#hear me out: the edges of the veil but trimmed in lace | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jjungkooksthighs · 4 years

Text

Claws of Carnality | jjk (2)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf, fantasy

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: mentions of violence (hunting), mentions of sex this chapter is really tame but it’s set up so yeah

Summary: In the aftermath of your presentation, you recollect on some the dreams that had been visited by the alpha you have met to meet. What happens when he makes good on his promise and finds you?

A/N: OKAY SO I REALLY FEEL LIKE THIS SUCKS, BUT HEY, THIS GIF APPLIES TO THIS CHAPTER IF YOU SQUINT! Let me know if you guys like this and I will write more. If not, I can always just leave this where it is (which is fine, but alpha koo is so cool to write omg)

part 1 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

By the time that you’ve finished scrubbing away the evidence signaling your growth into maturity, the soiled sheets containing such proof had been stripped from your bed to be replaced with new, freshly laundered ones. To keep the essence of you there would firstly be unsanitary, but it was also a means of caution put in place to keep unwanted alphas from attempting to lay their claim on an unmated omega before one could be presented to all the available potential candidates. Part of you wonders if your alpha had caught your scent in all the bustle that surely was going on, for you surely had caught his even if you didn’t know what he looked like even what his name was.

Dark hair colored like the earth’s floor surfaces through your mind as you peer down at the article of clothing your grandmother must have laid out for you while you’d been bathing, a wave of excitement falling over you as you quickly set about putting it on. You fasten it with practiced ease after many years of helping your own omegean friends into their own unique pre-ceremonial dress.

It is a custom of your pack that, on the eve of the Offering Ceremony, newly presented omegas wear clothing that pays respect to the moon that guides the shifting, hunting and gathering of the wolves while also paying homage to the celestial system that, in the ancient legends, would selectively steer the most compatible of hearts towards one another in the tales of soulmates that would lead their pack into prosperity for generations to come.

It was said that the truest of a pair would complete each other in body and mind, their wolves complementing each other like the yin and yang of peace that was so desired amongst your kind.

As you pull your arms through the black lace that covers a fine silk of the same color, you can’t help but to notice the way the underlying material shimmers in the sunny light that glints off it in the small constellation of silvery spritzes to the silk that mirror the stars that, in the dark color of the body of the dress, perfectly recaptures the night sky. In the modestly cut ‘V’ style of the bodice, the trim on each side eventually intersects where the skirt begins and is colored a rich chrome color after the moon.

It matches with the thin band that crosses horizontally over your stomach to hold the bodice closed. Below that, your skirt is fitted just enough that it doesn’t hug your skin, but it is open enough to let air trail between your legs as it stops just along the underside of your knees. You make sure to tie a thick matching silk choker over your neck to nearly cover it in its entirety in effort to complete your ensemble, for it is another custom that newly presented omegas must partake in that you have to obey.

Such was put in place to lessen the temptation of alphas to try to scent an omega, for the show of skin in such an intimate place for wolves that were unmarked was a declaration of intent. To walk around without such a covering was dangerous, for it often would ensue fights between alphas and betas over the omega that had been unheedful of such consequences.

You did not want to be involved in attention like that, for you had always been a quiet, shy presence throughout your years on the compound. What your heart did long for, however, was to find its equal and thus to bask in the notice of he who had visited you in your fantasy, of he who had promised to find you. You truthfully had no idea who he was, but he was no stranger to your dreams. Well, he hadn’t been since the eclipse, anyway.

The first time you’d seen him, he’d been laying on his back while staring at the stars you enjoyed connecting the constellations of within the middle of a forest clearing, the silvery moonlight illuminating him in an ethereal light that had him glowing in radiance.

You’d been tentative to encroach on him and, in your timidity, had tried sinking back into the shadows only to snap a twig under your feet. He’d sat up quicker than lightning, his muscles tensed and ready to pounce as brilliant golden irises darted to the source of the sound only to pierce your own as you’d sucked in a breath at how deep and beautiful his eyes were despite how profoundly they dug interestedly into your own, effectively halting you were you stood as he rose from his place on the forest floor.

Your legs had been rooted in place under his commanding gaze and he’d cocked his head to the side like the wolf he was while he’d appraised you, your heart racing as you watched his brows knit together in confusion the picture of his ideal mate paired with the concoction of smells that coalesced into something that was uniquely your own yet had him drawn like a magnet in how deliciously your aroma swirled under his nostrils, his own pulse quickening as he instinctively lowered his head as you tilted yours back in silent submission that pulled at every fiber of your being in the presence of such a strong, handsome alpha.

It had been instant. His eyes widened when he’d daringly nudged at exposed your scent gland, his irises growing in size at the poignantly tempting aroma of you that clung salaciously to his lungs and very being. In turn, you gasped when the strong headiness of him insistently prodded at you until you were overtaken by its delicious amalgamation of smells, your muscles relaxing at the same time his did a turn of events that you did not understand for you believed it was all just a dream.

The second time you’d seen him, he’d found you next to a steady, crystalline stream with the moon as your light source and upon offering you his hand with some coaxing, he had led you through a field of flowers colored after every hue in the rainbow as he told you how you’d enchanted him with your beauty and scent that had so begun to saturate his every thought, his adulations rapidly bolstering your confidence in the sureness with which he declared them.

The third time, he’d followed you to a creek and had watched you dip your feet into the cool water that was such a balm to the hot air of the night only to step further into the body of water and be embraced by it still clothed in the dress that made you shine brighter than the moon in his eyes. It was you who had eventually asked him to join you after reddened cheeks and stuttered breaths upon realizing he’d been looking at nothing but you the entire time with brightened, enlarged irises.

Somehow, his competitive nature had stoked your playful side and before long, you were splashing each other with water and laughing heartily until your foot had caught on a sharp rock and you’d yelped in pain. Concern had been quick to shift his expression, not that you could that under the mop of hair that had veiled the upper part of his face, but you could hear the emotion in his voice as he reassured you that it would be okay before, to your surprise, he’d wrapped one arm around your back and another under your legs to carry you like some kind of bride before you setting you down on a rock to rip at the edge of his shirt in a show of strength that had your insides turning to mush as he promptly wrapped it around your foot while asking if you were alright and if you were in pain.

An irrational need to clear the worry away from him filled you and before you’d let yourself think about it, you’d laid your hand over his to thank him, not thinking too much on the way his skin was so hot to the touch. As if your words were the medicine he needed, the emotion drained away while you both had stared at each other. You hadn’t realized you’d been leaning forward until you nearly collapsed on top of him, lost as you had been in those expressive eyes of his.

The fourth time, you’d been incapable of resisting his call of howls only to find him thrashing in a cave growling for you. It was as if someone was hurting him from the inside in the pitch of his sounds, but you didn’t have any idea what to do. His shirt had been torn all over and in the dim light that reached into the cave, you thought you could make out the etchings of the extensive muscles that lined his chest, your mouth watering at the sight and yet you’d blamed on being in need of water in your inexperience to know what your body was doing.

You had stayed by his side regardless to bring him water and edible plants that you’d gathered in his lack of exiting the confined space, fondness for him swelling within you in your want to take away whatever pain was wracking him. You’d not been aware of what he wanted and the fact that neither of you had exchanged names made it difficult to console him since you were simply the girl from his dreams to him (or so you thought).

The fifth time, it had been you who had been sequestered to a grassy, woody den in the forest. Your body had quivered with need for something that you had yet to ascertain, but your companion had stayed true to you just as you had to him. Compassion shined in those golden irises as you’d wailed, your arms crossing over your stomach as you rolled back and forth irrationally in the tremors that violently shook your body. When you’d needed new foliage to lay on, he’d gotten it for you. When you’d wanted the cool creek water to be poured over your burning skin, he’d done that, too.

And when you’d asked for some meat to eat, it had taken all but five minutes for him to secure five rabbits that you ate the majority of in your insatiable hunger that only seemed to stretch on the more that you drank him in.

All had preceded the fantasy you’d had last night and you try to piece them together in what they could possibly mean as you grab what your thin arms can carry between pillar candles and tea-lights. You don’t stop stuffing them between your arms until you’re sure you can’t possibly carry any more, and every omega that passes by the storage closet in the omegean den where you currently are makes sure to congratulate as they pass much to the reddening of your cheeks at some overly obscene remarks of what is likely to come. It’s all so new and thrilling to you.

You’re honestly a little surprised that they all already know that you’d woken to the taint of your essence lathered all over you, but such is the way of things in that news spreads like wildfire amidst the close comraderies of omegas.

It should make you feel uncomfortable, but such monumental events are looked at as blessings amongst your pack and in the bustle of energy that the sudden ceremony has sparked in everyone, you can only feel the excited surges of anticipation as you and you alone begin to set about the preparations for the event at the break of dawn since you’d been the final omega in your rank and age group to present.

Through it all, you never lose the subtle trail of him, his scent lingering just enough for you to find yourself trying to move toward its origin, but never thick enough to pinpoint him completely despite your wolf urging you to continually to go to him, to find him.

You wonder what your alpha could be doing right now and what he might be thinking as you make your way through the green grasses that open up to frame the circular wooden stage that is overlooked by the timbered den of the elders. It is an impressive structure in how very imposing and tall it stands and the stage itself is longer, you are sure, than five meters across and back.

There are already stone braziers set strategically next to the stage that are used for annual selections for unbonded pairs of wolves and initiations of pups, but you can’t deny your favorite use for it would be the dance performances that are put on to celebrate each event.

Amongst the alphas in your pack, Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok and Kim Taehyung are among the three bachelors that woo all of the omegas and betas in the compound with the calculated ways they move their bodies that successfully has everyone, even you, swooning.

However, can’t say they hold a candle to the one alpha, in particular, that some believe to be an apparition in how little he is seen despite the fact that every time you catch his shadow, he’s always stolen away your breath and ability to think straight. The way that this alpha moves, in specific, demands your attention in how expressively calculated he is in his artistic movements that combine modern and old dance into a style that is completely his own.

You have only seen him perform twice, but by the moon above, you would never forget it. Each time, you swear his golden irises have shot through the whole crowd of screaming women and even men straight into you only to sink deliciously into you as he dances. It has set your blood alight each time, your pulse quickening in exhilaration at the prospect of that he may have noticed you.

You had noticed him first for this and, hungrily wanting to learn more about the enigmatic figure that could disappear without a trace for months on end without being seen or heard from, you had come to find out through utterances of longing by many omegeans that he was the pack alpha’s son, which made him next in line for assuming control over the entire compound.

You had also come to discover that, among his looks that were crafted by the gods, he came from a pedigree only of purebreds. This meant that he was one among the seven alphas- including the three bachelors already fawned over amongst the compound-in your pack that were gifted with bolstered speed, strength and abilities of which the majority of alphas today did not possess. Such made them extremely desirable to many of the omegas and betas, but for the life of you, you couldn’t see how they were any different from a regular alpha.

As you set out the tealights along the edges of the stage, you can’t help but to ponder why the alpha that had anchored himself to your thoughts long before your dreams is coming to your mind now and it’s when you’ve placed a pillar candle from under your arm onto the mounted holder, that’s when your thoughts are halted.

In the distance, you can discern the pervasively pungent stench of alphas and that’s when your eyes widen. You had forgotten that because of the Offering Ceremony, it was tradition for alphas to go on a hunt at the crack of dawn in effort to make a show of their prowess and ability to provide. This was done in effort to please or attract potential mates in the kills they would secure and gift to their selected omega or beta. You chastise yourself for taking too long, for an unmated omega was not supposed to be in the vicinity of an unbonded alpha due to the pheromones that could cause a premature heat. Your body is unstable right and now and that’s why-

Amongst the flurry of odors that pervade your sensitive nose, there is one that you pick up on, one that wafts deliciously like fresh cookies under your nostrils and around you before caressing your skin with the gentle wind that carries it to you. It is gently insistent in the way it encourages you to turn, to move. You’ve smelled this scent before, you know that you have.

Distantly, in the back of your mind, something tries to poke at your consciousness, but you pay it no mind as you try to complete your task futilely as the aroma whisks itself over you like whipped cream as it inches closer and closer, the soft crunching sound of grass underneath feet growing louder as it does.

You try to take deep breaths and regulate the shallow rise and fall of your chest that is not aided by the hope that twists heavily in your gut and when you clumsily try to make it appear as if you’re doing something constructive, you manage to knock the white pillar candle off of its place so that it lands on the ground with a thud.

Without thinking, you turn only to for you to hitch your breath as the solid planes of a golden and salaciously chiseled chest take up your vision. Your mouth goes dry when your irises dip downward at how obscenely low his ebony shirt dips with one side crossed over the other in a style that isn’t entirely different from the bodice you now wear save for the fact that it is a darker shade of black and is held together by a thicker band that circles a slim, hourglass shaped waist.

The lapels of his garment fold over each other and are accentuated by the charcoal colored pelt that lines his shoulders and trail lengthily down his body to cease around calves covered by dark black trousers that hug his corded thighs lewdly and you have to shut your mouth to stifle the sound of appreciation your body had traitorously wanted to release. If you had spit, you probably would lick your lips, but you don’t. Instead, you settle for trying to swallow the sudden lump in your throat, which is also non-yielding of the result you’d wanted.

“You know, I heard you omegas weren’t supposed to be near us big, bad alphas so soon,” he rumbles amusedly as your heart stutters at the familiar voice, “So, what are you doing out here all alone, pretty?”

You gulp animatedly, your irises refusing to move from the canvas of his chest because you know where you’ve heard that voice before, you realize as your skin pebbles in response to the same deep voice that drips deliciously atop it as your wolf cries for you to answer, to submit.

“I-I… I was setting up for the c-ceremony, that’s all.” You stutter as the alpha in front of you chuckles, the sound making your blood sing in response to the melodious sound as his golden irises inspect your familiar features, surety setting in for him that you really are her, the girl from his dream.

“Ah, so you are.” He muses as he cocks his head interestedly at you.

He had chosen to lead the alphas to a different hunting location today because he believed a new area would be a rich hunting ground, but he’d also come this way for another reason. As a purebred alpha, his nose was far better than any average alpha. Therefore, despite the clothes that you wear of which the threads of your dress have been dipped into oils that mask your own potent pheromones he knows to be on overdrive since your presentation, they are still ineffective in putting off his strong nostrils in how easy it had been to detect and find you like he’d wanted to.

His lips curl up when you fidget in a way exactly like she had, your hands clasping nervously together along your front and he’s struck with the irrational want to have you feel less distressed in his presence, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable around him.

The more pressing thing though is to look upon those eyes of yours that he’s been so bewitched by, for he hasn’t yet looked up those entrancing irises that had belonged to her and has to make sure, his wolf clawing at him now to find out as his deep voice fills the space between you, your own wolf preening under the attention as he says, “Come now, pretty omega, won’t you look at me? I won’t bite.”

With way that his velvety voice envelops you, you really can’t bring yourself to do anything but obey as your slowly trail your gaze along his Adam’s apple that is so defined it makes you want to salivate before continuing your ascent up to perfectly plump, soft lips crafted by the stars themselves. Those same lips had done so much to you in your dreams and images of it flash through your mind as you take a shaky breath that he mirrors in the anticipation that is nearly palpable in how heavy it settles over you both. When you finally settle your gaze on those golden irises that had taken up such a permanent residence in your thoughts, that’s when he utters, “Well, would you look at that...I always knew it would be you, but I never would’ve thought this would happen.”

At the same time that you had peered into his eyes while he gazed curiously at you, your irises had changed from the silver of the moon he had always been bewildered by to the gold of the sun like his own. In the exact moment, you’d witnessed his own do the same, his eyes changing to the color of your own.

Jungkook has always taken pride in his abilities as a purebred. They’d never steered him wrong before and they hadn’t now, either. It is why he hadn’t doubted the magnetizing pull that had brought him here as encouraged by his nose that could track anything. It is also why his very being is colored with entertainment at your cute reaction that he’d had some inkling of some time ago.

