#I wish I could throw myself fully into everything and save the world

[somethingmissingthiswaycomes]

I don't know what to add, but I wanted to share this.

This needs to end.

This needs. to end.

Edit:

2nd edit in case this blows up: Do not be vile in the notes justifying or trying to recruit for antisemitism by using this genocide to justify another.

[meshlasolus]

House Of Memories (8/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!reader

Warnings: more angst, half a confession?? idk I'm still going to drag it out and build it up

Summary: Obi-Wan faces the council to discuss your fate, unwilling to let you die, meanwhile you are faced with some revelations about your force power.

A/n: literally will not stop posting every day until this series is done... I'm hoping to have it completed by the time the show is done, or at least have it at a stopping point by then (just in case they do another season)

Words: 2.7k

Obi-Wan wasn't panicking on the outside, because he knew that if the council saw him in such distress that they would deem him unfit to fight.

He'd been waiting for the doors to be opened to him, sitting on a bench outside the room. He had spent several hours on Ryloth, combing the separatist's base in hopes of finding you, but upon realizing there was a hidden hangar, he knew you'd been taken off-world.

Anakin had to nearly smack him back into reality. He couldn't believe what he had let happen to you. It had been his fault, and he knew it.

"They are ready for you, Master Kenobi," the guard came through the doors, and he shot from his seat, walking as fast as was appropriate into the room. He could not seem like he was on edge. The council was far too strict about these things, and he didn't want this to end badly.

"Master Kenobi, we heard the news. We're very sorry about what happened," Malli nodded in his general direction, as if displaying condolences.

"If I may be allowed to skip the pleasantries, I believe I have very urgent matters to discuss, and it cannot wait."

"If you are referring to the capture of your younger padawan, I'm afraid we've already discussed it, and will not be sending out for a rescue," Master Windu said, completely stone faced and with no remorse for Obi-Wan whatsoever. He knew what the council thought of you, what they'd always thought about you. Master Yoda being the only exception.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised by their decision, but in all honestly, he was shocked that they would completely disregard everything you'd given up for them and throw you under for the sake of... what even?

"Send me," he was not asking. He would go even if they disapproved of him. "I will find her myself."

"Too dangerous, it is," Yoda spoke up, though he was not agitated like Mace Windu. "Know you're coming, they will."

Obi-Wan knew it was foolish to argue with the council, because it made him seem immature and childish, but he couldn't help himself, now.

"You expect me to let my padawan die?" He asked sincerely, already knowing that they would go on the defensive, listing all the reasons why it was the right choice to make. "She was captured because she protected me, and you wish me to turn a blind eye."

"If you really valued the life of your padawan, you would respect her sacrifice to save you, and not purposely put your own life in danger," Windu was relentless, giving not a care about if you were even still alive.

"She is important to this order, and you know it."

Obi-Wan was treading on seriously thin ice, and he knew that if he raised his voice like that again, it would surely break beneath him.

"Important to the order, or important to you?" Mace tilted his head as he raised his eyebrows along with the question. He struck a nerve with Obi-Wan just now, and he didn't even know how to answer.

He knew he shouldn't say it, but he wanted to be selfish and tell them that, yes, you were important to him. He'd known you since you were a little girl, helping you and guiding you along the threads of your life, and he wasn't ready to let go. Not when you had grown so wonderfully before his eyes. You weren't a child anymore, but a fully grown and matured Jedi, whom he must stand up for. You weren't able to speak for yourself, so he would do it for you. He would always defend and protect you, because you meant the worlds to him. It took you being captured for him to see that.

"I sense a strong attachment in you, Master Kenobi, one that you know is strictly forbidden amongst the Jedi order."

Master Windu's accusation lifted the heads of other council members who may not have been paying complete attention. If proved to be correct, Master Windu's claim could have Obi-Wan dismissed from the order, and Anakin to be stripped away from his training. His mind raced with thoughts, and he searched his feelings to really ask himself if this was worth it... If you were worth it.

Of course, you were. He wouldn't abandon you like they were willing to. If it were his other padawan, he knew they wouldn't behave so unjustly... wait a second-

"I would ask the same if it were Anakin, of which I feel you would be all too happy to comply," he stood up strong, raising his head against them. This fight wasn't over, yet.

"Anakin Skywalker is the chosen one, you are talking about risking the lives of other Jedi to save a padawan who has yet to prove herself as an asset among the order," Mace bounced back, seemingly overprepared to shoot down any of Obi-Wan's attacks.

"We have sensed darkness in her, before," Malli was the only one who had enough common sense in his head to let Obi-Wan in on their previous insights. "It began when she was young."

"I don't believe it. She has never shown in all her years of training a rebellion to the light," Obi-Wan wasn't sure what he was even fighting for anymore. You? Himself? Your protection and wellbeing? It all seemed out of the question, now. You wouldn't turn to the darkside, and you would never intentionally do anything to harbor hatred toward anyone. As far as he could tell, you were the pure reflection of the light side of the force.

"Train her well, you have," Yoda was calm and collected, catching Obi-Wan's attention from his seat in the room. "Enough to keep her from the dark, it may not be."

"Your fears are preposterous; she would never turn to the dark side. I'm sure of it," within only a moment, he was back on the defensive, choosing his next words wisely. "She will die without my help. I do not wish to acquire the assistance of any other Jedi, only that you would grant me permission to find her on my own accord."

"You would request that we allow you to put yourself in danger, to risk your own life for a padawan who may be lost to us already."

Obi-Wan hated the way that sounded. He didn't even want to comprehend the fact that you could be dead. He knew deep down that you weren't gone, because he would have felt it if you were. His signature was still wrapped around yours, wherever you were. It still held onto you like a vice, helping you to keep calm in the face of certain disaster.

Suddenly something hit him, and though it was a rather a stupid idea, he was already under grounds for some sort of punishment, and if he was to endure it, he'd rather do so while having given everything he had in this argument.

"If you are so certain that she will turn to the dark side, then shouldn't you be concerned that it makes her a liability?"

The air in the room changed very fast, and instantly Obi-Wan could feel the anxiety coming over the them. They hadn't thought about all the information you knew. They hadn't taken into consideration that you could change the fate of this long battle between the separatists and the republic for the worse. Though Obi-Wan knew you were not capable of such destruction, he had to pretend for only a moment that you were, to gain the council's approval.

"Right, he is,' Yoda sighed out, looking to the other members. They were hesitant to agree, but knew that in the long run, Obi-Wan made a valiant point.

"If she is as powerful as we believe, it does pose a threat to our success in this battle."

It was strange, having the tables turned this way. Mace Windu now looked at Obi-Wan with annoyance, rather than anger and aggression.

"Proposal of motion to allow Master Kenobi on a rescue, I am making," Yoda nodded to Obi-Wan in the center of the room, where he was standing eager, ready to get out of here and on a ship to find you. "Respond, how does the council?"

All hands were raised, though some took longer to reach up than the others.

"All are in favor of your request, Kenobi," Windu neglected to officiate his title as master, thinking it would somehow demean him. It didn't, and after a quick bow to the council, Obi-Wan was practically sprinting out of the room.

-

The prison you'd been held in was pitch black for quite some time now, giving you no opportunities on figuring out where you may be. You only knew it was cold, and you were tired. You had been transferred from the capturing cell and into a restraint stand. It allowed you little to no movement, so the lack of mobility mixed with the darkness made you sleepy beyond reason.

You were nodding in and out of consciousness when you finally saw the light. A silhouette of a man in the doorway which had just opened up took you by surprise, and your heart began racing.

"I was hoping for Kenobi," the tantalizing voice of count Dooku sounded in your ears, "but you will do just fine."

"What do you want from me?" You shouted, but it sounded like a cry, pitiful and very un-jedi-like.

He laughed maliciously; his baritone voice was like a taunt to your existence. You felt so small and incapable in his grasp.

"Oh, I don't want anything from you. Only to make you an example of you to all the Jedi. Whosoever challenges me from this day forward will know suffering. And you will," it was a sick promise, and he spoke it so swiftly, like it flew out of his mouth with ease.

"My master will find me, and he will kill you for what you've done," you didn't want to make any threats to him directly, because if you angered him enough, he might kill you right away. You truly believed that Obi-Wan was coming for you, and you needed to stall and give him as much time as you possibly could.

"You speak highly of someone who has abandoned you," Count Dooku was nothing if not a great manipulator, and he was loving the fact that he had a new prisoner to torment mentally before he even laid a hand on you.

"He would never abandon me. He is a great master jedi, and his powers far outweigh the likes of you."

You fiddled around where your hands were, trying to see if while this conversation was in motion you could find a way to escape once he'd left.

"You admire him more than you should, padawan. Only when he does not come for you will you see that he is not a great jedi, but just a man," he inched closer, and you realized that he had your lightsaber hooked on his belt, along with the curved hilt of his own.

"I will not listen to you. I know he's coming for me," you kept talking as a way to disguise the fact that you had just now found a small weakness in your hand restraints, and with a few moments you could easily make an escape.

"I sense in you something greater than admiration for Kenobi... If I didn't know any better, I would say that you felt love-"

"The jedi do not have attachments. You don't know what you are speaking of," you cut him off. Letting him finish would buy more time, but you couldn't let him say it out loud, because that would make it real. You couldn't acknowledge that it was real, or you'd be doomed to feeling something you shouldn't for someone who could never return the feelings.

"Oh, but you do, and it's the most prominent feeling I sense in you. You have fallen in love with your master."

He said it. And it was true, by all meaning. You loved Obi-Wan, and it was the strongest thing you felt in your being. It practically radiated off of you. You couldn't hide it in your signature, the wild emotions that were your feelings for Obi-Wan.

"Such a tragedy," he began, and you only wondered where this may be going. "To love the one person who you know could never feel the same about you."

"I don't need him to," you replied, as if it were the wise answer.

"So, you admit it?"

Kriff... you opted to remain silent now, for your words only dug a hole deeper for you to fall into.

"Tell me padawan, when he fails to show up, what will you do?" He was right in front of you now, and you had no choice but to look him in the eyes when he asked these things of you.

"Stop this," you began to crack, only a little. You weren't sure why you showed such weakness to him. Perhaps because he was the only person in the universe to know about your attachment to Obi-Wan.

"When he proves that he feels such an indifference to you, will you still defend his honor?"

"Stop it!" You cried out and began to doubt if he ever was coming now. The mission came first, and you knew the council could never deem you so important to make you the center of one. Obi-Wan always followed the rules, a true by the book jedi.

"I only speak the truth. You will not be rescued, and you will die, unloved by the one person you crave most," he spewed, and you couldn't take it any longer.

"Enough!" you sprang loose the traps around your wrists, forcing your lightsaber from his belt to your hand before activating it. You went straight for the kill, but he blocked it with his own saber.

You were filled with rage, unlike ever before. This wasn't petty anger over Anakin misplacing your things before training in the morning, this was pure, unfiltered and unbridled rage. The look in your eyes could have killed him if it were any stronger.

You pushed with all your might, trying to bring his own saber down upon him, but he was too strong, pushing back and forcing you to retreat away from his form. It didn't stop you long, and you moved to strike again, this time in a more prepared attack. You spun to gain momentum, nearly slicing into his side, but again he blocked the attack, keeping on the defensive, though you knew he was a man of offense.

"There is darkness in you, young one," he smiled devilishly, and you took his words in. You had let your anger over his words control your decisions, and now you were in a duel you knew you could not win, all because you didn't have the restrain to keep it harbored. You remembered your younger days, before Obi-Wan trained you. The council feared you were vengeful, though you were only standing up for yourself. They couldn't have been right about you, could they? Obi-Wan had encouraged you to the light so many times, telling you how proud he always was to be your master, because you were one day going to be a great jedi. You didn't want to believe it could be true, that there was actual darkness in you. "With my help, you can bring it to the surface."

"I will never turn to the dark side," you admitted, though it wasn't as strong and forceful as you had meant it to be.

"Oh, but you will. You see, the choice is yours, but the alternative is torture and death."

You knew that you would take the pain and suffering a million times over going against what you knew was right. The jedi way was your way, and you didn't have the capability of desecrating its teachings. You didn't have the strength to turn away from what Obi-Wan had taught you.

"Succumbing to the dark side would prove my weakness. You don't know me, but those who do know I am nothing if not strong."

"Very well," he began swinging his saber at you in all directions, and you were barely able to block his motions, one hit to your side and you were on the ground, writhing in pain as he forced your saber back to his hand. "I could kill you now, but you haven't suffered enough."

He left a moment later, and with the flick of his hand, the doors shut behind you, leaving you in darkness once again.

-

tags:

@spencerrxids @sawendel @fandomstanner24 @i-shall-abide @officialjellydoughnut @whatshxrname @darkened-writer @superavengerpotter @cutiepoo16 @hypnoash @softlymellow @howlerwolfmax @mephistominion

[avitus-ostrander]

On Knives and Plants

I see a lot of people saying that Knives does not care about plants. That he treats them like things and takes away their agency.

Firstly, what agency?

Did they choose to be put in tanks and used for their ability to create? When they’re dying, do they say to someone “hey, I’m about to die. Please force me to use up all of my energy in one last, painful burst if it will make your lives better.”?

Could Knives go about things better? Of course. There are areas where one can say he is objectively in the wrong - that he is objectively doing something selfish. But when it comes to plants, I disagree.

I’ve seen people say all he cares about in Stampede is reaching the higher dimension. Why, though? What purpose does that serve if not to ultimately help the plants? He wants them all to be independent, like him.

In Stampede, Conrad says the plants are soulless husks. That that’s the difference between Vash and Knives and other plants. He says their true being is located elsewhere and their physical forms are just a window between those worlds.

If Knives feels this way, does it not stand to reason that he feels this because that is what he was taught?

Conrad also says that in order to give the plants souls, they must connect to the core.

Knives doesn’t need the core to help himself. If everything he does is selfish, there is no reason to include the plants at all.

If he considered himself better than them - if he thought they were soulless husks - he could just kill them. He doesn’t need their power in order to wipe out what remains of humanity. He can do that on his own. He made the ships crash without the help of plants. He destroyed Jeneora Rock using his own abilities.

