#did you not learn your lesson the first time around. you had your merry way with me already | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dozing-composing · 6 months

Note

Ur single handedly keeping the venture bro fanfics alive and honestly I love you for that thank you for all you do ❤️❤️🫡🫡

😭😭😭 I Literally Love Y'all So Much! You Guys Keep Me Going. Every Time I Log On, My Inbox Is Full And My Posts Are Blowing Up. And, We Hit Over 50 Followers! I Did Not Think I'd Get This Far, Much Less With My Previous Milestone Of Over 20. So As A Thank You, I'm Going to Gift Y'all A Little Holiday Special Featuring Our Favorite Henchman. I Hope You All Enjoy, And Of Course... Happy Holidays!

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "(Glittery -Kacey Musgraves, Troye Sivan)" 0:09 ━●────────── 2:47 ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷

ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ɪꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢɪꜰᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ

ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

ᴏʜ, ꜱᴏ ɢʟɪᴛᴛᴇʀʏ

Warnings: Vulgar Language, Possibly OOC It's Christmas, and your boyfriend is nervous to give you a gift of a lifetime. ☆GN!Reader

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house A few creatures were stirring, each person arouse The mansion was decorated with garland and tinsel, In hopes that the air was more merry and blissful

...

It came as a surprise when The Mighty Monarch was hosting a Christmas party, albeit a small one consisting of himself, his wife, Gary, and one special soon-to-be guest: you. The whole house was furnished in Christmas decorations, making the place look jolly and bright. Everyone was surrounded by bells, wreaths, ornaments, and more. It was actually Sheila's idea to throw such a festivity. "To bring us closer together," was her reasoning. "And to give us a damn break from all Guild operatives." Still, everyone agreed and took this minute to breathe. All except for Gary, who was stressing beyond something mad. See, he had plans for this one particular person. Someone he's loved since that faithful day they met. He still has that coffee cup sleeve from the first date you both went on. A couple of days before the party (or rather, a small get-together), he had been looking for advice from his boss. Which became a lesson learned to not ask him. "But what if (Y/N) doesn't like it?" "THEN YOU MAKE THEM LIKE IT-" And then he gave the infamous "I'm The Mighty Monarch" speech, ranting that if it were up to him, you would faint on the spot because it was from him. Gary walked out in the middle of it. He then went to ask Sheila, who told him something that really seemed to help. "Listen, Gary. The only reason (Y/N) won't love your gift is if they don't love you." This really stuck with him. And she was right. But, there was still one other thing... What will you say?

...

There was no reason to get nestled and snug in their beds, While thoughts of cheeriness danced in their heads The Monarch in his cloak and Gary in his sweater, Were trying to keep calm and get things together

...

Seconds ticked by, and you had yet to show up. Minutes turned to hours. The night nearly escaped from them. But The Monarch wouldn't allow it. Being fed up by waiting and waiting, he slammed his fists down and arose from his seat. "Fuck this! I'm not going to sit around anymore and wait for someone for this stupid 'party' that isn't even a party to begin with!" He throws his hands up and waves them around as he exits the room. Sheila gets up to follow him. "Sweetie, it's also a big night for Gary. You don't want to support your best and only henchman?!" Her voice fades out as she leaves to catch up to him. Gary sat at the kitchen table, alone with his thoughts once more. The snacks that were laid out appeared to have gone to waste. He sighs and rests his face on his hand. A million thoughts passes through his mind. Maybe you're not ready yet. Maybe you got caught in traffic. Maybe you got caught in the snow. But if that was the case, wouldn't you give him a call? Wouldn't you be letting him know what's making you so late? Maybe this was a huge mistake... No! Despite his frustration, he fights to stay positive. You're just running late. No way would you ditch him. You would jump at the chance to spend time with him. Especially now during the holidays. He just had to give you more time.

...

When out on the street there arose such a clatter, He sprang from his seat to see what was the matter Away to the window he flew like a flash, Threw open the curtains and saw what caused the clash ...

Being so deep in thought caused more time to pass by. Each agonizing thought made the seconds etch by quicker. He was about to give up and call it a night, when all of a sudden... SCREECH! It was a short, but loud sound. A staccato of car tires stopping. Then came the sound of a car door closing. He jumped up and ran to the window. Instantly, he ripped away the curtains to see if it was you. And sure enough, it was! His eyes lit up as he released the curtains and dashed to the door. You couldn't even lift a hand to knock before Gary had swung it open. "(Y/N)!" He reaches out and pulls you in for a great bear hug. You smile, feeling the warmth radiating off him. It fades a little when he pulls away as quick as he pulled you in. "I was starting to think you gave up on us!" You look down in shame. "I.. tried to call but the reception out here is shoddy. I got lost and couldn't get ahold of you," you explain. You look up to see Gary's eyes full of understanding. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean for this to happen." You awkwardly clench at your coat sleeves. "Hey, hey. It's okay! Look-" He eases your hands in his. "I'm glad you made it," his eyes reflected the light outside. It made your heart melt. That's probably your favorite part of him. The way they always seem to reflect the light. Even in darkness, they'll never lose their glimmer. "Come on, it's freezing out here!" He leads you inside and takes your coat. Already, you feel out of place. This is the first time you've ever come out here, and to finally see this gorgeous mansion on the inside made you feel small. "It's beautiful," you whisper. "How come I've never visited you out here?" You turn to him. He shrugs, then rubs the back of his neck. "It's complicated." With that, he takes you and shows you around. Each room is more breathtaking than the last. And thankfully, you're distracted enough to not see how fidgety Gary was getting. Or so he thought. When he led you out to the balcony is when you caught on to his nervousness.

... The moon on the breast of new-fallen snow, Gave the luster of mid-day to to objects below When what to your wondering eyes appear, You boyfriend all shaken and taken by fear ...

"...Are you oka-" "GREAT! I'm great. Are you cold? I should have brought your coat back. I should probab-" "Calm down, Gary. I'm fine," you gently grab his hand. Your turn to lead. You take him to the railing. Letting his hand go, you lean over and look out. He does the same. Snow covers the ground, everything blanketed in white. The sky is surprisingly clear for it to be in the city. You take a glance back at Gary to see he's white-knuckling the rail. Everything about him is suddenly tense. You place a hand on one of his, accidentally startling him. You look at him worriedly. "Gary, something's clearly bothering you. What's the matter?" ... With his brain working overtime and thoughts flying quick, He knew in a moment that this must be it More rapid than eagles this time surely had came, Now here he stood, gift in hand, and asked you by name ...

He takes in a deep breath, then clasps onto your shoulders. "I love you. You know that right?" You cock an eyebrow. "Of course! Why would you ask something like thi-" "Because I love you so much," he starts. "I love the way you smile at the little things. I love that you laugh at anything and everything. You're so sweet, and you're quick to help out whenever you can," his grip on you loosens more after each word falls out his mouth. "Y-you are like, the highlight of my life. You helped me through a lot," his hands travel down your arms to lock with your hands. "We even fought tooth and nail to be with each other." You laugh at the thought. But when you found out he had to move to New York, your heart broke. So you did all you could to maintain a long distance relationship. And you eventually saved up enough to move there, even if you lived in a small apartment. "And most importantly, you loved me for who I was. E-even before my transformation." Your eyes begin to water as you give a slight giggle. You remember the way he first looked, but you didn't care. You loved him for him. His geekiness only added to his attractiveness. "And for the past few years, we've gotten to know each other so well that..." He gets down on one knee. "I wanted to give, er... Ask something special of you," he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket. His heart begins to race. Your hands fly to your mouth and your eyes grow to the size of dinner plates. Your heartbeat matches his. "(Y/N)," he lifts the top of the box to reveal a stunning, sparkling ring. "Will you-" "Yes!" You throw yourself on him and wrap your arms around his neck, almost knocking him over. You both burst into tears. After having a little happy cry fest, you both got up. He then slid the ring on your finger. You both share a much-loving kiss under the stars. The hardest part is over, he thought. ...

They spoke not a word, but went straight to surprise, And opened the balcony door to see their prize And they were happy seeing the two side by side, And were excited to see that you had not denied ...

You both were about to head back inside to warm up, but you were met with the other power couple. "Congratulations!" Dr. Mrs. The monarch walked up to give you a hug. "Now let me see that rock," she lifts your hand up to inspect your ring. All while you two banter, The Monarch shares a few words with his loyal henchman. "I knew you had it in you, you dog!" They exchange their secret handshake, to which makes Mrs. Monarch give them a disappointing look. Everyone starts to head back inside. Everyone except for you. Gary sees you stalling and goes over to see what you were waiting for. "You okay?" It took a moment for you to register that he had said something. "Yeah, I just... had to collect myself," you grasp at your heart. And then there's a small pause. "I'm going to marry the love of my life!" You flap your hands and bounce on your tippy toes. You are just exploding with pure happiness. "Me too!" You share another kiss, holding each other's faces. Then he draws back and rests his forehead against yours. "I guess this means I'm not your boyfriend anymore," he chuckles. "Gary, you're such a dork." "Yeah, but I'm your dork," he boops your nose. After that, you go in to finally party. Thankfully, there was a bottle of champagne that was saved for special occasions such as this. Everyone had their glasses full, and everyone commemorated the newly engaged. "Merry Christmas, my dear," you kiss Gary's cheek. The other two "aww" to this display off affection. Your fiancé's face turns almost as red as the bows arranged on the wreaths. The rest of the night is spent with joy and laughter. You're very excited to be joining the family. ...

Everyone sprang to the inside to celebrate this new chapter, And away they all honor you joining hereafter And there they make a toast, all doused in Christmas light "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" ...

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Again, Thank You All So Much For All The Attention You Give Me. I Cannot Thank You Enough. Much Love To Everyone This Holiday Season! You're All The Best Gift I Could Ever Ask For!

#♡#the venture brothers #the venture bros #venture bros #venture bros x reader #gary fischer #gary fischer x reader #henchman 21 #henchman 21 x reader

29 notes · View notes

daphnefisherofficial · 8 months

Text

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Avatar Fem!Reader

masterlist | previous | next chapter

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - THE HIDDEN PROTECTOR.

Marc Spector watched with a mixture of amusement and concern, his bemused grin in place as the two of you stumbled out of the cozy pub, the warm embrace of alcohol having worked its magic on you both. You swayed slightly, your gait unsteady, but your spirits were high. The hour had crept past midnight, and the streets of London were bathed in the soft glow of streetlamps and the distant hum of city life. He, along with Steven Grant inside their shared consciousness, walked a few steps behind you, ensuring you didn't take a spill or tumble headfirst on the cobblestone streets.

You decided to walk backwards, your gaze locked on Marc, who followed your every movement with an indulgent smile. The alcohol had loosened your tongue, and with a lopsided grin painting your lips, you rambled on about anything and everything, your words a merry jumble of observations about the city and its people.

"Marc," you slurred, pointing at a passing black cab, "did you know these taxis look like big, shiny beetles? I swear, it's like we're in a giant insect parade!"

“Yeah, baby”, Marc chuckled softly, his Chicago accent tinged with affection as the inhibitions of calling you by his preferred term of endearment finally passed his lips with ease. "They do look a bit like that, don't they?"

“They do”, you continued your tipsy commentary as you continued strolling backwards, your laughter ringing out in the night air. “And you, my beautiful Marc, are like a shadowy guardian angel. Always a step behind, making sure I don't fall into the abyss of drunkenness."

“How poetic of you, sweet Mira”, Marc chuckled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth as he mirrored your steps with ease. He grinned at your compliment, though it was clear you were beyond rational thought at this point. He'd learned a lot about you during your late-night conversations, but this was the first time he'd seen you in such a state.

As you approached a slightly secluded alleyway on your way to the bus station, you noticed a solitary lamp post still lit and a few meters away. A mischievous thought crossed your mind, memories of a pole dancing lesson you were forcibly enrolled in by your good friend Aleah, flashing before you. With a playful grin, you decided to give Marc a show.

"Watch this, Marc!" you exclaimed, twirling around the lamppost and gripping it with surprising grace. You swayed and spun, mimicking the simple moves you'd learned, your laughter mixing with the night breeze.

“Looking good, Mira!” Marc watched in utter amusement, his hazel brown eyes fixed on you as he exclaimed tipsily how much he liked your performance. "I’m so proud of you, darling"

You ended your impromptu pole dance with a cute, theatrical pose, earning a hearty round of applause from Marc. He shook his head, utterly entertained by your antics as he burst into a hearty, boisterous laughter for probably the first time ever in his turbulent life. It was a rare, carefree moment that he wished to imprint in his memory forever.

Unbeknownst to both of you, masked assailants had been silently tailing from behind, their intentions far from benign as they were concealed in the shadows of the alley. Armed with malevolent intent and their hands gripping wolfsbane guns, weapons specifically designed to kill those they were aimed at. They had been sent on a mission to eliminate you - a sinister plan that has already been decades in the making.

Two gunshots pierced the quiet London night, shattering the peaceful ambiance. Marc's eyes widened in sheer surprise and horror, time seemingly coming to a stop as he saw your top slowly staining with the gushing flow of your own crimson blood. Panic gripped him as he watched you crumple to the cement floor, a small crescent moon tattoo on his body beginning to glow with an eerie intensity.

The pain in his shoulder and lower back was searing, nearly unbearable, but he couldn't focus on that. He sprinted toward you, his heart pounding in his chest, as his mind raced to comprehend the unfolding nightmare. The world around him blurred, the relentless agony threatening to engulf him as his face contorted with both fear and anger.

Meanwhile, chaos reigned inside their shared headspace. Steven Grant, who was usually calm and composed, was now screaming bloody murder, his voice echoing through the confines of their mind. He was helplessly trapped, unable to do anything but watch in terror as events spiraled out of control before him.

Then, as if the universe itself was conspiring against Marc Spector, a sudden darkness overcame his vision. It was as if an unseen force was forcibly pushing him out of his own consciousness. Before he succumbed to the overwhelming pressure, his blurring vision caught a glimpse of a familiar crescent moon tattoo identical to the one on his own body, glowing brilliantly white on your jugular, the very spot where his most recent, mysterious tattoo had manifested.

...

Jake Lockley was only supposed to merely watch from the shadows of Marc Spector's fractured mind that Friday night. He silently observed you, the object of his secret fascination, from the dimly lit recesses of their shared consciousness. A small, crooked smile played on his lips as he watched you with a mix of amusement and adoration, seeing you twirling near a lamppost in a slightly secluded alleyway. Your laughter rang out, infectious and sweet, as you executed a mini pole dancing routine. Your movements were fluid and mesmerizing, and he couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty and your quirky charm. There was something about the way you carried yourself, especially when you were a little tipsy, that made him smile despite himself.

With a final flourish, you ended your short performance with a cute pose, leaving Jake grinning from the shadows of Marc's mind.

But that fleeting moment of contentment shattered when two gunshots pierced the silence. Panic immediately seized Jake's heart in an invisible tight grip, his world seemed to stop as he watched you slowly succumb to your knees to the cold cement floor of the London streets. The wolfsbane poison carried by the bullets took effect immediately, as the new moon further inhibited your innate avatar ability to heal and be impervious to harm.

Your limp form was a stark contrast to the vibrant, spirited woman he had known just moments ago as Marc instinctively caught you in his arms, his eyes now wide with shock and panic. Steven, trapped in the forefront of Marc's mind, was screaming helplessly to no end as he pleaded Marc to take you to the hospital.

Jake, however, was done lurking in the shadows and playing the silent observer. Fear and fury coursed through him, consumed by the guilt and the urgency of the situation.

And at that moment, he decided that he couldn't stand idly by any longer. With a surge of willpower, Jake forcibly pushed his consciousness to the forefront, relegating Marc to the backseat of their fractured mind. It was time for him to act - consequences be damned.

Jake’s senses sharpened as he finally took the reins. He could feel the cold London air against his skin, taste the metallic tang of fear and danger in the air. The masked assailants who had attacked you were still at large, and they had marked him, your companion, as their next target.

With a guttural growl of anger, Jake summoned his ceremonial armor that was once Marc’s with a swift and deliberate motion. The former white Egyptian old threads were now ebony black as it enveloped his arms and torso, the design intricate and etched with symbols of the moon god Khonshu. His dark cape billowed around him, forming a protective shield around you as the assailants continued their relentless gunfire assault.

Jake's eyes burned with a dangerous intensity, his look crazed and borderline dangerous as he tried to shake you awake, calling your name in his heavy Spanish accent.

"¡Despierta, Mira!" he growled, his gloved hand gently tapping your cheek repeatedly. "Wake up, cariño, please!"

The world around him seemed to slow down as Jake quickly assessed the situation. The assailants, their faces concealed by masks, were firing volley after volley of wolfsbane bullets in their direction. But he was not about to be a helpless victim. With a flick of his wrist, he wielded his cape with precision, deflecting the bullets back in the assailants' direction with deadly accuracy. The shock on their faces was palpable as they scrambled for cover.

"Finish the job, Jake”, Khonshu's voice echoed in his mind, a dark and commanding presence. “I will make sure to protect Mira. Show them our wrath for daring to threaten her life."

Jake felt an unsettling mix of exhilaration and dread as he obeyed Khonshu's command. With swift, brutal efficiency, he closed the distance between himself and the assailants. His gloved fists were like sledgehammers as they started to strike with unrelenting force. The fight was brutal, a chaotic dance of fists, kicks, and the gleaming edges of his crescent darts. He moved like a shadow, striking with precision and power.

Bones snapped, and bodies crumpled under his onslaught. The moonlight glinted off his ceremonial armor, giving him an otherworldly aura of power as blood stained the cobblestones beneath his boots with the assailants falling one by one.

But he wasn't satisfied with mere vengeance. He wanted answers. And he was about to get them when one of the assailants, bloodied and broken, managed to wheeze out a few vital information as he gasped for breath.

"Die soon... Set... will be pleased."

"Who sent you?" he growled in his thick Spanish accent, his grip tightening around the assailant’s throat as he pinned him to the ground, a savage glint in his eyes. "Who wants her dead?"

“You’re too late, Moon Knight”, the assailant's lips curled into a wicked smile, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. "Mayari's avatar will die soon. At his hands, victory will soon be ours.”

His words sent a shiver down Jake's spine, but he refused to let fear take hold.

