you were allowed to see Simeon again, progress had been made and there was information to give. But you were eager to get in the room, so you didn’t waste time with questions that would be answered firsthand and allowed Barbatos to open the door for you anyway.

Stepping into the guest room, it finally looked more lived in than the last time. The desk on the opposite wall, surrounded by bookcases, had a few papers and pens scattered around it, something like an outline lying face-up in the middle. A few books had been removed from the shelves, their neighbors slumping over in the void they left. Simeon was in one of the plush armchairs in the room, a book in his hands with his eyebrows furrowed. His posture was slumped, nothing like the practiced perfection he had as an angel.

You took a few steps into the room, noticing how Simeon stiffened yet did not take his eyes away from the book in his hands. Barbatos stepped into the room, the door shutting with a click. He made no effort to be within arm’s reach of you, but you could still feel his protective presence over your shoulder.

Barbatos cleared his throat, and Simeon begrudgingly put his book down, eyes falling immediately to you. “Simeon, as I’m sure you can see, MC has arrived to see you again.”

Simeon looked blatantly unamused. “So you have,” He murmured, pushing on the arms of the chair to straighten his posture. You sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, eyeing the space between the two of you.

You could feel the lapse in his memories as if it was a palpable tension in the air. The way Simeon held you in his gaze, distrusting, wondering why a human was so interested in him and why you were not a welcome meal was enough to send shivers down your spine. Fighting the urge, you turned to take in the room, hoping for something interesting to comment on. “I see you’re outlining something. Could you have remembered something for the next installment of TSL?”

“Those books…” Simeon was eyeing the outline on the desk, but he trailed off and darted his eyes back to you distrustfully before he could continue. You felt something left unsaid, but had no idea what it could be.

“We’ve tried using them to jog his memory,” Barbatos explained. “It didn’t work.”

Though Simeon masterfully used clear inspirations from real life, such caricatures of the brothers and their lives must have been a difficult idea to unlearn. Briefly, you wondered if you had been made into a character in the series yet. Part of you hoped you weren’t. It would probably be better if you built your relationship with him from the ground up - no matter how long it may take or how painful it may be.

For once, Simeon appeared bashful, averting his gaze again. “I do remember some of the plot points, though,” he murmured. “I just don’t know what they mean.”

Before anybody could stop you, you reached out and placed a hand on Simeon’s knee. His body was cold like the brothers’, enough to seep through his clothes and draw your attention. You missed the comforting warmth he used to carry. You missed when he would look at you and you didn’t feel like he hated you, too.

“Maybe they don’t mean anything anymore,” You offered, ignoring Barbatos’ piercing stare. Whether he was warning you to keep your hand away or keep your thoughts to yourself, you didn’t know, but you didn’t pay attention to either warning. “Maybe now they’re just stories, and life gets to be something else.”

When you contacted Diavolo about seeing Simeon again, he warned you the meeting would not be long. Still, the way Barbatos ushered you out felt as though he were cutting your time short as punishment for potentially risking their endeavors to restore Simeon’s memories. Before he shut the door on you, you looked back to see Simeon staring at his knee, thinking over what you said. No lecture came from Baratos, but if it had, it wouldn’t have mattered.

From that day on, Simeon started venturing out of his room.

You heard from Lucifer one night, having pestered him after another night of returning home late from the castle, that Simeon had taken to wandering the halls by himself. He never took anything, never seemed to intend to cause problems, and instead took his time taking in every painting. Every time one of the staff members went to check on him and found his room empty, the entire castle went on lockdown, yet when Simeon was made aware of this he merely seemed amused. You asked why nobody was locking the door, and Lucifer gave you an exasperated expression. Like a pet rat, Simeon kept finding ways to unlock the door so he could roam. Perhaps that was why Barbatos seemed to be having such a hard time recently.

With his newfound desire to adapt - and the trust that, in the backwards fashion you came to expect from the Devildom, came from him being alone in the castle without ruining something, even if his escape was counterintuitive to building trust in him - Little Ds were used to tend to him when higher-ranking demons were busy. The only time somebody checked in on him was to evaluate his mental state and to safeguard your visits. Those, too, were slowly becoming less formal, and soon you were going to the castle and simply being pointed in the direction to his room, rather than being led.