He doesn’t even need to expend the kind of power he did at Jeneora Rock if he wants to kill humans. Knives could go from town to town, destroying these ‘inferior’ plants and leaving the people behind to suffer and die.

He doesn’t do that. He brings the plants with him. In Stampede, the red ones are to further his goals.

One could argue that is selfish.

Is it worse, however, than humans doing it? Knives is one of them. He believes he is using the last of their energy for something that will ultimately benefit all plants. The plants cannot fully articulate their will. Knives has to interpret it. He sees them suffering and it hurts him and he wants that to stop.

One could argue that he only does this to ease his own pain.

He is almost certainly projecting, to a degree. He knows how he would feel in that position. He is scared of what it means when he sees how little humans value the lives of plants.

I don’t think that means he doesn’t care about them. I don’t think it means he doesn’t feel for them.

Re-l makes some very good points about his behavior toward plants in the manga in this post. https://www.tumblr.com/re-l/713763378777227264/idk-i-guess-the-comparisons-between-tristamp-and?source=share

I agree with most of that. (Except where it concerns his behavior in Stampede, for the reasons I’ve mentioned above).

However, I will get into the manga myself a little bit here.

Knives lives his whole life in service of one goal. He says himself (Trimax vol. 8, ch. 2) that his only purpose is to save the imprisoned plants. He doesn’t say his goal is to destroy humanity. He just says that is an acceptable side effect of his actions.

When the plants ultimately abandon him, he says he’ll keep fighting, but only shortly after that he wishes for Vash to kill him. (Trimax vol. 14, ch. 7)

I’ve seen people complain about how he handles the dead plants in Stampede. In the manga, he and Vash both acknowledge that humans throw away plant corpses like garbage. (Trimax vol. 8, ch. 1) Many human funeral rites are designed to give peace to the living, but Knives is not going to find peace in using human rituals for dead plants.

Could he have come up with something better than decorating his piano room with them? Maybe. But I believe it is unfair to say he is wholly selfish there.

Look at how he reacts during the Last Run.

Here is a close-up of Knives’ expression in this scene. He looks like he is about to cry before he redirects that into anger.

And here is what he is seeing as he makes that face.

He reaches out to the plants. He demands that Conrad save them.

When the plants die, Knives falls to his knees. He isn’t attacking anyone yet. He doesn’t care about how he is perceived or about trying to act strong. He is truly devastated. It isn’t until Vash shows up that he composes himself. And it isn’t until Vash does not react to the plight of the plants that he becomes violent.

Plants are, arguably, the only thing Knives cares about in a way that is not twisted and selfish. He is willing to die for them.

He gives everything for them, in every iteration of Trigun.

[girlvinland]

My heart is hurting so badly.

I feel like I’m purposefully exposed to things that hurt me sometimes. Like a warning or to put me in my place.

I’m exhausted by feeling pain. I don’t want to feel more pain. I want to feel loved. I want to be told I’m loved. I want to believe it’s okay to want those things. I want to believe it’s okay to be angry sometimes or to be allowed to heal from things that have hurt before.

I just want to feel like it’s okay to feel the things I do. Sometimes I feel like a monster for wishing for these things, or like the me that is me can never be enough while simultaneously being too much. I am so unhappy with the state of things, and sometimes I wish I could go back in time in order to avoid the pain I know will be coming, or to, at the very least, change my trajectory.

It’s naive, but I want so badly for the biggest wish I have to come true someday. My biggest wish…I want to find someone who understands so many parts of me, the most important parts. I want to understand and love all of those parts of them. I want to find someone who will make our life together about creating the things we have deep inside of us, who won’t be opposed to going on little adventures and explorations, who wants to fill our home with our art and with the stories we write. I want to frame the things we draw, I want to learn to bind books of our writing and keep them on a shelf we always have to pass by when we go to make coffee or when we head out for work. I want our real life to be so inspired by the things we imagine, and I want to keep that kind of magic alive for as long as we are. I think of the ways the stories we make could change through the years, the ways they could grow with us, the ways they could reflect how we see the world and how we love.

After years of trying otherwise, I don’t think I am able to fully exist in a life where those things aren’t shared, bc then it feels like I’m not completely existing or like the world lacks most of its color. Even if I can have love for someone who doesn’t fully get it, that side of me feels so desperate to be wholly understood, to be wholly shared with someone else. Sometimes I wonder if I should save aspects of myself for someone who wants that life too. Creating from my heart has been the thing that fulfills me the most, since I was a tiny, tiny child. It makes the mundane so much more beautiful, and even more bearable. But isn’t it so much more fun with someone else? I want to keep dreaming that it can be possible, and that someday I can really find that. That someday I can make a world with someone and that it will be treasured without any doubt. To create alongside one another and together, to leave a mark on the world of everything we made and loved.

All there is to do is to keep creating the things I love on my own, even if I feel pain sometimes. I want to keep making them better and better, I want to throw my heart into my work. Maybe in time, maybe when I let myself feel more of my own self-love, my wish will make itself a reality. Maybe in a year, maybe when I’m 50, maybe when I’m 70. I want to believe that, no matter what, the time I could spend with someone like that will have been worth waiting for. I hope it would feel like that for them, too.

[frozenwrites]

5th November 2022

Dear Diary, 

Tomorrow is my university’s graduation ceremony for the year 2022, an event that I, originally, should have been a part of. I’m not. Do I wish I was? Am I sad because I’m not? The answer is a little more complicated than a yes or no. 

Going by my original plan, I should have finished my degree last fall, but things had actually started going off the rails more than a year before that. You see, the second half of the year 2020 was a tragic chapter in the story of my life; so many bad things, none of which I have any interest in remembering, happened. All you need to know, little diary, is that I still remember the exact moment I hit rock bottom, and every following moment I spent down there.

I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t anybody. I was just there, wishing that I was not. 

By the time that year, and consequently that fall semester, ended, I was more husk than body. I was saved only by God’s Mercy and the efforts of a few friends who realized that my soul and body were in two different, but equally horrible, places. I was brought back, once more aware of the world around me. Even then, I was far from okay. That following year started with a version of me that only wanted to be healed, because he was maimed skinless, leaving blood on everything he touched. That wish would soon be realized, though, because it is often said that once you hit the gutter, you can only go upwards, and so I did. 

I still believe that everything, good or bad, happens for a reason. I still don’t fully understand why I had to go through all that, but I do know that I survived something not everybody could have. I also know that a lot of good things happened because I took the longer way around towards my graduation. 

These days, I’m happy, more aware of my own emotions and those of others, and much better equipped to handle anything life throws my way. All I’m trying to say, dear diary, is that I’m okay, and something tells me that's how I will be for a good long while. 🤞🏻

[robininthelabyrinth]

i've been keeping a list of possible prompts for you and there's one i have no memory of adding that just says "courtesan nmj????" so i guess that's the prompt you're getting lmao

What Does the Fox Say - ao3

“Second Madame Nie!” a disciple shouted, rushing into her little garden. She didn’t recognize him, but he was solidly built and well-muscled like most of the others – truly, the Unclean Realm was a rapturous feast for one with eyes to see it. Yum, yum. “Second Madame Nie, I have bad news!”

Boo. She hated bad news: bad news meant she’d have to do something, usually, and right now she was seated very comfortably in a pleasant piece of sun in the garden path that’d been made up just for her and to her preferences, with her feet up on a chair and a full plate of fruit from the kitchen on the table in front of her just begging to be devoured, morsel by delicious morsel.

Her schedule was packed!

“I regret to tell you, but your husband has been killed!”

“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly. “Has he? How obnoxious of him.”

How unreliable. Men.

She sighed.

“Second Madame – Second Madame – you don’t understand!” The disciple was all red-eyed and weepy, which was a look she liked, especially in big, stout men like this. The salt added a bit of spice to the whole thing. “You must flee at once! He was killed by Sect Leader Wen in an act of outright aggression – Sect Leader Wen has declared war – the Wen sect is invading!”

She nodded and picked up another lychee to start peeling it. She’d get around to fleeing in her own time. As long as this Wen sect or whatnot was being led by a man, she wasn’t terribly concerned.

“They intend to wipe out the inheritance of Qinghe Nie! They will rip out the child in your belly!”

She hummed noncommittally. Really, how attached was she to having a child of her own? Really?

“They will slaughter civilians – execute Nie-gongzi –”

Her hands stilled.

“What,” she said, and the disciple took a step back automatically, proving that he, at least, had something more of a survival instinct than her late husband did. “Hurt my little meat bun? My darling rice roll? My savory zongzi?”

She stood up, diminutive height and over-large belly and frilly clothing doing absolutely nothing to diminish the vaguely menacing aura that darkened the sky around her. She bared her teeth.

“Who does this upstart Wen dog think he is?!”

The disciple blinked owlishly, but nodded, seeming relieved that she’d finally accepted his concern, though she could see on his face that he was thinking that her reasoning was – characteristically – a little strange. But then again, and she could see this thought process on his far too honest face, it was well known that the second Madame Nie been quite strange ever since Sect Leader Nie had found her in some lonesome place with no family or background and brought her back to be his new wife nevertheless.

Such a charming man. Pity about his loss, really.

“You have to flee at once, we can’t possibly fight so many people,” the disciple said once more, and this time she nodded in agreement. “We can escort you to a hidden exit –”

“No!” a little voice called. “We can’t go.”

She turned to look, and there was the little pork-and-shrimp dumpling himself, chubby-cheeked and earnest-eyed, looking as delicious as always.

“What do you mean, fish cake?” she asked. “Of course we have to go. Didn’t you hear what this strapping young man said? This Wen person wants to kill you!”

“If Father is dead, then I’m the sect leader,” her stepson said. He was serious and solemn in a way that made her want to pinch his cheeks and bury her face into his belly to blow raspberries, and also possibly to eat him right up, flesh and marrow and gristle and all. “That means it’s my responsibility to preserve the Nie sect.”

“Nie-gongzi, no!” the disciple cried, throwing himself to his knees in a dramatic display of loyalty. “You would only die – far better for you to run, and live!”

“Then isn’t the same true for everyone else?” the tasty little dish asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Possibly he was trying to put on a fierce expression, maybe, she couldn’t quite tell sometimes. He was so cute. “Why should I live, and them not? I refuse to buy my life with their deaths!”

“But – Nie-gongzi –”

Her charming little honey cake shook his head and held up a hand to stop the disciple, turning to look at her instead.

“Second Mother,” he said, and he had that wholesome trusting expression again that was such a perfect little one-shot-kill to the heart, ugh. “You always said you’re the best at hiding. The best in the world, no one better among all the gods or demons!”

She was, too. She couldn’t help but preen a little, proud.

“– can’t you do something?”

“Oh, darling cabbage bun,” she said, not without fondness. “I can hide myself from even the net of Heaven itself if I so choose, from gods and demons alike, and I can most certainly hide a small group from any mortal eyes that dare to look, if you don’t mind being a little tiny bit dishonorable about the business. But an entire sect? That’s a bit much, even for someone as talented and skilled as me.”

Her stepson looked up at her, all straight-steel sincerity and upright righteousness wrapped into a perfectly edible little snack-sized package. “If we split them up, the sect could be small groups,” he said eagerly. “Couldn’t you do something then?”

He was so cute, and he trusted her. He trusted her, believed in her, felt that she could perform miracles with a wave of her sleeve if only she so wished.

It was awful.

She couldn’t bear it.

“Oh all right, you nummy little slice of roast pork belly,” she said, yielding. “But I’m telling you now, it won’t be the least bit honorable! There’s only so many excuses you can come up with for having a lot of strong men with wide shoulders and women with thick thighs hanging around, and not a single one of them has the slightest bit to do with what you people consider to be appropriate.”

“That’s all right. Preserving human life comes first, always.”

The disciple looked between them, clearly completely confused. Clearly all his effort had been spent on developing the muscles in his arms (quite nice) rather than his brain (quite slow).

“What?” he said. “What’s happening?”

“We’re saving the sect,” Nie Mingjue announced happily, clapping his hands together. Too precious, too precious entirely; she’d have to make sure no one else even thought about going near her darling little snackling. “Tell everyone to prepare to evacuate.”

“That will take too long,” she said, and smiled, with teeth. “Let me call some friends to help.”

-

When the Wen sect arrived at the Unclean Realm, they found the gate open.

That was unexpected enough, but when they entered, they found that the entire place had emptied out – not just of people, but of everything else, too. There wasn’t a single intact chair or table in the entire place, not a scrap of cloth nor a bit of food, like it’d been swept clean by locusts or wild monkeys come to pilfer whatever they could.

Even the paving stones where arrays had been laid out by the Nie sect’s ancestors had been pried up and carted away.

Sect Leader Wen ordered a search, but there wasn’t any trace of it – of the people, of the stuff, anything.

No one ever found out what happened.

-

Jin Guangyao despised social events, he’d found.

It was one thing when it was something he’d planned himself, where the work was interesting enough to distract him, but when he was an honored guest for someone else…miserable. Utterly miserable.

The only thing more miserable was when the host was his erstwhile father, from whom he’d forcefully extracted recognition. With Wen Ruohan as his backer, indulging his favorite torturer as if a beloved pet, there wasn’t much Jin Guangshan could do to refuse, and neither could he force Jin Guangyao to do anything on his behalf, either. And so Jin Guangyao, sitting as always by Wen Ruohan’s side, right beneath his sons, was now an honored guest at his father’s house, getting offered his pick of prostitutes as if the man had no notion of the irony.

Maybe he didn’t. Jin Guangyao couldn’t quite tell if his father had just forgotten his origins, thinking his bastard son too unimportant to remember the details of, or whether it was meant as a deliberate insult – who could tell?

“Oh, right,” the simpering idiot in front of him, a nephew or cousin of some sort to the sect leader, said. “Our dear Jin Guangyao is known not to like the gentle flower queens, even when they come from the finest houses in Lanling. Isn’t that right, cousin?”

Jin Guangyao’s fists clenched. A deliberate insult, then.

Despite that, his face remained neutral. Instead, he chuckled and said, “The appeal is limited. After all, I have seen the best of them.”

