#i cannot wait to walk the freedom trail

[antioxidcnts]

NGA LU FRA'U You are Everything - Leioae ulte Tìlayro

Leioae ulte Tilayro - Respect and Freedom WC: 2.7k FemOmatikaya!Reader Pairings: {Neteyam x Reader - Strangers to Friends to Lovers}, {Lo’ak x Reader, Kiri x Reader, Tuk x Reader, Jake x Reader, Neytiri x Reader – Platonic} {An’oung x Reader, Tsireya x Reader, Ronal x Reader, Tonowari x Reader – Family} 

Narlor - Beautiful

This version is in Third Person

The next morning went as normal as ever, Ok’irse waking up before the light to start on her duties, the rest of the clan sleeping in. When the sully family woke up, Jake approached his two boys. “Listen. What was the one thing I asked of you? To stay out of trouble.” Neteyam shook his head, stepping forward. “It was my fault father-” Jake cut him off. “No I don’t think so, you have got to stop taking the heat for this knucklehead.” He turned to Lo’ak. “Listen, go apologize to Ao’nung, I don’t care how you do it but he is the cheifs son. Go make peace you understand me?” He pointed at Lo’ak, waiting for any kind of response. Lo’ak groaned, pushing past his father and out of their marui. “Whatever.” He set off to go find Ao’nung, his steps heavy as he was obviously annoyed. Neteyam used this opportunity to get to spend some time with Ok’irse, they did not have any lessons planned for the day, and she always seemed so busy. He thought it would be a good idea to offer her some help.  

Neteyam made his way down to the beach, seeing Ok’irse walking up from the ocean. She saw him approaching her and she wondered if he needed something. Not many people approach her during the day, knowing she is usually busy doing some odd job for her father. “Hello Neteyam, what do I owe the pleasure?” Her voice trailed across his ears, sending them flickering for a moment. “I thought that if you had a moment you might enjoy some company.” He smiled, walking beside the girl as she began to head back towards the village. “That is very thoughtful of you Neteyam, but unfortunately I am swamped with tasks today.” She brushed past him, walking ahead and handing out small items to passersby. “Maybe I could help?” He asked trailing behind her, watching as she handed out small toys and gifts. She thought for a moment, shaking her head. “Sorry Neteyam, I cannot allow you to help, these are my duties.” She stopped turning around to face him. He was disappointed to say the least, he had wanted to spend more time with her, teach her about the forest, thank her for helping him, and just get to know more about her.  

Ronal walked past in the opposite direction, overhearing the conversation at hand. The mother knew that her daughter never got the chance to hang out with the other children in the clan, never really made friends her own age or got to have fun. She felt guilty at times, like she wasn’t doing her best to support her. She knew that Ok’irse was a fierce warrior who did whatever she could to make them proud. She did make them proud, especially Ronal. Ronal was skeptical of her when Tonowari brought her home that day around 16 years ago, but every day that she watched her grow up, she felt more and more pride that she could call her their daughter. Ok’irse had done everything she was supposed to from the time she learned to walk and swim. She never stepped out of line, did all her chores without question and never argued. She was the golden child. Ronal turned around, approaching the two at a standstill, “Ok’irse, Have you completed your regular morning duties yet?” She spoke, reaching our and grabbing a section of her daughters hair and looking at the boy she was with.

“Sorry mother, I have completed my daily tasks yes but I was just about to head off to finish the additional chores you and father put aside for me today. I will get on it right away.” Ok’irse tightened the grip on her bag, giving Neteyam an apologetic look. “Nonsense.” Ronal spoke up, “I think you have granted yourself a free day don’t you think? I will discuss it with your father and we shall handle your remaining duties. Go, have fun for once.” She smiled softly at her daughter, looking between her and Neteyam. It helped that she knew they would be safe, she trusted her. Ok’irse would never go somewhere she shouldn’t be, and even if something did go wrong, she knew her eldest could hold her own. It helped knowing that she would be spending time with the eldest Sully boy too, considering he had gone through similar training to her before his time here.  

Ok’irse was shocked to hear the words that came from her mothers mouth. “Mother, are you sure?” Ronal nodded, placing her hand on her shoulder. “I know you will be safe and it will be good for you to get to know others your age.” Her mother ran her hand along her back, smiling at the two. She had not had a free day in years, she didn’t even know what to do for fun. She watched as her mother walked off, turning her attention back to Neteyam. “Well skxawng, I guess you will get the pleasure of enjoying my company for one day.” She warned, holding her finger up and smiling. “Come on, follow me. I’ll show you something.” She walked off towards the woods, checking behind her to see if Neteyam was keeping up with her. He wasn’t far behind, so she sped up her pace. He walked behind her, running a bit to catch up. “Hey wait, where are you taking me?” He called out, watching as her pace quickened soon turning into a run. He found himself running after her, chasing her through the woods.  

Ok’irse ducked to the left behind a tree, stopping and waiting to hear Neteyam run past her. Sshe smiled to herself when she heard his feet his the ground close by. She jumped out in front of him, holding her arms out and hissing playfully at him. She had miscalculated how far back he was as he came crashing into her, knocking her from her footing and sending them both flying down the hill. They splattered onto the ground, both winded from the experience. Ok’irse was the first to laugh, sitting up and covering her mouth while her infectious laugh filled the woods. Neteyam sat up, rubbing the back of his head and looking at her. He couldn’t help but laugh, sure his body was sore and he would probably be bruised from the fall, but he too had never gotten the opportunity as a child to just have fun.  

Ok’irse stood up, extending her hand to Neteyam to help him up. He took her hand, jumping a bit as she pulled him up from the ground quickly. “We’re almost there.” She flashed him a smile, pulling him in different directions as they traveled the woods. Usually, Neteyam was the one in charge, he would look after his siblings and take responsibility for their actions. He was the older brother, it was his job to protect them no matter the cost. It felt different for him to be without them, after spending his whole life looking after them it seems like that’s all he really knew how to do. He watched as the girl dragged him around, a smile creeping up on his face. For the first time in both of their lives, they would finally get a chance to escape their obligations, a chance to have fun.  

The girl stopped suddenly, causing Neteyam to slam into her back. He fell onto the floor, huffing as his back hit the ground. The girl turned around, looking at him and giggling softly. “You sure are clumsy huh?” She teased, placing her hands on her hips. He scoffed at her playfully, standing up and dusting himself off. “Why did you stop?” His tail flicked behind him, looking around with confusion plastered on his face. He looked around, he just saw trees and plants, there was nothing special or magnificent about where they were, why would she of taken them this far into the woods for this? Kirse giggled, seeing the confusion on his face and knowing he didn’t understand why she had taken them there. “We’re here.” She smiled smugly, placing her hands on Neteyams shoulders and moving him around. “What are you-” He stopped abruptly, looking out at the sight in front of him. That’s why she had brought him here.  

He looked through the leaves, reaching his hand out to pull them away. He stepped through the makeshift door, eyes widening at the sight before him. They stood on the top edge of a cliff that overlooked a string of islands, but the sight to see? Well that would be the light waterfall that could be seen flowing into the pool of water below them. Ok’irse stood next to Neteyam, smiling as she watched his face light up with emotions. “Beautiful right?” She stood on the edge, looking at the pool of water beneath them and watching as the droplets from the waterfall landed against the water. Neteyam at Ok’irse, watching her features as they took in the sight. “Narlor” He whispered, taking in the beauty of the nature in front of him as well as the beauty of her in front of him.  

Ok’irse turned to him, her back facing the edge of the cliff. “It would be so wild if I slipped.” She teased, pretending to fall just to get a rise out of him. She found herself smiling more than she had ever before when she was with him. She noticed how she felt more at ease, freer when he was around. Before Neteyam could scold her for worrying him, she jumped. She jumped feet first off the cliff as her body went soaring down to the water below. “Ok’irse!” Neteyam screamed, scrambling to the edge of the cliff, hesitant to jump down. His heart was pounding. Was she crazy? Did she have a death wish? He watched as her body was encapsulated by the water. His heart pounded out of his chest, anxiously waiting for her to surface. A moment passed, another, another. He began to panic, if he jumped would he succumb to the same fate as her? He wouldn’t be able to make it down there in time even if he did know which way to go. He heard the sound of splashing water, looking down over the cliff to see Ok’irse’s head pop out of the water. He heard the sound of her laugh and all his worries disappeared. “Are you coming down to join me Nete? Or are you just going to stand there while I have all the fun!” She yelled up to him, swimming out of the way and waving him down.  

She wanted him to jump, he stood up from his postion, looking down at the water and shaking his head. He couldn’t jump, it was too risky. It was almost like Ok’irse could sense his apprehension, yelling again. “Come on! Let loose! Live a little!” Her laugh ricocheted up the cliff, like music to his ears, it consumed him. Neteyam thought for a moment, cocking his head to the side and running off the cliff, jumping and holding onto his limbs for dear life. He let out a scream as he fell, plummeting into the water. The splash echoed, his body collapsing on impact. He surfaced a moment later, gasping for air and laughing. “That was-” He coughed, swimming over to Ok’irse. “The most fun I think I have ever had.” He smiled, splashing her with his tail. “After you gave me a heart attack!” He groaned, playfully splashing her with water and taking in the scene. “How did you even find this place?” He pulled himself from the water, sitting on the side.  

“Ao’nung and I stumbled upon it a few years back, he would always walk the woods with me because he didn’t want me to explore alone and get lost or hurt.” She smiled, thinking of the memories. “He wasn’t paying attention and walked right off the side of the cliff, luckily for him the pool of water here is pretty deep. We would come when we needed a break from our parents. We started bringing Tsireya here just last year.” She looked at him, seeing the look on his face and sighing. “I know you want to ask so just do it.” Neteyams ears fell as he looked away, he didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t help but be curious. It wasn’t everyday that a Na’vi was adopted by a different Na’vi clan. “How did you end up here? Was it the sky people?” He whispered, not wanting to make her upset. She sighed, pulling herself up onto the ground next to him. “All I know, is that I was found on a Sky persons ship, no mother, no father, no one. I was completely alone.” He set his hand on hers, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone anymore.” She smiled at his comment, looking up at the sky. “Come, its almost eclipse, we should head back.” She stood up, taking his hand and leading him down the path back to the village.  

Once inside the village, she saw Ao’nung sprinting towards her and Neteyam. His face was unreadable, normally Ok’irse knew what her brother was getting into, but this time she was just as in the dark as Neteyam. “Kirse, please I need your help.” He spoke, approaching them and grabbing her arm, pulling her away from Neteyam. “What did you do now Ao’nung?” She rolled her eyes, scanning him. “Where is Lo’ak?” She questioned, knowing that she had last seen the two together. Ao’nung hung his head, looking up to her with shame in his eyes. “I took him outside the reef. We thought it would be funny, we left him there.” She pulled her arm away from him. “Please Kirse, I didn’t think that anything would happen it’s been hours since we left and he has yet to return. I just wanted to teach him a lesson.” He reached for his sister, watching as she pulled away and looked to Neteyam.  

Neteyam wasted no time, grabbing Ao’nung by the shoulder and parading him around the village to the Sully family marui. “Tell him what you told me.” He shoved Ao’nung towards Jake, staring daggers into his side. Ok’irse had already left on a skimwing to search for him. A search party soon formed, searching the reef and the outskirts, calling out for the Sully boy. Ok’irse had spotted Lo’ak not far from the edge of the reef, he was with a Tulkun. She approached him slowly, “Lo’ak!” She called, stopping next to him. “Your family is worried, we should go.” Lo’ak looked towards her, looking down fondly at the Tulkun with him. “Go, I will find you again.” He climbed onto the skimwing with Kirse, watching as the Tulkun swam away. Ok’irse knew the legends of Payakan, she had even seen him up close twice before, she had never seen him interact with a Na’vi though. She chose to say nothing, just return the boy home safely.  

The whole village was awaiting their arrival, Jake and Neytiri ran to Lo’ak’s side, examining him. “He is fine.” Jake spoke, his body relaxing at the relief he felt. “I pray for the strength that I will not pluck the eyeballs out of my youngest son!” Neytiri hissed, thankful to have her son back safely in her sight. “No.” Tonowari chimed in, looking down at his daughter and nodding appreciatively. “My son knows better than to take him outside of the reef.” He pushed Ao’nung to the ground by his neck, scowling and turning back to the Sully’s. “The blame is his.” Jake tried to rush them out. “Okay, lets go.” He started walking away. “No, this was not Ao’nungs fault.” Lo’ak interrupted. “It was my idea, Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it. Really.” Jake sighed, grabbing Lo’ak by the arm and dragging him away. Looks were shared between Ronal and Tonowari, who then looked at Ok’irse. She looked at them, shrugging softly, not wanting to get in the middle of this mess. She shared a look with Neteyam, wondering why Lo’ak would take the fall for her idiot brother.  

The families dispersed, making their way home for the night. Ok’irse could hear Jake speaking to Lo’ak as she passed, “You have brought shame to this family.” Lo’ak looked away, shaking his head. “Can I go now?” “Anymore trouble and I’ll tie a knot in your tail.” She couldn’t help but feel bad for Lo’ak, knowing that Ao’nung was the reason he was in trouble in the first place. All she could do was hope that the two would leave each other alone from now on.  