What is a pleasant surprise, however, is the fact that the moon itself has chosen you as his mate in the gift it had bestowed on the two of you. And as his eyes rove over you, he can’t help but grin. He’d always had his eye set on you, anyway.

You gasp in incredulity when you realize what’s just happened and to whom it has happened with as you fall back against the stage, completely floored by the howling of your wolf to go to him and accept it.

You’re just supposed to accept the fact that the alpha you’ve pined so badly for has been selected for you by the moon itself in the legendary soulmate’s gift of sight, which allows two fated wolves to see their eyes in the mate that completes them. You’re just supposed to casually accept that your fated mate is the alpha that everyone wants, including you. You’re just meant to easily believe that the alpha you begged to be claimed by while he had his cock rammed inside you within your fantasy is Jeon fucking Jungkook and that he’s your alpha.

As you splutter and try to find anything to say in the shock that will soon leave your legs trembling, the alpha just smirks as he cards a hand through his hair in a display that has you licking at your lips despite everything as he flicks a brow, “What’s wrong, pretty? Cat got your tongue?”

#werewolf!jungkook #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts #jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts abo

1K notes · View notes

zmwrites · 3 years

Text

Tag: ROYGBIV

This one is from the wonderful @vellichor-virgo!! Thank you very much!

Rules: find all seven colours of the rainbow in your wip(s)

I’ll be searching Indigo Wars, since it’s my longest project and has the best chance of having them all:

RED [Maisy]

“Lovely,” Lidiya signed when she finally set down her powder brush.

Maisy looked in the mirror. The gold details in the dress and veil had been the basis for Lidiya’s work. Her eyelids were gold, the lashes lined with black kohl. Her cheekbones were highlighted with more gold powder and her lips were a dark red. When combined with her golden eyes, it had a borderline unsettling effect.

“They’ll definitely notice me,” she agreed.

ORANGE [Maisy]

“One, Morren Carr, is leading an excavation at an old mine somewhere in Draiobia. He’s apparently here to request more labourers as they aren’t making enough progress for her liking even though they’ve only been working for a month,” she replied. “And the other is some sort of fae lord.”

Henry looked at her sharply, facial features exaggerated by the harsh orange light from the sconces along the hall. “Where did you hear that?”

“Lidiya. I guess the porters were talkative while they were helping her.”

YELLOW [Violet]

“Thank you so much, Pina. Really. I would never have figured out where to start without you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve figured it out eventually. You seem relatively bright. I hope to see you both again tomorrow!” Without another word, Pina twirled with her deep yellow robe fanning out behind her and disappeared into the dark rows of books.

GREEN [Maisy]

Her lady’s maid, a young woman named Lidiya Hu, laced her into a dress of green velvet and metallic gold brocade with flared sleeves and gold trim. The square neckline framed the emerald and pearl necklace she selected from her collection of jewellery. Her long, dark hair was brushed out and left to fall in loose waves down her back.

The maid held up two options for a veil but Maisy waved them both away. “I’m not planning on going out again, and if my mother wants me to start wearing one among my own family then she’ll have to issue me a direct order herself.”

BLUE [Violet]

“Why are you lurking?” a disdainful voice asked from behind her.

She twisted. A few steps up from the landing stood Victoria Sezgin, wearing a blue dress that clung to her body and featured a leg slit that almost reached her hip. What was she doing in the stairs? Her long dark hair was loose around her mostly-bare shoulders, a gold choker was fastened around her throat, and a haughty expression twisted her face.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked why you’re lurking,” she repeated, patronizingly slow.

INDIGO [Violet]

Her magic unfurled within her. The world switched perspectives. Instead of seeing the alley below, she was behind herself, watching from the man’s eyes as he hauled her back from the ledge. She watched as she spun to face him, landing against his chest, and felt the curiosity blooming in him as he saw the ring of indigo at the edge of her irises.

“You're Vario,” he said, startled. There was no fear, no disgust, just curiosity and relief that she hadn’t fallen off the roof.

VIOLET [Violet....the character]

She allowed Twila to lead her into an area separated from the rest of the room by a paper screen in a wood frame. There was a dressing table with a mirror and drawers, but almost nothing left out on top of the table except for a soft-bristled hair brush and a jewellery box she didn’t recognize. It was made of dark lacquered wood and had a light purple stone set in the lid. As she got closer, she saw it had a collection of complex floral etchings in the wood—not just any flowers, but violets. They curled and bloomed around a small metal plaque with her name engraved on it.

“A gift from Queen Isabel to welcome you to your new home,” Twila explained.

“I don’t really have any jewellery,” Violet said.

“I’m sure you’ll get some as time goes on. Small pieces are fairly common signs of favour around here,” Twila replied.

I realized my error only when I reached the last colour.... whoops.

I tag @dgwriteblr, @rhikasa, and @wannabeauthorzofija! As always, no pressure!

#tag games #indigo wars #iw excerpt

7 notes · View notes

forever-more-never-again · 5 years

Text

A Sister’s Love (A Request)

Requested: @gaytrashgoblin

Word count:1793

Pairings: Sibling!Fem!Reader x Sibling!Natasha

Warnings: Mentions of injury

Requested: OMG your requests are open, how lucky am i!!! can you do one where natasha has a biological sister the team doesn't know about (around wanda's age maybe)? so on a mission natasha gets hurt and everyone is super confused when this average girl shows up fussing over natasha and just nat being soft and affectionate with R and the team just being confused

Masterlist

“Thanks for coming in!” You waved to the couple leaving with smiles on their faces after picking out their wedding cake.

Once they left your store, you dropped your smile and heaved a sigh. It had been a long day. During the summer, it was as if everyone and their brother were getting married and wanted the perfect wedding cake.

It was fun, but it was stressful. On top of that, you pulled out your phone and checked, you haven't received your daily check in message from your sister, and that worried you.

Walking to the door of your store, you flipped the sign to closed and turned off the lights. Luckily, you had managed to snag a store that had an upstairs loft, so you didn’t need to leave the store to go home.

Once upstairs, you dropped onto your couch and opened up your messages.

5:46PM - Hey Nat, Haven’t heard from you today. Everything okay?

You tried not to let your fear seep into your message. Having an older sister that was part of the Avengers was not something you had ever imagined happening.

Back before the Avengers, you still worried about your sister, but that worry was more directed to when she returned to the Red Room after a mission and cried into your shoulder about her latest kill.

As far as you knew, you and Natasha had been the only Biological sisters in the Red Room. They used you against each other, threatening one sister so that the other would do what she was told.

Natasha tried to protect you. Taking your beatins, accepting the harder missions. But she could only do so much.

You still took the initiation. You Still had enhancements done to your body. You still had blood on your hands.

But that all changed years ago when you and your sister escaped and ran across the world to Colorado. Where Natasha Met Hawkeye and he brought you into Shield.

While Natasha accepted Director Fury’s offer, you declined. You just wanted a simple life after the hell that was your childhood.

So you bought a small shop in East Brooklyn and opened up a Wedding Cake Bakery.

To make sure that each other was safe and hadn’t been captured and killed, you and Natasha had check ins everyday. With code words if there was danger.

And Natasha had missed the check in for today.

“Okay, Calm down [Y/n]. Maybe the mission took longer. Or she is in a place out of range for service. It’s okay. Let’s just call the tower. Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.” Talking to yourself to calm your nerves, you dug through a drawer filled with clutter until you stumbled upon a burner phone.

Natasha had given it to you for emergencies. Only one number was plugged in. A Direct line to FRIDAY, who was the AI in the Avenger Tower. A way to to get an immediate response.

It was for emergencies only because only a select few knew about you. Director Fury, Natasha (of Course), Hawkeye And Tony Stark. The rest of the Avengers had no idea that Natasha had a sister. It was for your safety and part of the agreement when Natasha joined Shield.

The phone didn’t even ring before there was an electronic femine voice, “Hello. Access Code?”

In a whisper, the fear of what could have happened to your sister, rising back up, you whispered your code words, “Victor - India - Papa - Echo - Romeo.”

A click and then, “Access granted. Hello [Y/n] Alianova. Contacting tower.”

Your leg bounced up and down as you waited. Luckily you didn’t have to wait long before a gruff tired voice sounded in your ear.

“What is it FRIDAY? We just got back from a mission. [Y/n]? What’s going on? Are you secure?” His tone went from tired to frantic in a second.

“Hey Tony. Nat hasn’t checked in. You said you just finished a mission? Is she okay? Is she safe? Is she back at the tower? What happened?”

“Kid, kid, Slow down. Spider is fine. She just got injured and hasn’t had a chance to get in contact with you yet.”

You shot up and grabbed your keys off the table by your door, almost running down the stairs to your store, “I’m coming to the tower. I need to see her.”

You heard a weary sigh from the other end of the phone, “Alright. I’ll let security know to expect you. Do you want me to tell the others?”

Swerving out of your driveway, you weren’t really worried about the rest of the team, “I don’t care. I’m only coming to check on my sister.” And with that, you hung up.

Your knuckles were white, as you gripped the steering wheel.

This was a new type of torture. Different from the Red Room and Russia. Not knowing what was wrong with Natasha. But knowing that she was injured.

You had argued for months about her joining Shield. You had wanted her to come with you, live a normal life.

Eventually you understood where she was standing, she wanted to try to make up for all the lives she had taken while in the program.

The tower shone like a beacon, lighting up the night sky.

Parking on the sidewalk, you walked into the lobby. And suddenly became extremely aware that your hair was a mess, and you still wore your flour covered apron.

“Miss Aliavona?” An armed Shield agent met you halfway across the lobby.

You nodded, not trusting your voice as worry tightened its grip on your heart.

“Right this way.” He led you to a secure elevator hidden in a sideroom, Reaching in he pressed a nondescript button and offered you a small smile as the door began closing, “This will take you to the medical wing. Just take the first right and you’ll find them.”

And then you were alone in the elevator as it took you up.

Racing down the halls, you took the first right and slammed the door open, “Natasha Aliavona! You are going to give me gray hairs!” You screamed as you saw her sitting up on a medical bed, arm and leg in casts.

Natasha jumped as she looked towards you, pausing mid sentence with her discussion with the doctor. Who wisely left the room when he saw you.

“[Y/n]?”

You growled, slapping her uninjured shoulder, “Don’t ‘[Y/n]’ me! Do you know how worried I was when you didn’t check in? And then to hear you got injured!? The younger sister is not supposed to worry about the older sister’s safety!”

Natasha gave a small smile, Wincing under your glare, “Sorry? I was going to send you a message as soon as the doctor had finished his examination. I swear!”

Sighing, you softened your glare and looked over your sister. She had dried blood still in her hair and her suit was cut carefully around her casts.

“Is it as bad as it looks?” You ghosted your hands over her casts.

She kept her green eyes on you as she spoke softly, “No. It’s just a broken wrist and a splintered femur. I’ll heal in a few days.”

Another sigh left you.

And then you jumped as voices filled the room.

“What do you mean an unauthorized visitor made it to the medical wing?”

“I thought FRIDAY was supposed to alert us to all trespassers?”

“You’re acting very calm about this whole thing Stark.”

Your eyes widened as you caught sight of the Avengers for the first time in person.

And they all froze when they saw you.

Natasha broke the tension with a laugh, “Guys. This is [Y/n]. My little sister.”

The blonde who you recognized as Captain America squinted at Natasha and then you, “There’s no record of a sibling in your files Romanoff.”

You smiled when Clint walked out of the crowd and came forward to hug you, causing some more whispers and gasps from the others.

You answered Steve’s unasked question, “That was part of the agreement we made with Shield when Clint found us. I wanted Anonymity. I wanted to escape the past. While Natasha here,” You glared playfully at your sister who tried to act bashful, “Wanted to embrace it. So I was never mentioned. As far as the world is aware, I am an only child known as [Y/n] Aliavona. No relation to the Black Widow Avenger Natasha Romanoff.”

Another, well known, voice spoke up, with thinly veiled humor, “And the Russian Spy known as Viper was killed in an undisclosed location during a redacted mission.”

You smiled as Tony walked up and took Clint’s place as he hugged you.

“Another part of the agreement.”

A red head with bright brown eyes stepped forward, her accent Distinctly Sovakian, “I have seen you in Brooklyn Before. You are the baker.”

Looking at your apron in embarrassment, you nodded, “Yeah. I run one of the only Wedding Cake Bakeries in town.”

Clint laughed and bumped your shoulder, “Don’t be so modest! Your cakes are amazing. Laura loved ours.”

A giggle slipped from you. “I remember that one. Simple, yet elegant with pink roses and gold trimmed edges.”

More wide eyes and whispers.

“Okay you bunch. Can I have some quiet time with my sister?” Natasha whined.

You smiled at her before turning to wink conspiracy with the Avengers, “Yeah. There are...Words...I need to have with my careless sister.”

That seemed to erase all previous tension as all the Avengers laughed at Natasha’s misfortune and quickly left the room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you laced your hand with your sister’s uninjured one.

“It seems my time in the background has ended.”

Natasha squeezed your hand, “I know you don’t want to join Shield or the Avengers. But maybe our lives can be more involved with the others?”

You imagined spending weekends at the tower, laughing with your sister and her friends, and nights spent in your loft drinking wine and watching cheesy rom coms with Natasha after missions.

And you realized, you didn’t have to run and hide from your past anymore. You wanted to be like Natasha and take control of your life.

Smiling, you watched your sister’s face light up as you whispered, “I’d like that.”

Laughing Natasha pulled you down into a one armed hug, “Black Widow and Viper together again.”

You winced but still smiled as you hugged tighter, “How about Natasha and [Y/n] Romanoff instead.”

You could almost feel your sister’s smile soften as her hand ran through your hair, “That’s almost better. I love you, [Y/n].”

Closing your eyes, you smiled, “I love you too sister.”

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t @mialeelavellan @rainydaysrnevergrey @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @queenbbarnes @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger @princess-evans-addict @rororo06 @timelordhunterandmysterysolver

Natasha Taglist:

@ludwigvonbaethoven @hanjiscience-slut @kitten-q-p @morbid-gaymer @honeybadgerwhodoesntcare @sunnyandtwisty @zoeyknight @kurlyafro @thewomanofwonder @5aftermidnight @myfemininelesboworld @gaytrashgoblin @marvelb00kwolf @multifandom-imagines-things

Avengers Taglist:

@jadepc @marvel-is-a-mood

414 notes · View notes

whatzaoverwatch · 4 years

Text

The Reaper of the Opera Chapter 12: Into the Lair

*intense organ music plays in the background*

First Prev Final

“Please, let me go!” You cried to your captor.

Words falling short as he dragged you along. Eyes facing ahead while he lurked through the darkness. Smoke dancing across your dress, brushing against the material as if it caressed you. His grip on your wrist tightened, his gloves digging into your skin. Thankfully, he did not wear the sharper pair, otherwise he would make you bleed. But you knew he wasn’t worried about bruising your skin at the moment. Following the passageway he took you long ago into his home. Falling into the darkness once more as you feared. Struggling against his hold, you tried to halt his movements by the heel of your laced boots.

“Gabriel-“

Your shouts were silenced by the slip of the name. Roughly pinning you against the stone wall, red eyes drilling into yours. His teeth bared like a beast, towering over your form. The light of his torch showing you his features within the darkness. Reminded of what you had revealed before the opera company and what he kept so hidden.

“Don’t even say that name!” He barked at you. Seething from your actions, watching you try to resist, “I tried to give you mercy, as you did to me in the graveyard. But you have pushed your luck. If you will not take me into your light, then I shall drag you into the darkness.”

Pulling you upwards, he had enough of your squirming. Lifting you from the wall to carry onto his shoulder. Causing you the shriek and beat your fists against his backside. Ignoring your cries for help. Knowing the attendees from above had more to deal with on their end. He knew these caverns better than anyone, it’d be a miracle if anyone caught up to you two. Taking you further into the underground, into his hellish lair.