Beside him, Wen Ruohan nodded and smirked. He appreciated Jin Guangyao’s devotion to his mother, though Jin Guangyao suspected it was because he thought it funny that Jin Guangyao would bother to honor such a lowly woman – but what he thought didn’t matter, not really. All that mattered was that he let Jin Guangyao pay his respects to her to his heart’s content.

“Well, you’re in luck!” the idiot Jin Zixun said, looking absurdly smug. “We have something of a different flavor than the usual tonight – we’ve invited entertainment from the local branch of Splendid Spring.”

Jin Guangyao barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

The Splendid Spring Palace was a series of brothels that had popped up fully formed just about everywhere some years back, with madams and girls and musicians and bodyguards of all sorts. It was so patently a political move that Jin Guangyao had barely bothered to pay attention to it once he’d become actually powerful, and Wen Ruohan hadn’t paid attention to it at all. After all, in the unlikely event that the business really was backed by a cultivation sect that didn’t care about its face any longer, anyone who needed to use such a façade to gather power was clearly beneath notice.

Jin Guangyao had paid only very little attention, but to different and unusual aspects of the place: by all accounts, they were surprisingly decent employers as far as places like that went. They didn’t steal girls or accept unwilling goods – they had some connection with the merchant caravans, or at least one of the companies that helped coordinate routes and provide protection to such things, and they were as meticulous about checking things over as they were about seeking refunds if they were dissatisfied – and they did accept married girls fleeing unhappy marriages, which not everyone did. They did buy up all the girls in the local markets wherever they were, but they swept them away and brought them back transformed, even the ones that wouldn’t sell because they were too ugly; Jin Guangyao assumed that meant they had people who were talented in make-up and clothing, since the usual rumors of the girls being blessed with a yao’s enchantment were obviously ridiculous and nothing more than the usual marketing gimmicks that brothels since time immemorial had tried.

Even once they had the girls in hand, the places were pretty decent: they had physicians on staff to help with the usual side effects of the business, made sure their girls were clean and healthy, and were said to even limit the number of customers a girl would be obliged to take on in a given evening…honestly, knowing as he did the brothel business, Jin Guangyao sometimes wondered how they’d managed to bespell enough people to even make money in the early days. At any rate, whatever they’d done, it’d worked, because by now they had a solid enough reputation to trade on.

In short: a decent enough place, far better than the usual run of the mill. Once he’d had the ability to do so, he’d even pulled a few strings and arranged for the better of his mother’s old compatriots to end up there, since he couldn’t convince them to leave their old professions behind entirely.

Anyway, if they also seemed to have a sideline in information brokering and assassinations, well, let them. In the cultivation world, where the only thing that mattered was strength, real strength.

A little thing like that wouldn’t make any real difference.

Or so Jin Guangyao had thought.

He found himself re-thinking that, though, when the entertainment in question came out. There were the usual set of attractive (albeit in a wider variety of shapes and sizes than usually seen) dancers, dressed up in silks that seemed actually high quality, and plenty of strapping young men carrying sabers – dancers as well, once assumed, to provide some spice to the entertainment, and implicitly on the offer for men who cut their sleeves or women with more flexibility, like widows or ones with especially permissive husbands. Wen Ruohan’s wives were in that latter category, and they were already whispering to each other excitedly, looking at them.

They’d even brought in the local madame, who was…

Well, she was actually breathtaking, even by Jin Guangyao’s extremely jaded standards. She had hair that fell almost all the way to her ankles, shimmering in the light, and dark eyes shining with liveliness, a smooth and ageless face that simultaneously suggested youth and health but also winked at knowable experience, the features characteristic of what his mother’s employers had called the ‘fox-face’. As if to emphasize that, the lady was wrapped in fox-fur and draped in embroidered brocade, with little stylized foxes running up and down the hems of her clothing and along the gazy silk draped on her shoulders.

It ought to have looked absurd, looked gaudy and overwrought and overdone, but it didn’t.

She was a thousand dreams of wealth and beauty and power and sex appeal all wrapped up in one, and even Jin Guangyao – who was in his personal preferences quite firmly a cutsleeve – couldn’t help but intrigued by her, wondering what it might be like to touch the hem of such a glorious creature.

And next to her…

The lady was accompanied by two men that seemed completely different from each other. One was a slender and winsome young man, fluttering his eyelashes from behind a fan with a charming smile, emanating the appeal of softness and weakness, ready to be indulged. While the other…

Jin Guangyao swallowed.

He was the exact opposite of the first man. Clearly strong, muscular and powerful, and tall to the point of towering, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, a chest that you could lean your head against and an ass that begged to have someone’s hands on it – and there were his hands, big and broad, perfect for holding someone down or up if they so wished and of a size that was very promising as to what was only hinted at under his clothes. His face was hidden behind a veil as if he were a woman, marking him, like his comrade, as one of the available courtesans of the Splendid Spring, but his body was visible under clothing clearly cut to put it to the best advantage.

And oh, what advantages it had…!

“It seems we found something to the tastes of dear cousin Guangyao after all,” the idiot said mockingly, sniggering and snorting like the pig he was, and for once Jin Guangyao didn’t even care.

“Who’s the woman in front?” Wen Ruohan asked, ignoring their interplay. He seemed utterly fascinated, almost spellbound, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t blame him one bit. If this woman had been at the same brothel as his mother, there wouldn’t have even been room for jealousy or shame; his mother would have gone straight up to her to ask for some tips. “She seems…familiar, somehow.”

“That’s the madame of the Splendid Spring,” Jin Zixun said proudly, as if he’d done anything at all in relation to this – nonsense, of course. Everyone know which brothels were backed by the Jin sect, and Splendid Spring wasn’t one of them. He was acting as if he deserve a pat on the back just for the introduction! “That means she’s not for sale.”

His smile faded a little, twisting in a small bit of bitterness. “Or so she told my uncle, anyway…although I’m sure if it were Sect Leader Wen asking, the answer would undoubtedly be different.”

Probably because Jin Guangshan couldn’t slaughter prostitutes with impunity if they said no to him, whereas no one could stop Wen Ruohan from doing any damn thing he pleased.

Wen Ruohan grunted, pleased by the answer – he was a possessive man, in the rare events that he did exert himself in the realm of women, and there had been more than one instance where he’d stolen away some girl his sons had been eyeing first just for the joy of having had her first – and raised a hand, catching the lady’s eye and gesturing for her to come over, which she did.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She laughed. “You can call me Hu Jiuwei. With the ‘Hu’ being the character for fox.”

Jin Guangyao tried not to choke. There were false names and then there were false names – the lady’s theme was already clearly related to foxes, given her fox-face and fox-fur lining and the foxes embroidered onto her robes. Was the over-the-top name really necessary?

“It’s a fake name,” she added, unnecessarily.

“I see,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding a little choked himself. Possibly it was the woman calling herself ‘Foxy Ninetails’ and then kindly reassuring them all that the name was false as if she thought them too dumb to figure it out that was tripping him up a little. Jin Guangyao couldn’t tell if she was doing it deliberately in order to make her frankly inhuman beauty a little less frightening, or maybe she was blessed with so much beauty that she hadn’t bothered to cultivate her brain at all. “Are you our entertainment for the evening?”

She smiled, and any complaints Jin Guangyao (or indeed Wen Ruohan) might have had about her intelligence faded away at once.

It was that type of smile.

You could wreck nations with that type of smile. Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder: how had a woman this extraordinary ended up in a brothel, of all places? How had no one snatched her up to keep her all for himself before now?

“My sons and I –” she gestured at the two behind her, “– would be more than happy to provide you with all the entertainment you could possibly want.”

Her smile widened.

“We’ve been hoping for an opportunity like this for a long time.”

[candescentclitoria]

Item: Doubt

Pairing: Alcina Dimitrescu x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: Pouty, Angry Alcina. Vanity being thrown.

Co-Writer/Editor: @lissett108

A/N: This took a long time, but here you go! I hope you enjoy!

Your hair stood on end, a shiver raced down your spine and a lump came into your throat- you didn’t know what you did. She had never been angry enough to throw things, let alone throw those things at you. Now, you sat in one of the many hidden passages of the castle, your need to hide from Alcina great in your instincts.

 A few hours earlier, you were on your way to go see her, the book you were reading in the library long finished.

Your hand reaches to push open the door, your other hand holds the next book you wish to read with Alcina. “Cina, I found another book I want to read with you, maybe we can start tonight?” 

A yell escapes your girlfriend as she throws her vanity at you, her eyes red rather than their normal gold. You jump back and fall, the book in your hand landing in front of you. Tears begin to gather in your eyes and your body shakes. Your breathing begins to shake as well, was she throwing the vanity at you? What did you do and why was she trying to hurt you for it? 

You didn’t try to ask her, you couldn’t. Your legs had a mind of their own at this point and they decided it’s time to get away from the threat that your girlfriend posed to your life: if she even was your girlfriend anymore. You didn’t know. 

You hear Alcina cry your name out behind you, but you continue to run. She said she would never hurt you and yet doubt starts to creep in. Perhaps she didn’t mean what she said, maybe she just wanted your trust. 

Heavy footsteps sound out from behind you and whimpers fall from your lips. She was getting closer by the second. Your passage was just up ahead, A few more steps come on [Name]! 

“[Name], please! I beg you, let me explain!” You shake your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your hands tremble with the force of a thousand thunderstorms as you touch the wall. Hells fury knew no limits compared to your girlfriend. Regardless if she loved you, the fury was no limit to what you were just exposed to. Yet, as fearful as you were, doubt crept in like the uninvited. How could something like this be after all this time? Where were your instincts, mind, and heart in the matter? You love her, but how blind are you to her vampiric nature? Eventually, your hand grazes the right place, a wall opens and soon it was you and the darkness of doubt. Maybe it was bad timing, maybe it was the book, or maybe just you? Her strength and ferocity was something you had yet to witness but not in this form. You always thought she would protect you, not scare you- maybe it was you. Something had trailed you away from the entrances and soon you were left with only an empty room and your thoughts. Alcina’s voice had faded out to soft whimpers and low whispers of anxiety. She was somewhat close yet somewhat far. Is this what you had forgotten? The fear of becoming replaced and forgotten had crept around like a coiling snake- yet doubt was the only poison your body felt. The fear of not being enough and her deciding to off you herself. When did you become so fragile? 

Hours pass, your tears long gone and your fatigue growing by the minute. You have no clue what time it is, but you’re sure it's night by now. A yawn escapes your lips and you lean your head back against the wall behind you. You stretch your legs and move to stand but a creak stops you. You look to your left and jump, pushing yourself into the corner furthest from her. Alcina stands before you, her hands held up. “[Name], please listen to me. I didn’t know you were there and I wasn’t throwing my vanity at you. I had just gotten off the phone with Mother Miranda. She still wants to go through with the ceremony, even after everything that Winters boy has done. I let my anger get the best of me. Please, I beg that you believe me, I would never hurt you.”

For a moment the feeling was fleeting, just like your doubt, but before you was the woman you loved, begging for forgiveness. “Cina.” your voice cracks with sudden worry and fear. “You- I.. Did I do something? Something that already had you angry at me?”

“No! No my love you could never! He.. he’s still running amok in the castle and Mother Miranda is more concerned with the ceremony than the threat he poses to all of us, especially you. I thought she would care, but I was wrong. She doesn’t care about anything besides her pleasure. I’m so sorry that you thought I was mad at you.” Alcina pauses and moves her hand to her mouth, tears begin to run down her face. Her body begins to shake as she sobs. “Please forgive me.. please don’t leave me.”

As your eyes scan her face for any traces of lying, your hands clench the fabric of your dress, and you whimper. “How do I know you won’t hurt me in the future? How do I know I won’t be thrown to the side and forgotten like some worthless doll?” Alcina looks up at you and moves to cup your face, but you pull back with a flinch. “Alcina Diane, why should I trust you?” The cold air had bled through the walls so secretly that it felt like someone was going to fall off and never return, the rift forming between you and your lover growing by the second.

 “Tell me why.” You ask again, but more directly. A look of sadness washes over the face you used to love to kiss so much. Right now, you couldn’t fathom the idea of placing your lips on hers, your doubts and worries too fresh to allow it. Alcina lets go of the breath she was holding in her throat. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

The look on her face was that of pain, she felt like her world was shattering. How could I forget that humans were so fragile in both mind and body? Alcina asks herself. Her lover hadn’t known of her ferocity or how intense she could be but now was the time for reassurance and sincerity. 

“I saved you from being attacked by a Lycan before I knew you or even before you knew of me, I rushed to you.” She responds honestly and gets as close to her lover’s height as possible. She doesn’t reach out to her love, but she leaves her gloved hand out. 

“I refused and fought mother Miranda to keep you alive and in my castle because…” she cuts out. Slowly but surely, she composes herself.

“I love you and I will protect even from myself if I must.” She says, holding her hand out to her lover as reassurance. With a small amount of force, her lover’s hand grips her own but was shaking.

“I’m afraid because I’m new to this, new to you. Alcina please let me know of you fully.” Slightly taken aback Alcina gently lets herself touch heads with her lover’s to show a new form of intimacy. 

“Ask me anything, anything about myself. There may be things I’m not completely ready to talk about, but if there is I’ll let you know eventually. I’ve known you for nearly a year, but there are still things I’m working up to tell you, just as you have things you’re working up to tell me as well.”

You nod and place your hand on her shoulder, “That’s fair. Just let me know about your personality. How you tick, what makes you mad, sad. I want to be able to help and I can’t unless you let me. I now know that Mother Miranda tends to piss you off, so maybe I can help. I know you like cuddling, maybe we can cuddle after a phone call with her? Maybe something more if needed.” 

A small chuckle escapes your lover's lips and she leans down, placing her lips on your forehead. “Yes, that’s completely true. I do admire and look up to her, but she doesn’t care as much as I thought she did. She doesn’t care that Winters poses a threat to all of us, yes that includes you.” Hands run up your back and pull you closer to Alcina’s body, her face nuzzling into your neck. “When the girls make messes with their prey, I tend to get irritated. Especially when they let their prey escape and run around the castle. That not only poses a threat to our business but to you as well. I don’t want to take a chance on you getting hurt, I know it’s selfish but I can’t lose you.” You place your hands on her cheeks and pull her down to face you. “You’re not going to lose me. Honestly, I thought you wanted me gone, you threw the vanity and I thought that was your way of telling me to leave.”