A/N: This took me a bit longer to get out just because I had to write it today, It also hasn't been proofread as many times as the others but oh well. I hope you enjoy it :) I should post chapter 4 tomorrow. Thank you for all the love and support. TAGLIST + @kachowness @eywas-heir @sunjayist @neenieweenie @yeosxxx @fanboyluvr @junnniiieee07 @projectdaydreamer @mashiromochi @thexplosivegirll @itszzmoon @dakotali

#neteyam fic #neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam #sully family #neteyam sully #avatar tuk #tuktirey #tuk sully #avatar kiri #kiri sully #lo’ak smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x y/n #lo’ak #lo’ak fic #jake sully #jake sully x reader #james cameron avatar #neytiri #atwow x you #avatar #atwow x reader #atwow fanfiction #atwow loak #atwow fluff #atwow neytiri #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Fly Away

Shroud brothers angst one of my favorite flavors of tears 😈 inspired by the news of the upcoming 🦋 FG SSR Ortho 🦋

When one’s spirit has departed from the realm of the living, it may return for a brief visit on the wings of a butterfly.

***Spoilers for chapter 6 of the main story!***

Imagine this...

Idia lingered at the threshold to his first period classroom. Ortho hovered nearby, curiously glancing over his brother’s shoulder.

There were still 4 minutes left on the clock. 4 minutes before he would be herded inside with the sheeple (his peers), forced to put his nose to the grindstone, to put pencil to paper. 4 minutes of freedom remaining—and thus, free time to burn through energy on various gacha games.

Idia fidgeted with his phone, blue lips pursed into a perfectly horizontal line. His fingers sped along the screen, having memorized the routine by now.

Apps opened and then closed just as fast. Log-in rewards collected. Daily missions completed. Favorite waifus and husbandos greeted.

Familiar sound effects and voice lines enveloped his soul, soothed it.

Idia released a sigh. Relief sank to the bottom of his breath, and up rose frustration.

Ortho’s sensors stood at attention. He peered into his brother’s bleak face and grinned.

“Don’t worry, Nii-san! Pulling from your past exam scores and accounting for potential margin of error and other variable factors... By my calculations, there is a 98.72% chance that you’ll ace today’s test!”

“I-It’s not the test I’m worried about,” Idia grumbled.

His gaze appeared more grim than usual. His eyes, sunken in like the sockets of a skeleton. The skin beneath was dark compared to the rest of his sickly face, sagging like tender, rotting flesh.

He looked less human and more like a corpse groom.

“The teachers want to make it a fair game for everyone.” Ortho spoke tactfully, but failed to repress a chuckle. “And it wouldn’t be fair if you could walk into a boss fight with a super cool, one-of-a-kind buff.”

“Tch. Railroading,” Idia spat, shoving his phone into his pocket.

A sour reminder from his professors reared its head. “Shroud, you cannot bring your... sibling with you into class on examination days. Please leave the poor boy at Ignihyde in the future.”

What annoying quest conditions.

“Th-The very least they can do is let you just sit in the room until I finish the test... It’s not like I need any hacks or cheats to one-up all the noobs in my class. My IQ stat’s already enough to clear low levels like this.”

The conversation lapsed, filled by the brief murmur of students milling around them. Neither Shroud needed to say what the older one was thinking, the real reason for his concerns.

The shiver that descended, cruel nails digging into his skin. A cold, icy claw, the grip of death trailing behind him. A whisper, a murmur, from beyond the grave.

This game, too, was their routine.

A bell rang in the distance, ushering them—and time—forward. Signaling the start of class.

Idia stiffened.

An invisible hand brushed against his cheek, freezing his veins and the blood that ran in them. A boyish singsong filled his ears.

Nii-chan. Idia nii-chan...

“... I’ll be fine, Nii-san,” Ortho said softly. “I won’t disappear. I’ll be waiting right here for you when you’re finished.”

The robot floated a little closer to his brother. The fake fire called Ortho’s hair flickered, his mechanical body resonating with a low hum. Together, they radiated an immense warmth.

Idia stared up at him.

A figment of life, a fake flame, an imitation--and yet it had comforted him so, staving off the frightful cold.

He nervously nibbled on his lower lip, eyes darting between his brother and the classroom door. It flapped open and shut as students passed in and out of it—the very gate between Twisted Wonderland and the Underworld, between heaven and hell.

“Y-You promise?”

Ortho laid a hand over his burning core--over where his heart would be. He projected his most reassuring, angelic smile.

“I promise!”

The telltale glow of Ortho’s fire could be viewed through the classroom window as he peeked in.

The soft scratching of graphite and scribbled words filled the space. Students arranged in rows had their eyes pressed to papers, scrutinizing the questions--Idia included. Confidence crept onto his face, twisting his mouth into a sharp grin.

It was look of someone intent on conquering a level.

Ortho relaxed, expelling a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

Thank goodness. The support protocol proved to be extremely effective.

He rocketed up, extending his arms up in a victorious cheer. His metal body felt as light as air, without pressure or weight. A coolness cushioned and kissed at his back.

Was this the feeling of being “on cloud 9″?

Ortho arched his head, gazing into the sky. Today, it was a beautifully deep cornflower blue. The clouds threaded through it were but lazy white wisps.

Clouds are nothing more than visible masses of condensed water vapor, his databases informed him. There’s nothing wonderous about them.

But his AI wandered and wondered in spite of it.

Maybe it’s the breath of people from the past. Wishes upon the wind. Hopes and dreams set to the sun and the sky.

Something truly magical.

“Hehe.”

Bright orange streaked across his vision. A sunset set into motion.

Blink, blink.

A little thing with even littler legs, with delicate gossamer wings lined in a deep black, paved with white speckles. The wings were fragmented like a stained glass window, the sunlight trickling through.

Ortho’s eyes quickly adjusted to it. Visual processors aligning, camera focusing in on the creature. Circuits firing, wires connecting.

A neon blue screen appeared in his mind, the answer to his unspoken question retrieved in an instant.

[Scientific name: Danaus plexippus. Common name: monarch butterfly.]

With a flutter of its wings, it landed on the robot’s arm. The surface below it, strong and steady.

On tiny legs, the butterfly tiptoed down the length of Ortho’s forearm and onto the back of his hand. Curiously, he brought his face closer to observe. Its antennae and feet twitched as it felt up its new environment.

Exploring, seeking something.

A whisper-light touch greeted Ortho’s chin, crawling up his cheek. Orange returned to his field of vision. His face suddenly tickled. Orange, orange everywhere.

Flap, flap.

He was staring down the bug resting on his nose.

“Wah...!” Ortho cried out.

A hushed gasp, startling the butterfly. Its wings beat rapidly like an erratic heartbeat, launching it into the air.

“Ah, wait! Please don’t go, Monarch Butterfly-san!” Ortho pleaded, reaching out to it.

The butterfly fluttered just out of his grasp.

He frowned, floating over and extending another hand. Cupping them together, Ortho attempted to form a cage around the butterfly.

Its wings brushed against his metal fingers. From between the index and the middle, it just narrowly slipped out like a secret shouted to the world.

Ortho glanced after it, a new sparkle lit in his eyes. “I won’t lose!”

The engines embedded in his soles heated, magical energy collecting. Flames roared, singing in his ears, in his every nut and bolt.

He took off, rocketing after the butterfly.

They hopped and jumped and skipped through the sky. His dainty feet and the butterfly’s, hanging in the sky as they bounded about. Closing hands became clapping hands, and frantic flapping turned broad and lackadaisical.

Twirling in a dance, chasing in a game of tag.

Life—hovering close, but ever transient.

So easily snuffed out.

His face warmed from the sun and from the exertion, Ortho laughed--and he wondered if the butterfly, too, was laughing with him. His boyish sounds of joy melted into the afternoon.

Slowly, slowly, he let himself lower to the ground, flying just a few centimeters from it. His new friend followed his trail, landing carefully in the palm of his hand.

Ortho didn’t sweat and didn’t catch his breath. Both were constructs of living beings. All there was to stop for was the spring winds, which licked at and cooled his circuits.

“... Monarch Butterfly-san, did you know? I’ve got a really amazing big brother,” he whispered, a happy confession from his artificial lips. “It’s because of him that I can move and feel and think the way I can.”

I’m... doing what I was made for, aren’t I? I’m ‘Ortho’, supporting Nii-san in every way that I can.

That is all that I am. All that I can hope to be.

The butterfly held still. Its wings trembled.

“... A puppet can never become a real boy. An AI can never replace the real thing. There’s no chance of cheating Death.”

It was a fact, a figure. As real as any of his calculations, as real as any of the data he pulled up.

An undeniable truth of the world.

“His happiness is my happiness! That’s why I’m doing my best for Nii-san! I’ll make new memories with him with ‘me’... the way I am now.”

And... for the ‘you’ that is no longer here.

“Thank you for playing with me!” Ortho cupped his hands together, cradling his friend close. His voice, as fragile as glass. “But... your family must miss you, Monarch Butterfly-san.”

Life is fleetingly short. Every moment should count.

“You should fly home now. They’re waiting for you.” He lifted his hands to the sky, offering up a small smile. “I’ve... got someone waiting for me, too!”

The butterfly gave a tentative flap.

“Fly away to where your family is.”

Fwoosh.

The breeze sent the butterfly off, orange and golden hues sent scattering with sunlight. Such a little life it was, piercing its everblue limits.

Ortho watched, waving after the speck. So wild, so lively--a fire in the sky. A flame that refused to die out.

“Good-bye! Good-bye...! Safe travels!” he called.

The wind swept up his voice, carrying it well above the rooftops of Night Raven College. A ghostly giggle joined it, trilling along the underbelly of the butterfly.

I’ll be seeing you soon, Idia nii-chan.

#Idia Shroud #Ortho Shroud #Ignihyde #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland scenarios #angst #spoilers #something no one asked for #disney twisted wonderland #beyond the looking glass #imagine this #twst ortho #twst idia

[extemporaneousmusings]

10/7/22

Pictured: my good girl walking with a loose leash!

I cannot tell you how much work has gone into this happening. When we first got Lulu a year and a half ago I wouldn’t walk her alone for at least two months because I was so intimidated by how strong she was and how hard she pulled. It can still be a struggle in the neighborhood and in new places (though not nearly on the same level) but on the trail we come to multiple times a week she is often now content to walk most of the two miles by my side, even though when we’re up there she’s on a 20 foot leash and has the freedom to really zip around if she wanted to.

We’ve got a few things we’re working on in the house, like teaching her to go to a mat so she can have a dedicated spot downstairs and so we can easily get her out from underfoot when we’re cooking. In the outside world we’re going to teach her a cue to stop and wait at corners and when coming up to crowds. I think that will be tricky but also a fun challenge because it doesn’t hold the same weight as the stuff we work on with her dog reactivity and is a little more complex than loose leash training which is very simple and kinda tedious.

#personal #Lulu

[kpagrandtour]

3/10/23

Blakely Biggs

Today we explored Boston, Massachusetts. It was our first official glimpse of the city, because yesterday we arrived at 1am-ish (due to a 5 hour delay at DFW), and we were all half asleep. I found the architecture of Boston to be very interesting and somewhat surprising, especially because it was a weird mixture between new, shiny, geometrical buildings and old, historical, mostly-brick buildings. We started off the day by following the freedom trail to multiple historical spots in Boston. My favorite spots were probably the Boston Commons (a historical park) and two cemeteries that we visited. At the cemeteries we saw the tombstones of Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and the 5 victims of the Boston Massacre. We were then free to explore the part of Boston that we were in. We went to the Quincy Market and had some VERY good food, and I tried clam chowder for the first time. I also ate some overpriced chocolate strawberries. After that we walked down to the Boston Harbor to see the view. We also visited the site of the oldest public school in America, the oldest restraunt in America, and the Holocaust memorial. Across from the Holocaust memorial, we found a very impressive park with huge slides, but upon approaching said park, we saw a sign that said it was for 2-12 year olds and turned around. We had dinner at a place called “Fire and Ice,” where they offered a wide variety of foods, then grilled it all right in front of you. After dinner, we went to the JFK Memorial Library, where we learned about John F. Kennedy’s life and presidency. There was also a big glass room where we could see out onto the Boston Harbor, which was really cool. Finally, we concluded the day with a Boston Ghost Tour, where we walked around many of the same sights as before, but they told us both historical and modern ghost stories about each spot. Overall, it was a very busy but also very interesting and fun day. I enjoyed exploring this fascinating city with all of my friends and I cannot wait for what the rest of this trip will bring. 

[weirdestarrow]

I’m going to be offline from Friday-Sunday/Monday because I’m going on a trip to Boston. I might be able to get online a little, but probably not.