The fire began to spread further across the stage. Many had struggled to escape, tripping over everyone in sheer panic. The flames engulfing anything in sight as it did years ago. A fit of déjà vu between Ana and McCree. It was the older woman who made haste to the dancers, quick to help them escape alongside the stage handler. The managers and the other accompaniment already out the doors. Spotting Fareeha among the crowd, Ana hurried to her side. Pulling her close to check if she was alright. Receiving a tight embrace from the dancer. Discovering injured bodies of the yakuza scattered in various parts of the theatre. The flames quickly grew upon whatever they touched. Posters and lights engulfed in flames as the smoke hung in the air. The plan had miserably failed. History repeating itself to a once beautiful opera company.

“McCree! Madame Amari!” The two perked up from their name calls, the Shimada brothers hollering their names as they confronted them.

“We have to get out of here before the place falls on us.” Hanzo instructed, looking to his disheveled brother.

“The exit is just on the left here, come on,” McCree informed them, trying to guide Fareeha and Ana. Noticing immediately that Genji had yet to join, “Well what are you waiting for?”

“I have to go back for [Name].” He stated. Still determined to go after the Reaper for snatching you away. McCree looking exasperated as he pointed towards the fire.

“Pardon the heroic mission, but I don’t know if you notice that the whole fucking building is on fire. As much as I want to hunt down Reyes, there is no way we can find out where he is in time.” He stated.

“I know were he is hiding.” Everyone turned their gaze to Ana who had spoken. Fear no longer residing in the old woman. Genji approached the instructor with hope.

“Can you show me the way?” She nodded, beckoning Fareeha to go over to McCree. The stage handler skeptical of Anas words.

“How do I know you won’t turn your back on him?” Ana stared down the stage handler. Having enough of his speculation, pointing her slender finger to his face.

“Gabriel has taken this too far. I no longer see the man I once knew. The Gabriel I knew would’ve never wanted what what he cherished to be destroyed. He must pay for what he has done.” Fareeha’s concern evident to Ana’s promise..

“I’m coming with you mother!” Refusing to let anything befall her, she was ready to join the rescue mission. Her determination halted by Jesses hold on her. Willing to fight off McCrees hold, she could see that it wasn’t what Ana wanted. Ana’s gaze softening with a shake of her head.

“No, I will not let anymore of my family be taken. Look after my daughter Jesse. I’m counting on you.” McCree was reluctant on those words, unable to turn down her final wish.

Fareeha continued to struggle, repressed tears beginning to sting her eyes. Ana slowly backed away, leading Genji towards the flames. Hanzo couldn’t watch his brother try to return into the fire. The memories of his screams aching his mind. Unable to let him go, he grabbed his arm, stopping him from taking another step.

“Genji, I cannot let you act so foolishly!” Speaking his mind to his stubborn brother.

“That is not for you to decide. That monster took [Name] away! I am not going to run when she needs our help!” Trying to escape his brothers grip, Hanzo pulled him back with more force.

“She’s GONE Genji!” He snapped at him, unable to hold back his emotions any longer, “Even if you find her, the Reaper will kill you! Just let him have what he wants...”

“I CANNOT LOSE HER AGAIN!” Genji shouted, showing the tears that were beginning to fall from his eyes. Startling Hanzo for the second time in his life, “I abandoned her years ago! I wanted to go back to her, but then you tried to kill me! All because I wanted to follow my heart! For years I thought I could never deserve her. Unable to free myself from who we truly are. When we came back here, I promised that I would protect her. I’m sorry brother, I cannot let her go…I love her…”

Hanzo was taken back by his words. The guilt of his actions now revealed to the rest of the group. Avoiding their surprised gaze on him. Balling his hands into fists, he knew he couldn’t interfere with his brothers wishes. Even if it meant losing him again as well. Letting out a shaky exhale, he looked back at Genji with a stern expression.

“You better come back with her…” He said, suddenly taken into an exceedingly rare embrace. Unsure of what to do, he was left to feel the faint sigh escaping his brother. Uncertainty drifted when Genji pulled away from his form. Placing his hands on either side of his arms with a smile.

“I will.” Letting him go, he hurried back over to Anas side. Hanzo watched the two make haste. Allowing that trust himself to finally trust his brothers actions. Taking one final breath before heading for the escape route with the others.

Returning to his lair, he had stepped out of the boat, pulling you in as you continued to struggle. Having enough of your resistance, he tossed you onto the bed. Discarding of his coat and guns, he shook his head in frustration. Everything had gone wrong, just when he thought his dreams would come true. Just in his moments of giving you his heart, you decided to reveal his outward appearance to the world. Storming towards his sheet music, he grabbed his constructed work together. Casting it aside with a snarl. Knocking over a few things like a child having a tantrum. His eyes on you when a yelp escaped your lips.

What he had feared most was right before him. Seeing your eyes wide at his appearance. Trembling in terror from his fury. The looks that were seen once before by Jack and Ana. The horror he had in his eyes when he looked to the mirror. His wrath being the only thing to make his heart stone cold. Stalking back towards you, he gripped your wrists once more. Watching you shake as his dark irises looked upon you.

“All I wanted was for you is to accept me,” he hissed. His teeth grinding roughly at how much he scowled. Watching your breath quicken by the closeness of your forms, “I wanted you to see me not as this thing, but what I am beneath. I wanted you to love me. [Name]…[Name] why did you do this!?”

You shook your head at his question, making him angrier at your silence. Releasing you from his clutches, he stepped back to run his fingers through his hair. Trying to set his plan into the next course of action. He reached for his shotgun, eyeing the intricate design. Signs of death that he had made especially for a monster like him. Facing you once more, he pointed the gun towards your petrified form.

“Like it or not, you will be mine. Even if I have to force you to say it.” He moved towards a chest in his cavern. Opening it to reveal a white haltered dress with black petals along the trimming. A mermaid shaped style to hug your body. A matching veil, covered in black roses rested close by. Watching you slowly process what his plan was. Grinning when your eyes widened at the realization, “I intended for you to marry me by the end of the performance. Too bad you had to interrupt the show. You will become my wife one way or another.”

Genji followed suit to Anas guidance. Both of them quick on their heels down a forbidden passageway. Watching her carefully move across the stone floor. He was unsure as to how long she knew of these tunnels. Knowing how long Reaper had taken her hostage, she must’ve been forced down here like you.

Ana halted herself at the very edge to an open cavern. He looked to see her lift her black dress, guiding her foot to a particular stone and pressing down. Hearing the stones against the ridge pulling out to reveal a staircase. Leaning over to observe the steps coming out of the wall. Surprised by the secret, he began to take the first step. Realizing that she made no effort to follow or lead. Gazing up to her, seeing the grimace in her eye.

“I am afraid this is as far as I can take you.” She explained, having Genji worry for her safety. Assuring there was no need of her presence, she shook her head, “I will be fine, go before it’s too late.”

“…Thank you.” He spoke softly, looking down the staircase as he made his descent.

He forced you to wear the dress. Held at gun point with no use resisting. Pulled into his sickening game with no denial. Even going as far as giving you the privacy by not looking. To uphold the never looking at your bride before the wedding. You knew that it was pointless, given that he may simply tear the dress apart and fuck you against the bed sheets. His lust had overpowered his rationality. Truly falling mad to his situation.

It was disturbing how much he knew your sizes so perfectly. The dress fitting you with no sign of error. Then again, you could no longer hide yourself from him anymore. He wanted you, now he had every urge to claim you. Leaving you helpless as his captive bride. You could no longer take being someone’s prisoner. Stepping out of your changing spot, wearing his gown as instructed. You couldn’t help but frown with his back turned to you. Wishing you had the strength to overpower him. Only able to use your voice to call to him.

“Are you satisfied? For how many you have harmed to please your desires?” He turned to you, red eyes feasting upon your figure as you tried to make yourself be heard, “Now, you want to use me for your lust of flesh?”

“Oh, I will be satisfied. I have every intention of perfecting my beautiful bride,” He growled, facing you completely. The gun remaining at his side. Holding his hand out to you, “Simply magnificent. I envy how much you can look so radiant. Even if when you look at me like that, your fire sings to me.”

“You’re sick. I will never sing for you.” You spat, watching him step closer to you.

“Give it time my dear, let me just savour you just a little bit longer,” Watching you tighten your fists, your face no longer fearless upon his look. Touching his caved in features with his glove, “You might be thinking: how can I survive such a horrid incident? Leaving myself to rot here for eternity? I always claimed it as a curse, to repay for all of the dirty deeds that I have done. Gods cruel hand taking what meant the most to me. It’s a poison, intoxicating the memory of who I once was. You have no idea how much I yearned for such simple desires. The ability to taste, to feel, to be loved.”

He tried to reach for your jawline, to caress it as he did once before. You swiftly looked away from his affectionate actions, denying him any source of your touch. Closing your eyes to blind yourself from the scowl that formed on Reapers face. Pulling you by the arm, he forced you to look at him with his gun pressed to your side.

“I wonder, why you do not look at me the way you look at that boy? My body just as corrupted as his own. Although, I can say for certain my hands are clean,” Looking into his eyes, he hummed at your sudden ignorance, “Ah, you never did know what that family had been known for. He must’ve told you as to why he ran away like a coward. An older brother disciplining his sibling for trying to escape his duties. The Shimadas are assassins. They kill to get paid. Their money is tainted in blood. Every single one of them has done so. You say he should never kill for you. But you knew he intended to kill me.”

“That’s not true…” You called his bluff, whimpering as he held your chin.

“Am I? I merely incapacitate my victims, not wish for their timely death. You can’t deny the look he had in the graveyard. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t interfered.” Your eyes lowered, remembering the sight of envy and bitterness when you let Reaper escape. Flinching as he brushed his thumb against your cheek.

“Tell me, is being with an assassin safer than being with me? Just a man searching for love. An artist lost in his work. A soul who was abandoned by the ones he cherished most?” Not seeking an answer, he let you go to grab the veil you left behind. To complete his image once and for all, “No matter, I no longer care for your pity. Your fate with me has always been certain the moment I found you. An eternity with me is nothing short of a suitable punishment.”

He backed away when he settled the veil before you. Taking in his work with a satisfied hum. Finding yourself looking into the shattered mirror. Seeing multiple sets of your discouraged face matching his pleased one. Everything as he wanted, and it felt so wrong. Shaking your head, you stepped back from him with a frown.

“I love Genji because he learned to forgive. He no longer holds the rage that he once concealed long ago. He did what he had to because he was forced to. Genji moved on from his tragedy and became a better man for it,” Shaking your head, you pulled the veil from your head, not caring about the displeased look from your captor. Dropping the delicate piece to the floor, “I am no longer afraid of what you look like, nor do I take pity of what has happened to you. It’s your soul in which that distortion lies. You attack for fun; you manipulate and destroy those that loved you. It’s like you said, you are no longer Gabriel Reyes, you are the Reaper. You are nothing but a monster!”

He grimaced at your words. The reflection truly showing what he had succumbed to. The man he started as was long longer with him. The photos beneath his feet were torn up pictures of him, Jack and Ana. Even some that he shared with McCree, who was like a son to him. He threw it away, now he was paying the price. Snapping out of his thoughts, he heard the water moving against the rocks. Lifting his gaze to what was behind you. Seeing that Genji had made his way into the cavern. Arriving at the gate to see you and him together. The menacing look appeared before his features. Chuckling deeply at the situation.

“Oh, my dear, I believe we have a guest.” He tilted his head to the direction of the entrance. You spun around to see Genji gripping the gates bars. Your heart sinking to see your beloved.

“Genji!” Your movement halted by the grasp of Reaper. Screaming as he pulled you to his side, the gun now pressed against your head. Struggling against his maddening laughter.

“Oh what a delight, to think I was worried we would not have a witness for our bond,” He confessed, letting him struggle against the gates, “what a magnificent night this turned out to be.”

“FREE HER!” Genji demanded, pulling out his blade as a warning. A delighted hum escaping your captor by his bravery.

“Your lover makes such a passionate plea. Why should I listen to a brat like you?” He hissed into your ear. You winced, crying out to him in Reapers grasp.

“Genji please, he won’t let me go!” Genji attempted to break open the gate with his blade, finding no use with the bars being made of iron.

“You damn bastard, I love her! Does that mean nothing to you?” Slamming his fist against the gate in his struggle.

“Get in line, Sparrow. She belongs to me!” Reaper snarked, denying Genji any chance on getting close.

“Let me see her at least. For Gods sake, show some compassion!” Reapers grip on you tightened at the Shimadas words.

“THE WORLD SHOWED NO COMPASSION TO ME!” Reaper roared at the thought of that dreadful word.

Only knowing of hate and anger from his peers. Even to the moments before the incident, people turned his back to him. Your whimpers at the sudden shout caught his attention. Watching as he looked down to you. Tears staining your cheeks from his fury. Tugging at his shirt as he saw you beg with your gaze.

“Please, let me see him.” Your voice soft in your weeping.

A voice that seeped into his darkened heart. His crimson eyes leering at your expression. Unable to resist the words of his soon to be bride. Releasing you to the ground, you collapsed to the ground out of weakness. Walking towards the lever by the boat, eyeing Genji in case he pulled any tricks. Resting the gun against his shoulder, grabbing the lever with a sneer.

“Very well…be my guest, sir.” He huffed, letting the gates rise before them.

Allowing him to step in quickly. Treading through the water before he reached the rocky shore. Rushing to your side immediately, pulling you into a protective embrace. Despite how drenched his form was, you held onto him like your life depended on it. Sobbing quietly into the man you never thought you’d see again. Genji cupped your cheeks, looking into your eyes with his own.

“You came back for me…” You mumbled, a hopeful smile forming on your lips. Genji smiled in return, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“I said I would…I won’t ever leave you again, [Name].” He vowed. Placing your hands over his at such a delicate moment. The two of you were interrupted by the sound of Reaper clapping. Slow and intimidating while he walked around the two of you. Your body flinching from his growls.

“My good sir, did you think that I would harm her? Why would I dare make her pay for your own sins?” He growled, spotting Genjis blade that he had dropped when he went after you.

Leaving his opponent unarmed and free for the taking. Using the foolish mistake for his advantage, he kicked away the blade into the water. Letting Genjis startled reaction distract him from Reaper yanking him away from you. Crying out to Genji, trying to reach for him as he was taken from you. Reaper threw him against the stone wall with complete force. The impact leaving Genji in a stricken shock of pain. A curse escaped Genji, only to find himself pinned against the stone wall by Reapers arm. His forearm pressed against his neck, cutting the air circulation from his lungs. Clawing furiously against the mighty grip. His squirming ceased by the cold touch of a weapon against his scarred cheekbones. Gun pressed against his temple as he found no way to escape.

“No!” You screamed, watching Reaper prepared to pull the trigger. His laughter mocking the wiggling form of Genji. His rival now defenseless as he was in the graveyard.

“Should’ve paid closer attention. Nothing can save you now! Except perhaps,” His red eyes now turned to you, a plot forming in his mind on the situation at hand. Adjust his grip on the gun, he made certain you know that fate was falling into your hands, “[Name], start a new life with me. Buy his freedom with your love. Refuse me, and you send your beloved to his death. THIS is the choice. THIS is the point of no return!”

To be continued

39 notes · View notes

loveforpreserumsteve · 4 years

Text

The One: Bonus “Begin Again” Story (Mortician!Steve and Baker!Bucky Modern AU)

One:

Today was the day.

Steve's heart swelled as Natasha stepped into the silhouette gown. Slipping her arms into the thin spaghetti straps, she adjusted the V-neck until her corset couldn't be seen and gestured for Steve to come closer. Of course, as the petite redhead's maid of honor, Steve obliged.

Making sure not to step on the tulle skirt, Steve gently pulled the lace bodice together and buttoned the delicate pieces together. Smirking when Natasha twitched at the brush of his knuckles along her back, Steve purposely did it again. Knowing that Natasha was tense due to her nerves.

"Are you excited?" Steve softly questioned, giving her shoulders a tender squeeze before moving away from her.

