#Nasty experience man I am only ever take one commissions at a time after this queue | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaskierek · 3 years

Text

Wildflowers

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier had been friends for over two decades before Geralt forced them apart. Afterwards, he’d looked everywhere. The bard was nowhere to be found. Not even magic could find him. What had happened to his friend? ao3

Eight years into their partnership, Geralt was commissioned to rid a village of a nasty foglet that had taken up residency in a swamp at the centre of the neighbouring forest. The blacksmith, Filip, lived closest to the forest edge and had three young daughters who he feared for. He had collected money from the villagers in order to afford the Witcher’s services and had insisted on showing Geralt the way. He’d said the forest had many low-lying bogs and marshes, especially during this time of year.

Jaskier had been eager to join the Witcher, despite knowing that his outfit would return ruined, yet he’d been relegated to the role of babysitter.

“Come on, Geralt!” He whined, watching the Witcher swing his swords onto his back and collect the moondust he needed.

“No.” Came the simple response. Jaskier huffed.

“Honestly, why can’t Filip hire someone from the village for a night or leave the kids on their own? It’s not like they’re infants, and there’s three of them for goodness’ sake.”

“All of them have yet to reach the age of ten,” Geralt said in that rumbling voice of his as he walked up to the bard, gear on and a vaguely scolding look on his face, “and why hire someone to babysit when we’ve got a lovely and willing nanny here for free?”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped dramatically and he sputtered, trying to get past the offence and form a coherent sentence in response to Geralt’s shit-eating grin.

“You - I - listen here, Witcher - while I am lovely, there is no - how -“

The Witcher simply patted Jaskier on the head a bit harder than necessary, and stepped out of the room Filip had given them to get prepared.

“Ready?” The blacksmith asked. He stood in the doorway dressed in a thick, wool coat, hood over his head and straw-blonde hair peeking out from under his coif. He held a glass lantern in one hand and a sturdy, steel sword in another.

“You won’t need that.” Geralt grumbled, walking towards the man. Filip took what Jaskier knew to be an involuntary step back. The bard still winced. There was still a ways to go in Geralt’s image rehabilitation he was learning.

“I could help.” Filip countered weakly. Jaskier admired the man’s bravery, most tended to let the Witcher do what needed to be done with no care for his return or survival. Jaskier also didn’t doubt that Filip could have been of help. The man stood tall, with rounded shoulders from years of smithing, the thick coat only making him look bigger. He could definitely have been of help if-

“Silver swords kill beasts, your steel won’t do much harm.” Geralt said, walking past and heading to the door. “Better to just stay out of the way.”

Filip paused for a moment.

“Yes, well, I think I’d like to take it. For my own peace of mind.”

Geralt studied the man over his shoulder before seemingly accepting that there was not much else to say on the subject and the two left. Jaskier tapped his foot uncertainly before running to the door and swinging it open.

“Oi! Witcher! I am very much not willing and this is very much not for free! I am expecting compensation!” He yelled out to the shrinking figures.

“Fuck off, Jaskier.” Jaskier could just make out Geralt’s gruff but amused reply through the whipping of the wind. He smiled and returned inside, only to be faced with three pairs of large brown eyes. Startled a little, he smiled tentatively. Unlike their father, all three girls had reddish-brown hair and gentle features.

“You must be Filip’s daughters.” He said in way of greeting. He received an eerily unison blink. “Right uh…you should be in bed.”

“Where’s daddy gone?” The tallest one to the left asked.

“He…he went to go show his friend something.” Jaskier responded, trying not to worry the children.

“That man is a Witcher.”

Jaskier paused, not really knowing what to say and eventually settling on a slow “yes, he is.”

“Daddy’s not friends with Witchers.”

“Well, he is now.”

“But Witchers can’t have friends.”

“Now that’s just not true. Who told you that?” Jaskier asked, a bit peeved. They just blinked again and didn’t respond. “Ok, well, that’s not true because I’m friends with a Witcher.” He huffed, whether or not the friendship was mutual was still a bit in question for him.

The girls stared at him silently and Jaskier was honestly at a loss. He hadn’t had much experience with children, apart from singing the occasional fairy tale or nursery rhyme.

“Would you like me to play you a song?” He asked, fingers twitching to hold his lute.

“No.” They all said monotonously. Alright, really, were all children this difficult? And this…synchronised?

“You really should be going to bed then.”

“Can you paint?” The smallest one asked suddenly. Jaskier frowned at the question, a bit confused.

Thats how Geralt and Filip found him three hours later. Paints and unfinished artworks scattered around the floor and at the centre of it all, a very colourful bard. He sat on the floor, legs spread out as three auburn-haired little girls stood around him, paintbrushes in hand.

Filip laughed loudly. “I just bought them all paints and parchment two days ago.” He commented, taking his coat off.

“You don’t say.” Jaskier responded sarcastically as one of the girls poked at his temple with a green brush. He had rolled up his sleeves and trousers to give them some more space to work and also to avoid as much paint on his clothes as he could. It hadn’t worked very well as evidenced by the many drips and smears on his purple doublet. His face, arms and legs were covered in mostly yellow smudges, with a couple of green and pink accents here and there.

The girls hadn’t reacted much to their father’s return, nor to the intimidating presence of the Witcher. Speaking of, Geralt was currently leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking very entertained. Jaskier tried to communicate with his eyes that he was in dire need of aid, yet the cruel man did nothing but observe the multicoloured bard and the three little girls dancing around him.

“Ok, girls,” Filip said, coming over and kneeling beside them, gently removing a paintbrush from the youngest’s hand, “time to say goodbye and go to bed, hm?”

“Do you like our painting, daddy?” She asked, blinking those big brown eyes at him. They all looked very pleased with their work. Filip’s eyes looked over to Jaskier, giving him a once-over and smiling apologetically.

“Yes, love, it’s gorgeous as always. Now bed?” He tried again, reaching out to the others. Jaskier didn’t know how happy he was at being called an “it” but decided to hold his tongue for now. The brushes were all handed over. They themselves were smeared with paint as well, nowhere near as much as the bard though. He was more canvas than a bard at this point.

Filip told Geralt and Jaskier that he’d wash the girls - and their sheets - tomorrow and that they could have the bath for tonight, both men in desperate need of a wash.

Geralt, in a rare show of mercy, allowed Jaskier to go first. He sat by the wall, listening to the bard complain about how difficult the paint was to scrub off. He couldn’t help but let out an amused huff occasionally, earning a sour look from the bard.

“Oh, how you revel in my misery.” He muttered. Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Now we know that you’re not cut out to be a nanny after all.” Geralt teased.

“All things considered, I think I did an alright job.”

“Jaskier, you’re yellow.”

Being glared at by a wet bard sitting in yellow water was not the most intimidated the Witcher had ever been.

Not long after, Jaskier stepped out of the wooden bath and Geralt stepped in.

The Witcher melted into the tub as Jaskier’s nimble fingers threaded through his hair. Albeit, a bit rougher than usual. He had started using his own soaps and oils on Geralt, leaving his hair soft and shiny. He could tell Geralt liked it, despite his complaints that it left him smelling like rose water and cloves. It was a pleasant scent though.

“Why’d they paint you yellow?” Geralt asked placidly, eyes closed. Jaskier laughed softly.

“I told them what my name meant. I was meant to look like a field of buttercups, I presume.” He replied fondly. Geralt hummed. They bathed in silence for a while until Jaskier said softly; “the second eldest one is called Julia. She told me the name means strength.”

Geralt said nothing, sensing the bard’s mood had changed.

“I had a sister once.” Jaskier continued. Though surprised, Geralt made no comment. “Her name was Julia.” Silence fell again as Jaskier gently pushed Geralt’s shoulder. The Witcher moved at the pressure, allowing the bard to tilt his head back and rinse his hair off.

“Julka przed samotnością nie odczuwa lęku, bo to dziewczyna pełna wdzięku.” Jaskier said, more to himself than to the Witcher.

“What does it mean?”

“In the face of loneliness, Julka is not afraid,” Jaskier whispered, recalling the old saying, “because she is a girl full of grace.”

Geralt clenched his eyes tighter, not knowing what to say in the face of Jaskier’s gentle grief.

Geralt had stared down that same face of loneliness. Could he say that he’d confronted it fearlessly?

Jaskier ran his fingers through the Witcher’s hair one last time and gave it a hard tug.

“That’s for calling me a nanny again.” He remarked weakly. Geralt opened his eyes, watching Jaskier walk away and change into his night clothes.

The face of loneliness seemed to blur.

Filip allowed them to stay the night and they left early the next day. Geralt was prepping Roach when Filip’s three young girls ran up to him, the one in the middle holding a bag of coin. The blacksmith was crouched in the doorway, watching them with a small smile.

“This is for you.” The one in the centre said very seriously, handing over the payment with an air of importance. Not an ounce of fear showed on any of their faces. Geralt felt vague concern over their survival instincts.

“Er…thank you.” Geralt said awkwardly, taking the money. He was about to stuff it into Roach’s saddle before he thought better of it and placed it gently into his breast pocket, patting it to reassure the girl that he’d keep it safe. She smiled brightly at him and the three of them blinked at the same time. Geralt could only blink in return, not knowing where to go from there.

“Goodbye, Jaskier’s friend!” They announced and scurried off. Jaskier was just coming out of the house as they ran past, giggling. He jumped out of the way with a yelp, eyes following them bemusedly. Looking back to Geralt, he raised a brow. The Witcher simply shrugged. Jaskier laughed.

No, loneliness did not feel as present anymore.

—

Eleven years into their familiarity, Jaskier asked a question.

“I wonder what it feels like to die.”

Geralt had sensed his miserable mood all day. He’d been quiet and he hadn’t touched his lute or hummed a melody and strangest of all, he’d done what Geralt had told him. He’d stayed at the camp when Geralt had taken a contract to get rid of a wild boar and he’d collected firewood with no complaints when told.

Geralt sensed Jaskier’s unhappiness, he knew something was wrong, yet he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help. The very fact that he wanted to help, instead of revelling in the silence, came as a surprise. Jaskier’s statement was even more of a surprise. The casual way he said it jarred with the reality that this was the first thing Jaskier had said in hours.

They stared at each other from across the fire between them. Jaskier’s cornflower eyes lustreless and not expectant of an answer.

“I know what it feels like.” Geralt responded, own voice gruff from disuse. He could tell that he’d startled the bard. Jaskier’s blue eyes suddenly cleared and glinted with concern.

“How…how do you know what it feels like to die?” Jaskier asked and Geralt was surprised by the emotion behind his words.

“There are many ways to die, bard.”

Jaskier frowned.

“How do you know what it feels like to die, Geralt?” Jaskier pressed.

“I do not know what death feels like, but I am familiar with the journey.”

Geralt didn’t know whether he was skirting around the question on purpose. The initial response to Jaskier’s statement of a question had come unbidden and honest. Now he could feel heat under his skin and an urge to sneer and turn tail. He couldn’t do that though, not now, not with Jaskier as he’s been all day.

“Geralt, you-“

“Jaskier,” He cut him off, then stopped himself. He took a breath, “I can’t imagine a Witcher who isn’t familiar with the experience.” Jaskier shut his mouth and remained silent, an unspoken offer to continue. Geralt accepted the moment of quiet, taking the opportunity to arrange his thoughts and suppress the grief that had suddenly swelled in him.

“When boys were recruited to become Witchers, they underwent mutations that most did not survive.” Jaskier nodded, this Geralt had told him before, “They put elixirs, poisons and mutagens into our tea for days beforehand and when we were immobilised, they injected them directly into our veins. Most who did not die immediately, died by the third day. Those who did not die by the third day, went mad from the pain -“

Geralt stopped, hesitating, eyes drifting to the writhing flames between them.

He remembered their glassy eyes, unseeing. Nothing existed but their agony. They’d scream themselves hoarse, shredding vocal chords and vomiting out blood. He knew that he must’ve been the same but he could not remember anything he did while undergoing the mutations. Nothing existed, nothing mattered, but the torment.

Geralt looked back at Jaskier, who’s gaze remained strong and level, though sad.

“After we went mad with pain, they injected us again. We were all restrained, of course, otherwise we would have torn our skin off to find some relief. This round of mutagens induced seizures, hallucinations, and in our weakened state, our body had to fight the viruses. On the seventh day, three out of ten boys woke with cat eyes, the rest were dead.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment.

“I did not…I woke up with human eyes. The mutagens hadn’t worked on me to the extent they had worked on the others. I was uniquely resistant.” The words sounded bitter. “They gave me a couple of extra rounds and that’s why you won’t ever find another white wolf, bard.”

Jaskier remained silent. Geralt saw tears had slipped down his face, the reflection of the fire turning them gold. Geralt couldn’t stand the thought of tears being spilled for him but he stayed quiet, he found he had no more words to give.

“That’s not dying.” Jaskier finally said, voice unwavering through the tears. “That’s not dying. That’s torture. That’s something that no one should go through, let alone a child. You don’t know what it’s like to die, Geralt, and you won’t know for a long time to come.”

Geralt didn’t know who he was trying to convince.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“Jaskier,” The Witcher tried to make his tone gentle, “Witchers don’t retire. I know what it’s like to bleed out. That is likely my fate.” Jaskier flinched and looked down at his hands, clenched around each other, knuckles white. Golden tears slipped between his fingers.

“What does it feel like to bleed out?” He whispered so quietly that Geralt wouldn’t have heard him had he not been what he was. He frowned, but complied.

“You’re thirsty and your tongue feels swollen. Your vision becomes distorted and blurry. You feel a numbness as your head pounds with pressure. You can’t stand for long, so you’re left bleeding out on the ground, trembling and sweating, feeling like you’re going to vomit.” Jaskier’s shoulders were trembling. Geralt couldn’t stop. “You feel like you just want to rest your head forever.”

Finally, Jaskier broke, a sob breaking out past his lips, only for more to follow. It felt like the whole day had been building to this breaking point and Geralt itched to hold him. Let Jaskier release all that had been welling inside him. Geralt stayed, staring at him through the fire, sure that his own grief was showing.

“Geralt?” Came Jaskier’s small voice, head finally rising to look at Geralt. His eyes were red and tears fell freely.

“Yes?”

“Has this happened since we’ve met?”

A pause.

“Once.”

“You didn’t tell me.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, yet it sounded hurt.

Geralt suddenly felt guilty. He hadn’t thought it information that Jaskier needed, or wanted, to know. He’d clearly been healed and the next time they had run into each other had been months after the incident. Geralt himself hadn’t thought much of it. Yet now he felt guilty, it felt as if he had withheld something from the bard. He didn’t know why the thought of him keeping secrets from the man sparked a pain in his chest. He couldn’t stand to look at the hurt in those blue eyes so he looked away.

“I understand why you didn’t, Geralt, I don’t blame you…just - just please -“ the bard’s voice broke. He took a moment to breath in, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Please tell me, whether I’m around to help or not. I can’t - I can’t be a part of your life and not know. I -“

“Okay, I will.” Amber eyes locked with blue, reflecting the same flame. They gazed at each other for a time. Then, the bard rose on unsteady feet, rounding the fire and sitting beside the Witcher.

“I meant what I said. You won’t know death for a long time, dear friend. You will live for a good while yet.” He stated with no room for argument. Geralt couldn’t help but smile.

“Does destiny will it?”

“No,” said his friend, “I do.”

And so they sat for the rest of the evening. Golden eyes and golden tears.

—

Fourteen years into their friendship, there was a meadow.

It was spring and the meadow was blanketed by buttercups and dandelions and daisies and wild lupine. It was a messy quilt of colours that beckoned the bard forwards. The Witcher had taken notice of Jaskier’s love for spring, he’d taken note of a lot of things. He watched Jaskier run into the field, voice bubbling with laughter.

“Geralt look at this! It’s exquisite! We have to break here.” He was grinning at Geralt in his faded blue doublet. Geralt ached at that smile. He reluctantly agreed. How could he not?

That’s how they’d spent an all too rare afternoon lying on a sunny patch of grass. Geralt listening to the bard talk and hum, feeling the gentle heat from the sun-warmed ground seep in through his clothes, and when he opened his eyes he watched. He watched birds flit between trees and leaves shuffle in the breeze. He watched the bard blow a dandelion, blue eyes following the fluff as it glided through the air. Then those blue eyes turned to him and Jaskier smiled.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to learn, dear friend?” Suspecting another long Jaskier ramble, Geralt closed his eyes and hummed noncommittally. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to braid a flower garland.”

“Hmm, you don’t already know?” What with Jaskier’s love for spring, Geralt would have assumed that something as simple as making a flower crown would have easily found its way into the bard’s skill set.

“I suppose I’ve never had the opportunity.”

“Hm.” Geralt responded, mulling it over. They lapsed into a calm silence, well as much of a silence as one can get with a humming bard collecting flowers.

It was noon and the sun was overhead, its brightness filtering through his eyelids.

The humming stopped and he heard an excited “Geralt?”

“What, Jaskier?” He sighed.

“Teach me how to make a wreath.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, you grumpy Witcher.”

“No.”

“But just look at these beautiful blossoms, it’d be such a shame not to put them to use.”

“Flowers have no use to anyone other than bees. Unless you’ve found some verbena or white myrtle.”

“How cynical of you, I can hardly believe it.” Geralt snorted at that. “Flowers have many uses, some of which I will detail to you now.”

“Please don’t-”

“Flowers are used for beautiful arrangements, placed at the centre of dinner tables or on mantelpieces, for magnificent perfumes that attract even the most stoic, and they create the most darling garlands, of which I am dying to learn the craft and am imploring my dear friend to teach me.”

Geralt groaned and opened his eyes to glare at the bard who was grinning cheekily at him.

“You are a pain in my ass, bard.” He acquiesced, knowing that Jaskier would take it as the acceptance that it is.

Sitting upright, he saw that Jaskier had already collected a bundle of wildflowers. Cornflowers and daisies and a myriad of others lay between them as they sat crosslegged, facing each other. Geralt’s hand immediately drifted to the cornflower nearest to him.

“It’s easier when you have a circle of string to wrap the stems around,” Geralt began, glancing back up at the sun-lit blue eyes looking right back at him, “but we’ve no string to spare. So once you’ve picked your starting flower, you pick another and wrap the stem a way’s down the stem of your first. Then you pick a third and wrap it around the stems of the first two.”

“A bit like braiding.”

“More like weaving,” Geralt explained, already a couple of flowers down his chain, “and then you keep adding more.”

Quiet settled between them once more. Geralt looked up every so often to check the bard’s progress, watching his nimble fingers weave his crown of flowers, rarely faulting. His eyes would wander up to Jaskier’s face, the bard’s brows frowning in concentration. The Witcher allowed himself a small smile. Jaskier had once told Geralt to alert him whenever he’d do this, hating the thought of wrinkles between his brows. Geralt of course never did. After all, it wasn’t his job to look out for the bard’s skin when it wasn’t being threatened by beasts or cuckolded spouses.

Geralt finished his garland first, realising that it consisted mostly of blue cornflowers and yellow dandelions and buttercups, broken up occasionally by reds.

“Complementary colours.”

“Hm?” Geralt asked, looking up at the bard.

“Yellow and blue. They complement each other. Honestly, Geralt, it’s simple colour theory.”

Geralt levelled him an unamused look, sending him back to work. Not long after, he watched the finishings of Jaskier’s own crown. An eager gaze slid up to Geralt’s face, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“No.” Came Geralt’s instant response.

“Please Geralt.” Jaskier whined. “No one’s here, your reputation is safe.” Geralt grunted, scowling at the bard whose big, blue eyes were pleading with him. With a sigh he reluctantly agreed. How could he not?

Jaskier’s own wreath was more varied than Geralt’s, with white daisies and purple aster and multicoloured poppies. Geralt let Jaskier shuffle closer, raising himself up on his knees so he could crown his Witcher in blossoms. Geralt watched his delighted face as he arranged the flowers just right, fingers grazing and pushing back the Witcher’s white hair. Geralt resisted the urge to lean into the touch. The gentle hands fell to his shoulders, warm gaze falling to look into yellow eyes.

“I’d write a song about this, a Witcher in a flower crown, if I didn’t think it’d be very unpopular.”

Geralt growled, glaring up at him.

“Ah, yes, and also because you’d gut me on the spot.” Jaskier added on. “I must say though, you look very dashing.”

Geralt didn’t say anything to that. He continued to stare up at the bard, glad that the man was happy, and content to be in his presence in a rare moment of peace.

“Now, my dear, I must wear yours.” Jaskier said. Geralt blinked then looked down at the wreath in his hands. Jaskier sat back, awaiting his floral coronation. Geralt smiled softly as he placed the crown on Jaskier’s head. It was a bit big for the bard’s head and pushed his fringe further into his eyes as it slipped down his head slightly. Snorting, Geralt pushed the brown hair from Jaskier’s face, fingers brushing his cheek as he pulled back. He found himself longing to touch him again but pulled away at the look of wonder in the bard’s eyes.

Jaskier went on to make another garland for Roach, making a show of crowning her “Lady of the Meadowland”. It was all very ridiculous so Geralt closed his eyes again and lay back onto the sun-warmed grass. He heard Jaskier amble over, felt his presence as he lay beside him with a deep sigh.

Geralt cracked an eye open to look at him. His eyes were closed. The sun turned his brown hair bronze, blue and yellow petals resting there crookedly. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier belonged here.

He belonged among the sun and the wildflowers.

—

Sixteen years into whatever the fuck they were and Geralt had been hired to kill a Griffin.

Fucking griffins and their fucking talons.

Geralt felt the ground pull at him magnetically.

He’d lost a lot of blood.

He stumbled to the ground.

He would have been content to press his feverish face into the cool, damp grass and simply lay there, if it hadn’t been for a single thought in his head.

Jaskier.

“Please tell me, whether I’m around to help or not.”

Fuck.

He pushed himself up shakily, a stab of pain pierced through the pressure in his head. He tried blinking past the faded edges of his vision and the spots floating between the trees like black will o’ the wisps.

He stumbled forward, hands pressed to his stomach. They didn’t do much to stop the heavy flow of blood gushing out of him. His fingers were numb but the rest of him was warm, so warm. He had to make it back, he couldn’t die without seeing Jaskier one more time. He couldn’t die here alone.

The face of loneliness came into focus amidst the blurry forest.

Somehow he made it back to the camp. Jaskier’s back was to him. He was stroking Roach’s snout, singing to her softly. It was a lullaby Jaskier sang whenever either of them couldn’t sleep. Geralt smiled in relief, the pressure in is head lifting slightly at the familiar sound.

“Jaskier.” The bards name fell out of him like a breath. Finally, he let the ground pull him down.

He woke up again in rather large bed, head cushioned on a feather pillow. Looking around he saw a glass of water on the desk in the corner, a painting of a long-bearded, angry-looking man on the wall across from him and a silk sheet covering him up to his bare chest. He frowned. This was not the typical establishment he was accustomed to.

Shifting slightly, he felt a weight on his arm. Confused, he looked to the right to find a mess of brown hair resting on his bicep. Geralt blinked, eyes widening. Jaskier was clearly asleep, curled around his side, head on his arm and hand resting in Geralt’s loose fingers. The Witcher suddenly felt warm and couldn’t help but tighten his hand around the bard’s.

While closing his hand, he involuntarily closed his other one, feeling something hard and cool under his fingers. Lifting it to his face, he saw that it was actually a stone, vaguely triangular in shape, with a wonky hole in the middle. What was strangest however, were the smudgy yellow flowers that had been painted around the hole. He assumed they were flowers as he could just make out some petals and wobbly, green stems.

Putting the mystery aside for a moment, he placed the stone down on the bed beside him. Removing his covers gently so as not to wake Jaskier, Geralt felt along his bandaged belly. The pain wasn’t too bad, more of an ache than anything and that could’ve simply been from the blood loss.

He wondered where they were. Their camp hadn’t been too far from a town, but that meant that Jaskier had somehow lifted him onto Roach and galloped through the forest and into town in search of a healer. Geralt knew that the bard was strong, muscle lined his arms and legs, tightened his stomach when he stepped into cold water. Almost two decades of joining Geralt on the path had given him a rather large build. Nevertheless, a limp Witcher was no easy feat to lift, especially onto a horse.