"Who is behind this?" he pressed further, his voice laced with menace. “Who is Set’s avatar?!”

The assailant laughed softly, his breaths growing shallower as life seeped away from him. "You'll find out soon enough," he wheezed, his eyes glazing over. With one final shuddering breath, he fell silent, taking his secrets to the grave.

Jake released the lifeless body before him, his mind racing with thoughts and questions. But one thing was clear—your life hangs in the balance, and he would stop at nothing to make sure you will not lose your life on his watch.

Despite his hardened exterior, Jake Lockley was trembling with panic as he immediately went by your side, watching your olive-brown complexion slowly pale due to the toxic effects of wolfsbane now slowly coursing through your veins. Blood continued to flow from your wounds, staining the cold ground beneath you. His fury was barely concealed as hot tears cascaded down Jake's face, his facade of stoicism cracking under the weight of despair.

He couldn't afford to lose you. He simply can’t.

"What can I do to save her?” Jake shouted at Khonshu, his voice filled with desperation. “Tell me what I should do!"

“Take her to Marc Spector’s flat”, Khonshu's voice was calm and composed, offering a lifeline amidst the chaos. "There's a way to counter the poison. But you must hurry."

Jake nodded resolutely, his alters still simmering beneath the surface of his mind as he cradled your limp form protectively into his arms. With a surge of power, he prepared to take flight and carry you to safety back to their London flat.

But before he could ascend, a powerful spell stopped him in his tracks. He turned to see a shimmering, ethereal presence materialize before him, divine and radiant. It was your patron moon goddess, Mayari, the fury unmistakable in both her luminous and blind eyes.

"You will go no further," she declared, her voice echoing with the authority of a divine being. “Let go of my fallen avatar, Jake Lockley”

“Goddess Mayari, please”, Jake’s voice trembled despite his rage and fear, unable to directly defy your patron goddess’s command. “We need your help, she’s dying”

“This is all your fault, Khonshu!” Mayari’s voice shook with fury as she faced Khonshu directly, who merely watched the ongoing exchange with barely concealed guilt in his facade.

“We do not have time for this, Mayari”, Khonshu retorted as his own frustration grew. Despite your displeasure at him, the Egyptian moon god has treated you all your long life as if you were his own offspring. “Mira and my avatars share life forces, if you remember. He can save her, goddess”

“Yes, please”, Jake agrees, willing to try just about anything at this point. “I’ll do anything to keep her alive. Anything”

“Very well”, Mayari’s eyes bore into Jake's, her anger momentarily subsiding as she considered his plea. "I will come with you both, so do what you must. But you will answer to me for what has transpired tonight, Jake Lockley"

Relief washed over Jake as Mayari's acceptance of their plea offered a glimmer of hope. "Thank you, Mayari," he said sincerely.

As the London night continued to bear witness to Jake Lockley’s chaotic, stormy thoughts, he readjusted his hold on you as he pulled you even close and protectively in his arms. Mayari’s spell finally lifted, allowing him to finally take flight and bring you back to their London flat. In that moment, Jake's world shifted once more as your fate hung in the balance once again - the woman he had secretly admired and sworn to protect.

And with the moon goddess watching closely as your intertwined bugna (true destinies) were being woven right before her ever-watchful eyes, Mayari realized then that she could no longer keep your looming tagna (prophecy) at bay.

END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

masterlist | previous | next chapter

39 notes · View notes

darkthingshappen · 1 year

Text

The Merry Whump of May, Day 4

@themerrywhumpofmay

“Two birds, one bullet.”

Chess Pieces

Stubborn

Tower

I'd like to thank my always whumperful crew: @oddsconvert @whumpcereal @quietly-by-myself and @sparrowsage who did an amazing beta job with this little ficlet.

HEAVY warnings for this short little fic: noncon touch, noncon gag, traiing gag, implied forced oral, implied future noncon, BBU Training. BBU, collar

The Trainee knelt with his feet locked in place and his wrists chained behind him and secured to the floor. Kneeling was the first lesson they learned. This particular trainee was already bought and paid for. The client had made specific requests. Needless to say, the boy would be a romantic. A face that pretty, a mouth that delicate, this was only ever going to go one way.

The trainee only wore two items, a high stiff collar to keep him angled correctly, and a thick silicon training gag stuffed in his mouth and locked around his head.

The Handler cupped the boy’s cheek and ran his thumb over the end of the training gag.

“Two birds, one bullet, or whatever. I don’t have to hear your defiant screams telling me you didn’t sign up for this. You will sign, whether you want to or not. And secondly…” The Handler pushed at the end of the gag, shoving it just that much further into the trainee’s mouth. “You get to work on taming that gag reflex of yours.”

The Handler smiled a bit as he saw the boy’s gag reflex kick in.

“Still have a ways to go, don’t we trainee? Perhaps you shouldn’t have been such a stubborn little brat when we first introduced this aspect of your training. I know we’ve gone at a pretty fast pace, but the client wants you trained on an accelerated time table.” The Handler moved his fingers up to the electrical burns at the boy’s temples. “Shame we don’t use the old drugs, but the electrical stimulation to the frontal cortex seems to be just as effective at erasing you. You still have several more sessions, but I’m seeing progress.”

The Handler turned the boy’s head this way and that, enjoying the way that different positions, with the extreme angle of his neck in the collar, forced his gag reflex to engage.

“You pretty boys are all alike. Chess pieces, pawns, for the rich and famous.” He looked into the trainee’s watery blue eyes. “Better you than me. That’s why you’re there and I’m here. I saw how the world works and decided to get on the winning side of it. You didn’t even know there was a game being played, let alone that there were sides to pick from.”

The Handler let the boy’s chin go but the trainee barely moved in his high collar. The man idly checked his watch.

“I’ll be back later this evening. If I can move your head around and you don’t gag, perhaps you’ll earn some nutrition. If not, then maybe tomorrow. I need to see a bit more effort on your part, understand?”

A single tear trickled down the trainee’s cheek as he nodded the fraction of an inch the collar would let him move.

“Good, you’ll also be getting your barcode and number designation tomorrow. So I suggest you really work on suppressing that reflex so you can sleep better. Because this…” The Handler tapped the end of the gag, “Isn’t coming out any time soon. The Client wants you delivered with it.”

Tags: Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain@hold-him-down@quietshae@sparrowsage@quietly-by-myself@castielamigos-whump-side-blog@darlingwhump@hold-him-down@quietshae@no-terms-and-conditions-apply @there-will-always-be-blood (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it. I’m still getting used to this)

45 notes · View notes

roppongi-division · 4 months

Text

Zakari's Thoughts on Suginami Division

Ryuko Umemoto

"So this is the Yakuza guy that turned into an animator? Huh. ...Is it weird to say that he reminds me a bit of Samatoki? I mean, they kinda look the same if you glance at them from a different angle. But... I guess I shouldn't say that around him. I hear he and Samatoki don't get along all that well. ...Plus, I heard from Lucille he's also got some kind of grudge against the Kito-gumi as well. Sheesh, no offense to the guy, but I don't think it's wise to have so many enemies."

Maki Umemoto

"Ugh, I am so glad I only have Maki-sensei once a week, cause I really do not like his class. It's not that he's a bad teacher! But... well, for one thing, he almost always cancels class cause he can never work up the nerve to teach, much like Rosho-sensei. If that were all, it wouldn't be so bad. But every time he does teach, he always veers off topic and goes off on a tirade about the government. In every lesson! I think he made a mistake signing on to be a professor. Because the way he talks, he'd probably be better suited to be a politician or an activist."

"We get it, teach! You're not a fan of Chuohku, most people aren't either. But try to save your speeches and such for after class, okay? We come to your class to learn about the history of the world, not how much Chuohku is..." Zakari reaches off screen and grabs a notebook, opening it up to reveal his notes. "...'tearing down the globes of society by placating us and making us into slaves for them.'"

Shuu Edogawa

"...Man, I have to wonder if this guy accidentally committed some unforgiveable crime against my mom in a past life or something, because she absolutely despises him. Me, though, I actually find Shuu-chan kind of funny, really! I first met him after I was coming from a date with Lucille in Shizuoka. He was following me and her all throughout our date. I don't know if she noticed, but if she did, she didn't say anything."

"After I dropped her off, I led him on a merry chase throughout the city. I gotta say, for a short, scrawny guy in a suit, he could really move! Later, after I had thoroughly tired him out, I confronted him and asked him why he was following me. I wasn't mad; more curious than anything, really. Turns out someone had paid him to tail me, but he wouldn't say who. 'I'm a professional', he said. 'I can't give away client information.'"

"Most people would be upset after hearing something like that. Me, though, I was a bit flattered. I told him, I don't begrudge him for doing his job. But whoever paid him, I told him he should go back and request double, no, triple the rate, cause I wasn't going to make it easy for him. He understood, and with that, we both went our separate ways."

"We still meet each other now and then, and I even stop and have a talk with the guy. I don't know why my mom dislikes him, but he seems alright. ...Still, he should probably sign up for some karate or gym classes or something..."

Sazanka Zombeez

"I actually like this team name. 'Sazanka.' I don't know why, but I like that word. It sounds pretty, which is a given since its a kind of flower. 'Flower Zombies'... sounds like something you'd hear in a video game. As far as the team, itself, goes, I don't think they're bad. I don't know if we'll ever face them or not. But if we do, I'm going to have fun going up against Maki-sensei. We'll see if all of his speeches on the government have prepared his rapping!"

#hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone #private party #roppongi division #zakari hiroya #suginami division #sazanka zombeez #ryuko umemoto #maki umemoto #shuu edogawa

6 notes · View notes

frodo-with-glasses · 2 years

Note

Hi! I'd like to ask for Frodo and Merry, 3, 5, 7, 12.

Oh boy it’s time to cry about cousins again, here we go—

3. “A random headcanon I have of them”

Merry taught Frodo to swim.

It was a necessary skill for the Brandybucks to learn, of course, since they so often spent time on boats—and no Brandybuck spent more time in boats than Merry. Of course he was too young to be teaching any lessons while Frodo was still living in Brandy Hall, but after he moved into Hobbiton with Uncle Bilbo, he and Merry kept up their friendship through correspondence and visiting one another on occasion.

It was just a year or two before Bilbo’s grand 111th birthday party—and Frodo’s 33rd—that Merry declared it was an absolute travesty for anyone raised in Brandy Hall to come of age and still be unable to swim. So one warm summer afternoon, he dragged Frodo to one of the drainage ponds dug in the grounds around Brandy Hall (keeps the water out of the cellars, see), and after confirming it was clear of moss or mosquitoes, they stripped down and waded in.

Merry was paddling about happily enough in the center of the pond within seconds. Frodo, to his credit, was doing just fine until the water started to creep up to his waist, and then he froze.

“Lie back!” Merry called, demonstrating the backstroke a few yards away. “Just spread your arms and put your chest up.”

Frodo stared at his reflection in the surface of the water and gave a nervous laugh. He wanted to be brave for his younger cousin, of course—and he had agreed to this before they started—but now that he came to it, he was terrified.

He tried to crouch down and lean back, as Merry suggested. Water crept up the back of his neck and lapped at his ears.

“No!” Before he’d even realized it, he found that he’d charged out of the pond and was now shivering on the muddy bank. “No, no, I can’t do it.”

Merry was alert now, and he paddled to the edge of the pond with a concerned look on his face. “Whatever’s the matter?”

“I can’t do it.” Frodo clutched his arms, and his teeth were chattering. “I’ll sink.”

“You won’t. It’ll hold you up, so long as you don’t thrash about.”

“Will it?” asked Frodo, looking despairingly at the water.

That was when Merry’s expression changed: first to realization, and then to sadness and guilt.

It wasn’t the river, and it wasn’t a boat, but…well…

Frodo had good reason to be afraid of the water.

Merry sloshed up the bank until he was standing only ankle-deep and held out his hand. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll be there to help you. You needn’t do it alone.”

Frodo’s initial look at him was baleful, but then it changed into sort of a stubborn resignation, and he sighed. “Well, I suppose we must have it over with.”

Taking Merry’s hand, he slowly stepped back into the water.

That afternoon, they did succeed in getting Frodo floating on his back, and he could manage an uncoordinated backstroke and dog-paddle and didn’t panic when his head went under and water got into his ears. Merry was very proud and considered this his crowning achievement and declared the next time they went swimming, it would be in the river (to which Frodo replied firmly that if Merry wanted to do that, he would be swimming quite alone).

Many years later, on a bridge of elvish rope in Lothlorien, Frodo was edging his way towards the opposite riverbank—walking steadily enough, with both hands on the rope for support—when he made the mistake of looking down.

The rapids hissed and gurgled far below him, and the white froth and spray leaped to lick at his feet.

He froze. His knees shook. His grip tightened on the supporting rope, but his hands felt clammy and slippery.

“Frodo?” asked a voice from behind him, and then there was a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Merry’s hand.

Frodo breathed out slowly. Right. He wasn’t the only one here. He’d hold up the line if he carried on like this.

“I don’t suppose you’d be able to swim this river,” he said, and his voice didn’t sound as steady and jesting as he’d hoped.

Merry looked down and clicked his tongue. “Wouldn’t be easy,” he said slowly. “I suppose you could make for the closest bank, and you’d be all right.”

Frodo nodded, and willed his feet to move, but they wouldn’t budge.

There was a pause, and when Merry spoke again, he sounded like he was smiling. “If you fall in, I’ll catch you.”

He said it with such surety—and a little bit of irony—that Frodo couldn’t help but laugh. “I imagine one of our elven guides would be more suitable for a rescue.”

“Not if I get there first,” declared Merry, and Frodo laughed so hard that his knees forgot their shakiness and carried him over to the other side.

That steadying hand never left his shoulder.

5. “A scene I wish we had of them”

See above. But also, I wish we could have seen Frodo and Merry growing up together in Brandy Hall! I know Merry would’ve been way younger than Frodo, but there’s still a little bit of time overlapping before Bilbo adopted Frodo, and I would’ve liked to see the start of the cousins’ bond.

7. “What makes me like their friendship”

Oh man. I dunno. I have so many feelings about their relationship, but I feel like I’m not gonna be able to do it justice in words.

I think it’s the familial aspect of it all; Merry is probably the closest thing that Frodo has to a brother, and you can see that bond in the leadership role he takes in the Conspiracy. It’s not a big, dramatic, emotional friendship—being that it’s between the two more reserved hobbits in the group—but it’s deep and rooted and solid, and you almost take it for granted, in the same way that you assume that your family is always gonna be there for you even when you have fights and disagreements.

I think I also connect with this relationship more because of how strongly I relate to both of the characters involved. I’ve always related to Frodo—sweet, bookish, surprisingly perseverant little dude that he is—but it’s only in this read-through that I really started to fall in love with Merry; his meticulous personality, his good head for logistics, the way he shows love through a myriad of well-laid plans and acts of service, and the way he aches for his loved ones when he’s separated from them and has no way to help them. Frodo and Merry are two quiet, sharp little introverts who have a love that’s deep and familial and solid as a rock and never, ever in doubt and I just think that’s beautiful.

12. “A word to describe them”

I keep using that word “deep”, so maybe I should just accept it as my word for them.

It describes their relationship: deep as in “intensely felt”, or deeply rooted, woven into the core of who they are.

It also describes Frodo and Merry themselves: deep as in “profound or penetrating in awareness or understanding”.

This is where I’d put a joke or final thought, but I don’t have one. I just really love these boys.

FRIENDSHIP ASK GAME!

#ask game #frodo baggins #meriadoc brandybuck #merry #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing

46 notes · View notes

nuinindia2023 · 11 months

Text

Day 26: #roadtrip

Welcome back everyone! For those of you who read yesterday’s blog post, Snehaa and I decided to switch it up a little. Not only was she busy documenting our day for the blog, but she also was busy taking over the Northeastern Instagram page. And I’m not talking about the Northeastern GEO page. I mean the actual official Northeastern Instagram page. Like the one with 109k followers. She did an amazing job by the way- go Snehaa!

Anyway, here we are. A new day, a new blog post. Today’s itinerary was pretty simple. 4 hour bus ride to Agra, Taj Mahal, 4 hour bus ride to Delhi. #roadtrip Yes, you did the math correctly, that is approximately 8 hours on the bus (not including bus traffic!) and we made it out alive. However, I will say those 8 hours felt like an eternity. To show you what our journey looked like here is a screenshot of Apple Maps (not showing the traffic that we did unfortunately hit)

The morning started out in high spirits. Well, as high as they could be for that early 7am departure from the Lemon Tree hotel in Jaipur. Most people took the first hour or so to sleep, and by the time we started unopening the packed breakfast, we were all awake and ready to see the Taj. (Compliments to the wonderful hotel staff who packaged up some breakfast foods for us to eat on the bus!) Please enjoy the photo of Scott dancing along to some song playing in his earbuds. Pictured below is also a photo of us enjoying some toast before the bus left.

Olivia and I also had purchased some fun snacks for this bus ride and filmed a few fun taste test videos. Here is a fun screenshot I took from when we tried the Spanish Tomato Tango Lays chip and were cheers-ing. We even got Prof. Duane to try it with us.

While I will not be putting those on this blog post, please note that we enjoyed most of the snacks we tried and it was a good way to pass the time. We took a quick pit stop to use the restroom and quickly browse the souvenir store, and then were on our merry way to Agra.

As soon as we stepped off the bus the hawkers sprang into action and throwing necklaces, magnets, and key chains in our faces, but no one stopped to buy. At least not right then. A short golf cart ride later and we were at the East Entrance to get a quick lesson on the Taj’s history. Fun fact: it took 22 years to build and there are 22 white domes that make up the Taj. One for each year it took to build! I'm not going to lie, pictures do not do it justice, but nonetheless, please enjoy.

We also learned that the inscription highlighted in one of those pictures is an optical illusion. The writing at the top is written bigger, but because of the longer distance from the viewer, it appears to be the same size as the text at eye-level!

Let’s just say that it’s one of the seven wonders for a reason. It’s absolutely breathtaking, and we were lucky because the crowds didn’t seem too bad. We stopped at several stops to take individual photos, as well as a group shot. The photographer that took some of our photos was very keen on getting everyone one to do one of his guided poses.