Turning, Natasha shrugged her shoulder and checked her reflection in the mirror. Twirling an intentionally fallen strand around her finger to get it to curl in the direction she wanted it to as she admitted, "It doesn't feel real."

Steve nodded, "I know what you mean."

At the possibility of hearing the bittersweet edge to his voice, Natasha stopped prepping herself and crossed the room to Steve. Taking his hands in hers, she sincerely stated, "Thank you."

"For what?" Steve good-humoredly scoffed while his brows started to furrow.

"For being here," Natasha shrugged, "For being my friend." Steve gave her hands a squeeze and Natasha added, "For introducing me to my future husband."

"Okay, yeah, I'm pretty great," Steve joked, winking at his best friend.

Natasha's eyes were turning glassy as tears started filling them. Even though she was desperately trying not to cry, those pesky tears continued. Steve reached up and caught one that escaped and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

"Thank god for waterproof mascara," Natasha teased, blinking away the rest of her tears. Running her hand over Steve's beard, she mocked, "Best not to have beard-burn when I'm about to get married. People might get the wrong idea."

Playfully, Steve rolled his eyes. Finding the door opening and Maria carrying the veil as she rushed into the room, "It's a good thing Carol's glove box is a hodgepodge treasure chest." Waving her hand over the comb part, she bit her lower lip, "The glue is still tacky, so it'll probably stick to your hair."

"We have time to let it dry a little more," Steve assured.

"It's not like they can start it without me," Natasha joked, placing her hands on her hips.

"True," Maria confirmed, blowing on the spot where glue was holding one of the tiny blue flowers in place.

Looking around the room, Natasha deadpanned, "My flower girl is still in the bathroom, so I clearly can't walk down the aisle without fresh rose petals beneath my feet."

"Oh, can't have that," Maria mocked, exchanging a glance with Steve as he checked his own reflection. Smoothing his hand over his freshly cut, shorter hair while he wondered if he should trim his beard more.

"Why is it," Natasha started, joining Steve in front of the mirror. Making sure to keep her tone low as she questioned, "I'm the one getting married and you're the one fidgeting?"

"Well, one of us has to be the wreck," Steve reasoned.

Before anything else could be said, a knock broke through their moment. The trio looked over to find Birdie poking her head in through the door crack. With her lopsided flower girl flower-crown and a missing-tooth grin, Birdie asked, "Ready?"

Natasha took in a grounding breath and nodded, "Ready."

Heart racing at the déjà vu, Steve wiped his clammy palms on his black slacks. Being the fidgeting one, Steve tugged at his red tuxedo jacket and tried to gather himself. Looking over at Natasha though, made it easier. The linger heartache seeped out of him and his chest clenched because, "You're beautiful."

Grin taking on a cocky twist, Natasha flipped her hand as though she was going to flip her hair as she teasingly demanded, "Tell me something I don't know."

Rolling his eyes, Steve redirected his attention to in front of them as they walked down the hotel hallway, and his smile grew when he found Natasha's dad waiting for them. A smile splitting his dark face and stretching all the way up to his eyes. It was hands down the happiest Steve had ever seen Nick Fury.

"Don't you clean up nicely," Nick greeted, extending his arms for his long ago- adopted daughter. Glancing to Maria and Steve, he complimented them as well, "You both look nice."

"Me? Look at you," Natasha commented, dramatically fanning herself.

Shaking his head, Nick turned to face the front, silently informing everyone else to take their places in line. Birdie up front with her basket of rose petals. Axel, Blaze, and Knox next with the rings. After securing the veil in Natasha's updo, Maria linked her arm with her wife's while Carol theatrically ran her eyes down the red halter gown. Next, Steve slipped his arm under the best man, Eddie's, black tuxedo clad arm.

Pulling a page out of Natasha's book, Steve winked over his shoulder in encouragement. Facing the front again, Steve found it easier to smile than he originally assumed. Especially once the doors opened to the hotel courtyard and the string quartet began their rendition of Tenerife Sea.

A little rambunctiously, Birdie started scooping petals out of her basket and tossed them onto the man-made aisle like they had personally offended her. Phil Coulson, the next-best wedding planner, quietly tried to get her to stop being so aggressive, but eventually gave up as she gleefully ran down the aisle. And since she ran, the boys did too. Earning a face-palm from Phil and laughs from the guests.

Before Steve knew it, it was time for him to follow in his niece's and friends' steps and head down the aisle. Allowing Eddie to control how fast they walked, which wasn't very fast at all. Steve couldn't thank him enough since all he wanted to do was sprint like the kids had.

Affectionately squeezing Eddie's arm once they reached the altar, Steve took his spot beside Maria. With his shoulders back to exude confidence, Steve turned to face the guests. Eyes instantly scanned the well-dressed attendees until they landed on Bucky, and his heart could finally beat normally again.

#begin again #the one #bonus #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #modern au #wedding #fluff #smut

1 note · View note

bbq-hawks-wings · 6 years

Note

Hello friend! I just went to a wedding and it was incredibly beautiful! So I was wondering if you could make a scenario of hawks getting married to his female s/o? This was my first time sending a request so I hope I did it correctly! Thank you and have a nice day! :)

This man makes me w e a k, and don’t worry anon, you nailed it.

I’ve always wanted to plan a wedding and see it play out. Maybe someday I will for real. Done, anon. (P.S. If you want an idea of where I got the color pallet in this chapter, may I draw your attention to my favorite ring in the world.)

The day he had asked you to marry him and you said yes was the happiest day of his life. He had spent time getting to know you, opening up and being truly vulnerable for the very first time, and you had never done anything but give and give and love him. He would rope the stars and the moon if you asked him, and he wanted so badly to declare his love for you to the world. However, your relationship had remained quiet and out of the spotlight. Especially since you were actively avoiding the attention he had taken measures to keep your meetings clandestine, to keep your name and face out of the public eye. A watchful fan might be able to sense something amiss (he couldn’t escape the spotlight forever), but they never had enough to do anything but throw out mere theories.

He wanted to give you the biggest fairy tale wedding money could buy, and he wanted to invite the entire country, if not the world to watch; but he understood your reservations about it. For your safety, privacy, and peace of mind a small wedding was worth the price. As well for him, the fact that you knew he would hand you a blank check for whatever you wanted but you still tried to keep spending down because you didn’t want to treat him like an ATM made him fall even deeper in love with you whenever the subject came up.

He agreed to whatever venue and theme you wanted on two conditions: one, let him order some custom wedding ring designs because he wouldn’t have his one of a kind girl wearing a piece that hundreds, maybe thousands, of other women were also wearing; and two, spare no expense with the dress! He knew that a wedding was mostly for the bride at the end of the day; and he wanted to let you feel like a princes- no, a QUEEN on your wedding day without worrying about the price tag. He told you that come what may, when it came to looking back the photos of him fawning over you in that dress would be able to give you happy memories whenever you needed them, and anytime the everyday stresses of the world dragged you down he wanted you to be able to look at that ring and let it remind you that you were like no one else in the world to him just like that little piece of jewelry.

The venue was small and private. Only both your immediate family and close friends - heroes, high school, or otherwise- were invited. Just trusted people who had known you were together to begin with. He didn’t bother to mention the event to his sponsors. He wanted them and their world as far separated from you and your new lives together as possible. They didn’t care anyway.

It was a small, chapel-like building. A few rows of pews on either side flanked the aisle which was laden with a soft, white carpet and red trim. White chiffon hung up on the walls and lined the inside of the pews with small bouquets of red roses, ferns, baby’s breath and tiny sprigs of acacia blossoms. It was dark outside, and the light in the hall danced and sparkled from the crystal chandeliers which allowed the stained glass windows to display their full range of color without distracting and taking from the scene inside. That alone was picture perfect as Hawks waited at the end of the aisle, proud of your planning but increasingly nervous for the upcoming ceremony.

You’d caught that he was self conscious about the color of his wings in your wedding photos - lamenting that they might distract others from how beautiful you were in that white dress. Red was a far more dominant color, he explained. White disappeared and took a seat next to it unless it was an accent color, and his wings were just too big to pass off as some kind of “fashion statement.” He even complained that even if they were white it would be more attention on him than he wanted. But you were clever - or at least you had clever hero support friends with a knack for design!

You had called on their expertise to tie in the concept of white and red mixing together and complimenting each other instead of fighting for dominance. They came up with a fantastic solution of tying in two other main colors - stunning pink gold and humble burnt umber - as intermediate accents and trim. His tuxedo consisted of a white jacket and trousers, red cummerbund and tie, with pink gold and satin brown trim lining the lapels, pleats on his shirt, and shiny gold buttons and wrist cuffs with modest brown shoes. Though he didn’t usually appreciate formal wear he felt really good when he put it on, feeling like his wings actually fit the design instead of distracting from it. He was just anxious to see if this was how you dressed him, what did YOU look like? Luckily after the hours of nervous pacing, anticipation, and anxious bouncing on his toes for the ceremony to start he would see.

The music played and all the guests rose as the doors at the front of the aisle gently parted for you to make your way down. The sight of you in that dress was beyond magnificent and took his breath away.

You had taken him seriously when he asked you to go all out. The flowing white skirt of the ball gown possessed a gorgeously understated gold lace layer over it and fell around you gloriously, demanding room and reverence around you though your gait denoted a calm spirit unburdened by the gaze of others. The white bodice pulled in at your waist and gently flared out to a Bataeu neckline that was a perfect balance of alluring and elegant - the shoulders of which were red chiffon blending in perfectly with the red bead work on the bodice fading down to white, and in the center of the neckline sat a simple round brooch with a brown gem centerpiece, small white jewels around the edges in a rose gold setting. You wore a choker of gold with red and white rhinestones that draped across your otherwise bare shoulders and dipped down in an arch delicately. Your chapel length veil possessed gold and satin brown trim around the edges to mirror the ensemble of your groom, though the smallest of red and pink rhinestones hidden in the lace would sparkle and reflect an extra splash of color. It wasn’t immediately obvious from the front, but as you walked up the steps to stand next to your husband-to-be a bright streak of red ran from where there were the gaps in the shoulder straps on your back (a subtle set of wings as a nod to his nickname, “Angel,” for you Hawks would come to learn later), together into the waist of the bodice, and then in one demanding band of satin red in a dramatic flair all the way down the monarch train of your skirt where it bled off into the red, pink gold, and satin brown lining for the lace layer that would sweep up into the two side panels that met again in the front at the bodice, allowing the gold pattern to end spectacularly around you and leave the panel of pure white unblemished in front of you, tying back into the solid white part of the bodice.

He couldn’t tell by virtue of being absolutely star struck in the moment, but he very well almost cried at the sight of you. Like everything else, you blew his expectations out of the water. Whatever he gave you or asked of you you always managed to return to him two, five, or tenfold times beyond his wildest dreams. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you as you approached, sure that he was either going to wake from a dream or just drop dead from the overwhelming weight in his heart. He noticeably jumped when the minister spoke up at the end of the music. If not for the rehearsal the night before, he would have forgotten to turn shoulder to shoulder to you, though he wished mightily he could just stare into your eyes for the rest of eternity.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” and the rest was lost on Hawks’ ears as he desperately tried to continue looking at you through the corner of his eye, which only made you blush and smile when you noticed. How the hell did you just manage to be even more beautiful than what he witnessed just now?! The ceremony continued on for both far too long and not long enough when he was finally broken out of his trance.

“(Y/N), will you have this man to be your husband; to live together with him in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.” Your words were clear and even, though the way you blushed under your eyelashes as you looked to him betrayed the way your heart was racing.

The minister then addressed Hawks, “And will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together with her in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as you both shall live?”

“I wi-Ihl-” His voiced unintentionally cracked around the lump in his throat, and you could both hear a chuckle from the pews behind you. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I will.”

“With that, we would have the bride and groom exchange wedding vows and rings. May the ring bearer please come forth.”

Tokoyami had been incredibly surprised when Hawks had not only invited him to the wedding, but asked him to be the ring-bearer. The experience he had gained during his internship he had considered generous enough, but to think Hawks could have taken enough of a liking to him for this honor was beyond him. Reverently approaching from his place to stand next to the both of you, he offered your ring to Hawks with respect and Dark Shadow offered his to you with excitement before they both returned to their spot.

“Sir, please take (Y/N)’s left hand and repeat after me.

“In the sight of all these witnesses, I, (state your name), take you, (Y/N), to be my wife,”

He repeated in kind back and forth until they reached the end.

“...to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

He looked down as he readied the ring he had spent so long designing onto your ring finger as he continued. “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you.” With that, he slowly slipped on the ring and allowed you to admire it - this being your first time ever seeing it. The band was made of small silver feathers that swirled together into a spun gold nest-like setting with a magnificent round fire opal as the centerpiece flanked by small white diamonds and a few, tiny, inconspicuous silver feathers tucked into the gold strands of the nest.

The minister then turned to you and asked you to repeat the same vows before you readied Hawk’s ring as well and placed it on his finger when you had finished, “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you.” It was a wide, masculine band, but in it were many gold feathers stemming from the shaft of a silver arrow that wrapped around his finger - the feathers meant to symbolize all that he had to give you; and the arrow his vow to protect you, his desire to provide for you like a feather carries an arrow to its target, as well as a personal point on the compass to point him home to you.

The minister gave one last address to the congregation gathered as you held hands and gazed into each others’ eyes, excited for the part to come next. “Now that these two have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife.

“You may kiss the bride.”

A thousand thoughts raced through his head as his hands gently, slowly moved to raise the veil from your face. This was it! In everyone’s eyes you were his missus, his wife, maybe the only thing in the world that was truly his. Your relationship had not been an easy one to establish by any means. There were tears and heartache and pain; and there were times he was sure that there was nothing he could do for you but to let you go; but even in the worst of circumstances you had returned to him time and time again and done nothing but hold him and love him. Everything in his world could crumble out from beneath him, but he would be able to fall safely into your arms - and really, wasn’t that what it meant to truly have everything?

He had genuinely meant to make the kiss short and sweet, but like many other things in his life his thoughts spun in his head too fast for his own good; and in the first split second he went from a gentle, chaste kiss with your face in his hands as the crowd applauded to pulling you close by the waist in a deep, passionate embrace to the sound a few whoops and jeers.

“Save it for the honeymoon, love birds!”

The comment made both of you blush as you pulled away from each other, but at this point, he didn’t really care any more. There was no more doubt, no more uncertainty, no more gaps between you. This was the first day of the rest of your lives together. He had you now, and he was never letting go. He lifted you up into the air and spun you around without regard, nearly knocking over the rest of the wedding party in the process.

This was truly the happiest day of his life!

#bnha hawks #mha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x reader bnha #hawks imagine #hawks x reader imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagines #ugh I'm such a sucker for love stories!#Especially from men's point of view!#thanks for this anon I loved writing it!

443 notes · View notes

stained-carmine · 5 years

Text

As the sun sank below the horizon, evening turning to dusk, another day came to a close.

Ivalinne let out a sigh as she gazed out at the remnants of daylight that waned, giving way to darkness with each passing minute.

Between dress fittings, wedding planning, and visits to Arden, the soon-to-be queen had little time to herself since her engagement had been announced. With her mother watching over her like a hawk, the young noble hadn’t gotten the opportunity to sneak away to the garden in hopes of meeting with her dear friend.

Turning her gaze away from the window, the girl stared at the mannequin that sat in the corner of her room. On it was the dress she was to wear on her wedding day. A strapless gown as white as freshly fallen snow, adorned with shimmering crystal. A form fitting bodice that bellowed out into a dress fit for a princess. Lace trim lined the edges of the dress, which itself was made of silk. Teardrop shaped crystalline beads embellished the garment, adding further decadence to the already ornate edges of dress and its accompanying accessories. Satin gloves that ran the full length of the girl’s arms, accentuated at the wrists with embroidered cuffs. A lace choker with a brooch featuring a rich red gem procured from the innermost regions of the Atalian Mountain Range. Last but not least was a transparent white veil with an elegant cut along the edge, decorated with beads that hung from the tips of the intricate design.