He felt Jaskier stir beside him. His head was still towards him but he could tell he’d opened his eyes because he promptly covered the Witcher back up with the silk cover he’d peeled off earlier. Geralt shifted and suddenly big, blue eyes were looking up at him. From this angle, he could see that the bard’s feet had been hanging off the edge of the bed from his position on Geralt’s arm.

“Geralt!” He exclaimed, smiling brightly. “You’re awake.” Geralt gave a soft grunt in response. “How are you feeling?” Jaskier asked, sitting up. He realised he was still holding onto Jaskier’s hand, so he let it go reluctantly, allowing the bard to pull it out of his grip.

“Like I lost most of my blood.”

“Ha ha.” Jaskier said humourlessly. Geralt sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked finally. He knew Jaskier was upset but he didn’t know what kind of upset it was. Angry? Sad? Annoyed?

“I was,” Jaskier began. Geralt’s jaw tightened and Jaskier grasped his hand comfortingly. “But then I realised that I had no reason to be upset with you, I think my feelings of fear and concern got a bit muddled. Geralt, I was fucking terrified.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault, it was just…a lot.” Geralt winced and looked back to the bard. He was looking at their joined hands, blue eyes hazy and far away. Geralt didn’t know what he was seeing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He gave Jaskier’s hand a tight squeeze, bringing him back. Jaskier smiled at him sheepishly.

“Were you surprised to wake up?” The bard asked. Geralt thought for a moment.

“No.”

“No?”

Geralt raised a brow, not entirely knowing what Jaskier wanted him to say. No, he wasn’t surprised. His only thought had been Jaskier. That he wanted to see him again. He wasn’t thinking much of being healed or waking later. Yet now that he thought about it, there wasn’t much doubt in him that Jaskier would help him in whatever way he could.

A thought came into Geralt’s mind.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising the painted stone. A blush tinged Jaskier’s cheeks pink.

“Ah…it’s a - it’s a hagstone.”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I see that, why was it in my hand and why is it covered in flowers?”

“Well, if you don’t like it, I’ll take it back.” Jaskier said pettishly, reaching for it. Geralt pulled it out of his reach.

“No, I want it.” Geralt said, grinning. Jaskier dropped his hand and huffed, looking away.

“Remember when you left me to babysit those three girls a couple of years ago?”

Geralt blinked, vaguely recalling three sets off big brown eyes.

“They painted you yellow.”

“They painted buttercups, just…on me.”

“They painted you yellow.”

“Yes, okay, thank you.” Jaskier sighed, rolling his eyes. “The hagstone dropped out of my pocket and they…painted that too.” He smiled sheepishly.

That was nearly a decade ago. Geralt couldn’t believe he’d held onto it for that long. He pulled it closer so he could examine it genuinely. He could make out the smudgy, yellow petals attached to green stems. They were dotted around the stone, growing in a cluster. The yellow paint had remained fairly unfaded. Geralt rubbed his thumb over the stone.

“You can keep it if you want.” Jaskier said. Geralt turned to find him already looking at him, eyebrow raised and smiling. The look of sincerity on the bard’s face had Geralt looking away.

“Why did you put it in my hand?”

“They’re for protection and healing. Surely you know that.”

Geralt knew what they were for, theoretically. The protective powers of witch stones were a myth though, just humans placing undue importance on an unusual rock. In reality, it was just that. A rock. One that had been eroded by water or animals. Geralt didn’t say anything though.

He didn’t know if he could say anything. Jaskier had carried this stone with him for a decade, maybe more, hoping for protection and now he was giving it to him. A Witcher who, by all appearances, didn’t want nor need luck. The bottom line was that the bard wanted him safe and Geralt had absolutely no way of dealing with that.

“They’re also used to keep witches away,” Jaskier continued, “useful incase we ever cross paths with Yennefer again.”

Geralt snorted.

“She’s a sorceress.” He countered

“And I’m a musician. It doesn’t mean I’m not also a bard.” Jaskier sniffed disdainfully. He pushed himself up the bed so he was leaning against the headboard and sitting next to Geralt. He continued to talk, allowing the Witcher to simply listen and think about how close their hands were between them.

—

Twenty two years since they met.

The wind bit at him, seeking to push him off his feet as he looked down at the snarling Witcher.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shovelling it?”

“That’s not fair.” He couldn’t help protesting weakly.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” Geralt gritted out between clenched teeth, amber eyes burning with emotion, he was practically shaking with it.

Jaskier stood and watched as the Witcher turned and stormed further away from him. Tension and aggression written into the way Geralt’s shoulders tensed, fists tight, arms loose, ready to attack. Jaskier had seen Geralt like this before, more times than he could count, but it had never been directed at him. No matter how many times he irritated the Witcher or inadvertently gotten them into trouble, Geralt never had more for him than a hard glare and some frustrated shouts.

This was different. This felt final. This felt like the end. The inevitable conclusion to his tragic love story because fuck him, he’d fallen in love with a man sworn to someone else.

“Right, uh,” Jaskier managed to get out, suddenly finding it difficult to breath, “right, then,” he tried again, looking away, eyes blinking rapidly, “I’ll - I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.” He turned and walked away, his attempt at casualness flimsy and transparent.

While Geralt berated destiny, fought against it and ignored it wholeheartedly, Jaskier accepted his fate because he had always known it was coming.

But, damn, did it hurt.

He didn’t get the rest of the story.

He stuffed all of his belongings into a bag, slung his lute over his shoulder, gave Roach one last, teary-eyed hug and ran. Geralt had walked away from him, both physically and metaphorically, and now Jaskier needed as much space between them as possible. He ran down the mountain, tripping on uneven paths and scratching his hands bloody. The burn in his lungs and chest felt poetic.

In the last two decades of his life, he and Geralt had always found their way back to each other after weeks or months apart. Sure, he’d keep an ear out for news of a Witcher but most of the time, Melitele save him, it had been a gods-honest accident. The romantic that he is believed it to be fate, and perhaps it was, but he knew now that it wasn’t the kind sort.

Fate was cruel and maleficent, making him believe that their hearts were intertwined when in reality it had been a ploy to torture them both in the end. Destiny left Jaskier heartbroken and Geralt with a life he didn’t want.

—

Some part of his mind registered Jaskier walking away.

Most of it was focused on containing the pain.

He had felt it slowly bloom in his chest at Yennefer’s weak “that’s why we can’t escape each other?” Anguish and bitterness in her voice. From there it had unfurled and spread throughout his body, the emotion burning him from the inside.

His being was now solely fixated on not letting it spread further.

Again, some part of him registered that it already had, it had spread to the bard, it had lashed out at him.

He felt like a flaming whip pulled taught. He felt in in his shoulders, his fists, his jaw.

He breathed in deeply.

His eyes were wet. He tried focusing them on the green valley below.

He breathed out and sunk to his knees.

He waited for the rushing noise in his head to stop.

His cheeks were wet.

He turned around. Yennefer was gone. Jaskier too.

So were their things when he returned to camp.

He breathed in and wailed.

—

The world was dull to him. The trees were not as green. The shades of blue across cornflower petals didn’t look the same anymore.

The world was quiet to him. Too quiet. Something was missing.

Never did he think the world would be dull and quiet. It had always been the opposite, too much, too loud.

He missed Jaskier desperately.

He hadn’t found him again since the mountain.

He could tell Roach missed him too.

Snippets of songs and melodies that had Jaskier’s mark drifted here and there. They were never him. How strange it was to hear others recount his own tales when he had grown so used to Jaskier being the only one.

For the first six months, he’d kept an ear out for any gossip of the famous bard but he had always seemed to arrive just a few days behind. Two months later and the chatter had dried up. No one had seen the bard, no one sang any new songs of his. He had searched the continent, gone to the coast, gone to Jaskier’s own town and found no sign of him.

It was like he had ceased to exist and so, Geralt’s world was dull and quiet.

The face of loneliness had never been clearer.

After those first eight months, he’d also started sleeping poorly.

Before, he’d been a light sleeper, ready to jump out of his bedroll fully aware and ready to defend. It came with being a Witcher. Although, admittedly, the nights spent in inns, on a relatively soft mattress, with a sleep-warm bard next to him had left him sleeping a bit deeper, waking a bit dazed.

Yet after those eight months, he’d slept restlessly. He’d dream of a weeping willow, drooping sadly. He’d dream of an open field and oddly wake up feeling caged.

When he himself found no sign of the bard, he’d gone to one of the few people he trusted, Triss Merigold. He had given her an old undershirt that Jaskier had forgotten to take with him. He made her try for three days before she had finally said “I really am sorry, Geralt, but truly, I can find no sign of your friend.” Geralt took the soft material back. “I fear he’s -“

“Don’t.” Whatever look he’d had on his face made her snap her mouth shut. Dark eyes looked at him with pity as he had turned, dropped some coin and left.

He’d go to Yennefer next.

“Geralt,” she greeted tensely, “didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

Geralt had found Yennefer a few months after the dragon contract. They’d agreed that though they cared for each other deeply, it was best for them to have space, to move on. Geralt hoped desperately that one day they would become friends. Yennefer, though difficult and battle-hardened, remained fair and kind, one of the only people with whom Geralt shared easy conversation.

There was a longing between them, one that both knew was not falsified by the djinn. Neither knew what sort of longing they felt. One of friendship, companionship, understanding? Time and space would let them learn.

“I know,” He muttered apologetically, “I need your help.”

“You look awful.” She simply responded. Geralt winced. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

The Witcher opted for silence. He knew that she had heard him and knew that she was studying him, pondering his request.

“What do you need?” She asked finally, tone not one of acceptance but of curiosity.

“Jaskier.” The word came out sounding more distressed than he had intended. It was harder to maintain a mask through sleep deprivation. Yennefer’s expression briefly shifted to one of concern.

“What happened?”

Geralt’s throat suddenly felt compressed. Those two words somehow confirming that something had happened. Something had to have happened if he and Triss couldn’t find him.

Fear was a terrifying emotion because he truly didn’t know what he would do to end it.

“I…I don’t know. I can’t find him and neither can Triss.” Geralt pulled out the same shirt he had given to the other sorceress, gripping the folded fabric tightly in his hands. He looked up at Yennefer to find her looking right back with a sort of unease. “Please,” he said, offering the garment to her, “track him if you can.”

She stared at the shirt apprehensively, gaze snapping up to Geralt’s, looking for something. Finally, she sighed and turned to walk over to a large bookshelf, pulling out a thick, yellow-paged tome that had clearly not been removed for a good while.

“You’re lucky night is falling,” she said, stepping outside, not waiting for Geralt to follow. He did. “If regular tracking didn’t work, we’ll have to do it the hard way.” She walked to the middle of her large garden, sitting cross-legged in the grass, wine-coloured dress pooling around her. Geralt approached, ready to be told off and to step back, yet Yennefer said nothing as he sat down across from her.

The sorceress flipped the tome open to the centre, each side resting on a knee. Each side also being a couple inches thick. Tucked into the middle, between the two pages was a thin, silver geometrical compass. Yennefer lifted it with an elegant hand and placed it over one of the many configurations on the page. Geralt’s limited knowledge allowed him to surmise that they were astronomical. He looked up to the sky and the stars that he only knew to use for navigation.

“The shirt.” Yennefer said sharply, snapping his gaze back down to her and her outstretched hand. Shirt in one hand, compass in the other and tome on her lap, she began to speak. It was some variation of Elder. Geralt, only knowing the basics of the root language, was left clueless as the space above the book began to glow.

The light transformed the yellowed pages gold, illuminating Yennefer’s perfect features and making her look all the part of the powerful mage he knew she was. She dropped the shirt on the grass between them. Violet eyes looked up to the stars, compass travelling across the golden pages of the book. She flipped back and forth between the pages, her eyes shooting between stars. The compass twisted in complicated circular motions across configurations.

The light began to die slowly, Yennefer’s words slowing to a stop as she closed her eyes, clearly disappointed. Geralt’s stomach dropped and he felt like he might throw up the paltry dinner he’d had a few hours earlier.

“Yennefer, please -“

“I’m not done yet, Geralt.” She responded sharply before taking a breath, “I need something personal to him, something with an emotional connection. I may not be able to find his physical body,” because he may be dead was left unsaid “but I can perhaps find his spirit.”

Geralt tried to keep the devastation off his face at the implication.

An emotional connection. He knew immediately what to give her. A small pocket in the side of his leather armour held a painted witch stone. He gently pulled it out, rubbing his thumb over the messy petals of the buttercups. Yennefer didn’t comment on the item, though she looked at him with pinched brows. He placed the stone in the sorceress’ outstretched palm.

The golden light returned and Geralt watched as the sorceress studied the stars, measuring out constellations and distances in her book. Geralt had never been one for religion but he prayed, prayed for something.

Again, the light faded and Yennefer looked to him with a frown.

—

He’d been looking for tracks in the large forested area Yennefer had pointed him to. He’d been looking for two days and nothing had been found.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he was looking for. Yennefer had been unable to find his body but had found his spirit? Were they no longer attached? Geralt’s mind had been filtering through the different options of what that could mean, but even Yennefer didn’t know what to say. The thought that he might be dead was an unwelcome one in his mind.

It had recently rained and the ground squelched and shifted under Geralt’s boots. Most of the tracks had been washed away by the rain. Geralt lead Roach through the trees, eyes catching on imprints in the ground and broken shrub twigs. All signs indicating animal presence rather than human.

The forest was familiar to the Witcher, he’d been here before. He didn’t think much of it, he’d been to most places on the continent, the Path taking him wherever he needed to be. Yet when he tried to recall the memory tied to this place, it was not one of necessity or danger. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

Giving up on the meagre prints, he let the memory lead him. His feet found a forgotten path. Boots had flattened the earth so compactly, it was likely to last a long time. But it was littered with leaves and branches, clearly not trod on for a long while. He remembered the path, it had not looked so different the first time he had found it. It had soothed him that though this forest may once have been peopled, it was unlikely that they’d run into trouble.

They. He hadn’t been alone in the memory.

Vague and distant chatter tugged him forward, the line between reality and recollection blurring. He let go of Roach’s reins, trusting her to follow. He surged through the trees, pushing aside branches. Sunlight and grass filtered through the trees.

Spring.

Buttercups, dandelions, daisies, cornflowers.

A laugh ringing in his ears.

“Geralt look at this! It’s exquisite! We have to break here.”

The Witcher burst through the line of trees and froze. A field of green grass. It was familiar, but not just from the memory. A shiver down the back of his neck. Dread tightened his chest. His eyes landed on a weeping willow, its leaves pale. He didn’t remember it being here the last time.

Uneasily, he made his way towards it. It sagged so low that Geralt could not quite make out its bark. The pale leaves almost sparkled in the sun from the wetness of the leaves.

The Witcher crouched lower as he got closer, seeing a body through the drooping leaves. His hand hovered over his sword. He stopped before the wall of pallid green. The person behind had not moved, clearly unaware of his presence. He reached a hand out and pulled the leaves away, one hand still on the pommel of his sword.

His eyes landed on the man sitting on the damp grass, leaning back against the tree.

Geralt felt like the air had been punched out of him, body becoming immediately slack.

Wide shoulders. Soft, brown hair. Blue, inquisitive eyes.

“Fuck-“ the word came out sounding more like a sob than anything else, “Jaskier”.

Geralt took two steps forward and collapsed on his knees.

“Jaskier.” He reached out to touch him, to feel him warm and safe.

He felt nothing. His fingers slipped through.

A shimmer and a blur and the bark of a willow tree.

88 notes · View notes

warmau · 5 years

Text

{Knight!AU} Wonwoo

*this post was commissioned

“are you really this oblivious and dense or are you just being silly again?”

wonwoo hears the word oblivious and almost rolls his eyes - prince minghao, you don’t even know how oblivious they can be....

“this is just,,,,,,,,,,,,this is just preposterous!”

your mother doesn’t usually raise her voice - actually, she seems to have come to terms with the fact that you are not a perfect child, and on most occasions overlooks your mischief

but you can practically SEE the fire in her eyes this time

“it’s not MY fault the bandits broke his leg, he’s a knight!”

your mother grinds her teeth and your father tries to intervene but fails when she barks at him to sit down

“you are the child of this family, your father is the KING! you cannot just go about playing in the forest and getting every knight we have injured!”

you throw a pitiful glance at the knight in question

when you’d first met hoshi - you had high high hopes

he was energetic, bubbling with humor and vigor - bragging about agility and beating everyone else in daily duals

he never told on you when you got up to no good, encouraged these “dangerous” expeditions into the forest your mother was up in arms about, and best of all

he wasn’t boring

like every other knight before him

but,,,,,,,,,,,,after getting ransacked on your way back this morning,,,,,,,,,,,,,he’d kind of,,,,,,,,,,,,,well,,,,,,,,,,,

you try not to wince when the town doctor scurries over and starts pulling a nasty looking arrow out of hoshi’s ankle

“well,,,,he’s not dead right?”

you try to defend, but your mom isn’t having it and everyone in the ballroom is standing frozen

fearful of the queens wrath, both for you and for themselves

“tomorrow morning. 7 am sharp. we will go pick a new knight for you AND -”

you groan at the thought of waking up early, but completely swallow it back down as your mother narrows her eyes

“AND you will not be going into the forest or anywhere for the next month!”

“but m-”

“get that poor bloody knight out of my sight!”

your mother waves her hand and your father follows behind her and the long flowing gown of hers, the only sound is its fabric on the floor

and hoshi’s small “ow” as he’s carried to the doctor's carriage outside

you fall back onto your bed, the canopy is grand and made of sheer white silk

the sunlight from the windows floods in and you huff

being royalty doesn’t mean anything if im caged in this godforsaken palace! im not rapunzel or sleeping beauty or whoever!

ever since you were a kid you’d hated all this royal business

balls, conferences, arranged marriages (this one was particularly daunting as recently your mother could not stop talking about the prince of the east sea - some guy named minghao with lots and lots of money), it just was NOT for you.

you wanted to go outside, play in the dirt, jump on the pirate ships that sometimes passed by the dock, and just have an adventure

“every day is an adventure for you - your family rules this country!”

no - every day was the exact same etiquette lessons, piano lessons, walking around in your parent's shadow - that’s what it was

you hadn’t ever got to experience friendship or the hardships of growing up

hoshi had been the first knight anywhere near the same age as you

now tomorrow you were probably going to get assigned another old man in tin armor who would 1) snitch on you to the queen and 2) be boring as hell

you roll over on your stomach and shove your face into your pillow

might as well get an early sleep if moms going to wake me up at the crack of dawn,,,,,,,,,

the 7 am sunshine hurts your eyes, but you feel a lot better about your situation because at least you’re not out in this heat in full body armor

which is not something you can say for the line of knightly recruits settled on the back lawn of the palace

the commander of the local army, and the head knight for your family fidgets as your mother walks down the line and maids hold a parasol over her crown

you haven’t even bothered to look yourself - not like you can say much in the matter

your mother made it clear that not a peep out of you would be needed

“is this really the best you’ve got?”

you hear her sigh and you straighten your shoulders so she doesn’t nag on you for slouching as she comes back

“we’ll take the soap makers boy then.”

she motions with her arm and you raise an eyebrow

a soap maker's son became a knight?

out of the lineup comes a tall, rather sleepy-eyed boy

he looks to be around your age and when he nearly trips over his own feet coming up to the queen you think

oh boy, this one is not going to last long

“what’s your name?”

“jeon wonwoo your highness”

“and your father is a soap maker - correct?”

he shifts, the helmet in his hands seems so sad looking

“yes your highness. he ,,,, he paid for my knightly training in hopes that i wouldn’t have to go into soap making like he did.”

your mother taps her gloved finger against her cheek

you, wonwoo, and the commander all wait in the stuffy silence

“well i do hope his money didn’t go to waste and you’re good at your job.”

your mother tilts her head toward you and you already don’t like where this is going

“because this one is a lot to handle.”

wonwoo,,,,,,,,,is nothing like hoshi

he’s quiet - definitely not as boisterous or funloving - and unlike hoshi’s wildly bright colored hair and foxish expression, wonwoo’s dark curled hair falls almost over his dark, almost black eyes

his answers to your mothers questions are always a little bit slow and you wonder what in the world compiled someone like him to agree to be a knight

he really just seemed like he’d be better off making soap with his father

you aren’t really alone with him until the next morning when he introduces himself to you after your breakfast and explains that the queen has asked him to stand guard outside your room

“she said you’re ,,,,,,,, well that you’re,,,,,,,”

“grounded. yes. the queen grounded me.”

you huff some bedhead out of your face and wonwoo seems to stare a moment longer than usual

“yes...grounded.”

you wave a hand dismissively and grumble that he has nothing to worry about - you have no plans on sneaking out

(yet)

your teachers come and go for a various amount of lessons and by the late afternoon you’re so bored out of your mind

that you open the door and beckon wonwoo to come inside

usually a knight asks if there is a problem - if you need something - hoshi used to be so dramatic he’d get down on a knee

but wonwoo just looks confused

“there’s an intruder in the palace”

you say, blunt and serious

wonwoo looks left and right, “but there seems to be only the two of us here?”

you stifle a giggle as you keep up your lie

“no, no im pretty sure there’s an intruder in here somewhere.”

“w-well let me check.”

he starts moving toward the closet and you shake your head, letting a giggle fall from your lips

“im just joking, no one is here!”

instead of laughing or getting angry, wonwoo just looks helplessly lost

like a puppy forgetting its way home

you don’t know if you feel a little bad for the harmless prank so you sit back on your bed and try to think of something to ask

“so,,,,,,,where is your fathers soap shop?”

“it’s on carrot street, it’s quite small.”

“what kind of soap does he make?”

wonwoo shifts and his armor makes a loud echoing sound through your room

“many kinds, flower scents, natural scents, we have lemon soap-”

“you know - id like to buy some new soap,,,,,,,”

wonwoo isn’t catching onto your hints - he’s just looking at you with clear brown eyes

“could you take me to your fathers' shop?”

“o-of course your majesty -”

he stops himself just as you get up

“but, forgive me for asking, aren’t you grounded?”

you had hoped he’d just forgotten - or been the type to just go along with whatever you asked

“technically,,,,,,,,i can’t go into the forest - the town isn’t the forest, right?”

wonwoo sort of scrunches half his face up in thought and you capitalize on the moment of confusion

grabbing a shawl from your desk, you rush to the doors and wonwoo is left with no choice but to follow after you

he helps you up onto one of the horses and takes a hold of the reins as you wink at the stablehands

who beg you to come before the queen realizes you’re gone and she has everyone’s heads

you promise you will and wonwoo starts to also skeptically ask if this is a good idea

and you assure him - of course! again, the town isn’t the forest!

he walks beside you, down the winding path from the palace into the bustling streets of the town below

citizens see and stop their business to bow respectfully

you give a little wave and hear a cluster of whispers

“that isn’t the same knight as before? which one is this? he’s so young and handsome!”

you don’t pay much attention, letting wonwoo lead the way - people parting as soon as they see the coat of arms on his uniform

just as wonwoo had said, the soap shop is very tiny

his poor father almost falls over when you waltz through the door

“y-y-your majesty - i - i- i-”

but you give him a flattering smile as you start to pick up everything in sight

wonwoo’s father disappears for a moment outside to where wonwoo is tying up your horse and you can hear his tone of disbelief

“son, you’re a knight for the royal family?!?!”

you busy yourself with blocks of pretty color soap - wonwoo and his father joining you soon after as you begin dumping every bar you like into wonwoo’s hands

“are they all handmade?”

you muse and his father nods, “y-yes! some actually were made by wonwoo!”

you turn, giving an impressed smile to a quickly flustering wonwoo who nearly drops the tower of soaps in his hands

you lose track of the time, talking with wonwoo’s father and then being ushered into the upstairs home for tea by his mother

wonwoo sheds the top layer of his armor at some point and ,,,,,, really it seems like both of you have forgotten

that you’re a ROYAL and their KNIGHT

not just neighbors having tea

the only thing that brings you both back to reality is the chime of the palace’s clock tower

you freeze up - and so does wonwoo

“we have to go!”

you jump up and wonwoo nearly forgets his helmet, his father tossing it to him out of the second-story window as you get up onto your horse

wonwoo starts to turn the horse around and you kind of give him a sideways glance

“we can’t walk back to the palace!”