#boston #can’t wait to soak up all of that sweet sweet historical knowledge #my inner American history nerd is screaming in joy #i cannot wait to walk the freedom trail #take pictures #learn about historical events #all at the perfect time if you consider my American Revolution book

[mid-nighttiger]

friend or foe? || the legend of vox machina

[Image ID: Set of 4 gifs from The Legend of Vox Machina

Percy strides between Keyleth and Cassandra, shoving Keyleth to the side. He is holding his revolver in his left hand. He is wreathed in black smoke, and his eyes cannot be seen past the reflection in his glasses.

Percy walks past Vex, Grog, Scanlan, and glowing Pike across the frame trailing black smoke. His face is out of frame. Then, we see a close-up of the barrel of his revolver as he lifts it to point at a woman behind a set of prison bars, which Vax is attempting to lockpick open. The gun is similarly trailing smoke. A shocked expression comes over the woman’s face as this happens, and Vax stops lockpicking and looks up in surprise.

Close-up of Percy’s mask that he is now wearing and his gun barrel, which is emanating black smoke. The caption at the bottom reads, “This is the only freedom I offer you.” in dark blue text.

Close-up of the woman’s grey eye and gun held extremely close to her face. In the reflection in her eye, we can see four of the gun’s chambers, Percy’s mask in the background, and swirling black smoke. One of the gun’s chambers in the reflection overlap with her pupil. The caption at the bottom reads, “Percy, wait!-’ in light green text.

/End ID]

#midedits #critical role #vox machina #the legend of vox machina #percival de rolo

[crimsonophelia]

Can I request for a fluffy friends to lovers fic with Venti and a human gn reader? They’re good friends (but the reader doesn’t know his real identity) and when reader brings up their desire to see a wind wisp in real life Venti decides to surprise them by transforming into his true form and paying them a visit. The reader finds this mysterious little wind wisp at their doorstep and gets excited, takes care of it, and while feeding it apple slices starts talking about how their good friend Venti would love to see them - but oh, he’s less of a friend and more of a crush who I’ve loved for a long time… wait, where did the wisp go? Wait, Venti?! When did you get here?!

featuring: venti x gn!reader

warnings: none

published: june 30, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: thank you for sending this in—i need more venti requests, he’s my baby <3

you could tell that the drink was beginning to hit you hard when you felt your muscles go slack. it was your fourth pint of the night, and although you thought that you could hold your drink fairly well, you could never hold a candle to your bard friend’s seemingly bottomless appetite for wine. venti was on his seventh--or was it eighth?--mug of cider for the night, and was still fairly unfazed, if you consider his usual bumbling amiability to be his default. after a long day of working and whatever it was that venti did in the daytime, you two had decided to meet up at the angel’s share that evening for a drinking night between friends, and to catch up on life and whatever else goes on in the city of mondstadt. 

the night had begun with a mug per person, as you and venti caught up with each other. due to your duties at home, and his rather inconstant job as a traveling musician, it was oftentimes difficult for you and the bard to stay in touch--responsibilities always seemed to get in the way. so, naturally, you took advantage of every opportunity you could get to see venti, one-on-one, and simply talk. after knowing him for quite a while, he really was a delight to talk to, always full of witty riddles and forever knowing the right thing to say at the right time. venti really was quite remarkable. 

he also had the unique talent of contagious alcoholism; after having spent an hour or so drinking and chatting with him, you unwittingly started drinking more than your usual limit, absolutely carried away with whatever small conversation venti had you engaged with at the moment. the conversation had somehow strayed into the topic of myths and legends of mondstadt. venti was speaking of some strange conspiracies surrounding the origin of the anemo hypostasis up in the mountains, and as the alcohol began to break down your proper judgement, you began to go on and on about how you, as a child, dreamed of seeing an elusive wind wisp. 

you had heard stories about the boy revolutionary, armed with his bow and his words, accompanied by a little white wind wisp, leading mondstadt’s journey to freedom. the story had enchanted you when you were young, and clearly you still had not given up hope of meeting a similar wind wisp. perhaps it would bring you the same joy and power to change your life for the better, just like it did for the hero of old mondstadt. 

venti listened to your reminiscing closely, looking at you with a quizzical look of interest. your intoxicated state made it so that you didn’t notice the look on his face as if he was plotting something, but, to be fair, venti’s poker face was notable for its impregnability. the night ended with him having to walk you home, propping your arm over his shoulders so that you wouldn’t trip and fall on the cobblestone streets. the last thing you remembered was him tucking you into bed, and singing you one of his funny little songs.

the next morning, you woke with a pounding headache and the bright noon sun peeking through your shutters. archons, was it so late already? you pulled yourself out of bed, trying not to stumble, distracted by the pounding in your head. you had a long list of things to do today that you had to complete, and you severely regretted drinking so much and so late with that damned bard last night (though you could never really hate him--he was too adorable).

slipping on whatever clothing closest to your bed and sluggishly following through with your daily morning routine, you got ready to head out the door to water the carrots and potatoes in your backyard. as you pulled open the door, prepared to step out and face the piercing daylight, you caught yourself as you almost stepped on the little figure at your doorstep. lying there on its side, was a wind wisp. yes, just like the ones you had read about all your childhood and you had mused about endlessly last night. it had its little eyes shut, sleeping probably, its delicate little form curled up on the step. 

you were bewildered, partially at the coincidence of it all, but mostly by the rarity of what had occurred before your eyes. a wind wisp, something most people never even saw once in their lifetimes, suddenly showing up right at your doorstep after you had talked about your desire to meet one just the night before. crouching down, you scooped up its little body in your hands. the little thing began to wake, hands rubbing its eyes sleepily, as it made a chirping noise. it was ridiculously adorable. 

“hey there, little guy”, you cooed. “what are you doing here?”

as it began to regain consciousness, the wisp floated up off your hands, small gusts of air emitting from its form, and it flew up to nuzzle against your face. it felt like a warm breeze brushing against your cheek, and you heard it chirping in your ear. 

you giggled. “well aren’t you the cutest little thing!” you raised your hand to pet it, and it made a little gurgling noise, leaning into your touch. something about its mannerisms felt so familiar, almost like something you had known in a past life perhaps, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. its presence was just endlessly comforting, even though you had only known it for a few minutes. 

reaching into your pantry, you pulled out some apples you had picked the day before, and cut it into small slices. the wisp watched you eagerly as you went about your business, like it could understand everything you did. holding up a thin slice to the wisp, a little hole in its void of a face opened up and enveloped the slice whole. a little shocked but certainly entertained, you gave it an approving head pat. 

as the day went on, the little wisp continued to follow you throughout mondstadt as you ran your errands. you went outside, behind your house, to take care of the crops you were growing. as you watered your plants, the little wisp helped you disperse the water more efficiently, blowing a gentle wind from your watering can so that you didn’t have to walk as far to water the faraway plants. you go to pick some apples and sunsettias nearby, and the little fellow would fly up to the hard-to-reach fruits and throw himself against them to knock them loose from the branches, right where you could catch them. you worried a little bit whether he was hurting himself by doing so, but he appeared to be pleased just to assist you, and he certainly was not ashamed to take a few bites from the fruits of your shared labor at the end of the day. 

considering how efficiently your errands were completed today, of course all thanks to the helper you acquired that morning, you thought it would be nice to use the time you had in the late afternoon to take the wisp out for a picnic dinner at windrise to show your appreciation. gathering some of the fruit the both of you had collected, and some sandwiches you made, you placed it all in a little wicker basket and set off for the great tree with your companion upon your shoulder. 

upon arriving, you laid down a gingham blanket in the shade of the great tree of windrise, just a moments away from the ancient statue of barbatos. you felt like a child again, remembering the summers of carefree exploration, tunneling through the thickets in the forest, or catching frogs by the creek, or tumbling down the hills by the sea. and now, a wisp joined you, taking you back to the memories of those years, when life was much simpler.

you couldn’t help but to think of venti, the bard, the friend, who had brought you such comfort through difficult times, whose music, like the warm touch of the wisp, reminded you of home and the beauty that life could bring. your companion was now feasting comedically fast on the food you had brought along, swallowing up fruits whole, and chewing for several moments before helping itself to another. you chuckled and gave it a pat. “greedy little fellow, aren’t you?” you couldnt help but to think venti would have loved to meet the wind wisp, considering his love for nature and all sorts of fauna, and considering the small resemblance between himself and the creature.

“stick around for a bit and i might introduce you to my friend, the bard”, you told it, not really caring that it probably couldn’t understand you. “im actually not sure that we are friends, to be honest. these days we rarely see each other but...” you trailed off, distracted by the sound of the breeze through the branches. the wisp stopped eating and watched you intently. “well”, you began. “i sometimes find myself wishing him and i were more than friends. maybe not lovers, not right away but... i just know that dearly. i cannot be sure that he feels the same, but that is of no matter.” you pat the wisp’s little head again. “if i can make him happy, even just as friends, that is enough for me.”

out of nowhere, a strong wind blew past you, knocking over your wicker basket and sending it flying several feet away. agitated, you scrambled up to chase after it, finally grasping it before it could fly too far. you were perplexed—where in the world could such a strong wind have come from? the sky was clear, and there were no clouds obstructing the setting sun. how odd, you thought to yourself.

you turned around to bring the basket back to your sitting spot, but to your surprise, the wisp was gone. no, in its place was now your bard friend, venti, sitting there on the blanket like he had been there all along. how in the world did he get here without you noticing, and where in the world did the wisp go off to? you hurried over to venti, questioning, “since when did you get here?”

the bard smirked, and fiddled with his lyre that you just noticed he had brought along with him. he had that look on his face again, the one he wore whenever he had some sort of plot in mind.  “whatever do you mean, [y/n]?”, he replied amusedly. “i’ve been here all along.”

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin x reader #venti #venti x reader #venti headcanons #venti imagines #venti fanfic #venti x y/n #venti x you #fluff #venti fluff

[insomniasymphony]

Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Female Reader [He cannot hate you]

Constellation: Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Female Reader Words I got: → Protective → Duality → Affection Rating: Teen up and Audience

                            ►► He is the devil with a sweet tooth,                               And you are the candy on his tongue.                       Get on your knees and ask him to choose                                     Nothing sweeter than you.                              For sweetness doesn't last long. ◄◄

Hectically, you jerk your head from left to right, look around for other cars and take a breath when there are no others blocking the road. In the cold evening air, your legs carry you in hurried steps across the asphalt, to the other side of the pavement that should lead you through the houses of Yorknew. Further and further, until the hotel room is forever gone.

The breath on your lips rises in white clouds, bringing something wistful with it that you don't want to pay attention to. Still, you can't rid yourself of the thought in the back of your mind.

It's not too late to give up on your plan.

You could drag yourself back to the room you've been sharing with Hisoka for four days, put on something pretty and wait for the magician to return from his meeting. He'd tell you about his new plan, kiss you, and fuck your senses into no-man's land for half the night because you're his favourite toy.

That's the problem: you're just a doll that can be replaced.

He's never said that he loves you, even though you've been spending every spare minute together for six months. Hisoka took you on his journey and he hasn't let you out of his sight since.

You shower together, eat together, he kills anyone you exchange too many kind words with. It's as if he wants to shut you off from the world so that you belong to him alone.

But this obsessive nature of his is nothing but terror for you. Sometimes you long for freedom, which you know Hisoka will never give you. He would rather strangle to death with his own hands than see you go. His subliminal threats make that clear time and time again.

And tonight you are ready to die for your freedom.

A little more hastily, you hurry ahead, turn into a narrow alley and hear the echo of your footsteps rising up the stone walls. Each reverberation makes your skin seem colder under your soft woolen coat. The goosebumps don't subside, the shiver persists, and you can't help but believe that behind every shadow is a part of Hisoka. His intense gaze has made you paranoid.

Briefly, you shake your head. This time his eyes won't be able to pierce you. When Hisoka returns, the hotel room will be empty and you will be long gone – so far away from him, with a new name and a new life, that he won't find you. For three weeks you have been looking for someone who would save you and Hisoka from this relationship and you have indeed found someone who wants to fulfil all your wishes for a lot of money in exchange.

Your gaze wanders once briefly over your shoulder. Through the echo of your own flight, you can no longer perceive anything but your own movements. Hisoka could be walking right behind you and you wouldn't notice. The racing of your heart makes the blood rush in your ears and everything else inside you is so erratically tense that you don't know if your nerves can hold it all together.

Only when the alley ends and sends you between other streets to find safety, a tiny part of the fear falls away, still simmering underneath.

Across the street, at least fourteen cars have parked. This area of the city seems like a residential neighbourhood where men return to their loving wives. The husband old-fashioned in a suit while she wears an apron because dinner is boiling on the cooker. Docile women in the kitchen who have no time to look for other men. Probably that's exactly what Hisoka is longing for too. A woman who only has eyes for him. All day long. Without exception. Locked up like a bird in a cage.

Even though you never intended to replace him. Hisoka is the man who won your heart. A guy who goes through life strong and ruthless, but always takes great care to make sure you're okay.

Your steps slow down as you stop at the edge of the pavement. One of the vehicles is started, flashing its headlights three times. The sign that this is your getaway car. The man who will take you away. Away from Hisoka, whose arms have wrapped protectively around you more than once in the last six months. His warmth on your skin has always been comforting and even though you know he hates it when you talk to other men and he has left marks on your body as a safety for himself as a result, his company has always been loving. He has never hurt you unless you found sexual pleasure in it. He never raised his voice at you. Never did he try to lock you up. His only crimes are the threats that still jump through your senses and also the fact that he likes to corner and intimidate you.