It truly was a work of art. A dress she would love to wear on her wedding day, had she not been set to marry that man.

Cyril of Falorre. She didn’t like him in the slightest, hated him even. The way he looked at her made her feel like some kind of prize he was intent to claim, like an object rather than a person. His hands would linger on her whenever he touched her, sending shivers down her spine. Her intuition told her that this man was bad news, that there was something wrong with him—something foul about him. She didn’t want to marry him. Not now, not ever.

But what could she do? She had already raised her objections to both of her parents, neither did anything to bring things to a halt. With her options exhausted, she was at a loss as to what to do. She was just one girl after all. A weak, helpless, little girl...

Tink.

“Hm?” The sudden sound of something impacting her window snapped her out of her daze. Turning to face the disturbance, she gazed out into the garden to see a familiar face.

“Eliyah...!” Rising to her feet, Ivalinne rushed to the door, grabbing the handle before coming to a halt.

If mother hears me, she will surely find out and punish me...But Eliyah is— As she debated what to do, a realization hit her.

Wait. Today is...! So much had been on her mind lately that it hadn’t even occurred to her what today was.

June 18th, Eliyah’s birthday.

Ivalinne’s heart ached at the thought. How could I forget...? I am a terrible friend... She clutched at her arm as she lowered her head, sinking deeper into her misery.

But another rock hitting her window woke her from her feelings of self-pity a moment later, as she turned to gaze back at the window.

...That is right, it is not too late...! With renewed determination, the young duchess opened the door and took off down the hall, moving as silently as she could in order to not alert her mother or any of the servants to her actions. Carefully opening the front door and slipping out into the garden, she took off in the direction of the fountain, hoping to catch him before he left.

Eliyah sat at the fountain, gazing into the calm rippling waters as he sat amidst the cool evening air. The sun had already set, ushering in the darkness of night. Overhead, stars faintly sparkled, as the crystalline moon reflected it’s light upon the land, illuminating it dimly.

As the boy sat there, staring at the moon reflected in the water, he could hear footsteps swiftly approaching. Turning to look in the direction of the sound, he would be greeted by the sight of his dear friend.

“Ivalinne...” As he spoke her name, a dull pain ached in his heart. Turning his gaze downward, he frowned, brow knitting with worry.

“Eliyah...” The young duchess reached a hand out, only to pull it back upon seeing the sorrow in his eyes.

“I...am sorry for disturbing you so late in the evening...” He said as he reached his hand down to let his fingers glide across the surface of the water. After a moment of awkward silence, he let out a sigh as he rose to his feet. “...I...should not have come...” Turning his gaze to meet hers, he gave somber frown. “But...I just wanted to see you...one more time.”

“Eliyah...” The girl averted her gaze. It hurt. Seeing him so sad, it hurt. Heart aching with a dull, persistent pain, she opened her mouth to speak. “I...” But she couldn’t think of what to say to him. What was there to say? She was getting married to a man she had no love for. Forced to conform, to oblige to the whims of adults who cared not what she desired. Her pleas fallen on deaf ears, her protests given no thought by uncaring minds. She was chained to a fate she never asked for, and it hurt. Hurt more than any physical pain ever could. And the fact that this was not only causing her to suffer, but Eliyah too...it was unbearable.

Letting out a sheepish laugh, the boy scratched the back of his head. “I really am quite foolish...” Turning to leave, he would pause for a moment, before turning to give her one last smile. A painful, forced smile, as he tried to hold back the tears that tried to push their way through. “I am glad to have gotten to see you one last time. I shall miss you dearly...” Turning his face away from her, he let out a deep breath. “Please...forgive me, Ivalinne.” With that, he began to slowly make his way to the hedge wall.

However, he only took a few steps before he heard swift footsteps and felt her at his back, grasping at his coat tightly. Turning to look back at her, he uttered her name softly. “Ivalinne...”

Hands clutching tighter as she began to tremble, she spoke with a choked voice. “You utter fool...! You have done nothing wrong! I cannot forgive you, because there is nothing I need to forgive you for!” Turning her gaze from the ground, her crimson eyes met with his blue ones.

“There is nothing that you have done that needs forgiveness! So do not say such ridiculous things!”

Seeing Ivalinne, too, on the verge of tears, the boy couldn’t contain them any longer, drops welling up in the corners of his eyes. “Ivalinne...” Turning around to face her, he reached out to embrace her, only for his muscles to seize up with hesitation. “Ivalinne, I...” Before he could finish his thought, the young duchess wrapped her arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze. The tears flowed from the boy’s eyes freely, staining not only his own clothes, but the dress of his dear friend as well.

“I...do not want you to leave!” He managed to force the words out before the tears overtook him and he began to sob.

“I, too, do not wish to leave. Neither this town, nor your side...I want to stay...!” She said as she tried to hold back her own which sprung forth from her eyes.

“I do not want to marry him! I want to stay here, with you! Playing in the gardens, laughing and smiling! I do not want for this to change!” Unable to hold back anymore, tears slid down her soft cheeks, landing upon his coat and soaking into the fabric.

“What should I do, Eliyah?! I have pleaded and begged for Mother and Father to reconsider! How can I change their minds?! How can I stop this from happening?! I do not know what to do!”

Eliyah, unable to cease his sobs to speak, merely clutched his dear friend tighter, hands trembling furiously.

“I hate him! I hate the Duke of Falorre! I never want to marry him! I want to marry someone who I truly care for! Someone who I cannot live without! Someone like you!”

Eliyah’s heart leapt at the words that came out of the girl’s mouth, the shock bringing a halt to his sobs. “Someone...like me...?”

As the boy repeated her words, it occurred to the young duchess what exactly she had just said. Pulling out of their embrace, she stepped back, gazing at him with a look of sheer surprise, as if she couldn’t believe what she had done. What she had just admitted to, what she had so brazenly and boldly declared as she shouted into the night.

Then it dawned on her. These feelings she harbored, what she’s felt for so long. That warmth, that relief, that joy that just being with him brought her.

That was love.

As the realization came over her, the tears flowed freely down her face as she looked to Eliyah, giving him not an expression of sadness, but one of joy.

“...Yes! Like you!”

Eliyah’s eyes widened as her tearful smile was etched into his memory. “You...really do...” Like a wave hitting him, an overpowering emotion washed over him, bringing further tears to his eyes. “You really do...feel the same as I do...!”

Ivalinne’s eyes widened as her heart skipped a beat. “You...feel this way...? For me...?”

The boy raised his hands to his face to wipe away stray tears, before giving her a beautiful smile. “Yes...Yes I do!” He declared with a confidence she had never before seen from him. “I was too afraid to tell you...for fear that you did not feel the same as I” Despite his attempts to clear his face of the tears he had cried, more began to well up, and moments later departed from his eyes to slide down his cheeks and fall to the ground. “If only I had said so sooner...perhaps this would not have happened...Ivalinne I am so sor—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Ivalinne stepped forward and placed both hands upon his dampened face, pulling it towards her own before pressing her lips against his.

Eliyah’s heart raced, eyes wide in shock at his dear friend’s abrupt touch, but it soon subsided, giving way to further tears as he desperately wished that this wasn’t their reality. That they didn’t have to be forced apart. That Ivalinne wouldn’t have to marry a man she could not stand. That this wasn’t what fate had ordained for them.

After a lingering kiss, their lips parted, Ivalinne pulling back slightly, but still clasping her hands against the boy’s cheeks. With her thumbs, she wiped the tears from his face, garnering a slight wince as she dried his eyes. Releasing her grasp on him, she took a step back, before giving him a regretful smile

“I am so sorry I did not realize what it was that I felt sooner...” She said, moonlight glistening in the tears that still lingered in her eyes. “I wish I had not been so blind, oh how I wish so...” Her lips trembled as she spoke, trying not to devolve into sobs. “I have put you through so much pain...and that is the last thing I ever wanted for you. I never wanted to hurt you, but it appears that is all I do...”

“No!” Eliyah shouted as he reached forward, taking her hands with his own. “You have done nothing of the sort!”

Ivalinne reeled back a bit as the timid boy shouted as loud as he could.

Forcing himself to smile, he continued. “Ivalinne, you are so dear to me...You have not hurt me, so please do not say such things about yourself. You have been a radiant light in my life. You pushed me to become a better, stronger individual. You have helped me to see and experience things I would have never thought to do on my own. All of my time spent with you has brought me so much joy...” He paused, lowering his head slightly as a hint of red appeared in his cheeks. “I do not regret the time we have spent together. Far from it, in fact. I cherish it!” Raising his head to lock eyes with her, his visage filled with an unshakable resolve.

“I will not allow you to speak of the time that we have spent together as if it was a mistake! Even if you may not be by my side, you will forever be within my heart, as long as I shall live! I will never forget you, nor shall I forget the happiness we have shared!” Stopping to take a breath, Eliyah heaved out a heavy sigh. “It is not as if we shall never see each other again, so please, do not look so sad...Even though I am in no place to be telling you that...” He let out a sheepish laugh as he spoke, feeling embarrassed for being such a crybaby only minutes earlier. “Ivalinne, I promise you, I shall follow in my father’s footsteps and succeed him as the head of the high council of Aciernha’s merchant guild so that I can visit Arden to see you as much as you want.”

“B-but...I do not want to be apart! I want to stay here! With you!”

“It is okay, Ivalinne, I refuse to allow this to be the end of our friendship. Even after you become a queen. I will always be your friend.” Giving her hands a firm squeeze, the boy smiled at the young duchess warmly. “You are the one that taught me that, after all. That our status does not matter, that what strangers think of us is not who we truly are. That no one determines who we are but ourselves.” Moving in closer, Eliyah gently placed his forehead against hers. “No one can take that from us, Ivalinne. Even if you have to become that man’s wife, always remember that that does not change who you are. You will always be the girl who teased me playfully, who did such outrageous things at your own behest, who has such a strong and vivacious spirit that she can never be held down by anyone that tries to bind her.” As he gazed into her eyes, he noticed that her cheeks were slightly flushed from his face being so close to hers. Giving a soft chuckle, the boy pulled his head away from hers, so as to not make her uncomfortable. “You shall always be the first girl I ever loved, and even if fate shall deem it fit to tear us apart, it can never take away our past, what we felt, and what we will always feel.”

“Eliyah...” The young duchess forced a smile onto her face, trying not to break down into yet another fit of tears.

“I believe in you, Ivalinne. I know you are strong, that this will not break you. That you can overcome this. No matter what may happen, you can rise above it.” Letting go of her hands slowly, he took a step back from her. “You are the most stubborn person I know, I know you will not give up this easily. So be yourself, that beautiful, strong, and unwavering Ivalinne. You will get through this and come out the other side triumphant, I just know it.”

“Eliyah...Thank you...” The young duchess said softly. “I am sorry I will not be able to keep the promise I made you.”

“Then we shall make a new promise to each other! To never forget ourselves. To remember all the time we spent together, and to cherish it. To be happy that it happened, and to not let the sadness and grief of that precious time coming to a close change us. To be brave and face forward to the future with hope, proud of what we have done.”

As the boy spoke, tears once more slid down the girl’s face, to which she hastily reached up to wipe them from her eyes. With a sniffle, she nodded. “...All right, I promise.”

“Thank you, Ivalinne.“ The boy said with a relieved sigh and a smile. “It is getting late. You should head back inside, before your mother finds out you were out here.” Looking up at the now black sky strewn with the glimmer of countless stars, the boy exhaled. “I should be getting home too, Mother will be worried if I am not home soon.” Turning to look at his dearest friend one last time, the boy bid her a fond farewell. “Remember, this is not the end, Ivalinne. We shall see each other again, I promise you that.”

Removing her hands from her eyes, she put on the best smile she could for her one and only friend. “Yes, I shall keep you to that.”

With that, Eliyah turned to head for the hole in the hedge wall. After taking a few steps however, the young duchess called out to him.

“Eliyah!”

“Yes, dearest Ivalinne?” He said with a smile as he turned to face her.

Greeted by the sight of her beautiful smile, illuminated by the crystalline moon, his heart would tighten, a faint twinge of pain wracking him before fading from him, giving way to a gentle warmth.

“I love you, Eliyah.”

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of those words. Words that he had yearned to hear from her for so long.

Smiling back at her, he replied.

“I too, love you, Ivalinne.”

#Ivalinne #Eliyah #Drabble #Narrative #A Blooming Rose

4 notes · View notes

loversandantiheroes · 5 years

Link

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Lyrium Withdrawal, Lyrium Addiction, Mild Gore, Hurt/Comfort, first comes the hurt, then comes the comfort, I swear there will be comfort

The threat of Adamant looms, and the cracks begin to show.

Perpetual love and thanks to @songofproserpine for the beta reading <3

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

“And people say I’m stubborn!” Cassandra shouted after Cullen as the door shut.

Aadhlei stood staring at the door, thunderstruck. “Maferath’s balls, Cassandra, what was that about?”

The Seeker folded her arms with a sigh, arranging her face into a rough semblance of her usual irascibility. But there was an unusual, uneasy edge to it, the expression ill-suited to her face. Cassandra was worried.

“Cullen told you of his decision to stop taking lyrium?”

“He did. I can’t say it’s a decision that hasn’t worried me, but it was clearly important to him.”

The image of him came to her, bent over his lyrium kit. Some go mad, others die. A cold little knot landed heavily in her stomach.

Maker don’t you dare, she thought, and swallowed hard. “Am I to take it the attempt is going poorly?”

“Most attempts do,” Cassandra said with a sad shake of her head. “He is ill, yes. He pushes himself too hard. He always has, but more so now. The man has not stood still since we received word of Adamant. He has seen two Circles fall, and more than his share of demons because of that, even before Veil was breached. He is afraid that he cannot protect our people, or you, from what we will face. He is a stubborn man, driven, but that same stubbornness has twisted in on him.”

“He thinks he can’t do it without the lyrium,” Aadhlei said. For all his anger at the Order, Cullen still held - and, she suspected, always would - an unflagging loyalty to the people that served in it. The Templars were instruments crafted with a purpose, and even as he shed the chains the Order imposed he still sought that purpose, still sought to prove they could do the good he’d been raised to believe in. But now the Order was all but shattered, and so few Templars still stood that had not been cut down in the war or stained with red lyrium.

A familiar wave of regret twisted through her. Thoughts of Therinfal Redoubt and the things they had found in its deserted halls clutched at her with a thousand tiny hooks, each one a bright and burning red. For the thousandth time, she wondered if there was more she could have done, if there had ever been a chance….

Too late for that, she told herself. It’s done, let it lie. She dropped her head, letting the straggled mess of her hair hide her face. All the wear and worry of the past two weeks seemed to be landing in her at once. And above it all sat a new weight, a heavy, pressing concern that what was wrong with Cullen was beyond her ability to help.

Pulling her focus back, she realized Cassandra was still speaking, either unaware of the her distress or electing not to acknowledge it. “Cullen has the chance to break that leash to prove that it is possible, to himself and to anyone else who would follow,” she said, more than a little pride in the words.

“What can we do?” Aadhlei asked, trying to brush away her tears as discreetly as she could.

“Not we, Inquisitor. I have done what I can. He wants me to recommend a replacement for him. I will not. It is unnecessary, and quite frankly it would destroy him. He has come so far, and weathered so much already, I will not take this chance away from him simply because he is afraid.”

Cassandra took a step back, spreading her hands. “I cannot claim to know what he needs, but I know that he is capable. He can do this, he just needs reminding. And he needs care that he is too stubborn to seek out on his own. In that I must defer to you. You are the healer. And your bedside manner is certainly preferable to mine.”

Aadhlei sighed, long and tired. “We were to gather at the war table in an hour. Please inform Josephine and Leliana the meeting is postponed until we may all attend.”

“As you say, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. The Seeker regarded her a moment longer, mouth pursed. “May I ask you something?”

Aadhlei nodded, barely listening. Already she was running down remedies in her head, trying to think of things to say, things to do. Anything that might help.