“h-huh?”

“get on!”

you motion and wonwoo’s mouth goes dry

“we- the townspeople-”

“do you want to see my mother get mad?!”

he shakes his head, slipping the helmet on and getting onto the horse, long legs pulling him right up behind you

you pass the reigns to him and before he can really register what’s happening, you click your tongue and you’re off

the evening wind rushes past you - your mind racing a mile a minute

you know you told wonwoo it wasn’t anything serious - to go to town, but you had lied

your mother would not be pleased and the shouting you could only imagine would keep the entire palace up all night

wonwoo is less so terrified with your mother, then he is with thinking of where to put his hands

he keeps them on the reigns, but he’s worried - all you’re holding onto is the horse’s mane

he moves a little bit, letting his hand lean up on your waist - you don’t seem to notice and he can’t tell if the nervousness is because

he’s touching a royal or,,,,,,,,,,,because he’s touching you,,,,,,,,,

it’s probably both

either way, he veers the reigns left, off the main path up into the palace

instead, you two ride on the side of the gardens, hoping no one looks out the window at the wrong time

the stable hands scramble as they hear you approaching

you jump off - right into a puddle of fresh mud, the splatters on the hems of your clothes

“oh no!”

wonwoo jumps off too, handing the reigns over and trying to think of something quick

“what time is it?” you shout and someone from in the barn answers with “quarter past 8!”

you rack your brain, dinner will be soon - you cannot face your mother looking this guilty

you dash up toward the palace, wonwoo behind you and just as you skid into your room - you stop as wonwoo is about to step in behind you

“are you crazy?!? i need to change!”

the large doors shut in wonwoo’s embarrassed face and you don’t hear his tiny, mumbled apology

you manage to shove the muddy clothes into a basket in your closet

wonwoo stands outside the room, trying to shake the mud off his uniform

just to hear footsteps from down the hall

he stands up straight, the presence of the queen heavy even as she makes her way up to him

“good evening your highness”

he bows and she just motions with her hand to your door

wonwoo hesitates - the sound of your “are you crazy?!” ringing through his ears

but this is the queen, so he gives a polite knock to signal he’s opening the door for her to come in

the sound of the shower confuses wonwoo, but he keeps his face straight as your mother eyes the clothing on the floor leading up to the bathroom door

she clears her throat and calls out your name

the water stops and a moment later the door is opened

you’re holding a fluffy white towel up and wonwoo spins so fast on his heel to avoid the sight that he nearly bumps his head on the bedpost

“oh mother - sorry, i wanted to shower before dinner!”

she looks over her shoulder to see wonwoo’s back and then back at you

you give your best angelic smile as she taps her foot slightly

“your hair won’t be dry for dinner. we’ll be eating at 9 then.”

with that she’s gone and wonwoo keeps his head bowed until you both hear her heels click down the stairs

wonwoo buffers before marching back out, the door shutting behind him as you drop the towel and give a relieved sigh

really, you didn’t think wonwoo would save face all that well

you kind of half expected him to crack under your mother's fierce gaze and spill the beans

but he doesn’t and that makes you at least a little happy

later that night you go to visit the stable hands and thank them for not ratting on you either

you spend some time in the stalls with the horses as wonwoo waits outside of the barn

he doesn’t say much when you say you’re going back up to your room - he just follows in a shadow-like silence

“oh!”

you stop at the top of the stairs and wonwoo looks up at you - the candlelight in the halls shining down on his face and nearly covering half of yours

“we forgot the soaps i bought at your fathers!”

you laugh a little and wonwoo tries to explain he can ask his father to deliver it

but you wave your hand

“ill just get it next time.”

you don’t mean much by it but for some reason, the phrase leaves wonwoo unable to move for a second

until he’s clattering up behind you again

your mom said something about not leaving the palace for a month - but you don’t listen, you never do

wonwoo learns this hard and fast from the soap trip, but also from the countless times he catches you trying to sneak out from piano lessons

multiple times you’ve snuck out into the town, each time he walks you down on the horse and then each time you both end up having to scramble to get back to the palace in time

(he’s gotten better at holding you around the waist - but he’s still pretty awkward about it)

but aside from that, you also keep trying to get out of meetings with lousy excuses

usually holding wonwoo as a witness or as collateral

you’re a royal, but you seldom act like it

he’s walked in on you with your crown tossed to the side, hanging half off your bed with a book in your hands

or abandoning the documents you have to look over for a simple game of cards with the chef’s younger daughter who brings by the fresh fruit

it’s weird - wonwoo was so scared about this job before, but you’re not ,,,,,,,,,, you’re not the hassle you thought you’d be ,,,,,,,, well you’re not the STUCK UP hassle he thought you’d be

and you’re ,,,,,,,,, undeniably pretty

even when you’re forcing a smile in front of important diplomats

or hiding behind a garden post from your mother

or getting wonwoo into trouble alongside you

there isn’t really a way to phrase it - like he can’t think of a word to describe it - you just look pretty no matter what

sometimes he sees you staring out the window into the direction of the tall, old trees of the forest on the edge of the town

he feels your longing - but when you bring it up - he refuses

town trips, sneaking around is ok - but he’s worried too

he grew up a normal kid, the ghost stories of the forest. the vanished villagers who never came back and whose screams you can hear from the misty entrance.

he doesn’t tell you about them - but he also shakes his head adamantly when you bringing it up

like now, as you’re sitting in the garden - feet up on the bench (even though the queen said not to do that), fresh daisies in your hands

“come on, it’s a stroll on the edge of the forest not even -”

“what’s this i hear about the forest?”

your mothers icy tone cuts into your conversation and you quickly sit back up, feet slipping into your shoes

as wonwoo grips the side of his sword and straightens his back too

“no-nothing mother.”

“good.”

her two servents are sent away with one look as she sits down beside you on the bench

she looks at the flowers in your hands and smiles

“i have some good news.”

“im not groun-”

“we’re taking a trip. well, you are.”

you don’t really expect that - a trip usually means a conference with your parents at the helm

a trip alone?

“where am i going?”

“the prince of the east sea, xu minghao is staying in the countryside on the other end of the forest. he’s been requesting to meet you ever since he saw you at last year's winter gala.”

she leans over and puts her hands over the flowers

crushing two or three petals between her fingers she adds

“and as you know - your father and i would greatly like for you two to ,,,,, get to know each other as well.”

you remember xu minghao

he’s handsome, lithe, and too,,,,,,,,,, fancy for your tastes

his carriage had pulled up with encrusted diamonds and four purebred stallions - rubies bedazzled into their briddles

he wasn’t mean or anything, but he wasn’t your type

the most conversation you two had was the royal greetings in the beginning of the gala

you know your mother's true intentions with this plan. you’re quite sure she’s the one who invited the prince to the countryside in the first place.

“well i think-”

“it doesn’t matter sweetheart, everything has already been planned. wonwoo!”

he breaks out of his concentration to answer with a weak

“your highness?”

“you’ll be escorting them through the forest and then back. well maybe not back if they end up traveling to the east sea’s palace, ahhhhh i hear it’s wonderful!”

your mother clasps your hands in yours and gives them a squeeze

without letting you utter a word, she’s gone - her servants running up to her call

and you sit there with the crushed daisies scattered over your lap

wonwoo thinks now is the time to say something comforting

but he’s just a knight - he’s just here to escort you right into the hands of this prince - so he steps back and waits

you don’t want to be back in the forest under these circumstances

the morning in bright and warm and the king and queen are both all smiles and talk

but you stand and wait as the carriage is prepared with your hands folded over the new outfit your mothers gone ahead and dressed you up in

wonwoo is a couple of feet behind you, he can see just from your shoulders how tense you’re feeling

the weight of the sword on his hip and the armor feels worse than ever before for some reason

the driver lifts himself up, bowing his neck toward the queen and promising her that he’ll take care of you

you don’t smile when your mother kisses your cheeks goodbye and wonwoo mounts the horse the palace has provided

he rides behind the carriage, along with a couple of other knights your mother insisted go as well

no one talks to each other as the horse's hoofs kick up the dirt of the forest and you watch is fly by in a haze of greens, browns, and blacks

you peek your head out at some point to see wonwoo - you can only tell it’s him because of his broader stature and the white stallion he’s atop

the rest of him is covered by the uniform

you sigh and retreat back into the carriage, wouldn’t it be so nice if i could just open the door and run through the forest without a care?

you arrive close to evening, managing to exit the deep forest right before it turns hauntingly dark

the ride up toward the countryside estates is only ten minutes and when you pull up to the front gardens, a magnificent line of tall cyprus trees and fountain greet you

someone is standing outside of your carriage, the same someone - who is not xu minghao - helps you out of the carriage

he’s wearing a pressed gray suit and his hair is slicked back from his face

“pleasure to make your acquaintance, if i do say myself you are quite a lovely sight”

he flirts and it catches you off guard

“i see - and you are?”

“wen junhui - im xu minghao’s head knight. i assume you also brought your-”

wonwoo rounds the side of the carriage and junhui eyes him before seemingly determining he isn’t worth the time

you ask where the prince is - usually, royals don’t send out their knights to introduce themselves first

but junhui just explains that minghao is inside preparing for you

and prepare he did

the mansion is decorated from head to toe in lilies, the official flower of your home country

there are live musicians playing the harp and piano softly in the main ballroom

and even though it’s literally only you and him who are meeting

you can tell there must be forty other staff - all lined up against the wall wearing matching uniforms as junhui falls behind and minghao descends the large staircase with that same air of extravagance you know him for

“ah, did you get here safely?”

minghao asks, taking your hand and pressing his lips to it

your brain rattles between making some offhanded joke about how no - you almost died in the spooky scary forest!

or just jumping right into the usual ‘thank you for inviting me! it’s an honor’ royal crap

you can’t seem to choose so you just make a weird sound and shake your head

minghao doesn’t mention it as he asks instead if you’re hungry

wonwoo shifts behind you, hand on the hilt of his sword

when minghao escorts you into the dining hall - wonwoo naturally moves to accompany you

but junhui, flanked by two servants step in his way

“don’t you worry great knight, we’ll take good care of them.”

you catch a glance over your shoulder, drowning out minghao’s voice as he talks about some recent treaty he’s planning on signing

to see wonwoo’s eyes go from their usual clear, almost sleepy softness to cold and dark concern

you and minghao’s countries are on good terms, business relations are fine and there aren’t any disputes over land

so you don’t feel unsafe - you just feel anxious

probably because deep down this meeting isn’t just another plain, boring conference your parents have made you attend

you know it’s more than that

you eat quietly, minghao does most of the talking

he holds out his elbow so you can take it as he gives you a tour of the artwork up on the walls after dessert

and although you look at him and know he’s beautiful

it’s not like there’s anything behind that

“do you like it?”

you ask him suddenly, trying to salvage some sort of topic that isn’t overpriced artwork from decades ago or financial strategies minghao is flaunting

“like what?”

“the forest?”

he nearly deadpans at the question

“are you being silly?”

“what?”

he huffs a bit

“it’s just a forest - i don’t particularly have an opinion on it.”

the answer is sort of hard for you to wrap your head around - for you, it’s more than that

you thought it was more for everyone

but minghao seems to brush it off, goes back into babbling about how this nature scene was painted by a great ancestor of some duke and you

you just have this sudden urge to run away

you look out past one of the many windows in the hall - the moon is strong and full tonight and it’s the only thing aside from the candles to provide any sort of light

and you catch it shining down onto the trees and grassy open field below

where a figure is sitting

no,,,,,, they’re laying down

you strain a little and minghao clears his throat

asks if you’re listening and you reply with an “oh yes!”

that satisfies him as he continues to speak but you keep looking and -

wonwoo?

the messy top of dark curls and helmet by his side gives the identity away

minghao stops suddenly and you sort of teetering against his arm

he smiles at the contact but you just fluster with embarrassment

“so, now that we’re alone and midnight is almost here - do you think we can talk seriously about something?”

your cheeks get hot and your throat feels parched

“a-about what?”

“well, the marriage of course.”

you don’t expect him to say it so - openly - so it’s hard to think of a way to shy around the topic on the spot

minghao suddenly moves to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear

you back away a bit and he edges closer till your back is against the large window and he hovers over you with a small smile

“i think we’d make a great pair.”

“i don-”

“oh i know you don’t like me yet - but we’re royalty!”

he pushes off and you sort of stare in disbelief as he shrugs

“liking each other doesn’t matter - the union will be good on paper and for both our countries.”

“are you sa-”

minghao steps closer and closer

“we might not like each other now - but we can learn to like each other for the sake of our people, right?”

he leans over a bit and his breath is hot on your skin

your mind is over clogged with thoughts

he’s right, you’re a royal, you should have expected it would come to this!

you always made fun of fairytails, saying you weren’t a rapunzel to be kept up in a castle, but why did you think the rest of it could be true

falling in love with who you wanted

doing what made you happy

you lived every whim at your mothers command - this was no different

minghao presses his lips to yours and you feel like if you tried you could close your eyes and bare it

but

you can’t, you push back and shake your head

“no”

minghao doesn’t try it again - he just looks at you and doesn’t stop you when you dash down the hall, rounding the staircase, and out into the front lawn

you see the forest up ahead - past the parked carriages and the fountain

run away? i can’t run away,,,,,,,,,but i can,,,,,,,,,,i can enjoy the forest for myself one last time,,,,,,,,

you think it’s a little bit nuts - but you lean down to undo the straps on your shoes

you toss them to the side, bunching up the layers of your outfit as you run out on the grass - disappearing into the close trees as the moon laughs down on you

wonwoo is kicking up dirt, passing the time wishing he could take a nap when he sees minghao’s knight, junhui rush past him

“hey-”

“they’ve run into the forest!”

junhui shouts, a swarm of servants rush past wonwoo again and for a moment he’s dumbstruck

until he realizes there’s one person junhui could be talking about

wonwoo doesn’t bother getting a horse

all he does is take one of the candles from passing by garden hand and rushes into the woods

he calls out your name - but the only answer is silence

suddenly all the horror stories he heard as a kid come rushing back at him

but ,,,,,,,,,,, the thought of you facing them alone breaks the fear that threatens to overcast him

he might be clumsy and little aloof at times - but you’re worse

you’re definitely worse

he calls your name again and again

the sound of horses in the distance tell him that junhui and quite possibly minghao have come into the forest looking for you too

but he ignores them and stretches on

the candle flickers, the wax nearly melts over the metal castings of his uniform - but woonwoo keeps yelling

you aren’t lost - at least you think you aren’t

or maybe that’s just the spell the forests put on you

the sound of horse hooves nearby means the prince is coming and so you run away from them as best you can

until you look over your shoulder for a moment and then - just as you feel something catch your ankle

your name comes from the echo of a familiar voice

the tree stump you trip over thankfully lands you on a softer pile of leaves

the sound is caught by wonwoo and he makes his way over, rushing to your side as you strain to get yourself back up

“are you ok -”

he says your name and usually, he’s supposed to address you only by majesty or royal or whatever

but you like the way it sounds - even though you shouldn’t be thinking about that right now

“im fine, just - ouch!”

you try to turn your ankle but a sharp pain runs up through you body refusing you from doing so

setting down the candle, wonwoo finally feels like he’s doing some sort of knightly duty

as he pulls off the top part of his armor - leaving him in the undershirt of chainmail as it gives him better movement to gather you up in his arms

and lift you off the forest floor

you doth protest - but really there’s no way you’re walking this off and the shock of finding out just how fit wonwoo is sort of distracts you from lying and saying you're fine

“why did you run out here?”

he asks and you loop an arm around his neck and use the other to hold the candle as you’re hoisted up and the crunching of leaves below wonwoo’s boots almost drowns out your small and tiny

“because it felt like the right place to be,,,,,”

wonwoo’s warm, warmer than you ever remember him being as he walks on

“you know this forest is haunted - you shouldn’t run off.”

he starts

“even if it feels like the right place to be, it’s,,,,,,,”

his voice trails off and you shift in his arms

the candle in your free hand casts a tiny shadow on his face and you come to realize you’ve never been so close to him before

his skin is so clear, not sweaty or rough like other knights

his dark hair is thick and from the profile, you can see just how handsome he really is

“you know about this forest?”

“when i was a kid lots of townspeople used to say the dead wander here. it’s no place for someone as important as you.”

wonwoo is referring to the fact that you’re a royal - but something feels,,,,,,,,more genuine than that,,,,,,,,,,,like he’s saying you are important to him,,,,,,or maybe you’re just reading into things

the little light doesn’t offer much guidance as wonwoo just walks straight and then suddenly the sound of men approaching becomes higher and the light from their lanterns burns open

for a second you think it’s those bandits that got you and hoshi a while back

but you see junhui ride up on a brown mare

“your majesty!”

he calls and minghao appears beside him on a beautiful black stallion

“are you insane - running out here is dangerous?!”

you don’t know what to say in this moment but a

“oh- it is?”

minghao just stare, before asking “are you really this oblivious and dense or are you just being silly again?”

wonwoo hears the word oblivious and almost rolls his eyes - prince minghao, you don’t even know how oblivious they can be

but he holds himself back and just tightens his grip when minghao junhui jumps off his horse and beckons for you to get on it instead

“do you want to?”

wonwoo asks cautiously

you give a small nod, and he hands you gently over to junhui

that night minghao throws a fit about how irresponsible that was of you and how that isn’t how a royal should act

you sort of glaze over because your head rests against wonwoo’s shoulder and junhui keeps throwing looks your way that if you were paying attention

would probably read: looks like the only person you’re interested in is that knight huh?

you opt to stay and ride back to the palace in the morning

technically wonwoo tells junhui he’ll be sleeping in the barn barracks

but as soon as junhui busies himself with minghao and whatever else needs to be done

wonwoo slips past the crack of the guest door and closes it behind him

“why did you ask me to stay?”

he questions as you sit on the edge of the bed, foot bandaged up and still picking twigs from your hair

“you said the forest was haunted - what are the stories about it?”

“you don’t know?”

your lips thing out as you explain that you grew up in a palace - you didn’t hang out with towns kids

you didn’t get to be rowdy

“well i can tell you a little about the stories,,,,”

you reach out, excitedly wrapping an arm around his wrist as you tug him forward

“tell me! i want to hear!”

wonwoo tells you the legend about the wandering old women, the weeping couple by the large oak in the middle of the forest, he tells you about the ghosts that cry out from the depths and the kids laughter you can hear coming from the treetops

you don’t know how or when you both end up on the bed with your head against his arm as he explains the stories and makes you laugh and makes you scared

and the lights blow out at some point - but wonwoo keeps telling you the stories

until his voice drops even more and he yawns and his eyes go heavy

and you let the tired knight fall asleep with his head against your chest and your hands racked up in his black curls

you have half a mind to lean down and kiss the lips you’d only now begun to realize were so beautiful

but instead you just bury your face in his hair

morning comes and you wake up first - unsure of what to do with wonwoo in your arms

in the house of the man you were supposed to be engaged to on this trip

“your majesty, may i come in?”

junhui’s voice rings from the other side of the door and you panic

you wake up wonwoo with a shake of his shoulders and just as he rubs his eyes opens

you hiss that he needs to go hide

“h-hide? wha?”

he’s half asleep!

your panic grows as junhui knocks again and you think of the one thing that might wake wonwoo up

you lean in, pressing your lips to his - it’s chaste and kind of clumsy - but wonwoo’s eyes flash open

“now. go. hide.”

you command and he scrambles out of the bed, just in time to duck behind the corner of the door that opens - nearly slamming into him as junhui and a couple of maids roll in tray for breakfast

“i assume you’d want to eat before your trip back?”

you nod, not wanting to peep out a wrong word and make junhui turn around

“the carriage is ready,,,,,,,,ill be seeing you out as prince minghao is - a bit busy.”

junhui explains and you don’t even care that he’s obviously lying

as you thank him in a squeak and watch him and the maids pile out of the room

junhui closes the door with a smile and wonwoo peels himself off the wall

“phew we didn’t get caught.”

you start, leaning over to pick some berries off the tray as wonwoo stands there for a second

“you kissed me?”

“yes”

“why?”

“because you weren’t waking up.”

“that’s it?”

you bite into the strawberry and shrug

“well minghao obviously isn’t marrying me so -”

wonwoo stares at you with the same dumb puppy look he gave you when you first played a prank on him

it’s so cute you can barely stand it

you laugh before you can even say you were joking

and wonwoo gets it this time, groaning he asks that you please kindly not play tricks on him anymore

he’s your knight and you’re his royal but if he could have this one favor

“i promise”

you say between giggles

“now come and let me kiss you again, that’s my favor i ask of you.”

wonwoo happily obliges with that

and when you’re being sent back off home (probably to get absolutely yelled to death by your mother)

junhui offers to get you into the carriage, but you hand yourself to wonwoo who helps you up and follows right back in after you

“don’t knights usually ride horseback?”

junhui asks and you assure him you just need wonwoo in the carriage for extra protection

as it rides off back into the forest junhui nods to himself

“extra protection, huh. do they think im that oblivious?”

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen au #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo au #member: wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen #sfw #knigh!au #writing commissions

749 notes · View notes

darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 4 years

Text

TLC

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Hideyoshi Toyotomi x Naiya (female OC) x Masamune Date

Word count: 4,507

Warning: Pampering, Fluff and sprinkle of spice.

Written by: darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts

Tagging @umbralaperture for this commissioned piece.

Masterlist

---

TLC

This was getting beyond a joke. Every breath was agony, something clawing at her throat and pulling on her lungs like they were a set of bagpipes. Lack of oxygen meant every minor ache and pain suddenly sparked throughout her body a thousand times worse.

She tried to move only to be hit with a blinding pressure pain buried somewhere behind her eyes making her wonder who planted an axe there. Sleep was desired and never came. Endless exhaustion added to the melee of things that now just made up a list as long as she was tall for what was wrong.

Duvets, blankets and pillows clung around her like a nest. Somehow, she had managed to crawl into bed. Medication hadn’t worked the way it should, it hadn’t worked at all. She groaned against the faint light creeping into the bedroom from the curtains and became aware of something loud enough to shake the gates of Hell.

“Ugh… not now.” She grumbled and tried to bunch the pillows up around her ears but the hammering didn’t stop. “Fine, not like I can sleep anyway.”

She peeled back the layers of comfort and dragged her body as close to vertical as she could muster. Using the wall to steady herself, as well as any furniture along the way, she slowly made it to the front door. Her fingers fumbled against the lock. The bolt slid back and the door cracked open.

“This had better be good. I put off dying to be here.” Before she could even focus on who had come to call on her, the door was pushed wide. A set of strong arms wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug driving what little air she had in her body out along with her ability to stand under her own strength. “Oof!”

“Naiya! Thank god you answered I was this close to kicking in the door.” The familiar comforting voice of one of her usually level-headed boyfriends sounded muffled from her position against his broad chest.

“Yoshi mate, you might want to ease up on the whole bear hug before you really have a need to worry.” Masa reached out with one hand ruffling her hair as he reminded Hideyoshi of a human’s requirement to breathe. “Sorry Lass. I brought food.”

Masa held up two bags he had in his free hand giving them a light shake before brushing past her and Hideyoshi to get into the house.

“I can see that. I thought you guys had a key for here anyway?” She couldn’t really focus on what was happening but was really trying to follow along.

“We do but someone left it in the bowl back at ours.” Masa called out from the kitchen. She could hear the bags being emptied along with the thud and clink of produce being laid out on the counter.

“If you hadn't distracted me before we left, I wouldn’t have forgotten to grab it from the bowl in the first place.” Hideyoshi grumbled his arms releasing their tight hold as he chided Masa.

“How was I distracting you? I was trying to think of things to get from the store on the way over. It was your idea to get the key bowl anyway.” Masa appeared again a teasing grin on his face before changing his voice to give his best impersonation of Hideyoshi. “Can’t just have keys hanging around we need some order in the place.”