You knocked on his door, unsurprised to hear silence on the other end. However, this was the first time it happened and you were alone. Though you were trusted and respected (among the nobility, anyway) in the Devildom, wandering aimlessly around the castle didn’t seem like the smartest idea. A small pattering of footsteps behind you caught your attention, and you turned to see a Little D standing behind you. His horns were curled like Satan’s, his eyes burning green as if a fire was lit behind them. You smiled at him, and he only tilted his head - as much as he could, anyway.

“Have you seen Simeon?” You asked him, hoping he’d be one of the easy-going ones. After studying you for a moment, the Little D only nodded. Talkative, no, but you were right on him being relaxed. Following his lead, you soon found yourself in one of the smaller sections of the castle garden. The Little D floated over the twisting roots and vines underfoot, sparing you no time to step over and around the obstacles. By the time you found him again, he was waiting impatiently at an opening between a line of small trees, leading to a courtyard with an overgrown fountain in the middle. He left in the middle of your breathless thanks, which you finished in a sigh.

Simeon heard and turned towards you, his attention pulled from one of the broken busts on a pedestal. “Hello. If I had known I’d have a visitor today, I would have waited for you.”

His greetings were slowly becoming more friendly, you noticed. Smiling at him, you made your way over to him, thankful for the worn stone beneath your feet instead of the purposeful overgrowth behind you. “What are you doing out here?”

Simeon shrugged. “I’ve grown tired of the same hallways and that room.”

“Not willing to explore different hallways? I hear they get pretty exciting in the east wing.”

He smirked at that. “Even I know not to venture there. I have no interest in pushing my luck.”

Turning back to the bust, you watched him grip his chin thoughtfully. You wondered if that was a trait of all wrath demons, considering their lord, or if it was merely an impulse based on him being well-read. In this moment, he looked startlingly like Satan, a fact that both calmed you and worried you. Satan was a good influence for him, sure - but the more he influenced Simeon, the less like himself Simeon would turn out to be.

“You’re thinking pretty loudly over there,” Simeon said, and for a moment, you thought you heard that gentleness that you were used to. “Would you like to share your thoughts?”

“I was just thinking about how Satan has been helping your transition,” You answered in an obvious half-truth. “Has he lent you any good books?”

“All of his recommendations seemed a bit on the nose for my situation,” Simeon answered bluntly. You laughed, short and unexpected. He smiled. “But I do appreciate the help.”

“Do you need the books in the same way he does?” You asked. Simeon stiffened slightly, the only indication that he was uncomfortable. But, for you, he didn’t deny you an answer.

“I don’t remember much about who I was before. I know how angels were supposed to be, but none of it feels like me. The only thing that feels like me is this wrath, but even then, it isn’t as strong as his, I’m sure.”

You had nothing to say to that, instead turning to examine the bust. The features were worn down, much like the rest of the details. Instead, it was a vague person-shape, the head misshapen from what used to be the hair and arms missing since the beginning. Beside, Simeon murmured under his breath, “Even though I’m reconstructing where he was constructing, I can’t help but feel we might end up more similar than either of us expect.”

Simmering just beneath his words, you thought you could hear just a tinge of...something. Regret? Sorrow? Whatever it was, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was falling into the same line of thinking you often found Satan grappling with, wondering if a personality crafted as a wall was hardly a personality at all. You would assure Simeon as often as you assured Satan if he needed it, but you also knew that this was different. Simeon had you around before he decided who to become, and you knew the person he used to be. If it was what he wanted, you could - you would - help him down a similar path.

But you knew better than to say so. Instead, you stared at the faceless bust before you and gave him the space to figure it out for himself.

---

The memories taken from Simeon were officially gone, Diavolo and Barbatos decided, at least gone enough that they could not reach them without risking Simeon’s wellbeing. Though there was now an extra layer of animosity between them, they still considered him a friend (if not a former one) and had no desire to hurt him. Besides, the battles were over. There was no need to send a message of power via an ex-angel the Celestial Realm no longer cared about. With no need to keep him close in the castle, and a hesitant trust in his adjustment to the Devildom, Diavolo offered him a modest home on the outskirts with a small yard, just like he was considering before. It was close to the castle, though not close enough that the wealthier inhabitants would cause a fuss about favoritism. Even though the exterior was dark, you were pleased to see it resembled a cottage more than its neighbors. Beside you, Satan commented about how charming and quaint it was - you agreed without really hearing him.