Alcina shakes her head quickly and places her gloved hands on your cheeks. “Never my love! I would never want you gone, floarea mea mica. You mean the world to me. Before I met you, I was indeed content, I was used to being alone romantically and focusing on my daughters and Mother Miranda. Then you came in and stole my love, stole my daughter's love. We all love you and couldn’t imagine life without you Draga mea. You’re our little flower. I’ll spend the rest of eternity making sure you know that I love you. Making sure you know I’ll want you forever.”

You can't hold back the whimper in your throat at Alcina's words. She didn't want you gone, you meant the world to her. A smile crosses your face and you pull Alcina close to you. “I'll still be wary, I'm not used to seeing you that angry, let alone angry enough to throw things. It scared me. Alcina nods and pulls you into her lap. “I completely understand lubirea mea, It will take time and I can deal with it, I can wait. I want you to know that you can trust me and know that I would never harm you. I can't fathom the thought.” 

Gentle kisses are placed across your face, large hands set on the small of your back. “What else can I do to assure you Draga mea? Îmbrățișări? Sărutări? Cină?” You giggle at the change in her language and pull her down so her lips meet yours. With the little Romanian you know, you speak, 

“Tinandu-ma, Alcina, va face.”

[millers-planet]

The Vice and the Virtue - Part One

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x GN!Reader (later established as F following more parts)

A/N: i appreciate you guys so much for how quickly you blew up the sneak peak i did. it really motivated me to writing this

POV: Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Use of "Y/N". Angst?

Words: 2.3k

Description: How does one live a life of virtue when past vices begin arising after a successful jailbreak with untied ends?

It was terrifying as I watched my home be stripped of everything it knew, it was as if with every furniture upturned or removed, a piece of me was taken with it. It was the couch, the tables, the side-tables, the food from the fridge, everything. By this point, it wasn't our home anymore, it was the home. Everything was out of my control, I had no say in what the strangers robbed me of for their 'investigation'.

I was questioned for days about what he did, about why he did it, and if I was an accomplice. Fingers were pointed at me without any real reason behind them. I didn't even know what they were talking about, he simply told me it was a business trip or some family thing-- I don't remember but I wish I did. If I had, I might've been able to save myself the hassle of convincing everyone else that.

Zemo always wanted and always was isolated and by himself. While he had friends, or contacts as he called it, he preferred to be lonesome. By lonesome, that means either in a crowded place with no one with him, or at the house with me. It was something odd to get used to, but I never wanted to trade a day with him for a day with some people who call me their friend, only to turn around and talk bad on me.

Now, I'd trade all my days for just one more with him.

With the sun having just set and the aroma of freshly brewed tea filling the air, it became a good day. Until I saw on the news of a jailbreak that just occurred, several prisoners being injured and one-- a highly dangerous prisoner (as the news described it)--escaping. I saw that it was in Germany and I believed for just a second that it could've been him.

I was fortunate enough just to keep the home, after a few months of it being held hostage from me. With every night I slept here, the more desolate I began to feel, for I can't dare try and show my face to the world. I'm too afraid people will talk and say that I'm "the one who dated the man who destroyed the Avengers". Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but something doesn't feel right if I go out without him or if I just go out in general. It feels as if I've been under house arrest or exiled from the public for years.

It was another simple night, a warm one just cool enough to keep the windows open. I love hearing the sounds of the crickets outside the large bedroom windows accompanied by the occasional whispering the leaves made when wind made them rustle. The moonlight gazed perfectly onto the door, illuminating a path outward if I had to get up at some point; which I usually did because sleeping soundly was no longer an option. Though, I was almost asleep until the large hum of the garage being opened startled me.

Quickly, I turned on the bedroom lights and walked into the large, open main room that had stairs leading to the garage. I flicked on the lights and saw the shadow of a figure grow as it climbed to the top, the breath staying stagnant in my lungs. Should I grab a weapon? Should I find an escape route? All of these life-determining questions crossed my mind until I could comprehend who really was climbing the steps.

His eyes scanned the room, as if he was a child lost in the store looking for their parent, until his eyes finally met mine. All of his concerned features dropped into something softer, something kinder, something I never saw from him before. “Wha- Why are you here?” The ends of my mouth rose into the biggest smile I could possible create, without even realizing it.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d be back?” His strides were wide and swift as he made his way to me, cupping my face into his gentle hands and pressed a kiss to my lips. A kiss I have never felt before, it had a different feeling behind it, a different motive…

…He missed me.

I placed my hand over the one that laid carefully on my face, taking in every bit of him. I forgot how small wrinkles came down from the corners of his eyes, or how his cheeks curved in slightly. I forgot how when his features softened and when he gazed into me, my legs felt weak and butterflies filled my stomach. I forgot how much he loved me.

He pressed the smallest kiss to my forehead and looked back down to me. "I have some people for you to meet. We have guests." I didn't know what he meant until two large men came up the same steps. The small bubble of comfort and renewal was broken when Zemo's attention drifted from me and onto them. Despite those few moments being a few measly seconds, it felt longer than the years past.

The two men grew tense and one of them shouted, "Zemo who the hell is this?" Almost instinctively, as the two strangers approached me, he placed his arm in front of me. "So you're telling me not only are you rich, but you had a girl waiting for you the whole time?"

"You could say that, but I never asked her to wait or stay." He looked to me and the corners of his mouth rose ever-so-slightly. "Y/N, this is Sam Wilson and James Barnes, or Bucky." The metal-armed man raised his flesh hand when his name was called, almost like taking attendance.

I passed out cups of tea and coffee for the three men and sat down on the couch next to Zemo, trying to comprehend what the three of them were telling me. "Then after we realized that neither Sam or I really knew how to handle or hunt the super soldier serum, we decided to contact the one guy who does."

I looked at them clueless for a second, "but didn't Zemo frame you for assassinating a king? And cause the Avengers to break up?" Zemo looked at me and nodded, with a look that essentially said 'really? you had to bring that up?'

"Yes, yes the man did." The other man, Sam, was now talking. "After that, Tin Man over here decided to break Zemo out of jail, which I had no part in. Frankly, I still don't see why we need him." Bucky just stared at Sam from the metal remark. They looked like they were good friends but argued like a couple with marital problems.

The three of them went back and forth about what to do next, throwing out different names and places. I pulled my knees up to my chest and placed my drink down on the chestnut side-table next to me, remembering the way policemen ripped open the table and threw it around, the scuffs on the sides to prove it. The tugs they made on the drawers tugged on me as-well, making me lean my head against Zemo's shoulder. After all this time, he still kept his muscles, but to be fair he also had a lot of time on his hands the past few years.

Suddenly, a yawn escaped my mouth and I tried to stifle it. His attention quickly shifted to me and put the conversation at a pause. "If you would like, we can go to bed," the words made my heart simply explode. It was a simple action that I didn't even notice I missed so much, it had been so long that the idea of sleeping with someone else feels so foreign. Although, it's a humbly welcomed foreign experience.

I nodded quickly and stood up, realizing I should probably be a good host and give the two guests a place to sleep. "If you guys want to follow me, I can show you to your rooms." I led them down the hallway, trying to keep my feet of the floor as much as I could because it felt like ice. I don't remember the last time I was down here, I didn't really have a reason to. Opening two doors, I turned to face them, "here are your rooms. Bathroom is first on the left." Bucky smiled and nodded quietly.

Sam, on the other hand, went and said, "so is there a breakfast in bed option or will we have to go out there to a chef?" Bucky rammed his metal elbow into Sam's stomach and glared at him.

"Thank you, Y/N. And please ignore Birdy over here."

As I began to walk away from them I heard a quiet exchange of cursing. Looking back, the two were pushing each other and fighting to get towards the bathroom. Bucky eventually pushed Sam against the opposite wall, then ran into the bathroom, with a subtle click of the lock. Sam locked eyes with me, nodded his head down and shuffled into his room like a dog with his tail between his legs.

"Those two are quite the duo," I murmured softly as I pushed open the bedroom door. I fully expected to see Zemo passed out from his endeavor from earlier, but it was a welcomed surprise when I saw him and the same look of bliss spread on his face as he sat on the end of the bed, having just changed into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. Those same quick strides closed the gap between us, but this time he was softer and slower, as if he wanted to make up for lost time.

Starting at the bottom of my earlobe, his fingers traced my jaw, his eyes following them and scanning each and every one of my features. The way he stared and touched me reflected how touch-starved he really was all this time, turns out we were in the same boat but different countries. His gentle hand flowed from my ear, along my jaw, and when it reached my chin, he cusped my cheek. I leaned in nearly automatically into the touch, finally making eye contact when he looked at me.

With a small movement, he pressed a loving kiss to my forehead. "I never thought I'd be able to see you again. Or do that. Or do this," his other hand reached my cheek and brought me in for a kiss on my lips that was full of longing. "Or do this," he nudged my thighs and I jumped into his arms, now truly aware of what I was missing these past few years. Zemo set me down in the bed and got in next to me. "Or do this," he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in gently, holding me as tightly as he could without suffocating me.

Laying on his chest, I took in everything and couldn't imagine how I went so long without him. It felt like night and day. For so long I was living in the dark, completely isolated from the outside world and anything that could possibly hurt me anymore. Once he returned, he turned on the lights, he brought me back into the sunlight. I know he just got home but it feels like everything is back where it's supposed to be, like nothing ever changed. Somehow, with his return, the bed also feels softer.

"Why did you wait?" His sudden question caught me off guard. "I mean, I cannot say how excited I was to see you--but why didn't you move on?" I looked up and saw a confused expression, with his eyebrows furrowed together and lips pressed.

I didn't know how to answer him, how do I express everything I've felt these past years? How do I accurately tell him that after seeing my home destroyed and ransacked, the only thing I could think or do was to picture rebuilding it?

"When you were arrested, men came and took everything. They destroyed the house and didn't leave a single thing unturned. It was months before I could step back into the house and I think almost two years before I could begin the process of restoring it." I could feel his breathing slow down and become deeper, reminding me to pull myself together. "When I could finally put the pieces of the home back together, it didn't feel the same, because you weren't there. I wanted to try and go out but it wasn't right to go into the open world without you.

So, I waited. After watching strangers destroy the things I loved, and the things I had so many memories of, I could only think to fix it all and rebuild it all. But, I couldn't do that without you. I needed you. I need you."

With one movement, he changed our positioning so his face was now over mine, leaning over me. "What did I do to deserve you, meine geliebte," he spoke softly and pressed one final kiss to me and whispered with a smile, "shall we go to sleep now?" I nodded slowly and watched him get up to turn off the lights.

When we were sleeping, or when he was sleeping, all I could think to be was wide awake. Last time, he left suddenly during the day and promised to come home, I didn't know that previous night that he'd be disappearing from me. So, while he was in bed with his arm draped around my waist, holding me close and occasionally moving his arm to pull me closer, I was remembering every single thing.

I savored the way the sheets felt hotter than usual with him being home. I savored the way his breath against the back of my neck made me ticklish. I savored the way he moved his thumb in circles against my skin every few minutes, even when he was asleep. I made sure to remember how his heavy arms made it more difficult to breath. I couldn't bare to forget any of these things, so when he leaves again, I'll remember.

But right now, he's home.

He's back at our home.

part two

get tagged - masterlist

tags: @blondekel77 @mysticdeerpolice @dexthtoyounglings @anthrogothic @darlinloves @hollmarch

[thirsty4theextraordinary]

Come on love, let’s get this freak-show on the road

I’ve been replaying Fallout 4 for like the 100th time recently and again I have fallen in love with Hancock all over again. So this is a little one-shot I wrote up last night that goes through how Hancock is feeling about the SS. 

Hopefully you guys like it. 

Pairing: John Hancock X Female Sole Survivor 

Tags: Fluff, nothing else just some sweetness. 

“To think I ever doubted you.” 

That was how he had started this, how he had got to where they were now. Of course, she seemed unfazed like nothing had changed. It had been days since their conversation on the side of the road. They had made camp at a local settlement of hers, or rather the Minutemen’s. She chatted idly to the settlers as they sat beside the campfire, unaware of his eyes on her. She had achieved such an amazing amount since coming off of ice. 

When they had first met, she had come strolling into Goodneighbour with Nick Valentine at her side. She was beautiful, and fresher-looking than any woman he had seen before. Like a poster of one of those pre-war movie stars. Of course, he was attracted, you would have to be blind not to be but he kept it to himself. And that vault suit hugged her curves aa though it were painted on.  

Once they started travelling together that’s when things had changed. Into something that he had never experienced before. She was kind, intelligent, cunning and not afraid to hurt those who needed hurting. He had had pre-existing ideas of what the Vault-dweller would be like in a fight and it was nothing like this. She had the reflexes of a trained killer, and as much as he had thought he would be the one protecting her, it was sometimes the other way around. He couldn’t count the number of times she had stimpak’d him mid-battle, just to turn and shoot his assailant in the face, as though it was nothing at all. 

The more they travelled together the more he fell for her. It wasn’t like him, John had always been a lone wolf, content with the occasional one nightstand. He had no problems finding lovers, even turning Ghoul hadn’t dampened his chances. The sexy King of the Zombies had no issues with the ladies. So why was he so hung up on the woman in a bright blue vault suit? 

It was one night, when they had stopped to make camp and he looked over at her sleeping form, that he fully understood, that what he felt wasn’t just simply lust, like usual. At first, it disturbed him, he wasn’t used to feeling like this, this intense feeling was scary. The womaniser in him denied these feeling of course and he told himself that the last thing she need was the love of a Ghoul. While he had never had trouble finding lovers, he knew that not all soft-skins were so inclined to his kind. He wasn’t sure he could take the rejection from her. He huffed to himself, she had turned him into a teenager again, nervous about asking out his first girl.  John Hancock was a confident flirt, never had he questioned himself before, but then never had he felt like this. She really was something else.  And yet he had never expected her to say what she did. 