“You kept asking if I thought today was a cheat day or not. And I do not sound like that!” Hideyoshi sounded exasperated and a little embarrassed. He was normally the reliable one so forgetting something like the key to their girlfriend’s house proved he was worried.

“Well, it makes a difference to Kitten.” Masa chirped back.

“Hey guys as much as I enjoy the Saturday night live experience, I’m just gonna let you do your things and crawl back into my pit.” She tried to remove herself from the loud, all be it amusing, interaction. It was taking a lot more strength than first imagined to remain upright and she didn’t want to worry them anymore.

“Hold up.” Hideyoshi reached out and grabbed her as she swayed on her feet. Apparently urging herself to try to move forward had failed. His attention left Masa and was now completely focused on her. One of his large hands swept back her bangs as he inspected her. “I knew it, you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. I am perfectly healthy for a bag of infested, cursed… you know what? I can’t even be bothered finishing that.” Hideyoshi’s hand felt cool against her face which was enough to tell her she was probably running a slight temperature. Great if there was one thing I don’t need right now; it’s my whole system shutting down with some weird bug.

Naiya silently hoped that whatever was happening was just a result of her failed meds. A nasty side effect from inhalers or something not clearing her airways.

“You really look pale, Lass.” Masa came to join them. His piercing blue eye peered out from under his hair and began to rove over every inch of exposed skin she had.

Hideyoshi’s inspection was one thing. It made you feel like you were being wrapped up as he softly moved over you. Masa’s inspection was just as caring but wilder in its execution. If one man was good at making her feel bound, the other was good at making her feel exposed. Between one kind of smothering and the other, it was impossible to hide anything from these two.

“You haven’t been looking after yourself, have you? I told you not to work too hard.” Hideyoshi huffed, the furrow of his brow becoming deeper as if he were the one suffering a splitting headache and not her.

Sensing the start of one of the dreaded lectures on observing better self-care Naiya wriggled in Hideyoshi’s grip freeing herself. She then attempted to sidestep Masa who had moved in a pincer movement to keep her in place without touching.

“It’s not a question of working too hard Yoshi. Its allergy season and my damn meds are useless. With everything going on I can’t go into work, I got told to rest.” In her flurry of explanations designed to defend herself, she could feel whatever little energy she had failing her with every word.

The room felt like it was spinning and she ended up finding herself steadied with a strong arm from Masa as he wrapped it around her waist.

“So naturally you didn’t.” Masamune was still smiling but she could tell by his tone even he was concerned. His gaze really was stripping away at her masks. As fast as she put one in place, he was there to remove it piece by piece.

“Hey what is this gang up on the sick person?” She batted at Masa’s chest that was ever so slightly visible under his black shirt. In a moment of clearer breathing, the smell of his own natural scent mixed with the spices and soap he used at work hit her stronger than they normally would.

“You just said you weren’t sick.” Hideyoshi pointed out the flaw in her exasperated argument.

“I’m changing my mind if it means I got two fussing mother types crowding me.” She didn’t so much manage to break free of Masa’s grip as he backed her up against the sofa and allowed gravity to work its magic. Her legs gave out with very little effort and she bounced on the cushioned seating feeling the lurch of her body reacting in a sickening wake up call.

“Right here’s how its gonna work Kitten.” Masa said as he crouched down at her side and held her hand. Making sure she was focused on what he was about to say before continuing. “I’m gonna go in the kitchen and cook dinner for three. You are gonna eat however much of it you can and I’ll turn the leftovers into meals you can eat over the next few days. I’ll even make a big pot of chicken soup for you.”

“With dumplings?” She knew she sounded like a child right now but dammit if someone else cooking meals for her and preparing them so she just had to reheat them later didn’t sound like a slice of Heaven.

“Sure, with dumplings if that’s what you want.” Masamune chuckled and began to ruffle up her hair. She hated to think how bad it looked but it felt nice to feel his touch.

“While that is happening. I’m going to run you a nice refreshing bath and you will soak in there while I tidy up a bit.” Hideyoshi said as he bent down to pick something up off the floor and she could already tell from the way he was looking around the room that he was silently appraising the lack of housekeeping.

“Hey just so you know I haven’t been home much and—”

“You said you weren’t going into work!” Hideyoshi pivoted on the spot, discarded magazines and papers in hand making him look like he had begun to sprout wings.

“Oops.” She became defensive and inadvertently put her foot right in it.

“Don’t ‘Oops’ me, Madam. I was right to be worried about you. When we hadn’t heard from you in the last couple of days I just knew --.”

“Hahaha, you tell her Bud.” Masa applauded with a slow clap as he laughed.

Masa had been practically vibrating attempting to hold back the laughter while watching Hideyoshi as he flapped around. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. The papers in his arms really did look like feathers when he moved.

“Masa you are not helpful.” Naiya was struggling to hold back a fit of giggles as well. His laughter was contagious and it didn’t help that Hideyoshi seemed to have transformed into the mother hen he was always teased of being.

“Little kittens that are as weak as you at the minute can’t complain. Now go along with Yoshi and his mothering while I go sort out food. I’ll even help with the housework while it's heating up.” Masa dragged her forward on the sofa so he could plant a loud kiss on her forehead before leaving the room again to vanish into the kitchen.

“Fine.”

It took the entire time the bath was running for Hideyoshi to finally calm down enough to take in what had been happening without butting in with ‘I told you so’ or ‘Why didn’t you call me?’. He checked the meds she had taken and called someone who sounded grumpy enough to be Ieyasu.

Steam, taking time out and sleep. That was what he ordered alongside the bath to get cleaned up and generally try to relax in. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already heard from others and sleep was harder to come by than they all made it sound. Logically she knew they were right, if she could sleep some of what she felt would clear but her lungs we against it.

The water was just the right temperature with clusters of candles lit around the bathroom and fragrant bubbles popping against her skin. Too bad her nose was so blocked in the humid atmosphere she couldn’t really enjoy the whole sensory experience.

Laying there submerged in the hot water she heard the two men moving around her home. She wasn’t worried they were both so good at domestic stuff it put her to shame more often than not. She was only feeling guilty that she had caused them to worry so much.

As she breathed in and out, she willed her lungs to stop that rasping rattle she had come to associate with trying to live. Asthma, allergies… what were you supposed to do if most of the environment you lived it was hell-bent on killing you?

After about 10 minutes soaking it felt like some humanity had started to return to her. She wasn’t magically fixed but the warmth of the water had managed to regulate her own internal thermostat and she was at least a normal temperature again.

She slipped down so her shoulders went under the waterline and tilted her head back to get her hair wet. While her head was under the water, her ears picked up a muffled noise and pulled herself up just in time to see a panicked Hideyoshi rushing to her side from the now open bathroom door.

“Naiya, are you alright? I knew I shouldn’t have left you for so long in the bath when you are not well.” His hands brushed back her wet hair from her face and she was thankful for the bubbles in the tub giving her a veil of decency.

“I’m fine. I was just getting my hair wet.”

As she scrambled to grab the bottle of shampoo it was plucked from her wet grip.

“I’ll wash it for you.” Hideyoshi didn’t sound as if he were treating this like a chore. Still, it felt a little strange to have this happening and she found herself naturally trying to decline the offer.

“You don’t have too I’m fine.”

“You just gave me a mini heart attack. Let me.”

The cap popping open felt like it was echoing in the room. She watched the viscous liquid pour from the bottle and coat his hands. His hands softly covered the crown of her head and she closed her eyes against the heavenly sensation of his fingers working in circles and patterns over her scalp. The sound of foam squelched near her ears sending a tingle up her spine.

Callused fingers, softened by the warm water, brushed softly over the shell of her ears. Following her hairline to her nape and then returning back up to the crown again. He lightly rinsed his hands in the water before easing her lower, carefully supporting her head on one arm as he rinsed her hair free of the soap with a small jug.

Naiya’s eyes opened to see her dreamy, blissed-out expression reflected in his soft caramel gaze.

“There now all better?” He asked while kneeling at the side of the bath. The last of the suds from her hair ran freely over his bare arms highlighting the lines of toned muscle.

“Y-yes.” She stuttered. She had been sure her temperature had returned to normal until her overactive imagination began to take over. Drawing lines and connections in a game of dot to dot with little encouragement that only served to fuel a fire in her cheeks.

“That’s my girl. I left your towels here but if you want, I can help you get out?” He got up and paused at the door waiting for her reply.

“No, I should be fine.” The bubbles in the bath were nearly depleted as they fought against the soap of the shampoo. She was becoming aware again of her own vulnerability.

“Ok. I’ll just be the other side of the door so don’t struggle if you can’t manage.” He was still worrying.

“I’m feeling a bit better I can…” She trailed off. Acting tough was not going to work when he had already seen her looking rough as hell. She forced herself to meet his eyes and nod. “Fine, I’ll call if I need you.”

“Good girl. Take your time.” Hideyoshi either didn’t notice the budding embarrassment or he was being too much of a gentleman to call her on it.

She was thankful to the bath for giving her skin an all-over flush, masking a lot of her give away blushing response to him. The door shut and she could hear Masamune shout up the stairs.

“Grubs up!”

She pushed herself a little too much to get dressed quickly so as not to keep them both waiting. When she returned downstairs. She was wheezing and trying to hide the fact she was once more in pain with her lungs rattling in her ears.

“Here Lass sit down before you fall down.” Masa joked but he was clearly trying to care for her without making it into a big thing.

Her back sunk into the sofa cushions as her eyes fell on the spread of food that was laid out on the coffee table. She hated her nose right now because if looks were anything to go by the food would have smelt divine.

“What is all this?”

“Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner… Supper.” Masa indicated all the different dishes like he was on a game show before giving a shrug as if to say it was all no big deal.

“If you were gonna cook all this why bother asking if today was a cheat day or not?” Hideyoshi came in carrying a big jug of water, slices of orange and lemon floating under a layer of ice. Placing it on a side table where some glasses were and took a seat next to her on the sofa.

“Hey, Cheat days are Cheat days only when you are healthy enough to be on a diet. When you are sick you should eat whatever you can and whatever you feel like so you can get strong again and continue to fight those pesky calorie demons.” Masa defended his cooking taking a seat on the other side of her.

“Haha, I like your logic there, Master Chef.” She giggled even more at Masa’s comments because of the huffy look that was now gracing Hideyoshi’s face. She shouldn’t take joy in him being put out but she didn’t have the energy to tell herself that.

“Why thank you.” Masa bumped shoulders with her grinning.

She once more found her mind wandering in a fog of fantasy as she registered the fact, she was the filling to this comforting boyfriend sandwich. As distractions from ill-health went it could have been a lot worse.

“However flawed it may be.” A tall tumbler of iced water appeared like a cold wedge between them as Hideyoshi passed out drinks.

“Yeah well, I’m sure the whole idea of wrapping Kitten up in bubble wrap thing is also a flawless plan.” Masa accepted the glass giving a teasing side-eye to the sandy-haired worrywart.

“Alright enough of that. Let’s eat before all this good stuff goes to waste eh?” Aware that something was about to kick off Naiya raised her voice to prevent Hideyoshi snapping back with what was no doubt going to be the start of something very witty that meant the friendly disagreement would continue till all the food was stone cold.

She regretted her words quickly as now both men had shut up and started a silent war. They pressed closer to her than necessary the feeling of being in a comfortable sandwich was becoming a distant memory. She wasn’t allowed to plate anything for herself and found her own dish filling up with bits of everything as the silent battle of caregiving continued.

Her body objected to the sudden influx of food and her stomach lurched. Eyes should not be allowed to pass judgement on what you put in your belly. As hungry as she had been it was also a while since she had eaten anything in this volume. She wanted to curse her upbringing for conditioning her to the fact that it was both rude to the cook and a waste of food to call it quits in the middle of a meal.

Sensing something was wrong with her both men stopped serving more of the dishes. Their intonations of ‘if you eat that you have to have this with it’ and ‘a balanced meal is important if you wish to get healthy’ died as they both exchanged glances over her.

“You alright Kitten?” Masa quietly asked his hand touching hers.

“Yeah.” Naiya nodded and regretted moving her head at all. She slipped her hand from Masa’s and without sparing the men a glance she left the room headed straight for the bathroom.

Naiya returned to the living room after freshening up. The harshness of the mint in the toothpaste felt a little sharp against her tongue but it was better than leaving things as they were.

The room had been completely cleared of any signs of the meal. Candles had been lit which meant the bright light from any lightbulbs was not going to cause her any issues. The DVD player had also been set up to play a movie.

All of the cushions had been dragged from the sofa to the floor making it look like a mattress had landed on the rug. The coffee table was missing but it did look like all her blankets and duvet had been artfully arranged so her previous nest now looked like a luxurious retreat.

“You’re back.” Hideyoshi came in carrying two cups with Masa trailing close at his heels with a third cup of steaming liquid and a plate of something sweet.

“Here Lass try sipping this it will help.” The warmth of ginger spread through her mouth rounded out by calming honey. “Sorry kinda went a little far before.”

He didn’t avoid her eyes but the sincerity in his voice warmed her more than the drink.

“It’s fine I should have said no but I just couldn’t when everything was so good.”

“Careful there Kitten, you’re gonna start giving a fella ideas talking all seductive like.” Masa’s voice was a low purr against her ear, his wild chestnut brown hair brushed against her cheek igniting her blush further.

He brought one of the sweet treats from the plate to her mouth the softness of the dough melted against her tongue replacing the mint and ginger with a buttery sugar spice.

“Churros?”

“Masa we agreed.” Hideyoshi reprimanded.

Masa pulled back with a playful smile as he licked his own lips. He had a way of looking like a hungry predator ready to pounce and nothing seemed to trigger that more than watching her enjoying his food.

“Yeah, Yeah. C’mere Kitten we got something special for you.” He took her by the hand leading her to the spread of cushions carefully taking her cup from her while she settled into position and then handed it back.

“You have a way of making things sound dirty even if they aren’t. I do wonder if you haven’t been hanging around a certain white-haired friend too long.” She smirked taking another sip of her drink.

Her spirited tease had a thrill that was short-lived. She could feel Hideyoshi move in behind her and sit on the frame of the cushionless sofa. Her shoulders became encased in the space between his legs as he planted a foot either side of her.

Before she could ask what he was doing, his hands wrapped over her shoulders his fingers moving in circles. The flexing pressure of his grip as the heel of his hand came into play smoothing out the knots, he found almost had her drop her cup.

“Oops! Careful there Kitten, you are already sick you don’t want to get burnt on top of all that.”

The cup was once more liberated from her failing grip while soft sighs and little moans crept out of her mouth. Masa positioned himself at her feet taking one in his hands and began copying Hideyoshi’s movements as he focused on massaging her feet.

Every now and then her leg was raised just enough to let Masa’s fingers travel past the point of her ankle and find the tension trapped in her legs. Every time she felt the release of the stressful tension, he brought his lips to the spot and trailed kisses along it.

She gasped each time he did this. His upturned blue eye was dilated to the point of stormy and his chuckle left vibrations against her skin. The pressure on her shoulders and neck tightened in her response. Hideyoshi was not to be outdone or ignored at times like this. His gentleness could be torture when used correctly and this man was a master at that.

Hideyoshi’s hands slipped to her arms before moving back to her neck and travelling down her spine until they found that sweet spot in her lower back. The one that caused her to arch against his palm as her body reacted instinctively to the pleasure of his touch.

Attacked from two sides at once the little moans became louder as she felt her body begin to hum with affection being lavished on her. Tension, aches, pains they all seemed to melt right out of her as her body temperature rose to a comfortable heat.

They only stopped when she looked as if she were on the verge of breathlessness. It felt like she had just been the victim of a huge tease but it was clear that this was the line neither men were going to cross until she was stronger.

Her body became the filling once more in a boyfriend sandwich. Masa’s arm draped around her shoulders his hand landing on Hideyoshi’s shoulder where it began to play with the gap between his shirt and bare flesh. Hideyoshi cast a glance his way but said nothing to put an end to it.

Dropping her head onto Hideyoshi’s chest Naiya could hear his heartbeat pattering out a private salsa in his body. She smiled knowing that the two guys had made up after their silly little spat.

“Ready for the movie now Princess?” Hideyoshi clicked play on the remote and the opening sequence for Nightmare Before Christmas started.

“Oh my—you got me another copy!?” Naiya snapped back up between the two men eyes sparkling as she watched the screen.

Whether she knew it or not she was moving her body ever so slightly in time with the music which only made her boyfriends chuckle behind her.

“Couldn’t have you without your beloved movie, now could we?” Masa smiled as his hand was removed from Hideyoshi’s neck.

“If we couldn’t do at least this much we aren’t really living up to the title of your men, now are we?” Hideyoshi laced his fingers with Masa's, planting a biting kiss to the back of his hand before releasing it.

The teasing going on behind her did little to break her concentration on the movie. Each man reached out with one hand to drag her back down into the space between them.

Hideyoshi’s long legs stretched out on the cushions, his feet wrapping with Masamune’s while her shorter legs balanced over the top of both of them.

It wasn’t a miraculous cure and she knew that all she had been feeling would at some point find her again. Right now though she was content. Wrapped up in the arms of two of her greatest loves, Naiya’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth from both men seeping into her with the music on the DVD acting as a lullaby. That was when the sleep she craved finally took her.

---

18 notes · View notes

project-ohagi · 4 years

Text

Keigo Takami ღ Hawks x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

His past was of no real consequence to you.

If this lie was to be exposed, the very fabric of your sanity would unravel.

That quiet, near-expressionless boy had flourished so handsomely. Yet, in your sordid line of work, sentiments like these were simply a hindrance. Your research wasn’t wasted, however; delving into his background had yielded some interesting information. As it flooded your mind, sorrow-soaked vines clawed at your heart, threatening to unleash all the sympathy trapped within. You couldn’t allow it, lest your job be compromised. Your client had promised thousands for this hit! Maybe if success was achieved…maybe you'd be able to live comfortably, gifting your younger siblings more food and toys than they had ever dreamed of. Maybe after this…you could stop?

Steeling yourself, you aimed the gun. I have eyes on the target. All I have to do is take the shot. This should be easy - he's just standing around! So…why am I hesitating?

Beads of sweat trickled from glove to metal, as you tried desperately to reshuffle your thoughts. The harmony between your senses of morality and self-preservation was fraying. White noise resonated in your ears, swimming into your very essence and exploding your nerves. It was destined to be dangerous, when your innermost feelings, after having been repressed for so long, grappled for purchase on your heart-strings, tugging in time with the death-clock. If you idled for another moment more, your target would disappear, and so too would your hopes for a taste of rapture. The result of this hit…The livelihood of everything you embraced with a gentle, loving heart…it all rested upon this one menial task. If it became impossible to provide for yourself and two minors, for the sake of a secretive man - a hero - with whom you weren't even familiar…

…Did you truly deserve these blessed sun-rays, the smiles and the laughter directed towards you in the daytime? Did you even deserve to live, anymore?

No, that won't happen! I promised (B/n) and (S/n) that I would make money, and I would keep them safe. I can't do that if I fail this - much less if I'm dead.

Though…the difficulty was stomaching something as horrendous as assassinating a man whose life, since his immaculate conception, had been fraught with hardship. You didn’t wish to imagine what you were cutting short, all the pleasantries he wouldn’t ever experience. The chains binding those marvellous, crimson wings to the Safety Commission had no time to shatter. Not even this lamentable fate could liberate his soul. Death might wrap its opaque cloak around him, but true freedom would still be unattainable. You decided that once this play concluded, you would mourn until your lungs caved in. Grief was already beginning to pool in your eyes, but you wiped it away.

The gun trembled in your hand.

A brighter future loomed beyond the horizon, if only you could take a proper aim.

As you watched him loosen his playful façade, you gulped. That image alone, that half-torn husk of a man, was filling you with regret…and he wasn’t even trying! You remembered flicking through the pages upon pages of notes collected on his past, gaze landing on some pictures of an adorable little child, clutching an Endeavor plushie. With his family's alcoholism, with their violent temper, all the shards of glass from sickening-looking bottles…

That type of environment couldn’t ever offer security for such a young chick. It was neglected, dirty - the exact opposite of your home. Then, the route chosen for him surely wasn’t the correct one. He had a tragic history, one moulded for villainy, or perhaps the more skilled profession of a hitman. You despised the feeling of malaise which had encircled you, when first hearing of your target. Why him? Why you? A wretched sob caught in your throat.

You pointed the muzzle towards him, praying to any gods that cared to listen, to be forgiven.

The gun, slick with sweat, slipped from your palm.

What…? The world seemed to move in slow-motion. No, no, no! I need to catch it, quickly! It can't end like this, I won't let it!

Amidst the frightened, hasty jerking of a woman attempting to save her position, still veiled from the target, and her means of income, a second gun lay tucked within her pocket. Forgotten. To be captured now…it would almost certainly evolve into a trip to the gallows. You wouldn’t be permitted even a word of commiseration to your siblings. How would they survive out there, on the nasty, criminal-riddled streets? You couldn’t even begin to fathom the inevitable hardships awaiting them. In your panic, you missed the ledge. A second later, you too were plummeting down, to the cold, hard ground below. You couldn’t bluff this one, you couldn’t grab on to anything. You couldn’t re-spawn. Once Hel had coaxed your soul deeper into its foreboding wasteland, you would never return. You wouldn’t get that happy ending, after all.

Yet…your heart pleaded with the wind, with the earth, with the gods.

And someone answered.

A series of delicate, but strong, scarlet feathers snaked around your wrists and back. Hawks, no…Keigo, was carrying you alongside him. A knowing smirk enveloped his perfect features, and you surrendered to the newfound warmth in your chest. Not a single thought more was spared for that gun.

No…your mind was fully occupied.

[Word Count: 901]

#bnha x reader #bnha #keigo takami #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia x reader

51 notes · View notes

bandrlodge · 4 years

Text

Just My Type

Bucky x Plus Size Original Female Character: Briar Hawthorne

Chapter Summary: Briar experiences 6° of separation

Chapter warnings: general buffoonery, recreational drug usage (marijuana)

Chapter One: Design Client Anonymous

Briar smirked, pulling her coffee cup from the cabinet. Another night, another Natasha one nighter. Of course, she'd hurried them out as she heard her roommate stirring. She pulled Nat's comically small mug from the cabinet as well and prepped both of their drinks. One sugar for Nat. Five sugars and a heavy splash of Coldstone's Sweet Cream Creamer, for her cup. Briar heard the patter of her footsteps down the steps as she was topping off her mug.

"Morning, Nat." She smiled, sliding the mug over. She grumbled, ruffling a hand through her thick, red hair. Briar settled back against the counter, adjusting the neck of her oversized Manson shirt before grabbing the coffee.

"So...how was last night?" Briar asked. She sipped the coffee, relishing the warm hug now rushing through her bones. Natasha chuckled and downed her mug full in one gulp.

"Let's leave it with, slimy yet...satisfying." Briar gagged.

"Fuck you, you nasty bitch."

Natasha laughed, "I've offered, several times."

Briar shook her head, "I don't fuck where I sleep."

"That doesn't make a whole lot of sense." They heard a voice call. Briar's head snapped over to our balcony door, which was now closing on a very disheveled Clint Barton. His hoodie hung off his frame, obviously torn in a fight. Clint, was a character; the only one of Natasha's group that was ever allowed to meet her. She loved him and couldn't count the number of times he'd shown up, carrying pizza and begging to rewatch Avatar. One time, he'd even brought a dog, Lucky. From that moment on, he'd had a permanent invitation and open door to their place. Other than him, no one had ever been allowed inside the apartment and in the four years she had known Natasha, she'd never met a single friend other than Clint.

For good reason though; living with a semi retired Avenger was dangerous. She never wanted to try and draw more attention to our friendship and home by bringing home extras. Well, high profile extras, according to her.

"No one asked you, bird brain." Brisr smiled. Clint perched himself beside me on the counter, snatching the half full coffee pot from its machine and taking a swig straight from it.

She rolled her eyes and simply took another drink of her own, having learned long ago any war involving coffee was a war that would never be won with Clint.

"Oh yeah, Nat, uhm...Boss wants to talk to you. Says you should probably call him, like...an hour ago."