As Satan knocked on the door, you drummed your fingers nervously on the vase in your hands. Barbatos mentioned something about Simeon liking to garden, but did he even remember? You knew he wouldn’t remember the time he first encountered the plant in your hands. It was a type of Tiny Venus Flytrap, one that needed to feed constantly on a microorganism in the air. It was constantly opening and closing its leaves, and Simeon spent at least half an hour cooing over one when he first saw it. You remembered the melodious chuckle that kept ringing through the greenhouse, and a sudden twinge of pain struck through you when you realized he wouldn’t.

As if on cue, Simeon opened the door, looking perturbed at the interruption but softening when he saw you and Satan in the doorway. “Oh, I forgot you were coming over today,” He said, stepping aside to let the two of you in. Though you didn’t think Simeon would lie about such a thing, the cleanliness of the house and the tea brewing in the kitchen planted a small seed of doubt in your mind.

“We thought we’d offer you a few housewarming gifts,” Satan responded. The smile he gave was easy, expertly hiding how just minutes before he had nearly knocked down a wall in the House of Lamentation and was more than willing to use the trip as an excuse to escape his brothers. Simeon chuckled, no doubt catching a hint of the hidden meanings behind his words. At least his perceptiveness wasn’t affected by his fall.

“Oh? Gifts?”

“Yeah. Your bookshelves look bare, so I thought you’d like a headstart on your collection.”

“Thank you,” Simeon answered, reaching for the box in Satan’s hands. You watched his entire body crumple for a moment, unsuspecting of the weight in his hands. He recovered quickly, but not before huffing out, “Oh, there’s quite a lot in here, huh?”

Satan didn’t seem bothered by his breathlessness - if anything, he looked amused. You almost reached out to help, but remembered your own human strength wouldn’t do much. Plus, you still had a fragile vase in your hands. Simeon placed the box on the ground, opening the flaps and peering inside. He wasn’t able to hide the beginning of a frown when he saw copies of his own books on top, and quickly moved those out of the way. He seemed much more pleased with the other options.

“Thank you. I suppose I won’t have to spend a long time finding my own additions to these shelves,” Adding a good-natured chuckle to the end of his sentence, Simeon turned towards you. “What do you have there?”

“Oh! It’s a Tiny Venus Flytrap. You-” Stopping short, you glanced at the copies of TSL on the floor and cleared your throat. “You don’t have to feed it much. Just put it in a window that gets a lot of moonlight and water once during each waxing gibbous.”

Curiously, Simeon reached for the plant and cradled it in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over the glazed vase, the blue so dark it nearly looked like black ink. Tentatively, he put his finger on one of the leaves and let out a boyish giggle as it closed around him. You laughed too, pleased to see history repeating itself.

“This is absolutely darling, MC. Thank you,” He didn’t meet your eyes, still entranced by the movement of the leaves. When you looked at Satan, he was giving you a mischievous look. On the way to the house, you told him about your plan to try and jog Simeon’s memories, and he had been hesitant to say that your plan would work. If it didn’t, you certainly succeeded in testing to see if part of the old Simeon was still around.

The tea kettle whistled in the kitchen, and Simeon finally snapped his head up from his new pet plant. “I’ll put this little guy in the kitchen window, seeing as it gets the most moonlight,” He explained, scurrying over with the same dainty walk he had before. You watched him carefully as he adjusted his plant, giving it an affectionate pat before tending to the tea. As he pulled out a budget tea set you’ve definitely seen in the bargain shop before, you tried to hide the guilt on your face. Back at the House of Lamentation, in a box beneath your bed, was Simeon’s old set, still in pristine condition in its white and gold glory. You were glad you decided against bringing that as a gift - looking around at your dark surroundings, it didn’t seem like it would fit in.

You could hold on to your little memories for a while longer, you thought. Simeon didn’t seem to be making use of anything regarding his past anyway.

---

When Simeon opened the door after summoning you to his house, you weren’t expecting his new outfit.

Diavolo had him fitted in some black, plain clothes - something to cover him without drawing too much attention to him. However, now that he had enough time to get used to his surroundings and accept his new life as a demon, he also had enough time to craft a new look for himself.

You weren’t expecting that to include a dark, cool-colored, patterned button down, tucked into black pants with most of the buttons undone.

