#(( she looks so easy and so simple to impersonate! no one would notice!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arcanaaa · 4 months

Text

@icemde asked:

IF GRAY WAS ONE THING, BEING SUBTLE WASN'T IT. It wasn't for a lack of trying mind you, he had actually tried to play things off cool and not draw too much attention to himself the last few days, even if it seemed like every other member of their guild was attempting to do the exact opposite. He swore, being loud and obnoxious was as much of an indicator of their guild as the mark they all wore with pride, but that was beside the point. In all luck, he had managed to ( mostly ) stay out of a specific seer's radar, mainly due to the fact that he had convinced both Lucy and Loke to keep her occupied.

HE HAD ONE GOAL THIS YEAR, AND THAT WAS TO GENUINELY SURPRISE CANA. An easy mission in concept alone, but one that becomes 10 times harder when he remembers the fact that she just tends to know shit she isn't supposed to. how do you surprise someone who can see into the future and can guess your every move, even without that ability. Of course he had a few ideas, most of which required asking his fellow guild mates to keep a secret ( a task he knew for some would be 100% impossible ) which quickly led them to end up in the discard pile, leaving him with only a few options left.

IT WASN'T A LARGE GIFT BY ANY MEANS, BUT SOMETHING HOPEFULLY SHE'D FIND USEFUL. A small part of him wondered if he should have been concerned with how easily Loke was able to steal one of her arm bands for him, but with the limited amount of time he had left, it was best not to think hard about it. It was a simple gift in concept, take the arm band that he had infused with his magic years ago and enhance it so she could use it to summon whatever she needed on short notice. Gray was never one to question the quality of her prosthetic, having been on the receiving end of it's might more times that he'd like to admit, but there was something comforting about know that if anything did happen to it, she could summon a backup at any given moment. It had taken a lot more trial an error than he would have liked to admit, but it was done and he hoped she'd like it.

WHICH LEADS TO THE PRESENT DAY. The two of them alone at the guild late at night, shooting the shit and just talking about anything and everything. A sense of nostalgia washed over the ice mage, remembering the hundreds of nights in their youth before the rest of their generation joined, where it had always just been them against it all. His eyes glanced over to one of the clocks, noticing that it was officially past midnight. Reaching into his pocket, he quickly pulled out the band, wrapped in a small box and slid it across their table, doing everything in his power to keep himself calm.

❝ Another year and you have yet to bring the world to it's knees. Gotta be some kind of record at this point. Anyways, this is for you. Oh, and happy birthday.

THE ACHE IN HER 'ARM' WASN'T SOMETHING SHE WAS SURE SHE WOULD EVER GET USED TO. It was a persistent, maddening itch that would never abate, no matter how much she scratched. And she tried-- only her nails would scrap against nothing. Only a void where her arm once remained. A symptom of her...amputation to be sure. How would anyone 'get used' to losing a limb? That wasn't something Cana ever imagined would ever happen to her. Not even with her gift could she have seen the outcome of the war and the damage done to her. She would often wonder what losing a part of yourself would feel like from an impersonal standpoint, but now that that experience was given to her...well.

There was a saying about 'be careful what you say.'

Cana's current prosthetic was something of a carbon copy of her old man's arm that functioned no differently than her living limb, but...it was bulky and ugly. Suffice to say, the Seer would rather avoid wearing it all together even if it was at the cost of people staring at her.

That was new for her to receive sudden mixed looks of curious fascination and pity, but Cana understood their shock. What she didn't appreciate was feeling like an invalid. So many people were accommodating to her disability, to help her adjust and, blessedly, make the whole thing so normal when there is no normal after the war.

There Was No Going Back.

CANA WAS BLESSED WITH MANY PEOPLE WHO LOVED HER AND WOULD DO ANYTHING TO GIVE HER THE 'NORMAL' FROM YESTERYEARS. It was far more than she could ever ask for, but there was no lack of appreciation from the card mage, only the means to show it. The best she could do now was live with the life she had now, and be the source of hope; even after the horrors inflicted upon them left deep wounds that would never truly heal, one could still move on. So long as there were people to live for, then living was bearable.

Another year, huh... Cana thought wistfully. What a year indeed.

It was certainly busy, but that was nothing new. Fairy Tail never slept, always keeping a vigil over the wayward charges who lingered in the hall who weren't quite ready to turn in for the night. Cana was no different, but at least the company was familiar and appreciated. Or at least it would have been, had Gray not mentioned her birthday within earshot of the others in the guild. Thankfully, no one appeared to have noticed the casual slip, yet it didn't mean she wouldn't direct a soft glare in his direction. It was a look that said, 'Could you be any louder?'

From his unconcerned expression, Gray didn't appear perturbed with irritating her. He seemed more concerned with presenting his box...with her armband.

Now, at first, the Seer's expression was...discourteous, if not annoyed, given that she had been missing her armband ( curious though, that it happened to be her right armband, and she was almost sure of who the culprit was ).

❝ Really? ❞ she deadpanned. As she scolds Gray for his deception ( and make no mistake, he is not the only culprit that will hear her ire ) Cana reaches towards the box to open it unthinkingly, not paying attention to the unassuming heirloom or the enchantment embued upon the metal. ❝ If your goal was to surprise me, then you succeeded-- ❞ The deceptively cool metal felt no different than usual, so she thought nothing of it when she fastened the armband back into its rightful place upon her bicep. Yet the moment that her armband slid over the socket up to her bicep, something changed.

❝ --honestly, I can't believe...you... ❞

Her expression goes still, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. ❝ Gray...what...? ❞ It takes her a moment, but as the embued magic fuses into her limb, becoming part of her, her eyes widen as a realization of what was done sinks in. Blue hues widen and jerk to Gray's calm demeanor, yet only now did was she able to see the stiffness upon his shoulders, almost nervous.

As if anticipating something.

❝ ...what did you do...? ❞

A hushed silence falls between them as all of a sudden, with the sound of ice crackling across a lake's surface, a newly summoned limb of carved ice springs from the socked of her severed arm. The unexpected summons earned a startled yelp to jump from her throat and almost made Cana fall out of her seat. Yet the limb responded to her panic and held onto the edge of the table. Just like her old arm used to.

The Seer fell silent.

No words were spoken while Cana observed her newly formed limb. She modeled her arm, twisting and turning her icy wrist, noting that it mimicked the look of her actual arm-- even going so far as to copy the Fairy Glitter spell upon her arm-- yet that was where the similarities ended. It was decidedly not anything like her prosthetic arm. There were certainly limits to what capabilities her arm held, but what she could do she would discover later.

Without a word, she stood up from her seat and moved around the table to approach Gray. Without ceremony, she threw herself against him, slamming herself into his chest for a body-crushing embrace. With her new limb, she was able to finally hug her brother tight without the awkward bulk of her other prosthetic, nor worry about hurting anyone. There was no concern over hurting Gray with this new limb. Not when he had created it for her, fashioned it with his own magic.

❝ I...you didn't have to do this... ❞

❝ ...I know. ❞

She did. And that was what was most endearing, and the most damning of all. He never did anything thoughtlessly, nor were his actions ever wasteful. They held purpose. The knowledge that he made her very own prosthetic out of his own magic for her to summon...her throat closed as her heart clenched with emotion. If he felt her tears stream silently from her eyes, he made no comment, only to merely hold her tight against his chest.

❝ ...thank you, Gray. ❞ she choked out softly.

A simple 'thank you' wasn't enough. Words weren't enough. There weren't nearly enough words to convey the depths of her love and gratitude for the gift that he gave her. But that was okay. They always seemed to communicate in a language only they had ever understood.

And for that, Cana will cherish this gift-- and the man who entangled his life with hers and made a home in her heart.

❝ Thank you. ❞

#ask tag #icemde #i'm so soft for them i love this so much...#Trio tag #technically loke is an accessory to her birthday gift but whatever!!!#gray loves his sister so much and she loves her brother!!! god!!!

7 notes · View notes

luchicm04 · 6 months

Text

lost in the forest - part 32

Masterlist

Summary: Who would have thought a simple, 30 year old girl would have the most powerful men at the time in her debt.

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Original Female Character

Tag: #lost in the forest fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 3.8k

That's all I've posted on Ao3 so far. From now on, updates will be posted all at once, so you will probably will have to wait a few days or weeks for me to continue to carry on the story.

Overall warnings: canon-typical violence, adult content, time skips, angst

It is a beautiful summer day. Her heart is light as the preparations are evident in light decorations. It is not the only engagement celebrated in the same month, but it is the most important one.

She feels nervous when taking a bath. Karen sometimes thinks it’s unreal as she walks through the hallways of that house.

She wants to see the optimism. There have been days of slight depression due to the weight of the true meaning of this, a phase that she should have planned with her family and in her style... An old dream that was taken from her hands and transformed by circumstances beyond her control.

Adapting it to the culture of this reality... “Karen-san... do not look so sad.” Someone catches her attention just as she enters the room. Mito has been a regular visitor who has begun to notice certain patterns in her behavior.

Creepy... but she has to assume that it is normal for a kunoichi of her caliber. She knows that her fame precedes her and even if she is a princess, she is just as infamous as Madara or Hashirama.

“I... am I?” she frowns with her heart clenched. She tries to smile but judging by the eyes of her partner, it’s easy not to believe it. “I just... I’ll be fine.”

“Karen-san, it is your engagement...” the redhead sighs, getting up from her bed to show that the yukata and every decoration has already been prepared. Her room is adjusted to these changes and the preparations that will be carried out. “Did you really want to get married?”

“Uh...” She blinks remembering what Hashirama warned her. She smiles, taking the hand of the restless kunoichi who surely is already beginning to suspect something, and shakes her head. “It’s not that, I just... wish my family would be here.”

“Why did you not send a letter?” the young woman asks curiously.

“It’s not as easy as sending a letter to contact them...” she accepts with a bleeding heart. Saying it out loud is so difficult... that she prefers to keep it to herself.

“Oh...”

“My father always told me that he hoped I would find my... partner,” she says, remembering the uncomfortable conversations with her father who was so convinced that she could still, if she decided, get married. Being the eldest, they had high expectations of that kind. “They would like to participate in this.”

“I am sorry to hear that. To impersonate your mother or sister... I would never do it.”

“I’m sure neither would mind,” she mocks, remembering both people with affection. The latter wasn’t the most organized considering her entertainment tastes, but that wasn’t the point now, right? She looks at Mito. “So don’t worry. Besides, you’re nervous to, aren’t you...?”

“Well, yes,” she blushes. “Hashirama has talked with me regarding... the room we will use in the main complex.”

“I see. At least he lets you participate. Tobirama always ignores me,” she rolls her eyes remembering that this house will be part of her legacy in this reality. Every stroke, every distribution and detail were instructed by the albino without consulting her. In addition to garden things she loves to see from the backyard.

They may be on the grounds of the main complex, but they are still independent.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. He is a bit... obsessive,” she mockes, remembering how detailed he is with regard to her tastes. She doesn’t know how, but he has managed to make use of them without even asking her directly, like her office in the back, the three rooms that have been prepared, the kitchen, the hall... everything is spacious in its own way.

It is surprising that even now she is discovering.

And refining.

“I imagine,” the redhead laughs amused.

“Karen-san?” Mikami asks as she enters to look at her. “You have not put on your underdress yet,” she complains about her when she notices her talking to the redhead, looking between them with slight scolding.

“Sorry, we got distracted.” Karen was sincere with a soft laugh towards the girl who has carried most of her things in this process, along with Kaori and now Mito. She has been extra help for the infamous fiancé.

“It shows,” the newcomer says. “The Daimyo has arrived,” she informs so casually.

“Uh...”

“My... that man is really shameless.” Mito looks upset. Without telling her the whole story, she knows what the man’s interest in personally seeing her event is about. One thing she is sure she doesn’t know if she will do for Hashirama and Madara.

And whose rumors have already arisen in both compounds.

Annoying.

“He is an opportunist,” Mikami huffs to look at her with a pout. “But that is not the point now. You have to prepare!”

“There are still some hours left, right?”

“Valuable time to get you ready,” her friend complains looking at Mito, who is taking out various items from a huge scroll. Makeup, combs, decorations... every irritating thing possible to wear that she simply allows to be placed.

She is not in the mood for this and even if she must pretend, she can rest for now.

The day will be long. Karen is sure of it.

──

She once thought that all this was strange, hostile and external to her daily life. A city girl who fell after a vacation, so far from her home that it is unreal... another world, another nation with abilities that she never imagined and has not gotten used to them.

She is at the mercy of all of them... but thanks to whoever is having fun with her destiny, she has been thrown into a less bad place.

Of course, she will get married against her will. The person who has taken that job is not the most pleasant, but she knows there are worse things, remembering what cruel fate she was about to be sent to when she thought she was free the first time.

Women are bargaining chips, something that Karen did not expect would be applied to her, but now it is... walking slowly towards where the fiancé waits among elegant decorations that enhance the beauty of the enormous patio decorated by nature, flowers and scattered seats under the forum where the person in charge waits to present their engagement.

Formalizing it.

Tobirama looks striking in a matching yukata with a solemn posotion that she almost envies, there observing her closely with those red eyes that she was once afraid of. He is not hostile, he looks serene and very strange from her point of view, considering how bitter he usually is.

There is silence. Many people are observing the process where the view and expectations are set as the event follows its own rhythm. Each word delivered, promises and gifts are notorious between both in this exchange.

Without a family, the dowry is given by Hashirama himself, who has taken it as his duty to throw her into the engagement. She sees the Daimyo in the background, attentive to her every word according to the agenda, while the vows are delivered with incense beginning to flood her nostrils.

She coughs a little, still not used to the smell.

“Are you alright?” Tobirama questions. She can’t deny that up close he looks elegant and... strangely handsome. It amuses her because of her crazy thoughts. He is a rather serious young man with those eyes that annoyingly don’t leave her.

“Yes... I just inhaled a little bit of the smell,” she comments in English without drawing attention of the others, while the person in charge of such a presentation begins the final step.

She squeezes her yukata. It feels unreal and she wants to cry but holds it in when she feels the warmth of someone holding her hand. She is surprised, but subtly accepts the moral support that Tobirama shows her.

She supposes it is difficult to hide everything she has carried, but she endures with honor until the end. She listens to the applause of those present at an event that is so non-private due to the political weight it holds.

This is the second most important after Hashirama’s engagement.

And the wedding... she will face that later.

The shinobi next to her helps her get up in silence while everyone looks happy. “Uh...” she doesn’t avoid saying when she feels the rough hand of whom is her official fiancé wipe something from her cheek.

“Do not look so sad,” he states with his sullen tone but with some warmth that makes her blink realizing what is happening, embarrassed to feel that it was a tear that was running down the outline of her dolled up face.

She didn’t know it was starting to drip.

“I’m sorry, I just...” Karen sighs trying to control her feelings. Tobirama takes her face lightly, with his fingers still cleaning what she’s preventing from coming out.

“...” The shinobi is not the best at consoling, and she sees the discomfort along with other things reflected in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine...” She takes a deep breath to smile uncomfortable with such attention. “Maybe... I just needed time.”

“What a great joy it is to see that you are so happy, Saucedo-san,” the Daimyo interrupts with a soft and suspicious smile between the two.

“Yes... I’m very happy,” she clarifies before her tears are misinterpreted depending on the perspective in which they are placed. She takes the hand of the person who is like a statue next to her, wanting to erase everything she feels in order to pretend a little more. “I am very glad you came,” she bows gently.

“Not at all. Today, you are the star, so leave the formalities behind,” the infamous leader of these lands says. “It is a shame that I could not have you in my harem... you would have been interesting.”

“Sir...” Tobirama is not insolent, but he does interrupt before this turns into a one-sided flirtation, shameless and ignoring the fiancé who raises his eyebrow. “Welcome to our home.”

“Oh, of course,” he dismisses gently. “I brought some presents. I hope you do not mind,” he impertinently adds, handing over a series of boxes that are placed in the front.

There are many watching, others whispering for such attention.

“We appreciate the gesture,” Tobirama throws his own comment by squeezing her hand lightly, taking care of this part as best as he can.

So elegant and diplomatic, it’s confusing.

“Good. It is saddening that I cannot stay for the celebration,” Shinji admits with a wink in her direction. “If you ever go to the capital, do not hesitate to visit me. You will always be welcome. Especially you, Saucedo-san... your talks are entertaining.”

“Thank you,” the girl accepts with restlessness to see the man leave as if nothing had happened.

“...” Tobirama doesn’t stop looking at her while more people come to congratulate the couple. Each hug is notorious between words of encouragement and how she managed to catch someone so cold in a not-so-subtle way.

More from the women who have been watching their steps.

She sighs, pretending and keeping up with the rhythm for a long time.

The discomfort and sadness did not go away the entire time... rather, they were increased by fatigue.

──

The first dance is important. She tries not to step on the feet of the person maintaining most of the rhythm with agility and training. Tobirama has shown to have many skills and corrects her mistakes with subtlety.

“...” Karen does not avoid smiling ironically despite her heavy heart.

Tobirama doesn’t say anything but has remained steadfast in his closeness.

“Try not to step on me,” the infamous shinobi complains to the applause of those who watch the couple.

Each step, each raising of the sake is firm for the good wishes of those who hold her hands in a supposed happiness that she still does not fully feel.

“I don’t promise anything,” she comments because she only went over this part a few times with Mikami. Perhaps she should have paid more attention so as to stop getting embarrassed in the future.

Hashirama is in the background with Mito, whispering things between them that she can see from her point of view. At least Madara didn’t come. Otherwise, it would be more disgraceful as the man is so direct and tactless that he surely wouldn’t be subtle.

The idiot is ungrateful.

“Pay attention.”

“I am,” she sighs at her partner’s scolding.

“It does not seem like it.”

“I’m sorry, I just...” she huffs because the dignified step with these shows is not comfortable. “Be nicer.”

“...” The shinobi frowns but ignores her. There is a spin at the end to finish with a light squeeze to her waist, which makes her uncomfortable due to such an approach.

More so since she cleaned her face a while ago... it’s weird.

“Tobirama?”

“We have to eat,” he orders dryly to carry her to the place where dinner will soon be presented. She wants to say a lot but ends up smiling by force of habit.

Not because she’s sorry, but because it’s what they expect of her.

So, she sits obediently, willing to ignore who is next to her.

For now, she just maintains the façade...

──

The food is traditional, prepared by familiar hands who made an effort to make it worthy of the engagement. Karen feels her feet sore from the typical shoes of the beautiful yukata she owns, sitting in an elegant position and with a pair of chopsticks, she takes light bites with the feeling of her hungry stomach. At least that didn’t disappear by the anxiety of this day.

Tobirama is at her side as serious and firm as a bitter old gargoyle who hasn’t taken his eyes off her form since they sat down after such a disturbing dance. And she doesn’t know if it’s worry or something else.

“You know you can tell me anything you want, right?” she says, still sitting in the middle of the event while many begin to go with their own routine in this type of tradition.

A dance with almost oriental music that makes her curious, because she knows it is not. But she lets it be, because this event was expected by many. A moment of relaxation away from the adaptation of the new compound or the stress of the neighboring clan.

“...” The albino raises his eyebrow at her comment. He hasn’t tried his food and that’s curious.

“We are engaged, aren’t we? Communication is important.”

“...I have seen it for a while,” he assures with a controlled and flat tone, typical of the ice floe that he usually is and today it is not surprising.

“...?”

“Marrying is that bad... is it not?”

Karen sighs, looking at her plate again. “It’s not that. It’s something that we both came to accept, right?”

“I told you about my seasons before.”

“Then why do you want to clarify it today?” she blinks because they had many days to go over everything, something that he himself has taken the lead in organizing.

“Your tears...”

She blushes slightly due to the shame of showing that face to the young man. “I’m sorry about that, it wasn’t my intention,” she says because at least the Daimyo interpreted it as happiness.

He looks at the people around with a serious face, ignoring her comment to cross her arms dignified. “I told you, I will not do anything you do not want. This is... you know what it is.”

“Yes, but you know... even if it’s just... a façade,” she changes the language to English to make it easier to hide her intentions. Karen looks at the man directly. Even if it’s not the place, she feels she should clarify it. “I remembered my family... they would have liked to participate in this.”

“Even if it is just a lie?”

“Even if it is,” she accepts distantly. “My sister... she used to tell me what her wedding would be like when she got married. My parents were anxious for me to find a partner... but a long time passed, years without me focusing on it.”

“...”

“They would be happy for me... and even if it’s not what I dreamed of, it’s something I didn’t imagine I would do,” she laughs a little at the irony. Her plans were never this and now saying it clearly to whom listen attentively, it is confusing and makes her feel stupid. “I’m sorry to tell you this, I know you may not understand.”

“You underestimate me.”

“I don’t, I just... it’s a thing of my culture,” she explains looking at the happy people.

“Hashirama told me a little about... your thoughts.”

“Mph...” she mocks because she has talked more with his older brother than with him regarding this.

“And I know that we both had different ideas.”

“Very different.”

“I am a shinobi. I do not make promises,” Tobirama clarifies looking directly at her, capturing her attention with a hard and clear gesture. “But... you will not be unhappy.”

Karen wants to make fun of this, because he was not the first to make her life difficult at this point. “You have changed.”

“...”

“And do you ensure that... even if I’m a civilian?”

“Even if you are,” Tobirama accepts. “I assure you.”