I thought about putting in some of those individual photos here, but for all you parents out there- I decided to not spoil the surprise. Ask your kids for their photos! For now, just enjoy a few of the smaller group shots we took :)

By the time most of the Instagram-worthy photos were taken, we were starting to get pretty hot and ready to move on to see the inside. Once we got inside the mausoleum, we weren’t allowed to take any photos. There was a security guard who had a whistle at the ready to tell off any visitors for taking photos. So, in the meantime, please enjoy this photo I got online that shows that the the beautiful inside looked like (below; left)

Once we finished walking our little circle around the tombs, we were ready to wrap this tour up. Like I said, the Taj is absolutely beautiful, but at that point, we were all ready to get out of the heat and continue along on our journey. So we made our way to the exit, stopped to purchase any desired photographs from the photographer, got swarmed by hawkers again, and then finally got on the bus.

We stopped at a McDonalds for a to-go lunch to eat as we continued to drive the 4 hours to Delhi. I’m not entirely sure if the drive was closer to 5 hours or not, but it certainly felt like it. With a full day of traveling, we were all glad to see the sign for the Eros Hotel. For dinner, some people ordered take-out, while a group went to a local food court down the street that Teddy found. (Giving credit where credit is due) We ate at a Pan-Asian restaurant and then briefly scoped out the scene for a potential spot to hang out at tomorrow night. Stay tuned to find out if we actually end up going back to there or not. Well that’s it for me. We’ll see you all tomorrow!

2 notes · View notes

viola-halogen · 2 years

Note

handwritten / promised and thomas thorne?

Thank you for your request! I wasn't sure what to do with this for a while but then I came up with this idea and it was very fun to write.

Handwritten - Thomas Thorne

Thomas sighed and leant back against the wall, taking a sip from the glass of lemonade in his hand. Lord Weatherford’s family home was indeed grand, and there was a merry atmosphere as the various party guests mingled with each other, but Thomas wanted nothing more than to go home. He wished he could be working on his latest poem in peace, rather than standing on the sidelines watching strangers dance with each other.

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

Thomas turned to his right, to see a young woman standing there, staring curiously at him. She wore a soft blue gown with an embroidered bodice and a long, elegant skirt, and her brown hair was curled into an intricate up-do. She was stunningly pretty, and Thomas found himself gaping, struggling to produce a single coherent thought.

“...hi,” he managed awkwardly. “Thomas Thorne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Isabelle Higham,” she said, and with a small smile playing at her lips she reached out and offered him her hand. Thomas shook himself, then bent down to kiss it.

“So, are you here with anyone?” Isabelle asked him.

“My family,” Thomas said. “I’m actually trying to avoid my mother. She’s got some sort of matchmaking scheme in mind between me and Miss Mariana Kensington. I find the whole thing particularly inane.”

“Oh?”

“We have almost nothing in common! I don’t think she even likes me very much. We danced at a ball together a few weeks ago, and she spent the whole time looking over my shoulder at my cousin Francis.”

Isabelle’s laughter rang out across the room. “Now that must have stung.”

Thomas smiled. “I suppose it did, a bit. He’s much more the sort of man she’s looking for, anyway.” Isabelle laughed again, a joyful sound full of warmth, and Thomas realised he had become completely oblivious to all that was happening around them. It was as if they existed in their own private bubble, unbothered by the rest of the world.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself,” he said. “What do you like to do in your free time?”

“Oh, I love to play the piano! I’ve started getting lessons from an elite tutor recently and I’m learning so much! I also do a bit of painting, although I’m not as good as my father. My whole family is quite artistic.”

“Really? Me too! I’m a poet!” Thomas exclaimed. “I don’t think my family really approves of my career choice, but poetry’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“Wow, that’s wonderful!” Isabelle said. “I’ve always found poetry impressive. I’d love to hear some of your work, if you’d allow me.”

Thomas gaped at her. She was very quickly becoming one of his favourite people in the whole world.

“Of course!” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket for his notebook. “This is one I just started a few days ago. It’s going to be an epic poem, but I’ve only got the first three stanzas so far. It’s about a poor milkman who falls in love with the daughter of a Duke, but her father refuses to allow them to marry, so they attempt to run away and start a new life together.”

Isabelle took the notebook and began to read. Thomas watched nervously, feeling his palms growing sweaty. It wasn’t often someone actually took enough interest in his work to want to read one of his poems.

“Wow,” Isabelle said when she had finished, passing the notebook back. “That was… certainly interesting.” Her meaning was all too clear. Thomas tried not to feel disappointed.

“It’s only a first draft,” Thomas said. “I’ll probably revise most of it.”

“There were actually some really good parts,” Isabelle said. Thomas nearly scoffed and told her not to patronise him, but she sounded so genuine that he held his tongue. “I liked the way you describe the passage of time as being like leaves falling from a tree in the first stanza. But I think if you moved the introduction of the milkman’s character to a new stanza and leave the description of the garden on its own the whole piece will flow a lot better.”

Thomas paused, trying it out in his head. “That… that’s actually perfect! Do you know how many times I’ve re-written that part? You don’t mind if I use your suggestion, do you?”

“Of course not!” Isabelle said, a surprised smile on her face. Thomas walked over to a nearby table, pulled a quill and ink jar from his pocket, and began scribbling down the improvements. He was almost finished when he looked up to find Isabelle watching him.

“You write with your left hand,” she said. There was no malice in her voice, only surprise and a hint of curiosity. Thomas flinched and looked down, realising that he had absent-mindedly picked up his pen left-handed. He’d been so caught up in the rush of talking to Isabelle that he hadn’t even thought about it. He dropped the pen hurriedly and attempted to stammer out an explanation.

“It’s, um… I didn’t mean to… as a child I always favoured my left hand, and my earliest tutors were never very strict about correcting me… so to this day I still find it a difficult habit to break. I didn’t even realise I was doing it… I’m sorry, I should have been paying better attention.”

“Oh my gosh, no, it’s me who should be sorry,” Isabelle said. “I shouldn’t have pointed it out, I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward! It was a stupid thing of me to say!”

Thomas avoided her gaze. “No, it’s not your fault. It just startled me because… well, you know how people can be about it.”

Isabelle nodded. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

As much as it relieved Thomas to hear her say that, he still couldn’t shake the lingering panic as he picked up the pen—in his right hand, this time—and finished jotting down his notes. Then he put his pen and ink away and straightened up.

“Again, I’m sorry,” Isabelle said. “You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll forget I even saw anything.”

“I appreciate that,” Thomas said. “Many would not be so kind.” He thought of the one particularly strict Latin instructor he had once had who would cane Thomas whenever he caught him using his left hand. And of Francis, who, when he had found out that Thomas had been doing his spelling work left-handed, had held the information over his head for the next two years until that tutor had finally retired.

“Well, there is one thing you can do to make up for it,” Isabelle said, and reached up and unclipped the silver chain around her neck, before slipping it into Thomas’s hand. “Call upon me at Higham House sometime to return this. I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Mr Thorne.”

As if in a daze, Thomas closed his hand around the necklace. “Of course I will,” he said breathlessly. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you too, Lady Isabelle.”

#bbc ghosts #thomas thorne #isabelle higham #bbc ghosts fanfic #ask meme #fic prompts

4 notes · View notes

hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

Text

two turtle doves -> two hockey skates | t. seguin

a/n: thank you for all your sweet comments on the first fic of this little holiday series :) here’s fic number two in my 12 days of christmas series! full list linked here.

word count: 3,643

warnings: alcohol, terrible skating, some questionable choices, cheesiness.

Christmas in Toronto, well outside of Toronto, with the Seguin family was going better than you had let yourself hope it would. Meeting Tyler’s family happened ages ago, but the decision to split holidays, Thanksgiving with yours and Christmas his, was a much bigger one that had brought nerves in never ending supply. Spending Christmas away from your own family, where you had always spent it, also had you worrying, on top of endless time with your boyfriend’s family where you felt like you always had to be on, you worried it wouldn’t feel like Christmas. But now, with the gifts opened and cherished, the fire roaring, dinner served and enjoyed, and with everyone drinking Tyler’s mom’s incredible spiked hot chocolate, your nerves had given way to warmth and love, and as cliché as it was, the Christmas spirit.

“How you doing, Ty?”

You smiled as you wrapped an arm around his waist from the side. His arm extended out, giving you space to tuck under it and into his side. He pulled you in tighter for a moment and dropped a kiss to your temple, other hand setting his fourth, possibly fifth, mug of spiked hot chocolate on the counter. The marshmallows in his mug floating on the surface were dissolving into the cocoa, a situation you knew Tyler was hoping to create, the candy cane used to stir discarded on the counter. It was the little things that made the holidays, not the big ones, like disintegrating marshmallows and his younger sister’s obsession with your family gingerbread recipe she swore was the best she ever had and the noise of the fire crackling in the background on top of a rare snowy Christmas in Tyler’s hometown.

“When are we going to get you to use your Christmas present?” Tyler asked you, words slurring a little together from a combination of alcohol, exhaustion, and the holidays.

“Oh, at some point, I guess,” you shrugged, then realized that might sound like you didn’t appreciate them before quickly adding, “I really appreciate them, Ty. Thank you.”

Tyler shook his head softly, “No, no, we need a plan to get you on the ice finally. None of this ‘at some point’ or ‘later, Ty’ bull. You’ve told me later for two years now and you know what? Now is later. Come on, get your coat.”

“Wait, you wanna go skating right now?” you squeaked out.

“You mean,” he snagged a Stars beanie off the counter and tugged it down over your head quickly, pulling it back by the pom pom to adjust it, “we’re going now. Full stop.”

You were sputtering out words as Tyler headed for the front coat rack. Your inability to skate, and your even stronger will not to learn at this point in your life, were a regular sticking point with Tyler, a person whose job required him to skate well. He offered to teach you way back on your second date, and back when you’d been trying your hardest to impress him, you’d agreed to take lessons from him but only because the teacher was cute. Tyler hadn’t actually scheduled any lessons back then, when he was trying even harder to impress you, so you quietly let the offer fade to black, hopefully never to be resurrected. But here Tyler was, bringing it back from the dead, when you least expected it, on Christmas Day, a day you never expected to spend with him, but now we’re pretty sure you never wanted to spend the day without him. However, you didn’t want to spend part of it falling flat on your face attempting to do the thing your boyfriend did for a living.

“Come on,” Tyler encouraged, as he laced his boots up tighter. “Get your coat. I’ll grab the skates.”

“Tyler, it’s after nine-”

“Stop giving me crap,” he teased you. “Coat, gloves, come on.”

You sighed and wanted to push back. It was dark. It was cold. It was snowy. It was Christmas, and yet, Tyler wanted to cash in on a promise from your second date. You pulled your coat on and wrapped a green scarf around your neck, Dallas Stars green, a reminder of just how much Tyler had permuted every aspect of your life, how important you made him, how central you made him. You never would be spending Christmas outside of Toronto, holding a brand new pair of ice hockey skates in one hand, walking down the Seguin’s neighborhood street, if you hadn’t made Tyler completely central to your future. Sometimes the thought of that, changing as much as you had for him, was terrifying, the kind of terrifying that made your hands shake and your chest tighten and your mind race down paths you barely knew excited because they were so rarely tracked. But then, like he did in that moment, Tyler turned to you and gave you his widest smile, smiling so hard to do it that his nose scrunched up and his eyes squeezed shut, and you remembered exactly why it wasn’t terrifying at all. He loved you with a pureness that reminded you of a child’s love of Christmas morning, but with the depth to grow and change with you the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year.

Maybe for him, you would try to learn to skate afterall.

Tyler turned at the house at the end of the block, heading straight to the side gate. He noticed your puzzled expression and offered an explanation, “Neighbors built a little ODR they didn’t mind sharing when I asked.”

“Tyler Seguin, how long have you been planning this?” you huffed, pausing in the open gate to give him a look that signalled you knew Tyler needed to come clean.

He gave you a sheepish smile before saying, “Since you said you would come for Christmas?”

“Tyler, that was in October!” you cried out, a laugh edging at your voice.

“The lessons are part of your Christmas present,” he replied, pushing aside your whining tone. “Can’t give you a gift you can’t use and not teach you how to use it, right?”

You sighed as you rounded the corner of the yard to reveal a small, but serviceable outdoor rink his neighbors created on a pond in their back garden. Tyler ushered you out with a wave towards the pond and your brows furrowed, but he just waved his hands to usher you along. It was dark, far too dark for you to possibly learn to skate in this, with just the faint lighting from his neighbor’s back patio showing the outline of the pond and a small bench beside it. You dropped down onto the bench and began to unlace your boots.

Just as you pulled the second boot off, suddenly, the pond was flooded with light, making you jump a little in surprise. There were lights all around, spotlights, string lights, lanterns, everything it seemed the family could find to make the backyard as bright as possible. You shook your head softly as a smile came over your face. Of course.

“Tada!” he shouted as he trudged through the snow to cross the yard to you. “The family that lives here is out of town for the holidays, but they were super nice and told me how to set it all up so I could teach you. Do you like it?”

The skates in your lap and the ice in front of you that would soon be combined in a way sure to cause you physical pain made you want to say you didn’t love it, but the look on Tyler’s face, the obvious meticulous planning, and the thoughtfulness of the gesture made you feel otherwise. Plus, it was a Christmas gift and you couldn’t tell Tyler you didn’t like his Christmas gift because you were embarrassed you got this far into life, this far into a relationship with a professional hockey player, never learning how to skate.

“It’s great,” you smiled at him as he plopped down onto the bench next to you. “Thank you, Ty.”

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he told you before dropping a kiss to your temple in reply.

You slid your skates on at the same time Tyler did, and you did your best to copy his motions, looping the laces on your skates to pull them tight. Tyler tried not to laugh, but you definitely weren’t pulling hard enough or loosening them at the right points or something else wrong because Tyler was done and laced up before you’d even gotten part of the way through one of your two hockey skates. Tyler laughed, more at your struggle compared to his practiced ease than actually at you, before sliding onto the ground in front of you, one knee dropping into the snow.

“Let me do it,” he said as he pushed your hands away softly.

He looked up at you with curious eyes for a moment. There was that familiar glint of a patented Tyler Seguin idea in them, which made you cock your head and furrow your brows at him. He just smiled wide, shook his head softly, and turned his attention back to your skates.

“What?” you pressed him softly. “What did you just think of, Ty?”

He pulled the top of your laces on one boot tight to finish tying them as he spoke to you, “Just thinking about kneeling in front of you is all. Feels like it’s good practice, eh?”

You sighed, “Ty, you can’t make jokes like that.”

He barked out a laugh as he tightened the laces on your other skate, “Who said I was joking?”

Before you could form a response, Tyler was up on his skates and pulling you up too. He led you to the edge of the pond, then took a confident step onto the ice when he reached in. Effortlessly, he spun on his skates to face you, reaching two hands out, ready to take yours and help you take your first steps onto the ice. He made it look so easy, as easy as walking, but you knew if you tried to do what he just did without you, you were going to look like a very short baby giraffe, legs splayed out, flat on the ice. You huffed and Tyler gave you an encouraging smile as you gave the ice a disapproving look.

“I’m not going to let you fall, baby,” Tyler said lazily. He outstretched hands opened and closed in front of you to encourage you to grab onto them. “Come on, it’s just skating.”

“You’re tipsy and a professional,” you pointed out. “I’m tipsy and a complete novice.”

“I’ll have you know I’m one of the best in my field,” and the cheeky smile to accompany his words drew an eye roll from you. “Tipsy or not, I can still make sure you don’t fall.”

“Pretty sure I’m going to make you eat your words, Seguin.”

Without a second thought, another second to rethink the moment, you slapped your gloved hands into Tyler’s and put one foot on the ice. Your foot immediately started to slide forward, toward Tyler, and you panicked. Tyler was ready for your panic and pulled your hands, forcing you to put your other foot on the ice. You let out a small scream and Tyler laughed.

“Baby, you’re so stinking cute,” he whined as you managed to, with as much force as you could muster using his hands as an anchor, stand up mostly straight in front of him.

“I hate you, Tyler Seguin,” was all you could come up with in response.

Your response made Tyler tip his head back and let out a long, full bellied laugh, bending his back into it as he laughed. Tyler seemed to forget your balance was incredibly precarious and entirely dependent on him. The three inches he shifted back on the ice as he laughed completely unbalanced you, sending your feet sliding forward too quickly and making you release his hands in favor of his forearms in a desperate grab for balance.

“Whoa, whoa!” Tyler was still laughing as he spoke. “Easy there. I’ve got you.”

“Does not feel like you do,” you grumbled, trying to focus on your feet in order to keep them steady now.

“Okay, okay,” Tyler sighed. “First, don’t look at your feet. Look where you trying to go.”

“What direction is home?” you quipped back without missing a beat.

“Ha, ha,” Tyler replied dryly. “Look at me. You want to go toward me.”

You let out a quick, irritated breath. You knew a large part of the reason you were irritated is because you were being asked to do something you were terrible at, in front of someone who was amazing at it, who just so also happened to be your boyfriend. No one liked to do things they knew they would be terrible at, let alone in front of someone who was so practiced in it that they probably couldn’t explain it well. In fact, that was your problem that developed after about two minutes with Tyler trying to teach you how to skate. Tyler couldn’t explain how to skate in the slightest.

“Just push off on one foot, let your other one slide. Put the foot you just pushed off with on the ice again, and push with the one that was sliding. Go back and forth and then tada, you’re skating.”

That was his best explanation of the lesson and you could confidently surmise that Tyler Seguin was an absolutely horrendous skating coach. And he was a drunk skating coach. Maybe, if you were throwing your boyfriend a bone he didn’t deserve, you could say if he was sober, he might be doing better, but deep in your heart you knew that wasn’t true. Tyler Seguin was definitely a terrible teacher, trying to teach something he could do forwards, backwards, diagonally, with his eyes closed, and made millions of dollars doing, while drunk. You were the one suffering. Tyler was having incredible time watching you flail and grip onto his arms to avoid falling flat on your face.

“Tyler, help me!” you pressed.

“It’s so funny. You’re like a baby penguin,” he managed to get out through his laughter. “So cute. So clumsy.”

“Tyler!”

He cleared his throat and sucked in a deep, centering breath before saying, “I think part of your problem is that you’re afraid to fall. If you aren’t afraid to fall, you’re going to be too focused on doing exactly what’s keeping you from falling and not actually skating.”