He hadn’t expected the conversation to lead that way, he hadn’t even led it that way himself. He just simply wanted to let her know what a great friend she was, how impressed he was with her moral compass, deep down he wanted to be a little more like her. He felt it was only right that he shared, after all, she had been upfront since day one about her past, and what she was trying to do out here in the Commonwealth. But up until this point, he hadn’t really told her much about himself, only how he had become mayor and why he had wanted to leave. He had just wanted to share, to open up a bit. He hadn’t expected her to turn it on him like that. He had been telling her about what had happened at Diamond City. 

“I felt like I was the only one who saw how screwed up things truly were, who couldn’t just pretend things were fine. Still feel that way… or I did. Until I met you” He mentally scolded himself for that last part would she notice, question him. But she just kept listening politely, she hadn’t taken it for any more than just a declaration of admiration. No feelings attached. So with a smile, he continued. 

“I know I run my mouth, but having someone who sees the world for what it is and is willing to do something about it. It’s meant a lot to me. I feel damn lucky to have you as a friend.” 

“And that’s what we are? Friends?” the words had fallen from her mouth like they meant nothing, like she hadn’t just propositioned him. He couldn’t help the flutter that he felt in his stomach or that grin that spread across his face, he felt suddenly exposed, was she playing with him. But like aways, John use crude flirting and overconfidence to hide his nervousness. 

“Well, now that you mention it, I have been having slightly more impure thoughts than usual. Maybe we’ll get to…. act on those. Heh,” He had said to her. It wasn’t that he regretted saying it, after all, it was the truth. Watching her ass bounce in the vault suit, as she ran and few yards ahead of him as they travelled had undoubtedly been the inspiration for a few impure dreams. But did he want her to think that was all he had to offer? A few nights of passion on the road, just friends until they got into the bedroom. He wasn’t really sure what it was she wanted, maybe that was all she expected, after all, he did have a reputation. He told himself that with any other girl, especially one that looked like her, he would be happy. But as the days went past and he saw her save people who needed saving and take out those that threaten them, he knew he would never just been content with a sex only kinda deal. But it’s not like that had happened either since their talk nothing had happened. But it had been a tough few days, maybe she was simply worn out, he couldn’t blame. Or maybe it was all just meaningless flirting.  

“I’m off to bed, thanks for the drink Ben” she suddenly announced standing from her seat beside him, the settler nodded his head to her. She turned to John and bent down.

“Goodnight, Hancock,” she said sweetly before she placed a tender kiss to his cheek. He couldn’t help but turn his head and capture her lips. Just because she made him feel something new, didn’t mean he had forgotten all his moves. She squeaked with surprise at first but kissed him back nonetheless. He pulled away, shooting her his infamous grin. 

“You can call me John you know,” he told her and she smiled at him blushing pink. 

“Goodnight, John” she replied trying his name out and he smiled like a fool. No one called him that much anymore, but it sounded so sweet coming from her.

“Goodnight, Sunshine” he replied. His whole life he had been running but at that moment he knew, he could never run away from her.  

She stood fully and without another word headed off towards the small wooden shack that Ben had offered them for the night.  With his mind whirling he took off after her. He closed the door behind him and she looked up from where she was sat on one of the mattresses on the floor. She was going threw her pack, checking out ammo supplies and the like. 

“Hey, when you got time, I got something I still need you to hear,” he said as he perched himself in the rickety chair in the corner and pull the slightly smashed packet of cigarettes from his pocket. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked suddenly looking a little concerned. God, why did she have to look at him with those big beautiful eyes of hers? He took a breath.

“Oh yeah. Better than that. This is just… tricky” he began. Pushing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He offered her one silently and she took both the pack and lighter from him without a word, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. 

He found himself opening up to her again, telling her things only he really knew. Things he hadn’t really told anyone.  How he felt inside, not about her but about himself. He needed to know she understood, that she saw him for who he really was. All his self-loathing out in the open, the real John Hancock on full display.  How he was just running away, with no real destination in mind. She hadn’t just listened to him spill his guts she had consoled him. 

“You may have run, but you always ran for a reason,” she told him with a nod of her head. Hearing her say something like that from her, was like a warm shower, washing away his insecurities, his worries. 

“Been trying to convince myself of that for a long time, but hearing that coming from someone like you…. I don’t know if you understand what that means to me,” he said with a smile which she returned. Again he took a breath.

“So, lemme get to the point. Throwing in with you has been the best decision I’ve ever made. It’s like I found a part of myself I never realised was missing…. Which happened sometimes when you’re a Ghoul” there he was joking again, protecting himself. 

“If I hadn’t taken up with you, I’d probably be in a gutter somewhere, getting gnawed on by Radroaches. You have been one hell of a friend” He had used that word strategically, he hadn’t forgotten the stolen kiss they had just had but he needed to test the waters. 

“Have you ever thought about us as maybe more than just friends?” she said her face serious. Was she testing him too? 

“Heh. It that obvious? But come on. You don’t want to wake up to this mug every morning. Never wish that on anyone I cared for.” it was honest, there were no sexual undertones, no joking. He was checking, he knew he could charm the pants off most girls in the Commonwealth but this was more than that, he wanted to check he hadn’t made a mistake. 

“Who I fall for is my decision. And I’ve fallen for you” she admitted with a smile and he swallowed hard. 

“Wouldn’t expect that kind of lapse in judgement from you. But I guess that works out for me then, doesn’t it?” he joked, mentally he scolded himself he should have told her how he felt. What she meant to him. But she giggled at his joke and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Heh. Moments like this, I know all that karma stuff is bull. Because no one like me should be this lucky.“ he said looking down at the lit cigarette in his hand, the long line of ash waiting to be flicked off. 

Her hand entered his peripheral vision and he looked towards her. She had thrown her cigarette away and she was holding her hand out towards him. He threw his cigarette out the hole in the shack wall and took her hand. She pulled him to sit in front of her. Her beautiful eyes staring into his soul.  

“Look John, I know you joke to protect yourself. But I’m going to be honest now” she said and he blinked his heart beating out of his chest, she was going to tell him that he meant nothing to her. 

“When I said I fallen for you” she began, he knew what was coming”

“I really meant it” she breathed holding his hand a little tighter. He let out a breath he hadn’t know he was holding. She meant it?

“I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone before,” she said and he smiled so brightly it hurt his cheeks.

“I love you too, Sunshine,” he said and she smiled.

“But I want to check what that means to you. What I mean is, I don’t one-night stands or friends with benefits. I’m either in all the way or not at all.  So what do you say?” she said her voice far less confident than he was used to hearing from her. Had she been having all the same thoughts as him? God, he was a fool. 

“You don’t know how happy you make me, saying stuff like that. With you, I’ve found the person I was meant to be with. My missing piece. I don’t want to ever be without you. So you wanna make this thing official?” he asked and she smiled so brightly he could feel the warmth of it. 

Without a word, she leant forward and captured his lips in a kiss he wouldn’t ever forget. It was passion-filled but loving, with a swift movement he pushed her back so she was lying, her back on the mattress and he hovered above her. He looked down at her grinning like a teenager, who had just seen his first boob. She giggled before she leant up and captured his lips in another loving kiss. 

[vikingstoner69]

Alucard (smut) form my old account not edited

They say that everyone has a mate, and once you find your mate nothing and no one can take you away from them. I was not a normal human being I was a feral muntin of the cat kind and with my power, I can change into a large cat or a small one it really depended on what I needed.

" (Y/N) I have a need for you to take the wild geese and go and track down the vampire who is draining a town full of people" I looked over at my boss who just so happens to be the one who was the master or monsters and I fit right in with that. I was a monster and I had no problem with that.

"Of course, my Master," I said bowing down to her before walking out of the door It was about 30 years since the blitz in London and they were still waiting for this Alucard guy to show up. I had come to Sir Integra just after that day having saved her life back then and I was the one who helped run things after. I did just about anything she needed me to and with the power I had I could go days without sleep and would be just fine.

"Let's go Pip grab the guys, we got a job to do," I said looking over at my best guy friend as he lit up a cancer stick. In the acatke, on the manner, Pip was wounded so badly and almost died only to bring himself back from death by drinking the blood and becoming a vampire.

"Oi (Y/N) where are we headed?" he said as the guys got into the jeeps

"We're going to cheddar to kill a vampire" I said grinning my fangs on full show Pip smiled back.

(Later)

I walked into the manner after writing up a report and headed down to my room I knew my master was asleep and would give it to her in the morning. I heard the sound of gunshots and ran as fast as my legs would carry me to my master's room where I came face to face with sears and her big ass gun. She kicked open the door flashing everyone when I heard her gasp.

"Master!" She yelled out before lowering her gun I, on the other hand, kept my tense stance.

"What the hell is going on? Master are you alright?" I asked coming to stand close to her as I walked more into the room the scent of this man made me purr out before I could stop myself making My master looked at me with a raised brow.

"Yes, I'm sure you would like to know who this is (Y/N) this is Alucard the one who we have all been waiting to return," she said while sitting on the bed I felt a pull towards this man and was hoping like hell he was not my mate.

"Well if there is no danger than I shall take my leave, good night master," I said not looking over Alucard and walked out of the room. I had no clue what was going to happen now but I had a feeling I was being followed and just as I opened my door Alucard was sitting in my chair.

"So you took my place while I was gone?" he asked with a bored tone I had to give it to him he sure was sexy.

"Somewhat, I'm not really human so I can do things other can't trust me though it's been really boring," I said thinking all of the times I went on hunts only to come up with someone who was not worth even my time to fight.

"Tell me how old are you?" I looked over at him finding that he looked like someone I had met before only I could not put my finger on where i had seen him before.

"Eh, about 300 years old give or take," I said sitting down on my bed he was nice to talk to even if he is prying into my life. Even though I know this I find myself unable to hold back when he asks me things. "If you have nothing else to say I'm gonna get some sleep," I said as I pulled the blankets back so I could get into bed I felt the air around me heat back up and knew that Alucard had left.

(One Month Later)

"You was reckless! If I didn't step in you would have been killed" Alucard growled form everything I knew about him the only one he truly cared about was our master and the police girl.

"Oh please, I can't be killed, trust me I would have been dead a long time ago," I said stripping off my top to show him I was healed I felt his cool body get closer to mine and felt him run his fingers down my back.

"Tell me when do you plan to stop fighting this and give in?" he growled out his face close to my neck inhaling my scent.

"I have no clue what you mean," I said turning around to face him and felt my knees go weak at the look on his face.

"You are my mate, my queen, my fourth bride," he said with each kiss to my lips before deepening the kiss and stealing my breath away. I was lost to his touch and the taste of him I knew what he was saying was true but I was still going to make him fight for it. I was not the type to lay down and give in, I was a fighter.

"Oh really? You think that? Hmm, how about you prove it then" I said holding him close to my body his cool hard body felt wonderful against my hotter body with what I am I ran a little hotter than normal.

"I plan on it" Before I knew it I was laying on my back naked with a very sexy powerful vampire laying on top of me kissing sucking on my neck. I could feel his fangs scrape my neck and turned my head a little more giving him more room to work with. I had a plan to fight him but I didn't say I would not enjoy what he was doing.

While Alucard was working on my neck I tightened the hold on his hips and flipping us over so I was on top and I leaned down to crash his mouth to mine our fangs clashing and our tastes mingled together making me moan. I could feel how hard he was and wanted to taste him badly so I started to kiss down his neck leaving little bites as I went until I was face to face with his manhood. He was the biggest I had ever seen and couldn't wait till he was inside of me.

"Who said you could be on top? I heard him growl out as I licked the tip tasting him I locked my eyes with his before taking him fully into my mouth and down my throat making myself gag on him. I felt him grab onto my hair and held me in place before thrusting up and fucking my mouth while he was doing that I started to rub on his balls making him lose his pace and thrust up into me a little harder.

"Fuck, You suck my cock so well, take all of me I plan to cum down you pretty little throat" Alucard growled out before fucking my throat how he wanted I loved how he was using me even though I was on top he was very much in control and I loved a man who knew what he wanted and could take control of me in the bedroom. I knew he was close and sucked extra hard on him making him jump over the edge and cumming down my throat. I slowly sat up keeping his cock in my mouth as long as I could before I let him go with a loud pop and licked my lips. Before I knew it I was back on my back and he was raging hard again.

Alucard kissed me biting my lip till I opened my mouth to him and our tongues dueled for dominance. He won in the end only because he cheated by playing with my clit. I was dripping wet and was close to begging him to fuck me. I don't even remember the last time I had been fucked good and hard.

"Your dripping already and I have barely even touched you, my queen," he said while speeding up his pace I was a moaning mess by the time I felt his long as fuck tongue plunge into my hot wet cunt fucking me. I arched up and grabbed a fist full of his hair and was pulling him closer to me my claws starching his scalp making him groan.

"Fuck! Please don't stop, make me cum on your tongue" I begged while I started to thrust into wet needy cunt on his warm tongue I heard him growl and throw my head back at the feeling, it sent me on my clit. I was so close to coming that when he pinched my clit it sent me over the edge Alucard was making a happy sucking sound as if I was the best thing he has ever tasted in his life.

"Are you ready for me?" Alucard said as he moved his body back up was he was nestled in between my legs I was more than ready for him. I wanted him to fuck me tell I could not move anymore.

"Fuck me, Make me your, Make me forget about anyone else but you" I moaned out while thrusting my hips up into his feeling his hard manhood rubbing on my clit.

"As you wish" was the last thing I heard before my world was crashing down when he plunged into my cunt fucking me right off the bat. Alucard didn't wait to let me adjust he fucked me like he was a man possessed. My nails were digging down into his back drawing blood making him growl out his fangs got longer. I could feel I was losing control of my animal side and flipped us over where I was on top of him. Alucard grabbing my hips and started to thrust upon me as I took control of the speed and rode him how I wanted. I was so fucking close to cumming that I had nothing else On my mind but finding my peak.

"Fuck, Yes, Fuck me just like that! You feel so good inside me" I moaned out I was flipped back onto my back with him on top of me the whole time we were fighting for who was going to be on top. Our fucking was more like a fuck and fight only this time no one would die.

"Who do you belong to" I heard him growl in my neck but I was too far gone to speak and was only able to moan for him. The feeling of his hand around my neck choking me brought me back to myself and I could understand what he had asked me.