“There have been rumors around Skyhold for some time. About you and the Commander. I knew that he had long held you in high regard, but tell me, is it true? Are the two of you-”

“Would it be a problem if it was?” she asked, words worn to a needle-sharp point.

Cassandra gave a slight shake of her head, a strangely satisfied look on her face. “No. He needs someone. As do you, I suspect.” She cast a quick glance over Aadhlei, as if finally taking in the state of her. “I don’t suppose telling you to get some rest before you see him will do any good.”

A short, barking laugh escaped her. “Maker, as if I could sleep after - no, Cassandra. No it would not.”

“Then go. I will see to the council for the time being.”

The sight of him stayed with her as she rushed up to her quarters. Ashen-faced and shining with sweat, making for the door on legs that bore him up through strength of will only. The worst of it had been that jagged catch in his voice as he’d passed her, muttering for forgiveness. The shame in his voice, the defeat, had been overwhelming.

Her traveling clothes hit the floor in showers of dirt and sand. Every inch of her ached. Exhaustion left a tingling thrum in her limbs that made it feel as if she was still on horseback, rattling around in the saddle. All she’d held onto on the long, punishing ride back to Skyhold had been the promise of a hot bath and the thought of Cullen’s arms around her again. She hadn’t written. Not once since they rode out of the Western Approach. There had been no time. All the world for her had been fitful sleep and hoofbeats. Maker, she regretted that now.

What if I can’t fix it? Wounds she could heal. Breaks she could mend. Maker’s sake, she could even stitch up holes in the sky these days. But what could she do for wounds she couldn’t see? When the break was not a bone but something deeper and far more essential. When his body was tearing itself apart for want of a thing that poisoned his mind. What then?

Her mind kept returning to his words the day he’d told her about the lyrium - some go mad, others die - worrying over them again and again like a tongue on a loose tooth.

“Maker, don’t you dare,” she said aloud. Pointing a shaking finger skyward, she called up in a stern but breaking voice, “You hear me? Go kick over someone else’s ant hill. Or better yet, get off your omnipotent arse and do some fucking good for a change!”

Steady, child. Kenna’s voice, cracked and kind. You’re no good to anyone all twisted up.

Aadhlei braced herself against her desk, a strangled sob caught in her throat. Kenna, her foster mother, had taken ill one winter, not long before the war broke out. A cough came creeping in with the sharp winds and settled deep in her lungs. No remedies would touch it, no matter how hard Aadhlei tried. As the weeks wore on and her condition worsened, Aadhlei grew desperate. In the end she had given Kenna a sleeping draught to keep her settled and, in one last frantic attempt to save her, she had tried to heal her by magic. A powerful spell, not dangerous, but strong . The sort of thing she had always been discouraged from using, lest she risk drawing the attention of the Templars that roamed the village from the Chantry.

And it did nothing. But she was stubborn, a bull-headedness fuelled by love as much as fear, and she had refused to see the truth of the matter: Kenna was old, and Kenna was dying. And so she had kept on trying again and again, pouring magic into the old woman’s flagging body until she had run herself dry, collapsing out of sheer exhaustion.

When at last she woke, Kenna was dead. Her first failure. The first taste of real loss.

Hardly your fault, poppet. There are some hurts in this world that aren’t yours to heal. But that doesn’t mean you give up, and that doesn’t mean you sit about and do nothing. So you steady up, now. You’ve work to do.

“Aye, mum, so I do,” she muttered.

She threw open her wardrobe, breath shuddering through the tears that flowed steadily down her cheeks, grasping half-blindly for something clean and uncomplicated to pull on. A small pile formed beside her - things that were an ungodly mess of buttons, laces, and buckles - before she pulled free something ivory-colored and lace-trimmed. Either some form of fancy night dress or a long chemise meant for more formal wear. “Fuck it, that’ll do,” she mumbled, pulling it over her head. If it stained, Maker knew she could afford to have it replaced. Her apron hung near her potion cabinet and she tied it on rapidly, stepping into a pair of soft leather slippers and thumbing the catch on the cabinet.

Inside was an odd mish-mash of prepared potions. There were still a few bottles of the basic tinctures she’d mixed up for Cullen, and she scooped them up. Three squat bottles of a purplish-red liquid sat lined up on the far right side. Midnight Oil, she usually called it, something she’d put together to keep herself going when sleep wasn’t an option. A bad thing to make a habit of, but a help when necessary, and right now it was deeply necessary.

Aadhlei grabbed two of them, considered, then took the third as well. She cast a long, hard glance at the small wooden box on the bottom shelf, the one she kept a few lyrium potions in. If worse came to worst and she had to heal him with magic, if he’d even allow it, taking one now might not be a bad idea. Yet she had found herself almost unwilling to take them after Cullen had confessed he had given it up. It felt wrong somehow, offensive, almost, knowing what the substance had cost him.

In the end she decided against it, closing the door a little reluctantly. A faded green shrug lay across the back of her desk chair, and she slipped it on, too hurried to drag on a proper cloak. She pulling her big leather satchel off its peg, stowing the tinctures and two of the potions inside, and slung it over her shoulder.

Popping the cork from the third potion, she knocked it back swiftly and set off down the stairs for the Commander’s office.

The path felt like a gauntlet, deflecting staff and redirecting messengers with short barks of “Later,” “Fine,” and “On my desk.” Solas, looking worn enough himself after the journey back, regarded her perplexedly from his desk as she passed him, making with more than a little haste for the door to the catwalk. The coldness of the air hit her like a physical blow. The nervous buzz in her limbs subsided bit by bit as the potion began to take effect, but it did little for the tight coils of tension that wound up her back and around her ribs, squeezing tighter as the cold sank into her. Maker, why hadn’t she thought to take a damned cloak?

Unthinking, she pushed open the door to Cullen’s office without knocking. A mistake, to be sure, and hardly courteous to boot, but she was still too unnerved for the sake of courtesy, and now too cold to want to linger on the doorstep. As the door swung open she heard Cullen’s cry of frustrated anger and a flash of movement and brought the large, heavy bag up like a shield, ducking her head behind it. Something collided with it hard, ricocheting off to splinter against the door frame. The remnants of his lyrium kit lay scattered at her feet, a small shattered phial of crystalline blue glinting prettily in the weak torchlight.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen lay half splayed against his desk, breath short and eyes wild, the momentum of his throw and the shock of her appearance knocking him off what little balance he still had. “I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you enter, I didn’t, I would never, are you -” He let out one long, shaking breath as she lowered the satchel and he saw she was unharmed. A fraction of the shock drained from his face, but what replaced it was a look of such utter misery it hurt her to look at. “Forgive me,” he said again.

Kicking the broken box away, Aadhlei closed the door, considered, then bolted it and crossed to do the same to the others. The last thing he needed was another interruption. “Talk to me, Cullen,” she said, willing her soothing voice to service, the one she kept in reserve for the sick or gravely injured. “What’s wrong?”

The creases in his brow deepened, shoulders slumping. “No, you’ve been riding for days. You don’t have to-” he began, and then his legs finally gave out and he collapsed against the corner of the desk with a groan. Aadhlei rushed to him, taking his weight, waiting for his breathing to slow and whatever spell had gripped him to pass.

“Aye, I do,” she said. “Come on, you need to sit.”

“I never meant for this to interfere,” he said as she eased him into his chair, sounding so small it was as if he was a child in armor, waiting to be punished for his failure.

“It’s alright, Cullen. But I need you to talk to me, and I need you trust me, alright?” She swiped a hand across his brow, felt the heat of fever under a slick of sweat. It gave off a sour smell, but beneath that Aadhlei realized she could smell the faintest scent of burning, like a lightning strike. “Are you in pain?”

He hesitated. Then, again, so very small, “Yes.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere. All over. My joints are on fire. And my head.”

“Dizzy? Sick to your stomach?”

A nod. “Both.”

She began unbuckling his vambraces and pulled off his gloves. His hands were like ice, and covered in that same thin, slimy sheen of sweat. “Squeeze my hand, hard as you can.” He began to mutter a protestation and she put a finger to his lips. “Meant what I said. Hard as you can. Tougher than I look, remember?”

He nodded against her finger. The hand closed, squeezed just barely as firm as a handshake, then shook violently.

“You feel hot or cold?”

“Freezing,” he said. As she moved her hand from his mouth he caught it, pressed it desperately to the side of his face, and closed his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said again. Not just an apology now, but an appeal.

Aadhlei bent double, pressing her forehead to his, feeling the fever baking off him in waves and not shrinking. “There is nothing to forgive, Cullen.”

She did not expect him to laugh, or the for that laugh to sound so hard and bitter. He pulled away sharply, letting her hand fall.

“You should not sound so sure.” There was a horrible, manic sparkling in his eyes, feverish and wild. “You have no idea the things….you asked me once what happened in Ferelden’s Circle. Shall I tell you? It was taken over by abominations. One of the senior mages, Uldred, decided a Blight was a fine time to push for an independent circle. When the Grand Enchanter refused, Uldred and his ilk resorted to blood magic to get their way. We shut the Circle down so the maleficars could not escape, but that only trapped us in there with them. The Templars were slaughtered or corrupted. Most of the mages who would not bend the knee to Uldred’s coup were bent with blood magic or killed outright. Demons took care of much of the rest. My friends were cut down in front of me.”

A haze fell over his eyes, not dimming their fire but making it distant, and Aadhlei shivered. She had treated enough soldiers now to recognize that look, to know where he had gone, and that all she could do was hold on and wait for him to come back.

Cullen took a long, measured breath. Then another. A third breath, sharper and shallower, and Aadhlei thought briefly of a man preparing for a deep, sudden dive. “I was tortured,” he said in peculiar, toneless voice.

The word hung in the air, pendulously, like a body on the gallows. It seemed to hold such a foreign weight on his tongue that she wondered truthfully if he had ever said it aloud, ever allowed the admission of such a deep and private injury to be spoken.

“I don’t even know how long. Days, I think, but it felt like years. No food, no water, no lyrium. Demons scrabbling at my head. Or maybe it was the maleficars, I can’t be sure. I cannot be sure of much. It’s all…I...they tried to break my mind and I - how can you be the same person after that?”

He carried on, barely blinking, seeming to breathe only to keep the words moving. “For years I was nothing but fear and anger rattling in a suit of armor. Still, I wanted to serve. What else was there for me to do? And they sent me to Kirkwall. Maker help me, I thought I knew then. I thought I knew what needed doing, who needed protecting. I thought I knew who the enemy was. Meredith used that against me . Told me what she wanted me to hear and hid what she knew even I would oppose. I was her bloody lapdog for years while she abused the Mages - abused our people for standing up against her - and she used us to do it. And the Chantry did nothing. Not for anyone. Andraste preserve me, neither did I. I trusted my Knight-Commander,” he said, his face contorted in revulsion. “I aided her, for god’s sake! I defended her! By the time I saw through her, when the lies were finally too large to swallow and I saw the fear in the eyes of our charges for what it was, it was too late. It all happened again. Kirkwall’s circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets.”

At last his eyes focused again and locked onto her with a desperate ferocity. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course I can,” she said, striving for a soothing patience, but her voice shook with tears she could barely keep in check. She wanted to help, she always wanted to help, but what cure could she offer for this? What remedy for wounds of conscience and memory? She sucked in a breath, trying for reassurance, for understanding. “Cullen, you don’t have to-”

“Don’t!” He turned his head away, throat working.

He wants the blame, she realized with an awful sinking in her chest. Wants disgust and anger, not sympathy. It’s all he thinks he deserves, especially from a mage.

The urge to reach for him, to give some kind of comfort was overwhelming, but she kept her hands locked on the edges of his desk, the knuckles slowly turning white. Not yet.

“I’m not going to blame you, Cullen,” she said softly. He winced, too raw for softness, but she kept on. “If that’s what you want of me, then I’m sorry, because I can’t do that. I won’t. When they sent you to Kirkwall, they didn’t send a Templar, they sent a man who was scared and wounded and looking for someone to blame. And that made it very very easy for the wrong kind of people to hook their fingers into you and get you to follow. That you’re trying to do better now, that you’re trying to change and make up for that - and bloody well succeeding at it - takes more strength than I think you give yourself credit for. And that it hurts you so deep says you have far more goodness left in you than you think. In my experience, bad men have little time for remorse.”

She reached out a tentative hand and laid it on his arm. He flinched, hard, and she drew back immediately. “Whatever happened before, you’re not that man now,” she told him. “You told me once that you joined the Order because you wanted to help people. And that is all I’ve ever seen you do. You’re a good man, Cullen Rutherford. If you want my forgiveness, for whatever it’s worth, you have it. But you’ve come far enough that maybe you should try to forgive yourself, too.”

A strangled sob escaped him and he twisted away. As if finally unable to bear her kindness any longer, he launched himself to his feet and set to pacing, unsteady but frantic.

Aadhlei’s heart sank. Wrong, wrong, Maker help me I got it wrong.

“How can you - why aren’t you angry?” he cried thickly. “How can you say such things - how can you even stand to look at me? Can you not see the blood on my hands? You should be questioning what I’ve done, the decisions I’ve made! Blessed Andraste, how can I atone for something when I can still feel it happening? I thought it would be better without the lyrium, that I would gain some control over my life, but these thoughts won’t leave me,” he said, harsh and strangled, a scream made quiet.

He fell to an anguished babbling, words falling from him faster and faster. His hands tugged at his hair, raking it into wild, ragged furls. Tears cut fresh tracks down his cheeks. It was a terrifying contrast to the controlled demeanor he had always upheld, but the small part of her, the part that spoke patient truths in Kenna’s voice, was almost relieved at his frenzy. A bone that had set poorly would need to be re-broken again before it could be set true. Break clean, Cullen, she thought, hopeful now in spite of her fear.

"Blessed are those that stand before the wicked and do not falter. I cannot falter. I cannot. How many lives depend on our success? Adamant waits for us, a demon army in its walls, and I am meant to lead our people into that! I must send you into that! And I do it hobbled for the sake of my own selfish pride! I swore myself to this cause - I will not give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Chantry! I should be taking it!”

With that last he lashed out finally, fist driving into the bookcase with enough force to crack the shelf and send books scattering to the floor. For a moment he simply stood there, teeth bared and hand bleeding, and then he slowly folded, the fight and fire extinguished all at once. “I should be taking it,” he said again in a voice heavy with defeat.

There it is.

She crossed to him slowly, and this time when she touched him - feather-light, a question of permission made with fingertips - he did not recoil. “Cullen. Listen to me. Forget the Inquisition, forget the war. Is that what you want?”

A look of horror settled on his face. “No. Maker, no. I want to be free of it. I need to.” Desperation and exhaustion shook his voice ragged, but his eyes seemed clearer and more focused.

“Then do not put your neck back in that leash for our sake. Please, Cullen. You can do this. I know you can.”

Cullen pulled his hand away from the broken shelf. A ragged gouge cut across his knuckles. He stared down at the trembling mess of his hand with a furrowed brow, listening to the gentle patter of his blood against the stone floor. “The sickness I can take,” he said slowly, “but these memories have always haunted me. Even with the lyrium. If they become worse, if I am not strong enough to endure it-”

“You are,” she said, and carefully cradled his bleeding hand. “I have never seen a match for the strength in you, Cullen. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

He hitched in a watery breath. “I’m sorry. I did not want to - I was afraid let you down.”

“You never could. I’m proud of you. But I will not stand by and watch you suffer and do nothing. You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you, Cullen. Please.”

Something settled in his face then, something like gratitude, and he seemed all at once steadier with it.

“You’re still here,” he muttered in a wondering voice.

“Aye, so I am.”

He leaned into her with a shuddering sigh, and Aadhlei thought she had never heard such a singularly relieved sound in her life. He nodded, forehead rocking against hers. “Alright,” he muttered.

Aadhlei shouldered her bag again and pulled Cullen tight to her hip. “Come on, lean on me. Let’s get you to bed.”