“Well, I don’t exactly want to fall, Ty. That’s not really the goal,” you said pointedly, your hands digging into his forearms when he shifted suddenly.

“Falling is part of skating,” he told you. “I fall all the time. Get too on an edge or try to turn too tight or get rammed into by some wrecking ball on skates. But I just hop right back up and go again. You have got to get over this fear of falling and learn how to fall and get back up. Otherwise, you’re not going to learn.”

Whether or not tipsy Tyler meant that statement to have merit and weight outside of the context of skating, you doubted, but it did. That’s the attitude you carried with you when you were at school, at work, everywhere. “It’s better to have tried and failed than to live life wondering what would've happened if I had tried,” by Alred Lord Tennyson popped into your head. Just maybe Tyler was right about something. Maybe your biggest hurdle was just the one in your head and you needed to, on the most magical of all holidays where miracles came true and the world was a little brighter, take a deep breath and fail spectacularly under the hazy eyes of the boy you loved.

It didn’t even cross your mind that you were definitely still feeling the affects of that infamous spiked hot chocolate, not even for a second.

You nodded and took in a deep breath as you did. Tyler raised his eyebrow to check in with you and you nodded again. You released your choking grip on his forearms and Tyler slowly backed up, giving you space to try on your own for a moment. You took a second to pause, your feet shuffling a little out of the natural movement of your body, making your arms flail to steady yourself. It wasn’t pretty, but you managed to stay upright after moving an accidental inch unassisted and for you, that was progress.

“Okay, okay,” you mumbled to yourself.

You mentalled tossed out every single lesson Tyler had tried to impart on you on the ice that evening, knowing all of it was absolute drunken nonsense and wasn’t going to help you skate. You were better off going with your nonexistent skating instincts, which were just a series of mental clips from probably inaccurate ice skating scenes from terrible Hallmark and Netflix Christmas movies. The actors were never the ones skating, but someone had to for the shot, so you figured it had to be at least partially accurate. You knew if you looked down, you would definitely topple over, you looked out onto the snow covered lawn ahead and hesitantly pushed forward with one foot. Before you started to lose your balance, you took a chance and pushed off on your other foot, letting yourself glide just a little in between.

“Your first successful skate!” Tyler gasped from somewhere beside you. “I feel like a proud mom at the preschool Christmas pageant.”

Normally, you would’ve told him exactly where he could stick that comment, but you were focused on trying to make it as far as you could before the precarious house of cards that was you on your skates fell. You had a messy, incredibly atrocious rhythm going now. You knew you had to look ridiculous, partially bent over, arms out wide, tongue stuck out between your teeth in concentration, but you were skating and no one said it had to be pretty to count. You realized one thing too late though, far too late to even begin to do anything about it. Tyler was too far behind you, filming your first skate like the proud soccer mom he was, and far too tipsy to clue into what was about to happen. There was nothing you could do. You just had to accept that this was how your journey would end.

You hit the edge of the pond roughly, the front half of your skate blades hitting the snow and you unceremoniously face planted into the snow surrounding the edge of the pond. You tried to twist as you fell to make it anything other than a complete face plant, but much like the end result of your first solo skating attempt, you failed spectacularly. Tyler was behind you in a second, dropping down onto his knees in the snow next to you and brushing your hair back to try and get a view of your face.

“Baby, are you hurt? Oh my god,” Tyler started rambling. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should’ve kept closer to you so I could’ve done something. I should’ve-”

“Maybe you should’ve taught me how to stop, you idiot,” you grumbled out after lifting your face from the snow. “Stopping might have been a good first lesson, you know, like how dads teach you to drive. They make sure you know where the brake is first.”

“You know,” Tyler mused as you pushed yourself up onto your knees, “that probably would’ve been a good idea.”

“Oh, ya think?” You glared at him before beginning to brush off snow from your body.

“So next lesson-”

“No way,” you cut him off. “I’m asking Jamie to teach me. You’re fired, coach.”

Tyler gave a whine that could only be described as like a petulant child who was just told they couldn’t open their Christmas presents two weeks early. He pouted at you, Dallas Stars pom pom beanie on his head flopping forward as he tilted his head to go with his jutted out lower lip.

“Come on,” he begged softly. “Let me try again. Give me one more shot as your teacher. I’ll even be sober for the next lesson. I promise.”

“If you aren’t, I’m suing you for damages,” you teased him, a smile coming across your face slowly.

While you hadn’t succeeded, in fact your fall had been far worse than anything you had pictured it would be, you couldn’t deny you had a good time and it was really only because of the boy whose pout was slowly changing to a smile because of your own. You still couldn’t skate. In fact, you thought you might be a worse skater now than your previous baseline of zero. Tyler hadn’t taught you a single thing this Christmas about skating, but Tyler taught you a lot about Tyler. He liked way too many marshmallows in his spiked hot chocolate, he ripped wrapping paper to absolute shreds, and he relished in matching Christmas sweaters even though he pretended to hate them. You also learned that Tyler Seguin, who sometimes acted before he spoke, and was just a little too over eager for you occasionally, cared more deeply about you than you could possibly understand. Being loved like he loved you was rarer than the perfect Christmas day, which today had been, faceplant included.

Most of all, you learned Tyler wanted to spend every Christmas for the rest of his life with you too, and that was the best gift you’d ever received on Christmas, the knowledge that he too wanted to spend the rest of his life sharing Christmases with you.

#Tyler Seguin #tyler seguin fanfic #tyler seguin fanfiction #tyler seguin imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine #hockey writing #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey imagine

229 notes · View notes

veliseraptor · 3 years

Note

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him.

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers.

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

#hope that was enough rambling for you anon jesus christ #confessions of a frustrated writer #i don't even know what to tag this #anonymous #conversating

31 notes · View notes

orbitariums · 3 years

Text

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟓)

part 14

hey y’all!! missed yall again ♡ hope y’all luvvv this chapter <3

also, thinking of making a new taglist for this soooo just reply to this post or send me an inbox if u wanna stay on this current taglist & lmk if u aren’t on it and want to be added!!

playlist

word count: 7.7k

warnings: age gap, smut

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧: 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

You practically ran up to the edge of the cliff, only slowing down partially because Steve was yelling at you from behind. You couldn’t help it though, you were obsessed with the scenery already, and being able to see it from this point of view was probably the best part of hiking for you every time. You hadn’t gone for a while, not since you’d been home in Cali, and Steve surprised you this morning by telling you to get into some comfortable clothes you could easily move in. Half your wardrobe was that since you were always outside, so the request was easy to fill. You honestly hadn’t even been expecting it when Steve drove all the way to this beautiful woodsy hiking location upstate.

It was quiet, and there weren’t many other hikers on the trail, so it felt like you were alone together. You talked amongst yourselves, the low chatter of your voices complimenting the sounds of various birds flitting by and the crunch of the dirt and grass beneath your sneakers.

You walked at a slow pace, taking it all in. Your time with Steve was coming to a close, and you found yourself wanting to take more and more time to remember each and every single moment as clearly as you could. In your mind, you documented the warm, comforting breeze of the ever present summer on your skin, the low, rich timbre of Steve’s voice. You noted each and every bird sound you heard, promising to come back someday and bird watch at this very same location. Most of all, you made sure to sink into the warmth of Steve’s body bristling against yours every once in a while when you got closer on a narrow part of the path. You were committed to being in the moment and being mindful.

“Slow down, slow down!” Steve called from behind, and you just glanced at him over your shoulder with a well intentioned laugh, then looked back at the sky ahead of you.

You raised your hands up in the air, stretching your palms up to the sky and hooted, cheering about nothing in particular. Every smile, every laugh, every moment you tilted your face up to the vast, azur blue sky and let the sun beam down on your face, was genuine and triumphant.

“It’s fucking beautiful out here, Steve!” you exclaimed, puffing your chest out like you were trying to enclose the crisp, balmy air in your heart.

You were practically hysterical. You belonged in spaces like these, outside where you could share your thoughts with the trees or the water, or not think at all. You always felt your best when you were at the beach or on a hiking trail with your friends, finally able to let go of life’s vice grip on you. You were so much happier these days, in a constant state of healing, and the results were truly showing out.

“I’m glad you like it,” Steve chuckled at your excitement, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet.

“Come on, babe,” you beckoned him over, wanting him to bask in this moment with you.

He trudged over, and when he was close enough to reach out to, you lugged him over as much as you could. Although he was like a stone, his eyes still widened with worry when you nearly toppled over carelessly, despite the fact that you were on the ledge of a cliff.

“Slow down, doll, you’re gonna kill us both,” Steve huffed out a dry laugh, still smiling all the while.

You smiled smugly, glancing over at him with big doll eyes,

“You’d save me, though, I know you can.”

Steve just pulled you under his armpit, keeping you close. In the odd chance that you did fall in this moment, you’d probably be smiling all the way down, forgetting the agony that would be sure to come, all because you were with him. Maybe it was just the fresh air making you a little delusional, but you’d let yourself be delusional just for a moment.

“Let’s make sure no saving will be necessary, hmm?” Steve hummed, and you grinned, nuzzling your face up into his neck.

“Fair enough,” you sighed with a restless smile. “Seriously, thank you for taking me out here. It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful was an understatement. It was funny, you spent so much time outside but you couldn’t ever describe how much nature touched you. You didn’t have the words to describe the way the lush trees at the bottom seemed to sway with the wind, or the way the animals swooped from treetops and went along their merry ways, all while cohabitating peacefully, or the way the landscape looked from all the way up here.

Steve just pulled you closer, and you stood there in complete silence and stillness for a while, just watching as the sky drifted above you. Steve was glad you were the happiest he’d seen you, it seemed as though even though your days together were coming to a close, you were growing happier by the minute. You didn’t think your goodbye would be teary-eyed, because after this wonderful experience, you knew you’d both be sure to see each other again. You weren’t at all in the same place in your lives, that was for sure. You were just getting out of college and making a real life for yourself, meanwhile Steve was out saving the world and doing things you could only dream of doing. You weren’t comparing the two, but it was simply the truth. Neither of you were in the same place, but being here together now made you feel more united than ever. If it took a while to come to a place where you could always be together, then so be it. Right now, you’d just enjoy this moment while it lasted, without haste to plan for the future, because you both had full faith that things would work out.

“It’s funny, this is my first time going hiking. Like, on purpose. I’ve trekked through Sokovia and I’ve had to find my way out of multiple jungles and mazes before they blew up, but I’ve never just enjoyed it like this. On purpose,” Steve said after a while, and you grinned up at him, pleased that you were giving him more and more options to expand his personal hobbies and live outside of his work.

“I get the feeling that even though you’ve seen everything… there’s a lot you haven’t seen,” you noted, and Steve nodded.

That was exactly what he was trying to say. He’d done more than most people could ever dream of doing, he’d escaped danger in the nick of time a thousand times over, he’d saved lives, and yet, all the while, he hadn’t really lived himself. He learned a lot from his job and from the team he felt so grateful to be around on a regular basis, but amidst all the chaos of his daily routine, he’d forgotten to live. Sure, he had movie nights with his team and sometimes went out to eat with them, but there was so much more than that. So much that he hadn’t seen yet. You were showing him that there was, and he was showing you that there was space to trust and love. You shared a mutual core, full of life lessons and valuable exchanges.

“Yeah. Exactly that.”

You squeezed his hip as you started to turn around, facing away from the edge of the cliff and back to the trail, which you were almost finished hiking.

“Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”

| | |

Steve was leaning against the arch of the open bathroom door, his head cocked in intrigue and admiration as he watched you do your makeup. You were finishing up, putting clear lip gloss on over the brown lip liner you’d used, a classic, 90s combo. You were gazing into the mirror, hardly acknowledging his presence for the purpose of perfecting your look, meanwhile, Steve was enthralled by you, despite the silence. You were also wearing a wine-colored minidress that clung to every inch and curve of your body, accentuating your best assets, which didn’t help with Steve’s staring problem at the moment.

You had your elbows resting on either side of the sink and you were leaning in, smoothing your lips together and puckering them the very minute you finished, adjusting your position in front of the mirror to get a better look at yourself. Finally, you paid Steve some attention, and glanced over at him.

“You ready?” you asked nonchalantly.

“The question is, are you?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes playfully in response.

“You should be used to this by now, you know,” you sang, and Steve grinned, wrapping an arm around your bare shoulders as you came close.

“I know, I know. I kind of live for it, it’s so fun watching you do your makeup.”

“Want me to try doing yours someday?” you quipped excitedly.

“I’m not against it,” Steve chuckled.

Tonight you were going to a fancy restaurant for dinner, like, fancy fancy. The kind of fancy that even Steve wasn’t accustomed to. Steve had money, but he wasn’t a very sophisticated guy, he preferred to be more casual. You on the other hand, would probably fit right in. Your regal energy and poised way of carrying yourself made it that much easier. But, you were still fresh out of college, and you weren’t a rich girl by any means. So of course you got excited when you got to get all dolled up to do something very nice.

You and Steve sat at a table near the back, the restaurant lighting dim and dark, a candle flickering between the two of you as the sun set outside. You toyed with the rim of your wine glass, taking careful sips so you didn’t mess your lip gloss up. To Steve’s lament, you would only let him kiss you on the cheek, because you didn’t want to ruin your finely crafted lip gloss.

As nice as it all was, both you and Steve couldn’t help but be reminded of the fact that you’d be leaving soon, and that your days together were coming to a close. You were both levelheaded enough not to get too sad about the fact, but it was admittedly bittersweet. But you decided you’d at least make light of it, and smiled smugly at Steve,

“What are you gonna do when I’m gone, lover boy?”

Steve glanced up at you, that charming smile teasing his lips as his blue eyes gazed into yours.

“Miss you.”

You tilted your head to the side as if you were challenging him,

“You gonna call me every night?”

“Whenever possible,” Steve replied warmly, and you continued,

“Gonna send me flowers still?”

“Of course,” Steve affirmed.

You giggled to yourself, thinking of your last question,

“Are you gonna watch my cam show?”

Steve laughed, shaking his head,

“Who would I be if I didn’t support my girl?”

You grinned fully, reaching over to squeeze Steve’s cheek,

“You’re so precious.”

“Uh,” Steve cleared his throat. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah?” you furrowed your brows, interested in what he had to say.

He seemed nervous, wringing his hands together slightly before placing them on his lap and under the table so you wouldn’t worry about him. He had been thinking about this for a while now, and he’d already talked to you about it, but even after the discussion you had, he’d still been grappling with whether or not he should go through with this. He didn’t want it to feel like he was moving too fast or putting undue pressure on you, because he knew how important it was for you to live in the moment. Because of you he found himself questioning a lot of what he thought was true or moral. You had a good head screwed on your shoulders and you were still much more relaxed than Steve, not as focused on tradition or expectations. But he still found himself wanting to settle things down officially with you.

Looking into your caring eyes, he knew he wasn’t making a mistake, that despite all the trials and tribulations of your relationship together in the past, he’d regret it if he never got to know you. He could’ve never imagined being in this position, but by the look in your eyes, which were glittering and shining with pure, contagious joy whenever you saw him, he knew this wasn’t something he wanted to miss out on. He was about to forget himself and sink into how beautiful you were, as if he didn’t have other things at hand, but he remembered himself at the perfect time.

“I-I’m not always so great with words, so bear with me,” Steve started.

“Steve,” you giggled cheerily. “Spit it out babe, it’s okay.”

Your reassurance seemed to resurrect him and he chuckled, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. Then he looked up again, taking your hand and gazing into your eyes, never ceasing eye contact.

“YN. I really like you, alright? And this is something so new and so odd for the both of us. I mean, I don’t know anyone who’s had what we have and I know a lot of weird people - not that this is weird, but-”

You chuckled, scoffing,

“Well it’s definitely not normal.”

You reached across the table, squeezing Steve’s hand. He grinned, chuckling back and nodded, continuing,

“Yeah. Definitely. And, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About labels and what we talked about, and I know you’re not looking to rush into anything too soon because of how you’ve been treated in the past but…” here, Steve almost got emotional, thinking of how special you were to him, unable to believe that you’d been treated so poorly in the past— all he wanted was to show you just how you made him feel. “But I just want to treat you right, and make you happy because well, you make me happy. And it’s… it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. And I’m sure that for you and me both, these feelings are rare. And I can treat you the same regardless of whether or not we put a label on it, but, selfishly I want you, fully… all to myself. So, let’s make it official. Will you be my girlfriend, YN?”

Few moments felt as good as this one, and you’d remember this moment for years to come. Few questions rung so pleasant to your ears. And when you heard those words leave Steve’s lips, you knew you had never been more certain that you wanted to be with someone. All relationships started out in the honeymoon phase, but when it came to Steve, you didn’t feel like things would change drastically after this phase. And sure, you were just meeting, in real life, that is. In reality, you had known Steve for a few months, and you’d been getting closer for a long time now. So, you probably would’ve said yes to Steve even if he asked you on the second day you were together.

But your respect for Steve rose way up because he’d actually taken his time, had a conversation with you about it, and made up his mind. The fact that he had put all this thought into it was a testament to Steve’s character, which made you giggle because despite his stoic demeanor he was kind of a nervous wreck, and the strength of the connection you had. But you didn’t even have time to think about how wonderful this all was. All you knew was that you wanted to say yes.

“Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend,” you bit down on your lip, just barely restraining a cheeky smile before you leaned in and kissed him again. The kiss was sweet, interrupted by laughter and your smiles against each others’ lips. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

You kissed him again and again, you kissed him so much that you barely had any lip gloss on when you managed to stop yourself to catch breath. When you pulled away, Steve had this kind of awestruck look on his face, his lips wet with your lip gloss, wanting more of your lips like you hadn’t just given him your all.

You snickered at the sight of his glossy lips, almost arrogantly noting,

“It’s a good look on you. My lip gloss.”

Steve grinned sheepishly, looking down at the table, relieved. He didn’t really have any reason to be worried, that was just in his nature. His heart had never felt so warm, he’d never felt so satisfied. You’d always been his, but now he had you, truly and officially.

“Were you nervous to ask me this?” you asked, still holding his hand from across the table.