On top of that, he messes with people for your sake who are more dangerous than one might think at first. Yes, you love him. But if you don't leave, he will either throw you away or he will be killed because of you. You are poison to each other, you can't explain it any other way.

Yet, you don't want to go. The fear in your heart has made room for sorrow and the desire to run back into his strong, protective arms is strong.

Swallowing dryly, you give yourself a push. You have no choice but to make the best decision for both of you. Your feet start moving again and you drag yourself along, reaching the car you're getting into. You find room in the back seat, the fabric of which clings to you strangely and uncomfortably as you take a shaky breath and look in the rearview mirror for a half-glimpse of your helper's round face.

“Are you ready, good lady?” His smoky voice scrapes through the atmosphere, merely making you nod before he finally starts the engine and drives off. Your heart sinks four floors deeper, smothered in grief and fear, both of which settle on too many things in your chest. Maybe you're making a mistake, but this relationship has no future.

You feel the car smoothly take the turns, hear the engine accelerate, sense every bump in your bones. You claw your sweaty hands into the upholstery as you reprimand yourself to rest with conscious inhales and exhales. It's over, you've escaped, given you both the freedom you deserve.

Yorknew's houses diminish for a moment, bringing trees and the parkland to the fore where you would have loved to have a romantic walk. But Hisoka doesn't think much of boring strolls. He likes sex. Togetherness where you are close to each other – all to yourselves, so that you can snuggle up to him and you just sit there. Amusement parks. Bungee gum. You.

The thought draws a sigh from you before the car makes a strange rattling sound, forcing the driver to stop. You halt at the side of the road, so you can't help but hold your breath.

“What was that?” you press out.

“If I saw right, I just accidentally drove over a marten,” the stranger returns to you, making you exhale because it's not a horror movie you're in after all. Then he gets out.

The open door, which he doesn't close, brightens up the inside of the vehicle, makes the outside world a little more unfriendly than it really is and forces you to get out too, because you can't find a quiet minute alone on this upholstery.

Slowly you push your way back into the cold of the darkness, glancing at the streetlights flickering conspiratorially before circling the car to check on your driver. But all you see in front of the bonnet is a trail of blood. Not a marten. No one. Probably he's just taking the dead animal away, burying it so the kids won't get spooked in the park the next day.

The cool air seems to bite down to your bones, numbing your skin as you count off two minutes. The restlessness keeps you looking around and for a moment you are willing to jump in the car and eagerly drive on. But your driver also has your new identity and all the other things that have been so painstakingly prepared. You can't leave without him. So you stroll a few steps towards the park. Just until the blackness seems to swallow everything, because the flickering streetlamps don't give enough light for more.

Tense, you cross your arms in front of your chest, bobbing up and down before gnawing fear begs for action. “Hello?”

Only silence returns to your question and you can't help but take a step over the dark threshold and venture further ahead to find your driver. Three, four feet ahead to the first tree closest to you. “What's wrong?”

Again you meet only silence, staggering a few more steps ahead and giving up in the same breath. A glance over your shoulder moves the car, which is already a few metres away from you, into a ghostly, almost lonely picture, apart from the other vehicles that pass by every now and then. No one seems to care about the abandoned automobile.

A little more annoyed, you take a breath, shake your head as something wet hits your cheek and you instantly look up because the sky didn't look like rain at all when you started running.

And it still doesn't.

Nevertheless, your heart stops for a beat.

Cold seems to consume you from within, makes you pull your coat tighter.

Up there, above you, fixed between branches, the lifeless eyes of the man who was supposed to help you escape stare back at you. His arms hang twisted above him and his legs are missing entirely. In the darkness, suffused with moonlight, you can only make out the bitter facts. And one of them is death.

“Do you like it?”

Instantly you suck in the air sharply, turning around in an instant only to catch sight of Hisoka. Leaning relaxed against a tree, he shuffles his cards as if nothing has happened. “I thought we had decided that you would wait in the hotel room. Where were you going with that man at such a late hour?”

His gaze lifts so that his amber eyes can look at you, while his features wait in a lack of enthusiasm for answers. You don't know if he's angry, but his expression seems to threaten you.

“I-I... I wanted to...” What do you want to say anyway? You don't know yourself what exactly you wanted other than to just get away from him for too many things that seem wrong. “Away.”

“Where to?”, Hisoka inquires, pushing himself off the trunk and coming closer. The cards disappear into the pockets of his white trousers in the same blink.

“Just... away,” you counter, unable to look at him any further because his eyes seem to look right down into your core.

“From me?” He pauses in front of you. “Why?”

Again your attention jerks to him and you hate the fact that he is wearing heels because it only makes him taller than he already is.

“You... are... constricting me.”

“Is that so?” The almost biting undertone in his voice is frightening. But you don't have time to think of what his next move might be as he grabs you by the chin and forces you to look at him very closely. His grip is so tight around your jawbone as he does so that you panic he might break it.

Then he leans towards you, breathes such a gentle kiss on your lips that, along with fear, terrible warmth rises up inside you. Your heart races wildly, but you don't know if it's the fear or the longing. Seeing him like this, knowing he is so close to you, is cruel because you love him, don't want to leave him, but don't want to see either of you die either.

The mere thought of losing him, or not being good enough anymore, knots your stomach as your vision blurs and the sobs in your throat quietly spill out.

Hisoka watches this rection, loosening his grip around your chin and running his thumb over your lips. A little like he wants more words from you. And you can't help but give them to him in a gush.

“I love you, Hisoka. I really do. But this can't work.” You have to swallow to keep from breaking into a raspy cough. “You lock me up like I'm your pet and you're messing with people who might kill you one day.” The first tear rolls down your cheeks unintentionally, making you wipe it away in frustration because you don't want to seem like an effeminate damsel in distress. “You're going to kill yourself because of me. And if not for that, then one day you'll just throw me away because you're not a man for life. And I'm afraid that by then I'll love you so much that I won't be able to stand it. So I was gonna let you go. And I can understand if you hate the decision, but isn't that the duality you love to talk about? Love and hate, both sides of the same coin? I-” Hisoka interrupts you as he takes your face in his hands and forcibly pulls you to him, far enough to force you onto your toes to press a kiss to your lips. A warm touch full of affection so gentle it takes your breath away.

Then he lets go of you, remains close in front, but his features are adorned with a friendly smile that makes him a little suspicious, while his hand caresses your cheek. As he does so, he brushes your lower eyelid, collecting another tear that was about to escape.

The tenderness he has for you irritates you so much that every one of your brain cells shuts down for a breath before Hisoka focuses on you again, piercing you with a blank stare. The atmosphere between you grows heavier.

“You think too much about nothingness, love.” His voice is so soft that it seems almost deadly at the same time. “And because you're like that, I'm going to let you get away with it for today.” He leans down to your ear, licks once over the shell with the tip of his tongue. “But if you run away again, I will kill you.”

“H-Hisoka...” You don't know what you can say to appease him. Nothing seems good enough. But Hisoka understands, straightening up to look at you again, putting on that playful smile he goes through life with. “Or I can put you in chains so I can have you with me for the rest of my life. Whichever option you like better.”

He tilts his head, looking at you with mockery and at the same time with a barely perceptible commitment so that you can feel the blush on your cheeks. On one hand, he's making a fool of you, on the other, he's conveying in his own unique way that he's sure he wants you for himself – forever.

He can't stay mad at you for long, can't even punish you for your terrible action, just takes you as you are, as if he has a weakness for all your stupid words and your troubled feelings.

And in those seconds you know that he loves you no less than you love him.

[Picture from a card collecting game]

[Want to give me kudos or a request? Check here!]

#Hunter X Hunter #hunter x 2011 #hunter x reader #hunter x you #hisoka hxh #hisoka morow #hisoka x you #hisoka x reader #Female reader #reader insert #My writing #my Ao3 works #fanfiction #fanfic #love #obsessive #obsessed

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 10

A/N: I can’t believe I’m already on part 10 for this series and to be honest it’s fun to write. And in all seriousness, the tumblr mobile app needs to allow you to put a read more link. But anyways love you all and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! Mwah! 🖤🖤🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, some violence, and blood

“Im sorry, did you just say Madripoor?” You blinked at Zemo, dreading the destination ahead of you.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it’s Skull Island.” Sam questioned, looking between you and Zemo.

“Imagine Mos Eisley from Tatooine but without the aliens and blasters.” You tried to make an analogy. “In other words, a shithole. And to be honest, I’d rather be in Mos Eisley.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s.” Bucky explained to Sam.

“It’s kept its lawless ways.” Zemo added before turning to James. “But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.”

You had a feeling Zemo would suggest all of you going in with different identities, and being the only woman in the group, you already had a wild guess you weren’t going to be ecstatic about yours. You looked to Bucky with a frown on your lips. You knew what Zemo had meant towards him, and you didn’t know how it would affect him to transition back into the person he tried so hard to deviate from. Bucky saw the sympathetic smile you gave him, and he returned it with a look that reassured you that he would be fine.

“Y/n.” Zemo now spoke to you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “I’m sure you are aware of the conditions.”

“Zemo if you...” Bucky trailed off as he glared at him, silently warning him to watch what he says next.

Sam and Bucky kept their eyes on Zemo, waiting to hear what his suggested persona for you was and ready to beat his ass if he dared to suggest something that would be demeaning to you.

“No way in the pits of Tartarus. I am not going in as an escort.” You voiced with a clenched jaw. “And if it’s eye candy you need, you have Sam.”

Sam gave you a surprised look from your comment, flattered to have you recommend him to be the designated eye candy before going back to the topic at hand. “Hell no Zemo. You’re not having y/n pretend to be an escort.”

“I’m afraid Sam is already going as someone.” Zemo sat back with his hands folded in his lap. “And don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on having you go as an escort, it isn’t befitting of a baron like me. Plus, I figured it would be uncomfortable for you, so I was going to suggest you act as my fiancé, if you are willing of course.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pondering on the subject. You were a bit relieved in all honesty. But to pretend to be Zemo’s fiancé and be in close and almost physical proximities with him?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to y/n.” Sam uttered to you.

“I’ll do it.” You confirmed.

“Are you sure?” Zemo asked you again, making sure you were comfortable with acting the part.

“I thought Zemo might step out of line with this one, but we don’t want you to do something that will make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure. I’ve had to do things I wasn’t comfortable with plenty of times in the past.”

Once you had all landed, Zemo decided to stop by a place so that you all may get dressed. You had already packed a dress and a pair of heels with you just in case for situations like these, since this wasn’t the first time you had to dress up for a mission. The dress you wore was a black, burned velvet silk slip-like dress with the velvet print being dark red roses. The dress wasn’t too tight to be constricting of movement and fit perfectly around around your curves. If the situation should arise that you needed to defend yourself, you needed the freedom to be able to move. Going down, the fabric flared slightly at your hips, brushing barely against the floor with your heels on. The skirt was slightly sheer from the bottom of your thighs and down with the floral velvet print, and had a slit going up your right thigh, perfect for kicking and concealing your dagger. The top torso portion of the front of your dress was a spaghetti strap cowl neckline that stopped just above the curve of your breasts, allowing for just a bit of cleavage. Your back was left bare, stopping at your mid back with thin straps that came across in a pattern. Your dress almost had a Grecian/witchy look from the way it draped over your chest and hips. It wasn’t too formal or too scandalous, it was elegant and classy, and showed just the right amount of skin where it wouldn’t be too revealing.

Even though you completely loathed and detested heels of any kinds, your heels were fairly simple, made of black velvet with straps that came across your ankles and toes. You dreaded heaving to wear them but at the same time you’d stick out like a sore thumb if you wore your docs with these. Perhaps you should’ve brought your nicer sandals, but it was too late now. You kept on your mother’s necklace and wore a set of amethyst drop earrings, throwing on a silver cuff bracelet on each wrist. Your hair was let loose to conceal your short sword that you hid on your back underneath your dress, the hilt resting right between your shoulder blades. You prayed that having your hair down would cover the scars and the sword you had on your back. But you were mostly focused about the scars, you failed to mention them to the guys about it since it was something that was hard for you to share. The only makeup you had on was some eyeshadow and mascara to darken your eyes, very little blush, and a lip tint.

The last thing to do was to put on some perfume, so you spritzed on your favorite oil based one that you had from Olympus on your pulse points. The scent was filled with incense-like scents like dragon’s blood, sage, crushed red roses, sandalwood, ghostly white musk, absinthe, almonds, and heady gardenia. It wasn’t as harsh as the common alcohol based ones, this one was more earthy and ancient, and every time you wore it, the scent lingered and heads turned. You gave yourself a once over when you were done, taking in a deep breath before heading out to join the others.

You became nervous as you saw them gathered together, talking amongst themselves as they haven’t noticed you yet. You rarely ever wore dresses these days, especially of the kind you were wearing now which left you feeling bare and exposed even though the dress wasn’t at all much revealing. So as you approached them, you couldn’t help picking at your fingers in anxiety.