“Well...” She just sighs, taking another bite of her abandoned food. “Believe it or not, I don’t know what to say about it,” she states with a chuckle. “But I appreciate the intention of lifting my spirits... in your sullen way.”

“Idiot.”

“Ohh... come on, don’t be a jerk,” the girl mocks with a knowing smile to whom rolls his eyes. Her sadness might not be completely erased, nor her upset feelings about this whole topic, but the words spoken in his tone way have comforted her in a way.

She looks at that night’s stars that are starting to appear. The engagement doesn’t look so bad now that it’s done.

Formally, she will soon be part of the Senju.

And she is still not convinced about being called by this last name.

──

Madara arrived almost after a few hours. She notices how everyone remains silent as he makes his way into that beautiful venue where the engagement was arranged. There are people who look with different degrees of contained irritation that they do not hide.

However, the infamous Uchiha does it on purpose, ignoring them until he reaches the spot where the engaged are present.

One of the few who knows the reality of this commitment.

“Wow... you don’t look that bad,” he mocks with unsubtle, sarcastic touches.

“Madara,” Tobirama frowns next to her. Despite the daily dealings and bureaucratic matters as a group, there is still slight hostility.

“Madara!” Hashirama laughs from his place, appearing to interrupt anything they could say. “I didn’t think you would come.”

“We are allies, idiot,” the infamous Uchiha leader growls with a silent Izuna behind him. He rolls his eyes at such an interpretation of the facts while many feel offended by that form of address to their leader.

“Don’t be mean.” The leader becomes noticeably depressed, making her laugh a little because of the typical nature of their relationship.

“Madara-san, I’m glad you came,” Karen says with an amused blink.

“I couldn’t help but take a look at this,” the infamous leader shrugs to throw something in the direction of the woman, caught by her fiancé with agility. “It was for her.”

“She does not have our reaction time, idiot,” Tobirama comments while his brother laughs openly.

Karen wonders if it is too rude to leave to eat another place of food. She is hungry and notices that many people are unwilling to enter this intense social circle.

“Wow... engagement has made you soft, Senju,” Izuna adds mockingly.

“Shut up, Izuna.”

“Guys,” Karen interrupts before this moment becomes intense. She tries to take the scroll from the hands of the shinobi who only arches his eyebrow into place.

“It’s a gift for her,” Madara crosses his arms intimidatingly as always. “In case this idiot does something to you.”

“Madara!”

“You know she is a civilian. And even if there is...”

“Madara, don’t say it,” Hashirama scolds.

“I know,” the man with wild hair rolls his eyes. “If you need something, don’t hesitate to ask. It’s not my business but you have done a lot of work for my clan. You are useful even though you are a civilian... so, I owe you.”

“Thank you,” Karen laughs, feeling silly about this attention.

“There is no need,” Tobirama complains, and then looks at his brother who gives him a harsh gesture. Reluctantly, he hands the scroll to the woman next to him. “I hope you do not use it.”

Karen feels awkward, but she takes it. It’s like a written promise that she doesn’t understand. Maybe she should ask Mito about it.

“I’m hungry,” Madara cuts this strange atmosphere hard and arches his eyebrow at Hashirama, who laughs amused by such a change, offering a space at his table not far from them.

Karen takes another look at the scroll.

“They will support if the Senju clan does not,” Tobirama explains with a firm tone. “It is a promise, a written deal from the Uchiha clan... if it becomes necessary for you to seek shelter and protection.”

“Oh...” she blinks due to the weight of this gift. “Can that be done?”

“An extra protection from anything you do not want,” the man accepts, watching the only two Uchiha talk at Hashirama’s table.

“He’s not that bad.”

“I know,” the man bends his mouth, not liking what this treaty really means. Karen doesn’t take much notice of it but keeps this just in case.

It’s not that she believes the man is capable of doing something that harms her, and just the intention hurts the morale of whom is by her side. “Don’t worry. I don’t think I will need it.” She decides it’s better to say that before the man imagines things in his head.

“...”

“You can be annoying, serious and bitter, but I know that your words are not empty,” she easily shrugs.

“It was not necessary for you to say all of the above... you know that, right?”

“For me, it was,” she laughs a little more, mocking the attitude of her fiancé, who snorts words under his breath that are difficult to hear, which makes her raise her eyebrow.

At least until Mito and Mikami decided to take her. Because they had to close the event and as a future bride, she had to start her own work, and what better way than having a meeting between girls.

The closest ones... giving way to this new stage of her life with various feelings that she has begun to work to overcome. It was not as bad as she had imagined.

She somewhat trusts the words of the Senjus.

Karen wants to believe, clinging to their non-promise.

A/N: As you can see, her engagement is now official and like any adult over 30 years old, Karen tends to be apprehensive and somewhat clinging to her feelings along with her worries, increased by the nostalgia of these days that has accumulated exploding on that day.

It wasn’t her dream... but there she is, somewhat faking her position. At least Tobirama has assured her in a way things that she didn’t know she wanted to hear. Even without understanding it much, I help him.

What will happen now? Have the other clans already started to join? It’s one step at a time and like in real life, things will just fall into place.

Thank you for your comments.

Author-chan out!

#lost in the forest fic #warring states period #angst #senju tobirama #tobirama x reader #tobirama x oc #ocs #hashirama senju #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfiction #uchiha madara #uchiha izuna #luchipuchi's writing

8 notes · View notes

pctaldrunk · 2 years

Text

@yoakkemae asked : 17) one muse has been holding a grudge only to discover the other has been secretly doing something to help them. // ran & kid. - SHOOT IDK WHICH MEME THIS IS (ACCEPTING)

Sonoko’s celebrity crush is loud and exuberant, but it is endearing and harmless - and sometimes, unfortunately inconvenient. Despite the nature of a great majority of her acquaintances - she’s not her father and she’s not Conan and she doesn’t always enjoy spending Saturday nights at a gala or a museum, WAITING and watching for the phantom thief to appear in a room teeming with nervous policemen. And anyway - she always wondered if it isn’t true that the more people present, the more options he would have to impersonate? - As it turns out she PARTICULARLY doesn’t enjoy Saturday nights she spends locked in the bathroom in a likely drug-induced slumber while said thief runs amok - presumably wearing her face. If she hadn’t been strapped into something so complicated (at Sonoko’s insistence, no less) or had sturdier shoes - well, as her mother had said from an early age, there’s no crying over spilt milk.

Despite the weakness that lingers in her limbs from the sleeping smoke - being left in a camisole and shorts made it easy to kick the door to the stall nearly STRAIGHT off its hinges when she comes to to the sound of footsteps and caught a glimpse of white from the crack beneath. It’ll be a disadvantaged fight, since her head is still spinning a little - if she isn’t gassed again immediately, anyway - but when she prepares to kick Kid’s stupid hat off, she notices that he isn’t holding a jewel in white gloved hands but rather a familiar looking pair of shoes. Sonoko had lent (or rather, presented) the impractical but sparkly monstrosities to her earlier that very evening - and while she knew better than to let Sonoko dictate her wardrobe, her scuffed boots did seem out of place for the venue.

Voice is croaky when she asks, incredulity coloring her voice, “...Are you...putting heel-liners in my shoes?” Registers the STING that half-circles her ankles finally, the incessant discomfort that she didn’t quite manage to ignore all night - feet suddenly cold on the tiles. Realizes, a moment later. “...And last time, the bandaid for those new flats.” Silent, still, watching as she leans against the door, for longer than she’d planned to. It’s strange to think about - she’s grown up surrounded by the idea of justice, and yet Ran has always had a strong ATTACHMENT to the idea of kindness. To find it in a world renowned jewel thief, so suddenly and in so simple a thing, after wanting to bite his head off for a whole evening...was jarring, to say the least. Mumbles, half to herself - “...I guess you’re the gentleman thief for a reason.”

#yoakkemae #𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑�� 𝐑𝐀𝐍 : the fire is here to stay. to light the night. to help us grow .#interaction : why do you fight like your running out of time. why do you write like history has its eyes on you #((it's been literal y e a r s since i've written her s o))#((i miGHT BE RUSTY))#((B PATIENT W/ ME PLS UWU))#((anyway I HOPE THIS IS O K A Y))#((i couldn't think off the top of my head what else they coula been helpin each other w/ :P))#((fasfjl;jalfksf sorry this is so long don't feel the need to match i tHINK I WRITE MORE WHEN IM NERVOUS))

2 notes · View notes

royalreef · 2 years

Text

@xsprxsso inquired: If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference? Character Development Questions - Accepting

(( Here’s the fun thing — it would be remarkably, remarkably easy to tell if someone was impersonating Miranda, to the point that they wouldn’t need to pose any singular, specific question to determine that it wasn’t her.

In fact, trying to ask her any specific question wouldn’t help at all, and would probably only confuse things further.

This is because Miranda’s already a notorious liar who presents a lot of different false images and perceptions of herself based upon what people want to see, what they want to hear. She’s already spinning a web of lies with her at the center, and half of the time, she’s not even really recognizing that she’s doing it. There’s a lot of things that Miranda will say and will swear to and insist upon with complete conviction in her voice, that are entirely untrue and she knows it.

See, you have to think of Miranda in a lot of very indirect ways. If you come at her from the front and take her at face value, you’ll get something much different than what she actually is, and that’s almost intentional. She’s Crown Princess. She has to know how to play the courts, and that includes saying things without saying them and understanding how to pacify and manipulate those around her and phrasing everything just right to not get caught. If look at her directly, that’s exactly where she wants you to be, and where she has the most control over how she comes off. It’s not just coincidence how she can command a room and keep all eyes on her effortlessly. It’s literally where she’s most in her element, and most able to obscure herself.

However, if you look at her more from the side, less of what she’ll say and more of her intentions, what she wants out of things, how she navigates the world, all of her little reactions that she won’t bring attention to — then you start getting the real picture of what Miranda is like. She’s an unreliable narrator and you have to treat her like one. All of the things she brings attention to are seldom the most important thing, and that’s why I leave so many little breadcrumbs in my writing that tie back into the bigger picture but will sit unnoticed if you don’t pick up on them being there. Miranda’s like water. She’s fluid, and has to be held in a container to take on a proper shape that can be understood.

She’s also entirely tied up in denial and a lot of complicated emotions that she’s nowhere in the right place to untangle, so she’ll entirely ignore them until there’s a quiet enough moment where she can begin to pick at them.

All of this is why Miranda can be so... much, sometimes. She’s cute and silly and kinda dumb sometimes, she’s efficient and ruthless and fully in control at other times, and she’s tragic and confused and powerless at different moments still. She’s any one of these things, and she’s all of these things, and she’s none of these things, all at once, because you have to think of her as something else that is being constantly shaped by what’s around her. It’s why she can turn on a dime, or seemingly without warning, or have wildly different reactions to the same thing. There’s a deeper core to her character, and what you see is not what you’re going to get.

So I feel like the first mistake would have been impersonating Miranda. There are much easier targets, and the fact of her inconsistency and her habit of lying actually make her all the harder to actually pull off. All it would take is simply being too consistent with Miranda, focusing too hard on any one of her singular facets, or just taking her at face value and believing she is who she says she is. She’s not contained in what she says or how she holds herself. She contained in all these tiny, wordless, thoughtless habits and trends that people who have been around her have noticed or picked up on, and if you fail at those unsaid things, then that’s a HUGE red flag that that’s not really Miranda.

#Glory and Gore || IC #Dreaded rumors || Asks #xsprxsso #Given by Divine Right || Headcanons #(( SHE'S A FUN ONE.#(( and also such a blatant target for being replaced it cracks me up #(( she looks so easy and so simple to impersonate! no one would notice!!!#(( but you could not have picked a worse option #(( everything you do is Wrong and Not Miranda and you will not understand why

7 notes · View notes

kkusuka · 3 years

Note

I’m so proud I’ve been here long before 2k💁🏼‍♀️ N E WAY CONGRATSSSSS!!!

Can I have fluff 16 with a twist tho, like “My ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see." with Gojou, Fushiguro, Itadori and a fem reader? If 3 characters are way to many you can keep only Gojou. Keep being amazinggg<3

thank you so much!! <3

Gn!Pronouns, but you are implied to be female!

Cw: an itsy bitsy hint of angst, slight confessions, reader panics,

a/n: these were almost criminally fun to write, I love these three so much

Gojou Satoru

Words: 700

You had no idea how a simple piece of paper could make you feel. Awkward, confusion, shock, all from one note that you thought was a bill.

‘Y/n L/n save the date!’ was the last thing you had expected, from your ex-boyfriend nonetheless. The same guy who dated you for a whole three years before telling you over text that it wasn’t going to work out.

Well, the both of you never had a bad relationship after, but you were a severe level of butthurt. But what made you really freeze was the plus one invitation, if you showed up to your ex’s wedding you would look like a loser.

Since you were clearly going, you’d never miss on free food and a chance to have a day off, you needed an outfit and a date. The outfit was pretty easy to figure out, you’d go shopping on the weekend and buy something then.

But someone to go with? You had about three friends whom you knew could not afford any days off and that you just didn't want to take. (at least you had some last resorts) Then, another problem, if they weren’t part of the Jujutsu world it would be harder to explain if you had to abruptly leave, which was a huge possibility this time of year.

With that, your options were cut down to two- Nanami and...Gojou, of all people.

Obviously, you tried, emphasis on tried, Nanami first. But after 24 missed calls and a 15-second conversation where he basically told you to shove it, you were in full-on panic mode. The wedding was in three days and you had to do something about your inevitable loneliness.

You had to get over yourself, the worst Gojo could do was make fun of you or say no. But, he never passes up the opportunity for sweets, just lay on the dessert y/n!

“To what do I owe this sweet phone call Y/n? Confessing your love for yours truly?” his voice laughed through the line. You just had to ask him in a way that would compel him to want to come with you.

“My ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see." you blurt not even thinking about the words falling from your lips.

You come to realize your words from the ringing silence in your ears, “I’m sorry I just-”

“I’ll come” he answered, cutting off your apologies. He’ll come, you didn't even have to say anything about sugar or bribe him into coming.

“You’ll come? Really? Why-wait Thank you! It’s on Saturday at 3 pm, we can go together if that makes things better! Thank you so much, you just saved me Gojo! How can I make it up to you!” you were just spouting whatever you could to thank him, listening to his daughter from his side.

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with my little Sugar? You can make it up to me by wearing your prettiest little dress so we’ll be the hottest couple at the wedding.” he teased, continuing ranting about how you should match colors to add ‘flare’.

“While we’re there we can start planning our own wedding! Doesn’t that sound fun Sugar!”

Fushiguro Megumi

Words: 700

“What even is that” Megumi’s voice rang through the office hallway. You’d like to know too, you haven’t spoken to anyone from your hometown, save for our family, since you moved away six years ago.

“I’m not totally sure, you want to open it with me?” you question opening the door to your office as he silently follows you in.

Settling the rest of the mail down, you take a closer look at the suspicious envelope noticing the name on the return address. There's no way! Why the hell was your ex sending you things to your official workspace?

“What’s wrong? Is it bad?” Megumi doesn't know what to do, your face went pale and you looked super confused.

“Oh, nothing really. I’m just surprised, it’s from my ex” well now he was frozen, was it a love letter? Why was he sending you stuff, he just hoped that it wasn't bad, you had enough on your plate and you didn’t need more.

Opening the envelope to see flower patterns and script lettering; you know exactly what this letter will be telling you. Just as you suspect a date plastered on the card along with two all familiar names flood your senses.

“He’s getting married!” you couldn't believe it, why would he invite his high school ex to his wedding, it was an odd choice, to say the least.

“That’s cool I guess, anyway I gotta go, have fun,” he murmured leaving the room and letting to wonder if you were even going to show up in the first place, but at the moment you send an email and reserve a spot for yourself and admittedly a plus one that didn’t exist.

You would figure it out in due time!

❍❍❍

You did not figure anything out and the wedding was tomorrow. No one in their right mind would drop everything to come to some random wedding. Your point proved when Itadori explained he had plans to go see a movie marathon with Jumpei that he just couldn’t cancel.

Not even Nobara would spare you some mercy, she and Maki were having a pre-planned girls' day, one that you would be going to if you hadn't agreed to go to some random wedding.

Now you could only pray that Mehgumi felt enough pity that he would go with you. Deciding that a call would be too impersonal and would be easier to say no over, you make your way to his apartment with a box of dumplings that you knew he loved.

“Gumi-chan? Open up please!” you knocked on the door waiting for him to come, him appearing a few seconds later; hair messy in sweatpants and a black tank-top. No- this isn’t about his body, it could be, but you had to get this settled first.

“Uh? Did I miss something? Why are you here?” his questions break you from your stare as you shove the food in his arms, gathering all the courage you could muster.

“These are for you and all you need to do is hear me out, please? I would really like you too!” you beg, watching as he silently commanded for you to continue.

“As you know, my ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see." you kept your head low as you explained to him what had happened, “I really need you to do this for me, I'll give you anything I swear! Just help me this once!”

“Why do you need me?” he mumbled, commanding your attention back onto his face.

“Because it’ll be fun and you need to get out.” ‘and this is my way of asking you out but not asking you at the same time’ goes unsaid.

“Fine, but you have to come to dinner with me the next time my dad asks.” that was it you, ultimatum, an easy one too.

“Deal! Now we have to match or it’ll look stupid, and we have to practice dancing and-”

“Dear Lord, what did I get into”

Itadori Yuji

Words: 600

You’d pinned the invitation above your bed as a constant reminder that you had to do something.

Not that you cared what your ex thought of you at their wedding, but something deep inside wanted to show him that you were happy without him.

And the only way to do that was to shove a hot guy down his throat; better yet, a totally hot guy that was into you. Now all you needed was a hot guy to be into you.

Well, you had a hot guy to go with you. In a desperate plea, you had asked your good friend Itadori, formally known as the vessel of another somewhat friend Sukuna, and he had agreed.

Just thinking about it made you cringe a bit; you had been freaking out and ran to his apartment, drenched in rain.

“My ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see," you explained frantically, waving your hands. Watching his face contort into every human emotion you could think of, before spreading into a smile.

“Of course I’ll come with you! It sounds like a blast!” of course Sukuna had a few choice words to say about that, something along the lines of, ‘you're not dragging me to some stupid event because you're lonely! I refuse!”

And he continued to complain throughout the night of planning and the next morning when you told him he was going whether he wanted to or not and he told you he’d rather die.

“This Wench will not dictate my life!” he spoke through a mouth on Yuji’s cheek, eye slit glaring in your direction.

“And I’m not letting some lame demon tell me what I can and can’t do with my friend!” you argued back.

But he didn't have a say anyway.

Now you were standing before a mirror, admiring how your dress wrapped around your body, waiting for Itadori to come to the door.

Hearing the knocks on your door, you grab a small bag and your invitations and your plus one, opening the door to Yuji in a three-piece black suit, staring at you with wide eyes.

“You look great-”

“You look crazy beautiful-”

Both of you freeze at the word mix-up, then breaking into laughter as you loop your arm through his outstretched one.

“Seriously you look great, y/n. You have that guy wishing he’d never let you go! Wait then you wouldn’t be with me, so just make him miss you a bit but not too much!” he stammered out as you continued your way to his car.

“You are the worst two humans in existence.”

1K notes · View notes

alpacaparkaseok · 4 years

Text

Book of Soulmates - OT7 Bonus

Hello everyone! Happy Valentine’s day! I know some of you are way ahead of my timezone and have already passed Valentine’s day, but I hope that you guys enjoy this regardless!

@nochujeonjk requested a Yoongi hot & cold au, so I thought that I’d throw together this special little story to wrap up the soulmate aus nicely. hopefully this is alright!