Nearly choking on your own spit the moment he opened the door, you allowed him to usher you in and rub your back hesitantly. After he thought you had collected yourself - and yes, at that point you stopped choking, but you were still reeling at the image of his chest (did some part of him really need to be exposed at all times?) - he asked, “Do you not like my clothes?”

His voice sounded just as devastatingly sad as a demon. “N-no, they’re fine! I just…” You began gesturing towards his exposed chest and even his midriff before getting embarrassed and dropping your hand. “I wasn’t expecting all that.”

“Oh, here,” Simeone buttoned up three buttons, which did absolutely nothing, and opened the back door to his small yard. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, eyes still on his chest as you walked outside.

The Devildom was known for its warm temperatures, and as you helped him prepare the dirt you quickly found your school shirt uncomfortable as it stuck to your skin. Before long, you slipped it off, thankful for the tank top you decided to wear beneath it, and got back to work. The two of you engaged in an easy conversation, but every so often you’d realize Simeon’s eyes stayed on you for a moment too long. Normally, you wouldn’t consider yourself some irresistible temptation, but he was new to being a demon. Any time he’d reach towards you to help you or borrow a tool, you had to fight the urge to flinch. By the time he offered you a break, you had nearly jumped out of your skin too many times to count.

Spent from the labor, you stayed on the grass while he went to get a drink, coming back with a large glass of water that you graciously accepted. As you drank, he watched you intently - or, more specifically, he watched your left shoulder.

“Uh, are you okay?” You asked cautiously. “You’ve been staring a lot.”

He looked genuinely surprised to have been caught. “Have I? I apologize.” His eyes ran over your pact marks where they peeked out from beneath your shirt before falling on your shoulder again. “What’s that scar?”

“Hm?” Glancing down at your shoulder, you could barely make out the shape of an eye scarred on your skin. Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it before he brought it up. After all, the mark that had been there was purposely difficult to see when he made the vow of protection, so you hadn’t even noticed when it turned to scar tissue. Still, the thought saddened you, and you reach to cover it with your opposite hand. “Oh, that. You gave it to me.”

“I did?” His eyes widened, and he started to toy with one of the buttons attached to his shirt. “I’m- I’m so sorry, MC, I don’t remember-”

“No no no, it’s not like that. I didn’t mean-” He stood up abruptly, not allowing you to finish. His expression was dark, a cross between furious and devastated, and he turned to head back inside. You could imagine his footsteps searing the dry Devildom grass as he stalked away.

“Feel free to let yourself out. Thank you for your help.” He left you sitting in his yard, and you rubbed your scar aimlessly. Though it was just a phantom feeling, it seemed to throb in pain just from his reaction.

---

Simeon offered to walk you home after an RAD party after Diavolo asked all the brothers to stay back for student council business. After months of slowly building your relationship back up again, he was finally comfortable being around you, confident in his ability to reign in his wrath (or at least his speed so he could run far from you if he needed to.) He purposely shortened his strides, the walk taking a much longer time than it normally did. In his company, though, with his easy laughter and your banter, you didn’t mind one bit.

It wasn’t until you finally reached the gates to the house that he let his expression somber. “Hey, MC?” He asked tentatively, as if worried he was intruding. “I know you aren’t supposed to tell me much about my old life, but…” His eyes fell to your scar, which your outfit did nothing to hide.

“Simeon, it’s not like that. You didn’t carve it into me, or anything.”

“Then how did I scar you?”

You sighed. “It used to be an angelic pact. You would-” Did he know about his prophetic abilities as an angel? After clicking your tongue in thought, you corrected yourself. “You were just trying to protect me. We didn’t know this would happen.”

If Simeon cared about your hesitation and how obviously you were hiding information, he didn’t show it. Instead, he asked, “Did it hurt, then? When it turned from a promise into a wound?”

Yes, you wanted to say. Just minutes before you heard that he fell, you felt the pain in your shoulder, but you were too busy tending the wounds of others to really pay attention to the pain. You had forgotten about it until Simeon noticed the scar all that time ago, and ever since you had convinced yourself that it throbbed, wanting to turn back into the vow it could never be.

Instead, you smiled at him. “No. I forgot about it until you said something, remember?”

But your smile was too thin, and it betrayed you.

---

You were not supposed to be doing this. However, you had turned your phone off, so the brothers couldn’t talk you out of something so stupid.