"So, we arent gonna address the bloodied knuckles and tattered clothes?" Briar cocked an eyebrow and glanced between the two. Nat shook her head, "Probably not. I'm gonna go make this call." A moment later she was gone, leaving poor Briar at the mercy of the blonde coffee fiend.

Clint finished off the remainder of the coffee sitting in the pot and scooted closer to me, bumping his shoulder against my own.

"So, how's work going?" He wiggled his eyebrows, flashing his side cocked smile. laughed, raking a hand through my hair. Her finger snagged into a blue tendril and pulling at it absently while she answered,

"Honestly? It's fine. That's it. I expected a bit more from a high profile firm. I took two cases from the lead designer and one from a coworker at their behest, but, there isn't too much to go around." Briar had switched from a solo home design firm almost eight months before. While being her own boss was pretty much heaven, she needed health insurance and there was no way she could afford those payments on my own. So, she took the newest Senior Designer spot at Legendary Interiors and the rest was history. Even with the small work load currently, Briar was pretty lucky with them. The base pay was substantial and there was always a fifteen percent commission for Senior levels. She had her health insurance and not once had she been asked to remove her piercings, change her hair color, or cover her tattoos.

"But, I'm lucky. So, I don't wanna complain too much. Plus...you should see the room I'm working on now. The case came nameless to me, but, the space is amazing. From what I can tell, I actually have the space to do all of the projects I've come up with. The proposal is being sent in on Monday afternoon. Hopefully..." Briar took a large breath, "its accepted." Clint nudged her,

"You're fantastic, Briar. It will be" He hopped off the counter, putting the now empty pot back into it's holder and held out his hand.

"Show it to me, Smurfette."

Briar laughed at him and abandoned her coffee cup to drag Clint down the hall to the design room. She flipped the light switch and pulled him over to the light table. Rough sketches of a modern penthouse with multiple greenery patches throughout the floorplan lay upon the table, littered with various colored ink marks. Clint sat on the stool and studied them for a few moments, chiding the blue haired woman for biting on her nails whilst he was doing so.

"This is great, B. The greenery you've used is so...oddly placed but, it works."

She squealed, "That's what I was going for. The client is a war veteran with severe PTSD. I wanted him to have the modern space he requested, but...he originally just asked for a little spot in the house to retreat to. But, I put a bunch of spaces around the house. Triggers arent confined to one space. So, why should his self care depend on getting to one specific area?"

Clint nodded along with her rambling, something obviously ticking away in that big brain of his.

She smacked his shoulder softly to get his attention, "Whatcha thinking, bird brain?"

He turned to look at his friend, a shit eating smirk plastered on his face.

"I know whose space you're designing."

________<_________<________<________<_____

Bucky had sent the proposal for a new design over to Legendary six weeks ago. By now, he had hoped to see at least a rough sketch. Except for a few short email exchanges between himself and the Vice President of Design, he had no information on who had taken his project nor, what they were doing with it.

He pulled out his phone and shot a text to Tony,

'You said that design place was the best, right?'

Not a moment later: 'Yes, tin man. Who got your project? Katherine? Jonas?'

'I don't know, Tony. I haven't heard from anyone other than Camille. She didn't give my name to the designer like I asked, which I appreciate, but I don't know whose working on it.'

Bucky managed to fix himself a hot cup of lavender tea before Tony responded with a name and a phone number.

'Her name is Briar Hawthorne. She's been with them eight months and is their newest Senior Designer. Camille gave it to her specially. That's her cell phone number. I had to schmooze for that. Use it wisely, old man.'

Bucky laughed, Tony schmoozing on his behalf was still jarring. But, thankfully, the past decided to stay in the past after the Thanos affair. There was too much to rebuild and too much to cherish now, there wasn't time for wallowing in past mistakes. He sat on his bed, pulling a sleeping Alpine tightly to his side and shot a message over to Briar.

Hopefully, he could get some information on his damn apartment design.

______<________<________<_______<______<__

Briar sat on the balcony, weary eyed, and staring at the text message on her phone. She took another inhale of her joint and leaned her head back against the egg shaped hanging chair she was in. An exhale later she was typing her fifth attempt at a response to him.

She took another drag of the joint and recalled finding out the identity of her client.

Clint had laughed for a good five minutes. Chuckling at the absolute fucking serendipity he was watching unfold. Natasha had come in as he was dying down and as soon as he told her - in a hushed whisper between two very best friends - she had also spent a full five dying from laughter.

Turns out, the client was none other than Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. A.k.a. the Winter Soldier. Natasha had complemented the decision on the multiple greenery spaces for relaxtion and meditation, saying that the Sergeant would like that idea. Clint had teased Natasha about how she couldn't hog their Smurfette anymore, knowing that the team would likely attach themselves to Briar quickly.

She reread the text for the hundredth time.

'Hi, Ms. Hawthrone.

My name is James Barnes, and I am the client whose penthouse you are designing currently. I know originally I asked to remain anonymous but, I wanted to check the progress on the design. I've not recieved any sort of update.

Thank you, again. '

He seemed so formal. Briar was stuck on how to respond, wondering if she should mention Natasha or if she should just be professional.

'Mr. Barnes,

Thank you for reaching out. I apologize that you have not been provided with regular updates but, I can tell you that the draft proposal and cost summary will be available to you on your account dashboard on Monday. I submitted my idea to Camille yesterday afternoon. Please don't hesitate to reach out with any other questions or concerns.

- Briar Hawthorne'

Professional, succinct.

Boring.

She hit send and stuffed the phone down beside her thigh in hopes that the cushion on the chair would muffle the vibrations so she could ignore it should he respond. Briar finished out her joint and pulled another from her cigarette case and lit it up.

She felt the dooming buzz of an incoming message on her thigh and groaned.

It was James.

'Could we maybe meet tomorrow and go over the plans together? I would feel better going over the plans with the actual designer. Not her boss.

And call me Bucky. All my friends do.'

So, they were friends now? She chuckled and settled back into the chair again.

Meeting a client off the clock could go wrong, there was no telling if she'd face repercussions on Monday.

But, the opportunity to present her project on her terms in her words...

'Yeah, sure. I can do a full layout set up on my design wall here at the house. Just text Natasha for the address. She doesn't let me give it out. She's a weird roommate.

And call me, Briar.'

There. She threw it in.

The frustrated groan yell from inside the house a moment later meant that Bucky was quicker on the draw than she would have thought.

_______<_________<___________<_________<__

JMT tag: @sea040561 @heli0s-writes @suz-123

Thank you to you, reading this. Yeah, you. You're awesome.

#bucky x oc #bucky x ofc #marvel #fanfic #plus size character #bucky x plus size ofc #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction

12 notes · View notes

etlunainmorte · 5 years

Text

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

“May I have the honor of this dance, my lady?”

"I long to see such things as those you have probably seen. I want to experience everything and I wish to see them with my own eyes. See for myself what these poems of mine describe. But, the idea of doing those things alone,… do not please me, at all.”

“Would I be selfish if I ask you to accompany me, little wanderer?”

“Those scars,… symbolize the true enjoyment and will that you felt doing that special something you adore. Those feet, my Lady,… I would kiss,… over,… and over again,… if I could,… ”

“What matters is that you still have precious people around you, my Lady. You must focus on not losing them, as well.”

“Those feelings you have for me, I’m afraid we do not share them mutually.”

"I do feel obliged to tell you that I’ am not the person you seem to know. I’ am neither a good person, nor a hero you consider. In fact, I’ am the villain of your story. And I, may I add, only helped you because you seem so,… useless. Why would you even take up this massive commission in the first place? You are not as half as strong as the weakest Devil Hunter here to begin with. You are just a weak human who relies on others for survival."

“I choose,… POWER!”

"ENOUGH!"

You woke up to the sound of his frightening voice that seemed to rattle the whole place. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness inside your room as you hysterically felt for the things around you. And when your cold and trembling hands reached what felt like the soft and smooth bed covers you haven't used for what seemed like ages, your heart felt like it would shatter. You know he was there, just outside your dark and suffocating room, and you knew full well that if you get up, walk to that door, and open it, you will see him.

But, at the same time, you knew you can't.

How you've wanted so much to go to him, to throw yourself at him, to embrace him, and tell him that you love him very much but, you know you can't.

"I choose,... POWER!"

Those were the words that he told you after you bore your whole, fragile heart to him. It,... hurt you, and you knew you would be lying if you said it didn't. It hurts, and you could never deny that fact.

Then, darkness. You couldn't remember anything else after that. What happened after that? And how long ago was that? A week? A month? A year?

You tried to move an inch, however, an unbelievable sensation of pain hit your mid - section, your arms, and your legs. You covered your mouth, trying to stifle the scream of horrified pain that tried to escape from it as you heard some more, incomprehensible noises outside. It seemed that he was not alone. There were others,...

... but you didn't have any idea who they were,...

... only that they sounded familiar.

With a huge amount of effort, you carefully sat up as you propped up on your elbows, still feeling the excruciating pain in your body. You carefully swung your right leg off the edge of the bed first, followed by your left one. When you felt the coldness of the floor through your toes, you slowly put your feet down, then tried to stand,...

... only for you to collapse and scramble on the floor. You swiftly covered your mouth once more and closed your eyes as you stopped yourself from screaming and crying.

Everything hurts. Everything.

You remained on the floor curled up like this as your tears fell silently from your face. Your arms on your stomach and your legs folded, you stayed there, embracing the coldness and loneliness and waiting for those ear - shattering sounds to subside. And when they finally did, you took a deep breath and tried to stand once more. It became awfully quiet but, you couldn't care less. At least, they were gone. He was gone.

And that was entirely better compared to him pushing you away and physically and emotionally hurting you yet again.

With a slight limp, you made your way towards the door, and,...

All of a sudden, you heard it - a knock. On your front door.

Your hand abruptly left the doorknob as the knock became more and more impatient. You were about to go back to your own bed, cover yourself with those heavy bed sheets, and pretend that you didn't hear anything, when you heard a familiar voice.

"(Y/N)? It's me! Are you there?!"

It's her!

Despite the pain in your stomach and limbs, you flung open the door and sped towards the front door, ignoring the mess in the living room and even failing to notice your precious antique record on the table. You grabbed the brass doorknob, flung open the door, and,...

"(Y/N)?!" She said, looking so shocked upon seeing your appearance. "What happened to - ?!"

But, your friend wasn't able to finish her sentence as you threw yourself at her and cried your miserable little heart out. Your friend wrapped you in her arms and allowed you to let it all out on her despite not knowing the things that happened to you.

"T - take me," you sobbed. " ... away from here! P - please, Patty. P - please!"

***

XXXIII

***

You stared at your tired face in the mirror of the bathroom, pulling at a particularly dark and large bag under one of your eyes with a finger and looking at the pale flesh underneath it.

With a frown, you left your eye and looked closely at your hollow cheeks. You clicked your tongue as you noticed that they've gotten a bit thinner in just a few days. But, what really caught your attention was the few strands of hair that covered your forehead. You reach out with your right hand, brushing your hair with your fingers and slicking it up to confirm your suspicion,...

... and you were right. You were a hundred percent sure that there were only a few about two weeks ago but, now, it almost covered half of your head.

White hair. Or more accurately, silver - grey hair.

You couldn't help but sigh as you let your hair go. You slightly stepped away from the mirror and grabbed your shirt from the counter, putting it over your head and wearing it, covering the large, ugly scar on your stomach. Then, you grabbed your sweat pants and wore it, effectively concealing the equally huge and ugly scars on your thighs. Finally, you went back to your bedroom and grabbed your long - sleeved turtle neck from your bed post, wearing it and covering those bruise - like scars on your arms.

Tying the end of your long hair and tossing it to your back, you finally went out as much as you hated it. And only then did your day begin.

You were like that for nearly three months after you left Red Grave, and it was rather safe to say that during that period of time, you have easily become an angst magnet with legs who only eats, breathes, and sleeps, somehow.

Somehow. Not to mention your tears' nasty habit of pouring from your already tired and battered eyes every night before sleeping.

During those first few weeks of crying, the only things that came to your mind were the torturous thoughts and painful memories of what happened between you and him. The moment your mind made the huge mistake of conjuring his image, you couldn't help those awful tears from coming out. Hell, you even thought that you could never move on from that.

But, alas, you were wrong.

For the next few weeks after those angst - riddled sessions of crying, well, you still cried. Not only because you could still perfectly remember how he looked like and how his voice sounded like after all those weeks ago, no. It was because you felt yourself and the world around you getting heavier and heavier, and as each day and night passed, you felt yourself getting weaker and weaker to the point of breaking down. Your wounds were not healing as opposed to those times when they healed in a heartbeat. Your agility seemed to have deserted you, and the happiness, if there was any, that was left in your heart seemed to have abandoned you, as well. You were getting thinner by the day, and now, oh, fuck, now, you have white hair. Yes, your once thick and lustrous (H/C) hair was rapidly turning white. Which could only mean one, no, two things.

Number one: he was able to obtain the entities inside you that gave you immense power and kept you immortal for ten whole years.

And number two: now that these entities were gone, you were rapidly getting weaker, kind of like a side effect after all those years of taking in all the damage that should've ended your life in a heartbeat.

No, weaker was the more gentle way of describing what was happening to your body.

If you were totally being honest with yourself, you would admit that, yes, you were rapidly, and alarmingly, getting older.

But, who cares, anyway? After all, nobody would even notice. All those years of doing good to others did nothing to alleviate your pain. All those years of saving others did nothing to save yourself from your inevitable fate.

All those times, and effort, and years, of crossing the oceans and exerting your body to its limit and beyond just for that one mission, and that one man, that, you thought, could save you from your own misery and give you the future you, so, craved for, did nothing to ease your slowly dying heart and stop your abnormal aging.

You shook your head as you chuckled at the thought.

No, you were not simply getting weaker or older. You were dying, and you knew it.

But, when?

Ah, it didn't matter, did it?

"It doesn't matter anymore." You whispered as you absent - mindedly stared at the spoonful of cereal that was drowning in cream before your very eyes.

"Ah, sorry?" Patty, who was at the other end of the table, also eating cereal, asked as she peeled her eyes off the television.

You put the spoon in your mouth and ate the cereal, smiling as you did so. "Nothing." You muttered after swallowing the food.

The young, blonde woman raised a questioning eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Perfectly fine." You lamely replied as you took another spoonful of the sugary breakfast.

And this made Patty even more worried than ever before.

Ever since seeing you injured and broken like that, Patty had no other choice but to yield to your selfish request of being taken away from that place. And how could she ever refuse you? Not when you cried and begged like that, no.

Still, it was so hard for Patty to see you like that: crying your eyes out for nights on end until you fall asleep, refusing food most of the time, hell, even refusing to go outside and enjoy the sun. During those torturous months, she witnessed how your voice became hoarse and your throat worn out due to constant crying, she saw how your once healthy body changed drastically due to self - imposed starvation, she even watched helplessly as the sweet face of her friend morphed into something that was truly unrecognizable.

Depressed, unhealthy, and perpetually tired,...

... this is the (Y/N) that she never thought she'd see in her entire life.

And Patty knew, sensed, the cause of all this life - threatening sadness. You may not have uttered a single word about it, and she never forced you to, but the way you stopped listening to old love songs ( she once saw you turning off the radio at the first lyrics of the song, End Of The World ), the way you ignored the movies you once adored watching with her ( and that was Titanic she was talking about ), and the way you changed the topic at the mere mention of the word love ( once, she hasn't even finished saying the accursed word when you cut her off by introducing the topic of weather, of all things ), she became a hundred percent sure,...

... a certain man,...

... had the audacity to break your heart,...

... to the point of angst, anxiety, and depression.

Of course, upon realizing this, Patty did the best that she could to cheer you up. As much as you hated it, she forced you to have movie marathons with her just to keep you from crying each night ( she chose horror and gore, of all things ), made you do some crazy and unnecessary stuff with her to keep you preoccupied ( like eating a whole tub of ice cream by yourselves, making all kinds of DIY crafts from the internet, and doing make up tutorials, to which you were both horrible at ), and even made you compile hundreds upon hundreds of Dante's stolen shots that she took into one scrapbook just for the sake of fun ( and some did make you laugh, to be honest, like that one where he was giving himself a pep talk in front of the mirror, or that one where he was wearing mismatched socks ). She did everything she could think of just to help you divert your mind off the thoughts of whatever happened to you with that certain man.

And obviously? You only got worse.

And Patty could not take any of this, any more.

"Okay, that's it." The blonde said as she stood up and made her way towards you. She sat on the chair next to you and practically snatched the spoon from your hand just to get your attention. And she was successful.

"Patty - "

"(Y/N), listen to me," Patty began, cutting you off the moment you tried to complain as she grabbed your shoulders. " ... I know it's hard. I know how hard it feels when someone you love left you - "

"Wait, I - !"

"NO! Stop talking for a while and listen to me!" Patty almost screamed. "I mean, you've cried enough for him! You've neglected yourself far enough! Look at you! You barely eat, barely sleep,...

"(Y/N), you've gone too far, and I hate seeing you like this! I want you to move on! Forget him! Live for your own sake! Please!"

You understood your friend perfectly. You knew that Patty only wanted the best for you, and you could understand perfectly well that, due to your carelessness within the last few months, you have unnecessarily made the girl worried.

And you felt really guilty about it.

With a sheepish smile, you gently took her hands off your shoulders and clasped them together, keeping them joined with your own. You bowed your head down low and placed your forehead on top of your clasped hands as you let your emotions take over you.

"(Y/N) - "

"How I wish I could tell you everything. But, I know it won't be that easy." You told her as you looked up once more. "So, I'll just show you." You simply said as you stood up, letting Patty's hands go as you gestured towards the empty drawing room you spent the most time in during your stay in the Lowell Villa. It was a beautiful room, actually, with smooth wooden floors, cream - colored ceiling, pastel wallpaper - covered walls, and a pair of huge glass doors that allowed one to view the breathtaking island, its white sand, exotic trees and flowers, and the ocean, itself.

If things were normal, you might have enjoyed sunbathing there. You might even consider making a sandcastle of your own, one with pointed roofs and numerous windows, complete with a guardian dragon. You could also easily see yourself taking a dive in that astounding blue sea, then staring at the coast from afar. Or simply enough, you could picture yourself collecting all kinds of seashells buried there on the fine, white sand, just waiting to be found.

However, things were different for you. And difficult.

You knew you could no longer enjoy the simple things of being a normal human, and you knew it's too late for you to even enjoy it now. Your time was running out, and you finally decided to let your friend take a look of what you have become before it's too late. You owed her, and you don't want her to keep guessing. You must tell her the truth, no matter how difficult it was.

And when you grabbed the edge of your long - sleeved shirt, pulling it over your head and taking it off, removed the shirt underneath, and took off your sweatpants, leaving only your underwear, Patty could not help but gasp at the terrible state of your body. Almost skeletal and extremely pale, skin dry and slightly cracking, not to mention those unspeakable bruises on your limbs and stomach that looked as if you were skewered by something really sharp and huge, Patty immediately sensed the horror of what you've been through during your time in Red Grave.

The young, blonde woman shook her head and closed her mouth as tears streamed down her pretty face, unable to believe her own eyes at the pitiful and horrifying sight before her.

However, the pain of finally seeing you has only just begun.

"There was a time," you began as you positioned yourself in the middle of the room. " ... when I lived as carefree as anyone could." You said, then raised your arms and brought them down to your face. Patty realized that you have began dancing. But,... "I was very powerful. I thought nothing could defeat me." Something was wrong,... "But, I'm wrong. For these powers,"

Something,... was definitely wrong.

As Patty watched you moved, she noticed how,... raw,... your movements were. Almost as if,...

" ... they are not mine. They are for someone else."

And she was right. For the moment she saw you struggle with the moves, and jumps, and twirls that should've been a piece of cake to you before all this, she finally realized,...

... you have completely lost the ability to dance.

"I have searched,... for such a long time for this person." You went on. "I have waited,... longer. Far longer. Then, I found him. And I,...made a mistake." You stumbled one more time and tripped, hitting your head on the floor. But, you don't care. Still, you stood and went on. "I,... fell in love with him. Fell in love,... with the man,... who never cared in the first place. And when he took my powers for his own,... along with it, he took my heart,... he took my soul,...

" ... he took,... my life.

" ... but, I'm here. And still alive. But, I'm dying. Slowly and painfully dying. He took my strength,... and in return,... I took away his pain,... and his death,… and made them my own."

And after one last fall, you remained lying on the floor for a few moments. Too exhausted to go on dancing, you slowly and carefully sat up, allowing yourself to calm down and relax.

"No matter how much I try to deny it, no matter how much I hide the truth, the fact still remains." You said as you looked up at Patty. "One of these days, and it won't be long. You'll call my name, and I'll be gone. And when I do," You stood up and went over to your friend, who was now silently crying. " ... I want you to remember me how I was, and not like this." You, then, wrapped your arms around her and allowed her to let all the tears out on your shoulders. "I don't know how long I have left but, when the time comes, that's it."

"Please tell me you're lying!" Patty sobbed. "Tell me this is all a nightmare! Tell me this is not real!"

Your emotions overwhelmed you the moment you felt your friend's body trembling against yours. You closed your eyes and held her tighter. "Hey, at least there will be one less ugly burden in the world."

"(Y/N), YOU'RE NOT A BURDEN! STOP LYING TO ME! SAY YOU'LL WATCH MORE MOVIES WITH ME! SAY YOU'LL AGREE TO MAKE DANTE COME TO ALL OF MY BIRTHDAY PARTIES! SAY WE'LL GROW OLD TOGETHER AND LAUGH AT HOW SILLY WE LOOK AS OLD AND WRINKLED WOMEN! (Y/N), PLEASE! DON'T LEAVE ME, PLEASE!"

The tears just flowed and flowed, and you allowed it. You allowed the emotion to overwhelm you for the very last time. You even ignored how your heart twitched in pain at the prospect of dying alone without having to enjoy your own life at its fullest.

Well, you did fulfill your mission.

It just wasn't your idea to be a disposable vessel.

And just then, a silly idea came to your mind. You made Patty look at you and pinched her cheeks.

"Ouch! Hey - !"

"Cut my hair, will you? I want to look as fashionable as you." You smiled at her as you pointed at her stylish pixie cut hair ( she ditched the long curls the moment she hit the legal age ).

"(Y/N), I don't think that's - "

"Come on!" You smiled gingerly at her as you emphasized how ugly your hair was. "Do it for me, please?"

A few moments later ( and after putting your clothes on ), you were made to sit on a chair as Patty brushed your hair and started parting it.

"How short do you want it to be?" She asked you.

"Up to you." You answered.

"Okay. I won't cut it too short, though."

"I leave everything to you."

Patty sighed as she started cutting parts of your long hair, letting its (H/C) strands fall on the smooth floor of the drawing room.

"I must say, I really envy you, (Y/N)."

"What?! Why?"

"Because you have long and shiny hair! And you're just letting me chop all this beauty,..."

"My hair? Beautiful? Come on! Look at it now! I would even bet you everything I have to prove to you that it's,... hey, Patty?" You called as the girl stopped cutting your hair for a brief moment. And as you were about to look up, Patty held your temples firmly to keep you from moving. "Hey!"

"Umm, (Y/N)?"

"Yeah?"

"If he is here right now, what would you tell him?" She asked you in a slightly different tone that you didn't really take notice of.

"Why would you ask that now? It's pointless! He is probably somewhere in the other part of the globe, having loads of fun and forgetting everything about me - "

"(Y/N), I'm serious here!" Patty interjected. "You don't want to go without letting it all out, right? I mean, if you wanted to say anything, now is the time. Not later, not tomorrow, now. What would you say to him if he is here right now?"

" ... nothing." You simply whispered. And could anyone really blame you? If he's here right now, would he even lend an ear to you after everything that went on between the two of you?

You heard Patty sigh behind you. "Okay, let's do this one more time. If I'm him, what would you say to me?"

What's with this girl all of a sudden? "Alright! Alright! Since you're insisting, I might as well tell you.

"How are you doing? Are you,... uhh,... eating well? Sleeping well? I hope you're not,... doing anything rash and careless,..."