Steve breathed out a laugh,

“God, yeah. I was just hoping you wouldn’t feel pressured. I know how important your mental health journey has been for you, I didn’t want to make it feel like we have to put a label on anything before you’re ready—”

“Steve, if I weren’t ready to be your girlfriend, I probably would’ve stayed my ass at home in Cali,” you chortled, making him blush, because he sort of knew he was overthinking it. “But really though, I wouldn’t be upset even if you didn’t ask me. What we have sort of obliterates the whole boyfriend and girlfriend niche, yeah? It’s kinda like… next level, don’t you think? I mean, how many people can say they’re in our situation? Like, this exact situation. This is like, long distance relationships made epic.”

“Good point,” Steve nodded, agreeing— what you had was probably eons more powerful than the typical “boyfriend and girlfriend” situation.

“It’s just, kind of a plus, you know?” you cocked your head to the side, shrugging. A mischievous, contagious smile spread to your lips. “I get to call myself Captain America’s girlfriend. Bitches write fanfiction about that.”

What? How could anyone blame you for getting cocky about who your official boyfriend was? You didn’t care for competition, but you’d selfishly admit that it was an ego booster to know that you had a man like him all to yourself, and that he wanted you all for him.

“You think you’re the lucky one, look at me. I got you,” Steve’s eyes slowly scanned your face, meeting your eyes again with a wistful smile.

“My girlfriend, YN,” he said out loud. He just wanted to try it out, and it sounded so right to the both of you.

“I like that,” you cooed.

“Me too,” Steve kissed your nose. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

He dug out a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to you, watching you unravel it.

“Just a little something I drew, meant to give it to you as part of this whole ‘making it official’ ordeal,” he put quotes in the air. “A little gift.”

“Steve,” you pouted. “You’re way too nice to me.”

“Well, you’re my girl. I can’t be mean, can I?” Steve’s lip quirked up in a quizzical smile.

“Mm-mm,” you shook your head. “Not unless I tell you to.”

Steve couldn’t even decipher what you meant by that fast enough because you had squealed, your mouth flinging to your hand.

“Steve, Steve, holy shit. Is this what I think it is?” you sat up, alert, facing him.

“Just a little sketch, it’s not the best but I can—”

“Steve, shut up! You’re literally fuckin’ amazing, are you kidding me? This is… amazing.”

What it was was a drawing. Not just of anything, but of a logo he’d created for you. Specifically, what would soon be the logo for your online clothing brand. It had only just kicked off the ground and you were hopeful for its future. So Steve drawing something like this, no matter how average he thought it was or how little time it took him was something so heartfelt to you. This was something you’d hold on to even more than the flowers, even more than the hotel rooms and private jets, even more than the fancy five star restaurant dinners.

Because if there was anything Steve was proving to you time and time again, it was that he was the right one for you. You wanted to be with someone who would encourage your dreams, give you that push, and acknowledge that you had your own life outside of your relationship. And even though it was something minor at the forefront, when you really got down to it it was something so personal.

“Ahh, I haven’t really drawn for real in quite some time, I just wanted you to have that. You can use it, for your clothing brand if you want,” Steve shrugged, all bashful like usual.

“If I want? I’m literally gonna flaunt this everywhere. Hello, my boyfriend made it? No one will know, but I will, and that’s what matters.” You leaned in, kissing his lips and folding the paper again so you could put it in your pocket. “Thank you, baby. For… literally everything. Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Steve, take the thanks. You deserve it. Thank you.”

Steve grinned lazily,

“You’re welcome.”

You just gazed at him, your eyes inadvertently glazing over with tears. You were really sitting in front of the man of your dreams, and this time around you had no doubts about it. The old you would’ve been so resistant to love again. Steve made loving again so easy for you. And you couldn’t forget how you’d pushed yourself to love yourself again, because that made things like this a whole lot easier. But, rather than turn this into another mushy moment, your feelings were so overwhelming that you were feeling things everywhere. Everywhere. And who were you to prohibit your primal needs?

You stood up suddenly, brushing your hands against your dress, which once again caught Steve’s attention as you stood up. His eyes were already raking over you by the time you approached him on his side of the table, outstretching a hand to him, saying nothing until he took it and stood up beside you.

“Come on,” was all you uttered, glancing back at him only once as you led him further to the back of the restaurant, casually navigating your way to the restroom, unconcerned with anything in the moment that didn’t have to do with him.

“Where are we—” you swung the restroom door open and dragged him inside, locking it with finesse, “going…”

Without responding, you furiously pressed your lips against Steve’s, pushing up against him and getting him hard in an instant. Your palms smushed into his cheeks and you moaned into his mouth, delirious with the need for him. Steve was shocked, but not at all against it, he had just never seen you act so impulsively before. And the same could be said for him— once you put your soft lips against his, all common sense seemed to dissipate from his mind. He was just as into it, his hands grazing all around your body like he was looking for something and you were the only way he could find it, squeezing every part of you he could squeeze through this dress. He rocked his hips into you, grunting into your lips as he felt his cock throb against the fabric separating the two of you.

He pulled away, panting, his forehead creased in concentration as he cursed under his breath.

“Fuck. Turn around baby,” he spun you around so you were facing the mirror and your body was up against the sink before you even had the chance to move yourself.

You gasped when you felt cool air against your ass before you even expected it, and you moaned instinctively. Steve left love marks on your ass, gentle and kind, before he made his way to your pussy, on his knees and standing behind you leaned your body against the bathroom sink. You were lucky this was a fancy bathroom that neither of you minded getting down and dirty in— the mirrors had golden frames and the counter was sparkling clean, made out of marble just like the floor which Steve was kneeling on. He inched his face closer to your center and licked a fat strip up your pussy, causing you to moan out carelessly.

He focused on tasting you, closing his eyes and truly enjoying the moment. All that could be heard aside from the movement outside of the restroom were your moans and the sound of his tongue fucking deep into your wet pussy, slick, filthy noises coming from your heat.

“You taste so good, baby,” he moaned against your pussy, his words sending a shock through your body, making you squeeze around his tongue.

You were panting now, your moans short and high pitched, glancing back at him every now and then, then back at your fucked out face in the mirror. You arched your back when he hit a certain spot, twirling his tongue around inside you and kneading your ass with his hands.

“Oh,” you cried out, reaching out behind you and grabbing tufts of his hair, pushing his head and face deeper into your pussy and keeping it there with a strong hold. Steve’s moans were muffled, he was overwhelmed by your sweet scent and the way you were forcing his face down. He only pulled away when he felt your pussy start to pulsate around his tongue, leaving you to whine in dissatisfaction while he stood directly behind you, pressing himself against your ass.

“Steve,” you complained, pouting at him.

“I know, I know. I just— I have to fuck you, is that okay, doll? Can I fuck you?” he practically cooed into your ear from behind, lips tickling against the nape of your neck, then sneaking around to press chaste kisses on your cheek.

You bit down on your lip and nodded vigorously, humming in approval,

“Mm hm.”

“Good girl,” he praised you, making you throb around nothing while he pulled his pants down, his dick springing out of his boxers, and steadied himself at your entrance, kissing all against your neck in the process and leaving love bites that made you yelp out. He grinned against you, whispering in your ear as he trailed his hand along the front of your dress, tugging down so your boobs nearly fell out of the dress.

“You look so pretty tonight, baby. Look at you,” Steve nodded at the mirror in front of you and you whined, trying to buck your hips back into him because you just wanted him inside of you. “Fucking hell. Wearing that dress… your makeup looks perfect.”

He cupped your face, admiring it from behind in the mirror for a second, then he continued,

“My girl.”

He finally slid into you, his cock already throbbing inside of you. You cried out and gasped at the feeling of being stretched out just the way you liked, by the only man you wanted.

“Fuck, Steve!” you moaned his name loudly, immediately starting to rock your ass back into his hips, feeling him all the way inside of you, spreading you out each time you took him completely.

You grabbed at his arm from behind you, his hands steadying on your waist and pushing your ass back down onto him so you could take him all the way each time. You panted, feeling like you were being seared open by his thick cock in the best way imaginable. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you took notice of how fucked out you looked, the force of Steve’s thrusts making your body bump against the sink, your mouth was open in an o-shape, your vision blurred because of how often your eyes kept rolling back into your head. Steve was focused on his cock disappearing in and out of you, his eyes on your ass, bringing down a broad hand to your ass and grasping your flesh in his hands.

“Steve,” you gasped, looking back at him. You took some time to catch your breath, Steve glancing up at you momentarily. “R-remember when I said you can’t be mean unless I tell you to?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his hand coming up to stroke the small of your back, just wanting to feel your smooth skin.

“Be mean to me, baby,” you pleaded, giving him those eyes that set him off every time.

That was all it took for Steve to start slamming into you shamelessly, wrecking your pussy each time he pounded into you. He grasped onto your arms suddenly, holding them behind your back with one hand while the other lay to rest just above your ass. You cried out at the painful, pleasing sensation of Steve absolutely pounding you, and he chuckled deviously,

“Shh, doll. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear you screaming for me. Or would you?”

Pursing your lips forcefully to keep from making any noise, you shook your head strongly, but you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped from the back of your throat when he hit your g-spot. Steve shook his head, looking up at himself in the mirror,

“Mm-mm, wouldn’t want that.”

Trying desperately to keep quiet, you strained your neck to try and look back at him and what he was doing. But he shook his head, leaning down to grab your face and force your head the other way.

“Don’t look at me,” he commanded, his voice dark and deep. “Look at yourself.”

You looked up, orgasmic tears forming in your eyes as you did so, catching sight of yourself in the mirror getting fucked to the heavens, arms stretched behind your back, breasts bouncing each time Steve fucked into you. The look on Steve’s face was beyond you— he was almost sneering at the sight of the two of you in the mirror, the smug look on his face intensifying each time you had to stifle a moan or stop yourself from screaming his name. You’d never seen him like this before, and you were so glad you’d pulled it out of him in the little amount of time you had left together.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned when you felt you squeeze around him, his voice becoming breathier and lower, almost accusatory of your pleasure, “you like this, don’t you?”

You whimpered in response, nodding your head violently, and Steve grunted, slamming his hips up into you and bringing a hand down to play with your clit as if praising your response. His own voice became more and more unhinged, his thrusts growing sloppier and less focused, his eyes zeroing in on your expression in the mirror,

“You love getting fucked like this, don’t you? Wh-where anyone could hear… f-fuck, doll, I can feel you squeezing my fu… fucking cock. Come for me, YN.”

That was all it took, an ear splitting moan falling from your lips as you practically convulsed, coming on Steve’s cock, not bothering to stop rocking your hips back. Soon after you came, Steve’s dirty talk became nothing more than unintelligible blabbering, and he came hard inside of you. Breathing deeply, he slid lazily in and out of you just a few more times, fucking all his cum back into you. He pulled out, and you fell against the sink with a sigh. You both cleaned up, and Steve smiled at you before you both left the restroom.

“Thank you,” you said stupidly, still delirious from how hard he’d fucked you.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head playfully and putting an arm around you to stabilize you,

“No problem. Come on, let’s pay and get you home.”

That night, you slept better than ever, your boyfriend Steve holding you in his arms.

| | |

Once you woke up the next day, Steve decided to take you to this nice brunch place, flipping on his hat and glasses since it was a little crowded, but not anything too worrisome. Besides, you had made it this far without Steve being recognized, and you realized that in New York, nobody was really paying attention to anyone.

Last night had been fantastic, in so many ways. You and Steve had made it far enough to actually become official, to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend. And although you knew the distance between you would be hard to deal with at times, you knew Steve would find a way to make it work. He never had you second guessing or doubting important decisions, because you knew that out of anyone you’d ever been romantically involved with, he had his shit together the most. He was actually focused on treating you well, and he had all the resources and the common sense to do just that. So, the distance didn’t quite scare you, in fact, it was probably less of an issue for you two than other long distance couples. Hell, you’d made it far enough without actually meeting.

As per usual, Steve opened your car door, then held your hand all the way inside the restaurant. You’d eat and then go home and find some random hobby to do with each other, like board games or finally finishing the Harry Potter movies, or just staying in and cuddling the whole night. You got seated at a table in the back and talked about nothing in particular while you waited for the waiter to come around.

You had your hand on top of Steve’s, squeezing it absentmindedly while you scrolled through your phone, reading text messages from your friends back at home. You knew Steve wasn’t a huge fan of your phone, but it wasn’t a habit that you pulled it out while you were meant to be hanging out together. Besides, you had a whole digital life that you had to keep up with for your own sake, consisting of your cam career and your online shop. It’d be silly if you tried to disconnect completely.

“Hi, good to see you today, my name is Richard, I’ll be serving you today! Can I get you guys started with some drinks?” Richard asked, cupping his hands together with an expectant smile.

“Waters for the both of us,” Steve nodded, and you added on, glancing at the waiter quickly.

“Lemonade for me too, please,” you added on.

“Awesome, I’ll be right…” Richard the waiter trailed off and you both glanced up at him, but he had paused, staring at Steve, his face contorted in slight confusion. Steve offered him a small, almost pitying smile, and you couldn’t help but huff, humored. Richard cocked his head and tapped his pen against his notepad before shaking his head slightly, snapping out of it. “Sorry, it’s just… you look so familiar.”

You and Steve exchanged a glance, both of your eyes whipping to meet each other, before you broke away and looked back at Richard. You were both slightly unnerved by the comment. In a way, it was so nonchalant, a casual remark. But Steve wasn’t just any other guy who you’d say that to. Chances were, this guy was about to recognize just who Steve was. You almost wanted to cover for him, but you feared that doing that would make things too obvious. You’d let Steve handle this, although you could see the hint of nerves in the smile that appeared on his face as he shrugged quite convincingly,

“I couldn’t tell you why, honestly.”

Richard chuckled, huffing,

“It’s just, I swear I’ve seen you before, are you like— have you come here before?”

Steve just laughed, but you could sense his discomfort, and you squeezed his hand a little harder,

“Sometimes. You might’ve seen me.”

Richard nodded with a decided hum, then shrugged,

“Yeah, that’s probably it.”

Steve’s shoulders visibly slumped in relief, and you smiled quietly.

“Well, I’ll be right back with those drinks,” Richard, turning around.

Once he was completely out of sight, Steve sighed heavily, leaning in to you at the table.

“I think we should go,” was all he said, and you frowned slightly,

“We just got here…”

“I know, but that guy… listen, we haven’t paid for anything. Let’s just go. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I just don’t think—”

“Okay,” you cut him off, smiling calmly.

Things were going so well, you didn’t want Steve to feel like you wouldn’t listen to him when it was important. You also didn’t want him to worry too much. You could see that he was trying to refrain from sounding as nervous as he was because he didn’t want to upset you, so, out of respect, you decided you wouldn’t push him any further. This was the first time either of you had to worry that someone had noticed Steve, and although it could truly just be a fluke totally unrelated to his actual identity, neither of you wanted to take that risk. So, you just agreed with him.

Steve got up gingerly, and nodded at you to do the same.

“Come on,” Steve said, lacing his fingers between yours, a sense of relief rushing through you.

For a moment there, you feared that his anxiety might get the best of him and that he wouldn’t pay any attention to you, but he had proved you wrong. He gave your hand a squeeze as the two of you ducked out of the restaurant as nonchalantly as you could. When you were finally outside on the sidewalk, you both walked back to Steve’s car, not looking back.

The car ride home was silent other than the music Steve put on to distract himself from his thoughts. He truly was trying to remain stable rather than let his nerves get the best of him. He hadn’t quite let his guard down, but he also didn’t feel as if he’d be recognized. He was getting too comfortable— no, he was just doing what was right, taking you out and taking care of you. He wouldn’t let himself sink into blaming himself or anyone else.

You were both far past that, far from fear and holding yourselves back from what you truly wanted, which was to be together and feel like you could do that without inhibitions. You both understood the conditions under which you’d be meeting in person, and you understood that Steve needed to keep this under wraps for the sake of privacy and safety. You had grown enough not to let these conditions hinder you, you wouldn’t start now just because of a little hiccup.

“Steve,” came your voice, distracting him from the loop of thoughts replaying in his brain as you both walked into the apartment.

“Hm?” he turned to face you, and you grabbed his hand gently, a small, reassuring smile on your lips.

You led him to the living room couch and you both sat down, facing each other.

“Let’s talk about it, okay? You’ll feel better if you just talk to me about it instead of letting it bother you in silence,” you directed, and he took in a deep breath before sitting back and nodding understandingly.

You wanted to at least solve the problem before it spiraled into a bigger one, and if it meant you had to sit on the couch and talk about it, then so be it. You’d rather a hard discussion than any issues.

“It’s not that I’m paranoid, it’s just… I don’t want anything to be ruined because of me. You know, I’ve been enforcing all these rules and… I just care about our privacy and safety the most.”

“You do know that I’d never blame you for anything, right? You do know that?” you asked him, tilting your head as you waited for him to make eye contact with you and answer you honestly.

He did eventually, nodding and cracking a small grin,

“I know. I… I don’t want it to seem like one small thing would ruin my mood, I don’t want you to think I’m as scared as I used to be.”

“I don’t think you are though, Stevie,” you said softly as you stroked his cheek, your long acrylic nails gently running along his skin.

He seemed to calm down immediately from your touch, his facial expression softening, but you could tell he was still upset with himself. You grinned to yourself. You liked being able to make Steve feel better with just a trivial touch. You knew your presence actually meant something to him, and that sentiment meant everything to you. You knew he just wanted to keep you safe, especially considering the circumstances of your relationship, but you didn’t want him getting too worked up. You could handle yourself and Steve knew that, but having him next to you in situations like this was just a plus— after all, there was a reason why the guy only approached you once he’d seen Steve had left.

“It’s okay, Steve. Really. I get it, it’s unexpected and worrisome. Neither of us really were prepared for that. I think you handled it amazingly. Don’t think this diminishes all the progress we made, alright?” you let your hand slip down to his, and gave it a squeeze. “Because it doesn’t. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve chuckled, and you could tell by the smile in his laugh that he was resigning.

He was truly enjoying spending time with you like a normal couple would. He wasn’t peeking over his shoulder, he was just being careful. But he knew the risks he was taking. And he knew he’d just have to roll with the punches, that he couldn’t let one moment change everything for the worse. You were practically reading Steve’s mind, because based on his reaction, you knew exactly how he felt, and you already had all the words you’d need to console him.

