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agoldengalaxy · 1 year

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After the Storm

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“Speaking of friendly…” Rising to his feet, Clavell brushed off some blades of grass and Pokémon fur from his jacket and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am happy to see you, young man. I trust that the remainder of your treasure hunt has been going well?”

For a moment, they stared at each other, a sort of silent, mutual understanding of the truth that they had learned a mere week ago. Arven cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I’ve just been, uh, taking it easy for a bit.”

“Okay, buddy. It’s been a long time. Ready?”

Arven crouched in the grass, hiding what he was holding from view behind his back. An excited Mabosstiff curiously wagged his tail, waiting. With speed befitting Miraidon, Arven stood, striped ball in hand, and threw it with all his might. The Pokémon let out a powerful woof and bounded after it, nearly bowling over a nearby student.

Fondly, Arven placed his hands on his hips, waiting for his loyal partner to fetch the ball. A light breeze blew by and he closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air. For just a moment, he felt the most at peace he’d had in years. As long as Mabosstiff was still by his side…

A loud bark startled him out of his thoughts, and he blinked down at the dog in question, the ball much too small between his sharp teeth. It looked as though he were grinning, his tail wagging back and forth, ready for the next throw. Arven crouched down, running his hands up and down the soft fur with a grin to match Mabosstiff’s. “Oh, who’s my little buddy! Who’s the best boy? That’s right! That’s right, it’s you!”

Clearly enjoying the attention, Mabosstiff dropped the slimy ball on the ground, leaning into his trainer’s touch, his tail thumping against Arven’s arm. He continued to shower him in love for a moment before picking up the ball again, straightening up.

“Okay. I think I need to give you more of a challenge, huh, bud?” Taking a deep breath, he reeled back and threw as hard as he could. It soared through the air, and Mabosstiff took off after it. To Arven’s absolute horror, he realized the ball was sailing right toward an unsuspecting Director Clavell - with the excited Mabosstiff right behind it. Panic seared the boy’s veins. He shouted, “D-Director! Look out!”

Clavell turned his head at the shout, his eyes widening, but the warning was enough for him to reach his hands out and catch the ball with surprising speed. A loud woof echoed in the air, and like a wreck he couldn’t look away from, Arven watched his beloved Pokémon partner tackle the Director of Uva Academy to the ground.

His legs moved before his mind caught up, and before he knew it he was kneeling down beside Clavell, who was… laughing . Mabosstiff was happily licking at his face, and the old man was laughing. “Oh! Oh, dear! That tickles!”

“Mabosstiff! Off!” Arven commanded, and luckily, the Pokémon listened, shaking himself off as if he had done nothing wrong, and stepped to the side. While Clavell caught his breath, Arven stumbled over his words. “I’m so sorry, Director, he’s got all this new energy ever since he started feeling better, and he thinks everyone wants to be his friend, a-and he’s always really loved that ball -”

“Nonsense. No need for apologies, Master Arven.” Clavell cut him off with a warm chuckle as he moved to sit up, brushing some grass from his shoulders. “I needed that laugh today. It’s nice to meet someone so friendly.” He reached up, scratching a much calmer Mabosstiff behind the ear.

Arven just stared at him, dumbfounded. He’d talked to Director Clavell before, of course, and he was always very kind, but the boy couldn’t help but think he seemed very…stiff. It was a miracle he hadn’t gotten in trouble for this, but even crazier was that he could tell that the old man meant his words. He blinked and opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Speaking of friendly…” Rising to his feet, Clavell brushed off any remaining blades of grass or Pokémon fur from his jacket and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am glad to see you, young man. I trust that the remainder of your treasure hunt has been going well?”

Clavell seemed pleased with that answer. He nodded, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “Good to hear.” Suddenly, he looked down, finding Mabosstiff nudging against his hand, clearly wanting more pets. Arven smiled, somewhat fond and somewhat exasperated.

“I think he likes you, Director.”

“I should think so. I just gave him attention,” he replied with another warm chuckle, indulging the creature with another couple of head pats. “Ah, that reminds me. I have some spare berries for your friend here, and I’ve been told that students don’t care much for tea, so I’ve taken the liberty of purchasing some hot cocoa if you’d like to join me for some this afternoon. I’ve been quite lonely as of late with all the students out on their treasure hunts.”

Arven took a moment to deconstruct the director’s invitation. He knew one thing; Clavell was itching to talk to him about his father and doing his best to hide it. Exhaling slightly, he glanced down at Mabosstiff, wagging his tail happily. Well, this talk was bound to happen someday. It was better to get it over with, right? Then they could just pretend it never happened.

“…Okay. We’re not busy, anyway. Lead the way.”

The next thing he knew, he was sitting across from the director’s desk with Mabosstiff contently eating berries at his feet. “Here you are. Careful, now, it’s still hot,” Clavell mused, crossing the room to hand the mug to Arven, who took it somewhat hesitantly.

“Thanks.” Uncomfortable silence filled the room as Clavell nodded and returned to his desk, picking up his own mug. His eyes felt like daggers in Arven’s chest. Soon, the awkward feeling was replaced with the white-hot anger he used to feel if he thought about Turo too long. His grip on the cup tightened. “You want to talk about him. So do it.”

Clavell seemed genuinely surprised by his comment. Arven couldn’t help but think he must have been putting on a front, even though Juliana had told him that he was a terrible actor and liar. Either way, he seemed to recover quickly, remorse soon appearing on his features.

“I apologize, Master Arven,” he said, trying to keep some emotion out of his voice, though Arven couldn’t figure out what kind of emotion it was. “I did not think I was so obvious, but I am not so concerned with your father.” Breathing in, he lifted his gaze. “He was my friend. I know you know that. But he is gone, and I cannot overlook how he treated you. All this to say, I simply wanted to ask how you are really doing.”

Despite being asked that question more times than he could count the last week, he hadn’t expected it to come from Clavell. Arven slowly tried to loosen his grip on the cup, lifting it to his lips. “I’m fine, Director. You don’t have to worry about me.”

The corner of Clavell’s mouth twitched upward. “I know I don’t. You are quite strong, and you have a wonderful group of friends now, do you not?”

Arven fought a smile. He thought of Nemona, who he’d once thought was insufferable, but now he didn’t think he’d be half as okay without her somewhat naïve positivity. He thought of Penny, whose dry humor and sarcasm always replaced any awkward silences, who showed that she cared through small gestures. He thought of Juliana, who always seemed to see him when she listened to him talk, smiling and encouraging him to keep going.

And Mabosstiff, who snored contently at his feet.

“Yeah,” he said finally, firmly. “I do.”

Clavell smiled, lines etching around his eyes. “That is wonderful to hear.”

Suddenly, a question burned Arven’s tongue. He leaned forward a bit. “Director, did you know? About what my dad was doing?”

A shadow passed over the old man’s face for a moment. He glanced toward the window, as if he might find the professor in question just outside. “I knew that he was very fond of the Violet Book,” he answered slowly. “When he told me he was venturing into the crater, he said it would only be a few days. The days turned into weeks. The weeks turned into months. Soon, I barely heard from him at all. I suppose that was when…” he trailed off, immediately shaking the thought away. “The Turo I once knew was different. In fact, that selfless AI you all met seemed to be a rather similar copy of the professor. If you want my opinion, I believe Area Zero completely messed with his mind.”

Arven released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, staring down into the rippling hot cocoa in his hands. “I feel like I never really knew him,” he blurted quite suddenly, so surprised by his own voice saying those words that he looked up. His surprise was mirrored on Clavell’s face, with a mixture of pity and sadness. For some reason, he felt compelled to press on. “I knew…that that wasn’t my dad, that it was an AI. But I still felt so upset when he left.”

“That is only natural, my boy,” Clavell murmured, quiet and kind. “I’m sure that if it were up to him, the AI would have stayed with you, though it would never be quite the same.”

Hot tears burned Arven’s eyes. Mabosstiff gently nudged his knee with his giant head, and he shakily moved to scratch behind his ears the way he liked it. He remembered so clearly the way that AI Turo had stared down at him, his body somewhat broken and crystallized, some semblance of artificial pity and love in his eyes when he had said that Turo had truly loved him. It didn’t feel that way, but he wanted so badly to believe it to be true. That was all he had left.

When he looked up, he noticed Clavell was holding a tissue out to him, a steady presence despite being blurred. Arven blinked, realizing that, at some point, tears had gathered and begun streaming down his face. He sniffled and took the tissue, blowing into it loudly. He wouldn’t admit it, but Juliana had been right - it felt a lot better to talk about this. He never would have imagined it would have been to the director of the academy, though.

“Director,” he said slowly, his mind strangely the clearest it has been in weeks. “Thank you.” He got to his feet, with Clavell not far behind, moving out from behind his desk, the look on his face almost conveying he was afraid Arven might do something rash. “While the Treasure Hunt is still going on, I think I still have something I need to figure out.”

Clearly puzzled, the old man tilted his head. “And what might that be?”

Arven released another breath, a small smile finding its way onto his face. “No one, including me, knows who I am other than being the great professor’s kid. I need to find myself”

Surprise etched onto Clavell’s features for a moment before being replaced with a look of, dare he think, pride. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I think that is a wonderful idea, Master Arven.”

Arven took him in. If Clavell had once seen good in his father, then there must have been some in there somewhere. Clavell had a big heart, and that was true from everything he’d seen and everything he’d heard; how he’d handled Team Star, for example. Right now, Arven wondered if he was imagining the way his eyes seemed to shine.

Mabosstiff trotted up to the old man, nuzzling against his hand. Chuckling, Clavell indulged him and petted his head gently. “Do not worry, my friend,” he murmured, “I am sure we will see each other again very soon.”

Inexplicably, Arven found himself walking toward Clavell, too. He cleared his throat awkwardly and held out his hand, though it didn’t quite feel right. The director eyed him for a moment and took it, but when they let go he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around him. It was gentle but light enough that he could pull away if he wanted.

“Thank you for talking to me today,” he said softly, while Arven stood stiffly in his arms, too stunned to say anything else. “I look forward to seeing what treasure you find lying ahead.”

All of a sudden, Arven felt like he wanted to cry again. When was the last time he’d been held like this? He couldn’t remember. The remaining rational part of his mind let him lift his arms to return the embrace, feeling just a bit better.

“Me, too.”

#pokemon #pokemon s/v #pokemon scarvio #pokemon arven #pokemon clavell #professor turo #my two favorites deserve some time together #maybe the real dad was the director we found along the way #anyways #I loved this game so much #my post #my writing #agoldengalaxy

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userholland · 2 years

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happy (almost) new year. it’s me liz :D

this is a bit sappy but. even though this year was rough for me, i still appreciate the friends / mutuals i made & followers i received over the interweb and how they've dealt with me 🥺 hope everyone has a happy new years and even better 2022 ! screamholland era was wild 😀and just a little fun question to answer: what made your 2021? 🤍

@venomsilk / s 🥜: bitch. i don't know where to start 😭.... you made my year so much by some power bringing us together and i feel like ive known you for more than a few months. ill say it. we are insufferable but in the best way possible toward how we deal with anons and just assholes in general. literally everything in a bestie you need and one of, if not, the best writers ive ever read from. also up and coming gif maker, making the content we all secretly asked for ! you're so strong, hiliarious & a beaut. i just know youre gonna be successful and i just admire and adore you t b h.

to think, it starts with comments on fics then blowing up the chat with spongebob memes and accurate takes on any topic. always on the same page & if were not... i throw a short joke at you. but ive come to be attached to the name lizbon. tbh, i dont think i would have gotten through the last 5 months of this year without you because people just don't know how to act. being able to vent and just laugh was better than worrying about shit that doesn't matter & you've taught me that well. and just fully admitting id let tom [ redacted ]. 😀 cant wait for more of this energy in 2022. always giving you hugs and wishing u the best. so much growth and love to come for us. mwah

@t-lostinworlds / t 🧸 : my girl <3 i feel like we've been friends for the longest time and i don't know how to explain it but you just bring so much comfort and understanding to any conversation we have. you're incredibly sweet and a beam of sunshine in my life as well as others. you're an amazing writer and you're so dedicated to your wips, literally always a chefs kiss to anything you post. i will always be at the front lines of the protect t-lostinworlds squad 🧍🏻‍♀️

@lauras-collection / laura 💃🏻 : have been sending you all my love all year ! your writing always hits a soft spot for me & i cant wait to read your newest one since i still have to see nwh 😭 you truly are one of the kindest ppl ive ever met and our chats always are on point. i hope that you’re doing well and its always nice to hear from you, keep me updated bubs 🥺

@tmholland / okina 🍷: my truly superior simu lover (also asian hottie). i feel like we’ve known each other so long but didn’t truly vibe until now and ive been missing out tbh. you’re one of the funniest people i see on my dash when you post and i better be invited to yours and simu’s wedding when the day comes. literally prettiest girl ive ever seen and proof that asian dont raisin. sending u all my love and have the healthiest and safest new year mwah <3 !!!

@softholand / gi ⛅️ : literally your url, so soft and too pure 🥺 you make me laugh and i know we have each other’s backs. always feel like we’re on the same page as well and i appreciate it sm ! ill always be in your corner like i know you’ll be in mine (’: i hope we get to talk more and im so serious when i say that youre so wholesome and i hope you have an amazing year ahead of you <3

@honeyspidey / lola 🐝 : sigh. i feel like we didnt talk much but still very much appreciated when i see you on my dash. i adore your writing and hope to see more in the next year. you have such pretty energy and are so wholesome. giving you a big hug and hope you had a wonderful year 🥺

@cindymooons / hope 🌔 : just wanted to give a beloved shoutout to one of the best gif makers out there. appreciate you, and y’all follow her ! and you’re so sweet & amazing and just have contagious energy thats so bright and sweet. and i always appreciate your comments/tags on my fics <3 cant wait to see what you post in the next year ofc 🥰 and hope you are safe and healthy going into 2022 !

and here's to the mutuals who i hope to talk to more this year 🥺🫂: @silkscream @cumholland @celestialholland @heyhihellowhatsup0 @veryholland @vitaminholland @thesunlightofourpast @annathesillyfriend

#liz talk.txt #2021 wrap #really wanted to just. give up these last 2 months bc of so much hate #but i realize that people are just mad i have an opinion. and will go any lengths to call me awful things #hope everyone had a great year & pls take care of yourselves. <3

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project-paranoia · 3 years

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Let’s Watch: Yin Yang Master: Dream of Eternity

I have watched this movie 85 Whole Entire Times and I do not regret. The only thing wrong with this movie is that it wasn't a fifty episode series. I cried, I laughed, I fell in love. The cinematography is on point, the acting is amazing, the crew member who put snow on people's eyebrows did an amazing job, and the acting! The subtlety, the gentleness, the love and affection, the discussion of race is one of the best I've ever seen.

As people have pointed out before in series like X-Men that fear of mutant's is practically if not thematically justified due to the laser eyes in a way that fear of ethnic minorities just isn't in real life. In Dream of Eternity however humans are equally if not sometimes more super powered than the yao they hunt. Demons - very much not in the Christian sense - are a mixture of spirits, resentful souls, and animals and plants who cultivated to human form. They often appear human at first glance and in some cases the extent of their power seems to be the limited to turning into a smaller more vulnerable animal. Qingming's deliberate care and gentleness not only reflects his upbringing as a Yin Yang Master, but parallels the experience of racial minorities labelled as aggressive.

The movie takes particular care as well in the way it looks at trauma, grief, and love. The three of which haunt the main characters and send out ripple effects into the world around them. In the world of Dream of Eternity no loss is purely private, it spools out into the world around the person effected until they make an effect to acknowledge and deal with their experiences. Qingming's warmth and gentleness isn't just marked by his behaviour but by the orange light he's lit by and his variety of shishen - but he is also separate, standing alone in frame and facing away from the people around him. Boya's loss has made him unforgiving and as cold as the blue light he's lit in, and yet he is open and instinctive, talking and acting as soon as the thought enters his head. The Empress is lost and drifting, trapped and grief stricken, vulnerable to those who profess to love her. The film is simple, it says and shows what it means when it means it - but it is also as complex as the very human characters it depicts.

The movie is made even more complex by its pull from theaters. Claims of plagiarism drench the edges of the movie, which as true as the assertion that Fan BingBing went on a spa vacation in 2018. Although this blog is about Chinese censorship dealing specifically with BL content, Chinese censorship also effects those who criticize governmental policy. I hope that supporters of this blog will also support Chinese media threatened by censorship for many reasons so that artists and others involved in film making can continue to make meaningful content.

Doing a watchthrough of a movie is not feasible, but please enjoy a few thousand words - with spoilers on Yin Yang Master included:

* That gentle chiming and rain soundscaping is so soothing, what a great way to calm and lull the audience before the movie even starts * Qingming is so small and isolated in the frame - cinema! * The lighting and cinematography is just so good * Shifu, soft gentle teacher * So much love stored in the Shifu * Instant grow * This boy is Sassy * This theme of deflection in Qingming's character is established early * Deflection with a teleportation portal and then immediately deflection verbally * Shifu is certainly an attractive man aged up, but his face is also soft and gentle, something to note when his double pops up later * Also the awkward question of don't you have someone you want to protect, maybe part of the problem is that shifu is just really bad at wording things * The answer that yes he does has several meanings, one of which is immediately apparent when Shifu acts out one of those Father Saves Child By Yeeting them youtube videos * ACtion MuSIC * I love them your honour * The spirit guardian's design is so specific and elegant, absolutely superb you funky little shishen * I wonder if Qingming ever thinks about that if he didn't come back with all his fellow disciples that Shifu would have been fine * Maybe it's not that he doesn't have someone he wants to protect and more that he believes that he's not capable of protecting those he wants to * subtle indication Shifu's qi is corrupted * Precious Magic Childe ;-; * The framing, I'm living for it * The Serpent graphic is lovely * Also the way they set things up * Qingming cares so much about his shifu * Mark Chao just has the ability to crumple his face like paper * Sad Time exposition involving the corrupting influence of desires * "When you're gone I'll be all alone" in just about all you need to know about Qingming at this point in the story * Also like, sympathy for Shifu in raising this lonely child. By all accounts he was an absolutely superb father figure, and Qingming I'm sure was not an easy child to raise. He's the sort of kid that would take a lot of calm and patience. * Slumber party! * It's kind of interesting that this is an activity Fangyue and He Shouyue are doing together. He's definitely obsessed and in love with her and she's just doing friends and family activities with him * Also yellow/gold lighting is kind of their thing * It's interesting how they do the make up for He Shouyue. The actor is very attractive, but they make him up to look doll like, a little too pretty, a little too shiny. Like a porcelain doll. * Cool lit Boya and warm lit Qingming appear! * Camels! * The framing is so good, they're careful to be sure he's shown as obviously isolated as much as possible * And it should go without saying that I adore the City * The matte painting is outstanding * But there's also the lighting, the vignettes, the clusters, the foliage * It is a supremely beautiful set * The irony that Killing Stone is playing along with Boya's music and then it's Boya who kicks him around * A small note, but one I appreciate - even when Boya has warm highlight's they're red instead of orange * "It's Jason Bourne!" * I hope Qingming paid for that water taxi * It's interesting how Killing Stone goes from the safety of Qingming's orange light to the danger of Qingming's blue * Colour related foreshadowing! * Look at this poor sweet man, how could anyone suspect him of anything. He's just a sad man who loves his dead wife * Qingming's use of a fan is interesting - battle fans show up all over wuxia and xianxia, but it feels like it also ties into the way he's so very careful in how he presents himself. There's that quote that a sword can only be a sword but other weapons are also able to serve other purposes - not a perfect quote but the point is got across. * The way Qingming just knocks Boya back, like get An Clue, my dude * The way that Killing Stone curls around the pipa ;-; * So the movie is based on the book series 'Onmyoji' by Yumemakura Baku. The books start with Seimei (Qingming) and Hiromasa (Boya) already in a relationship talking about various cases Seimei has recently experienced. Plotwise, obviously the stories are different, however thematically Seimei and Hiromasa discuss why some yao stick around and solutions to the difficulties and dangers they might cause - which is generally from Seimei's very successful perspective to listen and treat them like humans. So in that way the plots of the books and the movie are quite different, but the themes are just about identical. * Boya says Don't Talk Me I Angy and also that demons don't have feelings and Qingming's face takes out a billboard that's just like Ah, Another Fantasy Racist, Excellent * Qingming also does what should be done in this situation, taking care of the victim not the racist * Fight scene! Fight scene! * Qingming's first few moves aren't to attack, they're to distract and just hold his fan up to block Boya's way and his view - it's only when Boya persists in attacking that Qingming fights back * Qingming's sassy smile, he is very much deliberately irritating Boya as much as he's refocusing his attention and distracting him * "nICE sWORD" * I've sighed that sigh before * This boy is taking great pleasure from teasing Boya, but also he makes a really good point * I understand and relate to what Qingming did, but also I can understand why Boya was ready to throw rocks at Qingming when he saw him again * Killing Stone lit in Qingming's orange light again * Killing Stone, my beloved * A good gauge to the state of the world for yao is no one has told this sweet boy before that demons have feelings too * There are several lines like this in the movie that just drop kick you with Implications * The same way Qingming clung to Zhongxing, Killing Stone wants to join up with Qingming to have some compassion in his life * The way he asks to be a spirit guardian is so formal too, and Qingming is so gentle with him, I cry ;-; * The warm orange light of Qingming's love ;-; * He heals the wounds * It took me an embarrassing amount of time to realise it's the actual imperial degree speaking and not one the of Jingyun Temple Masters * The mutual this guy again is delicious * "Is it because of your pretty face" * Boya draws his sword so fast and Qingming is so amused by it * Longye! Queen! I love her! * The two of them seem to understand each other instantly * Those sassy little smiles * He Shouyue looks even more like a doll than before * Longye has her head on a swivel from second one, she plays the Maiden so well like she's not a skilled master * And her customer service smile * Qingming is shooketh

* What happens next? You'll have to watch and find out!

#1683 words #yin yang master dream of eternity #yin yang master #censorship #chinese censorship

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toujourspur13 · 3 years

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The Black family / Walburga Black / canon.

As I said before I do not care that much about canon/fanon/headcanon because transformative works by definition include a wide variety of different interpretations. However, I am forever perplexed when I see uncompromising opinions on the Black family - particularly the unwavering certainty that Sirius Black’s parents were psychotic abusers. All personal opinions aside - why is this so popular?

I mean - it’s absolutely ok to headcanon this version and to play with it - but saying 'don’t you dare say they did not physically and emotionally abuse Sirius' is a little strong, isn’t it?

This is a mystery to me. So…let’s discuss my favourite subject…Again.

Let’s stick to the facts. The frequently cited things proving the abuse in the Black family are as follows:

Sirius said his parents were awful maniacs (pureblood ideology)

he ran away from home

he was severely depressed in OoTP

Kreacher

Portrait

So…when you say that Sirius’s parents were abusive…you mean exactly what? These people got cold feet when they saw the real nature of Voldemort - I guess it somehow implies that they did not share his methods…that they were against violence as a tool to get purebloods in charge.

But then it usually goes this way: ‘well at least he was verbally and emotionally abused by his family’ - but is it so? Is this based on the portrait of Sirius's mother? She insulted strangers who took over her house and her runaway son - how does this prove anything about how Sirius and Regulus were raised and treated when they were kids? I agree it’s rather impolite - jkr did a good job showing how purebloods perceived others ( those below them) -but in all honesty, this has very little to do with Sirius and his childhood.

Why to make Sirius a victim at all? - c’mon he was tougher than this, he spent 12 years in Azkaban; are you actually saying that a portrait throwing insults at everyone is worse? I doubt that. And is it such a surprise that a mother who lost her son (that said son actually ran away and abandoned his duty) would be that furious at him when seeing him again...even if it’s only a portrait...I believe it to be a rather unpleasant experience for a parent when a child runs away.

We already talked about the portrait a lot - I don’t even want to mention it here- - I feel we should rather pay more attention to the fact that Sirius himself was not an angel.

I am not saying the colourful vocabulary of Walburga Black should be used…but Sirius himself upon seeing Snape immediately recognised his weakness and went for it without any hesitation …we are talking about Sirius who in fact was quite a renowned bully ( I mean - we know for a fact that from time to time Sirius and James got carried away)…

And it was Sirius who sent Snape to meet and chat with a real werewolf (yes, I agree - he was not thinking this through - he probably was just vexed and fed up with Snape and thought he wouldn’t go there, would get cold feet or idk run away…But it actually changes nothing. If a drunken driver hits someone it will be 100% his fault whether he means it or not. Whether he is in a fragile mental state or not - such situations are definite. It’s the same with Sirius - even if he did not mean anything bad he should have understood the cost of his mistake - all teenagers make silly things but not all of them send their classmate to meet a werewolf - James thought it not a very good idea as I recall… -

So we see that Sirius was not an angel from the start and I can hardly believe he was a victim by nature. His behaviour loudly manifested that he used to get what he wanted with no thought of the consequences.

And all those pictures of bikini-clad girls on the walls in his room prove that he was quite a spoiled boy who had nothing to fear from mum and dad. Harry himself noticed «Sirius seemed to have gone out of his way to annoy his parents». All this shows that Sirius was not afraid of his parents at all. What kind of masochist would suffer for motorbike posters? That would be ridiculous.

Let’s move to Kreacher: If Sirius’s mother had been a monster why even mention her heart? JKR wrote this for a purpose and this heavily implies that Sirius's situation was never meant to be ‘the abusive heartless parents vs the poor helpless victim’.

The fact that Sirius ran away and hence broke his mother’s heart says against the popular idea that he was not loved by his family, that he was always the second one, that they abused him. I’m 100% certain that Kreacher told the truth in that scene. Why would he say something like this if it were not the truth - something like…that his beloved mistress having been so upset over Sirius running away that it broke her heart. Just tell me one reason that would have justified such a lie - why to say this at all?

Then this: “Leave?” Sirius smiled bitterly and ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair. “Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal … my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them … that’s him.”…. “He was younger than me,” said Sirius, “and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.”

I’ve already said it before - this ‘better son than me’ is exactly what insecure 14-year old kids like to say. Well...he’s a bit older but it’s not as if he had a life and a chance to mature. Moreover, I don’t know if it comes as a great shock but a lot of teenagers like to badmouth their parents…usually, it involves something like ‘those bloody uptight retrogrades know nothing of the real world’ (it fades away when they get closer to thirty).

To be serious, I find that it’s just another example of similarities between Sirius and his mother. They clearly did not know what it means to be composed, polite, and respectful. Yeah…I think that, on the whole, parents are owed their children’s respect (unless they are completely inadequate - somehow I don’t believe this was the case). Someone should teach both of them what mutual respect means. Anyway, there is nothing in this quote that says that Sirius was subjected to any forms of abuse - it’s about how Sirius justified his running away, how he saw the situation.

There’s also the fact that Sirius was incredibly unhappy because he was back at his childhood home and having to spend time around anything that reminded him of his family: “Hasn’t anyone told you? This was my parents’ house,” said Sirius. “But I’m the last Black left, so it’s mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters — about the only useful thing I’ve been able to do.” Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius’s voice sounded”.

Here it comes…the severe depression that makes people question the severity of his abuse… I have thought a lot about this because it is the reason why some consider ‘the abusive blacks' canon while others believe it was more of a tragedy of the family rather than the banal brutality.

Of course, Sirius was upset in that house - but I don’t think he suffered the memories of his unhappy childhood - I think he suffered from the strong feeling of guilt. Being in that house meant an everyday reminder that he was a failure. And it’s not even a lie. If you look at his whole life you’ll see that he literally failed everyone in his life: he failed James and Lily - they were dead and he unwillingly became the reason. It was his plan that turned everything into a tragedy.

And, to some extent, he failed Harry- he was not around him like James and Lily would have wanted. Sirius did not give him the real family - he only promised they'd be the one «when it’s all over».

And finally - he failed his parents, his brother, his own family.

Is it possible to live with so much guilt in your heart?

I don't think that Sirius completely forgot who he was born to be. If the family keeps traditions and can trace its existence back in centuries you can't shake it off even if you want. I doubt Sirius switched it off just because he had griffindor friends. He was the last Black - it is tragically poetic that he was once the hope of his family and then this family died with him. If Sirius had heart (and I truly believe he had a heart) he knew exactly what it meant to be trapped in the house that represented the death of his family. A constant reminder that he was the last one.

“The others’ hushed voices were giving Harry an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though they had just entered the house of a dying person”.

I think that the scene when he threw his father's ring away - he threw it away because it was all over for his family. It was the end of the dynasty - and for him it was all over long before he met Bellatrix for the last time.

Well, I admit Sirius' situation is open for wide interpretation but I don’t think the abusive black household is a canon thing - of course, it’s fanon. It makes Sirius a hero who broke the chains when in fact he ended up being a victim of his own life.

You know, it always seems strange to me that fandom when discussing Walburga usually overlooks the simple truth of life - that even if you are clever enough and mean good for your loved ones it is still possible to end up on the losing side, on the dark side. However, mistakes don't automatically turn humans into monsters.