"Yes, and?" Patty prodded on.

You sighed and went on. "Umm, whatever happened between us in the past, I want you to forget everything. Live freely on your own, do everything you can to make yourself as happy as anyone could be. I want you to forget about me,... and go on. Find,... someone else who is,... worthy of your love and protection."

There was a moment of silence as Patty stopped cutting your hair for a while. Then, she combed through your hair once more as she parted them again in the middle. "Is that what you really wanted to say? Forget about everything? Forget about you? Find another person to love?"

You felt your eyes widen as they started to sting, yet again, with your raw emotions. You closed your eyes and simply let those tears fall.

"I'm so tired of pretending that everything's okay." You whispered, your head bowed down low, and your tears falling onto your neatly folded hands on your lap. With a deep breath and a sob, you finally let it all out. "I missed you so much, V! So much, it hurts. I still love you,… despite everything. I tried to get you out of my mind, to forget that I've known you. To forget that I have fallen deeply in love with you for the very short time we've been together. And it hurts,... so much,... to know that I will not be able to see you again, that I will not be able to talk to you again. That I will never hear your voice again as you read to me your favorite poems.

"If I could only go back in time, I would prevent all the pain and suffering from happening. I will tell you to run as far away as you can from that place. I don’t care what happens to Red Grave! I will,... save the both of us from that huge blunder. Maybe then, we could start all over again, to get to know each other again. Maybe we could take another shot at it.

"But, I know that everything is inevitable. I have,... fulfilled my mission for you. I gave you back what you rightfully own. And I know that this is irreversible.

"I,... love you,... so much, V. But, please, go away from me. I don't want you to see me looking like this, going rapidly old, skin crumbling, dying. I will accept that someday, you would find the perfect person to love and protect until your last breath. I would even accept that someday, you will forget about me and everything that happened between us.

"So,... go. Do everything that I told you: travel the whole world, watch all kinds of movies, eat popcorn and lots of junk food, go fishing and catch a boot, win the stuff tiger. See the world that your poems describe. Go,... and do all of those with the person you will love and cherish,... until the end.

"And I'm so,... sorry. For everything. For all the hurt. I'm sorry."

You sighed deeply, unable to believe how wonderful it felt to truly let everything out. Your chest heaving up and down in a rhythmic pattern, your whole body finally relaxing, you closed your eyes,...

... and smiled.

"Goodbye, V. I will,... never bother you,... anymore."

"There. You look perfect." Patty answered, seemingly in jest, a few seconds later as she brushed the hair off your shoulders. "Could you stand up for me, please?"

You did so, your head feeling a bit lighter. You reached up with your hands and felt for your now shoulder - length hair.

And it felt really nice.

"Could you please, turn around so I could see you?"

You slowly turned, and,...

***

🖤 Again, a special thanks to @harlot-of-oblivion for teaching me how to convey some important messages with the flower language. 🖤

🖤 @la-vita , @gothghoulfrend , @micaelagua , @yepps , @ceruleanworld , @vergils-daughter , @beyond-the-mirror , @diabeticsugarush , @shadowrosess , @lessy86 , @bettybattaglia , @heaven-on-a-landslide , and @krazy06 . 🖤

***

There was a moment of silence as Patty stopped cutting (Y/N)'s hair for a while. Then, she combed through her hair as she parted them in the middle. "Is that what you really wanted to say? Forget about everything? Forget about you? Find another person to love?" She asked.

Her head bowed down low and her shoulders slightly trembling, she answered with an achingly weak and vulnerable voice.

"I'm so tired of pretending that everything's okay. missed you so much, V! So much, it hurts. I still love you,… despite everything. I tried to get you out of my mind, to forget that I've known you. To forget that I have fallen deeply in love with you for the very short time we've been together. And it hurts,... so much,... to know that I will not be able to see you again, that I will not be able to talk to you again. That I will never hear your voice again as you read to me your favorite poems.

"But, I know that everything is inevitable. I have,... fulfilled my mission for you. I gave you back what you rightfully own. And I know that this is irreversible.

"And I'm so,... sorry. For everything. For all the hurt. I'm sorry.

"Goodbye, V. I will,... never bother you,... anymore."

Patty slowly turned behind her after those words that her friend uttered. Then, she turned back and brushed the hair off (Y/N)'s shoulders. "There. You look perfect." And she's not lying. The girl looked,... perfect. "Could you stand up for me, please?" Patty waited for (Y/N) to stand and watched as she felt for her brand new hair style. "Could you please, turn around so I could see you?"

She slowly turned, and,...

... her eyes widened in shock at the familiar figure standing before her,...

... of a person,… a man,... she thought she would never see or hear from,... ever again,...

“One of these days, and it won’t be long,

You’ll call my name and I’ll be gone,

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well.

... and so,... thee came,..."

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #i see my future before me #v x reader #v x you #chapter 33 #the disposed vessel

30 notes · View notes

popatochisssp · 5 years

Note

ooh! asks are open! if you're not accepting, don't worry about it! if u are, then how do you hc each skeles ideal job and actual job in the human world?

Their ideal and actual jobs are the same, because I am a softie who wants all her boys to be happy so everybody’s got jobs they enjoy!

As for specifics, I’ve talked about some in passing, but see the full list below! ;3

Sans (Undertale): He has two! He’s a delivery driver and does security for the local mall. The former is a natural extension of his lazy demeanor and special abilities– teleportation lets him make all his deliveries near-instantly and then he spends the rest of the time allotted to him napping in his truck or taking a Grillby’s break. On weekends, he moonlights as a mall cop and it’s equally his speed since it’s a lot of observation and ‘policing’ but very little actual responsibility. He may also, on the side, sell a few bootlegs here and there, but you’d be very hard-pressed to catch him at it.

Papyrus (Undertale): Strip club bouncer. I am one million percent behind this, he would love this job and be loved at this job, and he deserves that. But that’s just his night-job, he has a day-job too since he likes to keep busy and while the sun is up, he’s a personal trainer! He’s fantastic at encouraging people through their work-out routines and they find it easier to stick to their healthy diets and make good choices when the alternative is the horrific thought of………disappointing Papyrus…! He’s very good at his job and has so much fun with it that he barely even thinks of it as a job.

Sky (Underswap Sans): Lots of these skeletons do double-duty and with as much energy as Sky has, you know he’s one of ‘em: he’s a firefighter as his main career, and on the side he bartends. He’s a physically fit guy who loves the idea of being a hero, and he also has no skin or lungs, so he can get into lots of places in a burning building that his human coworkers can’t– and that’s without even factoring in the shortcut ability. But he’s not at the station 24/7 and he likes to be productive, so he picks up bartending shifts where he can. He’s very precise with his pours and he’s very charming and sociable with patrons, so he’s a joy to have on shift for everybody!

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Only one job for this guy, he’s a librarian! He is a huge literature nerd and the Underground only had what just so happened to fall down and not get completely ruined. Getting to work in a place with thousands of books he’s never seen before is awesome–and so is the actual job! It’s pretty quiet as a rule and the stakes are low, so he ends up liking most of the people he interacts with. A chill work environment for a chill skeleton, he’s very happy here!

Jasper (Underfell Sans): He’s a mechanic, and also moonlights at the infamous ‘dog stand. He likes working with his hands and doesn’t mind getting a little dirty. That plus his intricate knowledge of mechanics makes working at an auto shop a good fit for him. He ends up actually missing a little bit of his routine Underground, though– goddamn nostalgia… When the Asgore in his universe decrees that his subjects who owned shops and food businesses Underground reopen on the surface, a political move to improve human relations and make more positive associations with the very intimidating, violent-looking monsters– he actually decides to go for it and starts manning his ‘dog stand whenever he feels like it. He makes some mean hot-animals and is actually one of the more personable of the Fell-monsters so he’s doing his bridge-building duty pretty well, even if only as a weekend kinda thing.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): He’s still the Captain of the Royal Guard, but…monsters are making some very strong moves toward demilitarization and in peace-times, there’s just not all that much for him to do. Somewhere in all of his new downtime he takes up studying law and eventually makes a career out of it. Lawyer is kind of a natural job for a guy who’s intelligent, has a great head for details, and doesn’t shy away from an argument, so once he makes it through law school in record time, he’s a sight to behold in the courtroom: eloquent, passionate, and always sharply-dressed! He specializes in human/monster rights-related cases and will even do some pro bono consulting for the causes he deems worthy, but if you can pay his fee and he doesn’t completely loathe you, he’ll take pretty much any case. If he’d been born on the surface to start with, though, he may have pursued a career in acting– he’s has a lot of natural talent and still counts it as one of his interests, but… it’s been soured, just a little bit, by the nasty role he had to play Underground. He’ll probably only pick it up again as a hobby, at most.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Like Pyre, he doesn’t want to– and won’t!– give up his position as Captain of the Royal Guard so lightly, but on the surface with monsters integrating into peaceful human society, he has a lot more spare time than he did before and has to figure out something to do with it. He eventually settles in as an actuary. Numbers are and have kind of always been his happy-place: mathematics is cold, hard logic, cause-and-effect that’s simple the way nothing in the messy real world ever is, and aside from physical training losing himself in statistics and probabilities is the best sense of flow he’s ever been able to slip into. Once he gets his degrees accredited, it’s very easy for him to find employment running numbers and he’d start off somewhere in the insurance industry. He’d be fine there for awhile– he’s firm and impersonal, and not easily swayed by sob-stories– but eventually the way the industry is structured to benefit corporations over people becomes a little much for even him to handle. From there, he’ll move on into the private sector and do a lot of freelance consulting for companies to analyze and manage risk. It’s very boring and nerdy to just about anyone who isn’t him, but he likes the work!

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He’s a commission artist. He doesn’t like going out too much and the idea of getting any of the entry-level jobs he’s qualified for–retail and customer service, mostly– makes him want to puke and/or die a little. When he finds out there’s a thriving community of people requesting and paying for art online, he is so there. He takes a little time to get familiar with digital art and generates a presence for himself online to attract interest and then opens himself up to commissions. He has almost no limits on what he’s willing to draw and quickly stumbles across the furry scene, the kink scene, and the places they overlap, so he gets paid really well and gets to work from home while doing it. For the sake of his brother’s reputation, he tries not to mention or show any of the explicit stuff he works on in front of anybody they know, but he’s personally unashamed about it.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Ever since his head injury, he’s not really capable of holding down a job– his short-term memory is garbage and his ability to learn and process new tasks is a lot slower than any reasonable employer would be understanding of, so that rules out pretty much all his options right there. Since monsters hit the surface in his universe, though, humanity was shocked and appalled by the circumstances Underground and in spite of some fear and condemnation, the outpouring of pity and sympathy was enormous. A lot of legislation ended up quickly pushed through so that monsters could get regular stipends in reparations for their imprisonment and suffering, and also can receive disability benefits if deemed eligible. With a giant hole in his head and all that comes with it, he’s eligible so he doesn’t need a job, but at the insistence of his brother, he does need to get out of the house. His aimless wandering eventually leads him to an animal shelter seeking volunteers. He likes the pups and kitties because they’re soft and cute, plus they’re all down on their luck like he was. He’s very gentle with even the most aggressive animals and after a very short time volunteering there, he gains a bit of a reputation as a miracle worker…but he doesn’t really care about that, he’s just happy to help the little fuzzballs out.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Like his brother, he gets a reparations stipend from the human government but unlike his brother, he’s not eligible for disability– nor would he want to be! He craves getting to be a productive member of society again since he…wasn’t of nearly as much use, Underground as he wished he could’ve been. Entry-level jobs would be fine for him, anything to be out and gainfully employed, but he’s rapidly dissatisfied with any of the jobs he takes. He knows that cashiers and clerks and receptionists are all very valuable parts of an infrastructure, but it’s just…not really for him? He wants to make a bigger difference, he wants to help people, and that’s what leads him to nursing. Between his brother’s disability benefits, their reparations, and his wages from part-time employment, he’s able to put himself through school without putting any serious strain on their financial situation and eventually graduates to registered nurse. From his underground experiences he’s no stranger to blood, other human bodily fluids, or even death, so handling it in the context of trying to save lives is something he’s not only capable of, but delighted to be a part of. He’s definitely a little down when one of his patients doesn’t make it, but he’s not devastated by it: he just vows to keep doing his best so that he can help as many people as possible!

#anonymous #headcanons #undertale #sans #papyrus #underswap #us!sans #us!papyrus #underfell #uf!sans #uf!papyrus #swapfell/fellswap #sf!sans #sf!papyrus #horrortale #ht!sans #ht!papyrus

195 notes · View notes

officialleehadan · 6 years

Text

A Royal Touch

Cyn bent to kiss the princess’s forehead with the familiarity of one who had long ago been welcomed into the odd royal family.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he said, and accepted a tight hug from his goddaughter. “Now what in the world are you doing here?”

“Papa said you have a new ward,” Kalaesa said, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek before looping her arm through his. “Something about a Mage-Academic who will be teaching at the Knights’ Academy?”

“Ah yes,” Cyn told her, and led her not into the formal dining room and instead to the kitchens, and his private table there. Generally he used it for meetings he didn’t want anyone else to listen in on. “he’s a quiet lad. Younger than you’d think. I was hoping you would keep an eye on him. Help him get settled in.”

“Of course,” Kalaesa agreed, and smiled her thanks as the cook presented them with a beautiful loaf of fresh bread, and a little pot of honeyed butter to go with it. “Is he… one of your…?”

“One of my agents?” Cyn asked, well aware of his precocious goddaughter’s knack for spywork. He was planning on training her as his second sooner or later. It wasn’t like she would take the throne with two brothers ahead of her in line for the throne. “No. He’s not one of mine. He/s, shall we say that I’d like an eye kept on him?”

It wasn’t the first time he asked her to look after someone he was interested in, although on this occasion he was less worried that Dabir was a spy, and more worried that the lad would need help adjusting to court life after his years on the run.

After all, it was a rare lad, or lass for that matter, who could resist Kalaesa’s sweet charm. As someone to keep an eye on his new rogue mage, she was perfect.

No one ever suspected a Princess of the Blood to be watching them, or indeed to be anything but a decoration.

Cyn would never admit it, but Kalaesa was his favorite of his three godchildren. He adored all of them, but her brothers had, unfortunately, a large measure of nobility, and did not always understand that sometimes an ignoble act was needed to keep the peace.

Ah well. They were young, and their father would teach them better before the crown took the throne. Until then, Kalaesa’s lessons with Cyn were, to common knowledge, nothing but visits between goddaughter and godfather for the occasional game of chess.

“Tell me about him,” Kalaesa said as she poured tea for them both. “About this young man you have taken on.”

“He’s only a little older than you,” Cyn told her, and broke the bread apart, releasing a cloud of steam. “One of the best Mage-Academics I’ve ever met for all that he doesn’t have much in the way of magic himself. I hope you will help him settle in.”

He regretted lying to her, but the fewer who knew of Dabir’s true power, of his title as one of the Pillars of the Sky, the better. Sooner or later, the news would get out, but Cyn meant to keep it a secret as long as possible.

Kalaesa was clever enough to smile, a sweet light in her eyes as all her sharp intelligence vanished under a veil of gentle naiveite.

“Of course,” she promised, and sipped delicately at her tea, the veneer of Princess flawlessly in place. “Lady Edunt is very nearly at war with Lady Yellia over that nasty affair with the cloth-of-gold dress.”

“The one with the rubies sewn into the bodice?” was quite the drama. Both women considered themselves to be the first among the fashionable ladies at court, so naturally, they hated each other with a burning passion. Most recently, Lady Edunt commissioned a gown for the Summer Solstice. Lady Yellia heard about it, and immediately bought out the seamstress’s entire season of commissions.

When Lady Edunt heard, there was very nearly the kingdom’s most elegant bar fight at evening court.

“You think it will do for a distraction?”

“I think that two duchesses, one with money and the other with heritage, are the very thing to keep the whole court gossiping for weeks.”

Gods and demons his little goddaughter had a talent for the work. Cyn couldn’t be more proud.

“How?”

She smiled, just a little wicked mischief in her eyes. “There is an open position in my personal household, you know. Mistress of Wardrobe, now that I am of age. Of course, only the most fashionable lady could fill such a noble place in my circle. I wonder whom I ought to ask?”

“Oh you are an evil child,” Cyn roared with laughter and tipped an invisible hat to her, proud and impressed. The battle royale for Mistress of the Princess’s Wardrobe would spark a war to end them all. No one would notice one mage-academic slipping into the teacher’s ranks with that sort of drama blazing through the court.

“Do it,” he said, and clinked his teacup with hers. “And I’m proud of you, demon-child.”

“Thank you, Godfather,” Kalaesa said, and smiled her secret smile again. “Now tell me about this mage-academic of yours.”

+++

Desert Glass:

Dabir ran when his emperor ordered him to do the unthinkable. All the magic in the world isn’t enough to hide for long, when the most powerful ruler in the world wants your head on a pike.

Spellborn Lost

Smoked Glass

Books and Shared Experiences

Burned and Blasted

A Royal Touch

+++

More stories!

+++

Support me on Patreon

My Tip Jar

59 notes · View notes

winteriron-trash · 6 years

Text

(I Am) A Little Wicked [Chapter 1]

A/N: Oh yeah, it’s here. And it’s fucking amazing, so strap in. A lot of large time skips, but I didn’t think the filler was necessary. This chapter is a bit of a scene setter more than anything. So enjoy. Many kudos and love to my muse and angel, @lovinthepizzalife

Playlist | Summary/Warnings

Tony was ten when it happened.

It started with Howard angry and screaming, throwing things around. He reeked of alcohol, eyes wild with rage.

“Howard, enough!” Maria was standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips. “You're scaring Antonio!”

“For the last time,” Howard growled. “The kid’s name is Anthony! And he’s a disrespectful little brat!” Howard lunged for Tony.

Tony screamed and scrambled back, but Howard, even in a drunken rage, was quicker. He grabbed Tony's arm, wrenching him forward. Tony cried out, pulling his arm back. He managed to pull himself free, but Howard’s nails caught him. They scrapped down long and nasty across Tony's flesh, leaving trails of blood in their wake. Tony huddled himself behind Maria, holding a shaking arm.

“You hurt him,” Maria whispered. The room fell silent. “You hurt my ‘Tonio.” Her fists shook with building rage.

Howard must’ve noticed a change in Maria's demeanour and stepped back. He was breathing hard, raging eyes dying down to a simmer. “Maria…”

“Mio figlio.” Maria hissed. “You hurt him.” She took a step forward, pushing Tony to stay in place. “Stay back, darling.”

“Maria…” Howard took a step back. “I’m sorry. Let’s calm down.”

Maria narrowed her eyes, opening a kitchen drawer. She rifled around a bit, then pulled out a butcher knife. “You are not allowed to touch him. You will never hurt my ‘Tonio again.”

Howard cowered against a wall. “Maria, please. Let’s talk about this.”

“No.” Maria shook her head. “No more talking.”

She lunged, and it was too fast for Tony to really comprehend. One moment she was standing in front of Howard with the knife, the next she had it buried in his stomach, inches away from him.

“I hope,” Maria murmured, leaning in close to Howard. “Il Diavolo keeps you warm in Hell.”

Maria pulled the knife out and Howard slid down the wall, eyes going glassy. She watched him fall, glowering at an already stiff body.

“No one,” Maria dropped to her knees, raising the knife. “Hurts my son.”

Tony didn't know how many times Maria stabbed the dead body. He only stood and watched as her lovely white evening dress stained bright red. The blood splattered across her face and hands.

“Madre.” Tony walked over, touching her arm. “Madre, I think he’s dead.”

Maria froze, looking up at Tony. There was a single, fleeting moment where Tony was terrified of her. The rage and pure insanity in her eyes was something to be feared. But it was gone in an instant, smoothed over with the familiar loving smile of a mother. She studied Tony, head tilted to the side.

“Oh darling, you're bleeding.” Maria clicked her tongue. “Don't worry, Jarvis will fix you right up.” She reached out to touch Tony’s face, but then seemed to remember her fingers were blood-soaked and pulled it back away.

“Madre…” Tony bit his lip. “They’re not gonna take you away, right? Like the bad guys in the movies?”

Maria shook her head. “No, darling. The bad guys are the ones who get caught.” She glanced behind Tony and brightened with a smile. “Jarvis! You’re just in time. I need you to clean up ‘Tonio. He has a cut on his arm. I’m going to get cleaned up and all the police.” She grabbed a towel, wiping the knife clean of her fingerprints before dropping it beside the body. “A terrible murder has just occurred.”

She walked out of the kitchen perfectly calm and collected as if she weren’t covered in Howard’s blood.

Tony turned to Jarvis. Jarvis… well, as a ten-year-old, Tony could hardly understand the look on Jarvis’ face. It was solemn, pale. He stood staring at the dead body for a few long moments, blinking hard.

“Come along, Master Anthony.” Jarvis cleared his throat. “We’ll get your arm all bandaged up.”

Tony nodded, following Jarvis into the bathroom with a happy little skip. He idly wondered if, with Howard gone, there’d be less yelling. Maria was always so nice to Tony. Tony couldn’t wait to start living without Howard around.

“Why do we have to go?” Tony whined, sitting next to Maria. She glanced at him through the mirror of her boudoir.

“It’s your father’s death, figlio.”Maria hummed, clasping on her pearls. “We have to pay our respects.”

“You said he doesn’t deserve our respects.” Tony kicked his little legs as he sat on a stool.

Maria chuckled. “My beautiful darling, he doesn’t. And he doesn’t deserve our tears either.” She turned to face Tony, running a hand over his face. “But only the bad guys get caught, darling. And sometimes to make sure we don’t get caught, we have to lie.” She brushed stray curls off Tony’s forehead. “Your father doesn’t deserve your tears, Antonio. Don’t you ever forget that. He deserves nothing from you, my little one. But when you see a camera, you have to shed a tear for them. Be the sad little boy who lost his padre, hm?”

Tony nodded. “Yes, mammina.” He jumped off his stool after her as she stood up.

“And do you remember what I told you about smiling, figlio?” Maria asked, taking Tony’s hand as they walked toward the car.

“Don’t smile with teeth.” Tony recited. “Only your lips. Small and graceful.”

Maria nodded. “Si. You only show your fangs when you’re ready to bite. Now come, darling. We’ve a body to bury.”

“Maria.” Stane sighed. “I’m glad to have you on board with Stark Industries. Against all odds, you’ve managed to keep our stocks up this past month with… light of recent events.” He tugged on his tie as Maria did the sign of the cross. “But without Howard… I don't know how to make this company work. He was the brains.” Stane gestured to the half-finished blueprints in front of them.

Maria studied the blueprints. For as much as she was a businesswoman, she wasn't a genius. “Howard,” She let her voice catch on his name. “Howard relied on his own genius in running the company. I, however, am not opposed to finding help in others.”

Stane looked ready to say something when small feet ran into the office.

“Madre!” Tony announced. “Jarvis says lunch is ready.”

“Thank you, darling.” Maria smiled, touching Tony's head. She pretended to ignore the look of annoyance from Stane.

Tony walked over to the desk, peaking at the designs.

“Anthony, this is a grown-up-” Stane started.

“That's wrong,” Tony said suddenly.

Maria tilted her head to the side. “What's wrong, figlio? Show me.”

Tony pointed a little finger at a specific equation. “That one.”

“Can you fix it?” Maria offered him a pencil, silencing Stane’s starting objection with a look.

Tony nodded, grabbing the pencil. His careful handwriting started covering Howard's, numbers written over different numbers. He hummed happily, writing more equations until the entire sheet was covered with them.

“All done now.” Tony set the pencil down, looking at Maria for approval.

“Thank you, tesoro.” Maria kissed Tony’s forehead. “Obidah, could you take these down to R&D?”

Stane forced a smile that was too strained around his eyes and showed too many teeth to be real. He grabbed the blueprints and walked out.

Maria turned to Tony and gave him a warm smile. “What’s for lunch, darling?”

Maria folded her arms, looking around at the board.