You held his hand tight, as if to remind him that he needn’t be so hard on himself or be afraid that you doubted him in any way. As if to remind him you weren’t going anywhere. He couldn’t deny that your touch made a considerable impact on his mood, as well as your presence. Just your presence seemed to radiate whatever he needed in the moment, and at that moment, it was calm.

“Don’t feel worried that you made the wrong decision by bringing us here today. I had the best time. This small inconvenience doesn’t fuck up the fact that I just had an amazing day with you, okay?”

Steve nodded slowly, though you could tell it took a lot for him to take the blame off himself. You weren’t sure that he was fully convinced, but at least he seemed a little less out of it.

“I’m glad you understand, YN. But I have to take responsibility. I’m not going to become all paranoid again, but I just think it’d be best to lay low for a minute and recover. I really do want to show you everything, I just-”

“Steve, calm down,” you tittered, shaking your head. “I don’t need to see everything. I came here to see you, not tour New York. As long as I’m with you, I don’t care. We could go out every day or we could stay in. I know you’d make the effort either way. Besides, we only have so much time left together, and I feel like you’ve shown me the entire world.”

It was true— Steve had proven to you that he cared time and time again, whether it was through flying you out or taking you out without you having to ask. It was the little things. The way he poured just the right amount of sugar in your coffee in the morning, helped you zip up your dresses in the morning, let you blast your music in the car. He seemed to think he needed to prove himself, and you wanted to show him that he had already done that, and more.

Steve chuckled, and you squeezed his thigh, kissing his cheek. He turned to face you, leaning in to kiss you on the lips this time. You shifted closer to him, leaning in until you were close enough to rest your palms on his cheek, climbing into his lap and deepening the kiss. Slow, passionate, and quiet, you sat there kissing each other. You kissed each other like you were trying to savor the taste of one another’s lips, like you were trying to remember it for the rest of your lives. You kissed like you were sharing secrets.

It was only a matter of time before you were taking off your shirt and kissing him harder, grinding against him and riding him slow on the couch in the bright daylight. You were gentle and slow, it was more like you were making love than just fucking. And by the time you were done, passed out and sweaty on the couch hours later, all your worries had been fucked away.

| | |

Tomorrow was your last day with Steve. You’d be flying back home to California the next day, and saying goodbye. But not just yet. You had all the time in the world to say goodbye, but today you were both devoted to spending a beautiful, eventful day together. Steve had stuff planned for you, and you had stuff planned for Steve. You had mutually agreed to skip all the crying and pouting, and just be happy for the experience instead. So when you woke up that morning next to Steve, who was still asleep, you were giddy to start the day.

Absentmindedly, you picked up your phone on the end table beside you. It was positively buzzing with notifications, and you were a bit thrown off by the sheer amount of them. You furrowed your eyebrows as you skimmed through the notifications from the bottom to the top— you had a bunch of missed calls from your parents, more Snapchat notifications on your regular snap than ever, and a plethora of texts.

You wondered if something had happened, chewing slightly on your bottom lip. Was everything okay at home? Did you post something meant for your cam site on your Instagram? A hundred various circumstances fled through your mind, but none of the situations you had made up could’ve prepared you for when you opened a text from Aaliyah with a picture attached. It read:

- Attachment: 1 image

- BITCH, THIS IS LITERALLY YOU!!!

#girls on film #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #smut #marvel #marvel smut #marvel fic #marvel imagine #x reader #reader insert #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america smut #captain america fic #captain america imagine

122 notes · View notes

firstknightss · 3 years

Text

GWAINCELOT ESSAY THREE???

[commentary voice] ah yes and this gwaincelot essay.... which turned into a fic was inspired by @nextstopparis and @little-ligi

GWAINE TEACHING LANCELOT HOW TO READ. and thats how they actually CONFESS.

imagine gwaine seeing lancelot trip up reading leon’s plan for the day, seeing him trying to understand it. and gwaines, hes a little in love. Hes. Hes a little hit with feelings for this Noble (tm) knight. So OF COURSE he CANT EMOTION and he tries to show his affection for lancelot without yknow being in ‘loVE’

he comes over with his swishy hair and bantery tone like “oooOhHh LANCELOT! Lancey! Hey! Hello! Can’t read leon’s goddamn awful handwriting huh?”

And Lancelots embarrassed and flushes red and gwaine thinks hes Fucked Up (and he really doesn’t want to fuck this up, this is the first time he’s actually felt emotions this deep for someone) and tries to fix it panickedly, like the Anxiety Clown He Is.

He keeps on saying sorry and apologising, and Lancelot, the EVER CALM KNIGHT GUY, goes “it’s fine, it’s okay. It’s nothing to do with you...” and then he hesitates. He HESITATES. “....it’s just that...” and then he BITES HIS LIP and gwaine thinks he might just faint there and then, “...i cant read.”

and now it hits him, gwaine, gwaine, who thought literacy was something trash and something he didn’t really need, realises how important it is. and so, yknow because hes kind of wrapped in those Emotions (tm), he pulls lancelot’s sleeve after practice, when they’re alone in the changing room. (and if lancelot wasn’t so tired and miserable, he would have easily seen gwaine BLUSH)

And he, shyly asks if lancelot wouldnt mind being tutored by him.

Now Lancelot is OVERJOYED, and he’s borderline CRYING because lancelot, poor old village boy lancelot who’d been kicked out of the knights of camelot, and had to become a MERCENARY and fight for masters who didn’t care for him, has NEVER HAD someone literally CARE about him so much. (Apart from Merlin. He loves merlin <3)

so now imagine lancelot waking up an hour early the next morning, and showing up into gwaine’s room. He knows gwaine literally doesnt sleep with a lock, so he just barges in, and starts shaking gwaine.

Now GWAINE sleeps like a Log (had so much shit going on irl, time to sleep it away) and when he opens his bleary eyes, seeing lancelot in one of his stupid v neck shirts over him, hes like “....h...helo??”

and lancelot’s all like. “We- werent YOU gonna give me reading lessons.” And gwaine nods, yawning (and in that moment lancelot thinks gwaine looks unimaginably cute, so cute that he wants to literally ruffle gwaine’s hair and run his hands through how silky and brown it is.)

THEN gwaine pulls on the dont care-ish mask, and makes his arms into a pillow under his head, as he leans against the wall behind his bed, in some kind of somewhat???flirty??? manner??? [i dont...i dont know what hes trying to do. On the other hand! Not does Lancelot :) ]

Lancelot, does not realise this is gwaine’s poor attempt at flirting - since he’s seen gwaine ACTUALLY flirting and this is like. Nothing. And its also poorly executed. Which is NOTHING like gwaine.

So he pulls gwaine’s arm, and half hauls him out of bed.

As gwaine’s head crashes into lancelot’s stomach, he can smell lancelot’s clothes. They smell of flowers, and cotton and everything so natural and gwaine, who literally smells of wine, and wood and Tavern. (And aftershave, or the 500AD equivalent)

[see here, see im trying to bring themes of dionysis okay. OkayyyyyyyyY. yours truly likes looking at greek mythology. And both these two complete dionysis]

Gwaine, in his sleepy stupor, nestles his head on Lancelot’s hip, who gives a sigh and stands there. One hand clutching gwaine’s, leaving the other free.....

....to rake through his soft, flowy brown hair. And twirl his fingers through its waves, and Gwaine cuddles in further.

And since Lancelot left the door open, Leon (the other bitch who wakes up at 4am to do idk nothing) sees them two...like that, illuminated by the SUNLIGHT behind them, and smiles a little.

And then he trips over the stairs, the moment is lost.

Gwaine and Lancelot pull away at the same time, and gwaine’s face turns back to “ha ha im a Jerk (tm)” and if he wasnt too busy trying to hide how flustered he was, he’d see Lancelot looking at him the way he used to look at GWEN.

They both blink and look at each other, understandingly, neither of them to speak of this again.

And then Gwaine drags himself out of bed, and Lancelot raises his eyebrows as he watches him (totally not checking him out) haul out a book from his cupboard.

Gwaine’s too sleepy for this, he keeps yawning and rubbing his eyes (looking like a cat, Lancelot notes) and Lancelot takes a deep breath, his eyes understanding.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Lancelot, I love..” he bites his tongue, cursing his half asleep mind “..doing this, and love hanging out with you...I just cant stay up this early.”

Reading lessons, from now on, are at 1:30am-whenever Gwaine and Lancelot stop rambling about Odysseus and Circe and Telemachus

[i dont know any other ancient books apart from like. Ancient greek/Roman ones. So i guess. Its not historically accurate,,,,BUUIT this is a fanfic for a pair who had like no scenes together SO i think i can take some ✨creative liberties✨]

Lancelot has heard of the journey of Aneas from travelling bards, singing songs in his native old english. Gwaine’s eyes are quick at latin, and he learnt the flaws of Romulus and Remus in his pure latin. Gwaine’s a good teacher, and lancelot is a quick study, and it’s not long before they’re arguing over which Goddess caused the most harm in the Illiad.

Gwaine’s never met someone who he could reveal that he loved reading to, he loved doing.

Lancelot’s never met someone who he could tell he couldn’t read, and ask if they could teach him, love learning.

They make it work.

The other knights notice, of course they notice. Percival notices how Lancelot stumbles into the Gwaine’s room at night, bright eyed. Elyan notices Lancelot and Gwaine’s voices from Gwaine’s room opposite him; sometimes slow, Gwaine speaking slowly and Lancelot following; sometimes heated and passionate.

(They’re arguing. They’re arguing about how to pronounce Minerva)

Merlin finds the two, in the early hours of the morning - when the birds are figuring what song they sing today - on Gwaine’s bed.

Gwaine leaned against the bedframe, his trousered legs splayed over the sheets. Loosely braided, long brown hair fell over his closed eyelids, his mouth in a small smile.

And Merlin follows his arm draped over Lancelot, snuggled beside him, his head on his broad shoulder, every breath of wind pushing against curly black hair, making it almost /bounce/. His eyes are covered by the other man’s hair, and he looks...content. More content than Merlin has ever seen him.

He slips out as quietly as he came in, and smirks, hes gotta tell arthur they finally got their shit together oh GOD

Its no surprise to anyone but them, when Arthur pulls Lancelot out of training, and into his chambers.

“I’m glad you’ve found someone Lancelot.” He starts, his face geniune, his voice giving away hints of relief. (He thought he was never going to see his knight smile again after all the ordeals that had happened to him)

“Oh...” Lancelot’s heart sinks, “...how did you find out, Sire?”

Arthur blinks, taking in the change of mood in Lancelot, maybe it wasn’t anything important, maybe they were trying to keep it casual, hell they didnt want the king knowing.

“I- uh, I just noticed...” Goddamnit Merlin, and Goddamn his need to tell him everything he saw. (Merlin had advised him not to do this, as they sat on his bed after a long night. This was really his fault.)

Lancelot pales, and he places his hands down on the table beside him, palms slapping stone as he did so.

“Well, I guess I should tell you the whole truth then,” his voice is quiet, and Arthur steps closer, “Sire I am not of Noble birth, and was born in a village - as you know.”

Arthur nods, his arms crossed, but his Kingly Bravado fell away at the sight of his knight, and one of his closest friends, being this vulnerable.

“Yes I know, but what does this ha-“

“And we children in the village we-“ he falters, “-we were never taught to read.”

“Yes, no I understand, I-“ he pauses, Lancelot’s words hitting him a bit too late, this was about literacy?

This, this whole conversation was about literacy?

Not being gay?

Merlin was going to have a field day

“Sire?”

“I understand Lancelot, and is this why you feel a little out of place with the other knights?” He carries it on, with a smile, he has a few questions to ask merlin.

“Yes, and that’s why I asked Gwaine to tutor me from time to time, although, the sessions carry through late into the night, which may have been affecting my performance at practice. I’ll have you know that this is a temporary th-“

“It’s fine Lancelot,” Arthur places a hand on his shoulder, “You are still exceptional at practice,”

“Thank you Sire,” Lancelot twinkles.

✨

“Theyre, theyre not together?” Merlin cant stop laughing, tears streaming down his face, “theyre not TOGETHER?? oh my God arthur what did you DO”

They sit together on Arthur’s bed, drinking wine from stemless cups together, with Arthur recounting the events of the day; red faced.

“I mean, it was your idea Merlin.”

“I just saw them, and I assumed...I didnt...I didnt think youd ASK them.”

“What do you think I’d do then?? Let them be on their merry way.”

“Yes!”

✨

“Do you like me?” Gwaine asks, unexpectedly, one night, the moon vibrant against the loud sea.

“You’re...tolerable...” Lancelot says, a smile tugging at his lips, as the silver moonlight falls against his hair, a halo around him.

✨

The knights give them the look every morning, as the two of them stumbled out of the same room, more frequently than ever.

Sometimes Lancelot would throw on Gwaine’s shirt, when he’d crumpled his own beyond repair. Sometimes Gwaine would put some of Lancelot’s hair oil on, when his hair was frizzy.

They gave each other knowing looks when Gwaine and Lancelot started whispering and giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls.

✨

And then Stupid gwaine had to go get fucking stabbed, and their delicate dance was like trying to waltz through a minefield.

Lancelot clutches onto Gwaine’s arm as Merlin feels his forehead with shaking hands.

“He’s burning up.”

“Infection...?” Lancelot sounds broken, and nods, fumbling with his pack to find some bandages.

It was just a simple quest; a save the day, get the girl, do various harmless shenanigans type of quest.

He’d half expected Gwaine to get the girl, and he cant help but give out a half choked laugh. Gwaine had no idea what hit him when she turned out to be the evil one all along.

He tries to forget that Gwaine showed no interest in her, he tries to forget that Gwaine’s been less frequent at the Tavern, he tries to forget that he hasn’t seen Gwaine with anyone since months now.

Gwaine, his beautiful Gwaine was lying on his lap, hot red blood rushing from his side, staining his polished chainmail with dark, sticky blood.

He’s been out for nearly an hour now, and Lancelot remembers carrying him, through the entire forest, forgetting his sword and his helmet and just grabbing Gwaine and getting the shit out of there.

Gwaine’s lack of self preservation was really rubbing off on Lancelot nowadays.

Merlin watches as Lancelot holds back tears, his own eyes stinging. Gwaine can’t die like this, he can’t die like this....

“hælan beorn adl”

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and Lancelot could feel warmth coming back into the fingers he was grabbing.

He was coming back.

And then the weight of everything hits him.

He was in Fucking Love.

✨

“Hey.” Gwaine’s voice is rough from disuse, but Lancelot nearly sobs when he hears the voice.

“Don’t fucking do that to me again, amor meus.” He puts his head down on Gwaine’s chest; finding the hammering of his heart calming.

He shimmies onto Merlin’s bed, which Gwaine had been lying in for the past few days.

“Did you mean, ami meus?” Gwaine sounds tired, too tired to be awake.

“Huh? Did i say something else?” Lancelot decides to play dumb, a sparkle in his eyes,

“I thought I heard amor meus,” Gwaine pushes his nose into Lancelot’s hair, taking in the wonderful smell of coconut.

“Well then, at least your hearing’s okay, amor meus.”

Gwaine gulped, and was sure Lancelot could hear his loud swallow.

“Lancelot, I hope this isnt a big joke with me teachin you latin and all,” Gwaine’s voice is a little wobbly from the slee deprivation and the magic and the pain numbers, “because I’ll have you know that I really love you, and I cant go on like this any longer,”

“Its okay Gwaine, I learnt latin from the man I love, of course it’s not a joke.”

“The man you love? Who’s tha-“

Realisation hits him like a brick.

Oh.

“Me?” His voice cracks, and Lancelot looks up, a smirk on his face.

“Of course dumbass.”

“Like I’m meant to know that,” Gwaine tries to keep his dont care-ish aura, but they both know he’s too exhausted to keep that up.

“mmm?”

Gwaine kisses him on the nose, and he wraps himself around him.

And thats how Merlin finds them later that day, eyes blinking as he stood there.

✨

“I’m glad you’ve found someone, Lancelot.” Arthur coughs.

“Is that what that whole talk was about???”

“Answer the question.” His words sound harsh, but he’s barely hiding a smile.

“I’m glad too, I’m Glad I found Gwaine too.” Lancelot blushes, turning to gwaine.

“Why are you asking anyway, Princess?”

“Oh just, making sure this time.”

#shit this turned into a fic #im sorry #uhh #gwainecelot #gwaine #lancelot #gwaine x Lancelot #gwaine/lancelot #i should post this onto ao3 #but like. fix it up first #fun times #first tumblr fic yall #im growing!!!#IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN ESSAY WHAT IS THIS #gwaincelot #im SO sorry

52 notes · View notes

destiniesfic · 3 years

Photo

A little dark!Alina for Tumblr user @darkalinas. Merry Christmas, Maven! I was your Secret “Sankta” for @darklinadaily’s Darklina Secret Santa. 👼 I had a blast writing this and I hope you like it. ♥

Fandom: Grishaverse (post-Ruin and Rising and King of Scars) Pairings: Darklina & Malina Word Count: 5,000 Rating: T+ Summary: Three years after the end of the Ravkan Civil War, the woman once known as Alina Starkov begins to dream.

Or: he can go anywhere he wants (just not home).

Read on AO3 or read below:

It would have been easy to think the mistress of Keramzin, who saw that the orphans straggling through her door were fed and cared for, little more than a girl herself. Boys of twelve seemed tall beside her, and the more daring among them would ask her to stand back to back with them so they could measure the difference in height and come away whooping at how they’d grown. She wore her hair unbraided and walked the halls with bare feet. Sometimes she would lose herself in a daydream and move to tackle a different section of her latest mural with her brush still wet in her hand, trailing little drips of paint like a line of kisses on the floorboards.

But appearances deceived, for the girl was a woman now, and married. She and her husband took their meals sitting among the teachers and staff, not their charges, although either of them could be tugged away from the table with the slightest excuse. Some of the youngest children, confused by her snow white hair, called her Baba like she was a grandmother. Though she was still a young woman, she sometimes moved stiffly, after she had sat too long or hunched her shoulders up to her ears while she painted, like whatever she had done before coming here siphoned some of her youth away.

When the woman slept at night, it was stretched out beside her husband under a warm duvet, safe. Neither of them dreamed often, and when they did they dreamt mainly of sunlight dancing over skin, of the woods’ silent call. But the other times, the few bad times, he was there when the nightmares reached for her with greedy fingers.