To some extent Sirius’s story represents the consequences of war. No-one is protected; the whole families could be wiped off the face of the earth. It’s a simple yet profound idea. It correlates with the main idea of hp books far better than the ‘abusive psychopaths’ (there are already Voldemort and Bellatrix - there is no-one who can beat them in this department).

All I say - it’s okay to imagine them bad if you want- your right - but don’t write everywhere that it’s canon because it is not.There is no need for such inflexibility especially when it comes to the fandom - a place where everyone should be welcomed and their views on the books be respected.

#the noble and most ancient house of black #hp meta #harry potter #sirius black meta #walburga black #orion black #regulus black #harry potter meta #Order of the Phoenix #Sirius Black

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kreidewaltz · 3 years

Text

christmas rush | s.r.

pairing. suna rintarou x gn!reader

about. after your interesting encounter with the suna sublings, he texted you to meet up at the station and you let him come along to experience what christmas is to you.

word count. 3.1k

genre & warnings. fluff. strangers to friends. mutual pining. suna's sister is cute. timeskip. vague mention of atsumu and msby jackals.

author’s note. my secret santa fic for you @avantaes for the happy holidays exchange of alice's server <3 sorry if i slip up on the pronouns, i'm trying out writing a gn!reader eheh thank you to @haikyuu-is-for-lovers for beta-ing this fic ily this is a part of the haikyuu holidays collab which you can check here!

“have a merry christmas!” you say, waving at the girl who looks at you with bright, sparkling eyes that makes your heart warm. her parents, sliding money onto the counter and giving you two heartwarming smiles, stepped away from the store before you could decline and give it back to the family. clasping your hands for a moment, you squeal and shake your co-worker’s shoulders, resulting in you messing up his bright red cap, showing off your two thousand yen, and doing the thing where you swipe the money off your palm.

“look, look! I’ve got tips, ‘samu!” you exclaim, your voice getting a pitch higher because you can’t contain your excitement from doing well on being a cashier today. it drains your energy from repeatedly talking and keeping up a persona in front of other people to live up to the reputation of the toy store. the jar on your counter filled with crumpled money and coins makes you confident and you excitedly bounce on the wooden chair. he provides you a thumbs up along with a soft smile on his exhausted face before the ringing bell and chatter of people startles you both in your places.

another christmas rush, you both ponder.

you prepare yourself by cracking your fingers and stretching for a minute since you’re experienced in the working field– demanding customers, stubborn and loud children, and oldies who whisper and say they know everything about working. both of you have gone through that and it seems fate throws another batch of those people. turning your head and seeing him staring back at you with determination bubbling on his eyes cracks a smile on your dull face.

“osamu, let’s ditch work and celebrate together.” you say, voice lowered to a whisper as you jutted out your bottom lip while waiting for the customers since they take their time picking out plushies or christmas cards. osamu chuckles, his hand playfully punching your arm and murmuring under his breath how you’re confusing which made you step on his white shoes. the look of horror forming on his face is more than enough to leave you satisfied with your revenge, which was childish to begin with. you whisper three, two, one before hearing the bells, indicating that customers are coming in. you mentally prepare yourself for another continuous rush.

"spare us ten minutes?" the voice asks, making you startled on your chair and a small smile appear on your face to assist the last customer for the night. there are still people in the mall, but the store got quiet after the rush earlier, so this was expected. but the person got you dumbfounded. locking eyes with the man had you unconsciously gulping because you’d heard of him from your co-worker.

"suna rintarou..?" muttering to yourself and giving him a subtle nod, your tired eyes move to the glass door and a sigh leaves your chapped lips - seeing no one handling the fans is arduous. arching your back for a moment to stretch and feeling your bones crack brings contentment because standing and moving around for eight hours isn’t a pleasant experience. because of the beige bucket hat he’s wearing, you can’t see his expression clearly, but his lips are pressed together and there’s no brightness forming in his eyes.

the hell? he should be excited about the christmas season!

“taro-nii, let’s go!” a gentle yet loud voice breaks your stretching and you instantly see the resemblance of the volleyball player to his sister, who looks adorable in her olive green sweater and the hair clips resting on her hair, making her stylish at a young age. hearing “wish me luck!” produces chuckles from you because of his monotone voice in contrast to his sister’s. and because you know he’ll be dragged around in the store, your exhausted eyes meet his, a mix of gray and yellow which is beautiful, you muse to yourself.

as the siblings disappeared on the aisle, you instantly nudge osamu’s waist with your elbow and lean forward to remove his cap since he angles it in a way his eyes are covered.

“‘samu! he’s hot.” cupping your cheeks before shrieking and shaking your head in disbelief, you bite on your lip to prevent squealing because you two made eye contact earlier, chuckling at the way it’s obvious he didn’t want to be here. the fact that he’s wearing a bucket hat made your palms clammy, picturing him in your mind while swooning over him for the next couple of hours.

“you do remember that he attended inarizaki, right?” your eyes widen like the dangling christmas balls hanging on the ceiling— leaving your mouth open and desperately trying to recall your high school, which is evident due to the furrow of your eyebrows and the continuous bouncing your left leg.

“wait.. you’re kidding right? i’m sure i would’ve seen him somewhere!”

with your voice turning to a low whisper, you scoot your chair closer to osamu’s because there’s a possibility the other volleyball player could hear you— and you don’t want that to happen.

in your mind, you’re weighing the pros and cons: he’s in the toy aisle and probably helping his sister to pick toys, there’s upbeat christmas songs playing in the store, and add the indistinct yet loud chatter of people in the mall... it's possible that he wouldn't hear you, but you won't take risk— not for now.

“you could, but you didn’t.” throwing a harsh glare in his direction, but reconciling by giving a peace sign after, you recognize that osamu’s words are the truth, but the underlying tone of cockiness didn’t go unnoticed. by nature, you are observant, after all. even if your co-worker denies he’s similar to the nosy blonde that is his brother, but there are some things you couldn’t help but notice, they both love teasing, only osamu is lowkey about it.

“you’re a literary type of girl, so it makes sense you didn’t watch our game... don’t even say i didn’t invite you.”

“studying is important, you idiot!” crossing your arms and rolling the stack of papers laying on the counter before slamming it on his head with little force, you pout in distress, only because if you’d attended the games, you could’ve seen suna around the high school, or admired him while he’d practice and get lost in his voice whenever he’d speak.

“why are we even talking about me! we should talk about your cru—“

“excuse me but..” a familiar voice interrupted your playful banter and you had to clutch your stomach because of who’s laid in front of your eyes. the glint forming in your eyes makes suna annoyed and let out a tsk, but he didn’t move because his sister was currently fawning over the toys that she’d add to her new collection.

“osamu, don’t just stand there.” you nudge your co-worker to help his friend, but instead he leaned over the counter and whispered something to suna, and the sly smirks forming on their faces makes your toes curl on your shoes in nervousness and the countless worries are starting to overlap in your head.

you couldn’t help it, you’re a natural overthinker.

“alright! suna, you’re in good hands.” osamu’s hand gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before he disappears through the backdoor. you watch, tapping your fingers on your thighs to the beat of the cheerful christmas song playing right now.

“taro-nii, give it already!” his sister’s voice made you hold back a laugh by lowering your head, and you went to help him scoot over the toys and candies onto the counter. there are plushies on his hand, biscuits squished by his elbow and a reindeer headband he’s wearing which isn’t that neat— you assume his sister put it on and kept being persistent. plus, his soft brown hair looks all over the place.

“look, look! this is cute, right?” his energetic sister beams at you, her small hands holding the fox plushie with a proud smile on her face. you leaned more onto the counter to pat her head, her giggles due to your head pat making you giddy inside. she’s courteous and well behaved; her natural bright energy gives off a great aura.

“yes! it’s so adorable like you!” patting her head once more and gently grabbing the toy from her, the literal sparkles present in her eyes make you snicker and scan the tags of the items quickly, giving the fox plushie back to her hands, which are welcoming the toy warmly.

“no! this is taro-nii.” after finishing the scan, you put the items on the two pastel red and green paper bags and your ears perk up. giggling at her enthusiasm towards her brother, your eyes focused on him, faint red visible around his neck as it extended to the tip of his ears.

“how much do you love him?” you whisper, side eyeing the latter while he stands still, holding the two bags without looking in your direction. you and his sister giggle while she squeals at your question.

“this much!” she states, putting her hands to the side and expanding the love she has for her beloved brother— who’s standing, flustered, but somehow still keeping an eye your fingers tapping mindlessly on the counter. he ruffled her hair and poked her cheek to annoy her, only now a distress pout is forming on her lips and she huffs her pink dusted cheeks.

“let’s go, we’ll come back soon.”

hopping on the counter and helping suna hold the bags while he fixes his sister’s adorable pigtails, the next song blasting on the speakers makes her jump around and slur the lyrics while her hands are wrapped around the plushie as if she’s never letting go. he gave a subtle nod and his eyes went to his arms, catching up on his clues and giving a big wave to the siblings. if you only noticed the faint red tint adorning his cheeks as he ran a hand through his hair because of him doing something discreet without anyone noticing, or you.

this is indeed a memory you can’t forget on christmas.

“he’s so slow, is he a turtle?” you say, murmuring under your breath as you snuggle your head on your pale blue scarf wrapped around your neck comfortably. balling your fists in your coat pocket to not shudder at the cold breeze passing by, regret flooded your mind because you only wore your off white shirt and the coat protecting you from the snow falling from above. you tap your white sneakers against the snow-covered ground as you impatiently wait for suna, who texted you he’d be ahead of you earlier that day.

“hey, christmas cashier.” seeing him beside you wearing casual clothes got your cheeks to heat up and made you playfully punch his shoulder. tiptoeing a little to adjust the scarf around his neck and pat the snow off his dark gray coat, neither of you said anything. you can’t say anything; the close proximity and being under his sharp gaze makes you nervously uneasy.

“hi to the most discreet and late man i know.” the smirk forming on his face indicates he’s not offended by your statement. by discreet you’re referring to the small paper with his number written on it that he slid smoothly onto the counter while you were busy with his sister. hours later you figured out it was the reason why osamu and him were smirking. his text particularly said “let’s be early and be spontaneous, show me how christmas is to you”. ruffling his hair to purposely annoy him, you tug his hand to skip along the grounds and finally begin the journey of doing christmas activities, showing him how he should appreciate the holiday through your perspective.

since you accidentally ponder out loud, "how many reasons must i provide for you to enjoy winter season with me?" and he shrugs instantly, looking from far away, his eyes longing for something as he softly whispers... "two or three would be enough."

"why the hell are we here?" he narrows his gray-yellow eyes at you while you're busy cupping your cheeks due to the cold temperature at the mall. walking a little further to the back, but enough that you'd see what's happening to the center of the place, people who are in the front (whether they like it or not, they've got no choice) get to sit in santa's lap and get to take pictures with santa claus.

"hey! let me explain. in christmas season, mr. suna rintaro, enjoy the free entertainments!" crossing your arms and pointing a finger in his direction before you adjust his scarf and pat his hair, ruffling it to cover his eyes because he's a volleyball figure, you and him watch this with a company can ensue chaos.

"yeah? like sitting on santa's lap?" he stepped a little closer to you because of people passing by - he didn't want injuries to happen. hearing your chuckles has his hands clammy and him shaking his head to compose himself internally.

"don't worry! we're just gonna watch them and bully them— a secret between us only." a giddy smile is visibly present on your face as you hold onto your scarf to cover your smile that can't seem to stop.

"oh my god.. look at that!" slapping a hand over your mouth and shutting your eyes because you had to physically stop yourself from laughing or people will hear you and think you're hysterical. he follows your gaze and he can't help but let out a snicker. he has to tell osamu about this.

there's someone sitting on santa's lap, much to his dismay because he's whining and moving a lot— like a child that doesn't receive candy from the doctors. the faux blonde seems at your age, his pissed off expression is somehow wholesome which makes the group of people here break into fits of laughter.

"that guy, he's a kid at heart." you murmur under your breath and grin at suna as he locks eyes with you and nods at your statement. he didn't talk much after that, just chuckling with you and angling his phone to record the blonde earlier, which had you squealing at it because free entertainments are rare. though one thing you failed to notice was how his black phone captured you tiptoeing to get more of a view in the enormous crowd, a hand on your waist and the brightness of your mesmerizing eyes beating the sparkling christmas ornaments.

you weren't an entertainment, because in his head it seems wrong, and it is. more of, you were just someone beautiful that suna rintaro could stare at for hours and never get bored of— because you are someone who's interesting, and he can't wait to discover the other layers you have.

“on christmas, use your charm and coupons to get discounts.” skipping around the streets to see different foods which makes you hungry and act distressed by whining so he’ll go with you to the food stalls. he scoffs at your statement and follows behind you, genuinely curious on what you’ll do because he isn’t the type to use coupons to buy food. he gives the cash and is good to go to savor the food alone.

“one order of oden, please!” you say, waving to the old man behind the oden stall with a bright smile. the former nodded, saying a “comin’ right up!” as you tug suna closer to the stall to inhale the heavenly scent of oden— the dashi soy sauce broth is making you lick your lips in anticipation, and the fish cakes and the deep fried tofu added excitement in your stomach.

“thanks! i’m so hungry.” with a chuckle slipping past your lips, you bow down before stepping to the snow-covered bench across from you. the cold feeling of the snow makes you hiss as you try to make yourself comfortable.

“suna? taste it! perfect food for this hell of a winter.” holding the bowl with delicacy before he accepts it with a small smile adorning his face, he brings down his scarf before taking a big sip of the broth and a bite of the hard boiled egg. a low rumble comes from his chest which you assume is because of the hot broth soothing the cold feeling.

“where’s the charm and discount there?” turning his body towards you and looking at you with soft eyes as he watches you take a bite of the tofu, a smile passing through your lips because it is newly fried while you huff your smooth, pink cheeks.

“the charm is just.. interacting with people, you know? giving them smiles because god knows what they go through with customers.” he can’t help but chortle at your statement, but still nods after a minute, agreeing with you. his right hand plays with the black button of his coat, needing something to distract himself.

“he only let me pay in half for the oden. it’s generous, yeah? he always gives me food when i go home years ago, you know, the shitty college phase.” giving the bowl to him once again as he listens attentively, his gaze goes to the oden stall- maybe he can visit once in a while and ask questions about you, or he can tag his sister along. tapping his black boots on the ground in habit while stretching his other leg straight, he hears your breath hitch and it makes him snicker inwardly, probably because of how long his leg is or because you’re amazed by the hot stew. either way, it’s charming.

“mhm, yeah, and i bet you insisted at first.” he feigns innocence as he takes in your offended expression. eyes wide like marble saucers, you purse your lips and cover the bowl with your ice-cold hands, acting like you don’t want to share the food with him anymore.

“w-well, of course! but you know old people.” you sigh, grabbing the chopsticks and taking a bite of the fish cake while shutting your eyes for a moment to momentarily forget the flaring heat forming on your cheeks and down to your neck. he looks ahead as he attempts to scramble his thoughts, but there's something over his lips and it's the deep fried tofu. you push it further with a smile on your face as he begrudgingly takes it as a whole.

"and yeah! this sums it up, that during christmas you should enjoy the simple things." taking a last sip of the heavenly soy sauce broth before you nudge him for him to take the last gulp. he went along with you, after all; he deserves the last sip of the stew. you grab the bowl from him and stroll back to the trash can nearby the stall—oh, if you only noticed his eyes following your every move with a gentle smile forming on his face.

his thoughts begin to clear out and only come to a conclusion—you're pretty and simple, and he should appreciate it more.

#haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou x you #suna rintaro scenarios #suna rintaro oneshots #haikyu oneshots #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki oneshots #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #suna rintaro #suna rintaro oneshot #suna rintaro fluff #rintaro suna #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro imagine #[✰] kei7ime works

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nikki-writes-stuff · 4 years

Text

Straight Lines and Sharp Angles (Tony Stark x Reader)

Summary: After finding out that Tony Stark is your soulmate, you spend the next several years avoiding the wild, cocky playboy. But when he shows up on your doorstep one day asking for you to give him a chance, you start to reassess your assumptions about the man with your matching soulmark.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader, Soulmate! AU

A/N: I still don’t know if this is going to be a oneshot or not, but for the moment there aren’t any warnings here! Maybe just fluff if you squint; I didn’t realize I was so soft for Tony Stark before writing this! I hope y’all enjoy. Let me know if you think I should write a second part.

Tony Stark – it was a household name, one that everybody had heard of, no matter what country they lived in, what language they spoke. Nearly every person in the world had heard of the famous billionaire, and you’d grown up hearing his name on the news.

Up until the day you were 16, he was just another celebrity, albeit one that you looked down upon. Nearly every month, he was in the papers for doing something reckless and stupid, but at least it made for good entertainment. However, that all changed after one of his more drunken interviews on Access Hollywood.

When your mother had called you into the living room that day to watch it, you’d been confused by the shocked, almost horrified look on her face.

“Mom, what is it?” you’d asked, furrowing your eyebrows. “He didn’t blow up a country, did he?”

“I… No,” she’d said carefully.

“Screwed the first lady?”

“No. But-“

“Skinny dipped in a public fountain again?”

“Honey, just… Just watch.”

Picking up the remote, she’d gestured for you to sit down beside her before pressing play. Perplexed, you’d dropped down onto the sofa, watching as the famous philanthropist swayed drunkenly on his feet.

“Mr. Stark,” the reporter started, “Is it true that you broke a world record for the amount donated to UNICEF in one year?”

“Oh, please,” he slurred in response. “The point in giving to charity is to do it out of the, the goodness of your heart. So I will by no means confirm the fact that you just stated. It just wouldn’t be, be ethical to mention the literal billions myself and my company have given to charity in the past couple o’ years.”

The reporter had smiled at that, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath.

“So are you out celebrating tonight, then, Mr. Stark?” the reporter carried on.

“Oh, yeah; Playboy called and said their models are eternally grateful for my contributions to humanity.” He winked at young man beside him, who only grinned and nodded. “So I’m headed over to the mansion to let them thank me in person, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.”

“Mom, this guy is a complete douchebag,” you said, “but I don’t see why you wanted me to-“

“Shh! Just watch.”

With a sigh, you did as she said, watching as Tony seemed to sober up a bit, looking into the camera.

“Sorry - I’ve been told it’s not good for business to talk about banging supermodels. Plus, I mean. I can only imagine how pissed my soulmate is by now.”

For a minute, the reporter froze, his eyes darting to the cameramen in surprise before turning back to the billionaire.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but I wasn’t aware that you had a soulmate.”

“Oh, yeah,” the young man laughed. “Shit, my bad. I’m not supposed to talk about that on tv. Fuck, Obadiah is gonna kill me-“

“Are you and your soulmate together, Mr. Stark?”

“What? No. Fuck, you think I’d be out right now if I had a hot piece of ass waiting for me at home?” He stumbled on his own feet for a second, and he reached out to stabilize himself on one of the cameramen. “Shit- Nah, I haven’t even met her yet. At least. I mean, I think it’s a she. Might be a he, who knows? But, I dunno, I just have a feeling that they’ll have tits.”

All of a sudden, Tony looked as if he’d just come up with a brilliant idea, and before anyone could say anything to stop him, he was reaching down and pulling his t-shirt off, flinging it somewhere behind him. And, all of a sudden, you realized why your mother had made you watch this debacle of an interview.

Tony Stark had a soulmark that sprawled from his left shoulder down to his right hip, and it was made up of a geometric pattern. The mark contained crisp lines and sharp angles, all coming together in unique shapes that stretched across his torso. Your mouth went dry, and you felt the blood drain from your face as you stared at it and the man who it belonged to as he pointed at the camera.

“If you’re out there,” he started, but a hiccup shook his entire frame before he could continue. Blinking his eyes a few times, he shook his head and tried again.

“If you’re out there, and you have my matching mark, please, just…please contact me. Send me a letter, shoot me an email, fuckin send a carrier pigeon – just let me know you’re alive, at least.”

From there, he made to say something else, but he suddenly looked as if he was going to be sick. His face took on a greenish tinge, and he covered his mouth and turned away from the camera, stumbling away by a few feet. Your mom paused the tv at the first sound of his retching, and for a long moment, you just sat there in silence, feeling the weight of what had just happened settle over your shoulders.

Your eyes trailed down to your thigh, to the geometric soulmark that had been painted across it since you’d been born. You’d always liked to think about who your soulmate was, what they would be like and how the two of you would meet. But never, in all of your years of fantasizing, had you ever imagined you would be bonded to a celebrity. Much less an arrogant, loud-mouthed, entitled playboy.

“…Sweetheart, I… I’m so sorry. He had no right to speak about you that way-“

A bark of laughter escaped your mouth, and you looked to your mom incredulously.

“He has no right to do any of the shit he does,” you fired back, and your mom didn’t even try to correct you on your language.

You’d stood up, pacing the length of your living room, feeling a cold dread start to settle in your stomach.

“…He’s not my soulmate,” you eventually declared, eliciting a sharp exhalation from your mother.

“Sweetie, his mark looked just like yours-“

“Well, I don’t care,” you interrupted her. “He doesn’t get to be my soulmate. And not just because he talked about my tits on national television. It’s because he makes his billions off the suffering of others. He manufactures weapons, for God’s sake. And he thinks that a few donations to UNICEF is gonna make up for it?

“I would rather die than be with Tony Stark.”

_____________

Years passed after that fateful day when you were sixteen, and you went to painstaking lengths to make sure Tony Stark remained unaware of your existence. Even after he hung up his weapons development and turned into the beloved, lauded Iron Man, you couldn’t find it within yourself to reach out to him. In your mind, he would always be the same spoiled, drunken brat you’d watch humiliate you on Access Hollywood.

Ever since then, you only ever wore pants that covered your whole leg, even in the summertime. You didn’t have any social media profiles, and if anyone asked if you had a soulmate, you would lie and say you were one of the many who’d been born without a mark. Even when you moved to Massachusetts to start college at Harvard, you did your best to stay out of the limelight, instead choosing to throw yourself into your studies. And despite the temptation, you avoided all news that pertained to Tony Stark.

But, despite all of that, you still had a social life. You had a good, tight-knit group of friends, and you were mostly happy with where you were at. You were in your second year of college, and you were living on your own in a tiny, matchbox apartment just three minutes from campus. And you had grown comfortable with what you had.

Too comfortable.

Because one day, when your good friend Jade asked you for the millionth time to hang out at her parent’s pool with her, you’d said yes. She’d worn you down with promises that it would only be you, her, and a few of your mutual friends, and you’d reasoned that it wouldn’t hurt if the people who were closest to you knew about your soulmark.

And, sure enough, the pool day came and went without incident. You went, you swam, you dodged any questions they had about your mark, and you quickly forgot about the entire day within a week of it happening.

But on the seventh day after the pool, you heard a knock at your door.

_____________

“Coming!”

You put down your textbook and rubbed your eyes, glancing at your phone. It was 6:45 in the evening, and you’d once again gotten carried away with your homework. With a sigh, you stood up from your bed and stretched your arms above your head, listening to your joints pop with the movement.

Once again, a firm knock came to your door, and you let your arms drop to your side with a huff.

“I said I’m coming!” you called out, crossing the small living space.

Unlocking the door, you went to pull it open, but it barely moved an inch as you tugged at it. It wasn’t the first time that had happened; in fact, every day you told yourself that you would get one of your friend’s dads to come help you fix the door jam, but over a year had gone by without you doing anything of the sort.

With a grunt, you pulled on the doorknob with all your might until, finally, it popped open. You huffed, pushing some hair out of your face as you straightened up.

“Sorry about that. It sticks someti-“

Your words died on your tongue when you saw who was standing before you. You blinked, wondering if you were dreaming as you stared blankly at Tony Stark, who was looking between you and the door with arched eyebrows.

“…Candy gram?”

You huffed, looking down to the large bouquet of red roses he held in his hands. His hair was slicked back, and he was sporting his usual impeccably-sculpted facial hair. Plus, you knew next to nothing about men’s fashion, but even you could tell that his charcoal-gray suit had to have cost him thousands of dollars, if not tens of thousands.

“Um… Hi,” you greeted, shifting on your feet. “Can I help you, Mr. Stark?”

Once more, his eyebrows twitched, and he took a step forward.

“You know… For most of my life, I’ve been preparing a little monologue for whenever I finally got to meet you, but for the life of me I can’t remember a single word of it,” he admitted, a ghost of a smile spreading across his lips.

You nodded your head, still unimpressed.

“Does any of it include how you found me?”

The smile faltered on his face, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“I have my A.I. routinely check the internet for any image matches to my soulmark,” he explained. “Your picture popped up this morning, so I flew over from Malibu and-“

“Wait, my picture? I don’t have any pictures of myself up on the internet. Not any that have my soulmark in them, at least.”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows and made to reach into his jacket pocket, trying to juggle the large bundle of flowers for a second before giving up.

“Uh… Here, hold these for me,” he said, all but shoving the roses into your arms. You scrambled to accept them, immediately getting hit by a wave of their scent as you watched him pull out his phone.

After unlocking it, he turned it around to face you, showing you his home screen background. Your eyes widened as you looked at the picture of yourself in your swimsuit, smiling at something off camera with your soulmark in plain view. You hadn’t even remembered seeing anyone take your picture, but there was no denying that it was from Jade’s pool party.

“I… I didn’t post that,” you stammered. “How did you-“

“Someone named Jazzi put it on her FaceBook,” he explained, shoving the device back into his pocket. “Friend of yours, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah…” You trailed off, frowning. “But, wait, you set it as your phone background?”

He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish.

“Well, yeah. I mean, my soulmate turned out to be a smoking hot college girl. Why wouldn’t I have you as my screensaver?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you shook your head, not knowing what to say; your world had suddenly been tilted on its axis, and your brain couldn’t keep up with it.

“So,” he continued on, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “I thought that we could have some dinner together tonight. You know, wine, dine, get to know one another. From there, I can have your things moved to my place – you’re gonna love Malibu. It’s so much nicer than Massachusetts – summer, all year long. Beaches, palm trees-“

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, holding a hand up. “Just… Pause for a second. Pause. You want me to move in with you?”

“Well… Yeah. I’m on the wrong side of 40, hon – I’ve waited long enough, I think. Now, I’m starving. Do you like Italian? I know a place close by-“

“Tony!” you interrupted.

He stopped in his tracks, his mouth still open as you shook your head.

“I’m not… I’m not going to move in with you,” you told him incredulously. “I can’t just put my life on hold at the drop of a dime. I have my own home; I’m in college. I’m not going to leave that behind just because you showed up at my doorstep saying you want to make up for lost time.”

Tony sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets as he chewed on his bottom lip for a second, thinking over what you’d just said.

“…I get that,” he finally conceded. “I guess that would be a little too fast. …Alright, well, I can buy a place up here, I guess. We can live there until after you’re finished up with university-“

“Ok, you’re…clearly still not getting this. Tony, has it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason why you haven’t found me until now?”

At that, he was left speechless, and for a second you wondered how many times in his life someone had managed to leave him without anything to say. You could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to fathom the idea, and you used his silence as an opportunity to speak your mind.

“Listen, I get that you’re a big deal. I mean, you have your own action figure for crying out loud. But I’m perfectly content with where I’m at right now. I don’t need a reckless, arrogant billionaire showing up in my life thinking he owns me just because we happen to have the same pattern on our skin.

“Now, if you want to get to know me, I guess I can live with that. And maybe something will one day come of it. But if I do ever move in with you, that’s gonna be years from now. And any kind of relationship we do go into is going to have to move slower than what you’re clearly expecting.”

As you spoke, you could see Tony’s face start to grow more and more somber, and there was an edge to his stare that made goosebumps spring up over your arms. His hands were balled up into fists in his pockets, and once you were done speaking, he ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered his next words.

“…You don’t know a thing about me,” he started off. “Reckless? Yeah. Arrogant? Maybe on a bad day. But there’s a whole different side to me that you would be able to know if you just gave me a chance. Do you know how much it’s hurt? To watch the years tick by, knowing you have someone out there that the universe hand-picked for you, but still not able to do anything about it except sit and wait with your thumbs up your ass until something turns up?”

“Not as much as it hurt me to hear you objectify and humiliate me on television when I was sixteen years old,” you fired back. “And, yeah, my heart bleeds for you. However hard it was for you to wait for me, I’m sure the women, booze, and drugs did more than enough to numb the pain. I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did that evening at the Playboy mansion go, hm?”

“…I had no way of knowing you were only sixteen,” he tried to defend himself. “And that was one time; it was a drunken mistake, and I don’t even drink like that anymore. And, for the record, I haven’t touched drugs in years; I’ve gotten better-“

“And yet you show up here, thinking a bouquet of flowers and a fancy dinner will be enough to get me to move in with you? Even if you’ve gotten better, I can’t just look past that arrogance, Tony. If you want me in your life, you’re gonna have to prove it.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked back into your apartment, slamming the door shut behind you. The last thing you saw before it closed was the look of hurt on Tony’s face as he watched you walk away, and you waited by the door until you heard the click of his footsteps as he walked away. As soon as you were sure he was gone, you felt the dam inside of you burst, and tears started leaking down your cheeks as you lowered yourself into one of your dining room chairs.