“Mrs Stark,” A board member whose name Maria hadn’t bothered to learn spoke up. “We’re aware of the positive effects you’ve had on this company’s business since taking over. However, there are countless other factors that can play into these positive effects. When it comes down to it, you simply aren’t equipped with the knowledge and experience to be CEO of this company.”

Maria studied him, then the rest of the board. They were all nodding along, even if they wouldn’t meet Maria’s eyes. She shook her head. “Do any of you know who Edith Wilson is?” Maria asked, drumming her fingers on the wooden table.

Silence.

“She was the second wife of President Woodrow Wilson.” Maria continued, walking across the room, around the long board table. “President Wilson had a stroke while he was in office, did you know that?” Maria touched her pearls. “A terrible thing, the man was bedridden for over a year. But countries don’t run themselves, do they?” She did a sharp turn, looking over the board, posture perfectly straight. “Edith Wilson ran the country while he was sick. No decision was made without her go ahead, no one was allowed to visit her husband without her permission. She ran the country so tightly, in fact, many of her own husband’s advisors thought he was simply dead.”

Maria tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, letting her head tilt somewhat to the side. “Eleanor Roosevelt was a Delegate to the United Nations, as well as Chair to the Humans Rights Commissions, after her husband’s time in the White House. It’s amazing, what a woman can do when she’s completely overshadowed by her husband’s fame.” She held her head high. “If anyone believes I’m incapable of running this company, I don’t think they quite understand that I’ve already been running it for years.” She glanced around. “I believe this meeting is adjourned.”

“You know, Jarvis.” Maria hummed, doing her makeup. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Oh?” Jarvis asked, setting down a tray of breakfast for her.

Maria glanced down at the tray. “Thank you, doll. As I said, I was thinking. You and Miss Carter wrangled with some nasty fellows back in your time, didn’t you?”

Jarvis smiled at the memory. “I believe we did, ma’am.”

“Well,” Maria stood up, taking a sip from the cup of tea. “With Howard’s tragic passing, I do believe I have a bit more freedom to do as a please.” She walked across the room, grabbing a diamond necklace. “Help me put this on?” She pulled her hair away from her neck.

“Of course.” Jarvis stepped forward and grabbed the necklace.

“And for as much as Howard whined,” Maria continued. “Running that company of his is really child’s place. Antonio does the hardest part of the designs. Unlike Howard, I’m not content in wallowing about, drowning myself in alcohol.”

Jarvis offered a curt nod. “You’re much more dignified than that, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Maria let her hair fall back in place. “If I’m going to consolidate my power in SI, I might as well go all the way, hm?” She grabbed a shawl, throwing it over her shoulders. “Running a major weapons dealing company is only a fine line from underground mafia business.”

“A fine line that is the law,” Jarvis said dryly, but his tone held no accusation or disgust.

Maria chuckled. “That’s never been something to stop a powerful woman. Tell me, Jarvis, do you happen to still have any connections to some of those fellows?”

Jarvis paused a moment, thinking. “I could arrange for a meeting with a few Brooklyn mafias if you so wish.”

“That’d be lovely, Jarvis.” Maria flashed a smile that was all teeth. “Put me in as Maria Carbonell.”

@justjessica131 @smittenkitten143 @crazy4thewinbros @madieorally @lazilymysticalzombie @journeythroughtherain @i-dont-know-just-where-im-going @ibreathebooks-42 @shiroukun @sonofabitch150 @daughter-of-infinity @king-stony

#winteriron #winteriron fanfic #dark!winteriron #(i am) a little wicked #chapter 1 #winteriron-trash writes

194 notes · View notes

underimagines · 6 years

Text

anything that is beautiful...

“people want to break.” - Ugly, Nicole Dollanganger

Summary: “You're supposed to be excited. This is a happy occasion. But instead you can't stop doubting yourself. All because of how you look. And what you don't understand, is just how beautiful he thinks you really are. Good thing he's got just the trick up his sleeve to prove those ugly little thoughts otherwise.”

2K One-Shot Commission - Underfell!Mettaton/Reader: First Kiss Scenario

read it on ao3 / buy me a coffee

❤ ❤ ❤

You really hated how you looked.

It wasn’t the healthiest mindset, but damn if you just. Hated looking in the mirror sometimes. Of course, you knew you weren’t the only one with this problem—there were people all over the world who had the same whole “weight issue” thing. Sometimes it helped to ease your worries a little bit. Sometimes it just made the sting a whole lot worse.

Right now, you were somewhere in the middle.

What kind of outfit was this anyway? There was way too much lace and glitter, you looked more like a couture model than someone going to a simple party. Okay, maybe it wasn’t as simple a party as you wanted to think it was. More like a retirement party than anything else, from what Mettaton and Alphys had explained to you. That just made you even more nervous. How did you handle that, gracefully? You’d never been to one before, but from what you’d heard of or seen on TV, they were always extremely dry, unpleasant experiences (minus the comedic hijinks the various sitcoms tried in vain to work in).

Sure, you’d already gone through the trouble of getting your boyfriend a present. Just to kinda…”fit the mood” of the whole shin-dig. It wasn’t a watch, thank god.

It was a mixtape his cousin Napstablook and friend Shyren had made. They’d shoved it at you out of the blue one day, asking that you “hype it up” for them or something like that, then left without another word. And being the musical wizard that you were (not that you were bragging or anything), you’d worked it into something you knew he’d love. Remixes always were his jam.

You only considered it a gift from you to him because you had yet to hear back from the duo about actually “getting” the mixtape back. Like they knew how short notice this whole thing was for you (Because. It was. Very short notice. Thanks Metta.) and were kind of giving you a metaphorical hand. Which is funny, because neither of them had hands. Well, Napstablook had like, weird little ghostly stubs and Shyren had her fins, but neither of them had like, fingers, so they didn’t really count in your mind.

Still, of course, they did have some part in it—a big part, actually—so you made a mental note to mention it when you slipped him the gift later that evening.

With a sigh, you turned from the mirror to look at the gift-basket you’d put together for him. A few bottles of (MTT-Brand) champagne, a few bouquets of flowers, a bottle of (MTT-Brand) cologne, some metal polish and the mix tape, all wrapped together neatly with a beautiful, glittering red bow. A nice little ensemble for what you hoped would be a nice little get-together. Knowing Monsterkind, though, you doubted it. They’d party (or riot) over just about every miniscule thing you could think of. It all seemed ridiculous to you at first, but then you remembered that humans were similar, in a sense.

The real shame here was that a damn gift-basket looked better than you did.

You’d tried so many outfits on this evening. No matter what you did with your hair, it looked like a bird’s nest. And you didn’t even want to think about what your face looked like right now. You were probably a mess. Just one big, terrible, ribbonless mess. So, what was even the point?

Who would really miss you if you didn’t show up? You could easily just ask Alphys to deliver the gift-basket in your place. Or just give it back to Napstablook, since it was theirs originally and all.

But then there was Mettaton. He was expecting to bring you there personally. Not to mention there was hardly any time left to call and back-track. If you cancelled now…it’d break his heart.

The very thought alone steeled your nerves.

You locked eyes with your mirror-self, gritting your teeth. So, you might not look like the cat’s meow, or the bee’s knees, or whatever other stupid, cute things you could think of. But you looked decent enough.

…God, you really didn’t want to go.

And it was all your own fault, too. Just because of these damn—damn curves! You knew some monsters were curvy, and some were nothing but curves. But in human standards you were just. Not perfect. You didn’t understand it, how Monsters could express attraction so freely, despite shape or size, but maybe that was just a “them” thing. They didn’t care about looks in the way that humans did.

You tried your best to focus on that, instead of the little voice whispering otherwise in the back of your head. Of course he liked you. At least, that’s what Alphys had said when you’d brought your concerns up to her. All she’d done was roll her eyes. “Are you really that stupid? If he didn’t find you attractive, he wouldn’t have anything to do with you.”

Your first instinct was to reply with “Well, so much for personality,” but she’d already changed the subject before the words were out of your mouth. Still, while it was a while ago, it was a boost of sorts. And that, combined with your determination to make this night a good one for your boyfriend (because stars above did he need it), was enough to solidify your decision.

You could do this.

You looked…okay. And you could do this.

Man, your hands sure were shaking. Those were some shaky fingers you had there, as you stroked your hair into place and tried to force a smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes, and you groaned, pressing your face into your palms to suppress the noise.

And then your front door opened.

If there was anything Mettaton had, it was style (or at least, his attempt at it). Your nearest hallway was immediately flooded with glittery smoke, and you could see his silhouette vogueing from somewhere in the mist. A deep, bass-y dance tune blared from an unseen source. You coughed and waved the smoke away, completely deadpan to his dramatics at this point.

“Hey, Metta.”

“Helloooo, darling~!” Without warning a leg came flying out of the smoke, slamming atop your vanity with such force that it made you jump. The red stiletto boot currently grinding into the counter was going to leave a mark, that much you knew. Good thing you’d just restocked on wood polish.

The rest of him followed shortly after, as he towered over you, a rose clenched between his teeth as he beamed. He smelled strongly of florals, trailing (and raining) glitter with every movement he made. So, he’d decided to use that form for this whole thing, huh? Alphys must have given him an extra boost, or else you knew he wouldn’t normally be this energetic. He seemed happy.

And why not? This was his day after all.

“Are you ready to party, dearest? Oh, who am I kidding, of course you are! It’s my party after all.” He struck a dramatic pose, throwing his head back, the other sweeping out with the rose pinched between his fingers. A beat passed, before he leaned in close again, smile soft and nervous. “You are ready to go, right? If you need a little extra time—”

Your stomach twisted, a pit growing hard and uncomfortable. But you didn’t have a chance to respond before he gasped, “Oh, sweetheart, you look…gorgeous! Well, I mean. You always look gorgeous. There’s never a day when I don’t think you look—ah, but anywho! That’s not what I was on about in the first place.”

With a tiny flourish, he tucked the rose behind your ear. “There. Perfection.”

“Metta—” You tried softly, feeling your eyes begin to water. Oh no. Not here. Not now.

“Oh, darling, I can’t express how excited I am! This is finally it, my chance to shine. Sure, it’ll be a final performance, a last goodbye, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted! And then Blooky! Oh, they’ll be so happy to get the chance to take the lead as a producer, I know it. They’re so talented I—,” He paused for a moment, resting his palm atop the glass case where the tiny SOUL inside bounced and trembled. “I’m so happy for them. That I could finally give them this chance.”

“Metta—” Your voice broke. A tear slipped free before you could stop it, and you were too slow to catch it before he saw.

“Darling. Darling, what’s the matter?” He was quick to reach your side, grasping your hands as you tried to fight back the sobs you could feel building in your throat. “Aren’t you…happy? We’re going to be free. Finally, no more concerts. No more shows. We can spend all our time together, no more nasty messages or hate-mail! Don’t you,” his brow furrowed in confusion as he stroked the tears away, “Don’t you want that?”

You nodded wordlessly, unable to keep the tears from falling. Of course you wanted this. His happiness, his chance to finally relax. The chance for both of you, really. It was just as he’d said, no more shows. No more interview, no more paparazzi. It’d be peace for you both, and you’d finally get a chance to spend more time together. You looked forward to that the most.

“I’m sorry, Mettaton. I’m! I’m happy I promise I just. I’m not feeling…I’m not—” A sob broke free, and you melted into his waiting arms, clutching him to you as tightly as you could. “How?”

“How…?” He stroked your hair.

You hated the bitterness the words left on your tongue. “How can you love someone who looks like me? I’m not like all those beautiful models you dance with, or the people who interview you, or the actors you work with. I’m…I’m just…”

“Different, darling.” He pulled back, tilting your chin up and forcing you to meet his eyes. The gold and crimson rings within pulsed rhythmically, syncing with the frantic beating of your heart. The longer you stared, the slower they became, and the easier it became to breathe. “You’re merely different. As is everyone. Is it these you’re worried about?”

As he spoke, his fingers trailed down your sides, and you nodded, breath hitching as he moved closer. You’d never seen him this…focused before. It stirred something warm in you, where you were sure your SOUL would be.

“I love you for you, darling. Size, shape, angle. None of that matters to me. I love you so much—because you love me. Do you know how wonderful that feels, to be loved so deeply?” Slowly, he leaned up again, keeping one hand under your chin so that your gaze followed him.

The moment before he closed the distance between your lips, you swore you heard him mumble, “Because you should.”

You never thought this would be how your first kiss would go: you crying a waterfall, with him caging you against the countertop of your vanity. His lips moved against your slowly, deepening the kiss bit by bit. You reached up, letting a hand move to tangle in his hair, as his came up to comb through yours. The squeeze of his palm against your side made you gasp a bit. You could feel his smirk through your kisses, one after another. Until he finally drew back, letting you take a breath.

His eyes sparkled, pupils flickering between stars and hearts as he grinned. “How do you feel now?”

“Loved,” you mumbled back gripping his shoulders with a rush of playful confidence, “but maybe…we should try that again. Just to make sure it sinks in.”

He chuckled, a deep resounding sound that made your heart leap, before leaning in again. “We’re going to be late for the party, aren’t we?”

Probably. But right now, you were too preoccupied to really care.

❤ ❤ ❤

Thank you so much for the commission, darling! I hope you enjoy it !! ❤

#underimagines #undertale #underfell #mettaton #mettaton ex #mettaton x reader #x reader #romantic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mod mellow #long post

61 notes · View notes

adriennescomingbacktolife · 4 years

Text

(IX)

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier.” Adrienne Levi leveled her gaze at Matt Knox, sitting up in his hospital bed. He slurped at a Jello cup, dislodging the gelatin and swallowing it whole. Crossing her arms over her chest, she let him finish. “Wasn’t sure what to say.” Knox rolled his tongue and the cherry gelatin prize down his gullet. He eyed Adrienne evenly, a smirk cracking his features before speaking in a dazed, sleepy tone. “Hello is a good start, I think.” At least he was still charming in his way, she thought. “Hi.” Adrienne did her best to hold back the waterworks. But that was before she watched the dumb match where these two nearly murdered each other, especially with what happened afterward. “Do you believe me now about him?” She asked with a mix of concern and slight irritation. Knox closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. He took a moment before responding. “Would you be mad if I said I almost had him?” He said with a wry chuckle, “I always believed what you said, Ade. But you know me well enough now to know that giant, angry mental patients aren’t something I’ll shy away from fighting.” For the briefest moment, his gaze goes somewhere far off. To Zane’s wild eyes at the end of the match. To that horrid smell on his breath. The howls. “But yes, I believe you.” “...I talked to him last month, Matt. Like away from all of this.” Adrienne hadn’t told anyone about that strange conversation. Sometimes she wondered if it even happened. “He’s not okay. He seems sick. Like physically ill.” Matt’s face fell into a frown. His voice came flat, and not just because of the painkillers. “Physically, mentally,” he shook his head, “If Zane is that messed up, maybe he should be institutionalized. Someone like him, if there are that many underlying issues...hell, fuck underlying, just spend thirty seconds with him.” He wove a hand through the air, before chopping it as he made his point. “Zane King is going to kill someone. Maybe it’s not entirely his fault, but the longer people dance around and pretend it’s a non-issue? The bigger a risk, it becomes not just to the victim, but to Zane himself.” He paused, breathing in, before letting out a long exhale. “I have no love or understanding for Zane King. But, I have miles of it for mental illnesses. Hell, sometimes I see and talk to--” He stopped himself. “I’m just saying. He needs help, even if the help is being put out of commission.” Adrienne had a feeling that Zane welcomed threats like that every day. Pulling a seat closer, she sat next to Matt’s bed. “Maybe.” She said uncertainly. Her mind wandered to how this encounter only seemed to serve as a catalyst. Everyone seemed on edge, whether it was about this match with King or the other fires spreading as of late. Matt eyed her quietly, before reaching out a pale hand, knuckles swollen and bruised and grasping one of hers. “We never get any kind of breaks lately, huh, kid?” He asked in the kindest tone he could muster. “Between Silvio’s past coming to reap whatever was sewn, Mitch riding a bike between here and Detroit on no sleep, The Rat, Sebastian, and his fucking mouth.” He said, shaking his head. “At least it isn’t boring.” Adrienne’s hand relaxed in his. “No, it isn’t.” Knox squeezes her hand, before releasing it and settling into the bed. He looks around the room before setting upon the stuffed blackbird at his bedside. He reaches over and plucks it, showing it off to Ade. “Had someone drop this off while I was doped out of it last night. I think it was your new tag team partner.” Matt said with a cheese-eating grin, “You know, the one you replaced me with.” Adrienne feigned shock, “I didn’t make that decision.” Eyeing the bird, she smiled. “Besides, I think our mutual friend is trying every way possible to cause conflict. Especially after Stan was fired for cause. I guess carrying a list of my supposed daily routine is frowned upon.” “Fuck that guy.” Knox laughed, pausing to wince and favor his midsection. “And fuck Axton Gunn too. And well, almost everyone else if I’m honest.” A soft chuckle escaped as he eyed the drip. “Man, this stuff numbs everything but the tongue.” He sighed slowly, feeling and enjoying the warmth. “Yknow, Adrienne,” he has leaned back into his pillows a bit more, eyes lulling halfway, “you three. You, Mitch, Silvio. It’s like someone broke my reflection up into three pieces. Mitch, I remember bein’ that angry and protective because it was yesterday.” Another self-aware chuckle. “Silvio, well, he reminds me of all the ghosts.” And without a beat, he pointed a finger at Adrienne, “And you, It’s like an out of body experience, when I laid eyes on you. All the doubt and self doubt to boot, but then all the god damn grit to overcome.” A brief pause. Adrienne continued to let him roll. She was enjoying the company of a good friend. “Like my theme, you see.” After letting her soak in his pun, he continued, “You are currently enjoying … what, a five-win streak? You know that puts you only behind Silvio and Cortes, right? The tag champion, and future tag champion.” The cocktail seeping into his veins was clearly getting the better of him, but he adjusted and spoke clearly, “You’re better than good Ade. You’re great. Might be the best.” Adrienne responded with a polite smile. She let the Axton stuff slide. Too much to consider to get an argument about a celebrity and now a co-worker. One that she happened to think the best of. One she was struggling mightily with. Matt was someone special. Past that gruff exterior and tenacity to curse like a sailor, she saw a man finally reconciling with a past worth forgetting. It seemed to be a commonality. “I appreciate that, Matt. I’ve still got a long way before I could talk about myself like that. I’m not sure I ever could.” She didn’t intend to self-depreciate. Was a nasty habit. “But I do understand where you’re coming from. I’ll make an effort to think better of myself. I promise.” “You better, or I’ll take that Baltimore title from you. If you win it.” He snorted then, “Christ, I’m not watching that match. My best friend and my dragon...friend.” Matt furrowed his brow and shrugged before concluding, “You two are gonna tear the house down.” Adrienne acknowledged the compliment with a nod. However, his hesitation quirked her interest. She thought of something sarcastic to say. Maybe joke a little. But this was important, she could tell. Adrienne squeezed his hand and spoke low, “I’m happy for you, Matt. I really am.” “Yeah? Well, I mean, I don’t know what it is. Don’t wanna label anything or...” he trailed off. She nodded along, understanding that he would always be guarded considering the public spectacle his life has been made. “Guess it’s just nice, having a match to watch where I don’t hate someone. Not that I’m gonna watch.” Matt squeezed her hand back then, his voice lower now too, “You helped open me up to this sort of rot though, you know that, right? You dug me the rest of the way out of that hole Bert wouldn’t let me die in.” Listening intently, Adrienne felt the weight of his words. She never thought she had much of an impact on anyone. She tried her best, certainly but to hear something like this took her aback. “Learned that it was easier to put all that aggression into helping someone instead of hating everyone.” He snorted. “Christ. You’d think this was my death bed, and I was having ‘The Surge’ the way I’m goin’ on.” “The Rat has that effect.” She said with a knowing smile, followed by an immediate shame for letting that slip. Knox went to make a quip about bad breath when suddenly a knock on the door cut through the room. Standing at a proud five foot, seven in the doorway was a young, blonde, distressed looking woman of maybe eighteen. She wore an Imperial Youth Wrestling shirt and blue jeans. Matthew’s features went still a moment before a smile broke them up. “Hey, Hope,” he said with as much doped up cheer he could muster. Adrienne waved at Matt’s daughter that she had heard all about. But now wasn’t the time to chat. It was clear that Hope was being respectful, but that this was visit had a reason that didn’t involve her. “Matt, I’m going to leave you two be.” Standing up, Adrienne went to the doorway. “And after today, I could use a drink.” “I’ll be honest. I’m pretty shaken up about this one.” One of the newest contenders to the Baltimore City Championship, Adrienne Levi, was sitting at a corner table at the Angels Rock Bar. Located right in her new home city, she felt it would be an appropriate setting to talk about well, rock stars. It’d be a lie if she planned this. Adrienne just happened to be out mailing a letter when she saw a flyer for a free concert. Also, it was ladies’ night. Her little digital camera was placed on the table, framing the shot tight and level. Despite her surroundings’ dim lighting, it was clear she had on a black t-shirt on displaying Axton Gunn’s charming visage. Her elbows were on the table, hands steepled. Her eyes shimmered as she mulled over and contemplated her choice of words. “This is like my third take,” she admitted with her usual meek tone. “But I wanted to make sure to get this right. In less than a month, I have a great opportunity to represent this city. But that can’t be my focus.” Adrienne pivoted the camera slowly towards the stage. Stagehands were setting up for a concert. “Let’s set the stage.” When the shot reverted, her grin was apparent. “Get it, cuz like they’re setting … the … stage?” After the proverbial crickets sounding off in her mind, Adrienne continued, “Maybe I’ll just edit that part out.” In between her words, the ambiance of the bar took over. Clinking glasses, random conversations, and of course, the mechanical bull she made a concerted effort to ignore when first walking in. “One more stop before that huge century mark. Same partner. I know that I can trust her. I know that the fierce attitude that The Dragon Lady possesses will maybe lend a different perspective to this upcoming encounter. And they may be the very reason that she walks out champion instead of me. These aren’t things I can fret about right now. Our opposition seems to be of the same wavelength. I could understand why Sebastian Hawke would look up to someone like Axton Gunn. It would only be natural that these two eventually worked together. However, judging by all of our reactions, I doubt none of us expected this.” She gestured with her hands, following by a slightly exaggerated shrug. “But here we are,” she said with a smile, “Sebastian, I’m sorry I couldn’t find a shirt with you two on it. Maybe you’ll rectify that later for me. This isn’t just about your partner. I’d be remiss if I didn’t talk about you. I wish I had half the courage that you did. The ink wasn’t dry on your contract before you accepted the challenge of someone who personifies this company’s mission statement. That is ultraviolence. You stood toe to toe with Mitch Heart and earned a lot of people’s respect that evening.” Mitch Heart had intended to teach Sebastian a lesson in humility through brute force. And while Hawke succumbed to The Broken, it only seemed to harden his heart. It made Adrienne wonder if that approach has been common to someone like this young man. “May we talk about what else happened? I think its rather important. To be dismissed, to be infantilized, to be marginalized - it hurts. I wanted to thank you for your advice the other day. I know that you meant well. Maybe those sorts of ideals worked for you in the past even. But that isn’t who I am. Here’s what bothered me just a little, Sebastian. I think you were just angry, and that’s okay. But you tried to hold me accountable for the actions of my friends. Maybe Matt Knox can be a little caustic. And Silvio and Kohaku are quick to speak their minds. And well, you met Mitch personally. I get it. I may have held Steve Matthews’ feet to the fire for his half-hearted denouncement of Alex Winter, and so maybe you think I’m a hypocrite.” Pausing, she took a sip of the ice water the server brought her earlier. The cubes were already melting, and she could maybe go for something harder. But Adrienne had promised herself not to drink on camera anymore as it set a poor example. “It’s a little different than a friend coming to my defense when you chose to be abrasive, don’t you think? However, I admonished my friend because I don’t think you had done anything particularly wrong. You were just asking questions, right? Or is that you’re confused that I could associate from people so different than me? It just requires a little empathy, Sebastian. Either way, everything washed out in the end. For you, this is an opportunity to hit the reset button on your debut. Maybe muddy the waters of the Baltimore City Championship scene by getting a definitive victory over the current contenders. However, if you wanted to, you could ask your partner about his motives sometime.” Adrienne slid her business phone into view. Having previously set this up, a brief audio snippet played for all to hear. ”...so glad to see you made so many new friends without me, Silvio. Can’t wait to introduce myself to ‘em… one by one.” That was Axton Gunn just mere moments after he drove Silvio Leon’s skull into the mat. Notably, after a feigned motion to reconcile. Adrienne’s expression was mired with conflict. Hesitation marked her words. “Axton, I know you may hear this a lot. But I’m your number one fan. Your music has always been a beacon of light in the darker periods of my life. That’s a little dramatic, huh? Your take-no-prisoners attitude is something I wish I could emulate every day. You just say what you want, consequences be--” Adrienne cut herself off. “You know what I mean. Axton, simply put, you’re one of the coolest people ever. And as evidenced by your debut against Kohaku, you bring all of those intangible rockstar qualities to the ring as well. Not only that, but you’ve also given so much back. You use your influence to help those who are less fortunate. And if you would forgive me for this little weakness, Axton, you’re striking to look at. Your eyes are mesmerizing. Your smile makes me melt.” She said with a reverence like the many times she had rehearsed in the mirror if she ever had the chance to meet him. Well, before this. “You are just perfect.” The clip played again - a startling interruption to her star worship. “But, you’re not.” Adrienne’s words hung in the air. She did her best to revert to a neutral tone. Maybe even stoic if her soft eyes didn’t always happen to betray those attempts. “You said as much. That makes me foolish to place you so high. It was wrong of me almost to deify you. I deprived you of your right just to be human. I would hope that you would extend that same courtesy towards my imperfect friends.” Habitually, she wiped away at her eyes. “I’d like to reintroduce myself. I’m Adrienne, and in just over a week, we’ll be opponents. Nobody will remember my name like yours, but in that ring, we are equals. I don’t want to brag, but I’ve worked hard, and I’ve done well for myself. I appreciate the kind words you’ve shared about me. I really wanted to say something prior, but well, you’re a star, and I’m just me. I’m okay with that. For the first time in a long while, I think maybe I like the person I see in the mirror. One of the reasons I’ve been able to do that is because I’ve promised to be honest. I can’t break that promise for you, Axton, I’m sorry.” Leaning forward, Adrienne stared intently into the camera. She spoke in a calm voice as if she was truly speaking to an audience of one. “Your first appearance in Carnage Wrestling wasn’t as Axton Gunn, the award-winning rockstar. It was as someone who had traveled across to the country to confront someone that had hurt you. Let’s take that at face value. You’ve always been truthful in your art. So I believe you. You laid everything on the table, and I think you and Silvio have a lot to talk about.” She said this with utmost sincerity. Adrienne’s gaze to Axton faltered as she continued, “And then I saw Axton Gunn as I’ve never seen him before. Not that I know you or anything. I’m just basing this on what you’ve allowed me to see. You struck Silvio.” Her fingers tapped on the table lightly as she looked away for the brief moment, all of this accompanied by a small sniffle. “You know, in this industry, a lot of issues get resolved through violence. There’s a distinct difference in what you chose to do and what happens within the confines of a match. Sometimes it even seems a little preformative. Silvio hurt you. So you decided to hurt him. This sort of thing happens every show. Could even get desensitized to it.” Whether she meant to or not, Adrienne’s hand went to the side of her face. “I always blamed myself when this sort of thing happened. There was something that I did to deserve a lesson. I needed to understand the hurt that I caused. Sometimes I’d get confused, and I wouldn’t learn fast enough. But, suffering creates clarity.” Her demeanor softened once she affixed her gaze towards the lenses of the camera. “I don’t think that is you at all, Axton. I can’t speak to whether that was premeditated or not. You’re one of the smartest people around, so when you speak, maybe I misunderstood what you meant.” For a third time, the statement from Axton played. “You met Kohaku last show. He may have pinned you in that ring, but you planted that seed. You sowed that doubt on the type of person Silvio is. You admitted what you did wasn’t enough. Silvio hadn’t learned his lesson. As you watch this, Axton, ask yourself a small question. You ever wonder how Kohaku feels about all of this?” Adrienne couldn’t confess to know about the inner workings of Starfox. However, their affections had been public, so no wonder Axton found out how he did. “None of this. None of this would be my business, except you made it my business. I’m next, Axton. I’m your number one fan, and I love everything you do. I expect you to be on your best behavior. I expect you to be the Axton Gunn that I’ve maybe had dreams about. But Axton, I can’t play the part you want me to. I can’t feed into this campaign you have against Silvio Leon. You will need to handle these things in private, and you need to be held accountable for how you chose to react to Silvio’s decision to leave you. All of this can be done without any more lessons.” Sitting up straight, Adrienne’s voice climbed to one of determined resolve. “Axton, I hope you understand how difficult this was. When that bell rings, you face a team that has been battle-tested under precarious circumstances, with the mutual understanding that eventually, we’d have to compete with one another for just one prize. The Dragon Lady will speak for herself some other time, but I can say in the brief time that I’ve known her, she’s the bravest woman I know. And well, when you lock up with me, Axton, I won’t be your number one fan. I will be the woman who stood up to the rampant misogyny that still permeates this industry. I helped quell back those who would corrupt the innocence of this world.” Adrienne’s eyes sparked if that were even possible, and she spoke with the fervor of someone who truly believed what she was saying. “In the face of low expectations, I’ve climbed through the wreckage of one of the most devastating nights of my career, and I’ve thrived. One day, I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but I’m going to be remembered, too. I hope that I haven’t made Sebastian or you angry with me, Axton. I just wanted to let you know where I stand. I’m going to fight you, removed from whatever your plans are, and if I have the opportunity to beat you?” Letting that question linger, she answered it herself. “I won’t hesitate.” Reaching forward, Adrienne went to turn the camera off. Inadvertently, her elbow knocked the plastic tumbler over and spilled water all over the table and her shirt and lap. “Darn it, not aga-” The feed cut. Adrienne let the bubble mailer slip from her hand into the open hatch of the USPS mailbox. Addressed to one Sylvia Gould.