“It’s all right,” he would whisper, gathering her into his arms. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Although they were the right words, the things a person should say, her mouth always went dry before she could tell him that she knew.

When one night she arose from their bed in the very early hours, nothing seemed wrong. She had not woken from a nightmare, just suddenly, with no preamble and no cause. Her husband slept on beside her, his brown hair rumpled, one shoulder, sun-kissed from work outdoors, turned toward the ceiling. She thought about kissing it, but she didn’t want to wake him. She left her bed and went to the window, sitting on the bench in front of it and looking out at the pond.

The moon was strong tonight, a silver dish suspended in the sky. Everything she touched—the grass, the sliver of creek—seemed to glow. Her light spilled in through the window, washing the floor and the foot of the bed in desaturated hues, somehow making them both more and less. Where the light did not reach, shadows pooled on the floor like tar.

Most people thought that darkness was the absence of light, its opposite. She knew a different truth. Without light, there could be no shadow. Where one ventured, the other kept close.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw one of the shadows move.

She spun around, but her room was as she always knew it: sleeping husband, solid oakwood furniture, dead fire in the grate. Across the room, a ghost stared back at her, hollow-cheeked and bright-eyed. She startled, but it was only her reflection in the full-length mirror. Then, in her periphery, motion: darkness like smoke, sliding under the closed door and into the hall.

She followed.

The rebuilt Keramzin was completely dark this time of night, orphans and staff alike asleep, lost to their own dreams of tomorrow. Patches of moonlight glimmered at her feet, but the shadows between them seemed to grow darker, deeper, until she thought she might fall into them if she took a step forward. Yawning chasms, or hungry mouths.

This was like no dream she could remember. As far as she could see there was no one beside her, no one behind her. Yet she could feel a presence, she would swear to it. Something winding around her, working its way up her body. Something with a voice.

Alina, it murmured. A name only her husband called her now, when the fire was dying and they were alone, the children tucked safely in their beds.

“Alina is dead,” she said. “No one here has that name.”

A lie—Ravkans began naming their daughters for the Sun Summoner as soon as they learned of her. There were two little Alinas, both under four, in the nursery where the youngest children slept. But she didn’t think this phantom cared for technicalities.

The voice chuckled. Are you really so eager to forget yourself? She felt the brush of lips against her ear, but when she turned her head there was nothing. She was alone in the darkened hall, and she thought he had left, but then a whisper slithered into her other ear. Are you so eager to forget who you are?

“I am the mistress of Keramzin,” she told the voice. “I am the painter of these walls. I am the guardian of these children. I have made my home here, and if you won’t leave it, I will drive you out myself.”

There was silence. Then:

With what power?

“Darling?”

She turned. Her husband stood in the doorway of their room, his hair sticking up endearingly at odd angles, pajamas slung low on his hips. The shadows reverted to their normal shade, strangely innocent, keeping their secrets.

“What is it?” he asked. “I heard you talking.”

She blinked back to herself and reached for a plausible explanation. “I don’t know. Must have been sleepwalking.”

He nodded, distantly, then walked over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Back to bed,” he said, a yawn stretching the last word wide.

“Back to bed,” she agreed, but not without a last glance over her shoulder.

---

“Have you heard from our friend in Os Alta?” the woman asked her husband over breakfast that morning.

That’s what they called the king, that or sometimes their friend in the palace. They had a handful of friends in Os Alta, of course, the lingering remnants of another life entirely. But those friends—the Grisha Triumvirate, the king’s bodyguards, and others—could be mentioned by name occasionally. Davids and Nadias were common enough. Nikolais were, too, but it was better to be cautious with him. Better to leave nothing to chance.

Her husband frowned. “No,” he said. “Were you expecting something?”

She shrugged. They had briefly housed the king’s escort a few weeks back, sans king; the orphans had crowded the windows to gawk at the gilded carriage. When the riders went on their way to the palace, she sent a letter with them. Nothing serious, for there was nothing serious to report from Keramzin, just well-wishes and a request for news from the court. The king was a lively correspondent and usually quick to reply, happy to unburden himself of gossip or fears which he could not, or would not, share with courtiers.

“I wrote to him,” she said, spooning sugar into her tea. “But I haven’t heard back. He’s probably busy.”

“Busy choosing a wife,” her husband replied, with a hint of a snort and a solemn undercurrent that said he did not envy the king one bit.

The woman looked into the glassy surface of her tea. “I forgot,” she murmured, though that news had reached them even in Keramzin and the staff had been buzzing about it for weeks. A royal betrothal was a rare event, and an important one.

Her husband bumped her knee with his, and teased, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, and smiled at him. That ship had sailed long ago.

Still, it bothered her that she hadn’t heard from her friend. She knew that court obligations must be keeping him occupied, especially with eligible young women swarming the capital, but she wished she had a letter back so she could reply in kind. He was the only person who understood the way darkness had lodged itself between her ribs like a long thorn, reaching to pierce her heart. If she could just slip in a question about his demons, if she could just have reassurance that all was well with him, then maybe she would cease to worry about the impossible.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy scent of her tea. It seemed silly to have those fears here. The air was bright with the chatter of children being herded into their first lessons of the day, with cooking smells, with autumn sun. Half the walls were covered in paintings of fantastical scenes, her own doing, and she wondered if she had been trying to create a ward to keep the darkness out.

“I heard there were earthquakes last night,” her husband said, changing the subject. “Maybe that’s what woke you.”

She frowned. “Earthquakes? Here?”

“All over Ravka. As far south as Dva Stolba.”

Dva Stolba. A shiver ran down her spine. “Why do they think it happened?”

“An act of nature,” said her husband, unbothered. “These things happen, beloved.”

The woman nodded and looked back into her tea. Strange things had been happening all year, it seemed—bridges of bone, statues sprouting flowers, forests falling in the night. It might mean nothing.

And yet when she tried to paint that day, her blues kept running into her blacks, and shadows marred her paintings like bruises. She retired to her room early, dreading her dreams.

---

She did not dream that night, nor the next, nor the one after that, and she breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that her husband was right, that things do happen. That sometimes earthquakes were only earthquakes, and dreams only dreams.

The next time she woke unexpectedly it was to the sound of a bright, sustained note, like ringing in her ears. Someone was playing the piano downstairs. One of the kids must have gotten up and decided to wander around in the night.

Her husband slept on next to her, bracketing her back, and she knew it would fall to her to handle this before the playing woke up the rest of the orphanage. She sighed, pushed her hair back from her face, and slipped out of bed, quietly pulling the door to behind her.

The child fooling around with the piano kept playing and holding the same note, as if not sure where to go from the single key they’d discovered. It was in one of the upper octaves, and although she’d begun to learn how to play the piano alongside some of her more gifted charges, she did not have the knack for knowing which note it was.

But when her feet found the cold tile of the foyer and she hurried to the drawing room where the piano stood, she saw the person sitting at the keys was not a child at all.

The phantom had shape now. He wore a long cloak of all black, with the hood pulled up to cast his face in shadow. She knew what he would look like if he drew it down, and it was that terrible knowledge which rooted her to the spot. He sat on the piano bench like there was real weight to him.

“You’re not here,” she said, as if the words alone were a revocation, a shield.

The phantom pressed the piano key again, and the note held, high and wavering, suspended in the air between them. She looked around, thinking it might wake the staff, or maybe some of the children would stumble bleary-eyed from their rooms, but in her heart she knew no one would come.

“You’re not real,” she insisted.

“Come and sit,” he said. His voice was cool like a poisoned spring at the height of summer, the last drink of the desperate.

She refused to slip into the well of him and stayed where she was, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re in my home.”

“Yes, and such work you’ve done, rebuilding it.” He didn’t need to remind her that he had once burnt Keramzin to the ground, slaughtered all those that had a hand in raising her. She could hear the smile in his voice, picture the way his lips curved under that hood. “Sit with me. I’ll be on my way soon enough.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Would you believe a dead man’s word?”

She shook her head. She wouldn’t have believed him when he was alive. “All you’ve ever done is lie, dead or not.”

“I bent the truth to my will, Alina. I omitted.” There it was again, the name that was hers and wasn’t. She hated the tenderness with which he said it, the same her husband’s voice held when he called her beloved, or my heart.

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” she said.

He made a small, skeptical sound, and then began to play in earnest, coaxing sad, strange music from a piano more accustomed to the clumsy fumblings of students. She had never heard a song like this, composed of discordant notes that didn’t quite fit together and made the hair on her arms stand on end. She found herself moving closer to the piano, watching his bone-white fingers move over the ivory keys, trying to figure out how he was doing it.

He softened his playing, gentled his touch, so that he could speak to her with his head still bowed. “How long has it been since you’ve seen my face at night?”

“Years,” she whispered. Another lie. She couldn’t keep him from entering her thoughts, the man she’d almost loved, the man she killed. She would go weeks at a time without thinking of him, and then he’d glide into her last thoughts before sleep, or she’d feel her husband’s callused hands on her skin and think of the one breathless night he’d gripped her thigh and nearly had her, all of the other evenings that weren’t.

“Would you like to see it again?”

“No.”

He chuckled and stopped playing, then reached up to draw back his hood.

At first she saw only what she expected: his familiar, beautiful face, with its high cheekbones, his thick, dark hair, his cruel mouth curving up at the corner. There were the faint scars that marked his survival of the time she stranded him on the Fold. But that was what she wanted to see. The other half of his face was a rotten mess. Mottled grey skin flaked away from bone, a dark hollow gaped where his eye should be. There were no lips to hide his straight white teeth, and no nose at all. How he would have rotted, if he hadn’t burned.

He smiled.

She screamed.

The cook, emerging from her room to set out breakfast, found her asleep at the keys, her forearm slung in front of the music rack, pillowing her forehead.

---

The woman was led to her bed, skin hot, buried in blankets as soft and heavy as the first snow of winter. A doctor from the nearby town was summoned to diagnose her with influenza, told her husband to see to it that she rested and drank her tea. She had always been prone to sickness when the weather changed–except for the one glorious, blazing year that her ill health could not touch her, when the light she wielded kept it at bay.

She gave that up. She was supposed to have her happily-ever-after.

“I saw him, Mal,” she said, clutching at her husband’s sleeve as he pressed a cool compress to her forehead. “I saw him.”

“Your temperature’s still high,” he replied, cupping her cheek in his work-roughened hand. She closed her eyes. “Fever dreams. He’s gone, love. You saw to that.”

Later, she saw her husband standing in the door, speaking in a low voice to the doctor, asking about paranoia, about delusions, about what it meant that his wife saw ghosts. The doctor shook his head, told him she needed to sweat it out, that after a few days she would be right as rain.

She told no one there was a weight on her chest that had nothing to do with her flu.

But her body won its fight eventually. After a few days her skin cooled, and instead of sipping clear broth from a bowl held carefully by one of the orphanage nurses, she was able to join the rest of Keramzin at dinner, seated at her husband’s side. The staff all greeted her warmly and told her how much better she looked, even though she knew they whispered about the circles under her eyes even when she was well.

Sitting there in the dining room, she was struck suddenly by a sense of profound dissatisfaction with her life. Why should she endure gossip and speculation? Why should she have her counsel so easily disregarded by the physician, by her husband, her words of warning dismissed as flights of fancy? She, who had been a saint. She, who was nearly queen. Why—

But then one of the little girls threw her arms around the woman’s legs and said, “Baba, I’m glad you’re better,” and the world righted itself. She let her hand rest on the back of the girl’s silken head, and breathed.

---

“Keep me awake tonight,” she told her husband later, as they turned down the gas lamps and climbed into bed. “I don’t want to dream.”

“You need your rest,” he replied, smoothing a lock of white hair back from her face.

She twined her arms around his shoulders. “I’m not glass,” she murmured. “I won’t break. Keep me up.”

He tried his best, and so did she, but sleep, ever the creditor, claimed its debts in the end. Although at first she did not realize she was asleep, having sild into it sideways; one moment she watched her husband’s chest rise and fall, and the next she blinked, and the waning moon had moved outside the window. The back of her neck prickled with the creeping certainty that she was being watched. There was someone else in the room with them.

She reached for her sleeping husband to wake him, to tell him, to show him, but her hand passed over his shoulder like rain running down a windowpane. She jerked it back, as if she had burned it. Her husband didn’t stir.

“He won’t wake,” said the soft, cool voice from behind her. “You’re in my domain now.”

The woman closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. “I thought it was ours,” she said after a moment. “Not yours. I could call to you, too.”

“But you haven’t, have you, Alina?”

“There’s no point calling on a dead man.”

“Am I so dead?”

The more fool her, expecting a nightmare to know he was deceased. The more fool her, for thinking him just a nightmare. She turned over, holding her blankets close to her chest, and found a figure standing at her bedside, nearly human, not a shadow, not half corpse.

She blinked up at him. “You’re whole now.”

“I only wanted to remind you of the damage you did,” he said.

How could she forget? She killed both him and her husband that day, so much heart’s blood gouting warm over her hands. If one had returned to her, it didn’t seem so unlikely that the other would as well, even though she’d watched him burn.

But she wondered if that was it, or if he simply had the strength now to appear as he liked. He had been formless at first, just a whisper in her ear. Now he stood at her bedside, lifelike. His hood was pushed back from his face, and the moonlight glimmered on his sharp, elegant cheekbones, haloed his dark hair. His scars, which had appeared after she stranded him on the Fold, were gone. He looked down at her with his pale grey eyes, and she very much wished she were clothed.

“What do you want?” she asked, smoothing her hand over the blankets.

“A word. A walk.”

“And what if I don’t want to give you those things?”

His mouth curved into a smile, but she read sadness in his eyes. “Then I will come again, Alina. The tracker may think he has you in the day, but your nights are mine.”

She closed her eyes again and imagined him eroding her dreams over and over, until he became the only thought left in her head. She imagined sitting up for days, trying to avoid him. It chilled her blood. If they had thought her paranoid before…

“No tricks,” she told him. “Look away. I need to dress.”

He scoffed, “You act as though we’re strangers.”

“Some things belong to me,” she reminded him. “Look away.”

He pursed his lips, but turned his head away from her. She slipped out of bed, careful not to touch him, and gathered up her discarded nightgown, her underwear, dressing as quickly as she could. She stepped into her slippers, determined to make him wait as long as possible, before asking, “Where are we walking?”

“Around your orphanage, to start.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits so he couldn’t take them.

The door to their room had a squeaky hinge, one her husband had been meaning to grease for a couple of weeks now. When the phantom opened it, it made no sound. She listened, hard, for his footfalls on the floor.

“Tell me, does this life suit you?” he asked, as they walked side by side through the darkened hall, the only two awake in a house, or perhaps a world, of sleepers. “Do you enjoy being painter and patroness?”

“I do,” she said. It did not taste like a lie.

He hummed. “Do you enjoy being a mere wife, when you might have been a queen?”

“Men wanted to make me their queen,” she reminded him. “That was never something I chose for myself.”

“All the more reason you would have been a good one,” he said. “Power is wasted by those who crave it. It’s twisted, perverted, misused. You would have made an excellent queen.”

“That’s a rare moment of self-awareness from you.”

An amused glint lit his eyes, a candle flame in a darkened window. “I never wanted power for power’s sake, Alina. I loved my country.”

“Did you?” She paused for a moment to consider a painted vine snaking around a bannister, which was already beginning to flake off. She scratched at a leaf with her index finger; green came away under her nail. “Then why couldn’t you stop destroying it?”

“Ah,” he said.

“Well?”

“So young, so wise, so married,” he mused, “and yet you know nothing of love.”

He took the stairs without waiting for her to follow. She did, of course, determined to chase him down and to explain all the ways that he was wrong, then realizing, partway down, that he would only take her arguments as defensiveness. So she reminded herself of what she knew. She loved her life. She loved the children in her care. She loved her husband. Her love would not destroy them. It would not destroy her.

But she had loved power, too, once. And now her power was dead.

He waited for her by the two grand double doors that stood at Keramzin’s main entrance. She tried to follow the lines of his cloak with her eyes, but it bled into the shadows at his feet. He watched her steadily.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we walk.” And he held out his hand.

She stared at him.

“You won’t get to where we’re going if you don’t take it.” He spread his fingers out a little, beckoning her. “Alina.”

She held his gaze as she slipped her hand into his. She half-expected to feel the surge of power, familiar and wild, that used to always manifest when she touched him. She didn’t feel that, but she didn’t feel nothing. Some dark thing fluttered just to the side of her heart, a fledgling raven not quite ready to leave the nest.

“Aleksander,” she said.

He pushed open the door.

They stepped together, and for a moment it was as if the shadows had swallowed them whole. She felt like she had stepped back into the nothingness of the Fold, an all-consuming, weightless darkness. But then it resolved itself, and she saw that she was in a grey, windowless room. She blinked and pressed her hand to one of the walls, feeling cool stone under her palm. With a surge of panic, she looked over her shoulder and saw the only door was metal and sealed tight.

“This is a cell,” she said, her heart sinking. Had she stepped into a trap without knowing? Would she be able to leave? “Why would you bring me here?”

“A glimpse of the future,” he said, ever inscrutable.

And then his mouth was hot and hard on hers, and her back collided with the wall. She was so surprised that for a moment she didn’t react, for a moment her lips parted and she let herself be kissed, and then she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away.

“What are you doing?” she cried, as if someone might hear, someone outside. Someone who could intervene.

“What you want.”

That dark thing fluttered behind her ribcage again. “I have a husband.”

“Your husband,” he said, voice heavy with derision. “The tracker. Have you forgotten? You murdered your husband the day you murdered me.”

“Clearly it didn’t take.” She kept her hands firm on his shoulders. He certainly felt real, firm and strong, all lean muscle.

His laugh was low and dangerous. “Are you so deserving of good things? Are you so deserving of kindness? You put a dagger in both of us, Alina. Tell me why I shouldn’t repay you in kind.”

She felt one of his hands slip up her nightdress, settling on her thigh, a strange echo of the position they’d been in years ago, that very different night. Her blood pulsed hot in her ears, and she knew it was not a dagger he was planning to stick her with. “You’re dead,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. She refused to let him rattle her. “I think that would make it difficult. No blood to spare.”