You and Simeon hunkered down in the Botanical Gardens long after close, figuring it was a random enough spot that nobody would find you for a while. Hunkered between your favorite type of flytraps, you let Simeon ask you the questions he’s been dying to find answers for since he fell. Each question you answered, telling him about the exchange program and his roommates and all of the memories you held in your heart, safekeeping for the day you could give them back to him.

After all, the way Luke’s face crumpled when he realized that Simeon truly didn’t remember him was something you wanted to avoid seeing again altogether.

There were parts you didn’t know the details of, bits of information that made Simeon’s expression darken, but he urged you to continue, desperate to learn about the voids inside of him he could never figure out how to fill. It wasn’t until you could hear people outside, too close to finding you for you to escape, that you stopped, and even by then your throat was dry and sore.

Before you left to give yourselves up, Simeon reached out and grabbed your hand. There was a serious look in his eyes, and you gulped. “Make a pact with me.”

“What?” You asked. “Simeon, you’re still-”

“I know. But we’re starting to cause trouble, and-” He looked to your arm, where one of the brothers’ marks slipped out from beneath your t-shirt sleeve. “I don’t want them to use their pacts over me. And I trust that you won’t use me just because I haven’t made a true pact before.”

Well, that last part was a given. Maybe it was the sound of Mammon’s voice getting closer, or maybe it was the intensity of his gaze - either way, you fell to your knees so you could be level with him again and nodded. There was an uncomfortable warmth on your shoulder, something that started off soothing but became too hot and prickled at your skin. Before you could look at the mark, Simeon reached for your face and pulled you in, kissing you with a heat he never had during the program and before his fall. Mammon and Leviathan chose this moment to burst in, their shouts falling at the image before them.

Leviathan was the first to speak, grumbling about gross normies in a tone that was clearly giving way to his sin. Mammon came to his senses a few moments later, yelling at Simeon about keeping his hands off. He reached for your arm, pulling you away roughly before shouting directly in your ear, “Hey! What’s the deal with this?”

He was pointing at your exposed left shoulder, where, over the scar, a dark pact mark sat. You were slightly unsettled at how foreboding it looked when you knew it was a twisted distortion of some angelic imagery, but one look at Simeon’s please cheshire grin eased your worries.

---

“So, about those battles…” Simeon trailed off. You were at his house, reading some books in his collection but really just using the trip as an excuse to lay with your head in Simeon’s lap. In one hand, he held a copy of his books, trying to regain some of his memories through their words again. The other was carding through your hair, distracting you from your own book - something random you had plucked off the shelves, eager to get to your spot on the couch.

“You know I’m not supposed to tell you anything about that.”

“You weren’t supposed to tell me a lot of things, and yet…” He flicked your left shoulder. You sighed, resting your open book on your chest.

“What do you want to know?” He opened his mouth, but you interrupted him before he could get anything out. “Be specific. I can’t give you the full history of everything. I don’t even know if I know the full history of everything.”

Simeon smiled, tapping his fingers on you mindlessly. “Can you tell me about the battle I fell from?” He noticed how your smile faltered, and when you looked away, he reached to guide your eyes back to his. “Is something wrong?”

You unfurled his fingers and pressed his palm to your cheek, nuzzling into it. “It was over me.”

“Oh.” His voice got significantly smaller, and he asked, “What did you do…?”

“I wasn’t just me!” Playfully, you swatted at his arm, half hoping to dispel the awkwardness hovering in the air. Settling down, you clarified, “It was more...what we did.”

Simeon filled in some of the gaps himself. “I was in love with you.”

“I know, right? You have no taste.” He flicked your nose this time, and you stuck your tongue out at him. “Wait, was?!”

“Stay on topic, little lamb,” He urged gently. When you looked up at him, silently indicating for him to continue his questions, he asked, “So, what, did I lose? Was I condemned for fighting against the Celestial Realm?” That would be a noble fall, he decided. He could make peace with that.

But your face fell again, and your voice got serious. “Simeon...you were fighting against me. You were fighting for the Celestial Realm.”

“What?” Truly aghast, he placed his hand on your cheek again, applying no force but keeping your gaze on his as if you’d stop talking if you looked away. “Why?”

Part of you didn’t know, and that part would never know. Not if Simeon really never regained his memories, anyway. Dejectedly, you shrugged and answered, “I don’t know for sure. But I think you were trying to fight for the fate of my soul. You thought you were fighting for me.”