The men turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the ground, and when they laid their eyes on you, they couldn’t help but gawk with their mouths parted open, as if they had seen the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. You chewed on the inside of your cheeks as you saw how they stared at you.

“Wow.” Sam was the first to say something. “You look like a million bucks.”

“What? Never seen a woman in a dress before?”

“No, I’ve just never seen you in a dress before.” Sam answered. “You’re always dressed like some hippie/librarian, with your bands shirts, sweaters, plaid pants and jackets.”

“Haha vary funny.”

“Also since when did you have muscles?” Sam noticed as he poked your bare arm. “And since when did you have a tattoo?” He observed the mark you had on your upper right arm, right below your shoulder. It was the mark that was given to you to signify your Olympian status and what you represented. It was about the color that henna left behind after you wiped the paste off your skin, the color of ginger and bronze. The center of your mark was a lightning bolt, which represented a child of Zeus. Below that was your symbol, the torch and the triple moons.

“Since when did you start asking so many questions? But yeah, I’ve always had muscles Sam, I was trained in combat since I was, you could say 9 years old in human years. Also, technically everyone has them, it’s what allows us to move and lift things. And that.” You pointed to your tattoo. “Is my goddess mark, not a tattoo. Every Olympian god has one and they each have their personal symbol that represents them.”

“Wait, so you’ve been trained since you were a kid?” Bucky looked at you to clarify what he heard as they all started to head out.

“Technically, everyone on Olympus starts training that young. Then, when they become of age, a tournament is held to display their skills, following a ceremony after, to celebrate their victory.” You explained as you walked beside them.

The four of you were currently walking on the bridge that led to Madripoor. You could see the city’s skyline out in the distance, the cyberpunk like buildings lighting up the night sky.

“Do you need my coat?” You heard Zemo say beside you, making you look at him.

“Sorry?”

“Do you need my coat?” He repeated himself, referring to how your arms were bare against the cool night. “I wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

You stared at him, stunned from the kind gesture as you tried to form words to say. “Oh uh.....I appreciate the gesture, but I’m fine actually. I’m not that cold.” Though you didn’t want to admit it, you actually would’ve liked to try on his coat, because in all honesty it was a damn nice coat.

“We have to fix this.” You heard Sam say with irritation visible in his voice. “I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing.” Zemo mentioned as he pulled out his phone to show Sam. “The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me, though.” Sam observed the photo.

“You smell this?”

“Yeah, what is that? Acid?” Sam sniffed the air as you did the same.

“Smells rancid.” You scrunched your nose at the smell.

“Madripoor. No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error.” Zemo instructed as a black car pulled up in front of you. “High Town’s that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town’s the other way.”

“Let me guess. We don’t have any friends in High Town.” Sam remarked as he opened the door for the back seat.

“Y/n. A moment please, if you will.” Zemo uttered to you.

You stopped in your tracks, seeing Bucky and Sam stand on either side of the car doors, looking between the two of you and especially Zemo, with caution. You nodded your head at them, signaling you were fine and that they can get seated. And though they sat themselves inside the car, that didn’t stop them from keeping their eyes glued to Zemo to make sure he didn’t pull anything stupid.

“What’s the issue?” You turned to Zemo, giving him your attention.

“Since you will be portraying my fiancé, there’s a certain key element you will be needing to complete the image.” You watched as he pulled out a ring from his coat pocket, displaying it in front of you. “If I may?”

You stared at Zemo blankly before nodding your head and holding out your left hand for him. You knew this was only for a show, but you couldn’t help but stiffen as he delicately held your hand with his gloved one before slipping the ring onto your ring finger.

“There.” Hi smiled softly at you, his hand still holding yours. “Now you look the part.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, leaving behind a trail of warmth as he gazed down at you. Zemo swore he could have gotten lost in the violet swirls and gold flecks of your eyes forever, which now sparkled against Madripoor’s lit up skyline, the neon city and the places he’s visited not even coming close to the beauty he held before him.

You tried not to blush under his gaze as you gave him a polite smile before slipping your hand out of his. “I should probably change my eyes huh.” You remembered, changing your eyes to a normal color known to earth. “Should I hide the scar?” You asked him, referring to the one on your face.

“I think you should leave it. It suits you, and besides, you never know who might recognize you without it.”

Nodding your head at him, you headed to the car and settling in beside Bucky as Zemo followed, getting in the passenger seat in front of you. In the car ride there, you glanced down at the ring Zemo slipped on your finger, it was definitely a beautiful elegant ring, with a rose gold band and a pear cut garnet in the center that had diamonds that accented the bottom. Once you arrived in the city, you walked through the neon lit streets beside Zemo while Sam and Bucky followed behind. You loosened up your body as you went, swaying your hips slightly as you tried your best not to walk like a bodyguard and look threatening as everyone’s eyes followed the four of you strolling through the streets.

“Here we are.” Zemo announced, stopping in front of a bar before speaking to Bucky in Russian. “Ready to comply… Winter Soldier?”

As you went in, Zemo leaned in to whisper in your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck and startling you as he spoke in a hushed tone. “I want to apologize in advance, forgive me.”

You looked at him with furrowed brows to question what he meant until you felt his gloved hand slide across your back before resting on your waist, pulling you closer to his side. You noticed how his hand fumbled after brushing across your sword as he gave you a questioning look. What was that on your back? Did you really conceal a full on sword on your back underneath your dress? On your way to the bar table you saw people stare as you went through, some of them gawking in surprise at Bucky, or the winter soldier as he was now portraying, while the slimy men in the area roamed their eyes over your body hungrily. Zemo noticed your uneasiness from the way your muscles tensed, though your face didn’t show a sign of it, and glared at the men who dared to lay their eyes on you, only pulling you closer to him to prove that you were with him while Bucky and Sam noticed this as well and positioned themselves where you were blocked from the view of your peers, allowing you to breathe a little better as you approached the bar.

“Hello, gentlemen.” The bartender greeted you all. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed.” Zemo answered for him. “We have business to do with Selby.”

“The usual?”

Sam nodded his head.

“And for the lady?”

“Um Something fruity.” You answered with a flirtatious smile, silently hoping they had something like that on the menu and that you hadn’t blown their cover by ordering the wrong drink.

The bartender handed you what looked to be a pineapple martini and you internally thanked the gods for your sheer bit of luck, taking the drink and thanking the bartender with another smile. You watched as he went to work on Sam’s drink, pulling out of a jar what definitely was a snake. You gulped, your stomach feeling nauseous as you saw the bartender cut open the dead snake, taking out its guts and throwing it in the shot glass. You were mortified to say the least, snakes were one of your symbols and you had owned plenty of the gentle little creatures. You shot Sam a sympathetic look once you saw his expression.

“Cheers.” Zemo held up his glass while Sam stared at his before gathering the courage to drink it all in one go. If Sam wasn’t going to throw up, you were going to do it for him.

While your eyes were trained on Sam’s expression, you felt someone breathe over your neck before feeling a clammy hand graze across your ass.

“Hey baby-“

Your eyes widened before you grabbed the wrist of the man behind you in one quick motion, twisting his arm to an unnatural position as you yanked it away from your body, causing the sleazy looking individual let out a yelp of pain. You would’ve crushed his wrist like crumpled paper if Zemo hadn’t put a cautionary hand on your arm as he whispered to you. “Careful now.”

You let go of the man’s wrist before shoving him aside like a pile of garbage. If their identity wasn’t at risk of being revealed, Zemo, Sam, and Bucky would have gone over there and beat the guy up after you were done with him.

“I got word from high. You ain’t welcome here.” You watched from behind Zemo as a bearded man approached him.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo gestured towards Bucky.

“New haircut?”

“Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The man glanced between Zemo and Bucky before leaving.

“A power broker? Really?” Sam turned to Zemo.

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” You asked.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner.”

Another man was approaching in your direction, most likely to kick you all out or worse, and after following your gaze, Zemo turned to Bucky, speaking to him in Russian just as the man laid a hand on his shoulder. “Winter Soldier. Attack.”

You stood back, watching as Bucky grabbed the dude’s arm and twisted it back. You refrained yourself from intervening as Bucky took down the men that fought against him.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” Zemo commented to you and Sam.

Bucky slammed one of the men down on the counter. And as you heard the clicking of guns being loaded, your defensive mode nearly kicked in as you almost reached for your sword before Zemo stopped you.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” Zemo whispered to you both before turning to Bucky and speaking in Russian again. “Well done soldier.”

You let your arm drop back down to your side, not a single change in your expression as you eyed everyone around you.

“Selby will see you now.” The bartender spoke up after getting off the phone.

Zemo gave him a thanks, nodding you over and holding out his hand for you to take as you went to his side again, Bucky and Sam following after you. You went through a back door, going down a dark corridor with Zemo’s hand on your back as he guided you through.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” You heard a woman’s voice speak, turning your head to see an older woman in a suit with short white hair lounging back on the coach with her security around her.

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo sat down on the couch before waving you over when he saw you standing near Sam. “Come sit schatzi.”

You straightened up, plastering a smile on your face as you went over to him. Selby’s eyes followed you curiously as you placed your hand in his, your eyes rapidly moving in nervousness for what area would be the most appropriate area to sit. Were you......were you supposed to sit on his lap? Is that how couples work? No, that would be inappropriate. Before things got awkward, you quickly plopped down on the empty spot next to him, crossing over your leg in a way so that it draped over his, leaving your thigh completely exposed from the slit in your dress, save for the dagger that still remained hidden. Sam and Bucky widened their eyes at what you just did, while Zemo stiffened at this sudden movement from you as you also draped one arm around his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. Were you even doing this right?

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby observed the two of you before her eyes landed on your ring. “Who’s this pretty little thing?”

“This.” Zemo looked at you with a loving look, throwing an arm around your waist to draw circles on your bare back, while his other hand rested on your thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin as you felt shivers go down your spine. “Is my fiancé. Gorgeous isn’t she?”

How long has it been since you were this close and personal to someone? The last you could remember, women still wore corsets and people still rode carriages. You felt your body heat up from being this close to him, and from the way he stroked your back. How was a mortal man able to leave you feeling like this? If he was able to send shivers down your spine with the mere touch on your back with his gloved hand, you wondered how it would feel to have his bare hands on you, just skin to skin. And if you were being honest, you never really were a fan of cologne but his smelled of a deeper earthy tones with hints of musk, and you were surprised and almost ashamed to say you liked how he smelled. You returned the same loving look to Zemo, trying to make it as believable as possible as you ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head before placing a kiss on his jaw close to his ear. Sam and Bucky couldn’t believe their eyes at the scene before them, the same you who preferred to be a hermit and didn’t go on dates because it involved human interaction, was cuddling up to none other than Helmut Zemo himself. Zemo’s breath faltered a bit from from your touch as he swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling not to break character. Being this close to you, he was able to get a whiff of your perfume and my goodness, Zemo felt as if he could drown in your scent, you smelled like the heavens, not overbearingly sweet, but dark and luxurious and even seductive. Is this what vampires and sirens smelled like when they lured people to their deaths? You raised a brow at Zemo, your heightened senses were picking up on his breathing patterns and heartbeat. Was he getting nervous?

“Extremely.” Selby commented, smirking at the two of you before roaming her eyes over your body. You could feel her taking you in but you kept your eyes trained on the side of Zemo’s face. “Where did you pick this one up? She looks like a fighter.”

“As they say, why not get a woman who can do both. She was part of the Sokovian armed forces, I met her through there.”

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?” Selby added after finally taking her eyes off you.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby turned to Sam with a flirtatious grin, using her hand in a claw like manner as she let out a purr. “What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo got up off the couch, going over to Bucky and holding his chin between his fingers. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or… condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but… things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me. But.....” She turned you with a sly smile which made your insides turn. “Throw her in with the package and you have yourself a deal.”

Zemo, Sam, and Bucky turned to look at you with dread upon hearing her words. This wasn’t at all part of the plan.

“No, no no. That wasn’t the deal.” Zemo stepped over to where you sat, blocking you from her. “She’s not for sale.”

“Why not?” Selby raised her brow at Zemo. “I’m pretty sure a man like you could pick up someone else to be your plaything or fiancé or whatever. I like this one in particular.” She turned to you again.

“That’s not-“ Zemo started before he was cut off by Sam’s cellphone vibrating.