"You! I belong to you!" with my words I felt him sink his fangs into my neck drinking my blood I had this uncontrollable urge to bite him as well and did just that. Marking him as my mate for the rest of his undead life. The feeling of him sucking my blood pushed me over the edge and I came screaming his name my nails going down his back drawing blood.

When I finally came back to myself I realized that he was no longer on top of me and that a blanket was over us both. I rolled over and laid my head on his chest where his heart should be beating only to find it wasn't. Alucard's cool body helped to cool me down after our mating.

"Well, That was fun," I said yawning my eyes were getting heavy and knew sleep was not far off

"Agreed" was the last thing I heard before I was pulled into the darkness of the dreamworld.

[enchantedblackrose]

Like I Love You

Jay Halstead/Plus sized Reader

Summary: Jay arrives at your apartment to pick you up for a date, but you're filled with self doubt.

¡Warnings! This potentially could be triggering. Poor body image, possible body dysmorphia, specific mentions of feelings of not being enough because of physical appearance

<Please, please lmk if I need to add any warnings.>

Loosely inspired by One Direction's Little Things

Like I Love You 

Your head throbs as hot tears of frustration continue to fall from your eyes. 

It was absolutely ridiculous to be this upset trying to pick out a decent outfit. After all, you've been successfully dressing yourself since age three.

But you don't have the mindset of a toddler. You're a jaded young woman with society's disgusting definition of beauty constantly shoved in your face. 

Deep down you know better. You know that the numbers on the scale give no indication of your beauty nor do they dictate your worth.

Sighing and trying to remind yourself that you are pretty, you again glance in the full length mirror. Standing there in nothing more than a top and underwear, fresh tears immediately fill your eyes. You only see flaws. Resisting the urge to poke at the cellulite near your thighs, you focus on your shirt. But the sleeves are cutting into your arms making them look weird. No, not weird. Fat. The too tight sleeves cause your arms to bulge. And the material clings to your soft tummy. You pinch the excess belly fat between your thumbs and index fingers, wishing you could squeeze it away.

You feel so ugly and gross. Angrily you pull the shirt off and throw it clear across your bedroom, where it joins a pair of jeans you couldn't breathe in and numerous other offending articles of clothing. None of which you look good in either.

You find an oversize t-shirt and slip it on before you just collapse on that very spot of plush carpeting.

Tears still roll down your face. All you wanted was something cute to wear. To be pretty. And go out with your boyfriend for a date night. He's a detective for the Chicago police department. The hours are already long and sometimes abnormal, but this week he, and the rest of the special unit he's a part of,  were logging extra hours on a particular difficult case. You haven't seen much of each other recently so you were especially giddy when you received his text earlier in the day saying there had been a break in the case which meant he could swing by your place and take you out on a proper date. Your reply had been almost immediate, telling him how wonderful that sounded.

You were surprised to hear from him again, still promising to take you out, but proposing you both meet up with his coworkers after dinner for some drinks. He included "begging" and "puppy dog eyes" in the message. 

Though you wanted to, you couldn't exactly say no for several reasons. You had already agreed to the date, so he knew you were free. Part of you suspected that he had done it on purpose. You'd accuse your favorite detective of entrapment later. 

You also were fully aware how much Jay wanted to introduce you to the coworkers he considered friends, having been invited to go out with them several times before. You kept putting it off.

Not because you had no interest in meeting everyone. Rather, the idea fed your worst insecurities.

What if they don't think I'm good enough? They're going to wonder what he sees in me. Then Jay will start wondering too. 

Wanting to do this solely for Jay's benefit, believing he deserved this after the hellish week at work, you went to your bedroom to plan your outfit. That's how you ended up in this nightmare. You only want to look your best, like you belong with Jay.

Nothing in your closet said that though. The truth of the matter was no one like him should be with someone who looks like you.

Cries turn to sobs. You draw your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly.

You hear the door to your apartment unlock, Jay using his copy of your key to let himself in. Hastily, you wipe at your face, not wanting him to see you like this; yet you can't find the will to stand. A loud, nasally sniff escapes you.

"Babe?" His still unaware voice calls out from the hallway. "I got us reservations." You don't answer back right away and you hear his footsteps approach. 

Having found you, he stops in the doorway. "Whoa. What kind of nuclear clothing explosion happened here?" He indicates to the mounds of clothes which surround you and cover the better part of the carpet and bed. His laughter dies as soon as he sees your tear-streaked, puffy face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" his worry evident in both his voice and light eyes. He looks you up and down, frantically searching for any sign of what has you like this.

You mumble incoherently.

"What?"

"I don't have anything to wear."

"The floor begs to differ," he teases. You glare back, in no mood for jokes no matter how well intended. He holds up his hands signaling he meant no harm before he pulls you to your feet. "What's going on?" You huff a heavy sigh in reply. His hand caresses your cheek and softly "hmms?" at you encouragingly.

"Nothing fits right," you confess. He hesitates unsure how to respond, so you continue. "I look extra fat in everything."

Jay frowns. "I doubt that very much. You always look good. I love how you look dolled up when we go out and I love when you're in an old tee and sweats."

"That's nice of you to say-"

"Well I didn't say it to be nice. I said it because it's true," he cuts you off.

You give a tiny, weak smile. "I hate how I look." Your voice cracks. New tears sting your eyes.

He brushes the few teardrops that manage to escape with his thumb. "Baby, what are you talking about? You're beautiful." His voice is soft with a hint of sadness hearing you talk this way.

"This is not beautiful." You pat your flabby stomach, then your thighs. 

Carefully stepping to avoid the clothes which litter the floor, Jay makes his way to your bed and sits on the edge, still mindful of the garments piled there as well. He opens his arms, indicating for you to sit on his lap.

"My huge ass will probably crush you," you mutter.

"Baby-"

 

Exasperated you throw your arms up, "I look nothing like you!"

"Well I'm a guy and you're not so…"

"Stop. I mean you look like a freaking model. That face and those abs for days." You catch him looking smug, no doubt a witty remark is at his lips, but one glance at you and he leaves it unsaid. You continue. Your voice hushed, "I'm afraid of what people might think or say when they see us together. It's why I've been so reluctant to meet your friends."

His eyes sadden. He reaches for you, gently pulling you to his lap. When he speaks, his voice is soft, but stern, almost begging you to believe his words. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I honestly had no idea, but listen to me, please. The only people who get a say about our relationship are in this room right now, okay? So our opinions are the only ones that matter. You. Are. Beautiful." He pauses only to shush you when he sees your mouth open. "The way your mind works fascinates me. Your sense of humor is amazing. You continuously show compassion for others, which in this world is not always easy. I swear your goodness is innate. Your laugh is intoxicating. When you smile...I wish you could see how your face lights up and your body turns me on exactly how it is. I have never been attracted to anyone as much as I am to you. I love you."

Jay's words move you, but they're not enough to silence your insecurities. "Even though I don't have a thigh gap?"

His brows furrow. "I...don't know what that means."

"It means my thighs touch each other. They're not supposed to."

"Says who?"

"...society."

"Society's ugly, not you or your thighs." His fingers trace nondescript patterns on the bare skin in question. "Besides, thick thighs save lives."

"Jay!" You laugh despite yourself. He smiles in return and presses his lips to your temple.

"I love you too. You know that, right?" You ask, realizing you hadn't said it back and he nods. A hand intertwines with his as you look in his eyes, "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"You're not. We all have insecurities or things we don't like about ourselves. I just wish you weren't so hard on yourself. I'm sorry too if you felt I was putting pressure on you to meet everyone."

"Not at all," you shake your head. "That's just me being me."

"Still, if my friends have a problem with us being together for any reason, they're not the people I think they are. Truly though, they'd love you. Hell, if we didn't show up together I could see one of them hitting on you," Jay pauses if imagining it.  "But seriously. They'd adore you. First, because they're going to see firsthand how good you are for me. Then because you're you. Funny, smart-"

"But I want to be pretty, Jay. And look like we belong together."

Jay sighs, but not out of frustration with you. He's only concerned."You are. And we do. I know nothing I say is going to magically change how you see yourself...I get that. You have to be the one to work this out. I really wish you could see yourself through my eyes and love yourself like I love you. Maybe then you'd understand you're so worthy of self-love. I promise, I'm right here and I'm going to keep reminding you how beautiful you are in hopes you'll start to see it."

Your hand caresses his cheek as you fight the urge to cry again. He leans into your touch. "You do help," you tell him because it's true and to reassure him. "I'm so lucky to have you. I'm really going to try to not be so down on myself. Besides. I  really don't want to ruin any more of our nights."

He waves you off. "A night trying to get you to see your beauty is not ruined. And the night's still young. We'll do whatever you're up for. Go out for a bit. Stay in and order food. Whatever."

A small smile appears on your face. You quickly peck his lips with yours. "I just want to wash my face before we do anything." Jay nods. You slide off his lap and head to your bathroom across the hall.

The light flickers for a second as soon as you hit the switch. You go to the sink, turning the water on and letting it run to get to the perfect temperature. Standing there, you glance into the vanity mirror. Your face is still slightly puffy with a few soft pink splotches across your cheeks from all your crying. You splash the water on your face and repeat the action several more times before using a fluffy towel to pat dry your face. You stare back into the mirror. And smile. It reaches your eyes and illuminates your face. You reach a realization. However fleeting or permanent, you don't know. But right now in this moment, you feel it. 

You're pretty.

-

[burnedbyshoto]

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love. 

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense. 

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him. 

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

-

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself. 

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room. 

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well. 

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist. 

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that. 

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face. 

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not). 

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia. 

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

[natashacoco]

Hi angel, here's my request!

Flo and reader have mutual friends but aren't close since both of them are always traveling, till one morning when Florian wakes up at his friends house after this party and has a massive hangover, he walks to the kitchen and finds reader baking something for the guys and after some chit chat they just click. The end of the story it's up to you, steamy or fluff I simply adore your writing, she could take care of him or something. 🤷🏾‍♀️

I love this request! Here you are babe, hope you love it! And happy New Year’s Eve/New Year. Got this done just in time for the end of the year.

Florian Munteanu x Mutual Friend! Reader

The scene in front of you was something straight out of a Hollywood party scene. The night was slowly trickling into the early hours of the morning, a few stragglers littered here and there as you and your girlfriends made it back to the rented Airbnb. You passed by a large body passed out in the lawn, chuckling as you walked by at how crazy the party seemed to have gotten. 

You’d just recently gotten home from taking a solo six month long round the world trip. You had saved your money for two years, researched, planned and counted the days and hours until you finally set foot on the plane to your first destination. To say that the time spent abroad was something you’d not only needed, but accomplished on your own was a feat. You were able to do this on your own, and now nothing was out of the realm of possibilities for you and your future. 

The girls had all decided that a night out on the town was needed as a welcome home celebration, especially considering you’d made it home in time for the New Year. You all had dressed to the nines, outfits, hair, makeup, everything was on point. You’d gone out to dinner followed by hours of dancing and drinking at the newest and most exclusive nightclub in town until you decided to call it quits for the evening. 

One of the girls boyfriend had rented out the large home as a mashup of a New Year’s party and apparently some kind of party for somebody, you’re not exactly sure who the person is but it must be something big for them to go all out like this. 

Following the rest of the girls into the house, soft music is playing off in the distance somewhere, empty bottles of alcohol, cups, plates, and other miscellaneous items are strewn about. You even notice a bra hanging off the banister of the stairway. 

You all make your way into the kitchen, pouring yourselves a drink and continue the vibe set before in the evening. You notice another tall guy, this one dressed in a white tee and jeans and a chain that captures the light and makes it hard for you not to stare at him. From the look of things, he is completely plastered in the corner, using his hands like little guns and giggling like a schoolgirl and you can’t help but to laugh. A few of the guys end up joining you and you all catch up, relaying tales of your time abroad.  

A short while later people start to head to bed, or find places to sleep. Remembering the guy in the lawn from earlier. “Hey, you guys do know that there’s some big ass white boy in the front lawn right?” You ask, wanting to make sure that he’s accounted for, or at least know he’s there. 

“When you say ‘Big Ass White Boy’ are you referring to Florian or somebody else?” your friend Lorenzo asks. 

“Don’t know a Florian, so maybe?” you reply. 

“You know Florian, Romanian-German guy, tall as a house, corn fed and built like a eighteen wheeler, any of that sound familiar?” he questions.

You look at him with a confused face, nothing of that making any sense to you with that description.

“He’s Mike’s friend, the guy who played Viktor Drago opposite him in Creed II, and he just got cast in Marvel’s Shang-Chi.”

“Oh right, right, right. That guy, I haven’t met him-met him. I think I was told about him in passing, or we always seem to miss one another at parties or get together” you reply. 

“I saw him earlier over in the corner, I think he was doing some gun things with his fingers or whatnot. I think I took a video, here, take a look” you friend Cristina says, pulling out her phone and pulling up one of her Snapchat stories. You take a look and immediately recognize the guy from earlier. You look through the stories and see some of his other hilarious drunken shenanigans and tell them that the man you mentioned earlier wasn’t him. 

“The guy in the lawn is Masias, one of Sandro and Florian’s friends, more like brother. I think the guys are getting back at him for pulling some kind of prank. Just leave him out there, he’s too big for him to carry” another friend, Theo, replies. 

Sleep starts to take over and the last of the party goers decide to call it quits for the night. Those of you who are staying at the house make your way upstairs to begin your nighttime routines. On your way upstairs you see a few guys sleeping on the couch and notice Florian among one of them, his large body taking up a large portion of the couch. An idea comes to mind and you go in search of the linen closet. 

Finding  a few blankets, you grab a stack and head back downstairs to those sleeping, placing them over each of the bodies to make them comfortable. When you reach Florian, you shake out one of the larger blankets and place it over him. You must have done something to momentarily startle him from his sleep because his eyes snap open suddenly in a sleepy haze. 

“Wo bin ich? (Where am I?)” he asks in German. 

“Shh, sorry to wake you up, go back to sleep, yeah.” you whisper and nod your head, tightening the blanket around him. 

He nods his head in agreement before he closes his eyes and settles into a more comfortable position before falling back asleep. You grab the last of the blankets and make your way outside to the lawn and place it over Masias, making sure that he’s as comfortable as comfort gets for somebody sleeping outside. Heading back inside, you finally make it to bed and settle in.