“How can you know?” You hated the way his voice shook, but didn’t draw any attention to it. “How can you know what I was thinking when I don’t even know?”

“Because I trust you, Simeon. I trusted you then and I trust you now.”

He nodded, but you could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t entirely convinced. Perhaps Diavolo and Baratos were on to something when they warned you not to indulge his questions. His hand went back to slowly messing with your hair, but there was a reluctance to it that told he was only trying to ease your own worries. You could guess what he was thinking - you were probably thinking the same thing, torn apart by a relationship that only seemed to exist to defy every rule that ever existed.

Wherever you went and whatever you did, if he was to follow you and love you, it felt like you would never know peace.

But if you already fought each other, fought for each other, what else was there that you couldn’t handle?

[salemorbit]

In The Beginning...

[Link x genderneutral!Reader]

warnings: none! maybe fear of heights

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

In the beginning, there was a voice.

Link's eyes fluttered open as the sound echoed in his head. He wiggled his fingers as the voice got louder.

"....Link....Link...."

Slowly, he sat up. Warm water dripped away from his body as several joints cracked with the movement. He inhaled deeply, looking around the room.

The voice in his head seemed to be just that: in his head. Like his conscience, but...different. It instructed that he get up, look at the tablet on the far left of the room, pick it up, start his journey.

As Link went through the motions, he eventually made it out of the cavern that he had been in and into the sunlight. He squinted his eyes in the sun, letting them adjust slowly as he took in the land before him.

Not much was certain in this moment. Link had just woken up from a century-long nap, and now he was tasked with venturing into a world unbeknownst to his malleable brain. His memories were wiped. Was this a dream?

Link made his way down the slope, talked to the old man, learned of what he should do next. His new destination was a strange structure buried in some rock. See what happens when it interacts with his slate. Easy enough.

He had to take down some Bokoblins on the way, masterfully slicing them down with an old double axe. After the fight, Link shifted the axe in his fingers, studying the weight. Uneven. Too heavy at the head. Double the strength needed to deal effective damage. Not comfortable.

As he slid the axe onto his back, Link climbed up a small hill to continue his quest. Upon reaching the top he halted. Eyes narrowing due to distance, Link peered across the clearing to make sure he was seeing things right.

Someone was crouching around the tilted rocks, hand brushing through pebbles. The old man hadn't mentioned anyone else besides him on the Plateau.

An enemy? Link sized them up.

No, he thought, too inattentive. If they were, anyway, Link could take them. He wasn't sure where this innate confidence came from, but he seemed certain he could take them.

Gingerly stepping forward, Link approached the mysterious person. He was soon within hearing distance of their incessant muttering:

"...ground is settled too evenly for this to be a recent obstruction," you grumbled, kneeling in front of an opening to the structure. "Was it purposefully built under these rocks? How does the pedestal work? I wonder if-"

Link cleared his throat, causing you to spin around and fall onto your butt in surprise. You scrambled back quickly, shielding yourself underneath the strange structure.

"I don't have any rupees on me!" You cried. "I'm not armed! I swear!"

Link just gazed at you, eyes slightly widening. You seemed afraid. Link didn't think he was that frightening. Maybe a little bedhead from the 100-year sleep?

Link consciously smoothed the crease he formed between his eyebrows. Giving himself what he could best figure was a neutral look, Link knelt down in front of you, holding his hands up softly to show he wasn't going to draw his axe on you. You shifted after a second of silence, peering between your raised arms to see Link urging allyship.

"You're not a thief?" You gulped. Link shook his head. "How'd you get up here?"

That wasn't a question he thought you'd ask him. Not even the old man seemed to wonder that. Link looked away for a second, legitimately thinking. How did he get up here?

"Can you talk? Are you deaf?" You asked, then quickly knocked on your head softly. "No, idiot, of course he's not deaf. He answered a question."

Link smiled softly, standing up and offering you a hand. You took it hesitantly, letting him strangely easily hoist you up. As you dusted yourself off, you looked him up and down cautiously. He sure didn't look the muscly type. This guy was just as tall as you, if not a little shorter. How could he handle such a big axe with such a lean frame? Dozens of questions dotted your mind, but he didn't seem like the talking type. Instead, he lifted something from his hip and gestured toward the structure behind you.