You breath was caught in your throat and it felt as if the room had dropped in temperature. You could feel the tension floating around the air as everyone’s eyes were trained on Sam now, making you sit up straight and uncross your legs so that they were planted firmly on the ground. Your hand rested on your thigh just above where the hilt of your dagger was as your eyes darted around the room, watching each and every person like a hawk about to swoop down on its prey. You had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail

#bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x y/n #zemo fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky x you #zemo fluff #zemo imagine #zemo x reader #zemo x you #zemo x y/n

[nightingaelic]

Details That I, A Tourist, Noticed About Boston for Fallout Writers/Artists

Disclaimer: I'm not a Boston native, nor have I lived there for any extended period of time, and I was only there for a week this fall to take in the sights with friends, many of which were featured in Fallout 4. Furthermore, I am not an expert in anything I'm about to describe except maybe Fallout lore, and this is an abridged, opinionated account. If you have any specific questions about my trip or Boston itself, feel free to ask! I might not have an answer, but I'm happy to share what I do have with the Fallout fanscape 😊

1. Wow, Everything's Really Right There, Huh

Obviously when you're making a video game you scale things down, cutting some corners on items, locations, and textures you need to design, and Fallout 4 is no different. If I had a dollar for every cute little side street or darkened alley I walked past that made me think "that would've been cool to see in-game," I'd be rich. That said, Boston proper is super walkable to the point where even I was surprised by every historical site's proximity to its brethren.

Those above pictures are both views from my hotel, which overlooked Faneuil Hall (the brick building with the white trim and the golden dome - @beautifyappalachia joked that we could shoot super mutants from our windows). In the nighttime shot, you see Faneuil Hall on the left, and nestled in between the two tallest skyscrapers is a little building you might recognize as the Old State House. You know, Goodneighbor, home of Mayor Hancock and company.

So these two buildings are about a block and a half away from each other, which is both amazing and terrifying in terms of visualization. Honestly, the entire Freedom Trail is about 2.5 miles long, meaning you could knock that trip off in an hour if you didn't have to wait for traffic when crossing the streets. But the best scale comparison I can make is that of the Castle and the airport.

I took this picture of old pier posts from the northern shore of Castle Island, with Fort Independence behind me. That's the airport, right there above the posts. I thought there was going to be more of a bay between these two locations, but nope, that is a plane taking off in the middle, turning right over the city and more importantly, the fort. The amount of visible tension this would cause between the returning Minutemen and the Brotherhood newcomers cannot be ignored, here. They're next door to each other, they can see each other if they look out the windows, and I bet Maxson is thinking about the Castle's cannons just as much as Preston's thinking about the Prydwen and its vertibirds looming on the horizon.

2. If Goodneighbor Is A Block Away, Why Am I Lost?

Boston may be super walkable, but that does not mean it's easy to navigate. There's an old legend that Boston's downtown streets were laid out by cow paths, which contributes to their meandering, webbed mess of one-ways, tunnels and overpasses, and it's well-documented that the streets of the old city are not oriented in any of the cardinal directions. Thinking post-apocalyptically, while you wouldn't have the rush of cars bearing down on you every time you stepped into the street, you would still have rubble blocking your way, collapsed skyscrapers rerouting entire streets, probably significant flooding, and threats around every corner. And there are a lot of corners.

It became crystal clear during our trip that anyone who has a Pip-Boy in the Commonwealth is someone in possession of an invaluable asset, especially since I wound up being our group's navigator with my cell phone more often than not. A little device loaded up with pre-war maps of Boston streets? Priceless, in a post-war world. But the rest of the Commonwealth citizens have to get around too, not to mention all the caravans that go in and out with goods to sell. Suddenly, Bunker Hill as a trade hub makes a lot more sense. You can see the monument for miles, even if you're hopeless at remembering street names and directions.

This applies to Diamond City, too, as Fenway Park stands out from any of the large buildings around it by virtue of being a brilliant mix of brick and Green Monster green, and the airport is visible from just about anywhere on the waterfront even if there isn't a blimp anchored over the tarmac. The Old North Church, on the other hand, is buried in the North End and would necessitate a path such as the Freedom Trail to lead anyone to it. Goodneighbor would be absolutely hidden as well if it weren't for the Mass Fusion building, and even so it's close enough to some well-known dangers that many probably wouldn't bother visiting unless they absolutely had to. It's certainly something to think about, in terms of character travel and the unique challenges the Boston metropolitan area represents.

3. Salem is Super Gay

I mean this in the most literal sense of the term. Downtown Salem is, of course, dedicating itself to selling its reputation as Witch Hunt Central, which means the town has pivoted primarily to offering witch memorabilia, materials, and mementos. And you know who identifies with the plights of witches? Why, the LGBTQ+ community!

I snapped a ton of pics of the Jonathan Corwin House and the Salem Witch Museum, but if I stopped to take pictures of every pride flag I saw while I was in town, I'd have hundreds. And thus I hit the first criticism I have for Fallout 4 that arose from my visitation of the Boston area: Why in the hell didn't Bethesda latch onto the concept of a witch hunt when portraying the town in their game? The Salem Witch Museum has been very open about the parallels between events such as the Salem Witch Trials and the Lavender Scare, and this kind of examination would have been a good thing to incorporate in a game that chose to focus on the synths hiding in the Commonwealth. It's not a perfect allegory, but it is something in the game that came across rather ham-fisted at times when it really didn't have to. Imagine a more nuanced discussion about the safety that comes in hiding your true self versus the need to express who you really are, about the dangers of herd mentality and moral panic, about where fear of the other comes from and where it plays a role in social regressivism. God, just think about it.

Anyway, I wanted to get some bisexual gear for myself while I was in town, but every store I went into was mysteriously out of their pink, blue and purple clothing stock. The guy who sold @the-shotce-newsletter her pansexual and demisexual pride socks said it was probably because "there's a lot of us." You do you, bi witches, I'll make do and order my gear online 😉

4. Dolce

The North End, home of Copp's Hill Burying Ground, the Paul Revere House, and the Old North Church, is absolutely full of Italian-American homes and businesses. Seriously, I'm calling this section "Dolce" because almost every block in the North End has a restaurant or a bakery or a candy store with "Dolce" in its name, and every single one is selling some amazing, generationally-perfected homemade dish that made me want to move to the area permanently. Atmospherically, I wish this had come across more in Fallout 4: While Boston's neighborhoods have a basic feel to each of them, like the urban wild of the Fens, the homes frozen in time around Charlestown and the Irish working-class roots of Southie, there is always room for improvement.

If nothing else, it's an opportunity for artists and writers to think about their settings and their OCs. If your character is a Commonwealth native, what neighborhood do they hail from? What was their favorite pre-war business to visit, and what were the shops around it like? If they're post-war, what signs with peeling paint do they pass in the street? Which neighborhoods are the safest to travel through, and which ones are still in the best condition after the bombs fell? I realize that not everyone has the ability to take a week off work and fly to Boston, but it's not hard to nail down some basic information and ideas: Just arm yourself with a guide to the city's neighborhoods, the places and locations tab of Fantasy Name Generators, and Google Street View (I just threw my favorite Dolce in there as a starter point, it's a cute little Italian place that serves cannolis to order until 11 p.m. every day and is absolutely crowded with nonni in the mornings). Food for thought.

5. I Want To Go To There

Thinking about making your own Commonwealth pilgrimage? Well here's my top three sites that I recommend a visit to.

First on my list is the Freedom Trail. Yes, I'm calling the entire Freedom Trail an attraction, don't argue. From its beginning in Boston Common to its terminus at Bunker Hill, it winds through all the greatest hits and is absolutely lined with every store catering to tourists imaginable. Faneuil Hall Marketplace has the best souvenirs and lunch options (I will definitely be working mirelurk chowder into my fic or my art at some point in the future), the Old North Church and the Paul Revere statue afford some of the best photos, and the USS Constitution is a must for anyone who wants to pretend to be a robot sailor for an hour.

The second site needs a little bit of a preamble. A city like Boston is never quiet. I was up until nearly 3 a.m. on multiple days and even if traffic slowed down a bit, it never completely stopped. Standing in the square between Trinity Church and the Boston Public Library, by the bronze statues of the tortoise and the hare with skyscrapers hemming the whole corner in and seagulls wheeling overhead, I closed my eyes for a minute and tried to shut everything but the sound of the birds and the wind out. Honestly, it's hard to do, even if you're not in the middle of Boston. But it's very easy to do at Fort Independence, better known in Fallout circles as the Castle.

The fort was closed for tours on the day we visited, but it honestly didn't matter. Walking around Castle Island by the ocean, looking out over the city, the airport and Spectacle and Thompson islands, watching the birds over Pleasure Bay... it was super peaceful, in a way that I can't really describe. Actually, @the-shotce-newsletter might have said it best: "This is the first place that really feels like a Fallout location to me."

And finally, this one's a bit of a jaunt, but we took an afternoon train ride up to Concord and walked a half an hour to get this photo.

That's her, the Old North Bridge, well away from busy Boston in the middle of Minute Man National Historical Park. The park itself stretches from Concord to Lexington, but the bridge is closer to Concord, a quaint little town that was a joy to walk through on the way to this spot. Like Fort Independence, this spot is very peaceful and surrounded by foliage, and the Concord River allows for canoeing and kayaking through the beautiful area too.

In Conclusion

I love Boston 💙💛 and I also love my two travel companions, @the-shotce-newsletter and @beautifyappalachia, thanks for a great trip. If you got through this post and have any questions about my trip, feel free to send me an ask or reply to this post: I have more photos and thoughts, but Tumblr has that pesky 10-photo limit and this is already a bit of a ramble. Much love in the Fallout fanscape, and I'll see you all in the wasteland!

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #boston #salem #concord #highly recommend a trip even if you're not a fallout 4 fan #and if you are then all the better

[rocorambles]

OK BUT WHICH BOYS WOULD HAVE TO SLEEP WITH A TIDDIE IN HAND OR ELSE THEY CANT SLEEP AND MAKE A BIG FUSS

HAHAHA WAIT I LOVE THIS!! As a big tiddie girl myself and someone who loves big tiddie boys and girls, I relate to this so much. Off the top of my head, this is going to be Kuroo, Bokuto, and Atsumu. 

Warnings: Implied NSFW, but really this is just some slightly spicy fluff

Kuroo

- Okay, so he doesn’t necessarily need to have a tiddie in his hand to sleep, but what he does like to do is smush his face in the valley of your breasts so that his cheeks and face are squished by your breasts. 

- He’s always needed two pillows on either side of his head to sleep and this is pretty much the same thing, but better! Your breasts are softer and warmer than his pillows and he swears his bed hair isn’t nearly as bad when he replaces his pillows with your breasts. 

- Unfortunately, it’s not always the most comfortable position for both of you and there’s a hilarious scuffle between the two of you when you whine that his head’s too heavy or when you shift your position at night and suddenly his head falls off your chest and he’s abruptly woken up. 

- And the two of you sound and look like yowling and hissing cats as you try to shove his head off of you and as he digs his claws into you as he stubbornly insists on his favorite position. 

- But sooner or later one of you gets tired (usually you) and Kuroo beams like a cat who’s got milk as he re-buries his head into your chest and contently closes his eyes and falls back to sleep while you roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips when you watch your boyfriend instantly pass out again. 

Bokuto

- Bokuto just cannot keep his hands off of you in general and most of the time it’s not even sexual. He just loves the way you feel in his arms, loves how much softer you are than him, loves how different your breasts feel from anything on his rock hard body. And he finds comfort in just holding them, cupping them, touching them. 

- You don’t really mind Bokuto’s physical affection. In fact you love it and you just smile as he wraps his arms around you, innocently holding your breasts in his hand as he casually talks to you about how your day was. 

- But nighttime is a different story and you’ve learned the hard way that Bokuto is huge into cuddling after waking up drenched in sweat and almost being choked to death by his strong muscular arms as he clutches and wraps around you like you’re a large teddy bear. 

- The two of you always fall asleep fine and you find the weight of his arms and hands against you comforting, finding security in the way he holds you. But when you wake up in discomfort, instinctively squirming away from your boyfriend, chaos ensues and you yelp when strong calloused hands insistently tug you back towards him. 

- It’s a game of tug and war until you smack your boyfriend’s head and owlish eyes open and stare at you in confusion, a pout on his lips when he asks you why you hit him and woke him up. But he sheepishly smiles when you explain yourself and tells you to go back to sleep, that he’d give you some space to cool down from his body heat and the two of you sleep on your respective ends of the bed...only for you to wake up when Bokuto’s body unconsciously finds its way to you, curling around you in a familiar pattern. 

Atsumu

- Okay, first off, this boy would whine about anything that he doesn’t get his way when the two of you are dating. 

- But you have every right to be wary of your boyfriend’s seemingly “innocent” touches because you KNOW they’re going to end up as anything but innocent with his lack of control and unhealthily high libido. 

- So you’re constantly smacking his wandering hands away during the day, not even entertaining the idea of letting him do anything more than hold your hands and give you chaste pecks in public. 

- You give him more freedom at home, letting him give open mouthed kisses, letting him pull you into his lap, but when the kisses start becoming too harsh and trail down too far down your neck, when he begins to push and grind against your ass, you’re quick to pull away, telling him you need to get chores done first, rolling your eyes as he whines and whines about being “touch-starved” despite making you unable to walk pretty much every night. 

- But night time is a different story and you let him pull you close to him, let him massage and knead your breasts in his calloused hands as he wraps his body around yours. Atsumu loves your body, can’t ever get enough of it, and you feel so beautiful, so loved as he just spends what feels like eternity learning and memorizing every inch of you. There’s nothing sexual about it, nothing dirty about it and you smile fondly as he stares at you in awe. 