You sat there for a while, crying and clutching the flowers, watching as your tears dripped down onto their blood red petals. Because even though you’d been avoiding Tony for your entire adult life, and despite the fact that you’d meant every word you’d said about his arrogance, you still couldn’t deny that there had been a small, treacherous part of you that had wanted to go with him to dinner. That was the part of you that whispered to you, saying that he was still your soulmate, that there had to be a reason why he was your chosen one, even if you couldn’t see it.

But, as you dried your tears and stood up to find a vase for your roses, you snuffed that voice out. Whether or not Tony would get his chance with you was now completely up to him. If he was willing to show you that he would be able to put away his pride and work with you towards the relationship he wanted so desperately, then you would give him a chance.

But miles away, soaring through the air, Tony was developing his own plan. He’d spent enough time waiting. And now that he’d found you, he was gonna make damn sure that you didn’t slip away from him again.

_____________

You’d worked at the campus coffee shop as a barista for about a year, now, and you’d grown to enjoy it. It wasn’t your favorite among the three jobs you kept to afford rent and student loan payments, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. You’d gotten to know your regular customers, and your coworkers were generally cool people, easy to get along with. You were used to the little routine you had at the café, and that was why it was so jarring when, in the middle of your shift, a UPS delivery man walked in with a large package, claiming it was for you.

“I… I didn’t order anything,” you’d tried to tell him. “And even if I had, I wouldn’t have given my work address.”

“Look,” he’d sighed, “your name is on the package, and I had very specific instructions not to leave until you’ve accepted it. Can you please just sign for it?”

With an annoyed huff, you’d done as he asked, taking your 15 minute break to open it in the back room. Your coworkers had all watched the scene with piqued interest, but you’d shrugged them off when they asked any questions.

Cutting through the tape and cardboard, you sliced across the top seam of the box and opened it…only to find three more boxes. Shoe boxes, to be specific. One was labelled from Miu Miu, one read Christian Louboutin, and the third was from Louis Vuitton. You gulped, opening them each up to find the most stunning pairs of high heels you’d ever seen.

You jumped when you heard a gasp sound from behind you, and you turned to see your coworker Anna staring over your shoulder.

“Oh. My. God! Those shoes are to DIE for,” she squealed. “Ohmygosh, can I hold them?”

Arching an eyebrow, you handed her one of the Miu Miu heels, which were encrusted in glittering gemstones that you were sure couldn’t be actual diamonds. No one would be able to bring themselves to wear diamonds on their feet, right?

“Holy fuck, I think these are real diamonds!”

Well, shit.

“How in the flying fuck did you manage to afford these?” Anna demanded, handing the shoe back to you reluctantly. “Did you get yourself a sugar daddy?”

“No,” you immediately answered her. “No. This is just… It’s a long story. But I’ll tell you one thing – I will not be keeping them.”

“What? Girl, are you crazy? …If you’re going to get rid of them, could I have maybe just one-“

“I’m giving them back to the asshat that sent them here in the first place, Anna,” you informed her. “I’m 99% sure I know exactly who it is, and if he thinks he can buy me, then he’s got another thing coming.”

There hadn’t been a return address on the package, and so at the end of your shift and before your American History class, you dropped it off at your apartment and told yourself you’d get them back to Tony later, not even thinking to wonder how in the world Tony had been able to guess your shoe size perfectly.

The next day, though, while you were working your shift at the campus bookshop, yet another package had come for you. This time, it was a Chanel purse with a note attached to it that simply said, ‘I’m sorry.’ You’d simply snorted and thrown it into the box with your unwanted shoes that night when you got home, only mildly concerned that Tony had found out A) where you worked, and B) your work schedule. But, you reasoned, if he’d been able to find out where you lived, it wasn’t that surprising that he knew the rest of it, what with the resources he had at his disposal.

The third gift, though, went above and beyond the others, and it crossed a line that you hadn’t even thought Tony Stark would cross.

That night, you’d come home from your day of classes, feeling relieved that no other delivery men had tracked you down to give you an insanely expensive package. You’d changed into your pajamas and snuggled into bed, ready to watch some Netflix and get a head start on homework.

And, of course, that was when you heard the doorbell.

With a sigh, you’d stood up and marched over to the door, ready to tell Tony that it was too late for him to bother you and prepared to force him to take back all of his gifts. But, instead of your soulmate, a delivery woman was standing at the door, holding a package in one hand while a crate rested at her feet.

“Are you (Y/N)?”

With a sigh, you nodded your head and signed for the gifts, not even wanting to fathom a guess at what Tony had in store for you this time. After accepting the crate in her hands and setting it down on your couch, you watched in surprise as she picked up the crate, cooing to whatever was inside of it before holding it out to you.

“I hope he’s able to find a good home with you,” she said, smiling, and your heart clenched when you heard a soft whimper come from inside.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, shaking your head. “Please tell me there isn’t a living organism inside that box. Please, tell me he didn’t-“

You were cut off by a sharp, high pitched bark, and you backed up a step.

“I can’t accept this,” you told the woman, and you watched as she pursed her lips.

“Well, whether you want it or not, there’s a dog in here for you. And I was told that, if you didn’t take it, it’s going to the nearest pound.”

“I…”

You trailed off, watching as a small, wet nose poked out of one of the thin slots in the crate. You didn’t have a dog, nor did you want a dog at the current point in time – you could barely afford to feed yourself, much less a pet.

But you weren’t heartless, and you couldn’t bare to send an innocent animal to a pound that, for all you knew, could be a kill-shelter. And so, with a heavy feeling in your gut, you took the crate and closed the door behind the delivery woman, setting it on the ground and kneeling down to open it.

Inside was the most beautiful puppy you’d ever seen. It was a Samoyed, and its fluffy, pure-white fur offset its big, black eyes and its dark, button nose. It squirmed in your hands as you lifted it from the crate, and your heart all but melted when, after you sat it down, it climbed into your lap and rose up on its back legs to put its paws on your chest.

“Well, hey there, little guy,” you murmured, reaching down to the collar on its neck. It had a circular pendant hanging from it. On one side, there was a phone number listed, one that you didn’t recognize, and on its other side there was a name printed on its gleaming silver surface.

“…Ozzy, huh? Nice to meet you, Ozzy. I’m so sorry that you’re just a pawn in a rich man’s game to win my heart, but…at least you’re cute.”

Ozzy panted as he looked up at you, and you found yourself scratching behind his ears as your eyes fell onto the other package that had come with your new household member. You leaned over and pulled it to you, peeling off the tape as Ozzy waged war against one of your slippers.

Inside of the box, there were all the supplies one would ever need to take care of a dog. There was a black harness that came with two matching leashes, and further down you found two marble bowls for food and water. There were also more toys for Ozzy than you’d ever owned cumulatively during your childhood, and beneath it all there was a small, embroidered dog bed that had “Ozzy Stark” embroidered on it in gold thread. You huffed at the last name, wondering if it would be too petty to use a pair of scissors to remove ‘Stark’ from it, but you reasoned that you wouldn’t resort to that just yet. After all, you didn’t even know if you would be keeping little Ozzy.

That night, you took Ozzy outside to walk around for a little bit, and after he did his business, you went back in to set up his supplies. Luckily, Tony had included puppy food in his doggy care package, and so you served up a bowl of it for Ozzy to chow down on. From there, you put off your homework and played with him, watching his antics with a smile on your face; he really was adorable.

Despite the fact that his bed had probably cost more than yours, Ozzy slept curled up against your side all night, and you had to admit that you slept sounder than usual with him tucked against your hip. And when you woke up to him laying sprawled out against your stomach, you couldn’t hold back the happy grin that had come over your features. Luckily, it was your one day off during the week, and so you were able to sleep in, watching the little puppy slowly wake up.

As he lifted his fluffy white head up and yawned, your eyes caught on the tag hanging from his collar. More specifically, the phone number printed on the back of it. You chewed on your lip, weighing the pros and cons of giving Tony a call, but you reasoned that it was your only day off during the week – if you were going to return all of his pointless gifts, then it would have to be today.

And so, after taking Ozzy outside for a short walk, you took a seat on your bed and pulled him into your lap, dialing the number and waiting with bated breath as the phone rang.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Tony said, having picked up right after the third ring. “How’s our son doing?”

“He’s not…” You huffed, letting yourself fall back against your pillows. “Tony, c’mon. You can’t just get me a dog.”

“Why? You allergic? ‘Cuz Samoyeds are actually hypoall-“

“Tony, you know why! This isn’t a pair of shoes or a purse – which I’m fully planning on giving back to you, by the way. This is a living being! I’m too busy to take care of a dog. And he’s going to grow up to be big; he’ll need more space than I can give him.”

“I know. I’ve thought about all of that,” your soulmate assured you. “And I have a proposition for you.”

“Tony, I’m not going to move in with you-“

“So you’ve said. Look, just… Can I come over? I’d kinda like to be able to see your face again. It’s a nice one.”

“I…”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“You’re the most difficult human being on the planet.”

“Aw, love you too sweetie. I’ll be over in five.”

With that, he hung up, leaving you just barely enough time to get dressed. You threw off your pajamas and pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt before frantically arranging your hair into something mildly presentable. You studied yourself in the mirror even though you told yourself that you didn’t care about what Tony thought about your appearance and straightened up as much as you could, throwing dirty clothes from your floor into your hamper and washing as many dishes as you could before a knock sounded from your door. Your heartrate jumped when you heard the tap-tap-ta-tap-tap, and you hurriedly dried your hands off before walking over to let him in.

Once again, the door jammed as you tried to pull it open, but with a bit of finagling you managed to pry it away from the frame. There Tony stood on its other side, holding a box of donuts and wearing, this time, a burgundy button-up with a black tie.

“I brought breakfast,” he announced. “But you have to let me in to have one.”

You rolled your eyes but, wordlessly, stepped aside, closing the door behind him as he took a seat on your old, threadbare sofa. You crossed your arms as he turned his head, taking in the small studio, his eyes lingering on the chipped paint on the walls and the water stains on the ceiling.

“…Well, this certainly is an apartment,” he deadpanned.

You were about to say something snarky back, but Ozzy chose that moment to jump into Tony’s lap, prompting a wide grin to spread over the man’s face.

“Well hey, there, buddy,” he cooed, scratching behind his ears. “You been wearing her down for me?”

“No,” you answered for the dog, taking a seat on the opposite end of the sofa as your soulmate. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised that you bought me an entire-ass dog, but I am.”

“What can I say? Chicks dig puppies.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head as you reached for the donuts; you were hungry, after all.

“I can’t keep him, Tony,” you reminded him. “I mean, he’s really sweet, but it just wouldn’t be responsible for me to have a dog right now.”

“Oh, I agree,” he replied, arching his eyebrows. “At least, not when you’re living here. With not one, not two, but three jobs. Fuck, how you’re not exhausted 24/7 is beyond me.”

“I am exhausted, Tony,” you sighed. “All the time. But some people weren’t born rich geniuses.”

“But some people are born as their soulmates,” he pointed out. “And you haven’t heard my latest offer yet.”

“A relationship isn’t a transaction, Tony-“

“I will buy you a house,” he spoke, stopping you dead in your tracks. “One that’s not too far from your campus. And I’ll give you a weekly allowance so you don’t have to work so much; all you’ll have to focus on is your classes, Ozzy here, and yours truly. And before you say anything, I won’t be living with you in this deal. I mean, I’m totally going to buy some property really close to you so I don’t have to fly up from Florida a couple times each week, but you’ll have your own space.”

You gulped, turning his words over in your mind; if this were anyone else, you’d tell them that they’d have to be a fool not to accept this offer. And Tony had clearly thought a lot about this a lot.

“Oh, I do have some conditions, though,” he added, as if it were an afterthought.

“…Ok. What are they?” you asked warily.

“I wanna see you at least two times during the week,” he started. “And I want to be able to spend at least one day out of the weekend with you – Saturday or Sunday, take your pick. And one other thing.”

At that, he leaned forward, scooting closer to you on the couch, and you noticed that his face had gone stone-cold. There was no joking whatsoever in his eyes, and there was no hint of a smile on his features. Your own eyes widened; you’d never seen him look like this, not even during his famous ‘I am Iron Man’ press conference.

“I want you to give me an honest chance,” he said solemnly. “I know I’ve done some stupid shit in the past, but I meant it when I said that you don’t know me. Not yet, at least. So no more of this ‘arrogant billionaire’ bullshit – I’m asking for a clean slate in return for a full-ride through the rest of your college career. And a shot to make it work with the person you’re destined to be with.”

You bit your lip, looking away as you processed everything that he’d said. If you said no, you knew, without a doubt, that you’d spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you’d said yes. You would still have your pride, sure, but you would also have a student debt that you’d never even be able to dream about paying off. And the sentimental, optimistic side of you whispered that you would lose your chance of getting to know the person behind the mask Tony wore, the person who shared a destiny with you.

“…Deal.”

Relief settled over Tony’s features, and he closed his eyes as his wide, joyful grin returned to his face.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, almost under his breath. When he finally did look back up at you, he leaned forward, his hand planted on the sofa cushion beneath him.

“Would a celebratory kiss be too much to ask for?”

“Yes, Tony,” you chuckled in spite of yourself. “Yes, it would be.”

“Damn.”

__________________

Moving day came only a week later. Tony had emailed you several listings that were within five minutes of Harvard’s campus, and you’d at first balked upon seeing that not one of them was below one million dollars. You couldn’t say that you were surprised; the location alone was enough to drive any property’s worth up by a considerable amount. But you’d still felt guilty as you looked them over.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” you’d asked him over the phone.

“Hon. I could buy all of the homes on this list and still have enough money to live comfortably for over a century. Pick whatever you want.”

You’d eventually picked one of the more modest listings, comforting yourself by forcing Tony to take back the shoes and purse he’d bought for you. From there, you’d packed up all of your belongings and posted your furniture to Craigslist; your over-zealous soulmate had already hired an interior designer for your new townhome before you’d been able to warn him not to do such a ridiculous thing.

And now, the day had finally come to move your little life from your ratty studio apartment to a three-story brownstone on the other side of campus. Truth be told, everything was moving so fast that the week had gone by in a blur. Tony had left you alone for the most part, busying himself with getting your house ready for you, and you’d put in and worked your one-week notice at your three jobs. Anna had known right off the bat that your quitting had something to do with the mystery man who’d bought you the shoes she so coveted, but she surprised you by not saying anything about it, merely telling you on your last day that she wished you luck and happiness.

Now, you were dressed in an old pair of overalls and a Rolling Stones t-shirt you’d stolen from your dad as a child, and your hair was pulled back as you lifted your boxes into the moving truck Tony had hired. He’d had a meeting that morning in New York, but he’d assured you that he’d be able to make it back in time to help you with moving them into the new place.

You’d assured him it was alright, but he’d still insisted on hiring movers. After about two minutes of watching the men carry your boxes down the stairs and into the moving van, though, you’d insisted on helping them with the work. And now, here you were, shoving your last box of books into your van as Ozzy barked from the front seat. You’d asked the movers to crack the window and blast the A/C for him, but he was still anxious from being away from your direct line of sight.

“Alright, I think that’s it,” one of the movers said. “You all set to head out, young lady?”

“Just a second! I need to leave my key under the mat for my landlord.”

“Okey doke. Well come on down to the truck when you’re ready to. We’ll keep it running for you.”

“Thanks so much!”

After dashing upstairs and leaving your key, you turned to walk back out of the old apartment building. But you paused for a moment, turning back and taking one last look at the space. So much had changed in such a short time, and you couldn’t quite believe you were leaving this behind. But despite where you were going, despite how uncertain you were of the future, you knew that you would always be proud of the person you’d worked to become while living in your tiny, broken down apartment.

Taking a deep breath, you turned around and walked out to join the movers, and you offered them small smiles as you climbed into the backseat of their truck.

From there, it was only a twenty minute drive to the other side of campus, and you watched as the buildings along the way started becoming nicer and nicer, dissolving from worm apartment buildings popular with the students to sophisticated brownstones favored by the wealthiest of the university’s professors. You couldn’t believe that you were going to be living among them, in a house with three floors and a small, fenced-off backyard.

A suspicious voice whispered to you in your head, saying that it felt too good to be true because it was, but you pushed it aside. Today, you were solely focused on the move, and you’d be damned if you let your anxiety ruin your day.

Part of your optimism faded, though, when you saw a sleek sports car parked in front of your building, with none other than your soulmate leaning against its hood, a pair of gaudy sunglasses perched on his nose as he tapped away at his StarkPhone. You fought against the urge to roll your eyes when you saw that he, too, was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt under his black blazer, but it was too late to change now; hopefully, your overalls would cover yours up enough for him not to notice.

After the movers parked the van, you picked Ozzy up and exited the vehicle with him tucked under your arm, squirming with excitement as Tony walked over to greet you, a wide grin parting his lips.

“What took ya so long?” he asked, eyes darting up and down your figure in a way that brought heat to your cheeks. “And one of us is gonna have to change.”

Damn.

“Hello, Tony,” you sighed, finally letting Ozzy down while keeping a firm grip on his leash. “How did your meeting go?”

“Boring – painfully so. But the rest of the day looks promising.”

“What do-“

“Holy cow, is that Iron Man?”

You were interrupted when one of the movers approached you, jaw slack in disbelief as he looked between you and your soulmate. You watched as Tony’s smile dropped into something plastic and practiced, indulging the mover by striking up a conversation with him as you turned to unlock your new home’s front door. The other mover, bless him, seemed unaffected by the superhero’s presence, and so the two of you began unloading boxes as Tony took a selfie with his enthralled fan.

“Woah, hey,” he suddenly interjected, gesturing for you to put down the boxes in your arms. “These guys got that covered; I thought we could go get lunch while they finish up.”

At that, both of the movers started working in earnest, and you glanced between them and Tony, arms still full.

“I mean… I feel bad just leaving it for them,” you reasoned. “And there really isn’t a lot to move – shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. You can wait for me inside, if you want to.”

A bemused huff escaped the billionaire, and he quirked an eyebrow at you before starting to shrug out of his jacket. You watched as he threw it onto the hood of his car before brusquely taking the boxes from your hands and starting to carry them inside.

“You know, I did hire them to do this so we wouldn’t have to,” he grumbled, but there was a fond gleam in his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at you on the way in.

Pleasantly surprised, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you grabbed the next box from the van, making sure to put Ozzy in the downstairs bathroom so he couldn’t escape through the open door. With the four of you working together, it only ended up taking five minutes to complete the move; you really hadn’t owned a lot of things, a fact that Tony was clearly unsettled by.

“So, is that it?” he asked once you were done, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on his brow. “All of your things? Clothes? Kitchen stuff? Books?”

“That’s it,” you confirmed, turning towards the movers as they started towards the cab of their truck. “Thank you guys, by the way. I appreciate the help.”

“No problem, miss,” the one who wasn’t Tony’s fan assured you. He, on the other hand, had been making moon-eyes at your soulmate the entire time, and if you’d been more invested in your relationship with him, you might have even felt jealous.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tony suddenly startled, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out a black leather wallet and fished out a few hundred dollar bills, causing your eyes to widen as he handed it to his still-enraptured fan. “Divvy this up between the two of you; thanks for helping my soulmate out.”

Now, their eyes widened, and even the more chill of the two men stared between you and Tony. You felt as if your cheeks were going to catch on fire as he smugly smiled and turned towards you, placing a hand on your lower back and spinning you around to steer you towards the house.

“Now, about lunch…”

___________________

The two of you ended up going to a boujee outdoor bistro for lunch, located smack dab in the center of the nearby shopping district of town, and you were already deeply regretting your decision not to change into something other than your paint-stained overalls. The menu didn’t even have prices listed, for crying out loud, and there were things like ‘herbed Israeli couscous with preserved lemon’ and ‘brunch galette with spring greens, herbs, and feta’ on it. You couldn’t even pronounce some of the items, but Tony looked right at home as he ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of you.

“Starting to drink early?” you asked, arching an eyebrow, but he’d just grinned and shrugged.

“Champagne hardly counts as drinking,” he defended himself smoothly.

As the two of you waited for your drinks, you fell into a silence that was, at least for you, supremely awkward. To distract yourself from it, you stared down at Ozzy, who was curled up at your feet with his leash looped securely around the armrest of your chair. The bistro apparently not only allowed dogs, but actively encouraged them, if the bowl of whipped cream your waiter had brought out for him earlier was any indication.

“So… How’d you like your new digs?” the man across from you suddenly asked, and you turned to find his eyes locked onto your face, his chin resting atop his fist as he rested his elbow on the table.

“It’s…nice. Still entirely too expensive,” you added, at which he playfully rolled his eyes, “but it’s nice. …Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he immediately fired back. “It was part of our deal; I’m getting something out of this, too.”

You glanced up as the waiter suddenly appeared to pour the two of you champagne, and despite your initial protests, you found yourself gulping down half of your glass as soon as it was filled. When he asked for your orders, you just blandly stated that you’d have whatever Tony was having, but your soulmate seemed immensely pleased with your words before launching into his order.

Once the waiter had retreated to the kitchen, he turned back to you, tilting his head slightly as he took in your features.

“Has your opinion about me changed at all?”

You were momentarily taken aback by such a sudden question.

“…Tony, it’s going to take more than just gifts to get me to like you the way you want me to.”

“Oh, I figured. You wouldn’t be the one for me if they were. But what will?”

You bit your lip, tracing the lip of your champagne flute with the tip of your finger.

“…You said that there’s a side of you that you don’t let people see,” you started. “Tell me about it.”

The man smiled, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

“Only if you show me yours, too.”

You nodded, and he leaned back in his chair, snatching up his flute and taking a quick sip of the bubbly booze.

“What do you wanna know about the ‘real’ me?”

“Whatever you think is important.”

He paused, considering that as his eyes flickered between you and the puppy at your feet.

“…You make me incredibly nervous,” he started, taking you off guard. “I’m used to people pandering to me at least on some level, either because of my money or fame or their sense of ‘gratitude’ for me, you know, saving the world on a few occasions. But not you. And I like that about you, I do. I hardly know you, and I already love your sass. But I’m not used to it in the slightest.”

Unexpected warmed bloomed in your chest, and your lips twitched up into a smile to match his as he carried on.

“I got you the gifts because that’s what I’ve always done in relationships in the past, but I was secretly glad when you gave back the shoes and the purse. …Not enough to stop buying you things, obviously, but most girls I’ve met took the presents even if they insisted they weren’t in it for the money.”

“So you have tried to date other girls?” you asked, not feeling surprised or offended that he’d date people that hadn’t shared a matching soulmark with him.

“Jealous?” A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, but you only raised your eyebrow at him, prompting his smile to fall by a few centimeters.

“I wouldn’t call it dating,” he eventually sighed. “But it’s been, uh…lonely. I would swear off relationships for a year or two at a time, saying I was gonna just buckle down and wait for you, but then I would meet someone and feel that spark and think, what the hell? Might as well.

“But they, predictably, never worked out, and then I was back to waiting. And the cycle would repeat itself.”

You felt a pang of sympathy for him, seeing the earnestness of his words in the set of his shoulders and the depths of his eyes.

“…I have to admit,” you murmured, “I’ve never pictured you feeling lonely before. The possibility hadn’t even come to my mind.”

He shrugged, trying to make light of something you knew weighed on him.

“Well. Now I have you to bother, so I don’t expect to feel that way much longer.”

For the rest of your lunch date, the two of you made easy conversation – easier than expected. All of Tony’s comments were laced with carefully constructed humor, but you quickly realized that it was just a coping mechanism, a way of protecting himself from sounding too vulnerable when discussing matters that hit a little too close to home.

During that first deep conversation, you found out that, though his relationship with them hadn’t been perfect, Tony still missed his parents deeply, and that a lot of his actions stemmed from a place of wanting to make them proud, even in death. He was also a genius, but while he was very much aware of that fact, he didn’t flaunt his knowledge nearly as much as you thought he would.

He briefly touched on the Avengers, but it was still too soon after Captain Rogers’ defection for the subject to not be painful for him, so you steered the conversation back towards lighter matters, noting the grateful look on his face after you did so.

In return, he asked you question after question about your life, proving to be a better listener than expected. He soaked up everything you had to say, learning about your family, your hobbies, your preferences. As it turned out, both of you enjoyed art, and while you didn’t consider yourself a gifted artist by any means, you enjoyed listening to his opinions about different genres and classical painters.

By the time your food arrived, you were so in deep with your conversation that the waiter startled you as he arrived with two artfully arranged plates.

“Here you are,” he gushed, his voice filled to the brim with pride as he served your famous counterpart. “Creamy oven risotto with crispy roasted mushrooms and lemon-pepper chicken.”

After placing the food in front of you both, you noticed a small bowl tucked into the crook of his elbow, and you smiled as he knelt down in front of Ozzy, presenting him with it as if he were a patron at the table.

“And some frozen strawberry yoghurt for this little one,” he cooed, giving the pup a pet behind the ears before straightening up. “Can I get anything else for you three?”

“No, thank you,” you assured him, picking up your fork.

The food, predictably, was delicious, and both you and Tony were quiet as you dug into it with relish. Ozzy, too, gorged on his food, getting pink yoghurt all over his face as he dived headfirst into his bowl. The two of you laughed at his antics, and by the time you were finished with lunch, you realized that you felt…content.

Tony really was different than what you were expecting. He was still slightly full of himself, aware of his own accomplishments to a fault, but he was also considerate of yours. You’d always pictured him as the type to talk over others while flaunting his superior intellect, but he was more down-to-earth than you’d ever hoped he’d be. After the two of you finished and the check was paid (all of your offers to help cover it had been met with eye rolls and pseudo-glares), you didn’t even hesitate to take him up on his offer to stroll through a nearby park before heading home and starting to unpack.

The weather was bright and sunny as the two of you watched Ozzy run down the sidewalk, his tail wagging so fast that it was just a little white blur as he sniffed at everything that crossed his path, and you walked and talked until Tony got a call at 4 o’clock. F.R.I.D.A.Y., his AI that, as he put it, ‘ran his life’, had informed him that it was from someone named Happy, and he’d apologized before stepping to the side to answer it.

As you took a seat on a nearby bench and watched him talk, you felt your own phone start buzzing, and you pulled it out of your pocket to find that it was your mother calling.

“Hi, Mom,” you said as you accepted the call.

“How did moving go?”

Your mother, when you’d first told her about your deal with your soulmate, had been apprehensive, to say the least. She’d never forgiven Tony for the way he’d unwittingly spoken about her daughter, and she’d made it clear that, while she would support your decisions, she didn’t trust your soulmate as far as she could throw him.

“It went well,” you assured her. “He actually carried boxes.”

“I know,” she sighed, and you could all but picture her rubbing her forehead in exasperation. “There are already pictures of the two of you floating around on the internet.”

You bit your lip, unconsciously darting your eyes around the park if you could see anybody sneaking pictures. It was mostly empty, though, with the only person in your range of vision being Tony, but you were still nervous about what you would see when you searched for yourself on Google later that evening.

“He’s…been really nice,” you admitted lamely. “Today has been really good, so far. He took me and Ozzy out to lunch-“

“I still can’t believe he mailed you a dog.”

“…And now we’re walking around a little park close to campus.”

“Has he said anything rude to you?”

“No, mom. I promise. If he does, I’ll slap him just like you said to.”

“Kick him in the balls for me while you’re at it.”

You huffed out a laugh, perking up when Tony hung up his phone and started making his way over to you.

“I have to go,” you told your mom. “But I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

“You’d better.”

“I will! Love you.”

You hung up after she echoed your last two words back to you, and you watched as Tony lifted one sculpted eyebrow, glancing pointedly at your phone.

“Should I be jealous of someone?”

“Not unless you see my mom as competition.”

A relieved smile came over his features, and he held out his hand to help you up off of the bench. You didn’t comment when he kept it in his as he walked you back towards the entrance of the park, but you did let go when a couple of joggers did a double take while passing you on the trail. For a second, you thought you saw disappointment flash over his features, but he made no comment as the two of you made your way back to his car.

“So, what did your mom have to say?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“…Well, she started by asking how moving went,” you began, wondering if you should tell him about her distrust. “I told her you were very helpful.”

The corner of his lips quirked up at that, and he shot you a glance from the corner of his eyes.

“She’s not a fan of me, huh?”

You were puzzled by his deduction, and it must have shown on your face.

“I figured. I wouldn’t be a fan of me, either, if I were in her shoes.”

“I find it hard to think of you as being anything but a fan of yourself.”

A hiss of laughter escaped from behind his teeth, but his expression was surprisingly devoid of a smile.

“Your soulmate ended up being a self-righteous playboy who’s nearly 20 years your senior,” he deadpanned. “Not really the type of person you bring home for Thanksgiving.”

“…If it makes you feel any better, I’m probably going to end up hosting my family’s Thanksgiving this year. And I’ll invite you.”

At that, he did smile, and a part of you was relieved to see it.