You wake up early the next morning despite only getting a few hours of sleep, your body still not use to the current timezone you’re in. You decide to get up, the cry of breakfast foods pulling you out of the warmth of your bed. 

Making your way down to the kitchen, you rummage through the fridge and freezer until you find some food. You decide on making pancakes, eggs, hash browns, bacon, fresh fruit, coffee, juice, the entire works. You look outside the window, taking a sip of your drink and are amazed to find the now dubbed Sleeping Giant still asleep outside. 

“What are you looking at?” a deep voice behind you asks, startling you into giving off a high pitched shriek, almost throwing your drink in the air. 

You whip your head around to face the voice and have to crane your neck up to face Florian, his eyes lit up with curiosity as he looks down at you. 

“Um, there’s a guy who is currently sleeping outside, he’s been there since last night and I’m just surprised to see him still out there.”

He looks past you to peek outside the window and starts to laugh. “I was wondering where they ended up putting Masias” he says. “I better go and get him, I’m sure the hangover and all the pics the guys took of him is going to be worse than anything else.”

“Oh don’t worry, the sprinkler system will be turning on in about 5 minutes,” You reply. “But I was planning on manually turning them on in about 3.”

He lets out a hearty laugh, his entire body shaking until his laughter starts to sound like some kind of sprinkler system. He wipes at his eyes with the back of one of his large hands and when he’s done laughing, he turns back to the window just as the sprinkler system starts to pop up from the ground and the entire lawn is sprayed with water. 

“Well it looks like I may have been wrong about the sprinkler timing.”

Masias’s head pops up in confusion, just as water is sprayed in his face. He gets up quickly, shouting and what you can only come to the conclusion of swearing in German before he looks around at his surroundings to see where he’s at. 

Florain runs outside and helps Masias inside, the two of them laughing hysterically. When they return, the three of you start to plate your food and make your way to the kitchen table. The smell of the food permeates throughout the house and soon enough others join you all. 

Florian ends up sitting next to you, multiple plates all but licked clean as the two of you get to talking. “I’m Florian Munteanu, by the way” he says, “I don’t think I introduced myself to you earlier.”

“You were a little busy, it’s okay. I’m Y/N Y/L/N” extending your hand out to his larger one to shake it. 

“Wait, YOU’RE Y/N?” he asks, his eyes going wide in shock.

“Yes. Why do you say it like that?” you question. 

“Oh, it’s, it’s just that everybody is always telling me that we would get along if we met, and every time it seems to happen it seems like we always end up missing one another somehow. ”

“Yeah, life somehow turns out like that, but look at us now, we finally met.”

“Honestly, last night when I saw you I thought I was imagining things, imagine my shock when it turns out I wasn’t actually crazy. I’m glad that we finally got to meet.”

“It may have taken us some time, but we made it., it only took us what, 84 years?” You say, referencing The Titanic.

“84 years and worth the wait. Plus, it’s not at a better moment in time I say.”

“How’s that?” you ask. 

“It’s New Year’s Eve Y/N, what’s a better start to the New Year than getting the opportunity to get to know you, and I fully intend to get to know you, if that’s okay with you?”

“I would really like that.” 

The two of you continue talking throughout the morning, the both of you talking about some of your favorite New Year’s traditions, him telling you about some of the Romanian traditions, such as tossing money into water where people wash their hands, him giving a little sample of Plugusorul and Sorcova-songs that wish good luck, happiness and success for the New Year. You tell him of your own New Year’s traditions, those from your own background and ones you’ve come to make on your own, and something deep down tells you that somehow you and Florian will be making even more in the New Year’s to come.

[teamxdark]

They say the pen is mightier than the sword...

My Dearest Arthur,

Today, as I was heading back to the castle, Galahad stopped me. He pointed out a bird, small and blue like the sky, drinking from a puddle on the ground. We both stopped, watching it as it drank its fill, stretched its wings, and flew away.

It made me think of you.

My love, you try so hard to be the best leader for us all. You do it without complaint, struggling with the problems of a populace, making the decisions that a lesser being wouldn't dare consider. I know how much this burden crushes you, but all the same, I cannot for the life of me think of anyone more worthy than you to hold such power.

I have heard the complaints of those who disagree with your choices. They throw about opinions without care for consequences. They know nothing of the thought you put into every decision you make, and every time I hear some scoundrel run their mouth about how they would do better than you, I feel the urge to silence them, with my words or my blade, I care not which.

The things you do to me, my love...

Yes, you are the most worthy king, of that, I am certain, but you are also the most deserving of the freedom you crave. I see it, Arthur. I see the way you stare out the window, into the sky, beyond the clouds, with such profound longing that I know and understand all too well. It is enough to make a man weep.

...I have wept, I must admit. For you, and over you. If I could grant you your freedom, I would do so in a heartbeat, even if it meant that you would be gone, leaving like that bird, flying away without a backwards glance and never looking back. My grief at your absence would only be assuaged by the knowledge that you are finally unburdened. That you are happy.

Sometimes, I like to imagine that you take me with you. I imagine your hand in mine, and your smile reaching your eyes, the portrait of joy that should never have left your face, and I follow you, just as I have vowed, to the ends of the earth and into the world beyond this life.

I know it is selfish. I know it is impossible. You, Arthur, are the most selfless man I know. I have seen you grow over many years, becoming more and more responsible with time and experience. It is I who has become selfish. It is I who indulges these fantasies of taking you away to bask in your brilliance that I can never get enough of. But you could never betray your people. You could never say yes to a premature freedom. You will not be king forever, and this we both know, and you are willing to wait for the end of your reign while I still imagine ripping you from this life without a care for those that remain behind.

My desires are inconsiderate, not just to you, but to everything you've worked for. To everyone who needs you. To those who need me, too.

I shall never be worthy of you, Arthur, but my heart shall never beat for anyone else in the way it does for you.

Forever yours,

Lancelot

...

Darling Arthur,

Do you remember when we were young? Do you remember when we were but boys, training until we were collapsed on the ground, day after day?

Do you remember the first time you called me 'Lance'?

I hated it back then. I warned you to never call me anything but 'Lancelot' again, for it was my name. It was the name my mother had given me, my mother who saved me and chose me before I even knew how to walk. My name was my link to her, an important part of my identity and my proof of being wanted.

I was, truly, a stupid child.

Now, I treasure the name you gave to me. I do not allow anyone else to use it. 'Lance' is the name you bestowed upon me, a name to signify our own link, our bond... one so close that it makes me dizzy with happiness when I remember just how much we mean to each other. I now hold that name close to my heart, next to my mother's 'Lancelot' and my son's 'Father'.

It pains me that I do not have such a name to give you, my love, save for the endearments in these letters that I shall never send. Yet I never miss how blissful you look when I call you by your given name. You appear unhappy by 'Your Majesty'. You appear troubled by 'my liege'. You appear vexed by 'Sire'.

And so, when I am able, I call you by your name. I call you my friend, so that you know that I love you and that you mean the world to me. You always have, even before my feelings shifted into what they are now.

I see you smile and it is as if I have been struck by lightning. I hear you laugh and I fear I might swoon. If I do even one thing to make you happy, I feel as though I am walking on air, and I wish to do it again, and again, and again, over and over, endless until you never know pain again.

Arthur, the way I feel for you consumes me, like a fire that will never go out. My feelings scorch me, leaving burns and scars that will never fully go away, hidden on the inside where you will never see them. You will never truly know just how deeply this arrow from Cupid's bow has pierced me... I dare say he's emptied his quiver on me, for the mere thought of life without you, without your smile, your warmth, your brilliance, your bravery, your understanding, without you and everything that you are...

I don't dare tell you about these newer feelings of mine. I know you, and I know you will not treat me any different if my particular type of love for you does not match that of yours for me, but my head is clouded by fear. I cannot stop imagining that you shall become uncomfortable in my presence, that you will hold me away at arm's length, that you will look for someone else to court in an attempt to help me move on... All the possibilities are so painful, Arthur. I would rather nothing changed, even though I know my fear is irrational. I should believe in our bond, trust in our friendship, rely on the knowledge that you would never push me away...

I am a coward, my love. To be called the Ultimate Knight feels like a joke, for I am so afraid that I cannot listen to the logic in my own head. My strength of body means nothing if my strength of mind is as fragile as glass.

Yet, even as I long for something different in my relationship with you, I cannot say that I am unhappy with what I do have with you. Perhaps this, too, is why I will not speak these words nor send these letters, for what I already have with you, such a close, personal friendship, is more than I can ask for.

You have always been enough for me, Arthur.

Eternally yours,

Lancelot

...

Glorious Arthur,

I must apologize. I must, for I fear my mind is spinning out of my own control.

Every day I think of you. Every morning when I wake up, every night as I go to sleep, in every spare moment of my life, you are in my waking thoughts.

You haunt my dreams, too. At all moments, it seems, my mind conspires against me. All I want is to be happy with what I have with you, but it appears my desires are only growing, not fading, with time, and they eat me alive with every passing day.

I imagine your forehead against mine, with your hands on my waist. You lift your head, kissing me once on each eyelid, and I feel weaker than I ever have in my life.

I imagine your hands, removing my armor so that they may rest upon me, touching my back, my shoulders, my chest, all areas that I keep guarded under steel and promises. You disarm me, and I allow it. My foolish heart wishes to be vulnerable before you, for I know I will always be able to trust you with myself.

I imagine the lightest touches on my arms, spreading like trails of fire as your fingers slide along my person, and I let myself be consumed.

I imagine your lips pressing to mine, and I lose the ability to breathe.

I imagine your eyes, looking into mine, glowing with care and love and happiness, and I drown without a second thought.

Sometimes I dream of things I dare not write down here, my sweet, for it makes my face burn and my heart race and all I want to do is apologize for thinking of you in such a way. It feels terrible, as though I am taking advantage of you in my thoughts, and I fear that one day you will discover the fantasies of my mind and feel discomfort or disgusted by me.

If I ever lost you, Arthur, I know my world would shatter, and I would never become whole again.

Apologetically yours,

Lancelot

...

Arthur,

I can't stand it. Today, I cannot stand it at all.

I feel desperate, like a caged animal. I feel my soul clawing at my body from within, needing to come out and indulge. My composure is in shambles, my mind is in disarray, and though you are not at fault, it is all because of you.

Arthur, I burn for you. My heart screams and cries out and it's painful. Every inch of me aches for the smallest touch, I long for the basest of acknowledgement from you, a look, a word, a smile, Chaos, anything! Just the thought of you giving me your attention sends me into a fit, and I know that even the brush of your arm against mine as you pass me in the corridor would be enough to bring me to ecstasy!

My head is pounding, my ears playing and replaying the sound of my name coming from your lips, and I crave it. I crave you, my love, and it has never been so powerful or so consuming before. I don't know what is wrong with me. I don't know why today is the day that I might go mad. I am afraid, Arthur. I am afraid that my need for you is pushing me to the brink of madness and that I will not be able to stop myself from jumping down into it.

Arthur, the love of my life, how can I even begin to fully describe this? I've written so much and yet it is only a crumb of what is flaring inside me. I think of you and I burn up. You are not an inferno, for that is a small candle compared to the one that burns inside me. You are nothing less than the sun in the sky, approaching me to incinerate me in an instant, but even that feels like a pale comparison today.

Arthur, I am deeply sorry, but I fear writing this is only making things worse. I must stop before I

...

My love,

My upcoming mission to Acorn Kingdom is fast approaching. Soon it will be time for me to depart. I hope that, when that day comes, you are not too busy to see me off.

I will miss you terribly while I am gone, but I take peace in knowing that I am doing this for Avalon, and for you. To make this world a better place, and for you to have one less thing to worry about.

It's pathetic, is it not? As a knight, I should be focusing on the best for my kingdom, as I vowed to when you first let Caliburn descend upon my shoulders and gave to me my title, and yet I know the truth.

It's for you, Arthur. It's always been for you.

...

In his study, the king shoves away the stack of letters, his face burning as a chorus of emotion swells within him, unable to take the guilt at having read so many of Lancelot's secret letters. His hands tremble as he searches around his desk for something to write with.

...

Dear Lancelot,

My wonderful Lancelot,

To Lance,

My dearest

Lance,

Please come see me when you have a moment to yourself. Do not be afraid.

Yours,

Arthur

[anntoldst0ries]

shinrin-yoku (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.7k, PG Summary: When life's difficulties hit, Noelle navigates her way through them by turning to the nature. Category: Hurt & Comfort Warnings: mentions of trauma

A/N: May is a Mental Health Awareness month and here in the UK the theme is nature. My MC, just like me, runs to the woods when things get tough. It helps her clear her head and reconnect with inner strength.

I struggle with mental health myself and it’s important for me to speak up and address the subject. There is nothing worse than shaming or discrediting someone’s difficult feelings. It’s fine not to be fine.

If you struggle alone, please don’t. My inbox will welcome you with open arms. Two heads are better than one, even if we just complain, at least we can complain together 💜

For @choicesmaychallenge2021 Day 13 - Mental Health

SHINRIN-YOKU - A Japanese term for ‘forest bathing’ or the sense of well-being you experience while in nature.

~~

It all starts with a seed. This tiny element which, without aid, is sentenced to certain death. But give it the right soil. Give it water, sun. And it can grow. Into something big. Powerful. Scary.

~~

She is five years old.

They live in a townhouse, a classy Victorian era building. Undistinguished, one of many merging into the background of a typical London street. The colors are also very standard,  dirty white married to ivory beige, bar for the deep green door - their rebel child.

For the random passerby, it’s nothing special. But for her, the walls of a storey house encapsulate the whole world.

The garden behind the house is neat and clean, visibly well taken care of. She doesn’t remember exact details anymore, but she remembers begging her parents to go camping in the garden with her brother. The ticklish feeling of long and slim blades of grass on her tiny feet. Looking at the stars with pure awe and delight, that only the unspoiled mind of a child is capable of.

The plot of land that the house has been built on borders a beautiful forest. A wooden fence separates the two.

To her, it’s a passage to a magical world.

A world without any particular order, living its own life, unconstricted by rules. Not in the slightest does it resemble the garden on her side of the fence, where things grow according to the rules laid out by the adults.