- You remember when you had found it odd at first, embarrassing, unsure what he saw in you that had him so fascinated and you had pulled away from him, trying to hide your body from him shyly. But when you saw the hurt in his eyes and heard his genuine pleas and aggressive affirmations of how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, you had tentatively found your way back into his arms. 

- Needless to say after that, Atsumu never let the two of you sleep, keeping you up with his loud whining and complaining every time you tried to draw away from his hold...not that you’d want anything else other than being wrapped up in his embrace...even if it eventually means that neither of you will get any sleep anyway as adoration slips into something darker and more sensual as the night goes on. 

#haikyuu fluff #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios

[teamxdark]

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

My Dearest Arthur,

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

It made me think of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forever yours,

Lancelot

...

Darling Arthur,

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

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

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

I was, truly, a stupid child.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have always been enough for me, Arthur.

Eternally yours,

Lancelot

...

Glorious Arthur,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apologetically yours,

Lancelot

...

Arthur,

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

My love,

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

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

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

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

...

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

...

Dear Lancelot,

My wonderful Lancelot,

To Lance,

My dearest

Lance,

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

Yours,

Arthur

#I wrote this on a note app while on a train so it is what it is. #Arthurlot. #Avalon Series.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 4- Four Marks

Summary: Your travels have taken you to a tavern where you meet the most unlikely of individuals. Then as per usual, trouble ensues.

Warnings: getting manhandled by some elves

Masterlist

Laughing into your mug, you catch the annoyed gaze of your silver haired lover who sits quietly to the right of you on this wooden bench, your backs resting against the stone wall. Its been a couple long weeks since either of you have had moment like this to just sit around and drink with each others company. Geralt may not particularly enjoy the surrounding company of the other tavern goers who fill the hall with their loud speaking voices and obnoxious laughter. But he knows just how much you love the easy entertainment of the civilians living their lives as they have a merry go of it.

"Did I not tell you my seductive powers would work wonders with that idiot from Bruna?"

"You did." Mutters Geralt humorously as he side eyes you.

"Ha, exactly. He had not a chance, try and steal Roach again and you will sorely regret it." You boast happily before taking a swig of your drink, "Hmm, this tastes not half bad either. I've had better of course, but this, not a terribly shit drink in all honesty."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it then."

You smile brightly at your stoic Witcher, he appears rather unenthusiastic but you know what emotions lay behind those two golden eyes of his. He's greatly content having you sit next to him and ramble on about your cleverness in the face of mortal men. He'd have no one else in the entire Continent do such a thing but you, and that's why you love him.

"Right? Great mead, anyways I am a force to be reckoned with, and you know he might have even pissed himself once I gave him a fright. It's what I like to do, lure them in with coy beauty and.." You scrunch your nose while making a fist, "...I got them in my clutches. They never even saw it coming."

"Not once." Agrees Geralt as you lean an elbow against the table to lazily look up at his handsome face.

"You know what?" You ask slyly, scarlet irises trailing all around his face.

"Hmm?"

"You actually look very nice in this lighting, the way you just look around at everyone like you hate the world. It's very sexy." He raises a brow as you smile, "Aside from the stench of horse, sweat, and blood that seems to ever linger on your skin..there's just something about your particular scent that I cannot quite put my finger on."

"You tell me this monthly."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Maybe it has to do with my blood?"

"No. Witcher blood tastes like old mule piss." You add before caching yourself, "Which I wouldn't have the slightest idea personally why. However I know a vampire or two who have divulged in that luxury and have lived to tell me....Not that it's a luxury as in a positive sort of mind, more so, an experience of indulgent sumptuousness for my kin." You're really trying to make this sound less horrendous.

"Drinking Witcher blood?"

You shrug half defensively through a sheepish grin, "What? I never said they killed these Witchers. Okay, okay, that also sounds bad. I promise you though, if they would have killed one of your brethren they would have boasted about the bloodshed. It's what vampires do. So no worries, your friends at Kaer Morhen are most certainly still breathing." Geralt simply holds back a grin as he shakes his head at you and your rambling.

He doesn't care if you know what Witcher blood tastes like, he wouldn't even care if you personally have tasted Witcher blood against your own tongue. He just doesn't want you to stop speaking, it distracts him from the sounds of the tavern goers and that bard. Geralt hums, "Y/N that could have happened three hundred years ago for all I know."

You pause a moment to think, eyes glancing from the window to him as you give a casual shrug, "It might have."

Soon the not terribly horrendous sounds of a bards singing fills your ears with the sweet tunes of an old lute giving what it can to the world as other tavern goers throw bread at the singing man. Oh right there's a bard here. You keep your witty comments to yourself as Geralt keeps his tense stare down with the wooden table while he tries not to grab anyone's unwanted attention, when you glance over to the bard again he's notably walking your way, drink in hand. What now?

Bringing your drink to your lips, you eye up the brightly colored bard as he saunters over, a peculiar smile playing at his features while he leans against a wooden pillar, "I love the way you two just...sit in the corner and brood, minus you my dear lady, what an odd place for such an exquisite creature to..."

"We're here to drink alone." Interrupts Geralt gruffly, you set your drink on the table, a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

The bard nods, looking down for a second before his blue eyes scan over you and Geralt once again, "Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except.." The curious bard walks around the oaken pillar before sitting down across from you and Geralt, "for you two. Come on. You don't want to keep a man with...bread..in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less." Inquires the cheerful bard, a smile upon his bright visage as he waits patiently for an answer. You pull your legs up onto the bench, leaning your right side into Geralt's strong body as you relax a bit more, amused by this bards bold questioning.

"They don't exist." You finally answer, tucking your hands under your arms as you attempt to get a little bit more comfortable. The bards give you a quizzical look, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"What...doesn't exist?" Ponders the bard as he raises a dark eyebrow at you.

"The creatures in your song." Retorts Geralt bluntly.

"And how would you two know?" Vouches the bard with a smile, excitement upon his face at this little guessing game he's just thrust upon himself, "Oh, fun. White hair...two very scary looking swords.." He quietly proclaims turning his attention now to you, "Hmm marvelous, irises the color of roses...dagger at your hip..." Geralt suddenly begins to get up, done with the bards never ending questions. You stand up yourself, the bard just continues to look at you two like you're the most interesting beings in the whole world, "I know who you two are." He confidently rules out while happily watching you both from his chair.

Geralt walks past him as you follow at his side, the two of you heading for the door as the bard jumps up to trail along, "You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia....and you're the dhampir princess, Y/N of Alkatraz. Called it!" Concludes the bard enthusiastically, much too loudly for your liking. You ignore the turning faces of the other tavern goers before a curly haired young man rises to his feet before you can reach the door to freedom.

"A job I've got for ya's. I beg you." He pleads almost nervously, you halt your movement as Geralt does the same, the two of you abruptly turning to face the man, "A devil...he's been stealing all our grain. In advance, I'll pay you. A hundred ducat." His eyes nervously shifting from you to Geralt.

"One fifty." Chides Geralt, the man immediately pulls out a small sack of coin previously hidden within his coat, a hopeful smile upon his pimply face.

He flashes you a warm grin as his gaze shifts from you to Geralt once again, "I've no doubt either of you'll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear." He gives Geralt the sack of coins, the bard watching intently in the foreground, time to kill a devil then.

——

You were able to walk bard free all the way to the gates of the small mountainous tavern and twelve feet into the gravely dirt road before the bard had tracked you two down. Now here you are, a good distance onto the road as you head for the hills where this devil hides, Geralt leading Roach as you walk in front of them, the bard trying to converse with Geralt to his immediate left.

"Ah. You guys need a hand? I've got two. One for each of the, uh, devil's horns." Confirms the bard breathlessly, trying to keep up with yours and Geralt's quick pace up the hill.

"Go away." Grumbles your annoyed Witcher.

You snicker, just imagining what Geralt's face looks like right now as the bard continues to pester him, "I won't be but silent back-up." The bard cheerfully exclaims, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis, you turn to look at him with an amused grin upon your face.

"Yeah I bet you really know how to muzzle that continuous yapper of yours." He smiles back at you, turning his attention back to Geralt.

"I heard your note, and, yes, you're right, maybe real adventures would make better stories..."

"That's if you survive them." You interrupt with a smirk, glancing back around, catching the animated face of the bard.

He smiles to himself as he holds onto the strap of his old lute, "Yes well, you two, smell chock full of them...amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion?" You turn your head to give him a questioning look, he gives you a quick nervous smile before continuing, "It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak, not for you two of course it's just a meaning..."

"It's onion." Mutters Geralt.

"Blood." You add.

"Right, Yeah. Yeah. Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia and his dangerous lady Y/N of Alkatraz...the-the Butchers of Blaviken!" Bellows the dreaming bard, throwing his hands into the air, Geralt suddenly stops moving, turning to face the smiling idiot.

In one quick motion he punches the bard in his stomach, sending him staggering back onto the dusty road in a coughing and sputtering mess. Geralt turns back to you with a nod before he and Roach continue on past you, you give the bard a diverted look as he slowly picks himself up.

"You've been punched by a Witcher, how's that for your first taste of adventure?" You muse, raising an eyebrow at him.

Clearing his throat of dust he grins at you, "Better then I had hoped." He replies while letting out a small chuckle as he follows you up the road.

——

"Geralt of Rivia, the-the White Wolf or-or something. Mind if I hop up? I'm not really wearing the right footwear." Suggests the bard as he attempts to reach out for Roach's rider-less backside. You sit upon the mare in front of your man, Geralt kindly letting you lean into his leather armor clad torso as he holds her reigns.

"Don't touch Roach." Warns Geralt, the bard immediately pulling away.

"Yeah, right, yeah." He disappointingly replies as you lightly chuckle at the two of them. Soon you and Geralt reach a small tree, where Geralt jumps down to tie off Roach, you sliding off to take a sharp look at your rocky surroundings. The bard watches intently at what your plans are next, deciding to deliver some historical information about the landscape as he tells you how elves called this place Dol Blathanna before they gave it up to the humans. You let him ramble on, unaware you already are educated on the history of this part of the continent, you are almost five hundred years old after all.

You raise your head to find an opening in the large rock formation where the trail appears to lead. Geralt walks past you, sharing an annoyed look as you both listen to the bard rambling on about something you're not listening to. Geralt lets out a huff before turning around and walking down the dusty trail, you trailing after him as the bard lingers in the background.

Your crimson eyes trail over the nearby clusters of tall grasses as the bards loud voice fills your ears, "Geralt? Y/N? Wh-where are you two going? Guys, don't leave me. Helloooo? What are we lookin for again?" Inquires the bard noisily from behind the two of you while you walk past straggly protruding rocks and tall green grasses on either side.

"Blessed silence." Mutters Geralt.

"Yeah, I don't really go in for that. Have you two ever hunted a devil before?" He wonders as both you and Geralt stalk silently towards wherever this devil lays hiding in the brush.

"They don't exist." You add, pulling out your large silver dagger as you listen intently for any unusual sounds.

The bard continues to ramble on while you catch the sight of something tall hidden in the grass, you can hear the rapid heartbeat of this nervous creature. A second later a tiny stone shoots from out of nowhere, slicing Geralt on the forehead as the bard cheers excitedly about how "act two" of his adventure has begun. You watch as his eyes go wide once they spot the devil rising from out of the greenery, you turn to squint at the creature, unsure of what it truly is from here.

"Oh fuck." You whisper before it launches another stone right at you, with supernatural speed you shift to the side where the stone flies past your head, this time knocking out the chatty bard in the process. You and Geralt share a confused glance as you turn to search for this horned fucker before he ends up bloodying you next time. With the beast lost from your vision, you zero in on his thudding heartbeat, not even fifteen seconds later does the devil burst forth from the tall grass. Launching Geralt a good couple yards back as you watch in bewilderment, to taken aback to help him with his unexpected assault.

Within seconds your Witcher is on the hooved half-man, pinning him to the ground as they exchange clever insults with one another. You catching the creatures name to be Torque the Sylvan as it yells at Geralt before he punches the Sylvan in the face to daze him.

Suddenly you can hear the irritated thumping heartbeat of an unfamiliar being when something cracks you across the side of your head from seemingly out of nowhere, sending you staggering to your knees as a small trail of blood trickles down the side of your temple. Your hands catch yourself on the rough gravely dirt as your knees jab into some rocks while you land. When you look up again a large shadowed person is standing above you before they violently bash you in the face with their boot, then darkness.

——

When you wake up again your hands are chained to the wall and a steel collar has been tightly locked around your neck. Your eyes slowly look up to find an unconscious Geralt tied to an equally unconscious bard. The small stony cave prison smells of recent activity in the tell tale scent only an elf could have, shaking your head in agitation you listen to the quiet clinking of your chains. This is not how you intended for today to go.

When you try to pull at your restraints for the first time, you're welcomed with an intense burning sensation flaming the flesh of your left wrist. It appears whoever has taken you prisoner has coated this specific constraint with silver, so whenever you move it just right the metal makes contact with your exposed wrist, fantastic.