Thank you all for reading, and you’re always welcome to drop in any time. I love hearing from you. Stay tuned for the epilogue to my series ‘Mine’ this week, as well as Jimin’s red string of fate series coming on February 22nd!

premise: how to boys would react with simple day-to-day tasks while managing their soulmate bonds, and how they meet their soulmates

Seokjin - barcode bond

honestly tries not to look at it too much

but there are days when it’s all he can look at

is quite curious about the technology used to scan the barcodes

when he thinks nobody is watching, he’ll go down to the entrance of the Bighit building and scan his barcode over and over again

he’s a little jealous of the others’ bonds, which seem more personal

but he’s also terrified of the day when he’ll be notified that somebody with his same barcode entered the building

like, how is he supposed to talk to you?

these are usually what he thinks about during boring interviews

but then there’s a day when he’s biking to work

and he’s keeping his head down, just trying to keep out of sight

but he sees you

and he knows

which makes him realize that maybe his bond isn’t so impersonal after all, if he can recognize you without any help of a machine

so when you walk inside a shop and he notices that you do indeed have a barcode bond, which you scan as you walk in, he’s calling Namjoon and telling him he’s going to be a little late

and before he can even think it through, he’s throwing his bike in the bike rack and walking in after you, scanning his barcode

and watches as it declares a match

after that, he realizes he has no clue what he’s doing

but that just makes you smile

every once in a while, Jin will drag you down to the entrance of the Bighit building just to scan both of your barcodes and see them match up

it just never gets old

Yoongi - hot & cold bond

he’s grown up being fairly cold, so he’s used to it

but it’s not the most pleasant sensation

used to take really long, steaming hot showers

but now he just gets in and out as quickly as he can

because he knows that the warmth is only temporary

and he wants you

so when he wakes up one morning absolutely freezing, he can hardly get out of bed.

what he doesn’t know is that you’ve left the country for school, but find yourself in a similar cold situation

Bighit, worried for Yoongi’s health (mentally and physically), set out to find you

it’s pretty easy. a letter, phone call, and plane ticket later, you’re heading back to Seoul just to meet Yoongi and get your body temperatures normal so you can head back to school

Yoongi takes the longest, hottest shower of his life, trying to figure out what life at a warm temperature will be like

but it still does nothing to prepare him for the shock of you does to him

you’re...radiant. smiling from the second you want into the room where he’s waiting for you

and as his internal body temperature soars before settling down to an average level, he just stares at you with the widest eyes

what ensues is a long-distance relationship in which Yoongi claims that he’s cold when you’re gone

you both know that’s not true - after soulmates with this kind of bond meet they have a normal body temperature regardless of distance

but you still cave every once in a while and let him fly you back home to him

the man literally flies you thousands of miles just to cuddle with you for a few days before you have to leave

the boys tease him mercilessly for it

but he just pretends he has no idea what they’re talking about

Hoseok - timer bond

this man strives to be organized - for good reason

he feels like if he’s clean and organized, it’ll make this entire bond easier to manage

he doesn’t very often show how nervous it makes him feel, but there have been a few times that the boys have found him in the studio late at night, eyes closed with his timer covered

everyone is grateful that they don’t have that bond

but Hobi handles it like a champ

he’s smiling when there are only 60 minutes left, because finally, but then he realizes that he’s in the studio

and literally nobody that isn’t authorized is allowed inside

lol you’re totally not authorized

but you’ve also got a package to deliver, which is your part time job as a university student

so when you ask for where you can deliver a package that Hobi ordered online, an intern tells you that he’s in his studio

which leads to you wandering around the Bighit building

utterly lost

and realizing with more panic than you care to admit that you’ve literally only got thirty minutes left before you meet your soulmate

the only thought on both your and Hobi’s mind is how you have to get out

so you take the stairs, when you finally find them with just a few minutes left on your timer

still holding Hobi’s package when you stumble out the doors to find that you’re in a flipping parking garage

who on earth is going to be chilling is a parking garage when they’re about to meet their soulmate?!

Jung Hoseok, that’s who.

he’s debating between driving his car somewhere more central, or sticking around the building

but he’s a fool and dropped his keys

so naturally you pick them up right as he’s running back to grab them, heart pounding out of his chest

needless to say, you get to deliver him the package, his keys, and your heart

0:00

Namjoon - shared pain bond

he immediately apologizes to you in his mind every single time he breaks something an hurts himself

oh he totally knows that you’re gonna give him an earful when you meet

but he’s so excited

like, giddy schoolboy excited to someday meet you

there’s no rush, but he thinks about it a little too much

he’s learned that you must be a little clumsy like him, because it feels like you stub your toe all the time

but he really doesn’t mind

if the boys so much as begin to bring you up, he dies

like the awkward little bean he is

but he also stresses about how he’s supposed to find you

the boys invite him out with some other friends to get him to de-stress

you’re there

he’s there, obviously

and literally everyone else that’s there already is pretty sure that you two are soulmates

so they just watch you two as the night progresses, wondering if either of you will catch on

you literally get up to go to the bathroom and stub your toe on the way out, but Namjoon is so focused on the menu that he doesn’t make the connection. he just frowns a little before continuing asking Jimin what he’s getting to eat

Jimin can’t answer him because he’s laughing so hard

it isn’t until later that night, when you’re at your apartment that you begin to wonder

Namjoon thought you were really cool, and ends up FaceTiming you thanks to the boys dropping several hints

His hands are shaking a little when he pinches his skin, just enough for it to sting

you hiss a little, frowning at your arm before continuing with whatever you were talking about

Namjoon is pretty much out of commission from that point on

so this boy freaking courts you for a couple of weeks before you finally realize that HE’S YOUR SOULMATE AND HE’S KNOWN ALL ALONG

how do you find out?

he tries cooking for you one night and hurts himself consistently enough that you’re left reeling with both laughter and tears

he’s embarrassed about hiding it from you, but admits that he just didn’t know how to tell you

you tell him that you don’t mind...but that you’re definitely going to use this against him in the future

Jimin - shared dreams bond

the sweetest soulmate ever

with one of the best bonds, everyone tells him

Jimin gets paranoid before he goes to sleep, and repeats “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over again in hopes that it’ll somehow be translated into his dreams

gets super jealous and grumpy if you dream about guys, even if it’s purely platonic

but oh my lanta does he get so excited and giddy when you dream about beautiful things like soulmates

the other boys are so curious about his bond, so they ask him about it al the time

like, “what did she dream about last night, Jiminie?”

he’s positive that you know who he is, he’s sure he’s dreamt of him and the boys countless times

but he also knows that you probably won’t just show up at his dorm

so he’s dying to have something to go off of, to help him find you

that’s when you dream about your first day of university

he knows that campus

and he’s there the next day, mask on and hood up, flowers in hand

he has no clue what he’s doing

but he just hopes that somehow he’ll run into you

the first day he goes there, he comes home empty handed

instead of being all mopey and sad like the boys expected him to be, he’s even more determined than ever

he’s on campus with a new bouquet every day

on the fourth day, you come running over with your books in hand

he dreamt about this last night

you’ve been scouring every inch of the campus for him, and heard from a friend that there was a mysterious guy chilling in front of the science building

of course the science building is clear on the other side of campus

so you’re out of breath and frazzled by the time you make it over there, but so happy

and Jimin practically throws the flowers at you, he’s suddenly so nervous

which makes you laugh

and your laugh makes him laugh

and that night you dream about each other

Taehyung - initials bond

ugh this is the worst bond

like, Tae will fight anyone on it, it’s hands down the worst

because he’s met countless people with your same initials!

but maybe fate understands that this bond sucks, because it’s also becoming more and more rare

it eventually just gets to a point where Tae decides to take matters into his own hands

he literally designs his own t-shirt with his initials on the back and yours on the front

fans think it’s adorable

you’re shocked when you see it selling out

soon almost every ARMY owns the shirt and begins the ‘initial project’

you don’t want to tell people that you’ve got KTH on your wrist, because what if it’s not him?

but where there a will ARMY, there’s a way

so tae tae finds out through the grapevine about you

and basically calls you out over vlive

it’s hilarious

staff wanna kill him but can’t do anything about it

but man he just wants to meet you

so with some assistance from ARMY, you guys meet

it’s at a flower festival in Ilsan

tae’s wearing his glasses

and all he can think about is that you look like you belong here, among all of these flowers

so he tells you that, with the shyest, sweetest smile

and you marvel that this is the same man that literally hunted you down using social media and his fan base

you’re still a little skeptical, so you ask him how he can be sure that it’s you when there are so many that share your initials

and he just smiles again

and asks if he can hold your hand while you guys walk around and enjoy the festival

so you agree, albeit a little hesitantly

and as you guys walk around, you realize that you know exactly what he’s talking about

hand in hand, smiling up at him and thinking that he belongs with the stars glittering above you, you realize that there’s no way he’s not your soulmate

he looks down at you and sees that you get it

but he wants to make sure you know it anyway

so he shuffles a little closer and squeezes your hand a little tighter

and from then on, you’re known as ARMY’s soulmate, since they helped you two find each other

Jungkook - drawing bond

obviously, Jungkook loves drawing

he’s very good at it, too

so nobody questions him when he’s off in the corner of the practice room scribbling something on his arm or leg

he jokes how about how you two complete each other because you rarely draw, you write

notes, grocery lists, titles to books, whatever

you write, and he draws.

so if you need to buy apples (they’re on sale!) Jungkook is grabbing a pen and doodling a bushel of apples on his knee

you love it

he mainly loves you

the boys tease him nonstop about it, because it’s so painfully obvious

he’s a goner, and you haven’t even met each other

but he’s so nervous to meet you

and there’s no rush, really

but when he sees Tae trying so hard to find his soulmate, he wonders if it’s time for him and you to finally meet

his bond is the easier by far

and there are so many night where he lays in bed with a pen in hand, wondering if he should just go for it. drop his number, an address, his name, anything

but he never does

he’s so afraid

and he’s so in love that he feels like you’ll freak out when you realize that he’s fallen in love with a person he’s never had any face-to-face contact with

but then there’s this night where all the boys are hanging out together and their soulmates are present (because they’ve all met by this point) and Jungkook realizes how happy he feels

like, he’s genuinely happy. for his hyungs, for himself. he’s lucky that he gets to have this strange little family.

and he realizes that you should get to have this, too.

so that night he scrawls his phone number out on the back of his hand with a simple note

‘call if you feel comfortable with it’

you freak out

like, fist pumping while also wondering if this is gonna blow up in your face

by the time you’ve weighed all the pros and cons, it’s nearly three in the morning. but you’ve got to call him. now.

so you do, secretly praying that you get the voicemail

but kook is up. of course he is, he’s been waiting on the edge of his bed since eleven pm.

he answers and you realize as soon as he says hello that you’ve fallen in love with this man

which is terrifying, but if he was the one to give out his number, he must want to meet you, right?

right.

when you do meet, everyone is there. all the boys, all of their soulmates. watching as Jungkook leaps off the park bench and runs to you, and he giggles.

giggles. it’s adorable.

and it’s cute and awkward and a little crowded with all 14 of you, but it’s better than you’d ever imagined.

Jungkook waits all of two hours before grabbing your hand and whispering, “I love you”

so you grab a pen from your bag and smile up at him as you write “I love you, too” into your skin

masterlist

aaaand that’s a wrap! overall, this was the 20th and final installment to the Book of Soulmates! This one was a bit different from the others, since the others are actual mini stories with one member at a time, but I hope you enjoyed!

Happy Valentine’s day!! Love you all! Stay tuned for the fun things coming up! Check my navigation tab to see what’s next!

311 notes · View notes

be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 15

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M.

Ao3 | FFN

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

More Chapters

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

*Six Weeks Later*

[Ron]

The flat is small but well-arranged. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, maximizing the vertical space that only one of its residents can fully use. The kitchen is sparkling clean, save for two empty red wine-stained glasses in the sink. Usually, the dishes would be washed and stacked away before the clock strikes bedtime, but last night other, more fun activities got in the way.

The apartment's decor is simple — it has to balance the strikingly orange accent wall behind the television. The only other thing commanding attention is the large painting of a cityscape hanging on the wall across from the entry. It's an artistic rendering of a well-known skyline, characterized by neon lights, a replica of the Eiffel Tower, and a series of flashy hotels. Although the portrait might be recognizable to many, it's meaningful to only a few.

As the morning light peeks through the windows, the bedroom's blinds give up on filtering it out. The sun casts a ray across the pillows, illuminating the two sleeping figures entangled together in bed. Gentle and mild, the light is easier to ignore than an intense desert beam, and it takes a few moments for the tall, red-haired man to open his eyes.

When he does, he turns onto his side to bury his face into his pillow. The bed is warm and comfortable — the satin sheets were a worthwhile investment. Same for the pillow, which somehow maintains the perfect combination of cold and cozy. Ever since they bought a new, albeit expensive mattress, his back problems have become a thing of the past.

He smiles at the mountain of fluffy blankets beside him, topped with spirals of bushy brown locks. There's so much goddamn hair. It looks like a plush volcano of cushions is erupting with curly brown hair. He can't decide what he loves more: the explosion of brunette, the bright orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt, the black mens' boxers that have a little too much fabric for a woman, or the person it all belongs to.

Well, technically, the Cannons t-shirt and boxers are his, or at least, were his. But marriage is about sharing.

"Morning, wifey."

Hermione groans and covers her face with a pillow. "Too early."

Ron slips an arm around his wife, encouraging her to turn toward him. She obliges and snuggles up into the crook of his arm, where she fits perfectly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and nuzzles his head into her hair.

It would be easy to stay like this forever, ignoring real-life responsibilities. In a way, their bed has become an escape from reality, an oasis built upon the lessons they learned in Las Vegas. Defined by frequent 'I love you's, reprieves from work, and late-night explorations fueled by a glass of wine and the need to destress, it's the place that keeps them anchored to the magic. Who wouldn't want to stay forever?

But alas, they can't, as they have Maid of Honor and Best Man duties to attend to. Today is Harry and Ginny's wedding, and within a few hours, they need to transition from the carefree vacationers they became in Vegas to the highly organized planners helping to orchestrate the festivities.

Ron groans. Although their friends know they're together — they put on quite a show back in Las Vegas, after all — they haven't revealed the extent of their relationship, and the worst part about being in public together is pretending that Hermione's just his girlfriend.

"We should just tell everyone," murmurs Ron into Hermione's hair.

She chuckles and snuggles closer. "After the wedding. Let's not steal their thunder."

Steal their thunder. To be honest, Ron has frequently fantasized about stealing Harry and Ginny's thunder. A small part of him is jealous of their hen and stag weekend in Las Vegas and their elaborate wedding. Ron wants everyone to celebrate him and Hermione, and as time passes, he grows more desperate for them all to know.

"I want to steal their thunder."

"I know." Hermione gently pushes him over on his back and slides on top of him. The movement is swift and natural, and as always, she fits like a glove.

"Hmmm, hi," he says right before their lips meet. The kiss lingers; Hermione's teeth lightly latch to his bottom lip, driving him wild. Without breaking their kiss, Hermione shifts some of her weight onto her hips. She knows exactly what she's doing, and if Ron doesn't stop this train, they'll be late.

"Er-my-nee," he groans, pulling away. She pouts at him with her wide chocolate brown eyes, and it's all he can do to resist tangling himself back up in her arms. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Do you wish we had more thunder?"

Hermione brushes a tuft of hair from Ron's forehead. "Sometimes. But I still wouldn't change a thing."

Ron smiles as she leans down for another kiss. Her fingers thread into her wild curls, prompting him to flip her over and land on top. He groans when she wraps her legs around his waist.

"You know we don't have time for this," he says between kisses. "We should get rea—"

"Shhhhh." She pulls him into her embrace and tightens her leg lock around his hips. "There's always time."

"Hey!" he teases, then leaning down toward her ear to whisper, "I take offense to that."

Ron doesn't give her time to respond before connecting his mouth to hers for another kiss. He can smell his cologne from the night before on her skin, yet it still tastes like Hermione when his lips travel from her mouth to the nape of her neck. A soft moan escapes her lips and sends him into a tizzy that leaves nothing else to do but get lost in her.

Six weeks in, and he's still convinced he'll never get sick of snogging Hermione Granger.

Plus, she's right — there's always time.

Harry and Ginny's wedding is just as elaborate as their weekend of partying in Las Vegas, but of course, classy. The venue is a converted warehouse, which initially horrified Molly, Ron and Ginny's mum, but it's unrecognizable after a few hours of decorating. They tie the knot underneath a trellis of climbing vines and twinkling lights illuminating the exposed brick wall behind them. Cafe lights drape from the ceiling beams, filtering the room's color just enough that everyone appears to glow. Each row of seats is marked by a simple bouquet and a periwinkle ribbon that matches the color of the bridesmaids' dresses, and the aisle appears to have been assaulted by flower petals, courtesy of Victoire, Ron and Ginny's niece, who recently discovered the true strength of her throwing arm.

Ginny has insisted that she and Harry walk down the aisle together as equals. Although originally disgruntled at the pushback on tradition, their father, Arthur, chokes up when he watches the pair approach the altar. Ginny's eyes sparkle with rare tears, and Harry can't keep his gaze off her radiant smile.

They're a couple in love, and there's not a doubt in the room.

Ginny's dress is simple — Hermione had said something about satin, but Ron doesn't remember the details. It's one of those dresses that doesn't dare pull focus from the woman wearing it, not that any dress could. Ron's always resented the Weasleys' fiery red hair and the way it sticks out like a sore thumb, but Ginny makes him think that maybe it isn't so bad after all.

While everyone watches the couple, Ron chances a glance at Hermione across the altar. He can hardly stand seeing her in her periwinkle bridesmaid dress, and he hopes to heaven his gawking isn't too noticeable. When he shifts his eyes in her direction, she turns her head back toward the bride and groom.

She was checking him out, too.

He doesn't have to keep his eyes on her for his imagination to run wild. That periwinkle dress turns white, and suddenly it's Hermione walking down the aisle. Her hair is tucked up into a spiral on top of her head, a few wisps escaping to frame her face.

Since it's his sister's wedding, Ron forces the image out of his mind, but he can't stop a wistful smile from forming on his lips and staying there throughout the ceremony.

When Harry and Ginny arrive at the altar, the music slows to a stop, and the officiant steps out from behind a curtain.

"Well, hello, folks!" says the blonde-haired man in a thick, mumbling American accent.

The wedding guests stare in silence at the man, who's dressed in white from head to toe, a greasy black wig barely covering his blonde locks.

Harry and Ginny burst into laughter, which breaks the seal for everyone else to follow suit.

"Yes! You got an Elvis impersonator!" shouts Fred, Ron and Ginny's brother, from the front row. "Someone check Mum's pulse."

With that, Ron snaps his head toward his mum, whose face has collapsed into her hands. Her body is heaving with what can only be sobs, or…

Laughter. Ron grins when he realizes that his mother's laughing hysterically.

At Molly's outburst, the tension and stuffiness of a formal event dissipate, and the ceremony continues flawlessly, having now been marked by Harry and Ginny's personalities. Elvis speaks to their bond, and even though he doesn't know the couple, he manages to capture how they approach life, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves and marching to their own beat. They've written heartfelt but humorous vows, expertly eliciting laughs and tears from their guests while they read them with shaky hands. They share their first kiss as a married couple to a round of applause and a standing ovation. Emboldened by the support, Harry picks up Ginny and drapes her over his shoulder as he skips back down the aisle to a chorus of cheers and whistles.

The wedding party follows the happy couple back down the aisle, starting with Ron and Hermione. They link arms and lock eyes, sharing a small, knowing smile. Ron wonders if she's also imagining the roles reversed, everyone clapping and celebrating for them as they traipse down the aisle after tying the knot.

What would the pseudo-Elvis have said about them if this were their ceremony, not Harry and Ginny's? Would he have spoken to how they disliked each other when they first met, and the utter disbelief they felt when they woke up next to one another in bed? Maybe he'd have talked about their strong determination to get a divorce and straighten everything out, followed by the looming 'what ifs' that kept knocking. What if they gave it a chance? What if they opened their hearts and it worked out? What if it was meant to be?

Maybe Elvis would have told a white lie at their request, saving their families the heartache of learning that they missed the original wedding, even though Ron and Hermione kind of missed it too.

That would be best wouldn't it? They could hire an Elvis to spin a new love story for their family, so they could keep the real one to themselves—not due to shame, but the simple fact that it's theirs.

Ron can't help but wonder.

Rather than a formal sit-down dinner, the ceremony transitions straight into a party. The delicate set-up of chairs and flowers clears into a dance floor. The doors to the warehouse open to an outdoor deck complete with a buffet and a dessert table, and a crowd forms at the bar.

Tugged away by Ginny, Hermione disappears into the crowd, and Ron becomes absorbed by friends and relatives. He'd rather stick with Hermione, but before he can locate her again, he's trapped in a conversation with long-lost family members. Old cousin Barny, Auntie Muriel and her flavor of the week — a scruffy looking man who introduces himself as Argus, and a neighbor who used to babysit when he was a toddler — he smiles through it all.

"Anyone special in your life, Ron?"

"I noticed the way you were looking at the brunette."

"Is it serious?"

"Should we be marking our calendars for another wedding?"

He deflects the expected questions — the ones that could draw attention away from the happy couple — with suggestive 'maybes' and 'we'll sees' although the truth, or at least a version of the truth, is evident on his face.

Yes, there is someone special. Yes, he was probably gawking at the beautiful brunette. Yes, it's serious enough that they live together.

"You're living together before you're married?" Auntie Muriel chimes in her most dismissive, judgemental tone.

Ron gives her a guilty look, a 'we're already married, you just don't know,' but to her, it's an admission of living together in sin.

"Well, I hope for your sake, she's the one."

"She definitely is," he says, nodding in a way he hopes ends the conversation.

Ron eventually negotiates an escape from small talk and heads to the bar for a slight reprieve. He slides into a seat and accepts a generous glass of champagne from the bartender. One sip reveals just how thirsty he is, and he lets out a satisfied sigh of relief before indulging in the rest of his glass.

"Another?" asks the bartender once he finishes.

"Erm, sure. Thanks."

While the bartender refills his glass, Ron takes a quick scan of the room. He's looking for Hermione, but she's nowhere to be found. His search doesn't last long as a certain someone slides into the barstool next to him and interrupts.

"Thank you for being here," says the dark-haired man beside him. "It means a lot."

"Ugh, not you," groans Ron, but his tone is laden with a touch of sarcasm only his best friend can decipher. "Should I say congratulations?"

"Yes, please," grins Harry. "Even though you've said it a million times."

"Well, you should soak it up because tomorrow, I'm done congratulating you," he says. "So needy."

"Cheers to you too," says Harry, clanking his champagne glass against Ron's.

"I've been meaning to ask you," says Ron, remembering Harry and Ginny's elaborate ceremony. "Why Elvis?"

Harry laughs. "Oh, Ludo? We met him at one of the casinos in Vegas."

"And you just asked him to officiate your wedding?"

"Well, he offered, and we didn't have anyone else," shrugged Harry. "To be honest, we were kind of drunk when we agreed, but Ginny wanted to bring some of Las Vegas into the wedding, so it worked out."