“It does, actually. Thanks.”

The rest of your walk was done in silence, with both of you watching as Ozzy became less excited and more sleepy with every step. At his first yawn, you bent down and scooped him up into your arms, and by the time you’d arrived back to Tony’s Lamborghini, he was fast asleep with his nose tucked against your chest. The sight was enough to make your heart melt, and you jolted when your soulmate reached over to rub his upturned belly, his fingers just barely grazing against your breast as he did so. Even though you knew it was unintentional, your cheeks were once again enflamed as he opened your car door for you.

The two of you only spoke next when you were stood on your doorstep, whereupon Tony hesitated as he stared up at you from his place at the bottom of your steps. Neither of you knew how to say goodbye, and neither of you knew whether or not you should address the instant connection you’d made over lunch. You didn’t regret giving him a chance, and while you were still apprehensive of the man you’d been avoiding for the past several years of your life, you couldn’t help but wonder, almost hopefully, if he’d kiss you goodbye.

“…I had a good time today,” you started, clutching your puppy even closer. “Thank you for lunch. And, um…the house.”

The both of you chuckled at that, and Tony kicked his heel, digging it into the concrete beneath him with something resembling bashfulness; the sight was endearing, as was his honest smile.

“Thanks for giving me a chance,” he replied. “It’s…probably more than I deserve.”

Your heart squeezed at that, and after a moment of deliberation, he determinedly rose up onto the second step of your small porch and leaned closer, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. It was over in a moment, barely as long as a heartbeat, but his lips were soft and warm against your flesh, and you’d been able to smell his warm, spicy aftershave as he leaned close.

“Call me,” was all he said before turning around and climbing into his car, leaving you with a fluttering heart as you walked into your house and closed the door behind you.

Something had blossomed somewhere behind your ribcage, and it took you a second to identify it as your thoughts swam and spun around Tony. It was hope, you realized, and a small smile spread over your lips.

It was hope, and it was beautiful.

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #soulmate #soulmate au #marvel #MCU #fluff

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jennycalendar · 3 years

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my top ten calendiles fics (that i wrote)

this rec list took me a solid chunk of time to compile, because my fics are my babies and i honestly wanna throw quite a few of them up here. but EVENTUALLY i stopped being indecisive and finally managed to get this sorted, so here goes! if you wanna read some of my stuff, this is the stuff that i am the most proud of/in love with/would cry if someone asked me leading questions about it + drew me fanart of it. these are not ranked except for the top two, because the first one is my baby and the second one is still very beloved to me.

under the cut, because i have loving commentary!

1. as day follows night (multi-chapter)

Looking for a safe place to stay after her accidental murder of the Deputy Mayor, Faith Lehane allies herself with a mysteriously powerful witch—and stumbles into a fairytale mystery that's bigger than anything she could have anticipated.

(this fic is my goddamn baby. this fic is my C H I L D. this fic is the fic that i took extensive notes for and spent most of my freshman year of college thinking about and ended up as this terrifying love letter to fairy tales and jenny calendar and the complexity of the way she chooses to love people. i love this fic with every fiber of my being and always will.)

2. i still want to be your girl (multi-chapter)

Five years ago, Jenny Calendar ran from Sunnydale and didn't come back. Now, with the First threatening Sunnydale and the Slayer line, she's returned to help stop the apocalypse--but Rupert Giles isn't the man she remembers, and he isn't exactly delighted to have her back in his life again.

(i have a very persistent soft spot for later-seasons giles, but this was one of the few fics where i went “okay but what about battle-hardened jenny” and i’m very proud of the result. it was really fun to think about what might have changed about jenny over the course of five years, and now that i’m thinking about it, i might be really interested in writing a giles pov of this fic at some point? that’s totally a concept to come back to at some point. anyway.)

3. kind of like hydrogen peroxide

Here was the problem: Ripper had no idea how to talk to Jenny without somehow managing to make her want to kill him.

(i do NOT deserve rights if a fic from the ripper au doesn’t make its way onto this list, and this one is my very favorite. i love thinking about dumb teenage giles who pretends to be a rebel but is actually very very soft and very very in love with his equally dumb and genuinely rebellious girlfriend.)

4. spirit-touched

“Thank you, Buffy,” Giles said, “but I would prefer to conduct this research on my own. I’ll be looking into some rather…” He felt himself blushing, and resented it. “Some rather intimate details of ghost-human relations.”

“What does that—oh god, you want to figure out how to have sex with Ms. Calendar,” said Buffy.

(making this the first smutfic i posted was still the most cursed power move i have ever pulled off. anyway that influx of asks in 2016 about ghost jenny and human giles and their sex life inspired this and it ended up being SO funny and SO sweet and i am SO proud of it.)

5. very really married

Giles and Jenny's flights to Sunnydale both stop over in Las Vegas. On the same day. Naturally, a chance encounter leads to a drunken marriage, one that they mutually agree to keep up for appearances.

Which is to say: Giles is going to have to figure out how to hide his fake marriage from his new Slayer (and everyone else) while also hiding his new Slayer from his fake wife (and everyone else). And his complex feelings for Jenny aren't helping anything.

(EVEN NOW, THIS FIC MAKES ME GIGGLE TO THINK ABOUT. i am saving my reread of this particular gem for a rainy day, because it was my love letter to season one and my daydreamy fantasy re: what it would look like if giles and jenny had silly odd-couple energy that really just came from them being fake married and badly hiding it as they fall very deeply in love.)

6. days in goodness spent

This feeling—whatever Giles is feeling—this is bone-deep. He’s never felt it before. He’s been in love before, he’s admired someone before, he’s respected someone before, but this feels like all of those three things held together by something else he can’t quite name. He searches, desperately, for the words that will tell Jenny this, but nothing that has been written can describe the way it feels to be held by her right now.

(In which Rupert Giles gets the chance to fall in love all the way, and it changes him just a little.)

(this one didn’t immediately come to mind when i was drawing up the list, but my brief rereads led me to conclude that it is an underappreciated gem! i’ve written a lot of different takes on giles and jenny’s relationship, but i particularly love calling giles out for idealizing jenny. also i like that this is more abstract than some of my other older pieces, where i really get into the nuts and bolts of wanting to depict Every Single Part of giles and jenny’s relationship trajectory. this one has more fun with the flow of the story.)

7. no one else could heal my pain

“Friday,” Giles echoed.

“Yeah. As an overnight weekend trip to hunt down some books I need.” Ms. Calendar smiled playfully at him. “Isn’t that the kind of thing you’d do for fun anyway?”

(this one was SO recent and SO fun! it’s kind of my love letter to the standalone longfics i consumed voraciously when i was fourteen, because there are some really great older calendiles fics that are just long and winding adventure-y narratives about the two of them goofing off and falling in love. i wanted to echo that here a little bit and it was a delight to write.)

8. myosotis latifolia

Years and years ago, the truth would spill out, and Rupert—in his endless romanticism—would take her hands and tell her she only needed him by her side to feel welcome and loved. But it’s been over a decade since they’ve been that close, and those years have created a distance between them just as insurmountable as the distance between them, now, on the steps leading into his lavish gardens.

(Rupert Giles is an esteemed member of the Watchers' Council, as well as a happily married father. Jenny Calendar knows that that's never been what he wanted.)

(ahaha this one is a big ouch moment but i really love it regardless? i think that giles and jenny are kinda fundamentally incompatible in a lot of ways, and part of the intrigue of their relationship is watching them try and figure out how to compromise and adjust after years of being rigid and inflexible individuals -- giles intellectually, jenny emotionally. so this fic is a lot about that.)

9. the grieving process

After Buffy's death, Giles makes his way to Jenny in LA.

(i don’t know why this one still sticks with me! it just! does! it holds up and i love it and if you wanna read about giles and jenny falling in love in a way that is healthy and authentic without any secrets -- but also obviously very sad -- definitely pick this one up.)

10. decently clothed

“Jenny, are you selecting my wardrobe based solely on what is and isn’t easy to divest me of?”

“…no,” said Jenny.

“That’s not even remotely convincing.”

(i wrote this one during a particularly difficult time in my life, and it was a really special moment for me, because i’d just come out of a period where it had been difficult for me to find the time or emotional energy to write. whenever i return to it, this fic is suffused in that warm and hopeful joy i felt when i posted it and realized that i had not, in fact, lost my touch. so it’s always gonna mean the world to me.

plus it is very silly and sweet! my specialties.)

#fic #calendiles #so i stayed up till 3am for this. i do not deserve rights anymore

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unwiltingblossom · 4 years

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Mine, Mine, Mine (JuminxMC, Mysme)

Summary: Jumin Han indulges her every urge. Sometimes, that makes her terribly spoiled.

This is heckin explicit. You’ve been warned.

were you ever like “gee there’s a lot of unreasonably possessive sexytime Jumin getting jealous over the MC but there’s nothing in the reverse?”

say no more, fam

Mine, Mine, Mine

Jumin Han is the last man that she should even possibly worry about straying from her.

There’s no reason for her to be jealous of anyone when he looked at the other women in his life - barring Assistant Kang - with barely concealed disdain. He's also simply too socially awkward to manage an affair even if he hit his head or gets drunk and suddenly decides he wanted to.

More than that, he gives her everything she can possibly want. Whenever she voices even a passing whim, whether or not she voices it intentionally, he immediately stops everything he's doing to try to please her.

Probably...it’s made her a bit spoiled.

It doesn’t bother him at all, and that doesn’t help her wicked indulgences and spoiled behavior. She never takes advantage of him, never asks for what she knows is too much from him, but she’d be lying if she claimed she's not still a bit spoiled, by his own design.

And so, when she sees a beautiful, glamorous woman standing too near to her husband, she can’t help the way jealousy flares up even despite all reason.

The woman is beautiful. Immaculate. Tarted up, an uncharitable part of her mind supplies. He is utterly unaffected, eyes devoid of any spark of even passing interest as she plastered herself all over him, arms gripping his, brazenly pressing his arm between prominently displayed breasts. She may well have not even been standing there for all he notices her. It's a credit to her determination that she forges onward despite that. He politely ignores her advances, instead talking animatedly about the business proposition that she’d approached him with in the first place. The woman is the daughter of some company head, and that company must be terribly sure they can get a better deal if they seduce the son of a noted womanizer. She must be so very secure in her wiles, thinking she can pry a married man out of his wife’s clutches in broad daylight.

It's all she can do not to leap at the woman from the doorway where she observes and just claw the woman’s face like some teenage girl in a comedy flick.

She doesn’t do it. But it's close.

Eventually, they come to some kind of agreement, and the woman reaches down to sign the paperwork in an awkward way designed to try to keep her cleavage plastered to his arm. When the woman throws a salacious wink at the director, she strikes. Not at the woman, fortunately. But it's close.

Instead, she pounces her husband, wrapping her arms around his other arm and tugging him firmly away from the harlot--woman. From the woman. She speaks in a voice that's too sweet as she drags her husband away (with a noted lack of resistance). “Oh, My Love~! There you are. Come with me now~”

Her husband stumbles over his words for a moment, and it's rather adorable. She lifts her chin, giving a little huff of pride, and makes sure to give the woman a look. A 'this is mine' look. If there's an unspoken 'bitch' punctuating that look, that just can't be helped.

She leads her husband out of the room by the hand, head held high. “Assistant Kang, won’t you finish up the paperwork with that lovely woman in there? My husband just had something important come up.”

Jaehee’s gaze flickers between their joined hands, their expressions, and then the woman in the room, before giving a soft sigh. “...I’ll shuffle around the meetings.”

Her husband’s voice is against her ear as they walked, deep and unfairly amused. “Are you jealous, my love?”

She glanced up at him over his shoulder, summoning a look that’s much too cute for her clearly unacceptable behavior. “Can’t I be?”

A smile altogether too sweet and loving for her being so inappropriate spreads across his lips, and his free hand reaches up to gently run along her jaw. “Please do. My wife should indulge herself completely.”

Oh, he spoils her too much.

Just, entirely too much.

It makes it that much harder to keep her cool and control on the impromptu ride home. That, and the fact that her dear husband has settled in close to her, arms curling around her, face in her neck. She'd feel guilty being even briefly jealous over a man so obviously devoted to her if she could think straight. If a woman exists who could think straight with Jumin Han kissing her neck, well...she wouldn't. She just wouldn't exist. She refuses to accept such a person can exist. The exotic and beautiful smell of his ludicrously expensive cologne fills her nose, the warmth of his lips and tongue spreads through her body to her heart, and that prickling, too-sweet, chemical smell of the other woman's perfume turns the warmth into a jealous burn that blooms violently in her chest. Her fingers card through his hair just roughly enough to earn the soft purrs from his throat that always result in answering gasps from her.

The ride to their house passes in a blur, with a mutual pawing at each other in the seat that's completely unbecoming of a couple their age. When they stumble out of the car, their clothes are more than disheveled, and her husband can't quite stand up straight. The sight of his blush and shortened pace cause a fresh blush to rush across her face and her heartbeat to speed up once more. His half-lidded gaze meets hers just outside the door, and for a moment she wonders if they'll even make it inside.

They do.

But it's only because she's so very determined to have her way - and he is, also, very determined to have her way.

He spoils her too much, but maybe in this case it's a good thing, as otherwise there'd undoubtedly be stories of the rich CEO in line having sex with his wife outside the door of their extravagant mansion.

She leads him by the hand through the house with a firm grip. As if he'll pull away otherwise. For the most part, from when they left the building to now he's been quiet, hardly passive, but more than willing to allow her to take control of the situation without question.

Once they get to the bed, he finally speaks once more, hand going to loosen his tie. "My love, what is it? Were you so perturbed by her? If you wish-"

"You're mine, aren't you?" She speaks over him, because if he finishes that question when she's feeling this selfish, she knows she'll ask for something that she doesn't mean, something that will interfere with his work, and he'll agree without a moment of hesitation. She knows herself, and more importantly she knows him. Her sweet, beloved, terribly devoted husband, who wishes only for her to put herself before everything else in life, even him. One of her hands place over his heart - racing as quickly as hers, despite his gentle expression - and the other presses to his cheek, a gesture he immediately responds to by nuzzling much like their cat would.

"Completely. Not an ounce of me is anything less than yours."

The honey in his voice, that unfiltered love and devotion, it can make her melt completely. It has in the past. It might do it again. She might physically just turn into a puddle. And...damn it, she wants to do something else first! No melting yet, no swooning from the wonderfully deep and sensual voice of her husband! Not this time! She's set her heels in to be selfish and stubborn, and if she's dragged him from work she's going to go through with it!

"Lay on the bed." Her commanding tone is ruined by the compulsive, softer "Please." that follows it.

The smile that unfurled on his face is like the breaking dawn, beautiful enough to take her breath away just looking at it, and when he leans down to scoop her up into another kiss, she loses complete track of what day, planet, or plane of existence she still occupies. Who knows if she's even still existing at all? She doesn't. It might last forever, that kiss, one of his arms wrapping around her to pull her close, the other gently cradling her head through her hair. It is a kiss they've both learned for each other. Their earliest kisses had been just a touch awkward, uncertain and inexperienced on both of their ends, and it had been practice with each other that perfected it, exactly to the way that drove the both of them the most crazy.

She might be swept away and satisfied by the hotness of his mouth on hers, the way she can feel him tremble with the very same love and desire that she feels coursing through her own veins. Any doubt she could have washes away in nothing more than a kiss. He needn't have answered her before, because the kiss tells her 'I am yours', as much as she tells him she is his with it, as much as any words could have.

But she is selfish.

She feels greedy.

Today she wants more.

So, she pries herself out of the wonderful kiss and pushes her lanky husband into the king sized bed they share. It takes him no time at all to move and make himself comfortable, laying on his back, dress shirt half unbuttoned, hair disheveled and lips shining, just slightly swollen from their kisses. He is a work of art that puts old masterpieces to shame. Something beautiful she never wants to share with the world. This side of him. The burning love and lust in his eyes as he watches her expectantly, the entirely human Juman Han she knows, without a trace of the cold and reserved 'robot' that people who know nothing about him accuse him of being. Only she ever wants to be able to see it.

She straddles him on the bed, still clothed, and gently pulls his arms up to the head of the bed. He calls her name gently, questioning, as she ties one wrist deftly with his tie and the other with a long and sturdy kerchief. There. He absolutely can break free if he wants to, but...the image of her dear husband tied to her bed, her prisoner for the moment, is good enough. And her dear husband is as quick to indulge her desires as ever.

She leans down to kiss his forehead, his nose, his lips. He chases after her futilely when she pulls away from him, and her finger trails along his jaw and throat, admiring the sensation of him swallowing under her fingertip. She speaks quietly, with a sultry tone that surprises even herself. "I need to leave more marks on you, so that no one will try to touch what's mine."

He groans her name as she leans down to kiss and bite down his exposed neck, and she can't help but enjoy the sight of his adam's apple bob before her eyes. Her lips encircle over it as it moves, and he twists bodily under her. Underneath her hands, she can feel the groan that ripples through his chest. it makes her purr and shiver in response. They've not really experimented that much, honestly. Most of their lovemaking is straightforward, falling into each other's embrace, loving every part of each other, every moment they can spend together.

But...

The sensation of her husband twisting beneath her, the labored breaths of his restraint, it does something that leaves her dizzy and feeling powerful.

Her fingers reach down to undo his buttons while she kisses down heated skin, murmurs out words against his racing heart. "After all...you're mine, aren't you? All of you. Your heart. Your body." Her tongue traces along the dips and curves of his chest, as her hands splay out to tug soft silk away from his form. A cry that's almost shrill tears from his throat as her teeth loosely encircle one dusky nipple, the tip of her tongue swirling along it. Ah, if only she'd done some studying before this. If she'd looked up some techniques, rather than impulsively decided to do this without warning, she's sure she could be much better at this. Leaving her darling the kind of whimpering mess she feels like he leaves her as would be a wonderful turn, wouldn't it?

Yet, this is all about herself for now. Just this time.

She can hear his voice rasp from above her, an affirmative that isn't truly necessary. "My heart..."

She wants to press herself into him. To mark him somehow, so that women who look at him know to stay back, that he's hers even when she's not standing nearby. Something more than just a physical mark like a ring, but an aura that simply pushes them all away.

"My soul-" or so he tries to say. She's bolder after the first, lips and teeth biting down teasingly, even tugging at the other nipple while he's speaking. It's a rather pleasant sound he makes, the way his low and rumbling voice melts into incoherence, a needy, almost confused sound she hasn't often heard from him.

Her teeth graze his belly button as her gaze turns up to look at him. Sweat beads across his forehead, face reddened, gaze fixated on her as his hands flex into fists. His lips part just slightly, as if he wishes to say something more, but has forgotten the words. It's a sight that sends a surge of want through her, and forces her to swallow down an undignified sound. "Even when you're away....I'm the only thing on your mind, isn't that right? You're all mine."

His voice is strained. "My love..." her hand palms over the painfully obvious erection still trapped by his perfectly tailored suit pants, and his words trail off into a tormented groan, head falling back into the pillow, veins in his neck bulging as he twists his whole body once more.

It only takes a moment more to undo those expensive pants and tug down his boxers, silk already stained with the beading pre at his tip. Even if she hadn't been able to tell through his pants, it's really no surprise to see just how stiffly her husband is already at attention. He's always extremely responsive to her, always seeking more from any of her loving touches the same as she seeks more from his. But from the current angle, him just barely managing to turn a hungry gaze back down to her, his face now obscured in her vision by his shaft, she can't help another little surge of power. Making her husband so undone so easily...he gives her too much power over him, honestly. She could abuse it at any time. Doesn't he realize she could be a beast, too, just as much as Zen claims her husband could be?

Slim fingers encircle the base of his length, slowly moving just to draw out that honey-thick moan, extracting it as slowly as her hand moves, filling her ears with the sound of his voice. "This, too." She presses her lips to the very tip of his manhood, pulling away teasingly the moment his hips jerk up to pursue her. He's spoken bashfully from time to time about 'unfair' thoughts he's had about her lips. She wonders, idly, if perhaps this is one of those scenarios or not. It goes without question that she'll indulge him in his fantasies as much as he indulges her, but he's never elaborated beyond the vague references when he's hot and bothered but can't do anything about it. Her hand grips him harder, pumping along hot flesh with determination, relishing in the groans, those desperate almost squeaking gasps as he struggles to form words of either protest or encouragement - she can't tell, because he never gets far enough along.

She bites her lip, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'm the only one that gets to see...to touch, and to use this." -other than him, her mind helpfully supplies, and she quickly tosses that thought aside - Not now, dammit! - Her lips encircle him, tongue curling along that hot flesh - smooth and soft skin thinly stretched over hard steel. His hips buck up against her with unusual urgency, and that pained cry that rips from her throat sounds anything but pleasurable. The bed creaks as his wrists strain automatically, and he gasps her name in such a strangled voice she can barely recognize it.

She hums around him as she moves, listening to that faintly wet sound pair with the panting, needy gasps of her husband. The springs on the bed squeak lightly with every urging buck of his hips into her mouth, and she firmly places her hands on that rather lovely pelvis of his, keeping them still. As if she's punishing him for something. As if to drive the point home that he's hers, that his body is hers, and that no other woman is allowed to touch him but her. The taste of him on her tongue causes a heady rush that makes her eyes flutter shut briefly, the short and choked moans punctuate faintly wet sounds as he lips and tongue glide with determined purpose.

It never takes particularly long for her lover to climax - something mutual between them, fortunately - but it's even more brief this time, comparatively. She can feel the way he tenses underneath her, the way his voice turns pleading, desperate and shrill - a lovely crack in his voice she likes to believe no one else knows is even possible from him. He's so hot in her mouth it almost burns. The head of the bed creaks dangerously, as if wood could splinter at any moment. His stomach twitches and flexes as he crunches and writhes, jerking hard enough to bounce lightly on their plush bed, her name is so tormented and sweet in her ear. He pulses inside her mouth, up against the flat of her tongue, hard enough to make his length flex and bounce against the roof of her tongue.

It's the only warning she gets before he bursts in her mouth, hot and salty, flooding her cheeks, making her struggle to swallow him down as ragged sobs wrench from his throat.

He's a panting and wheezing mess, her dear husband, face turned to partly bury himself in their pillow, what's still visible red and beaded with perspiration.

Has she seen him so completely wrecked before? It's hard to say, but it makes her heart clench and her thighs squeeze together at the same time.

Feeling rather like...a panther, a dangerous and powerful cat who's cornered her prey and has him right where she wants him, she slips back up along his body. Her fingers trail along his skin and she enjoys the twitching and flexing of his muscles wherever her nails lightly run.

When she leans down to capture his lips in a possessive kiss, she very nearly dies.

She's never felt him so needy, so urgent, so determined to pour his feelings into a kiss like he's simply put all of the authority and demand that he uses as 'director of C&R' into burning her lips and mouth with the love and dedication filling his body. He still doesn't break away from those hastily tied knots, he makes no requests of her to release him, he simply kisses her - biting and nibbling and suckling at her lip and tongue in ways they've done before but never quite this way - in a way that reaches deep into her body and physically yanks at her stomach. She can barely breathe, even when they pull apart again, eyes nearly the same color now with their matching pupils, cheeks red and hot enough to radiate heat between them.

"I love you." She breathes it out without even really meaning to, barely even conscious that it's what she's speaking and not simply what she's loudly thinking.

The look on his face is so full of adoration that for a terrible moment she's almost sure he might cry instead. "There is nothing I could ever love so much as you."

He's so eloquent when she's just had him a mewling mess on the bed that it's hardly fair. She's supposed to be the one taking control and being a selfish brat, but he's sweeping her away and leaving her swooning instead. She draws in a sharp breath before her throat can seize up or the prickling in her eyes can become worse, and she quickly looks away from him at a wall. She draws herself up, then, still straddling him, sitting lightly atop his abdomen.

Somewhat composed once more, she summons the strength to turn her gaze back down to the entirely smitten look of her husband.

"Then, my darling...." She touches his chest with a finger, and her lips curl up into a smirk, as she feels perhaps a touch too proud of herself. "You won't mind if I ride you until you can't remember anything else but me."

#jumin han #mysme #mystic messenger #jumin x mc #mystic messenger fic #ooc #'oh you know sex isn't just using a guy as a sex toy you know'#>immediately writes a story using a guy as a sex toy #sh shut up #no one asked you

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agerefandom · 4 years

Text

Bowed yet Unbroken

Fandom: Original Work (written for my friend @sparrowinged‘s dnd OCs)

Characters: Darcy (a half-orc cleric), Quest Riddlemaster (an elven adventurer)

Words: 4,000.

Summary: Darcy knows Quest as a reliable source of odd merchandise from the chaotic world outside of his seaside hometown. When the elf collapses on the floor of his store with life-threatening injuries, a new kind of bond is formed between them.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injuries. Fear caused by a thunderstorm. Involuntary regression, caused by anxiety.

Note: I usually do three drafts before posting, but I only wrote two of this one because it’s quite long! As such, there may be a few typos: please let me know if you see one so that I can correct it!

Darcy sighed as he began to neaten the shelves for closing time. He had only sold a couple of antique daggers today, and it was the fifth day this week that he had made under forty gold. Business needed to improve, or his beloved shop wouldn’t last much longer.

People liked to come in and browse without buying anything, and Darcy would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy the company. Sometimes, folks would be open to chatting, and other times they tried to pocket a few little amulets or scales. Darcy was alright with both: he liked a good conversation, and he didn’t mind using his half-orc size to throw most would-be thieves out onto the street. A person got bored sometimes, dusting off skulls and making deals with travellers. A bit of adventure was good every so often.

The door to the shop burst open, and Darcy snapped to attention with a smile. The rain was coming down in sheets, as it often did in the coastal town, and the figure who stumbled into the shop was hidden by a dark cloak. It might have once been a deep green, but it was now black with rainwater.

The person pushed back their hood and revealed the shining hair and bright eyes of a sun-elf: a familiar face, once Darcy got a proper look. Quest Riddlemaster, an elven adventurer who often found his way back to Darcy’s shop to sell the spoils from his escapades. He was a good business partner, and Darcy had found their relationship to be mutually lucrative. Today, Quest’s skin seemed paler than normal, his shoulders rising and falling with panting breaths.

“I’ve got some new wares for you,” Quest said as soon as he was close enough for his voice to be heard over the storm. He hadn’t closed the door behind him, and rainwater was beginning to run in from the street. Quest stood there for a moment longer and then collapsed, his waterlogged cloak spread around him. A golden circlet rolled out of his backpack and across the floor.

Darcy darted forwards, rolling Quest onto his back as quickly as he could. The elf’s eyes were closed, lips parted. He was still breathing, but Darcy could see what the rain had hidden: the cloak Quest was wearing was dark with both blood and water. He must have walked to the shop with serious injuries.

Darcy pushed Quest’s cloak back, tearing it slightly in the process. Once it was parted, he could see the slash-marks in Quest’s armor. They were deep and the blood was still flowing from the wounds underneath, harsh lines across his shoulder and chest.

Darcy swore under his breath and fumbled for the amulet he kept around his neck, hardly noticing that his hands were covered in Quest’s blood. “I need your help,” Darcy whispered. “I know it’s been a long day, but he’s dying. Please, help me heal him.” He barely dared to breathe until he felt the familiar glow of his god’s attention warming the amulet.

“Thank you,” Darcy breathed, and rested both hands against Quest’s chest as they began to glow. He watched the elf’s blood begin to drip upwards, resisting gravity to flow back into the wounds. The gaps in his armor let Darcy watch Quest’s skin begin to knit together, surrounded by the glow of divine magic.

Quest drew in a shuddering breath as he came back to consciousness, his hands coming up to grab one of Darcy’s wrists.

“I’m a cleric,” Darcy told him quickly. “I’m healing you.” Spells could be misinterpreted, especially in the disorientation of coming back from the brink of death, and adventurers could be jumpy.

“I’m sorry,” Quest whispered, and then his eyes closed again, his hands falling away.

Darcy sat back on his heels and looked at the figure sprawled on the floor of his shop. He hadn’t been able to heal him entirely: it was the end of the day, after all, and Darcy had gotten into the habit of using his spells to sort and organize the shop, to find the million things he misplaced throughout the day. But Quest would live, and that was the important thing. He wasn’t unconscious now, just asleep. His body was rightfully demanding rest as it caught up to the stress of the day.

Darcy let out a long breath and stood up. He had more first aid supplies at his home, and Quest would need to be watched over for the night. It certainly crossed a line of their business relationship, but Quest had proven reliable over the months and Darcy was sure that a stronger debt between them could only be beneficial.

Thinking over the best way to proceed, Darcy closed the door to stop the rain from coming into his shop. He collected the golden circlet from the floor and tucked it back into the adventurer’s rucksack, noting the number of other precious objects inside with a raised eyebrow. Quest had certainly returned with a great hoard of treasures, though if he hadn’t made it to Darcy’s shop, he would have given his life for it. If he had collapsed on the street, there was a very good chance he would have been robbed and left within minutes.