There is a feeling inside her that she’s too young to name, to throw it in lingual context. It’s not until years later that she realized what it had been. Freedom. To grow however you please. To be what you want to be.

Robust, effuse trees tower over her, making her feel so small. As if she hasn’t already been feeling small enough, living in a world full of giants.

But they mean something else too. They bring a secret and a promise. Promise of a bigger world out there, far from the confines of the place she calls home.

The forest draws her, singing a melody that only her heart can understand. One day, she will be a part of it.

~~

She lives the teenage dream life.

That’s what everyone says.

She doesn’t have any real problems. She’s lucky not having to worry about money. She’s got friends. Her family is great. She just needs to stop whining. Her life is perfect.

Their words, not hers.

None of them know what happens behind closed doors.

The childhood forest is a cloudy memory. Her home is now thousands of miles away, in a city with a giant red bridge, which for some bizarre reason has ‘golden’ in its name.

But the call from nature doesn’t care about distance. It can find you about anywhere. It’s different and yet the same.

Because nature beats in one rhythm and speaks in the same language, everywhere.

The morning is chilly and humid. She’s wearing a wooly coat, carelessly threw on a pair of PJs hiding underneath.

Her steps are brisk, breathing short and heartbeat elevated. Something’s bothering her blanched face.

The voice, again.

When it first appeared, she thought it had her best interest at heart. Used to give her advice and like a good friend, ream her out when she did something bad.

Over time, things took a turn for the worse.

Snarky comments. Casually mentioned wrongdoings. Feedback on what she could have done better, differently.

Noelle hoped the voice would go away on its own.

It hasn’t.

Not only did the voice not go away, but it was actually growing stronger with each passing day. Became more vocal. Judgmental. Openly hostile.

It fed on her fears.

It’s your fault - it told her - that your parents are getting divorced.

You are not good enough.

Even a lie, repeated enough times, will finally become the truth. And so it did for her, to the point where she couldn’t distinguish her own voice from the voice of the tormentor. Sounds faded into one.

Whoever said words can cut like a knife was right. But those who knew thoughts could leave scars that are much deeper, were truly wise.

The young, beautiful girl who never hurt a soul, became a hostage. A prisoner locked in the jail of her own head.

A giant tear rolled down her face. Made of all the words her heart couldn’t say.

She hugged the tree tightly and inhaled the woodsy aroma, the scent filling her lungs fully.

It’s sensuous.

Just like that, she is small again.

~

She’s got all that she ever wanted.

Degree from one of the best medical schools. Graduating with honors and glowing recommendations from even the strictest professors, who kept assuring her that her future in medicine is so bright it’s actually blinding. Then, a dreamy residency in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

Pretty impressive, right? Even a fool could see that. But the only fool whose opinion she cared about, couldn’t. All these things were clearly not good enough for Ethan Ramsey to stay.

She wasn’t good enough for him to stay.

Not longer than a year ago he was just a concept, an ideal without a face, body and voice. To her, he was a celebrity, a hero, someone whom mortals don’t have access to.

It was preposterous to consider for even a second Dr Ramsey could actually see something in an intern.

Standing among the moss-covered trees, every fiber of her being was filled with the thought of him.

Did the Amazonian forest remind him of her, just like every forest around reminded her of him?

Just when she won the battle for her career, she lost another. Because life had to be a zero-sum game.

As painful as that would have been, she wished she had something to hold onto. A scene she could replay in her mind. An image of him walking away. Or saying goodbye.

But he left without a word.

That was the pattern. That was history repeating itself.

She took her shoes off and stepped on the soil frosted with morning dew. It’s cold and wet. It’s refreshing. She is grounding. Reconnecting with Earth.

Tunes in with the rivers of grass, towers of trees, fences of bushes.

If the trees could speak, they’d tell stories not many people would believe in.

Tales of heartbreaks. Parables of spirits.

They are all nature’s poems.

Hauntingly beautiful. Riveting. Written without a single word.

Because nature speaks its very own language that only the soul, not the mind, can understand.

Pain is ripping her apart. But it reminds her that she’s alive. And this, in itself, is a miracle.

~~

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Some people call her a survivor. But it doesn’t feel like the right word. So many things in her died. So much was lost.

The attack took a lot from her. Danny. Bobby. Sense of security. Identity. Direction.

Right and wrong, good and bad, righteous and vicious. These are all just words. Someone needs to come and teach her the meaning of them anew. Draw lines, mark out frontiers. Save her from herself.

The ground is soaked. Torrential rain turned the soil into soft mud, warm and easily slipping through her fingers. She falls on her knees, praying for the ground to consume her.

Fill every part of her. Silence the internal cacophony. To sink into oblivion.

Not many people knew about the panic attacks and recurring nightmares. They’re always the same.

She’s standing in the middle of a swamp. Danny and Bobby are drowning, their arms reaching out for her. She knows she can only save one of them. She runs out of time trying to figure out how to save both. As a result, they both die. Time stands still and yet everything is spinning, moving, racing. The reality is a riot of overbright colours.

Suddenly, a ring breaks the silence. A polyphonic intruder. She looks at the screen through hooded eyes and notices the caller’s name. It’s him. He’s petrified. Worried to death. Asks her to stay where she is.

Some time later, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour - who knows? - he emerges from the gathering of stocky oaks.

The moment he catches the sight of her, he starts running. She notices a lab coat underneath the jacket. He’s soaking wet.

Even though he is so close, he doesn’t slow down. Crashing into her, he scoops her in his arms. Catches her in the tightest of embraces.

Asks her if she’s fine. No. Not that question again. She’s tired of people fussing over her and gets angry.

Had it not been for the attack, would he even be here? The voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t matter to her. He’s there now.

Deep baritone is gentle and full of concern. It’s not like that. It’s not his intention to fuss. He’s simply worried. Because she is the most important thing to him in the whole world. Yes, he wasted so much time. That’s why he refuses to lose even one more second.

A dam breaks within her. Eliciting a quiet sob. She clutches his shirt, holds onto him for dear life. Moments later, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Singing her poignant birdsong.

How is she supposed to cope? Will things ever go back to normal? What is normal anyway?

In the confines of the infamous patient room she never felt more scared in her life. But here, out in the open, she feels so safe. As if she’s had a silent agreement with nature, which vouched to protect her at all costs.

And this time, nature had an ally. Because Ethan will protect her, even if it’s the last thing he does. Holding onto each other, they stand in the nothingness.

It keeps them grounded. Connected to their roots. Turning over new leaves. Bending before they break. Growing.

They get lost. Mother Nature has a reward for those who do. They have a chance to find themselves. Over and over again.

~~~

If you made it this far - thank you & you're awesome 🥰

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[magicaththedemigod]

an extensive analysis of “the song of achilles” by madeline miller

Or: things I noticed and couldn't keep to myself.

Because I just finished reading it and have many feelings about it, I've decided to compile all of them into a very lengthy Tumblr post.

This will be broken up into three parts:

1. Foreshadowing

2. Dramatic (and regular) Irony

3. Fatal Flaws

1. Foreshadowing

Miller does such a delightful job with foreshadowing. The number of quotes I could be spitting at you right now... but I digress. The main job of foreshadowing, especially in a tragedy like "The Song of Achilles," is to set the characters up for their tragedy.

What I like most about how Miller goes about it in this book is that she doesn't attempt to pull a shocking twist out of nowhere; instead, she takes an approach which allows the reader to fully marinate in their despair.

For example, this quote:

Achilles shook his head, impatiently. "But this was a greater punishment for her. It was not fair of them." "There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles," Chiron said. "And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?"

Let's take a moment and unpack some of this. For context, this is a conversation between Patroclus, Achilles, and their mentor Chiron. They're discussing the tale of Heracles, who's driven to madness and ends up killing his own wife and kids.

From reading the book, (SPOILER ALERT) you know that Achilles' own pride and honor end up forcing Patroclus to impersonate him in order to save the Greek army, and in doing so is killed by Hector. The fact that Chiron directs this question, "And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?" to Achilles, who is left behind after Patroclus' death is such delightful foreshadowing that I almost threw the book across the room when I first read it.

Achilles slumps into such a depression after Patroclus dies (really, after he kills Patroclus with his own fatal flaw), that he even loses the ability to care about his fame or honor anymore. He feels the greater grief, so to speak.

Even after he dies, Patroclus is left behind, unable to rest properly because they never put his name on the tomb. In that sense, Patroclus is then the one left behind, experiencing loneliness and grief.

The book is full of little hints like this, and that's part of why it's almost torture to read as someone who knows how the Iliad goes. As I said before: the foreshadowing in this book is meant to have the reader in pain from the beginning because you know nothing is going to work out in the end.

2. Dramatic (and regular) Irony

Yes, that's right. I'm about to rip into your soul.

Probably one of the biggest parts of classical Greek myths is dramatic irony (the audience knowing something the characters don't). In plays, the ending is almost always announced before the play begins. In fact, the audience most likely already knows the story from previous tellings or just general knowledge. It makes sense that it would be one of the biggest players in "The Song of Achilles."

As usual, let's start with a quote:

His eyes opened. "Name one hero who was happy." I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost his bride and father; Jason's children and new wife were murdered by his old; Bellerophon killed the Chimera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus' back. "You can't." He was sitting up now, leaning forward. "I can't." "I know. They never let you be famous and happy." He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll tell you a secret." "Tell me." I loved it when he was like this. "I'm going to be the first." He took my palm and held it to his. "Swear it." "Why me?" "Because you're the reason. Swear it." "I swear it," I said, lost in the high color of his cheeks, the flame in his eyes. "I swear it," he echoed. We sat like that a moment, hands touching. He grinned. "I feel like I could eat the world raw."

First of all: cute. Second of all: wow, so much pain.

As you know, Achilles is the opposite of happy at the end of the book (well, maybe after they die, but we'll get to that later). Though he swears it here with Patroclus, the two of them make decisions that ultimately lead to their downfall: Achilles decides to abandon the Greeks after they slighted his honor, Patroclus decides to help them even if it means risking his life, and Achilles lets him do it.

So let's talk about dramatic irony. The irony here is that you know, maybe just from this exchange alone, that Achilles isn't going to be the first happy hero. You know there is a war coming, know that Achilles and his famous heel will get himself killed. You might also know at this point that Patroclus will die first and send Achilles spiraling into grief before that happens.

It's painful, truly. Achilles spends his last days in utter agony, wanting to die but unable to kill himself, and Patroclus can only watch on as a ghost (spirit?). Even when Achilles does die and his ashes are put into their urn (seriously, how did any scholar ever think they weren't lovers?), they still have to wait to be reunited.

But there's still more. Consider these lines:

Hector's eyes are wide, but he will run no longer. He says, "Grant me this. Give my body to my family, when you have killed me." Achilles makes a sound like choking. "There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw."

Sound familiar? That's right: "I will kill you and eat you raw" sounds an awful lot like "I feel like I could eat the world raw," doesn't it? Another parallel from Miller: one from a time of happiness, the other from a time of extreme grief. However painful it is, I really live for connections like that.

And I've got one more for you:

Achilles shook his head. "Never. He is brave and strong, but that is all. He would break against Hector like water on a rock. So. It is me, or no one." "You will not do it." I tried not to let it sound like begging. "No." He was quiet a moment. "But I can see it. That's the strange thing. Like in a dream. I can see myself throwing the spear, see him fall. I walk up to the body and stand over it." Dread rose in my chest. I took a breath, forced it away. "And then what?" "That's the strangest of all. I look down at his blood and know my death is coming. But in the dream I do not mind. What I feel, most of all, is relief." "Do you think it can be prophecy?" The questions seemed to make him self-conscious. He shook his head. "No. I think it is nothing at all. A daydream." I forced my voice to match his in lightness. "I'm sure you're right. After all, Hector hasn't done anything to you."

See where I'm going with this? I don't think I need to explain this one.

3. Fatal Flaws

That's right, one of the most essential pieces for a tragedy: hamartia. For those who might not know, hamartia is the fatal flaw that ultimately leads to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine. In every single piece of classical greek writing, if the story is a tragedy, the main character will have a fatal flaw that makes it so.

Take Achilles:

I looked at the stone of his face, and despaired. “If you love me-”

“No!” His face was stiff with tension. “I cannot! If I yield, Agamemnon can dishonor me whenever he wishes. The kings will not respect me, nor the men!” He was breathless, as though he had run far. “Do you think I wish them all to die? But I cannot. I cannot! I will not let them take this from me!”

You probably already know what his fatal flaw is: pride. He needs the fame, needs the glorious memory of his deeds to live on forever, so badly that he is willing to sacrifice his life and what might’ve been a fulfilling and long life with Patroclus out of the limelight. His fatal flaw is what spurs each of his actions in the later half of the book, including the moment where he decides to leave the Greeks to their deaths for slandering him.

Even Patroclus has a fatal flaw: his love for Achilles.

That night I lay in bed beside Achilles. His face is innocent, sleep-smoothed and sweetly boyish. I love to see it. This is his truest self, earnest and guileless, full of mischief but without malice. He is lost in Agamemnon and Odysseus’ wily double meanings, their lies and games of power. They have confounded him, tied him to a stake and baited him. I stroke the soft skin of his forehead. I would untie him if I could. If he would let me.

Though riding into the center of the fighting, especially dressed as Achilles, will make Patroclus the prime target, he decides to do it anyway. And not out of fear for Achilles’s life; he knows how important his pride and reputation is to him, and out of desperation will do anything to keep Achilles from being devastated when it doesn’t work out for him.

(Honestly, this is the part where I start to hate Achilles for doing this to Patroclus... it’s like he doesn’t even consider Patroclus his equal and does everything without consulting him.)

Of course, Agamemnon has a fatal flaw as well. He is like the mirror image of Achilles, so proud and stubborn, righteous and arrogant. However, he is the darker image, the one that revels in taking things by force and, of course, raping women like Briseis. He serves as a poignant foil for Achilles, highlighting all the ways the traits they share can easily become corrupted. It’s part of why this novel works so well.

I hope you all enjoyed this book as much as I did. Truthfully, I did have a few problems with it, but I wanted to trying picking it apart anyway. And if you haven’t read the song of achilles... what are you doing reading these spoilers??