"Well, I liked him. I thought it was brilliant."

"I agree," grinned Harry. "So, will I get to congratulate you anytime soon?"

"Congratulate me for what?"

Harry rolls his eyes, aware that Ron is playing dumb. "Do you think you and Hermione will ever get married?"

"What makes you ask that?" Ron looks over at his best friend, and his expression that's full of excitement. Part of Ron loves that he and Hermione are the only people who know about their marriage. Another part of Ron just wishes he could share it all with his best friend. It doesn't feel right keeping him in the dark.

"You live together and seem pretty happy," continues Harry, oblivious to Ron's internal debate. "I'll admit, at first, I thought you two were moving fast, but you seem well suited for each other."

"After Hermione, you'll be the second person to know," says Ron, grinning at his friend.

"I'll take it!" says Harry. "Can I give you one piece of advice?"

"Sure, mate." Ron can't help but smirk — Harry's been married for barely two hours and is already touting marriage advice. Typical.

"If you know she's the one, don't overthink it. You'll just waste time."

Ron laughs softly. "I don't think that will be an issue for me."

"Good. I'm going to find my wife," says Harry, emphasizing the word like he's trying it on for size. "And you should go dance with your girlfriend. She looks like she could use a hand."

Harry motions across the room to where Hermione and Luna are alone at a cocktail table. There she is. Hermione's stiff body language is a stark contrast to Luna's eccentric gestures, and it appears that Hermione has become an unwilling audience for one of Luna's wild conspiracy theories.

"Happily," mutters Ron as Harry saunters off to find Ginny.

Ron meanders across the room to rescue Hermione from Luna's verbal clutches. Since she doesn't see him approach, he decides to surprise her by sneaking up behind her and looping his arms around her waist.

"Hi, girlfriend," he whispers into her ear.

"Hmmm." She seems to melt into his touch ."Hi, boyfriend."

"Sorry, Luna," says Ron, as he slides a hand down Hermione's arm and interlaces his fingers with hers. "I'm going to steal Hermione away for a dance."

"Of course! Have fun, you two," Luna says before turning around toward the crowd and skipping away, presumably in search of another unsuspecting guest to engage with.

"She's a lot, isn't she?" asks Ron.

"She's not too bad, once you get to know her. She's just talkative, that's all."

Ron tugs Hermione toward the dance floor where a smattering of couples intertwine, swaying to one of the rare slow songs in the D.J.'s repertoire. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he tightens his embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"It's a little weird to call you my girlfriend."

"It sounds wrong," she says, her voice muffled by his dress shirt. "I was never your girlfriend. It's probably how people feel when they first start saying 'wife' or 'husband.'"

"I reckon you're right."

Ron reflects on the first time he called Hermione "wifey." It didn't feel weird at all, probably because it was a joke. Eventually, the joke just turned real.

"Hubby suits you better, anyway," says Hermione. She always seems to know what he's thinking, but he doesn't mind one bit.

"I agree, love." Even now, Hermione can still make his cheeks tinge red with a simple statement. "Are you enjoying the wedding?"

He can feel her nodding against his chest. "Yeah," she mumbles. "Although, it was a lot of work. Are you?"

Ron shrugs. "Ours was better, I think."

Hermione laughs. "I'm sure it was. Too bad we can't remember it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see Harry and Ginny embracing on the dance floor, surrounded by his grinning family. A spotlight shines on them, and at the sound of clinking glasses, they lock eyes and share a kiss. When they make contact, the bystanders whoop and whistle. "Maybe they should have gotten hitched in Vegas like us. This is a lot of commotion."

"Well, you know Harry and Ginny," says Hermione as she loosens her embrace to glance over at the couple. "They like their parties."

"They do," he says, tugging Hermione back into his arms. "What would you have done if this was your wedding?"

Ron expects Hermione to take some time for her answer, but surprisingly, she has one at the ready. "It would have been smaller. Maybe a live band instead of a D.J. And red velvet cake."

Ron smiles into her hair as she continues.

"I probably wouldn't have had a huge wedding party. Probably just a maid of honor. Intimate rooftop ceremony. I'd write my own vows. I even have photos of my dream dress."

Ron chuckles. "You have it all planned out."

"I never really planned it, I just knew." She's smiling when she pulls away and meets his eye, but her smile fades into a frown. "But seriously, I wouldn't change a thing."

She must have interpreted his pensive look as disappointment. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Let's plan it."

"Plan what?"

"Our rooftop wedding," he says as the color pink creeps up his neck.

"Ron, we're already married." Despite her deadpan tone, there's a twinkle in her eye and a soft smirk hiding behind her lips.

"Then let's get married again."

She narrows her eyes at him, and Ron can almost see the gears turning inside her head. "You don't think that would be a waste of time and money?"

"No. Not at all. Plus, I couldn't stop picturing you walking down the aisle today, and I'd love to see you in your dream dress."

She leans back and stares at him for a few moments, clearly running questions through her mind. When she finally speaks, her eyes are glassy with held-back tears, and a smile lifts her words. "You're serious?"

"Hermione Granger," he states in his most serious tone. "Will you marry me again?"

Their feet stop moving, and she bores her gaze into his. Her answer is swimming in her eyes, but he waits for her to verbalize it. "Of course I will. I'd marry you every day."

Ron barely has time to smile before she's pressing her lips against his. He responds so enthusiastically that it could very well be their first or thousandth kiss, lifting her gently off her feet. They're probably drawing attention to themselves, but Ron doesn't mind. It's like she's the only person in the room.

That seems to happen a lot.

Ron sets her back down and slides his hands down her arms, landing at her unadorned fingers. He rubs a thumb across her left hand, desperately wishing he had brought the ring. He didn't think to bring it to the wedding.

The ring — a modest emerald-cut solitaire in yellow gold, is still safely stashed in his bedside drawer, hidden by a few football magazines. He had a whole plan that didn't include a quiet proposal at someone else's wedding, but sometimes the best things in life are accidents.

"I have a ring, you know."

"You do?" she asks, her eyebrows raised. "You planned this?"

Ron laughs. "Well, sort of. But I wasn't planning on asking you tonight. Didn't want to steal anyone's thunder."

"When were you going to ask?"

He had it all planned out. A surprise candlelight dinner at their flat. A homemade cocktail — his best attempt at Liquid Luck. Slow-dancing in a dimly lit living room, furniture pushed against the wall to make room. Dropping to one knee in the middle of a dance. Strawberries and whipped cream. It would have been perfect.

But this is perfect too.

"I was going to propose six months in. Since that's when you can finally divorce me if you want to—"

"Right. Divorce," she scoffs. "When did you buy the ring?"

Ron averts his gaze when he answers. He hasn't planned on telling her this part. "In Las Vegas."

"That early?" she asks, her tone suspicious.

He nods.

"You knew you wanted to stay with me?"

"Of course, I did. Didn't you know, too?"

She smiles and answers him with another kiss. This time it's slow and loving, taking its time. Their bodies seem to melt together into one.

"That would have been so sweet," she says when they eventually break free.

"We can stick to the original plan if you'd prefer that—"

"No!" Her eyes widen as if she's afraid he'll take it back. "When have we ever followed plans?"

Ron grins. There it is — that spontaneous Hermione that only he gets to see. "And you were worried 'Vegas Hermione' would disappear completely," he says, tucking a hair behind her ear.

"I guess she's here to stay," says Hermione as she nestles her head into the crook of Ron's neck where it fits so perfectly. "I love you so much, Ron."

"I love you more, fiance."

Ron can't help but wince at her new title. 'Fiance' sounds just as odd as 'girlfriend,' and it'll only be true for a small fraction of their lives together — not enough time to get used to it.

"I still like 'wifey' better," she says as though reading his mind.

He does too. "Then I guess we have another wedding to plan."

"I guess we do," she says. "And what about our real wedding? Do you want to tell people?"

"Should we?"

"No," she says before securing her arms around his neck. "That wedding can stay ours."

Ron smiles as his lips meet hers. The desire for everyone to know is still there, but less so. They'll get to celebrate a 'real' wedding together, their guests blissfully ignorant of Ron and Hermione's little secret. It's a perfect plan, really.

Someday they might reveal the truth. They might let it slip in conversation, or accidentally admit it to Harry and Ginny after a few cocktails, or decide to tell their future children.

But until then, their original wedding can just be theirs.

*THE END*

#be11a_vegas #Ron Weasley #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #romionecom #hpromione #muggle AU

20 notes · View notes

floorbe · 4 years

Note

What kinda tattoo or piercing headcannons you got for the sdr2 dudes?

OOOH WAIT THIS WAS RLY FUN TO DO spoilers under the cut//

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu

-Snake bites just for the hell of it

-Also a tongue piercing (though it really annoys him sometimes)

-Probably an eyebrow piercing as well

-He sometimes sports some ear gauges, but not often. Those are the only ear piercings he has

-Has some tattoos across his back to symbolize the Yakuza

-He also has a simple little cat head on his inner wrist... I wonder why

Gundham Tanaka

-He wouldn’t want to get either under the guise of “not harming his ethereal corporeal form”

-In reality he’s just nervous abt the pain

-If he were to get some anyway, he would get an eyebrow piercing (though he doesn’t have any.... nvm)

-Maybe a septum or a nose ring too

-He’s fine with ear piercings though. He has a lot of those! Helix, industrial, standard lobe... he thinks they look cool

-Has a snake tattoo wrapping around his arm

Hajime Hinata

-Nose ring!

-He also has standard lobe piercings, though he doesn’t wear any often

-He’ll wear them if someone gifts them to him, tho!

-He considers getting a tattoo sleeve a lot but never follows through. Maybe one day

Kazuichi Souda

-He doesn’t have many bc he doesn’t like the pain that comes with them (also he’s afraid of accidentally ripping them out)

-...Though he keeps going back for more bc “the pain wasn’t that bad last time, right?” ....It was.

-In the end he probably only gets a septum piercing, tongue piercing, and standard lobe piercings (gauges, anyone?)

-He’d definitely consider nipple piercings and then back out last second

-He’s too indecisive to get a tattoo

-He does consider getting a simple bird tattoo every once in a while. The placement always changes each time he considers it

Nagito Komaeda

-He wouldn’t really want to get anything bc his skin is really sensitive

-If he were to, he would get a nose ring and an eyebrow piercing

-The first ear piercing he got was actually a helix, and then he got the standard lobe

-He probably has some dumb tattoos just because someone else told him to get it

-He doesn’t really care about what he looks like, so it’s very easy to convince him

-He has a “no raegerts” on his lower back, along with a very small tattoo of the word “boob” on his hip because Kazuichi thought it was the funniest shit

-If he were to get one of his own it would probably be a flower of some sort on his inner wrist

Nekomaru Nidai

-Definitely has a bridge piercing. Maybe some spider bites, too!

-He has standard lobe piercings, but that’s it, really

-I don’t know why but I feel like he has nipple piercings

-He has a tiger tattoo on his shoulder blade

-Y’know that heart tattoo that has “MOM” written on it? Yeah

-He also has a little black star on his hip

Teruteru Hanamura

-He only has standard pierced lobes bc his pain tolerance is incredibly low (even though he’s burned himself so many times cooking)

-And he’s also scared of messing up the healing process

-He does briefly consider a piercing on his, uh, ahem, but quickly backs out of it

-He also considers a lip piercing but decides not to

-Has a tattoo of the heart with “MOM” written in it (he thinks it was very much worth the pain seeing his mom’s smile when she saw it)

-He wants to get a rose on his hip but he’s nervous to

Byakuya Twogami

-No piercings. He doesn’t want to give off a bad image for Togami corp

-(Though if he could, he kind of wants to try out an eyebrow piercing... he’s a bit too nervous for anything more bold)

-He has closed up piercings from older impersonations, but they’re so subtle you wouldn’t notice them without looking for them

-Never gets any permanent tattoos

-If he could, he’d want a little heart and a flying bird somewhere secretive on himself

#danganronpa imagines #danganronpa scenarios #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #gundham tanaka #hajime hinata #kazuichi souda #nagito komaeda #nekomaru nidai #teruteru hanamura #byakuya twogami #danganronpa #dr2 #all sdr2 #Anonymous

165 notes · View notes

jtsfavslut · 4 years

Text

SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK [GD]

Description: No strings attached. That was the only rule.

Inspired by ‘SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK’ by Joji, with a happy ending.

Warnings: Soft Smut (barely anything)

Word Count: 3.09k+

Slow dancing. The only passionate dance where you can’t truly see your partners face. Such a passionate dance. That’s what Grayson felt his relationship with Y/N was. And it sort of was. It was supposed to be intimate and that was it. No feelings; Just pleasure.

Impersonal, is what some would call it. He knew her, he knew every inch of her, but not the way he wanted to know her. He wanted to know what she liked. What she disliked. Things that no one knew about her. Like her favorite band, which he already knew, but other things that were meaningful to her.

‘Gray come over’ was the text that had managed to break Grayson's thought process.

It was the person he wanted, but the wrong context.

With a sigh, he responded with an ‘omw’ and left his apartment and made his way to hers. A million thought racing past his mind as he drove until he was finally knocking on her door.

“S’missed you,” she muttered before pulling him inside, smashing her lips against his.

“Missed you too,” he whispered, but she didn’t hear it, he didn’t want her to anyways.

He meant it in a completely different way than she did.

“Gray,” she moaned at the feeling of his hands traveling around her body before she gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it off his body, as he did the same thing to her.

His lips latched onto her neck, painting a pretty picture which he was sure she was gonna remember him with.

“Fuck I’ve missed this,” she moaned at the feeling of his hands gripping her ass causing a smirk to spread across his face.

“Yeah? How bout’ this?” he asked before his hand moved down to cup one of her most private places, making shivers run down her spine.

“Mhm,” she moaned before her hand caught hold of his jaw, pulling his face up to her’s and pressing his plumped lips against hers. “Quit the teasing,” she muttered against his lips, a chuckle being his response.

“Yeah? What do you want?” he asked, making her groan.

He knew she hated that. She hated begging. The asking. The feeling of vulnerability.

Yet he was the only one, who made her feel that way. That made her beg, make her ask for what she wants.

“Come on angel, tell me, what do you want?” he asked, the small little pet name causing a field of butterflies to erupt in her stomach, while he blushed because it slipped.

“I want you, Grayson,” she muttered, slightly annoyed while Grayson’s ego grew.

“Then you have me. All of me,” he spoke, whispering the last part before laying her down on the couch, his hands quickly slipping her small biker-shorts off her body, his eyes traveling down her almost naked body, while his hands slipped the rest of their clothes off.

“Don’t take it easy on me Gray,” she smirked, making his eyes turn dark and cold, and full of lust.

“I wasn’t planning on to,” he smirked before slamming his dick in her pussy, a pleasure-filled scream falling past her lips.

“Oh my God Grayson don’t sto-...do- don't stop please,” she moaned, taking a second to gather her thoughts as her eyes paid a long visit to her brain.

“You like this? You like how I’m destroying your tight little pussy? You little whore,” he grunted making her eyes widened.

Not that she didn’t enjoy that, but Grayson wasn’t the type to use those types of words, at least with you.

“I do. I do so fucking much,” you moaned and felt his hand move from your back to pressing his thumb against your clit.

“Good,” he muttered before fasting his pace, causing a string of curse words to fall past her lips.

And that’s how it went. Teeth clashing, purple necks, toes curling, earth-shaking orgasms, multiple times.

“Oh my god, you’re gonna have to leave town every weekend,” she sighed out of breath while her hand was still tied to the headboard.

“I was still in town Y/N,” he said causing her eyes to widen, “Have you been with anyone else?”

“What? No. I’ve been talking to someone, but I think I got confused,” she said, her words stabbing his heart with every letter that it was made up of.

“Oh,” was the only thing he said before getting up, wrapping a blanket around his waist and walking over to her, untying the knot, freeing her hand.

“Where you going?” she asked when she noticed him walking away.

“Take a shower,” he muttered before walking away and leaving her alone on the bed.

And that’s how it went for a couple of weeks. She would text him the quick ‘come over’ and Grayson would be on his way like a lost puppy, while she did and didn’t do whatever she wanted.

This time Grayson said no.

He simply said no. Causing a frown to spread across her face at his attitude.

Maybe he’s having a bad day? Was her only thought.

She truly cared for him. Maybe not in the way that he wanted, but she really did.

With a sigh, she got up from the couch slipping up a pair of sweatpants with a simple t-shirt, and a dirty pair of air forces.

She left her small and humble apartment, got in her car, and drove to his. Her mind clouded with questions and a bit of pain.

Why was he so cold? Did he not want to do it anymore?

Those were the main questions. The only ones that she wanted an answer to.

So with a click of her key, she locked her car and made her way to his door.

After two knocks a confused and shirtless Grayson opened the door, sweat dripping down his forehead, probably from his workout.

“What are you doing here?” he casually asked, making her think he didn’t want her there.

“I came to check if you were okay,” she muttered, and a scoff was his only response for a couple of seconds.

“Why? Because I said no I wouldn’t be okay? Because I didn’t go crawling for you means I’m not okay?” he spoke as his words turned louder over time, hitting her with a pang of hurt because she had no idea of what he was referring to.

“What? No. I came because I care for you and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she whispered, suddenly being washed away with emotions.

We could say you were not a confrontational person, but when it came to people you cared about. So this? This, you were hating.

“You care?” he scoffed with a sarcastic laugh, “You care? Y/N do you? Do you really care? Or are you just saying this because I didn’t want to hook up with you?” he said earning a scoff from her.

“Alright, what is going on? This is not the Grayson I know. And no, I’m not just saying that because your feelings are more important than a quick hookup,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes at his sudden attitude.

“Grayson, I can’t finish myself up,” the girliest voice she thought she’s ever heard, shouted from inside his apartment, and she nodded her head with a chuckle

“I guess you’re completely fine, go finish her up Gray,” she sarcastically said before turning around and leaving.

Was she jealous? Maybe she was. But that wasn’t the reason why she was upset.

She was upset because he was her best friend. He was her best friend and he blew her off to be with a barbie wanna bitch, well that’s what she called her. The point was, she was hurt because he was angry at her. And she didn’t know why.

Meanwhile, Grayson was upset at himself. Thinking he ruined the only thing he had. Even if it’s not what he wanted, he at least had it in some way.

Even if it was impersonal, but now he had nothing, and he was angry.

“Leave. Please,” he told the girl once he walked into his bedroom.

“What?” she scoffed.

“I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood anymore,” he sighed, putting on one of his t-shirts when suddenly the scent made its way to his nose.

The scent of her perfume. A scent he adored so much. The scent of her. That scent represented her and no one else.

“It’s okay. I heard your conversation. You love her don’t you?” she asked, getting up from his bed and putting her clothes back on while he sighed.

“I don’t know. But I know she doesn’t feel the same way,” he said and she nodded her head and sat down next to him.

“Have you spoken to her about it? You never know until you try,”

“I didn’t think I could make it more obvious. I’m always replying to her texts as soon as I receive them. She says come over and I drop everything I’m doing and get there in under 5 minutes, I’m always making sure she doesn’t need or is missing anything. How more obvious can I be?” He spoke and she listened.

Meanwhile, Y/N had no one to vent to. No one to hear her, no one to listen to her.

She was confused. So confused when it came to her feelings. And Grayson knew that. She was always confused, so she wondered what she did to make him upset.

But she couldn’t come up with anything. She hadn’t done anything bad. She hadn't broken the rule, at least not verbally so what exactly did she do?

She decided to ask him. But not now. She thought he needed space so that’s what she’s going to give him and plenty of it.

Three weeks to be exact. She gave him three weeks before standing in front of his door and knocking on his door, except this time, a blonde girl opened it, with a smile that Y/N could see right through.

“Is Grayson here?” she spoke in a monotone voice.

“Yeah, why?” The girl asked, fixing the collar of her shirt.

“Can you tell him Y/N is here and that she needs to speak with him,” she said, the girl’s face dropping at the mention of her name.

“Sure,” she muttered before closing the door and walking to get him, which took a couple of minutes for unknown reasons.

“What?” he said after he opened the door, she looked down, refusing to look at his face.

“How’d you know?” was the only thing she asked. He stepped out and closed the door, not wanting his private conversation to be heard by anyone.

“What?”

“How’d you know I broke the rule? I never told you,” she said again and he shook his head.

“What rule Y/N? What are you talking about?” he asked, getting impatient.

“The one fucking rule. The one rule that said I wasn’t supposed to fall for you! How’d you know that I did? Because I never told anyone. Is that why you broke it off without any explaining whatsoever?” She questioned and finally looked up at him. Only three weeks and he already looked different, he had a beard, and his hair was a bit longer.

“I didn’t know that. That’s why I broke it off,” he whispered and she shook her head.

“Then what was it? Because you seem happy now. Just blow me off with no explanation. And who is she?”

“I stopped it because I fell in love with you. I fell in love from the minute I saw you walk out of the smoothie shop. And I knew you didn’t love me back, so I stopped it before I got more hurt,” he explained and she nodded her head.

“Who is she?” she asked again, disregarding his previous statement.

“Alex,” he whispered.

“Are you together?”

And when he stayed quiet, she knew. She knew they were.

She knew she had lost him. Lost him to someone she didn’t know existed.

She lost him because she wasn’t clear about her feelings. Or lost him because maybe they weren’t meant to be. After all, everything happens for a reason; Even if that reason makes no sense at the time.