Darcy repacked the backpack and leaned it against the front of the counter, still hesitating. He could wake Quest up now, but the sun-elf was a proud one, and might refuse Darcy’s help. On the other hand, Darcy could carry him easily. But the wind and rain outside was sure to wake him, and it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. It would be better if he woke Quest up here, and offered him a place to spend the night. He might be too tired to protest.

Just as Darcy made his decision and stepped forwards, a burst of thunder rolled over the shop, rattling the windows and the items on the shelves. It was a common enough occurrence in the sea-side town, but Quest woke to the sound and came to his feet almost too quickly to see.

“I’m awake!” he shouted at the windows, fists clenched. Darcy noted with alarm that the abrupt movement had re-opened the wounds on Quest’s chest, and blood was dripping down his armour. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” Even as he shouted, the thunder rolled again, and Quest dropped to his knees with a soft gasp.

Darcy was frozen in place where he stood, one hand outstretched in preparation to shake Quest awake. The elf was clearly rattled by the experiences of the night, acting erratically. In Darcy’s experience, Quest was a rash character who could hit first and ask questions later. Darcy wore no armour, and although he was surrounded by a shop full of weapons that he could wield fairly well, he didn’t like his chances against a seasoned adventurer like Quest if he was disoriented enough to turn on Darcy.

As Darcy debated whether to speak, he watched Quest fold over on himself, sinking forwards onto his elbows as if in worship. His shoulders were shaking, and he was muttering something in a language that Darcy didn’t speak, the same phrase over and over. Whenever his voice broke on one of the words, he started over from the beginning.

“Riddlemaster?” Darcy tried. Quest’s shoulders tensed even further, his spine curling defensively. The litany of foreign words didn’t stop, and Darcy knelt down beside the elf. He was clearly in distress, and Darcy had just saved his life. Surely, he could help with this as well. “Quest? Are you alright?”

“I am stone. I am steady. I am unafraid,” Quest said in Common. “I am stone. I am steady. I am unafraid.” The mantra continued, unbroken by the switching languages.

Darcy was stumped once more. He had no idea how to proceed, no idea how to stop the helpless flood of words coming from this near-stranger’s mouth. He hadn’t comforted someone in years, and he barely remembered what to do.

“It’s okay,” Darcy managed, placing a hand on Quest’s shoulder. Quest flinched, but didn’t move away from the touch. He was rocking slightly in time to the mantra, a subtle movement that Darcy hadn’t noticed until his palm was against Quest’s shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, I can help you.” As Darcy spoke, Quest’s words became quieter, as if he was trying to listen to what Darcy was saying. He pressed on. “I have some stuff at my house, to wrap your wounds. I can help you get there. You’re going to be okay. In the morning, I can heal you all the way. It’s just one night.”

“I can’t-” Quest started, and broke off the sentence with a sharp gasp. “I am stone. I am steady. I am-” The thunder came again, rumbling through the store, and Quest cried out against the sound, grabbing Darcy’s wrist and pulling him down onto the ground with Quest. Quest was shaking now, small scared sounds coming from his chest.

Darcy pulled Quest to his chest by instinct, wrapping his arms around the elf’s smaller frame. Quest clutched at his vest, at his wrists, gasping for breath. Darcy rocked him back and forth, slow calming movements.

“Shhh,” Darcy whispered. “You’re safe, I promise. It’s only the thunder. I’m staying with you.”

“No, no, no!” Quest struggled against Darcy’s grip. “I’m going to- she’s going to- I don’t want the pain anymore!” Darcy’s heart broke at the confusion in Quest’s voice, the childish fear and disorientation that filled his shouts.

“No pain,” Darcy promised, gently restraining Quest to protect his chest. “I can help the pain. No one will hurt you here. I swear by my god and my divine abilities.”

Quest subsided into tears, relaxing into Darcy’s arms.

“There you go,” Darcy murmured, relieved. “You’re safe.” Quest continued to sob in his arms, quiet but steady. “You’re not going to be hurt anymore,” Darcy told him, cautiously loosening his grip to see if Quest would try to wriggle free again. Quest caught at his arms as he lifted them, pulling them back around his body. “I’m not going anywhere,” Darcy told him, amused by the clingy gesture.

“Hurts,” Quest whispered in an unfamiliar voice. “Loud.”

“I know.” Darcy could hear the sympathetic pain in his own voice. “I’m sorry I can’t heal you all the way. I’m sorry I can’t stop the thunder. I wish I could.”

“Not ‘sposed to be scared.” Quest’s quiet voice was more fragile than Darcy could process.

“It’s okay to be scared once you’re safe,” Darcy told him. “Everyone gets scared.”

“Not everyone,” Quest said, but his tears were starting to let up.

“Well, everyone that I know gets scared.” Darcy pushed Quest’s hair back, an automatic gesture that he paused awkwardly in the middle of doing. Quest didn’t seem angry, just exhausted and overwhelmed. He leaned his head into the touch, and Darcy carried on petting his hair absent-mindedly. “I know that I get scared a lot.”

“Really?” Quest pulled free of Darcy’s arms to look at him, eyes still glassy with tears.

“Absolutely.” It wasn’t really true. Darcy didn’t see much dangerous combat these days, but he had spent his fair share of time scared before he settled down into his shop. Scared of the storms on the open water, scared of the monsters that came out of nowhere, scared of death. And Quest looked so amazed by his revelation that Darcy repeated it, more confidently. “It’s normal to get scared.”

Quest thought about this for a moment, and then his face screwed up. “Everything hurts,” he mumbled.

“Stop sitting up,” Darcy said, guiding Quest back to rest against his chest. He resumed the petting of Quest’s hair, careful to avoid his ears. Most elves that he’d known didn’t like their ears touched, too sensitive to register direct touch as anything other than painful overstimulation. “You took some pretty hard hits. I’m glad that I could heal you, but I couldn’t do everything. I can patch you up better at my house, if you’d like.”

“I can come to your house?” There was that same amazed wonder in Quest’s voice as when Darcy told him it was normal to be scared.

“Sure.” Darcy risked a little hair-mussing, and Quest pulled away with a whine. Fair enough, nobody liked having their hair messed up. “I have enough space to host a friend for a night.”

Quest smiled at that, a bright smile that Darcy had never seen before. “I want to see your house.”

“Alright.” Darcy started to untangle himself from the elf to stand, but Quest clung to him when he tried to move. Darcy laughed awkwardly, subsiding back to the floor. “You’re going to need to let me up if you want to see my house.”

“Don’t leave me.” Quest’s voice had changed again, harsher and urgent. “Don’t leave me here.”

Darcy wrapped his arms back around Quest, careful of the wounds that covered his chest. “Quest, I need to get your pack and then lead you to my house. I’m not trying to leave you.”

“Stay,” Quest demanded, tightening his grip on Darcy’s shirt.

“We need to get you to my house so that I can wrap your injuries,” Darcy protested. “The sooner we sleep, the sooner the pain will ease.”

“Don’t leave me!” The urgency in Quest’s voice hadn’t eased with Darcy’s explanations, and Darcy stifled a sigh. It was becoming clearer that he wasn’t dealing with a creature of logic right now, and that the adventurer had been severely discombobulated by the events of the evening. Resuming the gentle caresses to Quest’s head, he quieted his tone to something more calming than reasoning, the same way he would talk to a child.

“Quest, it’s alright. Hush, I’m not going anywhere.” Sure enough, the elf relaxed into Darcy’s arms and eased his desperate grip on Darcy’s shirt. “I’m going to take care of you, and make sure it doesn’t hurt as much, but I want to get your pack before we leave. I’ll only be gone for ten seconds, you can count them if you like.”

“Okay,” Quest said into Darcy’s shoulder reluctantly.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, in the softest voice he could manage. “Ten seconds.” He disentangled himself from Quest’s limbs and the elf allowed it listlessly, dropping his arms to his lap and his gaze to the floor. Darcy scrambled to his feet and put the elf’s backpack over his shoulders, tugging at the straps until it fit his larger frame. He threw his cloak on top of it, raising the hood in preparation to go out in the storm.

Once he was dressed, Darcy returned to Quest and knelt in front of him, waiting the long moment it took for Quest to look up and focus on Darcy’s face. “Can you walk?”

“Uh-huh,” Quest nodded, and accepted Darcy’s hand to pull himself to his feet. As soon as he was up, he wavered and seemed about to faint again.

Darcy reacted on instinct, scooping Quest up into his arms with ease. He was even lighter than he appeared, gangly but easy to hold. Quest melted in his grasp, leaning his head against Darcy’s chest and even closing his eyes.

“Okay,” Darcy muttered, mostly to himself. “This works.” He folded Quest’s torn cloak around him, protecting his body from the storm outside.

The thunder rolled again as Darcy started for the door, and Quest drew in a sharp breath, pressing himself close enough to Darcy’s chest that the half-orc’s cloak fell around both of them.

“It’s okay,” Darcy murmured to him. “It’s okay to be scared, but it won’t hurt you. I’ve got you. We’re going out in the rain now, but it won’t be for too long. I’ve got you.”

Quest didn’t reply, but he kept his eyes closed and his cheek pressed to Darcy’s shirt. Darcy nodded, steeled himself for the wind, and opened the door with his elbow, careful of Quest’s limbs. Locking the store was more of a production with the elf in his arms, but Darcy managed it, and soon he was making his way home. The storm and the path were both familiar, the cobblestones slippery with rain. It wasn’t long down the street until they reached his little house, and he pushed the door open with a grateful sigh, closing it behind them with a well-aimed kick.

The room was cluttered with a lifetime as a collector of oddities, relics from his seafaring days mounted on the walls and magical items scattered across the bookshelves. Darcy carried Quest to the pile of furs in front of his unlit fireplace, kneeling down to release the elf. “I’m going to stay beside you, but I’m going to let go to take off my cloak,” he told Quest as he let go, and Quest didn’t cling to him as he sunk into the soft furs beneath him.

True to his word, Darcy shrugged out of his rain-soaked cloak and tossed it over a nearby chair. Gently, he unclasped Quest’s cloak as well and extracted it from his form, adding it to the pile with his own.

“Are you alright with a fire?” Darcy asked, gesturing to the fireplace. Quest nodded, so Darcy began to assemble the tinder and logs in his usual pattern before grabbling the tinderbox from the mantle and casting sparks into the centre. The flames were slow to rise, but soon they were curling the tinder into ash and licking at the sticks around them.

Darcy sat back on his heels and Quest reached a hand towards him, tugging at his sleeve. “One more second,” Darcy said, catching the hand and holding it. “Would you like some better clothes for sleeping in?”

Quest hesitated, his free hand going to the slashed armor across his chest.

“This house is safe,” Darcy reminded him. “As safe as anywhere can be.”

“Soft clothes,” Quest managed. “Would be nice.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll be gone for a second, but the fire will be nice and warm.” Darcy let go of Quest’s hand with a last squeeze. “Keep an eye on it, but don’t get too close.”

“Safe,” Quest said with a nod.

“Yes, stay safe.” Darcy got to his feet with a huff and went to leave the room, hesitating at the doorway. Quest was shivering by the fireplace, his arms lying listlessly at his sides. He would be fine for a moment, surely? They both needed clothes, and Darcy could get his medical supplies. Darcy tore his eyes away and hurried into the next room, intent on getting back as quickly as he could.

Darcy changed with record speed, stripping off the cravat, the jacket, the elegantly laced leather boots, leaving them scattered on the bed in a way he would normally never consider. He replaced them with looser clothing that were more suited for comfort, collecting some for Quest as well. They would be a bit big on the elf, but not large enough to be impractical. Darcy snagged a soft blanket from the bed and the chest of medical supplies that he kept on his carved wooden dresser, and then returned.

Quest was exactly where Darcy had left him, staring into the flickering flames that were starting to creep over the larger pieces of wood in the fireplace.

“I’m back,” Darcy said as he approached, not wanting to startle the elf.

Quest looked up and offered a miserable smile. His long hair was dripping with rainwater, his expression tight with pain. The tears in his armor were stained with dried blood, and there was still fresh scarlet staining the furs that he laid on. He looked like a mess, and Darcy’s heart clenched.

“I’m sorry I was gone,” Darcy added, coming forward to settle beside his guest. “Should we get you cleaned up?”

Quest nodded, seemingly out of words, but his smile became a little more genuine.

Darcy used the blanket to dry Quest’s hair and clean his dirty face, then turned his attention to the ruined armor. “Do you want to get this off, or can I help?” Instead of answering, Quest lifted his arms to give Darcy better access to the buckles on the sides of the breastplate. Darcy nodded and started on the fastenings, nimble fingers making quick work of them and lifting the layers of armor away from Quest’s chest. His white undershirt was soaked through with blood, and the harsh claw-marks were worse up close, lit with the wavering firelight.

Quest kept his arms up, blinking at Darcy with distant eyes.

“Alright.” Darcy started on the shirt, trying to be gentle. The wounds had started to heal around the fabric, and it was slow work to pull it free. Quest made small pained sounds but stayed still as the shirt came off, finally free to slip over his head.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said, laying aside the shirt and resting a hand on Quest’s uninjured shoulder.

“S’okay,” Quest managed, but his eyes were full of tears.

“Just a little more and we can sleep,” Darcy soothed, opening his chest of medical supplies. There was a balm for pain and swelling that he applied first, keeping his touches gentle. Quest didn’t flinch, didn’t complain, but sat perfectly still with tears dripping down his cheeks as Darcy’s fingers traced the lines of his injury. “Doing so well,” Darcy praised again and again. “Almost done.”

Lastly, he wrapped a bandage around Quest’s torso, grateful to hide the ragged marks from sight. Blood spotted the bandages but didn’t soak through all the way, and Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. The bleeding was stopping, finally.

“It’s better?” Quest said doubtfully, bringing his hands towards his chest.

“Don’t touch,” Darcy told him, catching his hands and holding them in his own. “Best to let it heal overnight without poking it.”

“Thank you.” The words were quiet and overwhelmed.

“Of course.” Darcy squeezed Quest’s hands in his own, always gentle. Quest’s hands were so small in his grasp, the golden skin even brighter against the blue-green of his own fingers. “It should be mostly healed in the morning, and I can finish whatever remains. You’ll be free to go wherever you need to.”

“Don’t want to go,” Quest whispered, staring down at their hands.

Darcy hesitated, unsure what he should say. The two of them didn’t know each other that well, and there wasn’t space in Darcy’s house for another person. Quest probably didn’t mean it, overwhelmed by pain and gratitude. But any response seemed cruel, to such a quiet and heartfelt confession.

“I’m here,” Darcy said finally, releasing Quest’s hands and opening his arms in an offer. Quest immediately crawled into the embrace, settling against Darcy’s chest with a low purr of contentment. Darcy smiled at the sound, something that elves only did when they were very young or very comfortable. “You can stay as long as you need to.”

Darcy helped Quest change into the comfortable clothes, hiding his laughter at the way they hung on Quest’s slimmer frame. Once they were both dry and clothed, Darcy leaned against the furs and Quest curled up against him, purring in the firelight. Darcy smiled down at the elf, as the thunder rumbled outside and he hardly even flinched, his purr continuing unbroken. The warmth of the fire and the stress of the evening caught up to Darcy all at once, drawing his eyelids down.

With the pressure of Quest curled against his chest, and the steady sound of rain on the street outside, Darcy drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up in the morning, the fire had burned down to ashes and Quest was gone.

There was a golden circlet on his mantelpiece, and nothing missing from the house. Darcy smiled as he walked to the shop that morning, sure that he would see Quest again soon.

#agere fanfiction #agere fics #agere fic #dnd agere #my fics #agere writing #sfw age regression #agere fandom #cgre #regression writing

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nofliight · 4 years

Text

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

tagged by: stole it from @sternenteile and honestly others tbh tagging: TAKE

my muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [ for better or for worse, he’s THE face of kid icarus, after all. he’s a dork and funny and likeable and even if the fandom tends to get him WRONG (thanks smash bros) there’s no denying his popularity ]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [ i don’t??? think so??? most people are too busy talking about how they think he’s like 5 ]

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [ EVEN THE FANDOM AIN’T GONNA MESS THIS UP. MAN FIGHTS GODS. CALL THAT WEAK. ]

Are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK. [ make no mistake - pit’s got fans and plenty of them but he’s so MISTREATED by the fandom. his character is a lot more complex than he gets credit for and smash bros in particular is a big reason people think he’s just Big Dumb Baby Man ]

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO. [ HE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER, THE CENTRAL FIGURE UPON WHOM THE NARRATIVE IS STRUCTURED AROUND, YEAH HE’S PRETTY RELEVANT. Uprising is literally made to tell the story of a war exclusively through the perspective of a single side and Pit (and Palutena) are the EMBODIMENT of that whole side. ]

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [ and a perfect one at that. he’s literally a perfect protagonist don’t tell me i’m wrong cause i’m not ]

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. [ pit is beloved by humans... and mocked by the Gods. seen by most as a spineless extension of palutena’s will, most “respect” of any variety goes to palutena while he gets treated as a joke 99% of the time... and it’s not like Palutena gets too much respect either ]

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. (????) [ Uhhhhhh... it’s an odd one. Short answer is that Pit’s a good samaritan who’s done a lot of good BUT most of the gods think protecting humanity is a Folly and a Joke and that Pit’s just a pawn of Palutena’s and while the humans do hold a lot of respect for him, uh............. let’s just say, some humans on the surface have reasons not to be too happy with him. ]

How strictly do you follow canon? — about as much as I need to to respect one of my favorite video games of all time. while kid icarus uprising is a comedic game most of the way through it has a lot more nuance and depth to itself, its world, and its characters than one can see at first glance, even after a full playthrough. if you let yourself get invested in the characters, take a closer look at the dialogue it provides, and acknowledge the central, core storytelling message of the game for what it is, there’s a lot more to pull out than one would think. that being said, it’s still a comedic video game and one that I think could use some more expansion. though the game is inconsistent there seems to be the consensus that pit is like a child and I’m not into that, mine’s a bit more showing in his cynical and snarky side after all he’s been through and overall there’s a lot of expansion on the base while building it into something unique.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. — imagine your typical bootstrapped anime protagonist. someone who, when younger, was a runt who couldn’t meet the expectations of others, was looked down on, and found himself crushed and hurt and near-killed by a great tragedy that he was forced to claw his way out of to make himself stronger. Now imagine all of that with a character who comes out still able to have a very real smile and ultimately comes out of it a self-assured, chipper goofball with a good heart. now put that together with all of the darkness and depth you would have expected to be there, but scattered realistically throughout the attitude of someone who does genuinely want to keep a positive attitude. someone who is sincerely an optimist who’s grown past his weaker days, but isn’t quite so simple as he’d like to believe. all of that combined with someone who can’t read, is willing to eat ice cream off the floor in times of duress, is extremely easy to fluster and can channel his goddess’ power to slay GODS? you got one strong man.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). — his positive attitude is what most people will see when speaking to him, because for what it’s worth, he’s not actively lying about his depth. he’s a cheerful, jovial man with a big smile and a love of the world around him - which is all well and good, but his depth is something you have to find, even if it is reasonably clear if you’re willing to look. he’s also portrayed as a bit unreasonably dumb at times, and though I personally justify the worst of it with proper explanations, I can understand reducing some of the value of the character in favor of seeing all of his Jokes

What inspired you to rp your muse? — i made my original pit blog, flightlesswarrior, on a total whim after playing kid icarus uprising. cute character, fun premise, why not? but over time, and with numerous plots I was able to take part in exploring the serious, not so serious, shipping, tragedy, and going back through the game to keep my muse rolling, it occurred to me more and more with time just how nuanced and interesting pit and co. really are. pit embodies many of the things i really, truly love in a protag, falling firmly on the side of good, having a heart of genuine gold, and having nuances and parts of his personality that are less than savory without making him seem like a contradiction. he’s got depth, he’s got story, there’s a lot to explore and flesh out... and he’s also just a nice, friendly guy who gets along well with others. plus, i’m drawn to dorks.

What keeps your inspiration going? — a) love for Kid Icarus: Uprising. a game that helped me gain a deeper and more insightful understanding of character development, subtle storytelling, optimism still tinged with legitimate and healthy cynicism, and overall something that changed my understanding of character development and storytelling forever. and b) spite. the fandom treats him like an idiot baby and smash DOES NOT help matters so i have to remind others that he is a veteran of a war, a socially inept loser with few real friends, and someone who’s kindness and optimism was shaped and molded by its hardships in a way that doesn’t require a near-breaking point or a reminder that “this guy could be evil you know” to show how someone can still keep a positive attitude in spite of all the shit life throws at him.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO [ i’d like to think i have?? but i also acknowledge that he’s become something of his Own in some ways that do intentionally diverge from sakurai’s intentions. ultimately though, even though i may not play him completely true to text, i try to be as loyal as i can be to the spirit of the character. ]

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO / SORT OF? [ when i can!! but??? the problem is my mind really, really likes to reiterate the Same Damn Points i have to make with characters that draws me to them - and you know, writing the same hcs over and over is generally considered poor form?? ngl i also prefer to let the writing do the talking unless it’s something that’s not gonna show so 90% of the time pit’s open enough that all but the darker sides of his mind are lain out before you. ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO [ maybe??? once or tWICE???? but i need to write more ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO [ I REALLY DO, HOO MAMA. i have a lot of thoughts about him, his depth, potential relationships, goofy thoughts, more serious fanfic ideas im never gonna write and don’t get me started on how many SHIPS i have to think about for him ]

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO [ my portrayal is made out of spite for portrayals in the fandom and some supplementary material that gets him wrong - it’s kinda hard to do that without the confidence ]

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO / ??? [ it’s uhh........ complicated??? i don’t think writing is my expertise, tbh. but it is the best way i have to show the passion i have for characters, by putting their nuances into actions, by allowing them to shine from who they are their core, by exploring relationships and scenarios and struggles and hope and everything that can flesh a character out. whether or not i’m a good writer is something i’m still sorting out - but i’m proud of my ability to develop a character, and to that end i feel like i’m doing fine ]

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO. / SORTA. [ on one hand......... very. i have a tendency to overthink everything i do and look back at moments i made an ass of myself that keep haunting me throughout my day - they haunt me. i only have two fears: what my immediate friend group thinks of me and the crushing existential weight of worrying one day i’m gonna ruin everything i am SOFT. that being said, i’m also hardheaded and stubborn and i’m not afraid to go off on someone i don’t have much respect for if it comes down to it. i’m easy to anger when it comes down to it you know i guess that proves the point huh i’m not stonefaced at all ]

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal? — i try to? it’s a bit touchy for me I admit just because I do take portrayals and try to make them my own, but i am willing to listen if someone has any points they’d like to make that i haven’t acknowledged properly. if criticism IS had, lemme know, i do wanna hear it!

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character? — Y E S

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — not that everyone who disagrees with my opinions has to explain themselves of course, but i do sincerely like the chance to learn if something i’m doing doesn’t quite feel right. even if it’s one-sided and i’ll come to disagree, i’m happy to listen! even if i don’t agree with the disagreement head-on, i like to keep them in mind and see what i can shift around to acknowledge them if necessary

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — neutral?? i mean don’t be mean about it, but if you just think my pit doesn’t seem right or it doesn’t click right with your muse i’m not gonna throw a fit about it. everyone’s allowed to view a character in their own way - and even if i may get salty about those who oversimplify him, it IS anyone’s right to view him how they will.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — agree to disagree tbh. i can’t pretend it wouldn’t disappoint me, but it’s not like, worth ending a friendship over or anything. everyone’s got their own viewpoints to run on

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — sure, within reason! i take pride in my grammar but i know that with my fast typing and often running on only a few hours of sleep some problems do slip in through the cracks. while i generally either catch them or just Die with them i’m all ears if i mess up

Do you think you are easy going as a mun? — uhhhhhhhhhh well i’m?? kind of a socially anxious mess honestly which DOES make being easy going a bit difficult BUT i do try and be friendly and sociable as i....... can. i’m too scared to talk to people and CAN say some dumb things but i’m not a hardass or anything!! i like to talk and Yell and shitpost and pretty much do anything but write tbh DHFLKSJDF

#about.#ooc.#hi! i Die for Pit #god this has been in my drafts for MONTHS thanks to my dash for finally reminding me to post this hsdfdfs

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gilbertsannegirl · 4 years

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She Had Dreamed Some Brilliant Dreams During the Past Winter

Merry Christmas to @anne-shirley-blythe! Sorry it’s late but I had a lot of fun writing this fic for you and I hope that you thoroughly enjoy it. Hope you had a wonderful christmas x And thank you @kindredspiritssecretsanta (@royalcordelia) for throwing such a wonderful event and can’t wait for next year to roll around again.

Read it on AO3

Last Years Fic

Summary: An AU story set in their second year of college, my take on Anne and Gilbert’s engagement. This particular story is set a year after my Christmas story last year, so it makes more sense if you read that once first, but you don’t have to.

Crisp snow crunched under Gilbert Blythe’s boots and broke the silence of the early morning. The earth was still at rest and the sun had begun to peak over the blanket of white that covered every surface of the ground. Having fallen during the night, the snow was almost unbroken by sleds or feet. However, there was a sure path from the Blythe’s front porch all the way to the gate of Green Gables where the culprit now stood. In the gloom of the morning, Gilbert could just make out the window of the east gable that belonged to his beloved. In the act of a supposed grand gesture, he located a few small pebbles peaking out from under the snow and carefully threw them at Anne’s window.

A rustle of curtains revealed her. Still clad in her nightwear, she gestured for him to stay right where he was, and Gilbert couldn’t help the sly grin and chuckle that escaped as soon as he saw her.

“It is so very Anne of her to go along with my ridiculousness, isn’t it?” he murmured, facing away from the window now and looking out on the expanse of the white world in front of him. In the gloom of the dawn Gilbert could see the lights of various farmers’ homes begin to flicker into existence. Although not the most ideal weather, he still loved crisp winter mornings such as these. Tomorrow would bring Christmas and hopefully a new season of his life.

The door to Green Gables creeped open, and despite Anne’s best efforts a quiet screech from the worn hinges echoed through the silence. Gilbert turned to see her step out of the house. She was wrapped in a scarf and winter coat and was pulling gloves on as she slunk across the porch. He thought she had never looked more beautiful with the red glow of the morning light painting shadows across her face, highlighting freckles and tendrils of hair peaking out from under her hat.

“Gilbert Blythe,” she hissed. “What do you think you are doing sneaking around at this hour in the morning? Rachel will have my head if she knows I’ve come out to see you so early.” She sighed then, tipping her head up to feel the early sunlight crawl under the exposed skin of her face, the warmth flooding her cheeks. “Oh, but it is so good to see you. When did you get back?” She stepped closer, bringing her arms up to wrap around his neck, fingers playing with the curls at the back of his head.

Gilbert wrapped his arms around her waist. “Well, Miss. Shirley, I think Mrs. Lynde knows by now that you are not fully to blame for everything that happens between us. Considering that I am the one who took us for a picnic in the snow last year, which was probably not the best idea.” Anne grinned at that, and he continued, “You know, I rather like these early mornings, they bring out the green in your eyes.” She hummed, and he took the opportunity of a deserted world to press his lips against hers briefly. “And to answer your question, I came back last night and was dying to see you.” She sighed and pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Gilbert reciprocated.

The creaky step broke their embrace, and both spun to see Davy rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. “Gee Gilbert I sure bet Anne is glad to see you,” he yawned. “But isn’t it awful early to be going out?” They smiled politely at him and both saw the young man Davy was growing to be since the summer of their last visit. He was standing much taller now and was beginning to take on most of the duties around the farm with the help of Mr. Harrison.

“Right you are, Davy-boy. But you see, Anne and I need to get over to Carmody to do some shopping for my mother’s Christmas Eve dinner which you know you are all invited to. Besides, it can be a bit tricky on these roads and you never know when you can run into some trouble with the sleigh. We best be leaving and you best be starting to work around here I suppose. We won’t keep you, just let the others know that I’ve whisked Anne away this morning, will you?” Gilbert grinned at Davy’s curt nod, “Thank you.”

“Thank you Davy, we’ll be back before lunch,” Anne finished. With a wave, Gilbert and Anne went to the stables to hitch up the sleigh. She grabbed the blankets while he checked to see if everything was in order with the sleigh and they weren’t in danger of anything breaking on them. Gilbert nodded at Anne and they both climbed in, carefully arranging and draping blankets over themselves. He winked at her as he slid one hand under the blanket to grasp hers, and she laughed, “Gilbert, don’t you need both hands to drive the sleigh?”

“On the contrary, Anne-girl, I think I can do it with one hand if it means I can hold yours,” he replied smugly, and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her cheek. She beamed at him as he clicked the reins and the horse plodded forwards leaving behind the stables for the open plains of Avonlea. “Oh, I also have a few planned stops along the way. I figured you wouldn’t mind coming out early to spend some time together before we have to return to be with our families. I think we rather deserve it after the beginning of the school year we’ve had, considering that I’ve only just come back from finishing my examinations.”