#da:i fanfic #cullen rutherford #cullen x lavellan #cullavellan #f!inquisitor #f!lavellan #oc: aadhlei #this chapter is even more terrifying to post!! :D

11 notes · View notes

rohobi · 6 years

Text

Tempus Lovers 1 | (m)

SUMMARY: ❝Surviving a plane crash, Y/N awakens with the ability to see the time a person has left to live. Running away from her own time and black family money, she meets Min Yoongi on the train, an ordinary man with an extraordinary ability.❞

↳ MASTERLIST

The tenebrosity of days, hours, minutes and seconds, thumped across your wrist with a constant reminder of how little time you had left.

0 years, 0 months, 27 days, 12 hours, 37 minutes and 11 seconds.

You can't have children.

You can't travel the world.

You can't get a degree.

The list of things you don't have time to do outweighed practically everything you could. You were being chased by the hands on the clock and time was hunting you down.

Tracing over the numbers with the pad of your thumb, you drop your hand back to your side. There was no point in even looking at your damn clock, you'd just be wasting a minute doing so.

"How are you feeling about your big day?" a meager hotel employee asks, perspiration dripping down his neck. Your fingers catch onto the white chantilly lace of your wedding dress as you stare into the mirror in front of you.

"Nothing," you admit, watching him nervously nod his head. "I am more worried about the heat here. Dubai is hot. Too hot."

He laughs genuinely. "Yes miss, it is hot here but the venue will keep you cool. Shall I fix you a cold drink?"

"No, thank you, I am okay for now." You nod your head before he politely walks away.

A woman behind you rubs a subtle highlight onto the exposed skin of your back. You were against the open keyhole back and the illusion bateau neckline that flowed down your arms. It made you feel like you could blend into the walls of the luxurious penthouse bathroom if you posed in front of one.

"Darling, your dress is screaming at me," your wedding planner squeals from the door, albeit only having met her twice during these proceedings because you never actually had a choice in planning it. "The scalloped semi-cathedral length finished with an eyelash trim is so you. I knew it would be.

"I can't run in this dress so I guess it serves its purpose," you whisper.

"If only your mother was still alive to see you in it." She says, painful words that claw straight into your chest. No inch of empathy detected, a fresh wound still bound tightly around the trauma you experienced in her death, an accident that nearly claimed you too.

You ignore the sudden increase in your heart rate as you avoid responding to her comments and instead watch your assistant cover your face with the veil. You watch as it falls down your sides in the mirror, the classic white intensified by the colored rays of the sun gaping through the adjacent stained windows.

"You look beautiful Y/N. I wish my wedding could be like yours," Elaine whispers, leaning down to fix the bottom of your dress. "You're like a princess, I'm so happy to be apart of a fairy tale!"

"Elle," You smile at the intern who could almost be your friend if you trusted her, "It can be, do you have a partner?"

She shakes her head as she stands beside you. You watch her in the mirror as she discreetly wipes the sweat off her forehead with a napkin. "I don't, I think I'll be forever alone at this point, I'm getting pretty old. I won't have much time left for kids. Although it's nice to live through you on this special day."

You gaze at the red numbers on her wrist as she throws the tissue into the bin. 47 years, 9 months, 16 days, 12 hours, 9 minutes and 34 seconds. "You have plenty of time Elaine, you just need time for yourself. Have a break, explore the world, find your love. Live."

She gapes at you, not expecting the advice. "T-thank you miss, I-I'll do that."

Elaine puts a finger up to her ear as she tries to listen to the sudden voice screaming in her earpiece. You stretch out to your iPhone, carelessly hanging on the edge of the side table, as the staff behind you try to fix your veil as you move.

"There's no point in checking," your primary assistant, Mark, whispers as if appearing from nowhere. Leaning towards you, he pads a rose colored lipstick from the back of his hand onto your lips. "All emails have been taken care of. I've personally responded to your families requests to sneak a peek at your dress with a resounding no and your father isn't coming to your wedding."

Looking at anything but the probing green eyes in front of you, you sigh. Whoever decided that he'd look good with black eyeliner on his waterline on today of all days, needs a hard slap, you can barely look at him with the intensity of both makeup and seemingly perverse glare. "Who is walking me down the aisle then?"

Mark lowers his gaze, hands faltering awkwardly. "I'm sorry, no one at this point."

"Oh," Trying your best to appear distraught, you pucker your lips and will yourself to cry at the premise but God only knows that beyond the facade of hurt, you would be hiding a smile. The plan is working perfectly. "I can walk myself then. It's fine. I got myself to this point, I can keep going."

Mark leans in to give you a hug but your fingers tap incessantly on the screen of your phone between your bodies as you quickly send a text away. "My sincerest apologies, at least you look beautiful," he whispers, his hot breath fluttering down your neck eliciting the tinest set of goosebumps on your arms. "The most beautiful I've ever seen in fact."

You shiver as you step away from him.

"Thank you." He rubs your shoulders before pulling away. The uncomfortable feeling you get around him resurfaces, but you won't have it long enough to care.

Soon, he and all of this will be gone.

"It's time!" a man shouts from the door, "We need the bride downstairs and into the carriage in 6 minutes."

"It's time?" you ask, blinking at Mark. He smiles at you, mistaking your concern with nerves.

"They bumped up the time since your father is no longer coming."

"Come on!" the man shouts again, clapping his hands loudly. "It's time, we have to go now."

Bells begin to ring in the distance.

You want to yell at the man to shut up, who the hell rushes a bride on their wedding day. You want to move in your own time because damn these heels hurt but one look at your wrist prompts you to move quickly towards him.

Time waits for no one.

"Let's go," you take a deep breath as he holds the door open for you. "Bride walking towards eagle," he whispers into his shirt. "I repeat, the bride is walking towards eagle, over."

You wish you could go back to before when your life wasn't ruled by the hour; when you couldn't see your time because it wasn't always like this, knowing how long you had left to live.

It wasn't an ability you inherited or woke up with on your 16th birthday. In fact, most of your tempus seeing friends gained the ability after walking through the light at the end of the tunnel and coming back.

They don't even remember what it was like before they could see time.

For you, however, it was on the 2nd of February, 2016 in a Bombardier CL604, some 30 thousand feet in the air when your wrist was last bare. You remember it clearly because it was the night everything had changed.

And the night your mother had passed away.

Before you were hurled from the burning jet fuel and swallowed whole by the charcoal night; before the crimson from the bodies sprawled out in ghastly angles soaked into the earth around you, your mother had been briefing you on the corruption investigation currently plaguing their empire.

Their being the elusive family you were preparing to marry.

"Now, darling, we have a meeting with the SK Group this afternoon, I need you to attend," she says pointedly, eyes never leaving her papers but voice aimed at you. "I want you wearing the silk lavender number that makes you look like a young lady. I can't have you embarrassing the family name again with that Gucci dress that made every streetworker in the city look damn classy."

"But it was Gucci?" you whisper, aware that simply talking back to the woman could mean trouble but you were tired, you'd been traveling in the family private jet all day to attend these meetings with her.

"Excuse me?" She snorts, pointing her chin in the ear. "I don't care if it's Gucci or Chanel, it made you look classless. Tasteful designer fashion, please. Never show the knees or the shoulders unless, in the bedroom, you hear me?"

"I-I will be wearing something more conservative, I promise."

She finally looks up at you, her soft brown eyes melt into yours. Her voice is soft but authoritative and you knew to keep your responses short. "Thank you."

You nod, tentatively rubbing your hands down your thighs. "Yes, mother."

"Governor, please, tell me how is your wife?" she turns away from you, her voice lowering in tone. She drops the document into her lap as you watch the animated expression on her face.

She was one tactful woman.

And you were an innocent witness to her deceit.

Sitting comfortably with your puffer jacket wrapped protectively around your frame. With an earbud stuffed into one ear behind your hair as you listened to classical music.

You had forgone the seat belt, trusting in the family pilot for the millionth flight of your life. You were 20 years old, fresh into college studying a degree in Political Science and International Relations and working in a high paid position with your father.

And this was supposed to be a routine trip back from Singapore.

No one was supposed to die that night.

Your mother had sat in front of you, seat belt trapping her against the mahogany leather seat behind piles of legal paperwork. Other than your mother and you, a party of 6 politicians and a Samsung paralegal sat beside you, listening attentively to every word your mother dripped from her venomous tongue.

Words that you'll never remember but so desperately wish you had.

Her French manicured fingers had been tapping against the pile of documents in front of you, ones that entailed what you presumed to be another detailed plan of corporate engineering. Your mother was as corrupt as they come, a well-educated woman, a Queen of Commerce in her own right.

She was on top of the world.

Additionally, she had just finished explaining her ten-year plan currently in progress, where you would be used as a pawn to marry the son of the SK Group, in an attempt to merge and consolidate more power to the family name.

Both parties had agreed on the financial benefit when you were 16

And you were to marry their son when you turned 21 and presume activities as the Chief Marketing Officer.

You hadn't even met your fiance yet.

It was no secret, chaebol families like yours, dominated the economy and at the time of the crash, your family had amassed immense political power with enough sway to encourage the impeachment of President Park Geun-Hye and influence the countries next president.

It was black money and your family was loaded with it.

The pristine private lives of each and every one of your well-mannered family members, neared impossible for others to manipulate. And it was all thanks to the mother who proved to be adept at keeping control over everyone and everything, even if it meant making potentially problematic people disappear with a snap of her fingers.

It was dirty power, why you didn't think your family would ever be the target of assassinations, blackmail, and terror, was beyond you. Maybe it was naivety secondary to having had lived a sheltered life, who knows.

But you should've known how much danger that put you in.

People in power really only have one way to go when they've reached the top.

And the plane sure as hell went down.

You've described it countlessly being the sole survivor. It had been raining heavily but the flight attendant and the pilots had all shown no sign of distress or malice in their attempts to sooth the governor's anxiety.

There was no turbulence you'd expect in a storm, just a sinking feeling as the plane dropped in the pit of your stomach.

There was nothing out of the ordinary that you had identified.

Sinking into your chair, you had watched the rain slide down the window and the angry thunder clap and crash it's bolt through the sky, threatening to tear the night apart.

It was at 1 AM, half an hour later when the scraping of metal and the sound of shattering glass the plane made as it had hit a hillside in Jeju when everything went wrong.

And you were going to die.

The pressure in the cabin was mounting, you could feel it as the oxygen masks fell above you but the screeching sound of steel twisting and tearing apart ripped through your head before you could even think of grabbing a mask.

The lights had shrouded you all in darkness and the force of the crash had thrown you against your mother in the seat in front of you.

She had tried to wrap her arms around yours, panic sweeping through her body when the plane began to rip apart.

Alarms blared, people screamed, it was deafening.

Why you hadn't worn a seatbelt, no one will ever know.

There wasn't even enough time to register just how bad it was about to become as you tried to hang onto something, as you tried to hang onto your mother, and latch your hands onto her.

Your heart raced in your chest.

Fear screamed in your body.

You weren't going to live through this.

You should've worn your belt.

"Don't let me go!" You shouted as the plane hit the trees. "Don't let me go!"

Your mother stared back at you with an unforgettable amount of utter terror on her usually stoic face as she moved to try and shove you against her.

"Hold me!" she screams back. "Hold on to me!"

But her hands could only touch the ends of your jacket when the plane suddenly hit the ground, hurling you out of the hole in the ceiling and throwing you straight into the downpour in the middle of the dark jungle.

Your life never flashed before your eyes like they said it would. Sure, you were terrified but an alien feeling of calm had taken over your body before you had landed onto the wet earth with a loud thud yards away from the jet, the impact loud as the cracking chorus of broken bones filled the void.

And all you could see as your vision grew hazy, were the ball of flames suddenly erupting from the plane and the warmth it enveloped you

Blood-curdling screams were the last thing you could hear before the numbing sound of the plane exploding burst your eardrums.

And it's the last thing you remember.

Everything after that was a fucking nightmare.

Even from her burning grave, your mother still controlled your life.

You see, broken bones and broken hearts can be mended but contracts your mother sign, last for life.

It was in every world newspaper and all people could talk about. You had been the girl with the money, then you were the girl who had survived the unsurvivable.

But now, two years later, you were the heiress about to have the world's most expensive wedding in the UAE.

Who gives a shit about money when you have no time?

No-one.

Your phone vibrates in your palm as you all wait for the elevator. Checking around you, you sneak a glance at the coded message on the screen. "See you soon. Meet at ground zero. We will wait for you." You watch the message disintegrate as a red apple appears on screen.

The elevator dings above you, alerting you to its arrival.

The doors open.

Tossing the now defunct phone into the bin adjacent to the elevator button, you walk comfortably into the elevator knowing everything was going according to your plan.

"Has it hit you yet that today is going to change your life?" Eloine asks innocently as she presses the ground floor button.

Smirking, you shake your head as the doors close. "Oh, you have absolutely no idea."

No one did.

Because no-one saw it coming.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts ffic #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts #bts boys #bangtan scenarios #Bangtan imagines #bangtan boys #yoongi #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts soulmates #suga

259 notes · View notes

fulcrum-agent · 6 years

Text

Prompt #24: Undertones

Water glittered in thin strands, falling from the cliffs far above, flickering over the stone face in the afternoon sun. Docile water sprites, content with their hidden sanctuary, float above the pool, and along the shelf that clings to the right side of the canyon. Sounds are muted above the roar of the waterfall, the clash of the watery ribbons into the shimmering pool below, though the chirping of birds, the chirping of insects, the distance sound of the dock at the end of the gorge flutter through the rush of water.

A lone figure waits atop the shelf of stone, gaze turned towards the myriad strands of water that lace down the cliff-side, the shadows of the gorge helping mask his expression. Red hair danced in the wind created by the cul de sac of stone, tips lashing across the metal trimmed eye-patch with a faint whisper. Multitudes of blades are sequestered on his person, none visible to the naked eye, though he knew that his quarry would realise that.

Yet, still his quarry willingly walked into the trap. Rel had insisted he would take responsibility, accept whatever punishment was handed down to him, even if it meant death; part of him couldn't blame Rel - if he had spent nearly thirty years apart from a twin of any sort, he might have wavered in his own convictions. The cold, rational side realised the danger the plan that the bastard prodigal child of Dalmasca carried, and couldn't accept that someone like Rel had gone along with it, after thirty years of playing dead.

The sound of footfalls against the loose grave that covered the shelf drew his attention, causing him to turn back towards the thin strip of land that lead to the alcove. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, the pit of his stomach beginning to gnaw at him. Something was wrong with the situation, so variable he wasn't aware of had been introduced, he could feel it. As he watched the finely dressed man approach, his senses honed to a razor's edge as he tried to find the missing piece of information.

He caught sight of the man standing at the edge of the stone shelf, noting all the small changes to the man's body language. While Saber was capable of controlling even the minutiae expressions of his body and face, he had known him long enough to see through even the most marshalled of expressions the rogue could give. The other man was tense, more tense than he had seen him since they first met some ten summers ago when the brash young man took over his father's work, becoming his keeper.

Still, he strolled down the canyon at a leisurely pace, whistling one of the old Dalmascan tunes he often turned to during long walks. These songs, hummed or whistled, often let him notice whether another of his kinsmen were in the area, and while from time to time, he would notice an expression of familiarity cross someone else's face, no one had ever confronted him about it. It often let him ferret out Saber long before he could otherwise find the man. Today, there was little need for the technique, given the other man was standing out in the open - aside from perhaps reminding the young man who he was dealing with.

"You needed to speak with me, Saber?" he inquires casually as he enters the end of the gorge, hands resting lightly along the pockets of his pants. "I expect that this is over something of import, given the Bismark wasn't used."

Keeping his expression as neutral as possible, he nods in acknowledgement of the greying knight's assessments. Arms folded, he moves across the stones, uncovered eye locked upon the other redhead, mind considering everything that must be effected in the span of minutes. He halts but a handful of fulms from his former friend, giving his best sardonic smile as he ceases his advance.