“Bye Grayson. I wish you the best,” she spoke before turning around and leaving.

This was now the second time. The second time she left that building feeling heartbroken. The first being when she came to make sure he was okay and he blew her off, and this time he rejected her with no words.

It was true what they said. Mixing sex with friendships wasn’t always the best. And it was true. Maybe if she never introduced the idea at all and told him how she felt, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

But the many ‘what if’s’ were not helping at all. They were what if’s after all, an alternate universe of some sort, and that was it.

In the real world, she was lonely, and he wasn’t, and that was it.

Her apartment felt different. It did ever since she came back that day. It’s been two weeks and she no longer hears his obnoxious laugh that she loved to hear. His loud voice echoing through the hallways. His horrible singing voice coming out of the shower. Her giggles as he chased her through the apartment. Before his arms wrapped around her and he slammed her down on the couch, before pressing his lips against hers.

At that moment she should’ve known.

She should’ve known that she was desperately, and deeply falling in love with him.

And that he was with her.

She missed him. She truly did. She missed everything good about him and his bad habits.

She missed yelling at him to put the toilet seat down. She missed yelling at him to dry the counters after he made a mess with water after washing the dishes. She missed his cute corny dad jokes that made her laugh until tears were streaming down her face. She missed the way his hands felt when they were on her body. The feeling of his lips against hers. She just missed him.

And he missed her too. He missed getting yelled at, even when he found it annoying at the time. He missed chasing her around until he finally had her cornered and she had nowhere to go then picking her up. He missed her ‘come over’ texts. He missed her tiny hands wrapped around his neck. The way she chanted his name when he was hitting oh so perfectly. He just missed her.

They just missed each other. But they were too stubborn to go see each other. They were equally stubborn which wasn’t that good of a mix. Arguing over the silliest things. If Grayson saw green it was green, if Y/N saw blue it was blue.

“Grayson that was at least three times,” she argued and he shook his head.

“It was three,”

“It was not. If it was three we still wouldn't be here,” she scoffed.

“How are you gonna tell me how many times I threw the ball?” he asked, emphasizing the I.

“By telling you. I was watching you. It was five and the conversation is over,” she groaned before walking away. It takes two to argue, and by walking away she also had the last word,

And that’s just who they were. Argued over something silly, then be perfectly fine a couple of minutes after.

They also missed each other's presence. When you’re around a person almost all day, every day, and they’re suddenly gone, you don’t only miss them but you also miss the feeling of the person being there. And that’s what was happening, they were missing their energy.

Getting fed up with the waiting, and sadness, they both got up, at the same time, and walked to their cars and drove to each other's apartments, and knocked at the door, knocked but no one answered.

‘Open the door’ was the text that they sent to each other. Grayson quickly clicked the little phone icon and called her, each ring adding on to his nerves.

“Where are you?” he asked the second she answered.

“In front of your door, where are you?” she replied, anxiously chewing on her nails while walking back and forth.

“At your door. Stay where you. I’m on my way,” he replied and hung up, racing down the stairs and driving over the speed limit, what was usually a ten-minute drive turned into a five minute one.

Filled with so much emotion, a few tears manage to fall past his eyelids as he ran up the stairs to his apartment.

The sight of her nervously walking back and forth while chewing on her nails was enough to make his heart swell.

“Y/N,” he said, causing her to turn around and stop her pacing.

“I love you,” they both whispered before falling into each other.

“I love you so fucking much,” Grayson muttered against her hair, she tried to hold back her tears but couldn’t.

“I love you more. So fucking much Gray,” she said against his chest, the vibration running through his entire body.

“I missed you,” he said, picking her up before unlocking his door and walking inside.

“I missed you more,” she smiled as he sat her down on his island in the middle of his kitchen.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he said, making her chuckle.

“I’m serious, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you said looking away, his staring causing her to blush. “I missed your stupid loud laugh, and your horrible singing, your dumb jokes, I just missed you,” she said causing him to smile, he placed his finger on her jaw, softly turning her head so that she was facing him.

“I missed you too. I missed your cute and loud laugh. Your corny dad jokes, your little baking moments, yelling at me like you’re my mom, I missed my best friend and I missed you,” he spoke looking directly into her eyes.

“Remember when I told you not to follow me?” he randomly said and she sent him a look of confusion.

“I said ‘don’t follow me, you’ll end up in my arms’,” he said and she nodded her head.

“I was telling you, that I love you,”

Tags: @ghostlydolan @guiltydols @evergreendolan @blazedgraysons @rhyrhy462 @simplyxdolxstyles @thecoletomysprouse @ydolanssss @dolansdavidson @vintagedolan @dolanissues

180 notes · View notes

kettlequills · 3 years

Text

C3: a wife to remember

god i love this fic so much. a03

A hag had many resources at her disposal, not at the least, her fellow sisters of feather, and Moira had a problem. She did not know the Dragonborn, and Moira did not much like not knowing things, especially when it pertained to the fruits of her bargains. The Dragonborn had not seemed adverse to Moira on the basis of being a hag alone, but accepting talons and feathers was quite different from permitting her to actively work her magics. There was too much that Moira did not know.

Moira planned to speak to someone who did.

Moira hauled her smoking cauldron into the garden patch, hissing at the weight and thinking longingly of the corded muscle that had braided the Dragonborn’s tanned brown arms, how easy it would be for them to move a cauldron almost as large as Moira was. She idly plucked a few of her own feathers and added them to the steaming brew until the liquid was thick and purple.

Her arms screamed when she took up the stirrer and laboriously fought it through the viscous liquid. Prickles of sweat broke out on her brow, and she leant her full bird-boned weight into the motion, adding an extra push with feather-fluttering hops. This cursed potion would save her days of pointless travel, but it exacted its price here, she thought irritably. Still, Moira had made it enough times before, if not for many years, that it did not take longer than a few hours before she was dipping salvaged bottles with peeling wine-labels into the mixture.

The bottles appeared largely spontaneously, washing up in the banks of the river not far from Moira’s house from Blood-Made-Pleasure’s daedric revels upstream, within the soft fold of Oblivion. Moira hunted along the banks come the morning for mortals, hollow-souled and blown from the Myriad Realms like scrunched daisies, and the trash from endless parties – human viscera, empty wine-bottles that stung the nose with haunting fragrant scents, fake cocks of shattered glass, snapped dremora horns. Sometimes, the blood-sports of the Prince of Plots bleeding over from the nexus of their shrine not far from the snow-city of Nord kings made their way to Moira’s stream, too. The river ran red for days to her mage-eye, and Moira would be weeding femurs and teeth out of her garden patch for even longer. But since Moira’s pact with Sanguine, his realm was closer, and Moira had more empty bottles than she could ever use.

Greatest power wrapped around your finger, for a single night of revelry.

She uncorked one such with her teeth and swigged from the potion as she labelled the others in spidery daedric letters that would make little sense to one foreign to haglore. When her gums began to prickle with chill, Moira kicked over her cauldron and let the dregs of the potion water her deathbell flowers. She left it there, staring hollowly out at the damp trees, and went to her roost. The potion took hold of the daedra inside her heart and dragged, and Moira’s spirit pierced the skin of Oblivion and rose on flapping raven-wings.

Witchmist Grove shimmered with ghostlike mists when she flew above it, the magic of Oblivion searing the trees tall and gloomy with the prescient tendrils of Moira’s magic soaked into the ground. The roost of a hag, visible as a thorny spot nestled like a canker around the soil. The dragon-cairn over the ridge glowed dully with trapped soul energy.

Not for the first time, Moira overflew her home and cawed at her cleverness. The necromantic energy of the dragon’s old servants and its own aedric glow nearly eclipsed Witchmist Grove, and the lines of power that hazed the ground was broken into the rippling hot pools, confusing the scrying-eye. Her own wards against magical predation still held strong, but she had been wise enough to choose a good spot to make it harder. The Grove would shelter its witch well while her mind attended to her business.

It was the work of a moment to envisage the heart of the plainsland, and a second later Moira was soaring through the cloudless blue skies of Whiterun – crisscrossed though they were by the fading trail of a dragon. Still, that was not too unusual in this season of change, and Moira made for the human city where the answers to her questions resided. It pulsed whitely in her mage-eye, the vast wings of the Skyforge spread over the city like a gargoyle. The eagle shrieked as Moira swept lower, and for a moment, its beady eye fixed on her. Her wings faltered in surprise. After a second that felt like an eternity, the eagle tucked its head back against its chest, satisfied, it seemed, that she posed little threat.

Moira’s talons clenched uneasily. The Skyforge was impersonal as the wind. Last time she had come here in this way, its wings had barely twitched when she’d landed on its head. That it was so riled up did not bode well.

Her disquiet mounted as she flew lower to the city – or what was left of it. Radiating outwards from the pulverised remains of the gates was a blast radius of crumbled stone that had reduced the surrounding timber houses to splinters. A wooden palisade had been erected, manned by guards whose spirits flickered dimly with fear to Moira’s mage-sight. Grief hung over Whiterun like a pall, and, pressing against the wall that separated Oblivion from the living, ghosts wandered dully through the streets, torn too abruptly from their living bodies to look for the way to Aetherius just yet. The living tree within the heart of the city was bowed double under the strength of their sorrow, its roots choked by a strange power crawling down from the heart of the prison of dragons. Familiar, daedric darkness, soft as poetry and suggestive as a whisper. The Webspinner, moving openly to claim the city, and, from the look of it, mostly unopposed. Even Hircine’s Underforge was muted. Well, good for the Webspinner. Moira had never liked Whiterun much.

Still, Moira noticed with some relief the burning-bright soul of the one Whiterun resident that she had come to see. Olava the Feeble was waiting for her, playing cards with a small child that shivered at Moira’s approach.

“Go along now,” Olava told the child, who wriggled in her chair. She had untidy brown hair and looked thin, but there were fresh crumbs on her ragged dress, and smears of jam on an empty plate on Olava’s table.

“But we weren’t done playing,” said the girl, and Olava smiled mysteriously.

“Yes, we were,” she said, and tapped the table between them. Moira saw the magic inside Olava flare, and the child gaped down at the cards in her hands. There was dirt caked under her nails.

“How did you do that?” she gasped. Moira sensed a curious flicker in the girl’s own fledgling spirit, as if she was trying to see as a witch did.

Food for a starving waif, and a light-show of no substance? A more obvious hook had never been planted. Moira cared not for Olava’s interest in a ragged child, but surely it would be easier to simply tell the girl whatever it was Olava wanted from her, and claim she was mad or dispose of her if she broke Olava’s cover?

“Charlatanry,” Moira commented dryly, amused at Olava’s transparent recruitment effort, “You didn’t need to touch the table at all for such a simple trick.”

“An old woman never shares all her secrets,” Olava said to them both, and then shooed the girl off. Once she had gone, perhaps a little faster than she would have if it had not been for the invisible presence of a hagraven glaring at the back of her neck, Moira fluttered down to perch on the back of the chair she had vacated. Her talons gripped the wood, but left no mark on it. She was not, after all, truly there.

“Sister,” said Olava plainly, “What can an old woman do for you?”

“Do you not need to maintain your quaint cover?” Moira asked, electing to preen herself. She tugged an errant feather back into alignment while Olava chuckled.

“Not at all.” Olava’s eyes were crinkled up at the edges and her smile was kindly, as if she really were simply nothing more than an old grandmother. Convincing, were it not for the aura of twisted power that radiated her from her like a dark sun and the way that her eyes were holes to the Void in her skull. “My neighbours think nothing of an old woman talking to herself.”

“As you wish.” Moira spread her wings and eyed them critically, as if it were more important than the task that had brought her here. “I propose a bargain of knowledge. I need to learn hand language.”

What better way to learn the ways of her new … spouse… than to prise them from the Dragonborn herself?

Olava hummed, pleased. “You have come to the right place, then. Which sign language is it you need to know?”

Moira ruffled her feathers. “How should I know?”

“Ai,” sighed Olava, “There is more than one. It would help if I knew who you need it to speak with.”

Flaring her wings, Moira shrieked her harsh raven’s cry. It echoed jealously, ear-splittingly loud. Under the eclipsing shadow of her wings, her true shape flickered and burned like coals. She would not share this knowledge. The Dragonborn was vulnerable, for now, ripe for the uncovering, and Moira would permit no other witch’s claws to steal in on her prize. Bad enough that she shared with Sanguine’s hook, that her own hold was as tenuous as the Dragonborn’s word.

Olava leant back in her seat to watch and rose a thin white eyebrow. Her face, for all it was wrought and wrecked by the passage of time, hid a mind no less canny.

“I can get you the knowledge of all major forms of hand-sign from here to Black Marsh, but it’ll cost you,” Olava relented. “I’ll have to call in a few favours.”

Moira accepted this irritably, and Olava eyed her, as if curious to see how far she would take this whim.

“I want you to … deliver something, for me.”

“Knowledge for knowledge is traditional,” Moira cawed, “I’m not your errand girl.”

“No,” said Olava, calmly, but Moira could see the tension wound in the leylines of her magic, her future-seeing eyes that glowed with the deepness of the Void, “But good luck finding another sister to help you. Did you say it was urgent?”

She hadn’t, but Moira was not patient, and Olava knew it. Besides, Olava’s demeanour was – reluctantly – intriguing. A witch’s errand was no small thing, particularly if she wanted a hag’s help to achieve it.

“Not that urgent,” Moira snapped regardless, because she did not want Olava to think that she did not see what she was doing by pricking Moira’s curiosity. “Out with it, then.”

“I need you to take an item to a particular person,” Olava said, “and ensure that it does not… leave her possession.”

Moira cawed a laugh. “A curse object, sister? Why, I’d almost do it for free. But why not see to it yourself?”

Olava’s hands smoothed deliberately over the table. She began to gather the cards and answered Moira’s question to their dog-eared and scribbled faces. “It cannot be me directly. The target knows me too well, and the spell must work.”

Moira paused. Olava’s carefully level voice roused her suspicion, and as she watched Olava stack the cards and slide them precisely into a bag woven of river-reeds, she grasped that Olava was not dissembling. She was worried. Moira did not lack confidence in her magical strength, but nor was she a fool. She had no desire to get mixed up in something that was going to require too much of her time.

“You have seen something that you hope to avoid,” Moira prompted.

“Yes,” Olava admitted, freely. “Nothing that concerns you, sister. A few fraying strings will soon be cut, and I have a … vested interest.”

Moira stared hard at Olava, who returned her gaze steadily. She was being sincere, Moira could tell that immediately from the glow and pulse of her magicka, and even more, Olava was letting her see without a single attempt to hide herself from Moira’s mage-sight. Whatever it was, it was important to her, perhaps important enough to ask a hag to do a courier’s job, if only to be sure it was done.

“Where is this target?”

“Falkreath,” said Olava and Moira squawked indignantly.

“It is far from my roost,” she complained, but Olava only shrugged.

“You’re the one who asked for something,” she said, and Moira conceded with a whistling hiss through her beak.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll see your token delivered.”

“Thank you,” said Olava. She smiled, a genuine one, smaller and slyer than her elderly façade. “I will send you a … friend, on the night of the new moon. He will have what you need.”

Three days. Moira shifted her claws on the chair, then took off without ceremony. She beat her wings quickly to rise over Whiterun, and took the precaution to soar some ways away from the wandering eyes of the powers that wrestled beneath the city. It was only once Moira wheeled freely over the stripped bones of a dead dragon, soul-claimed, that she tucked her wings and followed the thread tethering her to her body, and home.

---

Of course, it was not three days. It was two, and Olava’s friend came yowling with his ear in the firm grip of the Dragonborn.

“You’re early,” Moira said sourly, and the Dragonborn’s mouth tensed.

They wore no helmet today, and their greying brown hair had been roughly knotted at the nape of their neck. It was greasy, already damp from the moist air of the Grove. The rude knot exposed the gruesome fullness of their facial scarring, which twisted as they scowled at the terrified Khajiit whose tunic they held. Still broad, still strong, but there was a bandage wrapped around their bicep, several days old if Moira was any judge, and somewhat dirty and stained. The Khajiit in their grasp was a young ginger tom, his yellow eyes slitted with fear.

“Let him go,” Moira chided the Dragonborn, “Have you no manners?”

Moira did not recognise the boy, but she guessed that he had been sent when he offered her with trembling paws a bag marked with the crest of the Nords of Whiterun, a curling ram’s head.

“For you,” the Khajiit whispered. The Dragonborn’s lips thinned unsubtly, and they stalked off to lean against a tree, their back to the Khajiit but their head cocked, as if they were listening.

The boy’s tail lashed. “This one was not trying to sneak, he swears! He was told to bring a message, to the old woman in the grove by the dragon burial, that is all!”

“I am old, and within the grove,” Moira said, flatly, annoyed that she had not seen him coming, and had time to muster her illusions of being a harmless – if unnerving – old woman who lived alone. She had not sensed the Khajiit at all around the brilliance of the Dragonborn’s signature when they entered Witchmist Grove. “Give it to me.”

The Khajiit hesitated, but when Moira flashed her claws he tripped over himself in his rush to thrust the sack at her. It fell at her feet with a muted rattle. The Khajiit withered under Moira’s poisonous glare.

“Well?” she demanded, and the poor boy’s ears twitched. He bolted, and Moira rolled her eyes. “Let him go,” she told the Dragonborn, whose hunter’s eyes had tracked his flight, “and come in.”

But Moira did not move from her position on the top step as the Dragonborn pushed off the tree and approached her with slow, steady steps, their armour – wrapped for silence, again, in the shredded remains of what appeared to be Nordic burial shrouds – reflecting back the whiteness of the magelight Moira had tethered in the mouths of her staked goat heads. They removed their gauntlet carefully, and, without breaking eye contact, they stooped to pick up the sack and hand it to her.

Feeling as if she were moving thrice as slowly as normal, Moira took it, and her feathers fluttered involuntarily when their fingertips – rough and callused, but hot as fire – brushed her skin. Before the Dragonborn could pull away Moira tightened her grip until the tips of her sharp claws pressed into the back of the Dragonborn’s hand. Scarred, even here, with the nicks and cuts of a lifelong soldier.

The Dragonborn watched her. Those dark dragon eyes were steady as granite, and when Moira stared into them she had the odd sense of falling inwards. It was as if she peered into the implacable gaze of a creature so impossibly huge and dense that it warped the world towards it, as inexorable as a bird struck from the sky must meet the stony ground. She wondered how the Dragonborn would look beneath her potion-enhanced mage sight. She wondered how the Dragonborn saw her.

Moira had the height advantage on them from the top step, but the weight of their gaze was so immense that she felt small, like a darting bird before the maw of a dragon. She remembered challenging the Dragonborn to consummate their engagement the second time they had come to Witchmist Grove. Almost involuntarily, she pictured being pinned beneath that suffocating presence, those dark eyes, that searing heat – the enormity of them like a serpent big enough to touch nose to tail around the entirety of Tamriel coiling itself into one short human body that had to tilt their head up to look Moira in the eyes.

Moira was a hagraven, no fragile thing, her body knitted with ancient magics and raven-feathers, and she had birthed horrors on her altar for little reason other than curiosity. But she was also a bird-hearted once-woman, and the strange, arrhythmic pounding in her chest that could not decide what it felt at the warmth of the Dragonborn’s skin on hers disconcerted her.

With an impatient snort, Moira released the Dragonborn, but not before one last, pointed flex of her claws. The Dragonborn did not flinch at the tiny teardrops of blood that welled up from the scratches, just as they had not reacted to the poison tea, and when Moira turned and stormed into her house, she felt the shaking of the steps as the Dragonborn followed her.

As before, Moira filled the kettle and set it to boil, after checking the sack and tucking it away for later in a cabinet. She was curious to see if the Dragonborn would make the same mistake twice. They did not choose to sit down this time, but leant uncertainly against the wall, arms folded uncomfortably across their chest. Moira was expecting the airlessness of the shack this time and took a moment over the smoke of the fire to soothe herself.

A clinking distracted her, and she whipped her head around in time to catch the Dragonborn leaning back like a child caught going for the cookie jar, hand froze in the act of placing something shiny on the table.

“What’s that?” Moira demanded, and the Dragonborn’s grim mouth moved oddly, as if they were trying to smile.

They gestured sweepingly at Moira, and Moira eyed them suspiciously as she seized this latest offering. It was a bottle, a large one, filled to the brim with glittering dust that shifted and shimmered when she tipped it to and fro, like it was trying to escape the directness of her gaze. The aura that seeped off it reeked of death even with the cap sealed with what looked like leather and home-made twine.

“Blood-drinker dust,” Moira identified. Useful in potions, very useful. Her claws clacked when she tapped the bottle, not wanting to admit that she had nearly run out of her own supply. And she had never had so much as this. It was a handsome gift, and practical, as well. A hag had little use for frippery, after all, even if the Dragonborn’s last gift was currently hidden safely under Moira’s bed and warded with her strongest spells. “You hunted all of these yourself?”

The Dragonborn’s scarred face split, and all of their teeth gleamed. They nodded.

“Is that how you hurt your arm?” Moira asked before she registered what she was going to say, and hissed at herself.

It did not help that the Dragonborn seemed equally surprised at her question, and by the way their eyes flickered to the wound on their arm and back, she imagined they were wondering why she was bothered – or perhaps, had forgotten the wound was there at all. After a brief hesitation, the Dragonborn shook their head.