“Don’t you think we spend enough time together already, Gil? I can hardly deter you from Patty’s Place as it is,” she teased. He chuckled, rolling his eyes in fondness and she tucked herself more into his side. There was a certain air between them that had always existed, although Anne hardly saw it until a year ago with that picnic in the snow. A teasing relationship filled with mutual respect for each other’s wisdom, wit and character. She realised after the kiss under the mistletoe last year that they had always been and forever would be kindred spirits, soulmates, life partners, and best friends.

The sleigh came to a halt and Anne looked out of the sleigh, her eyes landing on Barry’s Pond or, as she had named it, the Lake of Shining Waters. At this time of year, however, there wasn’t much lake left because of the glistening ice that lay firm over the water’s surface. She glanced back at Gilbert and saw his eyes shifting over her as if he was memorising everything about her. She raised her eyebrows. Shaking his head and shifting his eyes back to hers, he murmured, “Do you remember the time that I asked you to be my friend by the waters edge?” He chuckled then, “You were so petty, considering that I had just saved your life.” Grinning as Anne gave him a playful slap on the arm, “Ouch! A feisty one too; matches your hair, Carrots.”

“Oh, you really thought I would forgive you after everything you did, Mr. Blythe? I hardly thought you were worthy of redemption; it was only later that I regretted everything I said to you that day. You really went and ignored me after that? I don’t think that helped the situation at all, dearest.” Gilbert gave a sigh at that, and Anne dropped her red head into the crook of his neck. He felt her lips move before hearing the words, “I love you, and I love you all the more for forgiving me after the fool I made of myself in the first five years of knowing each other.”

“I love you too, Anne-girl. I’ve loved you since the day you broke that slate over my head, and I’ll love you until our journey comes to an end,” Gilbert replied, kissing her hair.

“Oh Gil! How did I ever tell Marilla that you weren’t my idea of a romantic suitor when you are the most romantic person I know?” Anne grinned, pulling her head out of his neck. Gilbert beamed leaning forward to place a soft, slow kiss on her lips.

“Come now, don’t get all sentimental on me yet. I still have one more place to take you before Carmody and it seems the sun is only getting higher in the sky, my love.” Gilbert started the horses on a trot again and Anne hummed as she watched the trees overcrowd the image of her beloved lake. Being whisked around Avonlea by Gilbert on a cold winters day wasn’t unusual, but Anne wished they would go somewhere warm soon. The cold air was bringing out an unflattering flush to her cheeks, highlighting her freckles and hair. This was both to Anne’s annoyance and Gilbert’s pleasure.

It was to her slight dismay when he slowed to a stop outside the group of trees she knew so well. It was certainly not warm in there, but then again she had missed the Dryad’s Bubble immensely during her semester at Redmond. She side-eyed Gilbert who possessed a smug grin, before saying, “Oh, so this has become our Christmas Eve spot? Alright then Gilbert, but I don’t really want to walk all the way in there. It’s snowed a lot more this year and I’m not sure that we can make it in.”

“Not to worry, Anne-girl.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him before replying, “I was just going to sit out here and reminisce on last year. Do you remember what I gave you for Christmas?”

Anne beamed. “How could I forget? Darling, I wear it every day, you know that.” She fished under her coat for the delicate necklace, the small pink heart glistened against her palm as she looked down at it. “Oh, it’s the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received, besides you of course.”

It was Gilbert’s turn to blush, and before he could talk himself out of it he whispered, “Well I have a far greater gift for you this year. How would you like another piece of jewellery, my love?” Anne’s brows furrowed and she pulled back from him a little, dropping the pendant back against her throat. “The promise that comes along with this though is far more precious and it would mean the world if you say yes.”

“Gil… Do you mean…?” Anne’s eyes began to well up and Gilbert pulled out a circlet of peals, a ring she had dreamed about for years, “Gilbert Blythe, are you really asking me this?” A tear slid down her cheek and Gilbert quickly brought his thumb up to catch it.

“Yes, my dear Anne-girl. I’m asking you this, and I mean it with all my heart. I don’t want anything more in this life than you! We’ve been officially courting for a year, but I think I’ve been courting you since the first time I laid eyes on you. I think 9 years is long enough to make a man wait, don’t you?” Anne laughed, her throat choking on the sound. “So, my lovely Anne, will you marry me?”

“Oh, darling you don’t need to ask twice! Yes, with all my heart, yes!” Anne flung her arms around him now crying openly against his neck, the pearls he bought suiting the saying pearls are for tears in that very moment. She pulled back from the embrace placing her hands on either side of his face, her thumbs running under his eyes to catch his wayward tears. She brought her lips to his in an unhurried kiss.

Gilbert pulled away first. “Anne I’ll put this ring on your finger on one condition.” Her eyes met his, glistening with the unshed tears she was somewhat holding back and nodded her head at him. “We get married as soon as possible. I know that we still have two years of college left, and then I have three years of medical school, God willing. But Anne-girl promise me we’ll get married as soon as we can afford to, because I don’t think I can wait five more years to wake up to your face every morning.”

“Gil, even if our families think we are crazy, as soon as we finish our Arts degrees, I am marrying you. I promise you every day of my life from this point onwards. Oh Gil, I love you so!” Anne flung her arms back around his neck and Gilbert gasped at her boldness but wrapped his arms around her waist all the same. He pushed her away a little bit and grabbed her hand, sliding the snug ring into place, and Anne knew it had always belonged there. No questions asked, they would be married in two and a half years.

Gilbert directed the sleigh towards Carmody, and they rode away together, crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of love, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hope and memory blew.*

*Anne of the Island, Chapter 41 Love Take Up the Glass of Time

#annesecretsanta #anne of green gables #aogg #anne with an e #anne shirley #gilbert blythe #anne fanfiction #shirbert fanfiction

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so-langdon · 5 years

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Cracks - Duncan Shepherd x Fem! Reader

Summary: After finding out the news of being adopted, Duncan goes to Y/N for comfort.

Warnings: Third person POV, fluff, angst, sad! Duncan, some swearing

A/N: I’ve never been interested in watching House of Cards, but I just watched season six, purely for Duncan, and even then I skimmed through and only watched the Duncan scenes loll. So if anything seems off from the actual story, pls forgive

Also will post the next chapter of Innocence Meets Corruption sometime next week hopefully!! :))

“You know, she told me to ask you something,” Duncan spoke towards his mother. “She told me to ask you where I came from,” he adds, an expression of hesitation and potential betrayal registering on his face.

The look on Annette’s face was all it took for Duncan to realize the reality. The confirmation of what Claire's questions meant when telling Duncan to ask Annette of where he came from; asking him of the first memory he had of his mother.

He knew now. Especially as Annette stalked back down the hall into the other room, demanding Seth to put out the headline of Claire's abortion of sixteen weeks, completely ignoring Duncan’s questioning.

Duncan was as put together as he looked. He was confident, composed and self-assured. He was handsome, intelligent, smooth and charismatic. He knew how to do his job and he knew how to do it well. He knew all of this about himself. He might come off as arrogant to some, but he was just self-aware, humbly enlightened of his wealth, power and position.

But one seemingly little mistake, and it was desolation for him and his so called family.

Just before questioning Annette of where he came from, his “uncle” Bill was throwing a tantrum of sorts. Duncan was being insulted, not just of his intelligence and choices, but whole being it seemed. It wasn’t like Duncan to get caught up in the emotions. But he couldn’t help that his uncle’s prior words of saying, “This towel is smarter than you,” “Seth is smarter than you,” “The sweat on my brow is smarter than you, Duncan,” seemed to hurt him in a way that normally wouldn’t have.

And now to add to that was his family was not even his actual family. Not really, not anymore, it seemed.

It was taking a difficult toll on him. His “uncle’s” words, plus finding out this family secret within such a short about of time was upsetting him more than he liked to admit. He wasn’t sure how to handle or react to any of it.

The only thing that came to mind regarding all this was he wanted to talk to a friend of his. Sort of a friend. The only person he could think of wanting to confide to that could be of any help or comfort was Y/N.

He’d met her a few years ago when out with a mutual group of friends for the evening. The friend group had planned on going out for a good time, wanting to get some drinks, relax and have fun. Y/N shared the same friends Duncan had, though the two had never personally met before until then.

Once out that night with their group of mutual friends and meeting each other, they hadn’t exactly clicked as everyone might have hoped. Duncan and Y/N were sarcastic and feisty towards each other, firing comebacks constantly back and forth, seeming to argue on everything: Which restaurant to attend, which bars to hop, what round of shots to order.

Their bickering was endless, but it somehow worked. Their constant back and forth was amusing, obvious teasing, though you’d never catch them sitting side by side or having just a friendly chat. Not when there was always something for them to argue about. You could say they were “frenemies,” having a love/hate relationship.

Nonetheless, no matter the amount they argued, there were times they could be civil and tolerate each other. Duncan also knew how kind and compassionate Y/N was. And this is what made him want to reach out to her in this distressing time of his life.

Taking a drive over to Y/N’s apartment once Duncan left the presence of his “mother” and “uncle”, he realized an impatience growing in him. He hurried, wanting to arrive to her doorstep as soon as he could, wanting to speak with her quickly. He felt himself deteriorating mentally over all that had happened to him within the last few hours and felt Y/N was his only outlet.

Duncan found himself knocking on her door quite frantically as he arrived, recognizing he needed to try and contain his composure before being greeted by the girl. He didn’t need to hear any teasing or bickering about his desperate knocking. Any teasing for that matter was the last thing he needed at this moment. But it was a risk he was willing for to see Y/N.

Duncan held his breath when hearing the locks of the door being unlocked. Whatever breath he held escaped his body when she answered the door. Though she narrowed her eyes at his presence, obviously confused, he couldn’t help but find her so gorgeous where she stood. Wearing a black over-sized band tee and black leggings, she looked adorably comfy and alluring all at once. It wasn’t unusual that he found himself drawn and attracted to her, but he always had to keep himself contained considering the type of relationship they had.

“Duncan Shepherd,” she spoke, almost sarcastically. “To what do I owe this,” she looked him up and down. “Pleasure?”

It’s caught her off guard with seeing Duncan, standing with his obvious fit and tall frame, broad shoulders, and brunette hair pushed back in a way that always had her trying not to stare for too long. She usually liked a clean shaven face, but the stubble on Duncan’s face always had her stomach flipping, and she dreaded the day he would shave it off, if ever. The way he carried himself, with such a dominant confidence, she often found herself trying not to blush over his handsome looks. Not to mention his gorgeous blue piercing eyes that always took her breath away.

“Thought we could have a bit of a chat,” Duncan spoke collectedly. “A chat, really,” she starts, not believing him. He stared back at her casually. “I know you better than that,” she crosses her arms. “I know there has to be some ulterior motive.” Duncan shakes his head nonchalantly. “What is it? Need extra people to attend some charity ball your family is holding? Or need more support for a Shepherd’s Foundation project? Because if so, I’m not interes--” “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Duncan waves off. “I, I know this is.. out of the ordinary, but I thought we could.. hang out?” Duncan says laid-back. Y/N narrows her eyes. “Hang out,” she repeats confused. Duncan nodded. “Uh.. Are you sure there isn’t some other reason?” “Why? Is it so hard to believe I’d want to hang out with you?” Duncan asks questioningly. She laughs a bit, “You’re kidding, right? You know how we are with each other.” Duncan doesn’t say anything. “Uhm,” she looks behind her as if she were to be looking at someone. “Am I interrupting anything,” Duncan asks, pushing sudden disappointment and even slight jealousy down his throat. Looking back at Duncan, she shakes her head. “No, no. I was just, um,” she pauses. She sighs. “Okay. Don’t laugh, but.. I was watching Twilight,” she drops her arms. “Twilight,” Duncan actually laughs genuinely. “It’s my guilty pleasure, alright,” she defends. “I always liked the movies when I was younger. Everyone hated on it to just be ‘cool,’ and I don’t know, the story isn’t that bad.” Duncan raises his eyes like he’s calling bullshit. “Shut up,” she glares. “I said don’t judge me.” “I would never,” Duncan says teasingly. “Whatever,” she waves him off. “You want to come in then, or not?” She stands back, gesturing inside for him. Duncan gladly steps in, Y/N closing the door behind as he enters. “I’ll turn the movie off now, for your sake. But I hope you realize you’re cutting into my ‘me time.’ So you owe me,” she points, walking off into her living room and turning the movie off. “I’m so flattered,” Duncan retorts sarcastically as he follows her. “You should be. Of all the people to show to my doorstep, and it’s you,” she adds, shaking her head as she walks again towards her kitchen. “Oh come on, Y/N. You know you like me,” Duncan teases as he continues to follow her. Y/N walks around to the far side of her kitchen, rolling her eyes. “You are my least favorite human on the planet, Duncan.” “Then why are you allowing me into your home and letting me disturb your beloved Twilight time?” He asks as he stands at the door frame of the room. “Because I’m a nice fucking person, Shepherd,” she fires back.

Duncan grins, their banter and disputing always border-lining playfulness, therefore he knows that if he annoys her profusely, she still doesn’t hate him, even if she says she does.

“Anything you’d like to drink,” Y/N asks, reaching for her cabinets and opening them to grab some glasses. “Whatever you’re having,” Duncan says as he steps further into the kitchen and pulls a chair out at the counter bar in the middle of the room. “How about a shot of Whiskey,” Y/N offers as she places the glasses on the counter in front of him. “I’ll definitely have a glass,” Duncan explains, sighing out discreetly.

Biting her tongue, she can see that there’s something bothering Duncan. She heard it in his tone. She curiously wonders to herself what it could be, wondering if that’s why he’s actually come over to see her, maybe to talk to her about it. It would make more sense somehow compared to Duncan just wanting to “hang out” so suddenly.

Pouring Duncan a shot of whiskey and sliding the glass over to him, he gladly takes the cup, downing the drink in one swallow. She pours herself a glass too, and takes a seat beside Duncan at the counter where he sits. She refills Duncan’s glass again but tells him to slow down with a soft laugh.

“So what’s bugging you,” she asks, holding the glass in her hand but not drinking as she looks over at him beside her. Looking at her with a narrowed expression, he shakes his head a bit. “Bugging me? Nothing’s bugging me,” he lies. “Oh please,” she rolls her eyes. “Yes there is. I can read it on your face.” Duncan looks over at her with an impassive expression. “Don’t try and hide it now. I know something is bothering you,” she points out.

Duncan came over here in the first place wanting to confide and vent to Y/N, knowing she’s a good listener and nonjudgmental. But as he sits with her now in her kitchen, he can’t bring himself to utter the words he wants to. So he pushes it all down, trying to drown out the day’s events instead.

“Nope,” Duncan says as he downs the second shot of whiskey, letting out a deep sigh afterwards. “Just, coming to hang out.” “Seriously,” Y/N mutters, not believing him. “Yep.” Y/N sighs, “Alright. Whatever you say, Duncan. Cheers then,” she raises her glass and brings it to her lips, drinking down her whiskey shot. “I thought you didn’t like whiskey?” He questions as he watches her drink.

Y/N hated whiskey, actually. The smell, the taste, the burn afterwards. It disgusted her. It didn’t make her feel good or give her any way of relaxing. She despised the liquor. But she always had a bottle around now because she knew Duncan liked it, and when their friends would come over to hang out for whatever reason, she wanted to have the bottle just in case Duncan showed too, like last time.

She wasn’t going to admit this to him though.

“It’s alright sometimes,” Y/N grits, trying to hold back on giving a disgusted face over the taste and burn of the whiskey. She looks over at him. “It’s an acquired taste that not everyone appreciates.” “Didn’t I tell you that after you had a sip of my drink once and threw up over it?” Duncan asks, smirking lightly. “Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffs. “I didn’t throw up.” “You were practically dry heaving,” Duncan rolls his eyes. “You’re exaggerating. I had never tried it before, I just needed to get used to it.” “Mhm,” Duncan smiles. “Whatever you say, Y/N.” “Bite me, Duncan,” she rolls her eyes again, looking away.

Duncan doesn’t say anything as he grins and looks her up and down in her seat, taking in her outward appearance. Finding her as a mix of adorable and sexy, and loving how sassy and full spirited she could be with him, yet there was a sweetness to her too.

Looking back at Duncan, she asks, “So what actually brought you over here?”

Duncan’s grin fades, looking down at the empty glass of whiskey in front of him. He had almost forgot what was bothering him.

Pushing the glass away, he sighs, and pushes a hand through his brunette locks. He wanted to speak to Y/N so badly of the day’s events, but something in him had him refraining because he didn’t want to seem weak, or even unlovable, with telling her about the news. He wouldn’t want Y/N to think of him in those ways as it would potentially ruin any positivity she had for him, if there was any at all.

He shrugs, “I told you. Just wanted to hang out.” “Don’t give me that. We’re not exactly two peas in a pod,” she says. “Out of all the friends we have, and you decide to show up to my doorstep? To hang out?” Duncan brings a hand to his mouth, wiping away as if something were there. He looks away, trying to think of an excuse he can come up with that isn’t the truth. “Duncan,” Y/N says, bringing his focus back to her as he looks back at her. “What’s going on?” “I hadn’t seen you in awhile,” he tries to play off. She sighs out again. “Fine. Okay, I won’t pry. You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you, why you showed up,” she starts. “But you can talk to me, about whatever, if you need, you know,” she adds, tone softening.

He knew he could talk to her, which was the whole point of why he showed up. But he became more fearful in telling her what was going on the longer he sat there in front of her. Part of him desperately wanted to vent to her, to let out everything, but the other part kept him on lock down, refusing to let him speak.

His mind seemed to be racing with conflicting choices, adding to his distress of the day’s earlier events. “I think I need another shot,” he laughs lightly without humor, reaching over for the bottle of whiskey on the counter in front of them.

“Dude,” Y/N says, stopping his hand and pushing the bottle further away from him. “No, chill. Take it easy. Let me get you some water. I don’t need you to be the one dry-heaving after too many glasses.” Duncan can’t help but smile a bit over her words as she in-directs about her first experience with the drink.

After getting him a glass of water, Duncan thanks her, appreciating the refreshing drink and taking a long sip of the cool beverage, breathing out after. “What’s going on in that head of yours? I can see how whatever it is that’s bothering you is getting at you more and more the longer you’re here,” Y/N points out, trying to coax it out of him.

Duncan holds his breath for a moment. He did come all the way over here to vent to her, but should he really open to her, he wonders to himself. He knows he has nothing to be apprehensive about, but he can’t help but worry about what she will ultimately think. Yet, he knows he can trust her.

He sighs out after a quiet moment. He looks over at her, his eyes looking clouded and somewhat dispirited.

“Duncan,” she speaks softly, narrowing her eyes with sorrow, seeing a transition in his eyes. Usually his eyes are so lively, enticing, and ready to fire back with a comeback to match hers, but they’re dismal now. She reaches a hand over, covering his as it rests on the counter. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” She asks, her tone genuine and gentle. He glances at her hand on his before he shakes his head. Her touch is warm and caring, and it causes a stir in his chest. He looks back at Y/N, half-shrugging, “No, not really.” “What’s wrong,” she turns to him in her seat, facing him. “What happened?” He sighs out. “You can talk to me,” Y/N assures. “I know. I know I can,” Duncan begins. “It’s.. why I came over here,” he admits. Y/N nods a bit. She’s upset Duncan is obviously upset and has something bothering him. But she can’t ignore the fact that it makes her happy that Duncan chose her to trust with confiding to. “For some reason,” a reason Duncan wasn’t ready to admit, “I knew out of everyone in my life, you would be the most trustworthy and honest, actually,” he shakes his head again, looking away. Y/N thinks over his chosen words. “Did someone you trust betray you,” she asks. “’Betray,’” he laughs. “That’s a word for it.” “What is it? What is it that happened? Did someone do something?” “It’s what they didn’t do,” he looks back at her, scrunching his nose as he sniffs. Y/N looks at him, keeping quiet, but her expression encouraging him to talk. “I, um,” Duncan starts. She raises her eyes, her expression tender as she waits for Duncan to continue speaking. Duncan bites his tongue, but then sighs out. “I found out I.. I’m adopted,” he states sorrowful. Y/N’s eyes widen a bit, taking in the sudden words from Duncan. “Oh, wow. Um,” she trails off, trying to figure out the proper response to give. “It’s not that. Not completely,” Duncan leans back in his chair. “It’s the fact that my own ‘mother’ didn’t have the audacity to tell me herself, and that when I did find out, she didn’t bother explaining or, or... or to even console me about it,” he looks at her despairingly, “like it meant nothing,” Duncan breathes out. “What do you mean,” she narrows her eyes, trying to make sense of his words. “Fuck,” Duncan mumbles, closing his eyes for a second. He hates how vulnerable he is now in front of her. Looking away, he stands up. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have shown up, told you anything. I’m sorry, I’ll go,” he says, walking out of her kitchen without another look. “Duncan, wait,” Y/N stands up too, following after him. “Hold on Duncan,” she calls. Rushing after him, she grabs his shoulder before he reaches the door, turning him back to her. He looks away like he couldn’t care less. “Give me a minute, give me a second to listen to you, okay? I’m not judging you, I’m not gonna tell anyone anything about your business. You know that.” “That’s not my concern,” he looks at her. “I just know it, it’ll give you more of a reason to hate me probably. I mean, my own ‘family’ doesn’t care about me apparently, so why would you?” “Duncan, of course they care, they,” she trails off, stopping, trying to find the right words to say. “I, I can’t understand what you’re talking about unless you tell me everything that happened.” “I don’t want to talk about everything that happened. I’m trying to block it out of my mind, Y/N,” Duncan exclaims. Y/N nods, “Right, okay, you’re right, I’m sorry. I know. I should know that. I just, I don’t know how to help without knowing the full story.” “You don’t have to fucking know everything,” he calls, gesturing a hand out. “Maybe just, I don’t know, just,” he trails off, shaking his head. He just wanted to be told he was worth an explanation, told it would be okay, to just be held, to have someone to hold onto. Releasing a deep breath, he brings his hands to his face, trying to hide the fact that his eyes are beginning to water. “Duncan, hey, it’s okay,” she speaks softly, stepping over. She reaches up to grab his wrists, pulling gently on them until he drops them with hers to expose his sorrowful face. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, we don’t need to talk about it. I’m here. I’m here for you, whatever you need. I’m here.”

With her hold still on Duncan’s wrists, she brings them to wrap around her shoulders as she closes the space between them and wraps her arms around his torso.

She hugs him, her hold tight but not constricting, her hands trailing gently along his back soothingly. Her hold comforting, and safe, giving Duncan a sense of security he didn’t realize he had been craving.

He begins to wonder if this is how all her hugs felt. The two always greeted with a snarky hello or teasing wave. They were never close enough to be personal with each other, much less to even hug. It’s why this whole situation was confusing and a bit difficult, to be unguarded like this.

Tightening his own hold around Y/N, he nuzzles his face into her hair and the crook of her neck, as if he’s trying to hide away from the world. He sighs into her hold, taking in her embrace, feeling a solace in Y/N that he had never felt before with anyone. Not with any of his “family,” past relationships, other friends, no one. It confused him, adding to the bewilderment of why something in him wanted to reach out to her in the first place. But ultimately, Duncan was more than thankful to his own self for making the decision to come see her.

Duncan was still perplexed at how Y/N had managed to calm him down. He seemed to be breaking down earlier when starting to shout at her a bit. The day’s events were starting to overcome him. But once he had her hold around him, it was like a release, a breath of fresh air for him. He could breathe again, think clearly, felt he was alright and cared for.

Y/N lured him to the couch, causing him to sit beside her while she tucked her feet underneath her. She let Duncan take his time with opening up to her.

As he gradually began to open up, he felt more of a relief flooding him, finally letting out everything that had happened. He told her how once actually asking his “mother” where he was from, he knew it was true he was adopted from the way she reacted. It hurt him to know that he had been lied to, but it hurt more when Annette didn’t bother to talk to him.

“She didn’t even fucking say anything to me. She just stormed off to Seth and yelled about wanting to put out the headline of Claire’s fucking abortion. It was like she didn’t even care how it was impacting me, just wanted to get her stupid revenge, or whatever,” Duncan glared, fighting back tears for a minute as he recalled the earlier events of the day. “You deserve better,” she tells him. “You deserved more respect, and reasoning, more than what you got,” Y/N explains, holding his hand in her lap.

The comforting touch of her hand with his had him hesitating on what to say next. She rubbed soft circles against his skin, her warm-hearted spirit coursing through his mind as he imagined his next move.

Glancing from their hands to her face, he studied her eyes, desperately wanting to know what was going through her mind as all of this unfolded. Her eyes were pure, showcasing an emotion he didn’t know how to interpret.

Even as his eyes flickered around her face, glancing over her lips on more than one occasion, he didn’t know how to read her expression. But he started reading more into his own feelings instead, figuring he should discover what he’s feeling instead of trying to figure her out first.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, in this way,” Y/N added apologetically. “If there’s anything more I can do, let me know. I’ll listen to you all night if I need to.”

Duncan’s eyes glance over her face again for a moment before he forces himself to look away. The kindness in her voice, the beauty she radiated, he had to look away from her in order to not lean over and kiss her. The crave he felt in him, of wanting his lips against hers, it was an unending greediness he realized he had always felt for her but was too afraid to think upon.

“Does this mean I can start campaigning for you to be more liberal now,” Y/N says teasingly. Duncan laughs a bit, smiling as he looks back at her. “Really? That’s your concern now?” Y/N grins a bit, “No. I just wanted to make you smile.” Duncan rolls his eyes, still smiling. “See, it worked though,” she points, laughing a bit as she looks over at him with a look of fondness. “You have a great smile. It lights up any room,” she breathes out sheepishly. Duncan’s smile fades a bit, only because her words catch him off guard. The compliment causes his heart to beat faster inside of his chest. “You’re one to talk. Your smile is beautiful, really it’s my favorite thing about you.” Y/N raises her eyes. “Well. One of my favorite things about you,” he adds. Y/N flushes a bit, biting on her lip as she fights her own urge to lean over and kiss him, too. “I should probably get going,” Duncan says flatly. “I don’t want to take up too much of your night,” he stands, knowing he needs to leave before he does something stupid, like kiss her, considering he really wants to. Y/N stands up too. “It’s not really a big deal. You’re always welcomed over here,” she explains with a casual tone. She didn’t want Duncan to leave. But she couldn’t show any disappointment or honesty about it. She didn’t know Duncan didn’t want to leave her either.

As Y/N walks him to her door, she crosses her arms as Duncan opens it, but turns back to her.

“Thanks for tonight. I.. really appreciated it,” Duncan tells her sincerely. Y/N nods, “Of course. I’m here for you, whenever. About whatever.” Duncan nods too. He looks over her frame, wishing he could stay longer, wishing she’d ask him to stay, wishing he would just admit the feelings he has for her as he’s starting to accept them as the seconds pass. As his eyes look over her face, an unintentional smile grows on his face. “What,” Y/N asks, raising her eyes. Duncan hesitates, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just.. You’re really great,” he says, looking at her adoringly. Y/N smiles. “Get home safely. Call me if you need anything.” Duncan gives a nod. “I will.” “Good night,” she adds.

Duncan takes a step away, Y/N stepping forward to close the door after she sees him off. But as she looks up at him as he steps back over to her she looks at him confused. Duncan leans over, and smoothly presses his lips to her cheek sweetly.

The simple, innocent touch of his lips against her skin, the feel of his stubble along her, has her heart fluttering in a way she never figured possible. “Good night, Y/N,” Duncan smiles as he pulls away, a hint of a smirk residing on his face. He steps away, heading for his car, leaving Y/N with prominent rosy cheeks that were impossible to miss, even in the nightfall.

Watching Duncan leave, she knew deep down that the feelings she had for him were far more than just friendly or playful. It worried her as she felt Duncan wouldn’t ever return the same feelings.

But she still couldn’t help but wonder that maybe if she filled the cracks in his heart, he would fill the same cracks in hers too someday.

#Duncan Shepherd #Duncan Shepherd x reader #House of Cards #House of Cards season six #House of Cards season 6 #Duncan Shepherd x fem! reader #duncan shepherd x fem reader #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd story #duncan shepherd fanfic #duncan sheperd #michael langdon imagine #Michael Langdon fanfic #Michael Langdon oneshot #Michael langdon one shot #Michael Langdon x reader #duncan shepherd oneshot #duncan shepherd one shot

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 4 years

Text

Trying to make sense of each Terminator movie

The timeline is a jumbled mess, and none of the sequels can keep it straight. None, not even T2, which is one of the greatest sequels of all time.

Okay, so, to start; Terminator 1 takes place in 1984. There is nothing ambiguous about this, it says as much on screen

The only possible ambiguity comes from the exact date; the cop that Kyle encounters say it is “twelfth, May, Thursday.” May 12, 1984 was a Saturday, but the script was written with the production year 1983 in mind. But that’s excusable, because the date is not important, just the year. 1984. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Jump ahead to T2, which takes place unambiguously in 1995. The T-1000 looks up John’s arrest record and confirms that.