0 notes

tamboradventure · 4 years

Text

Here Lies America: An Interview With Jason Cochran

Posted: 01/27/2020 | January 27th, 2020

In 2010, I decided to spend the summer in NYC. I was two years into blogging and was making enough where I could afford a few months here. Still new to the industry, NYC was where all the legends of writing lived and I wanted to start making connections with my peers.

It was that summer I met Jason Cochran, a guidebook writer from Frommers, editor, and the man I would consider my mentor.

Though we never had any formal mentor/mentee relationship, Jason’s writing philosophy, advice, and feedback, especially on my first book, How to Travel the World on $50 a Day, has been instrumental in shaping me as a writer. Much of his philosophy has become mine and I don’t think I would have grown to where I am without him.

Last year, he finally published the book he’d been working on about tourism in America, called Here Lies America. (We featured it on our best books of 2019 list).

Today, we’re going to go behind the scenes of the book and talk to Jason on what does lie in America!

Nomadic Matt: Tell everyone about yourself. Jason Cochran: I’ve been a travel writer for longer than I’ve felt like an adult. In the mid-‘90s, I kept a very early form of a travel blog on a two-year backpacking trip around the world. That blog became a career. I’ve written for more publications than I can count, including for a prime-time game show.

These days I’m the Editor-in-Chief of Frommers.com, where I also write two of its annual guidebooks, and I co-host a weekly radio show with Pauline Frommer on WABC. For me, history is always my way into a new place. In many ways, time is a form of travel, and understanding the past flexes a lot of the same intellectual muscles as understanding cultural differences.

So I have come to call myself a travel writer and a pop historian. That last term is something I just made up. Dan Rather made fun of me once for it. “Whatever that is,” he said. But it seems to fit. I like uncovering everyday history in ways that are funny, revealing, and casual, the way Bill Bryson and Sarah Vowell do.

What made you want to write this book? Before I began researching, I just thought it would be funny. You know, sarcastic and ironic, about Americans going to graveyards and places of suffering just to buy lots of tacky souvenirs, eat ice cream, and wear dumb t-shirts. And, that’s still in there, for sure. We’re Americans and we like those things. Key chains will happen.

But that changed fast. For one, that would have become a very tired joke. It wouldn’t carry for three hundred pages. Things clicked for me early on, on the first of several cross-country research drives I took. I went to a place that I wasn’t taught about at school, and it clicked. I was at Andersonville in rural Georgia, where 13,000 out of 45,000 Civil War prisoners died in just 14 months. It was flat-out a concentration camp.

Yes, it turns out that concentration camps are as American as apple pie. The man who ran it was the only Confederate officer who was executed after the war. Southerners feared the victors would hang their leaders by the dozen, but that vengeance never materialized. Not for Jefferson Davis, not for Robert E. Lee—the guy who ran this camp poorly got the only public hanging. And he wasn’t even a born American. He was Swiss!

But that’s how important this place was at the time. Yet most of us have never even heard of it, except for a really bad low-budget movie on TNT in the ‘90s in which all the characters bellowed inspirational monologues as if they thought they were remaking Hoosiers.

So just getting my head around the full insanity of Andersonville’s existence was a big light bulb—our history is constantly undergoing whitewashing. Americans are always willfully trying to forget how violent and awful we can be to each other.

And Andersonville wasn’t even the only concentration camp in that war. There were a bunch in both the North and the South, and most of them had survival rates that were just as dismal. So that was another light bulb: There’s a story in why our society decided to preserve Andersonville but forget about a place like Chicago’s Camp Douglas, which was really just as nasty, except now it’s a high-rise housing project and there’s a Taco Bell and a frozen custard place where its gate once stood.

And did you know that the remains of 12,000 people from another Revolutionary War concentration camp are in a forgotten grave smack in the middle of Brooklyn? We think our major historic sites are sacred and that they are the pillars of our proud American story, but actually, how accurate can our sites be if they’re not even fairly chosen?

What was one of the most surprising things you learned from your research? In almost no instance was a plaque, statue, or sign placed right after the historic event in question. Most of the monuments were actually installed many decades after the event. In the case of the Civil War, most of the memorials were erected in a boom that came a half-century after the last bullet was fired.

If you really get close to the plaques and read past the poetic inscriptions, it quickly becomes clear that our most beloved historic sites aren’t sanctified with artifacts but with propaganda placed there by people who weren’t even witnesses to the event. There was a vast network of women’s clubs that would help you order a statue for your own town out of a catalog, and they commissioned European sculptors who cashed the checks but privately grumbled about the poor taste of the tacky kitsch they were installing all over America.

We’re still dealing with what they did today. It’s what Charlottesville was about. But most people don’t realize these statues weren’t put there anywhere near the time of the war, or that they were the product of an orchestrated public relations machine. By powerful women!

I wrote a line in the book: “Having a Southern heritage is like having herpes—you can forget you have it, you can deny it, but it inevitably bubbles up and requires attention.” These issues aren’t going away.

Places we think of as holy ground, like Arlington National Cemetery, often have some pretty shocking origin stories. Arlington started because some guy got pissed off at Robert E. Lee and started buying corpses in his rose garden to get back at him! That’s our hallowed national burial ground: a nasty practical joke, like the Burn Book from Mean Girls. Dig a little and you find more revolting secrets, like how the incredible number of people buried under the wrong headstone, or the time the government put the remains of a Vietnam soldier in the Tomb of the Unknowns. They pretty much knew his identity, but Ronald Reagan really wanted a TV photo op. So they sealed all the soldier’s belongings in the coffin with him so that no one would figure it out.

They eventually had to admit they’d lied and gave the soldier’s body back to his mom. But if a thing like that happens in a place like Arlington, can the rest of our supposedly sacred sites be taken at face value at all?

It goes a lot deeper. At Ford’s Theatre and the surrender house at Appomattox, the site we visit isn’t even real. They’re fakes! The original buildings are long gone but visitors are rarely told that. The tale’s moral is what’s valued, not the authenticity.

What can visiting these sites teach us about how we remember our past? Once you realize that all historic sites have been cultivated by someone who wanted to define your understanding of it, you learn how to use critical thinking as a traveler. All it takes is asking questions. One of the most fun threads in the book kicks off when I go to Oakland, a historic but touristy cemetery in Atlanta. I spot an ignored gravestone that piqued my interest. I’d never heard of the name of the woman: Orelia Key Bell. The info desk didn’t have her listed among the notable graves. She was born around the 1860s, which was a very eventful time in Atlanta.

So I took out my phone and right there on her grave, I Googled her. I researched her whole life so I could appreciate what I was seeing. It turned out she was a major poet of her time. I stood there reading PDFs of her books at her feet. Granted, her stuff was dreary, painfully old-fashioned. I wrote that her style of writing didn’t fall out of fashion so much as it was yanked down and clubbed by Hemingway.

But reading her writing at her grave made me feel wildly connected to the past. We almost never go to old places and look deeper. We usually let things remain dead. We accept what’s on the sign or the plaque as gospel, and I’m telling you, almost nothing ever reaches us in a state of purity.

I figured that if I was going to probe all these strangers, I had to be fair and probe someone I knew. I decided to look into an untimely death in my own family, a great-grandfather who had died in a train wreck in 1909. That was the beginning and the end of the tale in my family: “Your great-great grandfather died in a train wreck up in Toccoa.”

But almost as soon as I started looking deeper, I discovered something truly shocking—he had been murdered. Two young Black men were accused in rural South Carolina for sabotaging his train and killing him. You’d think at least someone in my family would have known this! But no one had ever looked into it before!

Here Lies America follows their trail. Who were these guys? Why would they want to kill him? I went to where their village used to be, I started digging into court documents from their murder trial. Let me tell you, the shockers came flooding. Like, I found they may have killed him because they wanted to protect a sacred old Cherokee burial mound from destruction. There was this crazy, larger-than-life forgotten story happening in my own damn family.

My experience with that poet’s grave has a happy coda. Last week, someone told me that Orelia Key Bell and her companion are now officially part of the guided tour of Oakland. The simple act of looking deeper had revived a forgotten life and put her back on the record. That’s what visiting these sites can do—but you have to look behind the veneer, the way I do with dozens of attractions in my book. This is the essence of travel, isn’t it? Getting to a core understanding of the truth of a place.

A lot of what you wrote showed how whitewashed many of these historical sites are. How do we as travelers dig deeper to get to the real history? Remember that pretty much everything you see at a historic site or museum was intentionally placed there or left there by someone. Ask yourself why. Ask who. And definitely ask when, because the climate of later years often twists interpretation of the past. It’s basic content analysis, really, which is something we’re really bad at in a consumer society.

Americans have it drilled into them to never question the tropes of our patriotism. If we learned about in grade school, we assume it’s a settled matter, and if you press it, you’re somehow an insurgent. Now, more than any other time in history, it’s easier than ever to call up primary sources about any era you want. If you want to go back to what our society really is, if you want to try to figure out how we wandered into the shattered shambles we’re in today, you have to be honest about the forces that created the image that, until recently, many of us believed we really were.

Do you think Americans have a problem talking about their history? If so, why is that? There’s a phrase, and I forget who said it—maybe James Baldwin?-but it goes, “Americans are better at thinking with their feelings than about them.” We go by feels, not so much by facts. We do love to cling to a tidy mythology of how free and wonderful our country always was. It reassures us. We probably need it. After all, in America, where we all come from different places, our national self-belief is our main cultural glue. So we can’t resist prettying up the horrible things we do.

But make no mistake: Violence was the foundation of power in the 1800s, and violence is still a foundation of our values and entertainment today. We have yet to come to terms with that. Our way of dealing with violence is usually to convince ourselves it’s noble.

And if we can’t make pain noble, we try to erase it. It’s why the place where McKinley was shot, in Buffalo, lies under a road now. That was intentional so that it would be forgotten by anarchists. McKinley was given no significant pilgrimage spot where he died, but right after that death, his fans paid for a monument by Burnside’s Bridge in Antietam, because as a youth, he once served coffee to soldiers.

That’s the reason: “personally and without orders served hot coffee,” it reads—it’s hilarious. That is our national mythmaking in a nutshell: Don’t pay attention to the place that raises tough questions about imperialism and economic disparity, but put up an expensive tribute to a barista.

What is the main takeaway you’d like readers to take away from your book? You may not know where you came from as well as you think you do. And we as a society definitely haven’t asked enough questions about who shaped the information we grew up with. Americans are finally ready to hear some truth.

Jason Cochran is the author of Here Lies America: Buried Agendas and Family Secrets at the Tourist Sites Where Bad History Went Down. He’s been a writer since mid-1990s, a commentator on CBS and AOL, and works today as editor-in-chief of Frommers.com and as co-host of the Frommer Travel Show on WABC. Jason was twice awarded “Guide Book of the Year” by the Lowell Thomas Awards and the North American Travel Journalists Association.

Book Your Trip: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld as they have the largest inventory. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and that will save you time and money too!

The post Here Lies America: An Interview With Jason Cochran appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

from Nomadic Matt's Travel Site https://ift.tt/3aIsY0R via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Nomadic Matt's Travel Site

0 notes

shadysthirddaughter-blog · 7 years

Text

Miss Most Hated

SO here i am writing this when i am suppose to be doing my assignment... it is something that have been on my chest for quite awhile now. I am sure i am not the only one that feels like their world is crushing around them and the best way to resolve anything is to press the “Quit” button.

I am a firm believer that everyone, even the happiest person in the world has to deal with their own issues. That is why i am here, to share my side of the story...

I live in a small town...lets call it ...hmm.. Appletown. So i lived here close to my entire life (since i was 6 specifically), because my parents bought a restaurant and accommodation business. I had happy memories living on the premises, meeting new people and play with my imagination. Your ideal happy child.

But being a minority, there is no easy way to not experience being an out-cast. The first day of primary school in Appletown, in kindergarten it was so difficult to make friends because i was, yes, new and knew no-one there, but also that no- one wanted to approach me. Then times go on i made a significantly friend and his name was called Brendan, he was a local boy, shy and quiet and consider each other as best of friends.

At a young age and parents having a restaurant in Appletown, there was a quite a few times a week, in the first few months of opening, were racist calls from Appletowners. As i was young, still a child, i felt like i was looked down upon and that what i ate at school, what i wear and what i look like is forever will be laughed at. So that if i had the “coolest” things and acted like i was tough it would make people respect and hang out with me. But having the coolest things weren’t going to solve anything, my parent are not rich and didn't have money to buy any privileged things, but they made me feel like i had everything and more, and i thank my parents for doing the absolute best at rise me into a women. Being a part of a business, i had to work at an early age and work responsibility gradually start to become more and more heavy.

Moving along, the first emotionally traumatic experience i ever had and will never forget was when i was in the 4th grade, i asked a girl if i was annoying and she replied with yes. As a child taking everything personally i completely had a breakdown and cried to the point i was dismissed from the school assembly. From that day onward and til now, I keep reminding myself to not be annoying, to not annoy anyone and to not bother anyone so they don’t hate me, this was the point in life which has effected me in regards to asking for help and questioning everything that i do.

Business in Appletown was average with income rolling in and my parents slowly were able to pay off their debts.

The second traumatic experience happened when i was in 8th grade and i was a teenager, i had a falling-out with a girl which followed with a fall-out with a group of friends. The situation where i thought i was helping a friend to not get ‘used’ by my close friend because i felt bad for him. This led on to a unknown feud between my close friend and i, then eventually progress to enemies because someone wrote she was a slut on the toilet door, and eventually my name was on there too. It was inevitable to assume it was each other who would do such petty thing, and i don’t blame her thinking it was me because i thought the same thing when i saw my own name. From that, peoples body language and choices that they made were clear that, i was a bitch and i am nasty, and aside with my now enemy because she is more persuasive and innocent that could do nothing wrong. Not long after guess what happened...? yep, unknowingly made another enemy, because i chose to stay away from her in order to protect her from myself because i felt bad for hurting her. She is well known to be over dramatic and has no issues stealing friends, and that is what she did. Everyone i spoke to had a “close” connection with her... and that when i lost my best friend Brendan. I was at an all time low, that i was losing everyone and everyone in my year hated me and that i was this annoying brat that is a slut and whore.

My best friend and i have not talked since...

As years went by, the community created a Facebook group along with the rise of social media. This page was not good.

As this Facebook page began to bash our business name, they started to abuse my father... i witness the comments and the amount of times i had to deal with the police growing up is exceptional.

The worse emotion you can feel when you have no power, when i know that my mother works 10x harder than anyone else in the town and unknowingly gets beaten for her efforts and work ethics that the rooms are not clean and overly dramatising the rooms are filthy... there are 5 star hotels that hardly change there bed sheets... we change them every time someone occupies the room and my mother does this personally to ensure cleanliness and refuse to hire cleaners because they might not up hold the same standards.

Everything is done by ourselves... and all that efforts is punched and kicked in our faces every time there is a nasty comment not only attacking the business but they involve my family. Of course we take the reviews to improve ourselves and the business, but more than often these reviews are aim to attack my father rather than then their experience staying here.

I myself rely on reviews to places that i don’t know, and i know how negative it is for business to have bad reviews but it is something we are working to improve, but at the meantime... there is no income and it is only nature that my father find a way tom increase our income to prevent us from being bankrupt and end up having to rely on housing commission, therefore he can’t really say no to money when faced with energy, internet and water bills pilling up.

For trying to be a good family man, Appletown Facebook group defames and abuses my father and the things we do as a traditionally cultured family and then say they have nothing against the family, it like fatally killing someone and saying i was only trying to stab him in the heart.

Following the defaming and the abuse, comes the threats of burning the place down and trashing it becomes more and more scary...

There was a few incidence of break and entering happening in Appletown and everyone assumes that they belong at our place, some were found guilty but 95% of that time, it has nothing to do with us.

A few days ago, there was a male that stormed our accommodation business armed with a baseball bat because he was angry that someone stole power tools from his ute and finding our tenants on his property. He was abusing and threatening to bash my father and to get gang members to hurt him and i was witnessing all of this because i was woken up by my father telling me to call the police. Without evidence and a specific person that committed the crime, blames my father that did nothing but mind his own business because it was clear that Appletown did not like our family. The male then goes on to threaten myself because i was looking at my phone and his brother’s gang was going to storm the business and to “get me first” and that my car will blow up... At that point i understood what it was to be confronted by a terrorist.

From all this built up, i fear, i dont fear for me, because i hit the point where i accept that, everyone hates me because of the person that i am. But i truly fear of my parents safety and psychological health... as i only been expose to pure hatred by the community and friends and is ready to end it all, i step back and i fear, my parents are old and i dont want them to “move on” to able to enjoy living and being happy. They are trying so hard to achieve that because it was time to sell the business, but we have be so beaten and defamed that anyone with a sense of hope could not accept.

I cannot imagine the emotional abuse that my parents are going through knowing that i am a bad space myself, and my father is the direct target.

My father for those that have met him describe him as helpful, hard working and honest man that is easy to get along with, but gets so much hatred from actions that he didn’t do and to carry the emotions of other peoples misconceptions...how would you feel? how thick does your skin have to be? how resilient and civil can you be under all the scrutiny that everyone put on you?

My family fear for their safety... i fear for my life even if i need to go to the post office. I fear going to the shops to buy items, I fear going next door to buy a burger, calculating which local might be there to humiliate me and tell me that i am worthless, hated and hope to disappear from Appletown. As people know where i sleep and know where i live, i feel like i am constantly being watched and at any given time i would be in danger, and that is extremely frightening and that i wish to die everyday.

This town has created an emotionally damaged family and one “on the brink of suicidal” girl, that wonders if this post and the death of me would show the town that words cut like a knife and that ganging up on a figure that does not understand English that well is, not the best way to improve the boarder community, and definitively the worse to terrorise innocent families on a family friendly Saturday morning.

It is only in cooperation, communication and understanding that will create a more peaceful and safe town that is expanding very fast, because that the end of the day depending on which day, i might not be able to be the person you can blame for every bad thing that happens in town and you have to start taking responsibility of securing and locking your own houses and cars.

I will pray each night till my last night for my parents and i to leave this town.

I thank you for taking your time to read this and hearing me out.

Regards.

0 notes