Moira cursed herself to the Void and back. “How then?” she snapped, aware of the brittle anger in her voice. She wanted to know now. Her curiosity had been piqued, and more than that, there was a strange, restless annoyance Moira ascribed to a healer’s knowledge, impatient with the mysterious wound under its dirty bandage.

The Dragonborn’s shoulders rounded, and their movements as they fumbled for their journal seemed if anything oddly shy. They scribbled for a moment, and then avoided her eye when they presented the page.

“Wolf pack surprised me,” they had written.

“You slay dragons, and hunt vampires, but not wolves,” Moira said. “Did you at least clean it?”

The Dragonborn nodded, and then cleared their throat. They were still looking away, and after a moment, Moira recognised that the fire’s warmth on their cheek was not solely responsible for the redness that had bloomed there.

“Well,” Moira heard herself say irascibly, “Wash your bandages, then.”

Scrubbing the back of their neck with their hand, the Dragonborn nodded. The motion reminded her of their skin touching hers, and Moira busied herself with the kettle, indiscreetly bolstering the fire with magic. The heat enveloped the hut, steaming away the perpetual dampness, and Moira heard the Dragonborn sigh with pleasure behind her. It was nearly noiseless, but not quite, and Moira was hard-pressed to tell whether the shiver that went through her was from some miniature earthquake or the base of her spine, which had elected to, for some reason only daedra knew, play host to half a dozen guttering candles.

“So,” Moira said eventually, “What do they call you?”

Silence, not the scratch of charcoal, and Moira glanced over her shoulder to see the Dragonborn’s confused expression.

“Your name?”

With a metallic creak, the Dragonborn’s arms around their chest tightened, and a muscle in their cheek jumped. They shrugged flatly, and then with a weariness that Moira could almost sense bent their head to write.

“I don’t know the name I was born with,” they showed her, “The dragons call me – “

More of the claw-mark letters of the dragon language, and Moira pursed her lips.

“You know I can’t read this,” she said. The Dragonborn’s mouth crooked helplessly, but Moira’s eye was drawn to the smudges of charcoal on their fingers, exposed, because they hadn’t put their gauntlet back on.

“It comes from inside,” they scribbled, and then illustratively clasped their bare hand over their breastplate. A smear of charcoal darkened the fraying edge of one of the ripped up shrouds.

They shifted, and the shadow of their warhammer blotted the firelight over the page. Moira’s claws flexed, and she wondered, briefly, precisely when the fool bird in her brain had forgotten to watch the Dragonborn’s weapon hovering ominously over their shoulder.

“I could tell you my name, but you’ll have to come outside to hear it,” they wrote. Wariness in them then, and wasn’t that an interesting response to their own offer.

Moira weighed her options. Outside would give the Dragonborn more room to swing, but it also gave Moira better manoeuvrability to escape. It was a gamble, but Moira knew herself. She was a fast shifter, and a faster flier.

“Fine,” she said, and the Dragonborn jerked their chin and led the way outside.

They were not content with Moira’s garden, but crunched their way up the garden path and out the gate without a backwards glance. Their stride was aggressive and quick, a beat short of a march, and Moira got three steps after them on her talons and then gave up and took to her wings instead. The Dragonborn glanced up and with narrowed eyes searched among the flapping cloud of black-winged birds that rose like a fanfare at their intrusion into their domain. Moira circled above them, making no move to announce herself, and with an uneasy twitch the Dragonborn continued.

They had a hunter’s instinct, and as they walked a strange, circuitous route out of Witchmist Grove, Moira realised that they were following and walking on top of the Khajiit’s tracks. She wondered at it as she swept along overhead, doubling back every so often to flit down among the trees and feel the heavy leaves weep their burden of rain onto her glossy feathers.

Did the Dragonborn hope to find the boy, or simply to obliterate his tracks with their heavy boots? To stop Moira from following him, or to ensure he did manage to find his way out of the labyrinthine corridors of twining pine and hanging ivy, the nightshade groves and lurking brambles? The enchanted mist worked well to entrap and ensnare visitors, bringing them to the heart of the Grove into Moira’s clutches. Most had some trouble finding their way out without her blessing. Perhaps the Dragonborn had an abundance of caution, to walk only where it was demonstrably safe to step, in a hag’s home.

Moira appreciated it. Some of the moss she cultivated was rather difficult to grow, and she kept it away from the illusory paths for a reason.

The Dragonborn stopped only when they had reached the boundary of Witchmist Grove, where the copse of trees broke into the steaming hot-pools. The sandy-seared ground rose in jagged humps towards Bonestrewn Crest, where the sleeping dragonbones waited like a scar on the horizon. Squat rocks clumped around the meandering dirt path, and heat shimmered lazily, like Sanguine’s ruby red eye. Tensely, they waited for Moira.

Her damp feathers billowed steam in cross-currents and curls as she backwinged towards the ground, already changing. The Dragonborn did not look away, but Moira saw them blink rapidly as the illusions fell away and it seemed as if there had never been a bird there at all, only a hag, feathered and clawed, perched atop a rock that still, technically, was within the boundary of her grove.

The Dragonborn inclined their head, then purposefully, they planted their feet and turned their back on her. Facing out over the steamy barrenness of Eastmarch, their fist clenched nervously, as if they were second-guessing their decision.

Before Moira could demand an explanation, or taunt them to fulfilling their offer, the Dragonborn spoke.

At first, it was noise. Just noise, like the sound of lightning so deep it rumbled in the bones. A flash of awareness like seeing that stark-white fork in the black sky, and then understanding that what she was experiencing was noise, horribly loud noise, like every drum in the world beating at once, every rock falling, every heart stopping. And then it was power – power like every spell in the world backfiring at once immense and throbbing, power like Moira’s first flight, like the buffeting of the wind under her feathers.

In the ringing aftermath, Moira opened stinging eyes – when had she closed them? – and took in a world unutterably changed. She thought that the Grove had reacted to her presence by thickening the mist, and realised with a strange feeling like falling into the Dragonborn’s eyes that no, the grey smoke in the air was neither smoke nor mist, but dust. Dust, all that was left of all the rocks in the Dragonborn’s path, the furrowed brow of the hill that led up to Bonestrewn Crest. Instead, there was a perfectly carved bowl, wide and smooth as any stone-carved arena. It was perfectly done, steady as if the Dragonborn had simply scooped a section of the world away with a giant spoon. Except for the claw-like, shimmering markings that were chiselled in the wall, markings that matched the Dragonborn’s name in their journal.

It was only then that Moira’s ears made sense of the sounds, and the Dragonborn’s name clicked into her mind like a fact she had always known, but had not realised she had forgotten.

“Laataazin,” Moira gasped, and the Dragonborn – Laataazin – nodded slowly.

Greatest power wrapped around your finger. Oh. Oh. Oh. And to think – all this time, Moira had been angry for his trickery, when this was the prize!

Moira’s feathers quivered, then her shoulders, and then all at once she was laughing. It was a rusty, inelegant sound, more raven-shriek than human, and when the Dragonborn heard it they startled. After a moment, as Moira continued to laugh at the immensity of the gift that Sanguine had given her, slowly, tentatively, Laataazin started to smile back.

It was small, and sweet, and looked like they were unused to it as it was to their face. But it brightened their eyes and took years from their face, and Moira recognised for the first time the winsome, laughing-loud but shy creature that had come calling to her gate in a night of revelry, and offered a ring paid in blood for a hagraven’s hand in marriage.

#moira #laataazin #inkwrites #my fic a wife to remember #tes #skyrim #elder scrolls

8 notes · View notes

firstfullmoon · 4 years

Note

sorry if this has been asked before, but what are your favorite quotes about (romantic) love?

• “I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shriek”

• “You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

— Shauna Barbosa, from “GPS”

• “August. We were arguing. You want love to be like this every day don’t you? 92 degrees even in the shade.”

“I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don’t expect to be happy. I don’t imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don’t think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies.”

“If love is going to be done differently I will have to do it. I don’t mean as a messiah-thing, I mean as a me-thing. I want to look into your eyes and not get blown up. I want you to see me as I am and not destroy me. I don’t want to retreat into plant life, or have the same bad dream every night. I don’t want to watch a city burn because I was there.”

— Jeanette Winterson

• “I’ll take care of you. / It’s rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

— from Anne Carson’s translation of Orestes

• “I think of you all the time and therefore have little to say that would not embarrass you, for instance my first feeling about the rain was that it was like you.”

— John Cage, from a letter to Merce Cunningham

• “I want you to know, if you ever read this, there was a time when I would rather have had you by my side than any one of these words; I would rather have had you by my side than all the blue in the world.”

— Maggie Nelson, Bluets

• “I want to be a village full of sweethearts, / as you are, every second of the day, / cooking me soups & drawing me pictures / & holding me, my inexplicable & elephant sadness, / with your infinite arms. / But isn’t it true, you are not / always why I am happy. & I promise / it is true, you are almost never why, / why I am sad.”

— Chen Chen, from “Elegy for My Sadness”

• “Look here Vita—throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.”

“I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about – with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near.”

“I could only think of you as being very distant and beautiful and calm. A lighthouse in clean waters.”

“What can one say — except that I love you and I’ve got to live through this strange quiet evening thinking of you sitting alone. Dearest — let me have a line… You have given me such happiness…”

— Virginia Woolf, from letters to Vita Sackville-West

• “I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone. I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it.”

“Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude.”

— Vita Sackville-West, from letters to Virginia Woolf

• “Love is awful. It’s awful. It’s painful. It’s frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. It makes you selfish. It makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do. It’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. So no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. I was taught if we’re born with love then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do. Being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. I think what they mean is, when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.“

— Phoebe Waller-Bridge, in Fleabag

• “i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)”

— e.e. cummings, from “[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]”

• “There was once a very great American surgeon named Halsted. He was married to a nurse. He loved her-immeasurably. One day Halsted noticed that his wife’s hands were chapped and red when she came back from surgery. And so he invented rubber gloves. For her. It is one of the great love stories in medicine. The difference between inspired medicine and uninspired medicine is love. When I met Ana I knew: I loved her to the point of invention.”

— Sarah Ruhl, The Clean House

• “oh god it’s wonderful / to get out of bed / and drink too much coffee / and smoke too many cigarettes / and love you so much”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Steps”

• “This morning there’s snow everywhere. We remark on it. You tell me you didn’t sleep well. I say I didn’t either. You had a terrible night. “Me too.” We’re extraordinarily calm and tender with each other as if sensing the other’s rickety state of mind. As if we knew what the other was feeling. We don’t, of course. We never do. No matter. It’s the tenderness I care about. That’s the gift this morning that moves and holds me. Same as every morning.”

— Raymond Carver, from “The Gift”

• “Well Marianne, it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine.”

— Leonard Cohen, in a letter to Marianna Ihlen

• “I think about love on a scale from 1 to 10. Most of us find a 6 or a 7, and that’s why we have divorce. It’s the truth. We settle for that 6 or 7. But I like to think Kevin is Chiron’s 10. He’s found that and he realizes that there’s no reason to settle for a 6 or a 7 because, “I know this person is my 10. Whether or not this person believes I’m his 10, I’m going to devote my life to this person entirely.” That’s why the line where he says, “You’re the only man that’s ever touched me,” for me, was the most amazing, most beautiful thing I’ve seen in cinema, period. Because that’s what we strive for as people, to find that one person because they’re there. If Kevin doesn’t feel that they should be together, Chiron is just going to die a miserable person because that’s his person and he won’t settle for anything else.“

— Trevante Rhodes about Moonlight

• “I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Having a Coke with You” but the whole poem is !

• “The door slammed and someone came home and low voices could be heard, the single lilt of a question as it rose, “How was it?” or “Are you hungry?” Something plain and necessary, yet extra, with care, a voice like those tiny roofs over the phone booths along the train tracks, the ones made from the same shingles used for houses, except only four rows wide—just enough to keep the phone dry. And maybe that’s all I wanted—to be asked a question and have it cover me, like a roof the width of myself.”

— Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

• “I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I thought of you, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.”

— Emily Dickinson, in a letter to Minnie Holland

• “I don’t want you to be nervous. Maybe thinking of a walrus would help. Have you seen the video of the penguin accidentally stepping on a sleeping walrus? It thought it was a rock. The walrus wakes up like what the fuck and the penguin scurries off like oh shit. Sometimes it’s funny watching a surprise happen, and not just funny but kind of amazing — like, you never really know what’s what when it comes to this planet.

Then again, when it’s you getting surprised, that’s different. Especially for tender ones like us. What are we supposed to do? It’s bad for our hearts, you know. I hope you won’t need pills like I do. I think I get so scared because I’m greedy — I want to hold onto everything, the world wants to take it away. What the fuck. The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”

— Mikko Harvey, “For M”

• “Willem sleeps on the left side of the bed, and he on the right, and the first night they slept in the same bed, he turned to his right on his side, the way he always did, and Willem pressed up against him, tucking his right arm under his neck and then across his shoulders, and his left arm around his stomach, moving his legs between his legs. He was surprised by this, but once he overcame his initial discomfort, he found he liked it, that it was like being swaddled. One night in June, however, Willem didn’t do it, and he worried he had done something wrong. The next morning–early mornings were the other time they talked about the things that seemed too tender, too difficult, to be said in the daylight–he asked Willem if he was upset with him, and Willem, looking surprised, said no, of course not. “I just wondered,” he began, stammering, “because last night you didn’t–” But he couldn’t finish the sentence; he was too embarrassed. But then he could see Willem’s expression clear, and he rolled into him and wrapped his arms around him. “This?” he asked, and he nodded. “It was just because it was so hot last night, Willem said, and he waited for Willem to laugh at him, but he didn’t. “That’s the only reason, Judy.” Since then, Willem has held him in the same way every night, even through July, when not even the air-conditioning could erase the heaviness from the air, and when they both woke damp with sweat. This, he realizes, is what he wanted from a relationship all along. This is what he meant when he hoped he might someday be touched.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

• “No, I didn’t imagine my being alone with you the way you do. If I want the impossible, I want it in its entirety. Entirely alone, dearest, I wanted us to be entirely alone on this earth, entirely alone under the sky, and to lead my life, my life that is yours, without distraction and with complete concentration, in you.”

— Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer

• “If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth, to this present time, I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours, I would.”

— David Wojnarowicz, The Half-Life

• “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell, I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

• “If Moses had seen the way my friend’s face blushes when he’s drunk, and his beautiful curls and wonderful hands, he would not have written in his Torah: do not lie with a man”

— Rabbi Yehuda Al-Harizi/Judah Ben Solomon Harizi

• “I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that money is more fruitful than words, and I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain. I’ll walk you to the hospital, I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks and assure you that you’ll find your place, it’s just the world has a funny way of hiding spots fertile enough for bodies like yours to grow roots. I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive. If i’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that the universe is twice as big as we think it is and you’re the only one that made that idea less devastating.”

— Lucas Regazzi, from “Small”

• “I thought she was sleeping until I heard her call out from across the room, “Will you bring me a glass of water?” I did. Then in her always-sleepy tone and drawl she said, “Do you remember when you were a little girl and you would ask your mama to bring you a glass of water?” Yeah. “You know how half the time you weren’t even thirsty. You just wanted that hand that was attached to that glass that was attached to that person you just wanted to stay there until you fell asleep.” She took the glass of water that I brought her and just sat it down full on the table next to her. Wow, I thought. What am I gonna do with love like this.”

— Dito Montiel, One Night

#this is the best ask i've ever received actually thank you so much #w #compilation #the earth was made for lovers #shauna barbosa #jeanette winterson #madeline miller #franz kafka #hanya yanagihara #emily dickinson #ocean vuong #maggie nelson #chen chen #virginia woolf #vita sackville west #david wojnarowicz #frank o’hara

892 notes · View notes

hatake-no-sharingan · 4 years

Text

The Jinchuuriki (Minato x Reader)

Summary: Canon divergent AU. Danzo steals the two Uzumaki sisters from their village and seals the Kyuubi inside one of them. He separates them and keeps the Jinchuuriki captive in the Root headquarters. When she grows up alone, until the Hokage orders Danzo to have her trained to fight. Her new tutor arrives, and he’s nothing like she expected. He’s kind and he cares for her. His name is Minato.

Characters: Y/N (Female Reader as the Jinchuuriki), Minato, Danzo, and Kushina

A/N: To the lovely @itsao-mine for requesting and waiting so long, I apologize, you’re my most loyal reader. I hope you really do enjoy this, because it took me so long to write. I think it’s a warm story that you’ll like. To everyone else, I hope you love this story too. I apologize in advance for my incompetence in writing fight scenes. Remember requests are open. Enjoy and be kind <3

Word Count: 4,624

The Jinchuuriki

“From now on, you’re not sisters anymore” you didn’t understand what the man was saying. His face instilled a deep fear in you, as you imagined farfetched stories about how he got that ugly scar on his chin. His uncovered eye made you uneasy, and the covered one, even more.

You clutched Kushina’s hand tighter with your own small one, and looked at her in search of the reassurance that this man was lying.

You and your sister had been plucked from your home, your village, and everything you knew by this man and brought to the Leaf Village without any explanation about it. The only thing you knew was that something in your Uzumaki lineage made you the perfect vessel for a weapon that the Leaf Elders were desperate to keep and control. Your 8 year old brain didn’t fully grasp what this meant, but Kushina and you’d overheard that in a conversation two of the ANBU ninjas had on your way to your new village.

You noticed a streak of sadness cross your sister’s face and your stomach twisted inside you. The man, Danzo they called him, harshly grabbed both yours and your sister’s wrists and tore your hands apart. He handed each of you to a masked ninja, a rabbit and a bear, and you never saw each other again.

They put you through the worst nightmare you couldn’t even have imagined. They locked you up in a dark room, and when they finally let you see light, it was only to painfully seal a demon in you, using the techniques stolen from your family.

You felt the beast stir inside you at night. Now, alone, you cried yourself to sleep and imagined Kushina’s arms wrapped around you, her soft voice singing slightly off-key the lullaby your aunt had taught you, while the personification of hate growled from within your gut.

The first months were pure hell to you, you’d go on rampages and destroy everything in sight, using the beast’s chakra and your own rage. This earned you being put in a cell and chained with chakra suppressing metals. Then, it was just you and him. The Kyuubi became your only company, aside from the guard who slipped your food through the slot once a day who’d never even glanced at you.

The Kyuubi hated you and you hated him, however you soon discovered that you both hated Danzo and Root, the people who’d turned him into a weapon and you into a vessel, even more. The realization brought you two closer. Eventually, he saw himself in your pain and told you that as you were missing a sister, he was missing siblings too.

They’d also been turned into weapons, and you assumed, that wherever Kushina was, she was probably being used to meet this organization’s needs. Though a part of you still liked to imagine that while you were here, she was back home. Her skin soaking up the rays of the sun, her beautiful red hair flowing with the wind, as she ran across the village, to the place where you’d both built a tree house and told stories about other worlds you’d one day go to.

“Listen to me, child” the beast, no, Kurama, told you “I’m willing to lend you my power if you’ll use it carefully and wisely. Only if you promise me, swear to me, that you’ll use it to destroy those who wronged us” and with that, you sealed your fate.

After that day, you became the docile Jinchuuriki Danzo wanted you to be, and earned his trust.

One day, we are going to bite back and he won’t notice until it’s too late.

That was 13 years ago.

Danzo had brought someone who trained you as a medical ninja. You didn’t know their name, not even what their face looked like, it was always fully covered, and you knew they were holding back in their teachings. You helped your teacher heal the injured Root members who came back from missions, serving only as a minor assistant. They had only taught you how to do basic things like heal cuts faster or mend a broken bone, but they never let you learn any just that required a large amount of chakra usage. Still, you obeyed silently.

You were almost sure Danzo no longer saw you as a threat, and the many years that had passed since you last had a rampage, put him in a comfortable spot. However you were still surprised when he appeared in your room just before you were going to sleep and announced

“The Hokage and the elders are pressuring me by saying that it’s about time you learned to defend yourself, after all, you just turned 21 and you don’t know much about fighting. Tomorrow a ninja sent by them will be coming to start training you here on grounds. He’ll be staying here as long as it takes for you to be at least competent in deflecting a few attacks. However, this won’t be free for you. If you want to train, you’d better get information about Sarutobi from him, and pass it on to me. I can’t refuse their orders, but I can’t help it if you have some sort of accident that puts you in a temporary physical (idk the word for this)”

Your blood runs cold in your veins. You know he wasn’t joking, when he made a threat he went through with it. You just nodded and assured him that you’d try to get any information for him. He left as fast as he came, and spent the rest of the night imagining what your new tutor would be like.

Would they be as impersonal as your medical tutor? Without an identity? A name? Or would it be someone as scary as Danzo? That would make it hard for you to get the information you had to pass on to him. You couldn’t lose this chance to train. It was the moment you and Kurama had been waiting for.

When you enter the training room you expect so many things, except what you see. A cheerful smile meets your sight, bright yellow hair with the ability to light the whole room up, and a silky warm voice.

“You must be Y/N” he says “so pleased to meet you. I’m Minato and I’ll be tutoring you under the Hokage’s orders.”

You’re shocked to be met with such kindness. It’s been so long since someone spoke to you like you were an actual person, that you don’t really know what to say.

“Do you have any previous knowledge on controlling chakra or doing any sort of jutsu? I just want to know where to start so you feel comfortable.”