Your mouth dropped in a quiet gasp, gawking at the tablet he held in his hands. You knew those markings. You'd seen that before in the old books...

"How'd you get a Sheikah Slate?" You asked, ungraciously tearing it from his hands. You flipped it all around in your palms, furrowing your eyebrows as you ran your fingers over the carvings and tapped the sides harshly. Link just blinked at you, still registering the snatch, when you looked back up at him. Immediately you realized your rudeness, apologizing profusely and shoving the slate back into his hands.

"Excuse that, I've been traveling alone for some time," you said sheepishly, folding your hands behind your back upon returning the slate. "I guess I forgot my manners. The question still stands, though."

Link glanced up at you then raised his finger to point up toward the mountain you wanted to check out later. You tilted your head slightly. Did he live up there?

"The cave," he said, bringing his hand back down to his side. The first two words he spoke to you brought a smile to your face. His voice was a bit crackly, probably from not talking to many people himself, but serene.

"The cave. I was going to check up there later, maybe you could show me around?"

Link gestured again toward the structure behind you, ignoring the question. You nodded, eagerly stepping aside so he could move toward the pedestal. You followed slightly behind, wondering what he could possibly do to the structure that you hadn't tried for the last week you'd been on the Great Plateau.

Link took a few looks between the slate and the top of the pedestal before slowly setting the slate flat on the top of the pedestal. An orange glow flashed from the pedestal, making you gasp again and rush over to see the situation closer.

"....Watch out for falling rocks," you read slowly. You and Link shared a look before the platform you were standing on shook like an earthquake was splitting the Plateau. You stumbled and grabbed on to the pedestal, Link widening his stance so as not to topple over himself.

The entire structure ascended where you stood, carrying you and Link skyward. The top of the structure broke through the rocks it had previously been buried under, not stopping its pierce into the sky until you were well above the ground. At some point you had shut your eyes out of fear; heights were never your thing.

When the shaking finally stopped, Link tapped on your shoulder gently. You cracked open one eyelid, still gripping onto the pedestal with white knuckles. You gulped thickly, looking up at Link with your legs shaking.

"Is it done? Did we die?"

Link shook his head, pointing out toward the edge. You really didn't want to let go of the pedestal, but your curiosity got the better of you. With knobbly knees, you slowly walked near the edge of the platform that had risen from the ground.

The entirety of Hyrule Kingdom was laid out before you, almost making you forget how goddamn high up you were. The view was breathtaking, even higher than the edge of the Great Plateau, but the wind howled in your ears and reminded you where you were.

"Goddess above, I hate heights!" You yelped, falling to your knees in an attempt to be closer to the ground. How the platform rose, you didn't know. How you were going to get down, you painstakingly also didn't know.

You were stuck.

"It's a tower," came Link's voice, strong over the wind. "What goes up must come down."

His words did little to reassure you as you nervously nodded. Noticing your intense distress, Link knelt down next to you and lifted one of your arms.

"I don't know who you think you are, mystery man," you warned, though it came out weakly due to your fear, "but I will not let you take me to any secondary location."

Link chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I can help you down."

"Goddess, no."

"I can-"

"I've decided to live the rest of my life up here, thank you very much. There will be no helping down of any kind. I either die up here or die getting down, and I've had enough dreams of falling to know that's not the way I want to go out."

A few more moments of coaxing later, and somehow you had agreed to place your life in the hands of a spindly stranger on top of the highest thing you had ever let yourself be on top of. Screwing your eyes shut, you clung onto Link as he guided you down the sides of the tower, trying so desperately not to let the whistling wind psych you out.

Soon enough, you felt the ground at your feet. Collapsing almost immediately, you melodramatically lay your face on the ground and muttered thankful prayers to the Goddess. Link watched, an amused look on his face, as you finally stood up and turned to thank him.

"I owe you one," you said stiffly, avoiding his laughing gaze. "How about you stick around and I cook you some dinner? I know a pretty good steamed meat recipe."

At the mention of food, Link's stomach grumbled loudly. This eased the tensions a tad, you smiling gladly at his turn to be embarrassed. A red tint appeared on his ears as he placed a hand on his stomach.

"I'll take that as a yes."

~~~~~~~~~

wooooooohoooooo first fic comin at you full force!! nothing too intense or fluffy or anything. just trying to get a read for how it feels to write in this format.

requests are welcome! :))