2/28/85 plus age 10 makes 1995. QED

The problem comes from the fact that the T-800 (Uncle Bob) gives contradictory information about the future. I think James Cameron intended for T2 to take place in 1994, because a bunch of dates don’t line up. Uncle Bob says John sent him from 35 years in the future; the future war is set in 2029, but 35 years after T2 would be 2030. I can forgive this, but later Uncle Bob starts explaining Skynet and Cyberdyne, and says in no uncertain terms “in three years, Cyberdyne will become the largest supplier of military computer systems.” If T2 takes place in 1995, that would mean Cyberdyne comes into power in 1998, a year after the given date of Judgement Day (August 29, 1997).

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If T2 is set in 1994, it makes more sense, with both the 35-year and 3-year comments lining up, but that would make John 9 years old, and Edward Furlong is obviously a teenager (he was 13 during production). Him playing a 10 year old is pushing it, but him playing 9 is completely out of the question.

T3 disregards everything by saying that John was 13 during the events of T2, and that Sarah died in 1997 after a three year long battle with leukemia. That would mean she was diagnosed in 1994, which doesn’t fit with T2 taking place in 1995, and would mean John was born in 1981 at the latest, even though the first movie is definitely set in 1984.

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The date of T3 Judgement Day is unclear. Some sources say it was 2003, others say 2004, the movie just says that it’s been 10 years since T2. So, 2005 is the latest it could be. The writers of T3 disregarded everything because they wanted John to be older, so it doesn’t count.

Everything after T3 has been a soft reboot. Salvation ostensibly takes place following the events of T3, but has a different cast and doesn’t feel thematically related. If we assume it is a direct sequel to T3, then we can ignore it for the same reasons we skip T3 itself.

Genisys throws a wrench in everything by adding convoluted time travel subplots that bring multiple timelines together in ways that only make sense to the writers because they were hoping to explore it in more detail in the sequels they never got to make.

Dark Fate directly follows T2; the prologue is set in 1998, and the bulk of the film is set 22 years later in 2020. We don’t know exactly when this version of Judgement Day occurs, because the actress playing young Grace looks the same before, during, and after Judgement Day. Old Grace comes from 2042, and has nothing to do with Skynet or the original movies, so we can again disregard it, not because it doesn’t count, but because it has minimal connections to T1 and T2. It’s its own story.

None of the timelines work together, they’re all mutually exclusive. Even T2, my beloved T2, is not without continuity flaws. James Cameron wrote himself into a corner by making Judgement Day so soon after the first movie. If he had put Judgement Day in the year 2000, or maybe even later, there would be more wiggle room, John could have been older, it all could have made more sense. The creators never intended for all the movies to tie together, they never thought anyone would bother trying to make sense of it because the specifics are ultimately irrevelvant to the story.

In the end, the most important thing to remember is this:

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“It’s just a show, you should really just relax.” You got me dead to rights MST3K.

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I love this franchise, but I have too much time on my hands.

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raendown · 5 years

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@madatobiweek Day 4 Prompt: Marriage of convenience Also for Day 2 Prompt: Growing old together

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 6707 Rated: T+ Summary:“Are you saying I’m so undesirable that I can’t find a husband of my own?” he asked, unsure if he was even taking the idea seriously or not.

A smile quirked his lips when Tobirama let out an easy chuckle.“You haven’t yet.”

Madara narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t bring the truth in to this.”

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Now and Forever

“We should get married.”

Madara lifted his head from where it had been buried in paperwork he wasn’t all that interested in doing, glad for any sort of distraction. He looked over to where Tobirama stood by the window with a whimsical expression on his face and his arms tucked in to the sleeves of his haori, half-lidded eyes watching the flow of citizens passing by on the streets below. With deliberate movements Madara set his pen aside and sat back in his seat to mirror the other man’s pose.

“Should we?” he asked, willing to play along if it would keep him from reading any more budget reports.

“Neither of us is getting any younger,” Tobirama pointed out. “And I don’t know about you but I think it would be rather nice to have someone to wake up next to. I’ve spent a lot of years living alone; it would be nice not to anymore.”

“Hmm.”

Tilting his head to one side, Madara considered those points. Forty years had done very little to age the man before him. Despite the lines deepening around the corners of Madara’s eyes and mouth Tobirama remained relatively untouched by the ravages of time. The animosity and anger that had defined their relationship during the early years of the village was long since cooled, leaving in its place mutual respect and a calm companionship. He might actually call them friends if not for the excuse that there was almost always another mutual loved one there when they spent time together outside of work. Whether it be Izuna or Hashirama didn’t matter, their two families had grown close enough to blur the lines in several different ways.

It wasn’t an unattractive proposition, really, just as Tobirama was not an unattractive man. Madara could admit that he had given thought to a tumble in the sheets several times over the past couple of decades but there always seemed to be something holding him back – one of their brothers, poor timing, the tumultuous nature of their relationship in the beginning. Marriage, on the other hand, that subject had been on his mind and stuck there more times than he could count, although never in conjunction with Tobirama.

Watching his best friend’s relationship with Mito grow stronger year by year left him yearning for that same companionship. Yet it simply wasn’t in his nature to set out looking for love, being more the retiring type who figured either love would find him along the way or he would merely have to content himself with the precious people already in his life. Tobirama’s whimsical suggestion rather neatly found a way around that.

“Are you saying I’m so undesirable that I can’t find a husband of my own?” he asked, unsure if he was even taking the idea seriously or not. A smile quirked his lips when Tobirama let out an easy chuckle.

“You haven’t yet.”

Madara narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t bring the truth in to this.”

He preened a little when that earned him an outright laugh. Despite age relaxing them both quite a bit Tobirama was still known as quite a stern and reserved individual. Outright laughter was a rare gift and hard-earned by very few, typically more given to quiet chuckles or soft huffs of amusement. Tobirama unfolded his arms and turned away from the window at such an angle that the afternoon sunlight lit his hair and left a crown of gold circled around his pale locks.

“We get along. I find you attractive. And one-night stands lost their shine long before I started approaching middle age. It would be nice, wouldn’t it, to have someone to call your own? It’s not love but companionship would be…well. We’d have someone to bring along to family dinners – that we both already attend anyway.” Tobirama shrugged casually, everything about him loose and at ease as though he were only speculating out loud without caring one way or the other what answer he got. And yet there was something about his tone and the faraway look in his eyes that said his suggestion hadn’t been quite as whimsical as it originally seemed.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Madara asked.

“It’s not a bad idea. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Hm.” Sitting forward and resting his chin on one palm, Madara tried to picture it.

Going home at night to find another body there like he used to find Izuna waiting to greet him. Laying his head down in the winter and curling himself in to welcoming heat. Lounging in the summer haze with their toes dipped in the koi pond in his backyard, shoulders brushing and voices low while they chatted about how far this village had come and all the great things the next generations would do with the foundations they had been given.

It truly wasn’t such a bad idea. Several extended missions together had taught him that Tobirama was an easy man to live with. Waking up to that face every morning and sating himself in that body when the mood took them wouldn’t exactly be a hardship. Actually the more he thought about it the more he realized the idea appealed to him.

“Alright.” It slipped out almost without his permission but he didn’t take it back. “Yes. Let’s get married.”

Tobirama blinked, watched him for a moment to be sure that he wasn’t just pulling some sort of joke, then ducking his chin with a warm smile that somehow made the hard angles of his face look soft. Looking at that smile made the corners of his own mouth twitch and Madara thought to himself with some surprise that he probably wouldn’t regret this. In fact, he was actually looking forward to it.

It was likely that if both of them had been younger and still clinging to the trappings of inflated pride their engagement would probably have stretched for twice as long as they quibbled over the smallest details of their upcoming nuptials, striving against each other for both of their clans to be properly represented. Pride still straightened both their tired spines in the morning but it had banked in to quiet embers rather than flames barely contained and ready to burst forth at the slightest notice. It was easy enough to come to a few compromises when they were needed.

Although they did take the time to enjoy a few arguments. They would always be themselves no matter how old they got and at this point bickering had become a beloved ritual they refused to give up on.

Barely a handful of months passed between their engagement and the wedding, just enough time for the winter snows to melt and spring to bloom with a little help from their retired first Hokage. Most of the planning had actually been handled by Mito and Hikaku while the two bridegrooms spent as much time as they could out of the village for any duty they could possibly scrounge up to avoid all the gossip surrounding their decision. Rumors about a hidden love affair were only humorous if they were kept to whispers when the subjects passed by. When people started approaching them with questions to settle the betting pools that had popped up, that was the point at which they both started disappearing. Where was the fun is clearing the mystery?

The ceremony was held on top of the mountain overlooking the village, Madara and Tobirama exchanging their vows as the sun set between their linked hands. Originally they had intended for Hashirama to officiate but after realizing he was likely to ruin the ceremony with copious amounts of crying they asked Mito instead. It was a good choice in the end as their predictions came true and Hashirama spent most of the ceremony weeping where he stood at Tobirama’s side in witness.

Not truly listening to the woman he already considered as a distant sister-in-law, Madara watched the orange and gold light of sunset play across Tobirama’s face, setting his skin aflame. Despite throwing himself headlong in to this partnership and experiencing no doubts since then it was still at least a mild surprise to find himself so calm now that it was all actually happening. Tobirama lifted one of his eyebrows ever so slightly as if to ask where his thoughts had drifted off to and Madara replied with a light shrug that could have been passed off as shifting his position, not wanting to anger Mito. Even after all this time it simply felt off to be so content with his place in life.

Izuna was making catcalls almost before Mito could finish telling them to seal their vows with a kiss, at which point Madara realized that the entirety of the small gathering was about to bear witness to their very first kiss. Before any sort of performance anxiety could take him Tobirama leaned forward to demonstrate one of the more interesting benefits of agreeing to this marriage.

Sweet kami but the man could kiss.

Wild applause from both of their brothers almost drowned out the smattering of enthusiasm from their other guests and they were each dragged in to tight hugs the moment their lips parted. Mito sounded both exasperated and fond as she announced them bonded for life, husbands until death parted them. Her words barely registered. Madara was too caught up watching over Izuna’s shoulder to catch what glimpses he could of the rare warm smile on his partner’s face and imagining what it would be like to wake up to that smile tomorrow morning – and the morning after that one and indeed for the rest of their lives.

They were swept away before he could get lost in his own head any further and hurried along to the pavilion set up a couple dozen feet back from the edge to have dinner with their families and treasured ones. During the rush of good food and endless well wishes Madara found himself strangely relaxed. It still felt odd sometimes looking out at all the faces around him and knowing that some of them had once been his dire enemies, that most of them would have killed him on sight with no remorse, yet now they would mourn his death nearly as much as they would Hashirama’s. The man at his side had been chief among those who once sought his death yet here they were now wearing matching rings and winding their arms together to drink from each other’s sake cups for the amusement of their guests. It was strange, the paths life had taken him down. Even stranger that he regretted none of them.

After dinner came the dancing during which Madara and Tobirama mostly sat to one side in conversation or mingled with the rest of the crowd. Only a handful of times were either of them successfully dragged on to the floor and only twice did they dance with each other, once in the traditional first dance of the night and once when half of their guests had already left, Tobirama surprising Madara by offering his hand with that same quiet whimsical smile he had worn when he offered his hand in marriage.

Of course Madara took it. They said little to each other as they danced, swaying together in a simple pattern since neither of them really knew how to do anything more. And when the music changed and Tobirama asked if he would like to go home Madara nodded without words. He was more than ready to start his new life as a husband – almost eager, in fact. They weren’t in love but they could be said to be good friends and he saw no reason they wouldn’t make each other’s lives better for being together.

Their wedding night wasn’t nearly as awkward as it could have been. In fact it was much more pleasant than most of the other experiences Madara had stumbled his way through in the past. Neither of them felt the need to stand on ceremony or do anything to make the evening special in any way but it was certainly a night to remember even without anything like that. Madara woke the next morning feeling languid and something close enough to happy that he was almost inspired to whistle as he made up their breakfast.

He didn’t though. Dignity hadn’t yet abandoned him entirely.

Life as a married man was…calm. Easier than he would have thought. Like all couples they had their disagreements and finding a way to balance their personal habits when they were both so used to being alone took a bit of figuring out. Yet the barriers between them were always thin and easily broken down with words. Age was rarely a disadvantage but in their relationship it was most of what kept them together until they found a way to coexist properly.

On their first anniversary Tobirama waited until evening had cleared the administration tower before leading Madara in to his office where he had pushed the furniture against the walls and laid out a simple picnic for them to enjoy.

“Well look at you being romantic.”

“Brother made so much noise when I mentioned we didn’t plan to celebrate that I told him I would think about it mostly to get some peace and quiet.” Tobirama shrugged as he settled on to the blanket and reached for the basket of food left close by. Madara followed with one eyebrow lifted.

“I will admit, that makes much more sense. And I’m not going to complain since this was my night to make dinner. If you want to do the work for me then I’m alright with that.”

“Oh don’t worry.” His husband smirked as he uncapped the sake bottle. “I’m going to let you cook dinner tomorrow to make up for it.”

Madara leaned against him to laugh, accepting his drink and the plate of all his favorite finger foods. Just inside the basket he could see a covered dish of inarizushi waiting for dessert. It was hard to tell sometimes what Tobirama had learned about him since they married and what he had simply picked up over the years through exposure of listening to Hashirama’s endless babble. Not that it mattered as long as it got him inarizushi to nibble on.

They ate together mostly in silence broken only by the occasional flicker of quiet conversation. Outside the window the stars were bright and the moon full, a pleasant backdrop to admire when they weren’t simply enjoying each other’s company. During the periods when they fell quiet Madara found himself reflecting on the past year, all the ways his life had changed and all the ways it hadn’t. He thought about what things would have been like if he hadn’t accepted Tobirama’s offer, how unremarkable his days would be, full of loneliness though he would still have denied it even to himself.

“Happy anniversary,” he murmured.

“It is, isn’t it?” Tobirama leaned in a little closer to refill his sake but Madara set the dish aside after only one sip.

“Kiss me,” he demanded. With a smirk, Tobirama was only too happy to indulge him.

He also seemed happy to indulge Madara’s stomach as well, feeding him inarizushi by hand and licking his lips clean for him afterwards until they set the food aside in favor of other appetites. It was hardly the first time they had defiled various corners of the tower but something felt different this time, warmer almost, like there was an element in their coupling that either hadn’t been there before or hadn’t been allowed. Madara couldn’t pinpoint exactly where his thoughts were trying to go with that but since he had other more interesting things going on at the moment he let the idea slip away from him as easily as the breathy moan that followed the hands drawing him towards an inexorable peak.

Tobirama was attentive in the aftermath, tracing patterns on his skin with something unreadable in his eyes. Without the energy to even think of trying to figure out such a complicated man’s emotions Madara simply allowed himself to revel in his husband’s attention. He created a clone just to have it clean up the room after them and pulled Tobirama down on to the picnic blanket with him, doing his best to disguise how out of breath he felt.

“Out of stamina already?” Tobirama teased him with a nip on the shoulder. “You’re getting out of shape, old man.”

“I’ll show you out of shape!”

Both of them were smirking when Madara pounced, ready to prove himself with another round.

As it had a tendency to, time went on. More anniversaries passed and their partnership only grew stronger with every one. Finally Madara had that which he had been jealous of others for: companionship. It still wasn’t love but he found as time went on that it was quite a pleasant substitute, enough so that he couldn’t speak to having any regrets about where life had taken him.

His thoughts were quiet and his mood content when he found Tobirama enjoying the weather on a warm evening just at the cusp between spring and summer. Some of the chairs on their back porch had accidentally been left out in the rain so he pressed his hands against each of the cushions to find one that wasn’t damp and pulled that one over to sit next to where his husband appeared to have spaced out entirely, staring out in to the empty backyard with no facial expression to speak of. It was only when Madara reached out to lay a hand on his wrist that he stirred.

“Is everything alright?” Madara asked.

“Yes, yes. Just thinking.”

“Anything particularly interesting? No more thoughts about the dead rising again, I hope.”

Tobirama cracked an easy smile but shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t want to listen to those lectures again, thank you. I had something rather more pleasant on my mind.”

“Could have fooled me with such a serious expression.”

He hadn’t meant anything by it so he was a little surprised to have Tobirama turn to him with a grave look in his eyes, deep ruby red in the low light yet pretty in a way that made him wonder how he could have ever hated this man. They stared at each other until he raised his eyebrows in question and Tobirama smiled at him again.

“I love you,” he murmured simply. Madara stared.

“You…did you…?”

“No, I didn’t feel this way when we got married. You grew on me over time, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

Something heavy like guilt settled in his chest. The life they had built together was a good one and he was happy, he couldn’t deny that, but love? If he were asked to be honest he could not say that he loved Tobirama, not in the way it was clear his husband meant. Whatever spiral he was about to go down paused at the touch of fingers to his jaw, the twist of Tobirama’s wrist to weave their other hands together.

“You don’t feel the same,” he acknowledged, “and that’s alright. We both knew how we felt when we got married. Nothing has to change; I don’t expect you to feel any different simply because I do. I only wanted to say it because…well because I wanted to.” With a shrug he seemed to dismiss the entire subject and Madara was left feeling adrift.

For a while they sat in silence again. It was almost unfair how at peace Tobirama seemed to be, his conscience clear with that off his chest. Madara, however, was left to wrestle with the weight of knowing that his partner loved him while he felt nothing but companionship, friendship. Obviously it wasn’t as though he felt nothing, just that he didn’t feel quite the same. It didn’t feel like enough. The issue stayed with him for the rest of the hour they spent outside and all the way through getting ready for bed. He was still wrapped up in it by the time Tobirama pulled him down under the covers and told him that he was being ridiculous.

“It isn’t hurting me, really. We’re already together so there’s no sense in pining for something I already have. Whether or not you return my love won’t change anything so don’t be stupid.” With a roll of his eyes he pulled Madara down to lay on his chest. “If it bothers you then I won’t ever mention it again.”

“No, it’s fine. If you want to say it…”

Tobirama’s fingers in his hair were unfairly soothing. “I love you,” he whispered. “This life is more than I could have hoped to have. Thank you for agreeing to marry me.”

Madara chose not to reply but instead rolled his body a little closer and entwined their legs like he always did before going to sleep. Before long his husband had given in to dreams and he was left awake to contemplate things he couldn’t change and things that he could. He could end this relationship, though it would throw several years of happiness out the window and benefit no one in any way. He also could stay and go on being happy with someone who cared for him and would continue to do so.

He’d always heard that married life would bring unique challenges, though he was fairly sure this wasn’t the sort of thing anyone had in mind when they told him that at the wedding.

After lying awake for several hours eventually Madara decided that the best course of action was to simply do as Tobirama had suggested, to let it go, to not feel bad about it. If Tobirama said that the situation wasn’t hurting him then all Madara could do was trust his word.

Since neither he nor his husband had ever had the urge to procreate or carry on their family genes, preferring to leave that particular duty to their other siblings, children hadn’t ever been a conversation they felt the need to have.

From the amount of times he had found Uchiha Kagami raiding their fridge before either of them had even made it out of bed Madara thought perhaps they would need to have that chat after all.

“You understand, of course, that this is not your home and that is not your food.” He took great pleasure in watching Kagami jump with fright, slamming his head on the inside of the cupboard he’d been halfway inside. When the younger man turned around Madara scowled. Closing in on forty himself now, Kagami could hardly be called a young man anymore. This sort of thievery should be beneath him.

“I was hungry,” the brat protested. “And my house is empty.”

“Perhaps you should stock up on nonperishables before leaving for extended missions then.” Despite his own protests Madara still pulled out three plates to set the table before he began cooking.

Kagami sank down in to one of the chairs with that same old innocent grin that had first charmed Tobirama in to teaching him all those years ago. If it wasn’t for the stubble around his jaw it might actually look the same as it did back then, stupid baby-faced idiot. Madara resisted the urge to press at the wrinkles gathering around his eyes.

The two of them were bickering like parent and child when Tobirama finally made his way out of bed, absently gracing Madara with a kiss on the way passed to ruffle Kagami’s hair. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find his old student there. It was things like this that made Madara wonder if the apron strings had ever truly been cut between those two or if Tobirama even realized that he basically acted like the boy’s unofficial adoptive father. It seemed like something his husband would do, adopt a child without ever really admitted it even to himself.

After setting the tea kettle on and preparing three cups Tobirama sat down across from Kagami and chatted with him about the mission he’d just returned from. Madara listened to their chatter with one ear, nodding occasionally and snorting at the stupidity of others. When breakfast was ready he separated three portions of egg and sat down between the other two where his fading hearing could enjoy their gossip better.

It was a pleasant way to spend the morning and, despite what his grumbling would have others believe, it was one of his favorite ways to start the day. Only waking slowly to a hot mouth exploring his body could beat out the lazy contentment of spending that first hour in the company of family. Sometimes he even preferred the company of these two instead of the days when Izuna showed up to bother him. Madara loved his brother, truly he did, would never not love him, but age had not dimmed his energy levels and there were days when Madara simply could not be bothered to keep up with the man.

Getting old was supposed to be honorable and majestic. So far he found that it only made his limbs creak.

Neither his husband nor his clansman mentioned anything about him not contributing to the conversation; there wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary about him preferring to keep to himself, especially this early in the morning. Until breakfast was done he stayed quiet and concentrated on his eggs and when Kagami left he mumbled a goodbye and made sure to ruffle those insufferable curls on the way by. If he had to feel old today then someone else should have to feel unnecessarily young. It was only fair.

While Tobirama puttered around cleaning up the plates Madara watched him. He was in an oddly contemplative and whimsical mood, apparently, as he found himself asking odd questions without thinking about them first.

“Did you ever want to adopt him?” His husband paused and turned to blink in his direction.

“It never crossed my mind.”

“But if you could have would you? He was always your favorite.”

“Who knows?” Tobirama shrugged casually like it didn’t matter and turned back to the sink, running water so he could wash the dishes.

Madara scowled. “Fine. Well if you could have adopted – not Kagami, maybe, but just a child of your own choosing – would you have?”

“Didn’t we talk about this shortly after we took our vows?” Tobirama shot back.

“Answering a question with another question is cheating! You know I hate that!”

“I just don’t see what the point of your question is. If I ever did want children, well, I suppose we do have Kagami now that you point it out. And if I didn’t, great, never had to change any diapers except a couple for Hashirama’s spawn.”

Resisting the urge to smile out of habit, because the mutual dislike between Tobirama and his nephew would always be hilarious, Madara scowled harder instead. He hated not getting answers and he hated ever more when Tobirama deliberately avoided his questions.

“Just answer me!” he half-shouted.

Tobirama turned away from the sink and dried his hands on a nearby towel, taking a moment to look Madara deep in the eyes as he thought about what to say. When he finally spoke it was with the dawning light of understanding in his eyes and a step forward to grace Madara with a single soft kiss on the lips.

“The answer is yes, you have always been enough.”

“But…that wasn’t my question,” Madara protested in a very small voice.

“It’s what you were really asking.”

He didn’t really have anything to say to that. Tobirama was right, although he hadn’t even realized it himself until it was said out loud. Rather than face the implications of that he huffed and pushed his husband back towards the dishes he was supposed to be washing. It was a deal they had made very early on, that whoever cooked should be exempt from the cleanup. So far it had worked to eliminate quite a lot of fights.

“I have…things to do,” he announced.

Tobirama’s warm chuckle followed him all the way out of the house but Madara couldn’t say he minded as much as he pretended to.

The lights were all out when he entered but Madara was able to make out Tobirama’s profile against the massive windows on the far side of the room. Muttering under his breath about creepy idiots wandering around in the dark, he made his way over to the desk and lit the candles there with a tightly controlled fire jutsu. When he turned around Tobirama was still in the same spot looking through the window at the village below.

“What, pray tell, is so interesting that you’re still here at this time? It’s passed midnight!” He shuffled over to bring a candle to his husband, clucking in disapproval when he noted the bags under his eyes. “Don’t you understand the meaning of retirement?”

“This is my last night as Hokage,” Tobirama said.

“So that means you have to sit vigil over the office until morning? Are you worried someone might make off with it or something?”

“No. I was just wondering…what Hashirama did on his last night here.”

Madara froze. “Oh.”

Well now he just felt like an ass. Here he was scolding the man for staying up late when all he was trying to do was honor the memory of a loved one recently passed. Hashirama’s loss had rocked the entire village and no one had taken it harder yet with more grace than Tobirama had. The illness that had forced their first Hokage to retire came back to hit him hard and this time his body was too old to fight it off.

Now here Tobirama stood in the place where his elder brother had stood, ready to give up his place as his predecessor had, and Madara supposed he could see how that would leave a man in an introspective mood. If the issue at hand weren’t such a heavy one he might have cracked a joke of some sort or broken the mood with the classic grumpiness others had come to expect from him. However, even he knew better than to cross certain lines. Tobirama gifted him with a soft kiss on the temple and a grateful look when he set down the candle and wormed his way under the man’s arm.

“If memory serves,” he murmured, “he spent his last night in office trying to complete some paperwork that he’d told you was done a week before.”

“That sounds like him.” Tobirama’s eyes crinkled in a smile. It truly was unfair how free of wrinkles he was even after all this time. Madara’s theory was a deal with the devil, though he still hadn’t figured out what the devil might want in return for a wrinkle-free face.

Each slipping away in to their own thoughts for a while, the two of them stood by the window of the Hokage’s office and watched the moon trek slowly across the sky above their village. Konoha had grown in so many ways since the days when it was little more than a collection of mokuton-grown huts and dreams tied together with hope. There was so much to be proud of, so many people to be grateful for. Madara could hardly believe that once he had thought this dream a foolish childhood distraction no longer within reach. It was hard to imagine where he would be now if not in the arms of the man beside him.

Tilting his head up, he studied the way Tobirama’s face looked framed with moonlight. No age spots marred his perfectly white skin, no discoloration had touched his eyes. His nose was slightly crooked now after getting broken on a mission and not healing properly but in Madara’s eyes he was the most handsome man in all the Elemental Nations.

“Should we go home?” he asked quietly, trying to make a suggestion without letting it sound like a demand. Demands were for those who were still young enough to have the energy to back them up.

“I think I’d like to stay a little longer.” Tobirama took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “This has been my office for almost longer than it was his and yet I still feel him here every day. I hope every person who sits in that chair feels the same.”

“A bit creepy,” Madara said under his breath.

To his delight that surprised a laugh out of his husband. “I suppose you could see it as creepy.”

“Yes, I could because it is. No one wants that mug staring at them from the afterlife.” He was relieved to hear laughter again rather than the sharp intake of an offended gasp. Tobirama’s arm tightened around him and he felt another kiss press against his forehead.

“Maybe you were right. Let’s go home. Brother won’t mind if I remember him from somewhere more comfortable than a dusty office.”

“As long as you don’t remember him from our bed,” Madara tutted.

“Yes, dear.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Madara waved his hand with a small wind jutsu that he only remembered because memories made with the Sharingan lasted forever. All the candles snuffed out at once and plunged them in to total darkness but he only leaned in to his partner’s side a little more and let the man with better eyesight lead them out of the room.

Someday soon they were going to have to face the fact that they had finally reached that age where their friends and family started dying of old age rather than the battles they had all retired from years before. But…not tonight. Tonight he had a husband with warms hands to hold as they tottered off in to the chilly night. Tonight they were still alive and ready to kick ass the next day, next week, and for a few more years after that at least.

“I’m old.” Watching himself in the mirror as he spoke, Madara grimaced at the way his lips didn’t quite move as spryly as they used to. Once upon a time he’d had full lips with a wicked grin. Now his wrinkles had wrinkles and his lips had thinned, all shriveled up as Izuna had once teased him.

“That you are,” an amused voice agreed from just outside the room. Madara harrumphed and stormed out of the bathroom as best he could on creaky knees.

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m still handsome!”

Unrepentant, Tobirama looked him down and back up with laughter in his eyes. “You should know my views on that by now, shouldn’t you? Fishing for compliments isn’t very gentlemanly.”

He was all but chuckling to himself as he stripped out of his lounge robe and pulled on a nightshirt, still disgustingly fit and attractive despite only being a handful of years younger. Every year Madara swore that the next would catch up with his husband and every birthday proved him wrong. Still he refused to give up on the idea and continued to insist; to give up on the idea would be to give in to the accusations that he was vain and there was absolutely no way he would be admitting to that.

At least he still had better hair, though. Even if it had gone white a long time ago.

Tobirama slipped under the covers and settled on his side. When he beckoned Madara resisted just to make his point but ultimately they both knew he was going to cave. Nothing got him to sleep faster than being wrapped up in his partner’s arms and listening to that soft familiar breathing pattern, feeling the comforting drumbeat of Tobirama’s heart against his back.

Crawling under the sheets and worming his way across the mattress in to the arms waiting for him felt more like coming home then he’d ever experienced all those years he lived by himself, dragging himself back to Konoha after a long mission just to pass out alone atop cold and dusty blankets. Neither of them had been out on a mission in more than a decade and still coming home to Tobirama’s embrace felt like he had won something from the day, beaten away the shadows of what could have been.

When soft lips pressed against the back of his neck he smiled and closed his eyes, expecting his dreams to be sweet.