Again, you stay silent. Nobody has thought about your wellbeing in so long, and this stranger is worried about you feeling uncomfortable. He’s perceptive, so he notices your stiff posture and your nerves.

“Hey it’s okay, we don’t have to do much today. You can just walk around the room and play a bit with the equipment so you get used to it. I’ll just stay in a corner until you feel more comfortable in my presence.”

“No—“ you quickly say “walk around with me. Please. Show me how to be a Kunoichi.”

“Alright” he chuckles a bit. “Let me show you the ninja packs first.”

He reaches for one of them and proceeds to pull out a few weapons. He names all of them to you and lets you hold them.

Then he explains a few basic concepts on fighting and has you do some simple exercises to control chakra. Since you know medical ninjutsu, it’s easy for you, but at the end of the practice, you’re still tired.

The first training session gave you a feeling of intrigue, and you start looking forward to the rest. Each day, you start enjoying it more and you get better.

Minato is a patient and determined teacher, and he starts becoming the only friend you’ve had.

You two start joking around during the sessions, and time flies by while you’re with him.

He has you practice different concepts, and also train your body so you have more physical endurance.

When he sees you getting better, he starts challenging you to different competitions. Some test strength, others speed, and your favorite, strategical thinking, Minato almost always wins, but you’re satisfied to notice you’re getting better each time.

Once he challenges you to a race, and he takes you outside for it, but the middle of the way, you step on a rock and twist your ankle.

“Damn! Next time I’ll get ya! Yaknow??” You shout after him.

He comes back to scoop you up from the ground. You thought it was such a gentlemanly action, until you hear him let out a loud laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” You ask, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Nothing bad I swear” he chuckles again “It’s just, the way you talk. It reminds me of a good friend of mine. Actually you remind me a lot of her. She’s as feisty as you, and also very talented.”

He says as he carries you back.

“Kushina” you whisper. “She’s alive”

“What? You know her?” A single tear rolls down your cheek.

“I once knew her.” You say simply “Can you tell me more about her?”

His heart softens when he sees your pleading eyes.

“Sure, if you want me to. I don’t really know what to say though” he starts.

You arrive at your room and he settles you down on the bed.

“Is she happy?”

“I guess so. She’s a fighter. She used to get bullied, for her red hair” You remember how her soft strands felt in your fingers. All your childhood you’d envied her beautiful hair, now you longed to run your hands through it once more. You couldn’t believe people would make fun of her for such a beautiful trait. “She kicked all their asses though, and she made friends. True ones.”

“Like you?”

“Yeah”

He spent the whole evening telling you stories about your sister, making you laugh like you hadn’t done in so long. He brought you sweets he stole from the kitchen, as he went to pick up more ice for your ankle, and he stayed with you, to help you heal.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you got injured today, so we can still see each other tomorrow”

You smile and nod. If Danzo knew you couldn’t train, he’d bar you from your time with Minato. He already tried to reduce your training time too much, only because Minato insisted you needed more practice, arguing that it was harder for you to learn these things as an adult.

You rest for three days. Minato is more than happy to share more stories about your sister, and also some about his three young students he’s very attached to.

“Kakashi is full of sadness, but he has a huge heart. Obito is a bit clumsy, but he’s the full spirit of the team, he’ll do great things someday. Finally, Rin is the glue holding them together, she’s reliable and kind. You’d love them.” All this kept you wondering what life was like outside these quarters. Minato’s stories were full of magic, and they made you so happy. He tends to you perfectly and then in a flash, your ankle is as good as new. He starts training you again, and it becomes your favorite time of the day. You can feel your body get stronger each time. He lets you practice different types of jutsu and you’re happy to discover that while they’re challenging, it’s very rewarding to master them. The confidence between you and your tutor grows, as well as your own self confidence. Maybe your goal of fighting your captor is closer than you think.

“Why do they keep you here?” He asks puzzled after you finish taking down one of his shadow clones with the shuriken jutsu he taught you “Why didn’t you go to the academy, and instead waited until this age to learn how to fight? You’re clearly a natural, it would’ve helped so much if we could have gotten you on a shinobi team.”

“Minato, there’s something I need to tell you.” The words scrape your throat, but you gather the courage to spit them out anyway “I’m being kept here as a prisoner, ever since I was chosen as the nine tails jinchuuriki”

He furrows his brow, clearly not understanding what you just said. Fear crawls through your veins and you instantly regret saying that. He’ll stop seeing me the same way now.

“Kushina is the Jinchuuriki”

“No, that’s not possible, there’s only one Kurama, and it’s sealed inside me”

“Everyone in the village knows she’s the Jinchuuriki, Y/N, even the Hokage has acknowledged it” he says it with such certainty that you almost believe it for a minute. Maybe the beast inside you was imaginary all along, but then he goes pale. Pale as if he’d seen a ghost, no, worse, as if he’d just found an answer to this confusion.

“No, the Hokage is the one who ordered Danzo to keep me here.”

Minato pauses for a second

“Y/N, I need you to do something for me,” there’s not much you feel you can do but you nod once, waiting for his instruction “can you call the Kyuubi forth and let him speak to me?” “His name is Kurama, he doesn’t like being called Kyuubi” you snap, and then clasp a hand over your mouth as you realize how rude you’re being to the only person that you know who truly cares about you.

“It’s okay, I know it’s hard. Don’t worry about me” he smiles and warmth spreads in your chest “I’ll be kind to him”

You believe him, and Kurama does too, so you switch.

“Kid” he says simply

“So it’s true”

“It depends”

“On what?”

“On what you think is the truth”

“The truth is that Y/N is the real Jinchuuriki, and that Danzo lied to the Hokage and the whole village by telling them Kushina was your vessel. The fact here is that the Jinchuuriki out there is a lie, and he’s keeping the real one hidden”

“You’re a smart one, and yes, there’s truth among your words. The question is, are you going to stop Danzo before he turns us into a weapon with no self control? I can lend Y/N my power, but I can’t fight for her if she doesn’t make her body strong first. If she doesn’t learn how to properly control chakra, it’ll be for nothing”

Kurama switches with you again, and the worried expression in Minato’s face triggers something in you.

He explains everything to you. Root has been telling everyone including the Hokage your sister is the Jinchuuriki, while keeping you hidden here. Most likely Danzo has a plan to use you later to gain more power. The realization makes your stomach drop to your knees.

“I’m scared” you say.

“Shh as long as I’m with you, you’ll be okay. I’ll protect you. We’ll stop Danzo together, the only thing we need to do is make your body stronger, but it’ll be easy since you’re already naturally talented.”

You feel so confident because of him, that without thinking you press your lips against his. He’s startled for a second, but then he moves, responding to your body. With that kiss, you give yourself to him. His hands travel to your waist, holding you tight, telling you, you’re something he’s not willing to lose.

You tangle your hands in his hair, and he utters a soft groan in response. Encouraged, you deepen the kiss and press your warm body closer to his. Your tongues dance hot around one another, coordinating perfectly between longing and pleasure. You stroke his neck, then grasp the collar of his shirt. His hands start to travel under your shirt, sending an ecstatic feeling through your body. You moan, thrusting your hips forward, needing to feel his touch everywhere. But when he realizes what he’s doing, he breaks the kiss, leaving your mouth cold with his own mouth’s absence.

He presses his forehead against yours, and stares deeply into your eyes, seeing right through to your very soul. His eyes transport you to a place where nothing can touch you, where you feel safe.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

“Minato, I want you. I want this. Please.”

You see a golden spark in his eyes, and he smiles relieved, it’s clear he wants this as much as you.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything”

You always thought being touched by someone would be scary, but now, standing with him here, desire overcomes you. Love, overcomes you. He is the person you want to spend every single moment of the day with, and give it all to. Something in you knows

“Promise me that if you feel unsafe, or it hurts, or you simply don’t want to do it anymore, you’ll tell me.”

How much he cares for you makes your heart melt, you nod, giving him the confirmation he needs, and this time it’s him who initiates the kiss. Just like that, in a small corner of the training room where nobody can see you and nobody can hear you, where it’s just you two, Minato makes your inexperienced, touch starved body, feel loved for the first time.

The month passes in a breeze. You keep training together, and gaining more control over your own body. Minato says that you’re learning at an extraordinary speed, but part of it, you owe it to Kurama. He’s been lending you chakra and helping you every step, and you feel the bond between you get stronger.

Aside from that, Minato has been feeling uneasy by the discovery on Danzo’s deception, however he couldn’t report anything until he knew more.

Spying on Danzo proved less difficult than he initially thought it would be. He knew Danzo felt confident here in his territory, and though he’d mistrusted him since he arrived on the Hokage’s orders, Danzo thought he was being smarter than Minato. That’s why he’d grown careless, and now as Minato was walking back to his quarters, he heard a subordinate address the man.

“Lord Danzo, I have disturbing news for you”

Minato walked closer to the room to hear better, effectively disguising himself against the wall.

“What is it this time? Can we deal with it?” Danzo replied.

“It’s the Jinchuuriki”

Minato’s heart stopped for a second at the mention of you.

“What in the world has that cursed girl done now?” he says with an annoyed sigh “She’s been more trouble than she’s worth”

His subordinate kept quiet, unsure if he should go on with the report.

“Well? Out with it” Danzo ordered, exasperated.

“She’s…” the subordinate trembles, in response to the rage he already feels coming “pregnant”

Minato’s brain goes blank, all that he can think of now is getting you and his unborn child out of here.

Danzo’s visible eye rages, but his demeanor remains calm.

“We just found out, during her routine check up.” The ninja explains.

“But how?” Danzo asks, more to himself than to the other person, after a few seconds it dawns on him “That damned Minato. It seems he’s not only training our weapon.”

The old man thinks for a bit, then says

“Bring the other girl. It’s about time we got rid of this one. After all she’s been nothing but a disappointment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get everything ready to extract and seal the beast into the new vessel tonight. Oh and don’t tell Sarutobi anything. After all, he thinks the girl we have here is the back up. We’ll just say she died under mysterious circumstances, and turn the one he thinks is the Jinchuuriki into the actual Jinchuuriki. Nobody needs to know I’ve had the Kyuubi hidden here all along.”

Minato has no more time. He has to do something before they hurt you.

Stay calm, he tells himself. He takes a deep breath, and when his hands stop shaking, he teleports to your room, where you are already getting into bed.

“Minato?” You say at the sight of him “What are you doing here? If Danzo knows you’re here he’ll punish us both”

“Y/N, we don’t have much time, you’re in danger”

“What? What do you mean? Why?”

“Do you feel different somehow? Physically I mean”

“Well, I haven’t really thought about it. I guess I’ve been more tired than usual, and I’ve had a bit of nausea, but it’s because of the strain my body’s been through with the training, right? It happens to everybody. Plus I just had my regular check up with the other medical ninjas and they said I was fine.”

“Y/N, I really hate to tell you the news this way, because it should be something happy, but, I just overheard Danzo and another shinobi talking. You’re pregnant.”

Your body feels numb, and the whole world starts spinning around you.

“I’m what?” You whisper. Tears have started flowing and you place your hands on your belly. The only thing you can feel now is fear, for the little life growing inside of you, product of the deep love Minato and you feel for each other.

“Hey beautiful, be happy.” He reaches out and wipes the tears from your cheeks “We’re going to raise this child together, I promise, we’ll get married and Kushina can be your bridesmaid. You’ll be together again. I’m going to get you both out of here now, but we need to act fast.”

You don’t spare another moment, you trust him completely, so you’re willing to do anything he tells you. You look at him determined.

“I trust you. Let’s do it, but let me fight too, I know I’m strong enough now.”

“But the baby”

This time it’s Kurama who answers

“Will be fine. I’ll make a shield of chakra and he’ll be protected. Both Y/N and him.” Minato thanks him, and you also feel grateful towards the creature who’s been living inside you for so long. You can’t believe how close you’ve grown to him, he’s not a weapon and you won’t let Danzo turn him into one.

You take Minato’s hand and he teleports the two of you to the entrance of the Root Headquarters.

Danzo and a dozen of his Root subordinates are already there waiting for you.

“I knew you’d try to steal my tailed beast once you found out I had it here. I just didn’t know you’d put a brat in his vessel. You’re a quick one, Yellow Flash” Danzo mocks Minato. “However, you can’t teleport your way out of here. You know my barrier blocks all of your markers outside of it.”

Minato’s grip on your hand tightens, but you see he’s still calm, not playing into Danzo’s game.

“I’m sorry, but you won’t be taking my best weapon tonight. The new vessel is already on her way, and by the time she arrives, this one and your unborn kid will be dead. Seize them and start the extraction of the beast.” He orders his fighters.

A dozen of the most skilled, battle seasoned ninja charge towards you and though you thought you’d be ready for this, you find yourself frozen.

A glance from Minato, however, gives you all the courage you need.

“I know you can do it. Just remember what we did during training. I’ve got your back.”

So, the fighting starts.

Minato moves gracefully, only aiming to injure, not to kill. Preserving his rage only for Danzo. In just a few minutes, he manages to disable 4 enemies, giving you two the advantage.

You’re less agile than him, which is understandable, due to your inexperience, but Kurama’s strength makes up for it. You only manage to fight off one enemy, using the jutsu Minato taught you, realizing just how effective it is and feeling proud of yourself for being able to defend the attacks.

While you’re fighting his ninja, Danzo is only watching from afar. It seems his confidence diminishes with each shinobi that is taken down by you, but it’s not enough to wipe the smug smile from his face.

With trouble, you take on two more enemies, barely getting by. You wipe a little blood from your face, and reach instinctively towards your stomach, as if the gesture could reassure the baby everything would be alright.

Minato, already finished with the other Root agents, charges towards Danzo and engages in a fight with him.

The old man is more skilled than you’d imagined. Their bodies move at a fast speed, and you can barely keep up with what’s happening. The fight is too confusing for you to follow, but at some point you’re able to notice that Minato has a slight advantage. Younger, faster, and more skilled, the man you love is giving everything to protect his family against the man who would kill you.

Suddenly there’s a flash of red, and you can’t tell whose blood it is.

Your heart stops.

Minato is on the ground, pale and bleeding from a large cut on his back.

“Y/N stay away!” He shouts

You don’t understand how Danzo managed to hurt him this way, but you don’t care.

You call Kurama, and feel his power rushing through you.

Your mind goes blank with anger, and hot chakra seeps out of you, transforming you into a small version of the Kyuubi.

Then you attack Danzo with all your might.

It’s over in a few seconds. His body is barely recognizable after you’re finished with him.

You go back to being yourself, kurama’s power retreating into you.

Your body feels heavy and then you lose consciousness.

When you open your eyes again, there’s a bright light in your face. You rub your eyes and try to adjust.

“Minato?”

“He’s alive, Y/N” a familiar voice says “Thankfully you three are alive. Nobody can hurt you anymore”

“Kushina” you say as her soft hand reaches rub your belly “I’ve missed you so much”

“And I’ve missed you, little sister” she replies “There’s so much I have to tell you and so much you have to tell me, but all in due time. The good thing is you’re awake now and in good hands. We’re in the Konoha hospital, there’s only kind people here”

You can see her face now. She’s grown to become so beautiful, and you experience a type of peace you haven’t felt in so long.

“Minato is already in rehabilitation, he’s very strong, yaknow? That’s why the baby you’re carrying survived, must be his Namikaze genes combined with your Uzumaki ones”

“Kushina, I’d like you to be the baby’s godmother. I want us to be a family again”

She grips your hand tighter in response and nods happily

“Of course we will be”

Days later, when you’re finally out of the hospital, Minato and you get married in a small ceremony. Only his closest friends, his three students –Kakashi, Obito and Rin– and your sister are present, but that is all you need. You wear a simple dress that Kushina helped you embroider with a beautiful flowery pattern. You let your hair loose, and put a single white orchid close to your left ear. It’s the happiest day of your life. Minato looks dashing as ever, and he receives you with that wonderful smile of his, ready to join his life to yours forever.

8 months later, you both welcome your son. You decide to name him Naruto.

#naruto #naruto fic #naruto imagines #minato #minato namikaze #minato headcanons #minato fluff #minato x reader #minato x y/n #minato oneshot #minato fanfic

140 notes · View notes

7-seasof-fandom · 4 years

Text

Imposter

(A fic about trans Five)

The Girl was known for being all sunshine and rainbows. She was known for sweet comments and doing everything with a feminine elegance alike to her sister. It was truly a beautiful image, one which didn't at all represent The Boy behind it.

Everyone else, including their father, knew him as The Girl, but his siblings knew him as The Boy, as Five. Well, Five was nothing like the fairytale of a supergirl their father wanted to present him as. Five was all blunt truths, sarcastic remarks, math solutions and bragging... a lot of bragging. Which, none of it had anything to do with his gender, yet their father insisted on changing even that about him.

Five would like to think that he didn't need his father's approval. He didn't care for it, yet there was this empty feeling in his chest whenever he read another comic with The Girl. A weird alienation as he managed to recognize all of his siblings in the words and images on the pages, but in his place was a stranger. The perfect daughter and superhero, a girl who was as elegant and charming as Allison. A girl who Five had never been and never would be. Didn't want to be, but then again, this feeling kept gnawing at his chest, telling him that he had to be for his father. He needed to be what his father so obviously wanted. Five had tried, he'd really tried, but it just never really worked...

He liked skirts, so that was something he was doing right and his dad wouldn't even allow him to wear anything else anyways, but he was way too aware of the signal he was sending when wearing them, way too aware of how it made everyone see him and so, he ended up stealing shorts from the other boys, or, one time just refused to wear skirts. If he couldn't wear pants, he wouldn't wear anything, which was when his dad found out about the pair of boxer shorts Klaus had been so kind to gift him and he was quickly forced to get rid of those and had to then deal with a long lesson about how it wasn't lady like to pull a stunt like that and that then turned into a lesson on not listening to authority.

Overall, it seemed that his father saw this as nothing else than Five challenging his authority. Father had said that number 5 was a girl, and so, he was a girl. It was simple. It should be easy to understand and Five couldn't help but feel frustrated with himself over the fact that he couldn't. He couldn't just understand that. Why couldn't he? His father seemed equally frustrated, with the exact same question on his mind.

Five let out a scream of frustration as The Girl had to mock even his smart jokes by replacing them with a sugar sweet, princess-y comment. He threw the comic across the room, not even caring that his father would be furious if it got damaged. Vanya gave him a sympathetic look over the edge of the book she was reading, but didn't say anything, which he greatly appreciated. He sat there for a whole, seething in his rage before he heard a laugh. Looking up, he saw that Klaus had picked up the insulting comic and was now reading it. Five stared daggers at him, having a nagging feeling that he knew exactly who, Klaus was laughing at. Klaus looked up, noticing his brother's glare. He shook his head, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. "Fivey, I don't think dad has met you." Five blinked at the weird remark, not really knowing what else to say he just let out a "huh?".

Klaus looked back at whatever page he was on. "Oh, I don't know, I just get the feeling someone should inform dad that apparently someone has been impersonating you all these years and that he's obviously been training with the wrong number Five." He said, with a shrug, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Five stared at him for a moment, not entirely sure how to respond. "I mean," Klaus continued, determined to get the reaction he wanted. "Dad has just been training some random girl all of those years? You're not even a girl, so there's not way that she's you. And no one knows who she is?? That's quite a security breach, don't you think?" Klaus said in a very serious and dramatic tone. Five let out a snort at Klaus somber expression, which quickly vanished as a bright smile split his face. He'd gotten the wanted reaction.

"Now, Fivey, I don't know about you, but I think dear daddy would be very appreciative if we go look for this horrible imposter. My bet is on that she likes donuts..." Klaus blinked to him and Five couldn't help but smile. "Well, we better go look for her then?" Five suggested, finally realizing where Klaus was going with this, he eagerly jumped off the couch. Ignoring the worried look Vanya shot them.

"I like your thinking, brother." Klaus said, hitting him friendly on the shoulder as Five tried to be casual about the wave of happiness washing over him at the word. Brother. It just... felt so right. It felt good. Way better than the fleeting approval of their father. "Hey, Vanya, will you be joining us on this fine evening?" Klaus asked, playfully. Vanya looked at Five hesitantly, before jumping up herself. "Better make sure you boys don't get yourself killed." She laughed. Boys. Five playfully pushed her shoulder, but he couldn't be more thankful to both of them for understanding him.

_________________________

Gaaaaah, this means a lot to me and is kinda personal and idk... it just means a lot, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!!

If I need to tag any triggers pls let me know??

As always, feedback and constructive criticism is much welcome and appreciated :)

#tua #five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #fanfic #trans five hargreeves

145 notes · View notes

nat-20s · 4 years

Note

this is a Wild™ prompt so no pressure to actually do it, but i’ve had the scenario of “somehow s5 martin ends up in s1-s2, has to figure out how to deal with that” and if u want a narrower thing, maybe how he reacts to seeing someone again/for the first time? (Sasha, Juergen Leitner, Prentiss, etc)

Please have fun with Whatever this is:

“Don’t go wandering off in the middle of the apocalypse” seems like a pretty simple rule to follow. “Especially don’t go through any weird doors, Christ, Martin, how can that possibly be a good idea on any level, do you remember nothing from the last five years of your existence?” also seems like a generally easy thing to keep in mind. And yet, Martin is guilty of the same sin that appears to be intrinsic of all of those who find themselves under the influence of the eye, his need to know something overriding his common sense. In his defense, the door was only like 2 meters away and he wasn’t planning on going through it or even touching it at all. He just wanted to look, because it appeared to be made of a liquid version of frosted glass, and it was translucent enough that he could sort of make out the other side of it. As he got closer, he confirmed that the other side of the door a: definitely didn’t match the rest of their own little hell-scape, and b: seemed familiar in a way he couldn’t quite make sense of.