"Little gets past you, Rel. I always liked that about you," he mentions, head shaking two or three times. "You've generally been easy to work with, more so than most of the people I have to deal with."

It was his turn to have the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The words that the other redhead used did nothing to veil why he had been called here, to a remote location where it's hard to hear anything but the sound of the waterfall and the rushing river. Instincts primed, eyes finding each and every weak point the mercenary possessed, along with the strengths he had.

Weaknesses, strengths, and the six or seven daggers the other man had hidden beneath his jacket, pants, and boots.

Taking the situation in stride, Rel proposes in a quiet voice, "You don't have to do this, Saber. Think it all through, kid. Orders are not often as specific as you think they are."

A scoff falls from his lips as he watches the dead man, a shake of his head causing the tips of his hair to flutter across the eye-patch. He had expected Rel to try to get him to reconsider, leading him to think of myriad arguments against it. Anger began to rise to the surface, and he silently cursed Valera for putting him into the one position he'd hoped he would never have to be in.

"You know better, Rel - I warned you what would happen if you listened to that piece of shit noble," he retorted, unconsciously shifting the blame from his life-long friend to the fallen hero. "There were other ways of going about what you wanted, parading around looking like the dead prince was the worst possible one."

He had to keep the mercenary off balance, buy enough time for his fail-safe to prepare. And so he shrugs at the younger man, shaking his head as his arms deliberately spread to either side of his body, palms turned at an angle towards the other redhead. He keeps his tone steady and even, audible above the roar of water, but he refrains from yelling.

"Come on, Saber. You said yourself the distraction had its uses. What happened to moving our emissaries around?" he inquires, shifting away from why they were both here. "With Imperial eyes on me, and my sister, you said a good number of them could be moved to Doma without notice. Get them to Lord Hein without their prior locations being revealed. What happened to the promise of making the best use of my folly?"

Despite his efforts to choke down his anger at the other redhead, his nature gets the best of him. He lashes a finger out at the older man, sneering at his words, countering, "None of that is any of your concern anymore, Rel. What's done is done, and it's time to lay in the bed you've made. I ain't gotta answer a damn question, so stop asking them."

His hands lower, dipping inside of his pockets as adrenaline rushes through his form. Breaking into a dead run, he launches forward, blades sliding from their hidden holsters, turning towards the man before him. Aware of the fact that his quarry possesses a far more powerful weapon, his blades hone in on the man's palms, seeking to undo all the years of work they'd put into regaining the dead man's lost strength.

A thin strip of fabric wraps around the mercenary's left blade, jerking upon the weapon hard, shifting the alignment of his attack. Her ward jerks to the side, hands lowering as the blades go wide as she pulls hard on the rest of the apron. There's a flick of her wrist, and the fabric slips away from the blades, threads severing against the edges, though there's plenty more fabric for her to work with.

The mercenary's attention shifts towards her, his expression incredulous yet highlighted with fury as he's now forced to defend himself. It was not lost on her that had the attack struck true, her ward would be defenceless. Instead, she gave him the moment he would need to turn the tables, as her apron would only last so long.

With the younger man's attention on the maid, the elder redhead gives a soft sigh as he reaches towards his back, as if to draw a blade across his shoulder. His hand nearly closes into a fist around the air, when a flash of illumination from beneath the leather strip on his right wrist explodes. Cobalt metal halts his fingers, and they wrap around the hilt of the blade, pulling it from the aether at pace, swinging it around his form and into position.

Her gamble had paid off. Her master had warned her that her charge may possess a blade that matched his sister's, but they hadn't had time to discuss it before it's needed. He had asked her to buy him some time, should the mercenary chose to attack, but she didn't have confirmation as to why.

Now she did, the raw aether bleeding from the blade causing goosebumps to flicker across her skin.

"That's enough, Saber," her charge intones, bringing the blade to bear. "Don't do this, man. You're leaving us little choice."

Attention shifts, the single eye of the redhead flickering towards his former friend, a grimace twisting across his lips. He moves to resume his attack on the other man, shorter daggers being traded for longer ones as he pivots on the ball of his foot, sprinting towards the knight. She sighs at his recklessness, his anger, recalling the day she had attacked the man who would become her master.

Wrist twists, the apron lashing out, one end of a tie held in her hand, the rest of the fabric fluttering forward, the second tie finding the mercenaries' wrist, wrapping like a whip around it. A grunt escapes her lips as she yanks back on the apron, forcing the man to spin towards her direction, his footing stuttering as he attempts to stay upright in the wake of the velocity change.

"Eyes over here, boy," she growls, her voice rough and unrefined - a startling contrast to the girly dressings she wears.

Sneering, the man slices a blade through the apron strap that holds his wrist, aether coalescing along the now free blade as he flicks it in her direction. The blade distorts, splitting into myriad thinner blades that begin to assault her. Separated from its target, the apron flutters back towards her, twisting this way and that as she dances back, the fabric deflecting well over half the flying blades, while the rest bury themselves into the stone beneath her former position.

Her charge sighs, twisting his blade towards the other man, making a slight slashing motion at one angle, before shifting to make another slash in the opposite direction, creating a cross of aether. He finishes the movement by slicing the blade through the centre of the cross, and the sound of shrieking metal echoes through the canyon, the mercenary's blade almost exploding in his hand.

Throwing the weapon as it begins to rip apart, the hot-blooded man curses at his former friend, "Fuck, Rel, goin' right for the throat, eh?"

She surges forward, the half-shredded apron lashing out again as she spins on the ball of her foot to generate more kinetic force, wrist flicking the ribbons on either end outward, aiming for the younger man's foot. The fabric connects, but fails to wrap around his ankle, and the mercenary continues his charge at the knight.

At the last second, the young man's form collapses, aether surging forward and past the guarding blade, twisting back into his shape on the other side of her charge. A smaller blade slips from its hidden sheath, and the mercenary spins around, driving it into the other redhead's side, burying in flesh.

Breaking off his attack, the mercenary darts down the path leading out of the gorge, slipping into the shadows as he flees. The knight drives the sword into the stone, parting it like butter as he leans against the Blade for support, gasping in pain. Fleeing attacker forgotten, she rushes to her charge, slipping around his body to inspect the wound.

She was no chirurgeon, but she knew that withdrawing the blade would cause his blood to flow more freely, while moving him with the blade buried in his flesh would lead to more damage, the sharp edges rending more tissues with each movement.

Her hand raises to the linkpearl at her hear, activating the small device as she growls, concern slipping into her words, "Master Valera, we've been attacked. The prince is injured, and we need help - moving him is not an option."

((L’enah, the maid, is one of @thelionofdalmasca‘s characters, and I feel ashamed at having to write her according to his design. Also, more pictures in a minute - taking too long to get them all.))

#A Moonlit Original #FFXIVwrite2018 #relsar manasse #aike reinder #l'enah #my writing quality degrades when writing combat

5 notes · View notes

greaterthannine-blog · 7 years

Text

Yvonne Part Three

The Last Edition of my Friend Yvonne on Film

Over the past few months of my gap year, I have come to dearly appreciate school again. Not that I didn't appreciate academic life before, in fact I reveled in it and that it provides so much creative freedom (to some extent) and an audience of people essentially obligated to see/hear/observe your ideas and dole out feedback. When I chose to take a gap year, I knew I would miss school, but at that point (the end of senior year of high school) during the throes of IB exams, I was fucking exhausted and duly needed a hiatus.

But what I didn't realize was how lonely a gap year can be.

Sociality?

What I've temporarily bypassed by taking a gap year is constant social exposure. No longer am I waltzing through hallways and classrooms interacting with friends, teachers, administration, strangers, etc. on a daily basis. I do converse with my coworkers, but customarily those chats are in regards to work-related topics and not interests, hobbies, and other conversational topics. That's what I miss about school, which I never considered I would, given that I limited my mingling to be almost exclusively in school. Even though I love(d) my high school buds amazingly, after the final bell rang I would always require time to myself to recharge for the next day.

But now I don't have that. But I'll manage don't worry. It's not forever.

Besides, I keep myself constantly occupied with Greater Than Nine, photography, art, writing, college applications, retail work and other various pursuits. It's incredible, but I don't really have an immediate group of artsy people to bounce ideas off anymore. But in a way it's a great learning experience, as I now have to problem solve without assistance, advice or feedback from others. Everything can be an educational experience as long as you interpret it as one.

Anyways, given my current lack of social interaction, I do not have any new friends. However, I supplement that by trying my best to maintain communication with people I was great friends with while in high school. One such friend is this lovely lady Yvonne, whom is featured in this lil' series. I've touched on why Yvonne and I share(d) a remarkable friendship in a copious number of past posts, notably Yvonne Part One and Yvonne Part Two, but there are still many other posts where I speak to our relationship.

Behind the Story

Anyways, for these photographs, I turned off our overhead lights and spotlights to solely have sunlight shining in. The weather that day was gloomy and overcast, so such natural light was much darker and helped create a much different mood for these photographs than those with artificial lighting.

I wanted to bring in an air of mystery and suspense to these photographs. Some features were already in place: The white sheet, the vignette created by the camera lens, the oftentimes shotty and irritability of the camera's focus, Yvonne's yellow lace blouse, and her dark hair. Overall my goal was to create an atmosphere as if the The Haunting (1963) met The Addams Family (1964) met a Technicolor film met a smidgen of contemporary fashion. A mishmash of different influences to morph into the mood portrayed in these photos.

I'll describe the story portrayed in these photos, so that you can better understand the concept.

I hope it's entertaining at the very least.

The Actual Narrative

It's a balmy summer's day, and there is a girl. She prances around a meadow barefoot and dressed in her yellow lace blouse and denim shorts. She is not alone in the meadow; surrounding her in between the stalks of grass are butterflies, grasshoppers, dandelions and buttercups, all culminating to a tranquil yet buzzing aura. Cicadas in the trees provide a metronomic serenade as a backdrop to the scene's merriment.

Nearby is the reason for her presence; a family reunion of which she is a part. Under a large canvas tent, are tea and sandwiches, deviled eggs and Shirley Temples. The women don sundresses and straw hats and exchange garb about career pursuits and daintily gloat of their children. The men wear t-shirts or pinstripe button-ups with trousers and boast of their sector occupations or squabble of baseball brackets. The young people wear playsuits or sprightly denim pieces. They play at the edge of the shade provided by the tent, with balls and bubbles and twigs.

The girl is years older than her younger relatives, so she remains alone, but occupied. She is lively and adventurous, an untainted and headstrong spirit, laughing gleefully as she explores the meadow. She is not fearful of insects, nor afraid of rampant rocks or splinters. She knows what her true fears are and they are not found in this serene stage.

As she pads through her surroundings, one bare foot after the other, she eyes details that her junior cousins would neglect. To the left a fallen tree painted in lichen and moss, with three snails oozing along. To the right a trickling creek, an object of runoff from the nearby river. As she moves on, she notices a faint trail lined with daisies and forget-me-nots and ladybugs lonesome. Intrigued by the path, she stands on a small boulder in the vacancy it presents among the grassy space and peers onward. As the trail vanishes in nearby distance, she can discern through a copse of willows the silhouette of a looming structure. Curious as to what it could be, she remembers why she is there in the meadow. With her right hand grasping a tree trunk on the side of the path, she glances over her shoulder. The women are chatting. The men are chuckling. The children are zooming to and fro. They will not note her absence, at least for a while. Besides, it will only be temporary. Just for a peek.

Making her mind, a mischievous smile touches her face and she turns towards the trail. She treads carefully, ensuring she doesn't trip while gazing mesmerized through the trees at the shape ahead. In her hypnotization, she does not notice a rusting sign dangling from an old metal gate with faint marks of warning. Even had she seen it, it would not have deterred her. She is fascinated and curious; thriving on the thrill of an unaccompanied adventure.

When she exits the grove, the trail ends, and before her stands a desolate mansion. Immediately she detects it was once a lively and grand house. There are remnants of hand carved trimming, and immense vertical windows. A stone stairway lined with elegant iron guard rails escalates to the entryway. Despite its apparent grandeur, the manor appears dingy, with peeling paint, shattered panes of glass and a purplish-grey hue to every detail. The wrought-iron fence is rusting, the window frames are flaking and the barrier of the third floor balcony sprawls on the canopy sheltering the front stoop and porch, having abandoned its prescribed post.

But that's not to say that nature is not impeding and reclaiming the space. It is apparent upon first sight. Vines slither up the crumbling siding, and the distant buzzing of bees alerts there is a hive dribbling with larvae and honey. Sparrows dogfight, dragonflies dart from left to right and the front yard is overrun with wildflowers.

Curiosity confirmed, a distracted grin spreads across her face as she ventures forward towards the gate leading to the front steps. As she pads through the floral undergrowth, she glances up at the daunting structure, but is unfazed by its sinister yet dreary state. Stopping at the front door, she sees a knocker, shaped as a roaring lion's head with a spindly spider inching down the nose. Knowing all too well that the house is abandoned, she bypasses the knocker and turns the solid brass doorknob. The massive door creeps outwardly open to reveal a shadowed foyer. The interior appears to be entirely crafted from mahogany; the floorboards, the trim and railings all the same deep woody shade. Mirrors line the walls and every piece of furniture is cloaked with a white sheet. The end of the entry hall ends in a choice of three directions. Sitting rooms and entertainment spaces to the left and right, and a murky corkscrew staircase leading to the upper levels. The girl sets her sights forward and pads up the staircase, her right hand grazing the mahogany railing as she ascends, and leaving gentle footprints on the creeking dusty floor beneath.

Coming round the stairway's bend she notices a friendlier air. At the top is a hallway leading to the left and the right. Adorning the wall are oil paintings of lilies and ponds and peaches. Her hand skims the wall's surface as she glides left towards a mahogany door opened slightly ajar.

The door resists minutely to her gentle pushes due to decades of dereliction or as if hiding something, but finally it submits and slowly swings inward. The space behind the door is a bedroom, however at first glance it was difficult to place, as almost the entire room is veiled in white sheets, even the floor. But upon more careful inspection the sheets resemble the forms of lamps and side tables, armoires and chaise lounges, and an enormous four-poster bed. She sees that this room, while still tinted a purplish-grey like the rest of the mansion, has been lit by a tremendous French-window on the front facing wall of the house. She tiptoes over to the window and peers out. Over the copse of trees she can view the reunion! Deep in her excitement and joy in the meadow, she had not noticed the manor rising in the festivities' backdrop. Perplexed she failed to see this, as observing is a favorite of hers, she steps over to where the veiled bed stands, only three meters away from the window, and plops down on the sheet-covered floor beside it. If she so chose, she could simply lean back against the bed to watch her extended family, but not wishing to disturb the carefully hung sheets, she suffices with the floor.

It is here on the floor, in front of a four poster bed cloaked by white sheets, in a decrepit, dusty and ominous abandoned estate that we imagine these photographs were taken. Her surroundings are shadowed, eerie and grand, yet she is undisturbed by such characteristics. Because she is headstrong and self-assured, she can be joyful and cheery no matter the state of her environment. Had a photographer waltzed in to shoot snapshots of this girl as she was, these are what s/he would have seen. A girl in her world, dressed how she wants, being who she wants; carefree and smiling nonetheless.

Insights

That lil' narrative more or less describes the mood, atmosphere and story behind these photographs. If it helped clarify things, wonderful! If not, well... I either did a shit job writing, a shit job developing the mood of the story, a shit job creating a world from which these photographs could come from, or you just didn't get it. Any of those are equally possible, but there's a tad more blame placed on my shoulders than yours. Because if this narrative didn't make any sense whatsoever, than I did a poor job conveying my thoughts, with the consequence being your difficulty understanding. So please don't feel bad if it doesn't make sense. In fact, if it doesn't make sense to you, please leave a comment with feedback so that I may use that information for future photographic reasoning narratives.

Anyways, thank you to Yvonne for being a snazzy-ass model. Can't wait to reunite in a few weeks.

And thank you, to you, for reading.

And as always,

Thanks for popping by.

Toodles,

Isabella

0 notes