“I love you,” Tobirama whispered.

Madara’s eyes slowly opened again as something bubbled up in his chest, foreign yet familiar, never named though it had been growing there for probably longer than he realized.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, awed by how much he meant it. Behind him Tobirama gave a sharp intake of breath and Madara realized suddenly that he was grinning like a fool. Just to feel the words again he repeated himself, “I love you.”

“You mean that.” Tobirama’s voice was filled with wonder and choked with tears that Madara simply didn’t have the heart to tease him for.

“Saying that if I didn’t mean it would be a special kind of cruel.”

The arms around him tightened and Tobirama burrowed in to him. Madara recognized the signs denoting one of the rare times when his husband was beyond words, moved so deeply he simply couldn’t speak. He was rather moved himself to finally realize such an incredible feeling and yet at the same time…

“I’m sorry,” he said, “that it took me so long.”

“No, don’t be sorry. If you never said the words – if you never felt this way – I would have loved you no less. I would not have been unhappy with what I have.”

Madara swallowed thickly and read between the lines easily enough. If he had never returned Tobirama’s love there would have been no regrets but that he did return it made things different in the best of ways. Pressed together like they were he could feel the thundering of the man’s heartbeat echoing his own, perfectly in sync the way they had been since the day they married. It was useless to wonder if there was anything either of them could have done differently that maybe would have opened his eyes to the possibilities earlier or even if he was simply meant to fall now after so many years.

Rather than waste time on any of that Madara turned his head and smiled in to the darkness over his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered one more time. Tobirama didn’t answer with more than a light squeeze but he didn’t have to; his feelings had been made clear a long time ago.

Silence fell but it was not an empty silence, the minimal space between them filled with understanding and more emotions than either of them were properly equipped to process. Madara had a feeling that he wouldn’t be getting to sleep any time soon but a little rest lost hadn’t killed him yet. Laying away in his husband’s arms was far from torture.

Tobirama seemed to agree as he laid a row of soft kisses across the back of Madara’s shoulder, still not speaking but making his point perfectly clear. Madara hummed and rolled over on his back just to keep rolling to the other side where he could shuffle up under the other man’s chin. It amazed him that such an emotional moment hadn’t been marred by his habit of flailing over anything that even smelled like emotions, though he supposed that maybe it was finally being able to accept the feeling that had allowed him to recognize and express it.

Finally, he thought to himself with amusement, finally he was growing up. Tobirama was absolutely going to be smug about taking the credit for this. And after all the years he had waited Madara supposed he could let his husband have this one. He’d earned it, after all. If not for his whimsical question on a sunny afternoon none of this would have ever been possible.

#rae writes #madatobi #madatobiweek2019 #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

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honeylikewords · 5 years

Note

What kind of proposal do you think Poe would do? How about Santi? Miguel?

What a romantic question! I love proposals; they’re so sweet! So it’ll be lots of fun to think about these lovely, romantic boys and their lovely, romantic gestures of devotion!

So, first of all, a proposal is a deeply personal, intimate thing. All three of these men are mature, kind, responsible, and loving enough to know that a proposal is supposed to be about the person being proposed to: it should fit with their needs and their desires, their personal stance on the affair. It shouldn’t be just about what the proposer wants. Like the marriage that will be entered into, it has to be a mutually fulfilling gesture, and one that appeals to the partner as much as (if not more than) it does to the proposer.

Anyway, all of that is to say that all three of them would base their proposals around what their partner wants. If their partner is shy and nervous, they would avoid doing a public proposal (though, generally speaking, proposals should always be private so that if the answer is ‘no’ there’s no pressure on the proposed-to partner, nor any embarrassment to the proposer, but I digress). If their partner has expressed in the past a way they’d like to be proposed to, the man would remember that and try to match to it as best he can. So on, so forth. The key is that, in the larger picture, each proposal would be tailored to fit more closely with what each of their partners actually, truly want in a proposal.

But that’s all just vague, general stuff. You want to know specificities based on each boy! And, so, I shall deliver them!

But under the cut, because it’s so long.

Poe:

Poe has been thinking about his proposal for a very, very long time. Ever since he was young, he’s imagined how it’ll go; him, down on one knee, holding out Shara Bey’s ring to his one, his only, his truest love.

The scenery around this act has changed depending on the daydream– sometimes he’s delivering this beautiful proposal in the forests of Yavin IV, sometimes he’s kneeling in the center of the finest restaurant in Bespin, sometimes he’s at his beloved’s front door, gazing into those beautiful eyes, spilling his heart– but the core ideal has very rarely wavered.

However, now that he’s older, more rooted in reality, and actually with the one person he wants to spend the rest of all time with, he finds himself imagining the proposal in much more specific ways.

Now, instead of just fuzzy, hazy daydreams about some part of the forest or some imaginary restaurant, he sees her face before him with the backdrop of their shared living quarters. Everything has more detail– he can see the color of the walls and the way the light would filter through the windows, the position she’d be in, the dust motes floating around her– and it feels so much more real and more weighty.

Now, instead of some great, overblown soliloquy about the depths and ravages of his love, Poe starts planning his words more carefully. In all of his new daydreams, now, instead of saying something like “my love” or “my dearest”, he calls her by her name to initiate the proposal. It’s about her, now, and not himself.

But the thing is, for all his plans, all his dreams, all his fantasies, Poe is not a man famous for his patience. He cannot reign in his love, his desire to be with her forever, his need to call her his wife, call her “Mrs. Dameron”, his longing to have her and hold her and be hers and hers alone until the fading of every star in all the galaxies. He cannot make his love for her small and compact and convenient enough to be deployed strategically: it must come out, and out it does come.

Poe had been planning a whole big thing. He was going to take his sweetheart out for a real meal somewhere, go on a walk, look at the stars, and then he was going to pop the question, down on one knee, eyes shining with love and starlight.

But then she had to go and throw all his plans off.

He’s on a sliding platform under his X-Wing, yanking angrily at a particularly nasty piece of shrapnel that had managed to embed itself in his ship’s undercarriage. He’s tugging as best he can, growling curses and unsavory words through grit teeth as he tries to rip the thing out, but it simply won’t budge. After a last, furious attempt at clawing it out, he flops back onto the platform with a loud, exhausted groan, rubbing his oil and grease-coated hands on his face in exasperation.

“Ooh, that looks rough,” coos a familiar voice.

Poe peeks through his fingers to see his beloved, bent at the waist so she can peer under his X-Wing. Embarrassment floods him– how could he look so weak in front of her?!– but is quickly flooded out by a new wave of emotion: love.

She looks astonishingly beautiful. It’s not that she’s not always beautiful (she always, always is, to him), but rather that there’s something about the way she looks so at home, so comfortable right now.

She’s wearing one of his machine-work jumpsuits, the kind set aside for getting messy in: he can tell because it’s ever so slightly too big for her around the waist and arms, so she’s rolled the sleeves up and cinched the waist with a spare belt. Her hair is pushed out of her face, spare a few flyaways which have landed around her face, catching the lights as she turns to look at him. Her eyes glitter with mirth, and the small beginnings of a smile tease at her lips.

“You want some help there, Commander Dameron?”

“Lovebug,” Poe grumbles, leaning up on his elbows, streaking his face with sooty black fingerprints from the oil, “It’s really, really stuck in there, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to exert yourself–”

“I wasn’t going to,” she interjects. “Stay right there.”

Poe squints in confusion, his mouth pursed as he watches her quickly walk to a different part of the hangar bay. She dips out of sight for a moment, then returns, wheeling some droid-sized contraption on a handcart with her.

She approaches the X-Wing, something in her hand; it appears to be some kind of clamp with tubing attached, the tubes leading back to the main body of the contraption. Poe furrows his brow and scoots the platform he’s laying on out of her way to allow her to fiddle around under the ship.

Attaching the clamp to the base of the shrapnel, she tinkers for a moment, making sure the clamp is positioned just right, then leans over to the main body of the machine, flicks a few switches, and pulls back, scooting closer to where Poe is.

Inside the machine, a loud, whirring engine sound starts, and before Poe knows what’s going on, the shrapnel detaches from the ship with a “pop” and stays suspended in the clamp. Poe’s sweetheart claps her hands together with a smile, giving a soft “yes!” as she moves to detach the clamp and remove the shrapnel.

Poe had entirely forgotten about the hydraulic extractors– since that was, precisely, what she’d brought over– as he was too lost in trying to perform the manual aspect of the mechanical maintenance to remember the tools at his disposal. Yet, somehow, he doesn’t feel foolish forgetting it, the way he would have if some other, smug person had performed that same feat in front of him: he feels flattered.

Flattered that she’d gone out of her way to do this for him, and flattered that she is there, with him, looking at him, happily holding a chunk of shattered starship shrapnel in her hands like a trophy.

“See?,” she asks playfully, waving the bit back and forth. “Not so hard.”

She looks so beautiful when she’s ribbing him.

And, that, of course, means he has to throw all his plans out and do it now.

“Marry me,” says Poe.

There is a moment of silence. And then she bursts out laughing.

“It’s not that big of a deal!,” she giggles, tossing the shrapnel in the pile of dirty rags Poe had set aside to be trashed. “No need for hyperbole!”

“I’m not being hyperbolic.”

Poe stands up and removes himself from under the X-Wing, walking over to where she’s still crouching under his ship. He kneels, undoing the collar of his shirt to reach in and pull his necklace out. The ring dangles on the chain between them, silver shifts glinting in the hangar bay lights, and Poe removes the necklace chain from around his neck, undoes the clasp, and slips the ring off, holding it between his forefinger and thumb.

“I was going to do this next week, you know, properly, with dinner and all that,” Poe explains, giving her a smile that sits somewhere near the center of the gradient between sheepish and giddy, “But, well, you know me, and I can’t put off until tomorrow what I can do today.”

“Poe,” she breathes, eyes flitting between the ring and his face, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to…”

“If you’ll have me,” he offers shyly.

She stays silent and stares at his hands, at the ring, her face moving around in a silent journey as she tries to process all that is happening. Poe reaches out and touches her arm, rubbing his dirty fingers on the sleeve of her jumpsuit.

“I love you,” he says with an infinite softness he has reserved only for her, “And I want you to be my wife. I want to give you everything I have and ever will have, starting with this.”

His hand skates down her arm, gently taking her wrist and guiding her hand up. He coaxes her fingers until her palm opens, then places the brushed steel ring into the well of her hand. Poe closes her fingers around it, watching her face, hoping to find some signal, some indication of what her reply will be. She stares at her closed fist.

Another moment passes between them, and Poe feels the smallest and most vulnerable he’s ever felt in his entire life. He fears that if she so much as breathes on him too hard, he’ll disintegrate into dust and be blown away to float out the airlock, lost in the wilds of space. But, then, as reassuring as the first glimpse of sunlight after a long night, she meets his gaze firmly, smiling that wonderful, wonderful smile.

“Yes,” she whispers. She unfolds her fingers and puts the ring out to Poe, her smile expanding with every passing second. “I’ll marry you.”

Poe cannot contain himself. He grins and grabs the ring, hastily reaching for her left hand and slipping the ring onto her finger, the tears already pushing at his eyes. For a half of a split second, Poe gazes at the sight of it– Shara Bey’s ring, encircling his now-fiancee’s finger (he has a fiancee!)– and his heart bursts inside his chest, forcing him to leap onto her and squeeze her in the tightest embrace he’s ever given as he kisses her neck and cheeks and jaw and every other inch of skin he can reach.

“I love you, I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyou,” Poe groans enthusiastically, his words bleeding together as his lips stay pressed in kisses.

“I know!,” she exclaims, clinging onto him as she laughs at the ticklish rub of his stubble on her skin. “I love you, too!”

“Forever and ever and ever–”

“-And ever and ever, and even after,” she finishes, grabbing Poe’s face and kissing him hard enough to shut up him.

He’s never been so delighted to be silenced.

Santi:

Santi used to never think he’d get married. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to– he certainly did– but more that he was afraid he’d never get the chance. After all, the life expectancy of men in his particular line of work isn’t all that high.

But after Lorea, after Colombia, after Redfly and the money and the disappearing act Santi had pulled, now living back in the U.S. far from where anyone could ever find him, he’s since retired from anything close to active duty and anything even remotely resembling putting himself into unnecessary danger.

And with that removal has come the time to settle down, to find himself living a normal life, and, as if by magic, to find a woman who loves him just the way he is, normal and abnormal as he may be. In her, all his facets are seen and loved, and Santi swears he’s never felt as at home as he does when she’s holding him close.

Santi has been with her for a good while now, and has, as such, begun to find himself wandering by jeweler shops and eyeing billboards for sparkly big rings. One Tuesday as he’s walking back to his car from the laundromat, Santi finds himself taking a turn down a different street corner and standing in front of a little jewelry boutique.

It’s no place exorbitant– certainly not a Tiffany’s nor Cartier’s– but a local shop, small and unassuming, and Santi stands in front of the window, looking into the display case.

In little navy-blue boxes settled on top of piles of crushed velvet sit the loveliest array of silver, gold, and platinum rings he’s seen in a long time. They’re not gauche, with tacky-looking oversized jewels and encrustations of diamond chips, but small, demure, understated. His eyes land on a ring with a thin silver band that blossoms into a lily-like shape, its jewel set where the stamen of the flower would be.

It’s a relatively small jewel, opalescent and shifting in color depending on what angle Santi views it from. He catches himself turning his head side to side to admire its oscillating colors, then stops abruptly. He stands still for a heartbeat, then chews his lip contemplatively before crumpling his resolve up like a poorly-worded note and going inside the shop.

He walks back out a few minutes later with a navy-blue box tucked into his jacket pocket.

From there, Santi agonizes to himself about how he’ll ask her to Big Question. Of course, it’s been on his mind for a while– he’d never admit it aloud, but the thought of ‘she’s the one’ had crossed his mind somewhere around the sixth date, and from there his imaginations on the topic had only grown– but he’s not sure exactly how he wants to go about it.

Of course, there’s the classic “go to dinner and ask her in the middle of the restaurant” gig, but… it feels too public for Santi. He wants this to be their moment, and theirs alone, not something broadcast to the entire world to watch unfold like some sort of sporting event. And he wants her to have an out, a chance to leave the situation, if she needs it.

So he continues to mull it over to himself. Oftentimes, if he’s pondering it particularly hard, he’ll rub his fingers over his lips– his first two, the index and middle– as if trying to smoke an invisible cigarette. He doesn’t smoke anymore, but the stress he’s putting himself through trying to imagine the perfect proposal sure makes him wish he did.

Then, one night, as he’s about to drift to sleep (and she’s there in bed beside him, already fast and dreaming), his eyes snap open. He’s figured it out. He finally knows. It takes all of his self-control to keep him in bed instead of running to prepare everything and make the necessary arrangements. But, instead of leaping up and readying himself for his plans, Santi decides to slow down.

He rolls over in bed and curls up against his dearest’s back, spooning up on her and rubbing his cheek against hers as she sighs in her sleep. Santi falls asleep in that position, cradling her close, hand encircling her belly and chin tucked between her shoulder and her neck. He wishes to be nowhere else both in sleep and waking.

A few weeks later, Santi dresses himself in his second-best suit. He forgoes a tie and instead keeps his collar open, providing a sense of casualness and relaxation so as not to raise his darling’s suspicions about his true intents for the evening. Smiling at his reflection anxiously, he checks and double-checks himself. Wallet, keys, phone, and navy-blue box tucked into the inner pocket of his sportcoat. Everything set and steady.

His beloved meets him in the living room; she’s in a pretty little cocktail dress, one that tempts Santi to ask her to dance with him right then and there. He abstains, swallowing his giddiness down to save it for the appropriate venue.

Together, they head to the local art museum, despite it being well-after normal operating hours. Santi has told his sweetheart that they’re attending a members-only party for a new installment opening at the museum, a statement which she did not question too intently, given that Santi was well involved with many of the local museums and such small parties weren’t unusual for openings of exhibits.

However, when they arrive, her interest is piqued by the lack of other guests. In fact, it seems to be just them, alone, excepting the security guard who had let them into the museum. Still, Santi assuages her worries, taking her hand and guiding her deeper into the museum, into one of their favorite rooms: the Romantic paintings collection.

There, a small table with a red velvet tablecloth is set, with two chairs on either side. A lantern is set in the center of the table, and Santi guides her into a chair as she looks all around, confused.

“Santi, honey, what is this?”

“This,” he says softly, “Is our little, ahem, Romantic evening.”

She laughs despite herself at his small joke, and Santi seems to visibly relax as he sees her smile. Taking his own seat, Santi reaches out to take her hand and stroke it with his thumb, gazing at her as she gazes at the room, the paintings, and then him.

“I made a special request with the directors,” Santi explains, answering her unasked question. “I thought we could do something special for tonight.”

“But… it’s not our anniversary, is it?,” she frowns. “I thought that was in March!”

“You’re right. It’s not our anniversary. It’s something… well, it’s something very different.”

“…Did I forget your birthday? My birthday?”

Santi makes a huff of a laugh, too nervous to fully commit to a real one, and chews at the well-bitten swell of his lip, trying to steel himself for what’s about to come. Be brave, soldier, he scolds himself. Be brave.

“It’s something that I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now, sweetheart,” Santi murmurs, squeezing her hand. “So… may I ask?”

She draws in a sharp breath. She knows, without knowing any details, what must be coming next. Her eyes rake over his face, scrambling to understand, and she nods wordlessly, her face glowing in the lantern light.

With that, Santi gives her hand a final squeeze before standing up, coming around to her side of the table, and kneeling down. He makes a soft grunt as he kneels– it hurts, and he should have known it would, he grumbles internally– and she instantly frets over him, putting her hands on his shoulders and knitting her brows together with worry.

“Oh, Santi, don’t, don’t hurt your knees for this, baby, come on-”

“I’m fine,” he says, giving her a quick flash of a smile. It’s sincere, but laced with anticipation and the anxiety of what he’s about to do.

He takes a deep breath to soothe himself, then reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the box, smiling ever-so-slightly to himself when he hears her gasp. Santi opens the box to her and shows her the shimmering ring, its colors dancing in the light of the lantern.

Santi says her name so softly he worries she can’t hear him, but her nod, her hands covering her mouth, her watering eyes: all tell him, yes, she can hear you, and he feels the courage to carry on.

“I… love you,” Santi begins, his words trembling a little. “And I want you to know that you are, without a doubt, the most important thing in the world to me. I would do anything for you.”

His hand rises to cup her cheek, and she leans into his touch, warm tears spilling out of her eyes and onto the pads of his fingers. He’s half-tempted to cry himself, but he takes a strong breath and continues.

“You are my greatest joy and my greatest treasure, and you have brought something into my life that I knew I was missing but could never name…. until I knew your name, and suddenly, it all made sense. So, if you would be so kind…”

Santi presents the ring to her, removing it from its box and holding it up for her to see and know is hers, should she want it.

“Will you marry me?”

He barely manages to get the full sentence out before two hands are gripping either side of his jaw and two lips are smashed against his, demanding, needy, seeking. Santi is taken aback for all of five seconds as he reels, feeling his beloved kissing him so hard he thinks he might not be breathing. She moves her lips against him in some kind of desperate plea, and if they were anywhere else, doing anything else, Santi might have gotten more than a little aroused.

But instead he clings to her and feels her excited, happy sobs pass through her lips and into his mouth, coaxing his own tears out. She presses her forehead to his, nodding wildly, hot tears raining on Santi as he grips her tight.

“Yes!,” she rasps. “Oh, god, yes, Santi! Every yes I can give!”

She goes back in for another heady, untamed kiss, pressing down into Santi’s chest with her weight, and only when this kiss parts does Santi remember that he’s holding a ring that needs to be on a certain beautiful woman’s finger.

When he slides it onto her, he feels as though the pieces of his heart have finally clicked back into whirring symmetry inside of himself. A warm feeling of wholeness washes over him as he stares at her– his fiancee!, bride to be!– and as he is lost in another delirious, delicious kiss.

Santi doesn’t spare a thought for paintings or museums or security guards in that moment. All he can think of is the feeling of the woman he loves (and will very shortly marry) hooking her arms around his neck and kissing him as if the sky were falling, and the way she breathes his name between the parting of their lips.

“Santi, Santi, Santi.”

Mine, mine, mine, he hears. And he is. All hers, now and forever.

Miguel:

Miguel had told himself, with absolute certainty, for the past 20-odd years, that he would never, ever get married.

He had a rotating list of reasons why this would never happen; at first, because he claimed not to believe in love (”It’s just brain chemicals,” a young Miggy would snap at curious fellow teens), then because he claimed not to believe in submitting to the expectations of religion nor the state, then because he believed that no two people could ever be happy together for more than a few hours at a time.

He’d pepper in other reasons from time to time– monogamistic mating being limiting for good genes, his bad temper being unsuitable for a marriageable partner, his “never having found anyone worth spending the rest of his life shackled to”, et cetera, ad nauseam– but he knew deep down that it was all… exaggerative.

After a good few years in therapy (and some hard-hitting maturing he’d done), Miguel knew that his defensiveness about marriage came from having watched what his parents did to each other.

He feared becoming what they had been to one another, and feared worse yet that he would love someone with all his heart and all his soul only to realize that he, Miguel O’Hara, was making their life more painful, more impossible to bear, by being a bad partner.

After he’d broken down the wall of shame around his fear, Miguel worked hard on his therapy to heal, to allow himself the vulnerability to love, and to love with the intent to stay. No more would he run: he was going to stay, to fight, to do his best for both himself and the person he loved.

Now, he has managed to turn his practice into reality; he has been in love with his girlfriend for several years, constant and true. They’ve supported each other through pain, through sorrow, through loss and anger, through joy and jubilation. Miguel knows he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore: not of becoming his parents, not of her abandoning him, not of anything. He is strong enough, and stronger yet with her love.

Which is why he is now standing in the middle of the most expensive jeweler’s in all of Nueva York, peering into the cabinet of rings. He scans over all of them, gnawing at the inner part of his cheek with his sharp fangs, pontificating on the various styles of rings, the cuts of the jewels, the shape, the color, the style.

The ring is, for some reason, essential in this process, to Miguel. He knows on an intellectual level that it doesn’t matter– all that matters is the being together, the promise of eternity– and that the ring is a frivolity, a social power move to assert himself as the provider capable of giving his mate shiny things to collect and show off, and that they could be as happy with a ring-shaped hoop of tin foil as with a 24-karat gold band and the world’s biggest diamond, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to… well, give her a big, fancy frivolity.

He has the money for it (being the best of the best in a field as selective, intense, and competitively paid as genetic research and modification does tend to put a pretty penny in one’s pocket), so that’s not the issue: the issue is that he finds himself displeased by every ring in the shop.

Some are too gaudy, looking like costume jewelry from a 10th-grade production of Romeo and Juliet. Others are too plain, frustrating Miguel in their lack of panache, their absence of flair. He wants her ring to sit on the cusp, right on the razor’s edge between tastefully elegant and just a little bit of a flex on his part about how much he’s willing to do for her.

But none of these rings match his desires. They’re too banal, too plain. So, in his frustration, Miguel rolls his firey-red eyes behind his sunglasses and leans on the counter towards the salesman trying to sell him on every run-of-the-mill ring in the place.

“Tell you what–” Miguel pauses, quickly checking the salesman’s name tag– “–Brain, I’ll make a different deal. I want two– no, three– loose diamonds. No ring. One 2.25 carat, the other two 1.00, size-wise. Throw in some diamond chips while you’re at it, and a block of silver. Big block, don’t skimp.”

The man– now Brian– seemed flustered until Miguel produced his wallet, sliding his credit card across the counter. Then, Miguel slides a large-denomination bill across the counter, towards Brian’s hand.

“Money’s no object,” Miguel says, smiling in a manner that shows off his pointed teeth. “Now be a good lad and get them for me, hm?”

Brian takes both the bribe and the threat and hastens off to produce the requisite jewels and metals.

Miguel takes these materials off to his workshop, where he researches and studies metallurgy and ringmaking. He’s intent on it: he’s going to make her engagement ring himself, and it’s going to be perfect.

The following weeks see Miguel working to hone his craft to perfection, and he takes to the art shockingly quickly. His intelligence and determination are in his favor, keeping him close to the grindstone as he goes through practice pass after practice pass on the ring. Finally, he does it: he has the idea set, the sketches drawn, the practice rings to study from, and he’s ready.

He spends the next few hours carefully, diligently working at the ring, making sure every aspect of it is just so, from the heating system to the molding to the positioning of the jewels. Everything in its right place, made perfect for her.

Just as Miguel is laying the final diamond into the three-piece cluster he’d designed as being the heart of the ring, he hears the doors to his workshop open and the familiar patting of feet on the floor.

“Miggy?”

Oh, god, that’s her; the woman he’s hoping to marry, and she’s here, in his workshop, about to spoil the best surprise he’s ever concocted in all his life.

“Shit shit shit,” he hisses; the metal isn’t fully cooled yet, and there’s no way for him to hide this all, not now, not while he’s still knee-deep in the process. “One minute!”

“Oh, there you are!”

Miguel growls a few more uncouth swears at himself, and she rounds the corner into his workspace. He tries to cover up the ring with the hunched form of his body, but she comes up beside him to give him a hug, and all too soon, his web unweaves itself.

As she presses in for a kiss to his cheek, she sees the still-hot ring sitting in its dock, the three gems glimmering up at her. She gasps, squeezing him tight, and Miguel feels both proud and embarrassed, disappointed and elated.

“Miggy, what is that?”

“It’s… well, I could lie to you, but I don’t think I want to.” He turns away from his workbench and smiles up at her, taking his glove off his hand and cupping her cheek, stroking his thumb over her skin. “It’s…”

“For…,” she coaxes, trying to get him to say it.

Miguel chuckles at her excitement, her impatience for him to just pit it out. She looks so adorable, hinged on the edge between anxious anticipation and relieving revelation.

“Well, honeybunny, sugar-star, my flower of the fields, my daisy-nose-buttercup-kissy-wissy–”

“Miguel, come on!”

“…I was making you a ring,” he says, soft and sincere. “And I think you know what for.”

“Oh, honey,” she breathes.

“Yeah. And, well, since the surprise is gone… do you mind if I use one of the practice rings while the main one cools? I don’t really want to burn your finger off during the proposal.”

They exchange yearning, eager, anxious giggles, and Miguel grabs one of the rings he’d made during his trial runs, turning it over in his fingers softly. He draws a stabilizing breath, then kneels down, watching her face with hawkish excitement.

“My love, you are the person. The Person, proper nouns, capitalized. My person. You’re the one person in the world I can really, truly imagine spending all my days with, all my nights, all my many, many hours. You challenge me, you inspire me, you frustrate me, you delight me. And more than anything, you are the person I love the most in all the Earths in all the universes in all the timelines and multiverses and strands of reality.”

Miguel kisses her hand, sincere even in his silliness.

“And I want you to know that I will be here for you, without fail and without question, for the rest of my life. So, if this feeling is… mutual, please…” He places the ring out in front of his face, supplicating her with it. “Will you take this ring and marry me?”

She gazes down at him with sweet, kind, teary eyes, and nods, cupping his cheeks as she lets out a whimpery, small sob. She’s clearly trying to compose herself, to stay strong, and though Miguel isn’t one to cry very often, he finds that he, too, is right on the verge of openly weeping.

“I-I know that wasn’t easy for you, baby,” she says tenderly, petting his face. “Th-thank you for being so brave and choosing me to be brave w-with you!”

She bursts into tears and collapses into Miguel’s arms, and just as Miguel is about to be afraid that this is a decline to his offer, he feels her encircle him in an embrace as she whispers her answer.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes! Yes, in every universe and timeline and multiverse and strand!”

Miguel cannot help himself; at this reply, he sobs. He sobs openly, shocked by how hard and abruptly the wave of emotion hits him. Until just then, everything had seemed removed from reality by his veneer of the work; the ring had been a distraction from facing the huge, emotionally-taxing impact of realizing…

He is loved. He is wanted. He is needed.

And he’s going to be her husband.

She rocks him in her arms and allows him to shakily put the ring on her finger, the two of them curled into each other like ivies growing in the garden of Eden, ancient and new, perfectly made, bound forever. Miguel squeezes her so tightly that her back pops and her ribs ache, but she doesn’t tell him to stop, just squeezes back as hard as she can to let him know just how much she loves him. And it makes him feel infinite, boundless, enraptured in her.

Miguel is ready, now, to tell everyone, in every world, that he’s getting married. No caveats, no explanations, no jokes. He knows, now, that he will never be ashamed of their relationship, and he’s ready for all the world to see him and know he is Miguel O’Hara, Amazing Husband With An Even More Amazing Wife.

And it’s more than anything he ever could have dreamed of being.

#Anonymous #all three are a little on the longer side like....somewhere around ficlet? length? sorta #gif warning #santiago garcia #poe dameron #miguel o'hara #holy matrimony #i stayed up til 4 am working on this and then fell ASLEEP before posting aghlkg #can you tell i like....marriage.....#messages #original

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