Of course, in the dream logic of their reality, you don’t have to place your hand on the door knob in order for you to enter some place new. All it takes is getting within a foot of the door, squinting to futilely try and bring the scene across from him into better focus, and a blink and suddenly he is not where he’s supposed to be. Instead, he is staring down the hallway of his former apartment complex, watching as a familiar woman attired in a red dress and countless words is steadily knocking at his door. There’s a weight in his hands that wasn’t there before, and he looks down to find a fire extinguisher in prime position to be fired. Huh. How serendipitous.

Martin’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel afraid, not in this moment. It appears that for all the two weeks spent hiding from her still frequent more often than not in his nightmares, for all that the sight of canned peaches still makes him nauseous, in his (probably) waking hours, she is far less intimidating than the myriad of horrors he has faced since. Or, perhaps, it’s simply that he is actually equipped to face her, and that takes away some of the teeth of his fear. Any semblance of preparation, of a plan, has given him comfort when he had little else, and that continues on now. Admittedly, though, while he does have preparation for this encounter, his plan is little more than “get Prentiss off of my fucking lawn and then see where we go from there” before he’s striding towards her.

He’s able to get close to her, about as close as he’s willing to get, before she takes any notice of him. Once he’s about five feet away, she turns her head, and briefly pauses that incessant, infuriating knocking. She gets as far as saying, “Oh, aren’t you inter-” before he sends a spray of foam directly to her face. It’s far from enough to kill her, but it’s enough to kill off some of the worms, so there’s no way that it doesn’t at least sting quite a bit. The CO2 makes her stutter and take several steps back, swatting at the foam at an attempt to get it off.

He considers pulling the handle once again, but he’s really more concerned with getting her to leave than hurting her further, and he doesn’t to run out of ammo this early should she recover and decide to go on the attack. However, he likes to think he’s not too much of a fool, so he keeps the nozzle trained on her as she becomes less frantic.

Finally she stills her swatting, breathing heavily and glaring at him, as much as she can make any sort of facial expression with what’s left of her face. “That was rather rude of you, little one. And we are trying to offer you an escape from being so tragically singular.”

Martin raises the nozzle slightly higher, just enough to bring focus to the motion as he replies, “Yeah, well, it was rude of you to stalk my apartment for two weeks and try to kill me and my coworkers, so forgive me if I don’t feel all that grateful for your oh so generous offer.”

“Hmm. So you are his future. That’s a shame. We are made so loneliness is impossible, it would not wrap itself so throughly into your form. Our love could still be given to you, in this time.”

“I have no interest in your hollow version of love. He has no interest in it. Now, leave.”

Prentiss give an airy wave of her hand, and the worms that had been trying to find any crack in the sealed door come crawling back to their home. “Fine, fine. This was just a bit of fun, anyway. I’ll be seeing him soon enough anyway.”

Martin makes a hum of acknowledgement, though he response makes little difference to her taking her leave. There’s a few silver-grey disgusting stragglers that be promptly and throughly kills with a combination of the fire extinguisher and some well placed stomps. It’s only after he finishes this that the hesitation hits him, the trepidation curling low in his stomach until it solidifies into something akin to fear. He’ll take a worm monster over facing himself any time of any day.

What would he even say to himself? Good luck, the next years of your life are completely fucked? Hey, congratulations, you actually made it to your 30s, so that’s a bit of surprise, but you’re almost certainly not going to get to 35? Don’t talk to a man named Peter Lukas, or maybe just avoid any Lukases in general? Maybe he should lie, tell him things are going to turn out okay when they’re definitely not?

Wait, okay, maybe he has something with the Peter tip. If there’s an opportunity to give this version of him some advice that could prevent future grief, he might as well go for it. It’s like, how badly could he actually mess up the time line with his interference? The world could end again? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Upon the realization that basically no matter what he does right now there’s basically no where to go up but up, he makes an executive decision to go in there and confront himself head on. Hell, maybe that’s the Thing that’s needed to get him back to Jon.

As he goes to turn the door handle he also, briefly, thinks that he should bring up that he’s madly in love with someone who feels the same. It’s not immediately relevant for trying to prevent some of the mistakes he’s made, but Martin remembers being 28, utterly convinced both that love was real and something that was completely unattainable for something like him. Being wrong on the second part of that conviction is one of the few true comforting things he can provide.

The door is, of course, locked, so he goes with plan B. Turns out fire extinguishers are rather handy for smashing things, and he brings it down several times in rapid succession until the knob breaks. There’s one step down, but he had forgotten about the furniture barricade that had been put in place. He can get the door open about 7 centimeters before it refuses to budge, and he begins to wonder if all of this is an exercise in futility. At least his voice won’t be muffled when he calls out, “Martin? You in there?”

There’s nothing but silence, and he sighs and leans his head against the apartment door. “Seriously, Martin, could you respond? And maybe move some of this furniture? If you’re dead that means things are way more messed up than I expected.”

After a beat, a strained voice calls out, “Oh, so a bad impersonation of me is part of your dumb monster powers now? Piss off!”

After a groan and an eyeroll, Martin calls back “I’m not-!” before cutting himself off. He meant to say “I’m not a monster, I’m you” but both of those things are only about 60-70% true. Instead he goes with, “I’m not an impersonation. If I was something pretending to be someone else to get inside, wouldn’t I pick one of your coworkers coming to get you? Like Tim or Jon or Sa- you know, um, one of them?”

Silence.

“You have a peephole, right? You could look through it, confirm that I’m not worm-infested?”

He doesn’t hear a response with words, but he does hear the sounds of motion coming from inside. After a few minutes, the furniture is pushed aside, and the door is opened for him. Jesus, the guy on the other side of the door looks like shit. He probably doesn’t look much better, apocalypse grime covering every inch of him, but still. The man in front of him has deep bags under his eyes and a gauntness to his face that will take a while to ease. Worst of all, he looks painfully young and painfully afraid, and while Martin can recognize himself on a logical level, there’s a forced disconnect that makes him feel like he’s looking at a stranger. The knife that’s being held between them probably doesn’t help matters.

His former self’s voice shakes with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. “You got the hair color wrong. And the age.”

“That’s because I’m 32. Also, still not an impersonation.”

“My hair goes white in 5 years?”

“Not in the natural way. You know those hokey stories where people are so scared their hair turns white? That’s...sort of what happened. And it’s not going to happen to you, if I can help it.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, as the younger Martin’s face twists up. It’s a lot, Martin thinks it’s a lot and he’s far more experienced in the reality of the esoteric, but sometimes things being a lot is unavoidable, and he’s pretty sure time travel is one of those cases. He shrugs in response to the younger’s confusion, and says, “Can I come in? I think I’m here to dole out some advice, and I’d honestly prefer to do while not standing in worm corpses.”

He’s studied for a few brief moments, before he’s told, “You broke my doorknob.”

“You’re never gonna live here again, and it’s not like you were getting the security deposit back anyway. Does it matter?”

The younger one’s face collapses, despondent when he replies, “But. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Martin’s been experiencing a nauseating mixture of anger, pity, and compassion while seeing his past self, but that’s enough to kick in his care-taking instincts, and he really just wants to wrap the guy in a blanket. That’s not going to help either of them, but what he says next might. With a frankly ridiculous wave of fondness for that uncomfortable cot (or, more accurately, for the memory of a certain someone offering said cot), “You will. After you go back to the institute, you, um, you won’t have to stay here again.”

Martin, junior edition, only looks more lost, but he does step aside to let Martin inside the apartment even if he doesn’t lose his death grip on the knife. Martin pulls the door behind him, and as he does so, it transforms into the door that got him in this mess, so looks like he made the right choice. It doesn’t immediately take him (hopefully) back to his own time, but Martin’s gut is telling him that he won’t be spending much longer here. “Okay, so, you have a notebook around here, right? Because I’m about to dump quite a bit of information on you all at once, and I happen to know that our memory for things of this sort is not fantastic.”

The younger one glances over to the table where a notebook and pen are laying and while he moves towards it, he’s clearly hesitant to occupy both his hands with writing. The precaution makes sense, but Martin’s getting tired of it nonetheless due to a combination of running out of time and generally being tired of people seeing him as a threat. With a sigh, he tries his best to evenly say, “The next few years are going to be, um, messed up, to say the least, but hopefully if you have more information than I did, they’ll be less messed up.”

Younger Martin finally concedes, putting the knife down to pick up the pen, and flips the notebook open. Primed to start writing, he gives slight nod of his head to tell Martin to keep talking. Martin takes a breath, lets it out, and spills everything he can think of. “Okay, most immediately, CO2 kills Prentiss’s worms, and enough of it will kill her. A fire suppressant system will do the trick, but make sure there’s a way to actually trigger it inside of the archives. Makes sure the weird spooky table doesn’t get destroyed, it seems like it should be destroyed, this instinct is wrong. Generally speaking, you should get a buddy system set up, as it’s usually when people go off on their own that particularly bad things start to happen, whether it’s on an investigation or going to America. Speaking of, don’t let Jon go to America. Don’t let Tim go to stop the Unknowing. The Unknowing won’t work anyway, but you’ll probably still want to have the circus blown up, just make sure everyone is doing it from a distance. Don’t let yourself work for Peter Lukas, actually don’t interact with Peter Lukas, except maybe to, I don’t know, hit him with a shovel. And most importantly, kill Elias Bouchard as soon as possible-”

“-What?!-”

“-and in particular make sure you destroy the eyes, that’s vital to this whole thing. Turns out he’s actually a 200 year old scumbag named Jonah Magnus, you know, the founder of the institute, and by getting rid of him, you’ll save yourself a quite literal world of pain.”

“I don’t, what, I don’t think I could kill somebody-”

Martin felt a sharp tug towards the door, and he knew his time here was up. “Oh, wow, I really have changed, huh. Anyway, uh, final notes: you’re not going to end up alone and unloved and forgotten before you’re even fully gone, so feel free to lay that fear that occupies a disconcertingly large amount of your mental space to rest. Good luck, and try not to die!”

Before he can hear his other self’s response, he’s back in the wastelands he currently calls a twisted version of home, and Jon’s arms are wrapped around his neck in a fierce hug. As far as he can tell, nothing’s changed from his little literal trip down memory lane. There’s a few explanations for it, but since Martin’s not going to go out of his way trying to prove any of them, he choses to believe in the one that’s the most hopeful; that somewhere, out there, with some well timed words, there’s a universe that has turned out kinder than their own.

#Anonymous #replies #tma #martin blackwood #anon #nats fic

57 notes · View notes

bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years

Text

Soulmate Shenanigans

So, lucky me, I found this list of prompts!

Unlucky me, it was for a September event. Surprise, surprise, this is not September

That isn’t going to stop me from doing this, though!

So, without further ado, prompt number one!

Your Soulmate’s name is written on your wrist or palm

Warnings for death mentions galore and drowning, as well as something that isn’t drug use, but if drug use is a triggering topic for you I wouldn’t recommend you read

Not as angsty as these warnings would suggest, but there is still Angst

I don’t know how it got angsty I just work here

World building

The first recorded instance of a palm mark was when Lady Natalia of Venice nearly drowned in a canal

She’d been on her way home from a party alongside her fiance when she “tripped” (the word “tripped” here means “Was pushed by her fiance for financial reasons”) into the river. Her husband-to-be quickly exited the scene, leaving her to be weighed down by her skirts and die.

Angela (forger of swords and mixer of poisons, just happened to be in the neighborhood when she heard a scream and a splash) had other plans. She dove into the water, saving Natalia and cutting her hand in the process.

The two women spent a good deal of time together after that, the scientific Natalia claiming that she only wanted to know why her name was on Angela’s hand.

Some historians claim that the two were platonic soulmates. While this is possible, and platonic soulmates have a long and wonderful history, no one with common sense believes this to be the case

They exchanged love letters that were quite clear that the attraction was a romantic one.

Some historians also claim that there isn’t enough evidence to suggest that they killed the fiance.

Those historians are wrong.

Anyway, in modern days 97% of the population has a palm mark with the name of their soulmate

The tattoo industry has never had so many illegal opportunities

When your soulmate dies, the name doesn’t scar. It doesn’t blister, burn, or black out. All that happens is a thin, impersonal line crossing their name out. Some people don’t notice who they lost for days.

There’s a process to remove palm marks. However, it’s illegal and possibly fatal for the soulmate being removed.

Our Characters

Roman: Roman was confused by the name of his soulmate.

Who names their kid “Janus”?

Am I soulmates with a roman deity? The heck?? SO MANY QUESTIONS AND SO LITTLE ANSWERS

Roman was so excited to have a soulmate. He kept entire journals filled with things he wanted to tell Janus, part diary, part scrapbook, and part love letter. He would doodle hearts around his palm mark.

One night, in April, Roman went to sleep. In the morning, there was a line across his palm.

His soulmate had died, and he hadn’t even seen the line drawn. He broke a little.

Enough said.

Roman took the passion that he’d had for his Janus and channeled it into his acting. If he couldn’t get love, he’d get a fucking Tony Award.

Remus: Remus had been annoyed by his brother’s complaining.

“Oh, boo-hoo, my soulmate has a rare name. That means that as soon as I meet him, I’ll know exactly who he is! Roman, DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE NAMED LOGAN”

Remus was annoyed that his soulmate had the audacity to have a common name. In theory, he could date all of the 18,000 Logans in the country, but does he really have the time?

He and his brother bicker about this for a solid seven years, until the argument abruptly ends. Ever since then, he’s been on his brother’s side in everything he can.

Logan: It made total sense for Logan to not have a soulmate.

His soulmate would have been unlucky, being stuck with a know-it-all like him, at least according to most of the people he knew.

This was a simple solution to the puzzle.

It wasn’t helpful to waste time wishing for a different one.

Janus: Janus had a whole plan for when he met his soulmate.

He wrote it down in 10th grade

Step 1: Wear gloves

Step 2: Find Roman

Step 3: Say something witty

Step 4: Remove gloves, revealing palm

Step 5: This little mystery is over and done with, and hopefully my soulmate isn’t boring

This was how a lot of Janus’s plans would work. Solid ideas, but missing bits and important pieces. This includes his heist plan he scribbled out on a napkin on an April day.

Step 1: Find local con-artists

Step 2: Pretend to be a person with money (which I obviously do not have)

Step 3: Scam them

Step 4: Don’t get murdered on the way out

Step 5: Profit

He pulled off steps 1-3 with ease, but step 4 proved to be a sticking point.

As he escaped via the river, with money in his hands and a “so long, suckers!” on his lips for drama, he thought nothing could go wrong

Fun fact: It’s rather common for con artists to fatally give away their positions by yelling “so long, suckers!”. Just ask Odysseus as he sailed away from the Cyclops.

The con artists shot wildly at his boat, blowing it to pieces. As he went down with the ship, he barely had enough time to think this can’t be happening, and fuck this and I’m going to die at the same age as Philip fucking Hamilton and I really don’t want to go to hell before his lungs filled with water and his heart stopped.

And Janus died.

For a solid two minutes.

Technically, death is when your heart ceases to beat. Even though people have been revived after their hearts have stopped, it is death, and enough to draw a line across a sleeping Roman’s hand.

Janus, however, was saved by an old man, who dragged him out of the river and forced the water out of his lungs. The old man took one look at the teenager and decided that he needed better role models, which is how Patton took Janus under his wing and saved his life in more ways than one.

The Actual Plot

Roman is in a city production of Hamlet. His brother is in the audience, his friend is fixing the lighting, and he’s ready to go.

It’s a pretty good performance, by all accounts, but especially according to Janus.

He’d already been watching the main actor intently, smiling from the mezzanine, but he was even more intrigued when he read the playbill and realized his name was Roman. He could barely pay attention to act five as he planned out the lies he’d tell to get backstage.

Somehow, he didn’t get caught sneaking around, and managed to catch a glimpse of Roman’s hand in a mirror. Janus. He really is his soulmate!

Janus walks over to Roman, says something that isn’t as witty as he would have liked (but not as bad as it could have been), and removes his glove.

Now, he expected his soulmate could have a variety of reactions. He didn’t expect Roman to yell “Not today, ghost!”, throw a prop skull at him, and sprint out of the theater. Janus caught a glimpse of the line through his name.

He was reasonably sure that he wasn’t dead? He could see his reflection in mirrors, he could consume salt, people tended to notice his existence!

Jan didn’t have much time to mull over this, as he was about to be forcibly removed from the greenroom. Logan just wanted to fix the lighting and live his life, but when strangers break into the backstage and upset Roman...

Jan skedaddles as Logan chases him out of the building. The nerd has almost caught the intruder when he runs directly into a man in a green jacket holding a coffee cup full of ketchup

Why did he have a coffee cup full of ketchup?

Remus and Logan bicker as Janus escapes. When Remus realizes Logan’s name, he asks a few questions, but Logan quickly shows his two blank palms, and the matter is settled.

Everything seems over and done with.

Meanwhile, Roman is freaking out. His mind is essentially in a loop of The fuck? The fuck? The actual fuck? He’s completely unsure of what to do. Is he seeing ghosts? Does he only believe he’s seeing ghosts? Is he sane or not?

Remus checks up on his brother at around 3 am, only to find him, exhausted, and writing in his old soulmate journal. Roman tries to explain what just happened, but the narrative told isn’t exactly coherent. All Remus can gather is that

1. His brother thinks that his dead soulmate is alive

2. This is because some guy snuck backstage and told him that he was the dead soulmate in question

3. This was probably the guy Logan was chasing

Remus convinced Roman to go to sleep, and walked out of the apartment with blood on his mind. He was sure that his brother was being manipulated.

This guy might not be dead now, but he would be soon.

Meanwhile, Janus proves that he can, in fact, cross a salt circle, so he must be alive! Right?? He also can’t get a certain actor out of his head, and wonders what his next move should be.

Remus recruits Logan to help him do some investigation in case Shady Liar Dude shows up. They go on several stakeouts together, in equally improbable locations. Maybe the two of them got too far into the secret agent aesthetic. Logan had always wanted to be a detective as a kid.

They fall for each other, and fast

Roman is spiraling, and a chat with Remus has him convinced that he was wrong, and Janus really is dead. He curses himself for believing in the pretty fairy-tale. Yes, because love wins in the end and they all live happily ever after. He has a performance tomorrow.

And it’s really time he got rid of the old scar.

You don’t hang around Remus without knowing where the black market locations are. It’s relatively easy to find the cure for palm marks.

He paces around backstage, holding a journal in one hand and a small bottle in the other. The warning that destroying the palm mark destroys the soulmate causes terror to rise in his throat, even though he knows that Janus is dead and can never read his love letters no matter how many stars he wishes on.

He finally makes his choice when Remus and Logan visit him before the performance. They give him looks of pity. He doesn’t want to be pitied.

According to the label, effects should take place over the next several hours. So, he waits for Janus’s name to disappear from his hand.

Janus managed to hustle someone with orchestra seats for their tickets. Despite not getting off on the right foot with his soulmate, he isn’t going to let him go that easily. And Roman’s brilliant performance that night just reinforces that. If he was good weeks ago, he was a star now. Janus was transfixed.

When the curtain call came, Janus was the first on his feet for a standing ovation. Remus and Logan noticed him, and pushed their way through the applauding audience. Both of them almost hoped that he’d get away again so they could continue spending time together.

Roman notices him. They lock eyes. Janus waves as though to say Hi, I’m here, apologies for the awkwardness of our meet-cute, but coffee? Roman gives him a look of disdain, as if to say I can’t believe I thought you were my soulmate, you con artist. He intends to look away and bask in the applause, but before he can do that, Janus collapeses.

Roman is confused at first, and then it clicks. That’s his soulmate. That’s his Janus.

And he killed him.

Pandemonium breaks out. Roman leaps off the stage, Remus freezes in panicked comprehension, the crowd scatters, and several people try to reach the dying man.

Logan gets there first. His mind scans memories of hours spent in libraries, researching everything there is to know about palm marks. Why didn’t some people have them? How did you lose them? How could you get them back?

He instructs Remus and Roman to help carry Janus to the greenroom.

They race him there, everyone in a state of panic (including Logan, but more importantly he has a job to do). Logan tells Remus to run and get a few basic ingredients, and they wait. Time moves much too fast and much too slow, until he comes back.

Logan works chemical wonders, piecing together Roman’s hand until everything is stabilized.

A vicious scar, the type you’d except if your soulmate was really gone, forms on Roman’s palm, and it will stay there for the rest of his days.

Janus comes back from death’s door for the second time.

After The Drama

Logan and Remus eventually move past the “but I don’t have a soulmate” “and yet I still am in love with you” dithering and go on a date that isn’t for the purpose of stalking a supposed stalker.

They go to the aquarium.

Meanwhile, there’s a lot to work out between Roman and Janus. From “wow, you’re not dead” to “wow, I nearly murdered you”, we don’t have time to unpack all that.

But they do get coffee. And they talk.

Soulmate stuff! I really like soulmate aus, despite not liking to write straight up romance

It’s weird

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

86 notes · View notes