He gave her a narrow, rueful grin. “If I’m truly dead, does it matter what we do?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His other hand traced a half-circle over her collarbones, where Morozova’s antlers once sat, before gently tilting her chin up. She could not look away from him. In life, there was always such intensity in his gaze, and the gaze of this nightmare, this dream, was no different. “I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “Tell me to stop, if that’s what you want.”

She didn’t tell him to stop. He was gentler this time, his lips ghosting over her cheek before finding hers, molding to her instead of forcing his way in. She shut her eyes tight, but her grip on his shoulders turned into something else, a near embrace, another battle in their war. She could even smell him, cool and crisp like the approach of winter. His hand was warm on her thigh.

“You have something of mine,” he murmured against her mouth. “Do you know how to use it?”

“What?” she asked breathily.

She felt him smile. “I’m not so far away, Alina,” he said. “Come and find me.”

---

When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the middle of Keramzin’s drive in her nightdress and slippers. Although it was late autumn and a breeze brushed her white hair back from her face like a lover’s fingers, she didn’t feel the cold.

Dawn was just beginning to break in the east, a pink tinge illuminating the dark branches of naked trees. She stood there, watching the morning sun rise, and held her hands up to it, hoping to catch the rays in her palms and hold them for a while. But they glided over her skin, indifferent to what she wanted. She tried not to let her disappointment swallow her. She had felt a tug when he touched her. She had hoped...

But maybe that wasn’t the answer.

“There you are,” said a voice from behind her. She turned and found her husband standing in the door, his feet bare. He had dressed in haste, and his shirt didn’t quite sit right on his shoulders. She saw the nurse peeking out behind him.

“Sleepwalking,” she called from the drive. “Don’t worry.”

“You should come in,” he said. “You’ll make yourself sick again.” She could hear his concern warring with his impulse not to frighten her off. If they could only pretend everything was fine, then everything would be.

“In a minute.” She looked toward the trees bordering the drive, their little patch of forest. “There’s something I want to try.”

“Ali—” he began, then stopped, remembered himself. “Just come in.”

She smiled at him like she couldn’t still feel the ghost of another man’s kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Before he could say another word, she walked off into the trees, where the shadows grew thick like underbrush, even at midday. But it was dawn, with the sun’s light slanting at an angle, and the thick trunks of trees sprouted long, dark shadows that blanketed the leaf-covered ground. She walked until she was sure she could no longer be seen. Eventually, someone would come to bring her in. Better to be quick. Better to be sure.

Alina held out her hands.

The shadows greeted her like an old friend.

#darklina #alarkling #darklinadaily #darklina secret santa #grishaverse #alina starkov #aleksander morozova #the grisha trilogy #shadow and bone #mine: fic #darklinasecretsanta

93 notes · View notes

tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: Trials and Tributes (Complete)

Summary:

"There were witches who lived among them. Or so that's what Levi was told. He just could not believe for the life of him that she'd be one of them."

Levi is a soldier who interrogates witches before they are put on trial and Hange might just be a witch.

Levihan Secret Santa Gift for @cleacourgette

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Notes: Merry Christmas! @cleacourgette. Here is the completed story.

Although I did some research on this, I don't think I would have been able to pull this story off without taking some liberties on my end history-wise. If you've read Rangers Apprentice, you might find some slight Easter eggs here since I based a lot of the medieval setting from medieval fiction more than actual medieval history. I hope you enjoy this though!

There were witches who lived among them. Or so that was what Levi was told.

Their powers manifested in the occasional droughts, the famines and most notably for Levi the plague that had taken his mother from him. That plague and the aftermath was what had him moving into a cabin with his uncle at the tender age of eight and training to be an assassin.

Having lived most of his young life in that small cabin, as a kid, Levi was never really able to pinpoint when exactly humanity decided to fight back against the witches. A few times his uncle had brought him to the square to watch the trials which usually ended with a witch being burned at stake or a witch being thrown into the sea.

As a child, he had felt his gut clench watching the desperate faces of the women tied to the stake as the flames licked at them for a few minutes before they started to consume them alive. By the time the flames did morph into a carnivorous tiger ready to devour its prey alive, young Levi would look away--- every single time.

That was more than a decade ago. Levi had seen more than enough trials and the crimes the women were accused of and the angry fathers and the crying mothers who broke down while they testified the crimes were more than enough for Levi to understand the need for retribution and King Fritz’s declaration to rid the word of witches.

They were responsible for the plague that had taken the first son of the parents, the child that had wandered into the forest and was eaten by a boar and the crop shortage in one village that had caused their downfall.

As the king’s right hand man and most trusted soldier, Levi stood at every single trial and every single execution. Compared to back when he was a kid, he at least had the stomach to look the witch in the face every time. His heart still clenched as he had made eye contact with them or caught the moment their eyes went dark as the flames consumed them.

It could just be their powers. If the witches had the power to start plagues and cause chaos in villages then they probably had the power to manipulate hearts too. Levi had to remind himself of just that every time he felt that bitter taste in his mouth at every witch they had executed.

It was a painful scene to watch every single time, only leaving Levi mentally exhausted and so mentally distraught that he would have preferred to have spent the day shooting a thousand arrows with the hardest bow or to do a thousand swings with the heaviest sword in the weaponry.

Instead of closing his heart to them though, he ended up doing the complete opposite.

He made sure to see a human in every single one of them. Willing himself to see it was a small, personal yet excruciatingly painful challenge Levi forced on himself every time. The more he allowed himself to sympathize, the more he would be able to get to know himself and his emotions and consequently the better he’d be able to stop himself from being manipulated when it mattered.

It was a lesson on mental constitution and loyalty towards his cause. Levi was determined to stand for it, unwavering. Levi found himself talking to them before they stood on trial, learning their back stories. Some had gone crazy denying accusations and even attacking him. Others had just laughed it off. Others have even remained catatonic.

Levi had become familiar with the many ways witches handled the accusations and the impending trial. The sights and sounds of witches and the way they had all handled their impending trials were all gut wrenching but routine. And routine was the only reason why Levi was able to stop himself from planning an escape route for every one of them.

Routines---like rules and all other things--- are meant to be broken and for most people, will be broken eventually. For Levi, it was broken when he entered that same interrogation room to catch a whiff of that scent. Levi had relied so easily on the sights and sounds, on the tears on the witches’ faces and their desperate final screams. Nothing had prepared him for the way witches could smell and the faint scent she had exuded as he entered the room. It only left Levi a little taken aback and maybe a little vulnerable.

Others would have probably described it as flowery. To others it would have been fruity.

To Levi, those two scents were just too intertwined. If he did have to sum it up into one word, he would have just said ‘different’. It was fruity. Yet it was also flowery. The most glaring part about that scent though was the way it chilled the air closest to him. It entered his nostrils as a cool wind every time and even during the hottest days of summer, it would be winter in his nostrils. It was cold yet it smelled of late spring and early summer. So unnatural. So unique. Maybe that was what made it easy for Levi to connect that scent to one from some buried memory long ago.

Even before he took in the unkempt brown hair hastily tied up and those hazel eyes as they looked up at him, just by her scent, Levi knew for sure who it was and where they had met.

But why is she here? Levi thought to himself as he made eye contact with her.

“You sure she’s a witch?”

“She was captured in your hometown sir. In the nearby woods.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Of course she’d be there. That’s where I found her so many years ago. That’s where I fucking grew up.

The guard tensed up. “Sincerest apologies Mr. Ackerman. I don’t know the exact details. They will be made public in the trial.”

“Give us time and space then. I’ll ask her myself.”

“But sir, you mustn't stay too near. She might hex you.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk,” Levi said tersely as he settled himself on the seat in front of her.

“Sir, you’re our best weapon in the army. We ca--”

“It’s an order.”

The guard may have been a few years older than Levi. The latter had proven himself to be a competent fighter on multiple occasions, putting himself in a rank much higher above most of the soldiers. He never took advantage of it. Until that moment. Somehow, it felt like it was a risk worth taking.

Her face had matured yet the glint of mischief and wonder in her eyes had remained. He took in the view in front of him and indulged in the wave of nostalgia that came with it.

"Is the herb garden still there? Did you finally put borders around it so people wouldn’t mistake it for weeds?" He started with questions only she would have answered correctly.

Trials and Tributes

Levi carefully trudged through the soil. The boots Kenny had given him actually worked to mask the sound of foot rubbing on earth and the spray of the sun as he did. It wasn’t enough though, the grass seemed particularly eager to announce the entrance of any human who stepped on them.

With every blade of grass he stepped on, he was probably killing more of them. It’s only natural that anyone would want their murderer caught red-handed.

Imagining the grass beneath him at least had some sentience was a small thought Levi decided to play with, having gotten tired of doing the same drills alone everyday since Kenny had left a week ago for a mission.

At that point, Levi was still learning to stay silent. The cloak he was given did a good job giving a base at which to work with. In the end though, it was only the weapon. A weapon is only as valuable as its user and while Levi still struggled to master the art of silent movement, the cloak can only be too valuable too.

The change was gradual but from the short patches of grass, Levi found himself entering an area where the grass shot up closer to his shins. The longer the grass was, the more challenging it would be to breeze through it silently. There was just more area for the grass to brush against, rustling and consequently making the sounds Levi had so wanted to avoid.

He had made at least a few feet, completely satisfied by the fact that he had not made an embarrassingly loud rustle just yet.

Just yet. Maybe he had been a little too careless or a little too excited. Maybe for a second he had been so into his little daydreams about grass being obsessed with justice that he had failed to notice the rustles, then the angry footsteps. It was only when the warm air was right on his neck did he realize he had been the one who had failed to notice that he was still very loud.

“Hey! Get off my herb garden!”

Trials and Tributes

“No. I’m not putting them in cages.”

I want them to grow freely. Putting up borders makes them look like caged animals. She had explained before that putting up fences and borders around plants had only made her heart hurt similarly for them as she had done for the many animals she’d seen in cages as a kid.

Witches were evil. All they caused were chaos, death, destruction. They were all in the testimonies he had watched so many times before. The proclamations by King Fritz.

Levi could not believe that someone with that much empathy for anything living could be what she was being arrested for.

Why did they arrest you? He’d find out the reason soon enough during the trial.

“What were you doing when they arrested you?” It was a question with an answer which was so commonly and easily twisted by the guards assigned to catch the witches that Levi always felt it so necessary to ask it to them directly

“I was in my cabin, mixing poultices and potions.”

My cabin. Somehow, the way she had said it brought Levi back to that isolated cabin in the woods he would visit when Kenny wasn’t home. He lived a little too far from the town square and had been swamped with combat training. He had craved for some company, ideally someone his age and she who lived in that little cabin surrounded by herbs had been the only one he could turn to.

“Poultices and potions for what?”

“Healing."

"Healing who?"

"The townspeople."

Levi could not help but smile. “Why am I not surprised that you got into that type of work.”

Of course, she has always been good at that.

Trials and Tributes

“And this is why you shouldn’t be using a bow and arrow for that long.”

Levi bit his lip and looked away. The last thing he had wanted her to see was the tears he was fighting to keep in, just in case they did come out. He had had enough cuts, injuries and even close calls with death to know how many ways the body can get fucked over by nature and man made objects. Blisters ranked up there among the most painful wounds and stubbing one’s toe.

She was gentle though when she had wrapped the bandages. The poultice she had put on his blisters surprisingly did not sting. In fact within minutes, the stinging pain had calmed into something dull and easily forgettable.

“Did you make it yourself?” Levi observed more closely the interior of the cabin. There were glass bottles lined up on the wall with different liquids and preserved matter in them. He had been there many times already but it was only then, as he finally got to experience the healing powers of the liquids first hand did he really allow himself a good look at the room.

So many poultices and potions were lining the walls yet Levi had never seen anyone else in the cabin. He eventually figured out that was the only logical explanation. He was sure though she was only early into her teenage years, just like he was.

“Yes. I made everything here myself,” She answered, only confirming his suspicion.

“For what?”

“For fun. What else is there to do here?”

Share it to the world. Levi had wanted to say. He kept it to himself though. The way her face darkened as she asked that question only made Levi think that it was something he shouldn’t pry on her. When he did think about it, someone as friendly as her would not have lived in isolation against her will. Something must have happened.

“So what happens to the poultices you make?”

“They just sit here and when they go bad, I throw them away.”

Levi felt a second hand pain at the thought of wasting such effective ingredients. “Would you mind if I came back here more? So at least someone could use them?”

She beamed. “I would honestly love it if you did.”

Trials and Tributes

“You look like you’ve grown since then,” she gave him a naughty smile. “Maybe an inch?”

“Watch your mouth. You’ll be going on trial soon,” Levi said sternly. He knew the smile which so naturally crept up his lips betrayed the tone of his voice. She had made that same joke many times before.

“I meant you’ve changed,” she clarified.

“Of course, I have. How long has it been? Ten years?”

“Wow? That long? I’ve waited for you that long?” Her eyes widened in surprise. The brunette stood up and slammed her hands on the table. It was loud and maybe the way she stared at him and slammed her feet on the table was a little chaotic. They had dealt with crazier witches though and the guards did not even bother to peek in.

Levi bit his lip, quelling the guilt inside him. He still remembered, he did promise her they’d meet again. I mean, we did meet again right? Levi thought wryly to himself as he considered the circumstances of their reunion. He had considered visiting a long time before. But the three day walk or the one day carriage ride just did not seem worth it, especially since he had gotten busier with work.

“You said you’d be back. I had faith we’d meet again. I just didn’t think we’d meet like this.”

Trials and Tributes

His uncle Kenny had been missing for over two years. He should have seen it coming. His uncle had said so himself multiple times, he was not fit to be a father.

The one thing that had made the isolation all the more bearable was the cabin only a ten minute walk away. They had gotten closer over time and Levi started to feel more and more at home when he’d stop by after a long day of training to get his cuts and blisters treated.

Every month, he would still make the long trek to the nearest town once or twice. That was where the opportunity to enlist in the king’s army made itself known to him. They had sold the idea as one for glory, for money. Levi saw it as something else.

The training his uncle had given him from sneaking skills, archery skills, knife throwing and combat skills had to have been for something. As the town crier stood on his platform announcing the call for manpower for the next war, Levi’s mind was racing. Maybe it was an opportunity to find his uncle. Maybe it would be a good chance to see the world. Maybe it was a way to find out the origins of the witches that took his mother away from him so many years ago.

He knew though, to answer the many questions running through his head, he had to find a way out of their small village. The easiest way lay in front of him as King’s army enlistment. The town crier prattled on about free transportation, free weapons, free training and the opportunity to live a life of luxury in the capital but Levi did not listen. He had already made his decision.

“So you’ve finally decided to leave huh?” She didn’t bother to hide the disappointment on her face as she placed a mug of tea in front of him.

“There are just some questions I need answered. Can’t do it here.”

“Yeah, should have known. Nobody would want to live in a cabin in the woods their whole lives.”

“Why don’t you go with me?”

“I’ve told you before. I can’t leave.” She avoided his gaze. Why had she never left the woods? He had asked that question so many times before, only for the conversation to shift elsewhere.

“You’ll come back though right?”

“Of course. I grew up here. This is still my home.”

“Then I’ll wait.” She went towards the cupboards, took something out, walked back to him and pressed it on his palm.

Levi could only stare.

“Why do you look so dumbstruck? It’s a poultice.” She explained. “You’ve tried everything else I’ve made. Now that I think about it, maybe that’s why your aim is so good now.” She noted playfully.

Levi had to nod as she said that. Ever since he had started taking her potions and applying her poultices, he improved remarkably as a fighter. “What’s this one for though?”

“It can soothe pain, sores. I thought you’d need it fighting a war.”

He only needed to open the bag slightly for the scent to waft out and fill the room.

“It’s pretty strong so you’ll only need a pinch every time you’re injured,” She said as she quickly pulled the drawstring bag closed again. She was too late though. The strong scent had already settled in the air. “It’s my favorite. Definitely the one I’m most proud of. And you can get a free refill when you come back. Maybe I can even make a better one.” She smiled ruefully. “You promise you’ll be back though right?”

“Promise.”

Trials and Tributes

The room had smelled just like the poultice when he had closed the door on her. That was the one poultice that saw him through the two year war, then three more years working for the military. Maybe that was why at that moment when he laid eyes on her in the interrogation room, it had brought him such a wave of nostalgia, making him recognize her almost instantly.

“Did something happen?” His superior asked within a second of Levi entering his office. It was just like Erwin to know something was not routine at first glance.

“Hm?”

“This last visit to the prison took you longer than usual. And you seemed a little distracted when you entered my office.”

Levi looked out the window. The sun was far past the horizon already and the sky was too dark to even make out shapes against it. The prison was underground so it was a little more difficult to notice the passage of time there. He couldn’t help but note though that that was the first time he had come out of there to see that it was dark outside.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about.” Levi had rehearsed his lines on the way up. Only the king would be able to give him permission to do what he wanted to do and the only person who could convince the king was his superior Erwin. He trusted Erwin but from his eyes, his request seemed so out of character, he could not even predict how Erwin would react. With Erwin’s comment though, he had given Levi a good opening to ask.

It’s now or never. “I want to handle the trials of the witch I met in the prison today. The one who came from my hometown.”

“Hange Zoe?”

That was her whole name? Years ago, he had only ever called her by her first name Hange. He had even forgotten her first name. During the meeting, he had been so focused on how they had both changed, the promise he had failed to meet and the circumstances of their reunion. As his mind raced trying to process that piece of crucial information, Levi could manage a nod.

“I guessed there might have been something between you too. Your hometown was a pretty small place.” Just like Erwin to be a little sharper. “Also, this is strange. You never really wanted to get involved in the actual trials and executions. Until now.”

Levi was trusted enough by the king and the military for his presence to always be requested in every trial and every burning. Every trial had left his chest a little heavier and his mouth a little more bitter-tasting. Erwin had at least noticed that enough to never request Levi to be there to facilitate it.

Regardless of his lack of history with any of those witches who had gone on trial, a heavy chest and a bitter taste in his mouth were always there, maybe they were even just the bare minimum of what he felt with every trial.

Compared to many of the others he had interrogated though, he had a history with that Hange Zoe. Levi knew he would be taking a risk. “She might just be the witch who was responsible for my mother’s death. I want to be there in the frontlines when justice is served,” he answered.

And that was a risk he was willing to take.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #levihansecretsanta #levihanss2020

51 notes · View notes