After waiting another ten minutes and listening to the bard complain once he finally awoken, Geralt at long last stirs, his eyes going wide as he desperately tries to look around the small stone room. Clearly in a panic and unsure how he got here in the first place.

Letting out an irked sigh you kick his foot to gather his distracted attention, "Oh good you're finally conscious, I thought I was gonna have to kick you awake." You quip at Geralt as the bard chuckles from behind him.

"Now, this is the part where we escape."

"This is the part where they kill us." Grumbles Geralt.

"Who's they?" Asks the bard before an elven woman races into the room, she smells almost sickly and looks even more furious as she kicks them in the head, quickly shutting them up as they grunt in pain.

"Beast." She fumes in Eldar, kicking Geralt once again as you hiss at her, gaining a satisfied smirk upon her elven features, you'd rather enjoy smacking that off her face. A dark curly haired one walks into the room, immediately his eyes catch the bards old lute laying on the floor next to your dagger and Geralt's sword.

You can't see as the bards eyes go wide in fear, "Oi, that's my lute, give it back!" Whines the bard as Geralt gives the she-elf a furious glare, "Quick Y/N, do your scary vampirey thing!" He quickly urges, you'd love nothing more then to shift into a half bat creature and scare the flesh right off this she-elf's bones, but a little problem called silver is preventing you from doing so.

"Shut up." Grumbles Geralt as the she-elf first kicks you in the legs and then Geralt, you're more pissed off then in actual pain from her brief assault.

"You shut up!" She barks in Eldar.

"My Eldar speech is rough. I only got part of that." Replies the bard as you roll your eyes.

"She said shut up." You implore before getting kicked again, the burn of the single silver handcuff sending fire into your wrist as you bite back the pain. The bard then replying to you in broken Eldar as you tell him to "fuck off" back in the same language, Geralt flashing you a confused grimace, unaware that you're fluent in Eldar.

"Do you wanna die right now?" She sasses, staring them down.

"As opposed to later?" Growls back Geralt as she kicks him harshly in the stomach, doing the same to the bard as he cries out for his now broken lute.

"Leave off!" Barks Geralt as she walks around to fiercely punch him in the face.

Your eyes shimmering blood red as anger flashes through them, "I'll slit your fucking throat you elven cunt!" You hiss as she whips around to thrust a boot into your side, the silver chain sizzling your broken flesh at the jarring impact sending you into a flurry of muffled curses, Geralt's eyes softening as he watches you grimace in pain, wishing he could do something about it.

Weakened with this one silver coated cuff, you're not even strong enough to break out of here. Damn silver.

The she-elf scoffs as she glares at the three of you tied up, "You don't deserve the air you breath!" Smack, directly into your Witcher's cheek, "Everything you touch, you destroy!" Another blow straight onto his face in the same moment that the curly haired elf breaks the bards lute in two. Well there goes that.

"You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!" Screams the bard angrily as you lift your head up higher so your steel collar can't completely suffocate your windpipe, the sting in your wrist keeping you alert and ready to fight.

She sneers at him, "Do you like my palace? Hmm?" She grins maliciously, crouching down to take Geralt's fuming bloody face in her hand, "Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?" She challenges quietly before you pull on your chains, striking her roughly in the nose with your boot, the burning of the silver worth her pained gasps as she stumbles backwards. Falling onto the sandy floor of the stone cave as she sputters and coughs, spiting out a glob of blood while the bard laughs.

"Yeah, take that, pointy!" He cheers as she coughs and wheezes some more from her pathetic spot on the ground, the bard suddenly looking concerned, "Wait, what's-what's wrong with her?" He wonders, trying to twist his head around to find you and Geralt. Suddenly a blonde haired elf and the Sylvan enter into your small stony prison.

"She's sick." He simply states, reaching down to kindly tend to his fallen companion from the ground.

Giving him a bewildered look you lean against the stony wall, "And who the fuck is this?" You snap, lightly pulling on your chains in frustration.

"He's Filavandrel, King of the Elves." Quickly answers the Sylvan as he rushes to the fallen elleths other side.

"Not a king by choice." Affirms the elven king Filavandrel as he glances over the three of you.

Geralt's brows furrow in thought, "You were stealing for them." He concludes with a sneer, blood still present on his lips, the Sylvan turning to answer him.

"I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna."

"Forced out? No, they chose..." Starts Geralt.

The elven king snaps his attention over to Geralt, "Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve? To have a Sylvan steal for them?" Angrily interrupts Filavandrel before turning his attention back to the she-elf, "Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt."

"What's three humans in the ground when countless elves have died?" She sneers, a messy trail of blood dripping down from her nostrils.

"One human. And you can let him go." Protests Geralt with a nod in the bards direction.

"Then Posada will learn that we've been stealing. The humans will attack. Many will die...on both sides." Insists Filavandrel as he stands, walking over to look down at Geralt and you.

"The lesser evil." Replies Geralt as he raises his head to look at the elf king in the eyes, "No matter what you choose, you'll come out bloody and hating yourself. Trust me." The elven king crouches down, almost at eye level with your fuming Witcher, he's in a perfect position to crack across the back of his scull, but smartly you think otherwise.

"That's the problem. I can't. This is necessary." Implores the elven king.

"I understand. As long as you understand...that it won't be long before you follow me in death." Replies Geralt dramatically.

The elven king scoffs, "Yes, because they pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic."

"Chaos is the same as it's always been." You finally add, he turns to look down at you, "Humans just adapted better."

"You say adapt, I say destroy." Corrects Filavandrel, anger lacing his every word.

"You are choosing to starve. You're cutting off your ear to spite your face." You vouch back, his face morphing into one of great resentment and irritation.

"You think this is about pride?" He yells, "My elders worked with humans and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. "The Great Cleansing," humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow...our babies fertilizer for their grain. I don't wish to bury anyone else....I was once Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Now I'm Filavendrel of the Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing down to human sovereignty....They'll make slaves of us. Pariahs of half-blood children." Explains the elven king, sadness and hatred coating his very words, you truly do feel for him and all his kind have endured at the greedy hands of humans.

"Then go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more then what they fear you to be." Argues Geralt, trying to help these elves see the light.

"Like you, Witcher?" Whispers Filavandrel.

"I have learned to live with them." His golden eyes suddenly finding yours before he looks back up at the elven king, "We both have, so that we may live." The she-elf, Toruviel jumps to her feet.

"Please my king. There are others. A new generation. Evellien who wish to fight! Let's take back what's ours. Starting now." She insists confidently, Filavandrel pulls his dagger from its sheath and your breath catches in your throat at what he may do next.

"Don't fucking touch him!" You growl, pulling at your tightly restrictive chains, the clink and slink of the metal sounding throughout the stony room, right as the Sylvan races to the kings side. "Wait!"

"Torque, stand aside!" Shouts Filavandrel sharply.

"The Witcher could've killed me. But he didn't. He's different. Like us." Swears Torque the Sylvan, Filavandrel simply pushes him aside as you pull on your steel chains, it almost feels like you can't breath with how tight the collar is around your throat, the fiery burning of your wrist oozing red hot blood from beneath the silver cuff and onto the dusty floor.

Your Witcher simply watches Filavendrel's every move, a defiant look his his golden eyes, "If you must kill me...I am ready." Pledges Geralt softly, staring down the elven king the whole time, no this cannot be the end, not now.

Pulling even harder on your iron chains, you growl at the king, "If you end his life I will coat the walls of your golden palace in the blood of every living creature that crosses my path!" You scream furiously, tears welling up in the corners of your scarlet eyes as you violently yank on your chains, more blood seeping out from your silver cuffed wrist.

Geralt sadly glances to you before looking back up at the elven king holding his dagger, "But the Sylvan's right. Don't call me human." Continues Geralt as Filavandrel moves to his side for a better angle to slit his throat. To your absolute horror Geralt locks eyes with you before tilting his head up, opening up his neck for a clean shot of his jugular.

Your face falls before turning into a wolf-like snarl, "I cannot promise you a clean death. But by god, I will let you watch your people suffer!" You cry desperately as the elven king raises his silver dagger, wet salty tears unknowingly begin streaming down the sides of your cheeks as your eyes go wide in hopeless dread. Filavandrel gives you one last look before thrusting his dagger upon your lover.

——

You sit silently upon the back of Roach as she's guided by Geralt who keeps one hand on the leather reins and the other hand across your waist. Your fingers hold onto his muscular arm tightly as a white bloodied cloth covers your left wrist where the silver cuff burned and tore at your flesh. It still stings and most definitely wont heal for awhile, but your pain doesn't matter, all that's of your concern is the fact that Geralt's alive and so are you.

"Credit where credit is due." Starts the bard as he walks beside Roach and the two of you, "That whole reverse-psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way." Says the bard before comically imitating Geralt's gruff voice, "Kill me. I'm ready." Geralt glares down at him before the bard continues, "Oh and you Y/N, with those incredibly convincing bloody threats, genius, they looked terrified.." He boasts for you, "That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

"Filavendrel's lute not a charming enough gift for you?" You wonder, the bard swaggers with each step, a bright smile upon his dirty face.

"Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn't she? I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again? Be reborn." Suddenly the bard begins to sing, "Will the elf king heed, What the Witcher entreaty? Is history a wheel. Doomed to repeat? No that's...that's shit." Surmises the bard, squinting his eyes as the sun beams down brightly upon the three of you on the dusty dirt path.

"This is where we part ways, bard, for good." Remarks Geralt as you lean into his body, turning your head towards the bard.

"I promised to change the public's tune about you two. At least allow me to try." He politely insists as he whips his lute around to gently strum her cords, "When a humble bard. Graced a ride along. With Geralt of Rivia..." Sings the bard, happily strumming away at his new lute as he makes it up on the go, "And so cried the Witcher. He can't be bleat..."

"That's now how it happened." Grumbles Geralt as he quickly halts Roach, "Where's your newfound respect?" Wonders Geralt as the bard turns to look at him, an unbothered smile creeping onto his face.

Shaking his head he looks up at Geralt, "Respect doesn't make history." He corrects before turning around once again, "Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plenty. O Valley of Plenty, oh-oh-oh. Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plentyyyyy." He sings loudly, continuing to delightfully strum at his prized lute while taking the lead down the dirt path, out of earshot from your whispering.

Hugging Geralt's strong arm that's lazily casted over your abdomen, do you lightly laugh at the bards antics and Geralt's moodiness, "It's a bit catchy isn't it?" You muse while craning your neck to catch his annoyed golden irises, "Why not keep him around...until he gets sick of us or...maybe eaten by a werewolf, who knows."

Geralt raises a single eyebrow to you, "Our nights under the stars are about to get uncomfortable." He simply replies, hugging you pleasantly closer as he clicks his tongue for Roach to walk again. You chuckle at his adorably concerned remark, glad that today didn't end in sorrow and death for once.

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

#the witcher #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x you #the witcher x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #Geralt of Rivia #geralt of rivia #Geralt #falcor the luck dragons stories #of Monsters and Men fic

[alirhi]

...goddess help me...

This fucking episode. *deep breath* This... This episode is where I'm expecting to get some serious hate. Let me just get this out of the way right up front:

I. Hate. Zemo.

I do not find him sympathetic, or funny, or charming. I find him creepy and annoying. I did not like him in CA:CW and I do not like him in TFATWS. If you are pro-Zemo, you are not going to like my version of this show from here on out. Just find something else to read and don't bother me about it. You've got the actual canon, so go enjoy that.

Got it? Good. Now, on to the main event!

Episode 3: The Power Broker

First of all, Sam doesn't let Bucky walk in there alone. No matter Bucky's (flimsy and nonsensical) argument, Sam's like "hell no. I go in with you, or you don't go in." The main reason for this isn't to keep Bucky from breaking Zemo out of prison (with decent writing, he would never do that) - it's so that Sam witnesses Zemo taunting Bucky with/about the trigger words. because Zemo is a piece of shit.

Since he doesn't know the full story, Sam is confused, but he files this interaction away to ask Bucky about later. He's listening to Zemo acknowledging that Bucky was "not conscious for most of [his] imprisonment" (which, yes, clearly refers to the time he spent frozen, but can also mean while he was under their control as TWS/"The Asset" - also, key word: imprisonment) and when he calls Bucky a means to an end, Sam scowls, looking ready to go off on him, but he waits. They've got more important issues.

Neither of them entertains the thought of breaking Zemo out for even a nanosecond. He does that shit himself. And literally the only reason I'm sticking with him getting out at all is because I want to address some truly egregious moments linked directly to him in the show. Zemo makes them think he's setting them on the trail when really he's just sending them to his motor pool. Bucky and Sam are confused until they see Zemo in his stolen guard uniform, then they're both angry and want to ship him right back to prison, but he strikes a deal with them: "My help for my temporary freedom. Creating super soldiers cannot be allowed to continue; let me finish my work, and then do with me as you will." He has no intention of going quietly back to prison, obviously, and they're not stupid enough to believe otherwise, but they believe they can keep him on a short leash, so they agree for now. Anything to bring down the Flag Smashers and whoever created them.

After the title, we cut to Raynor on the phone in her office. She's agitated, fiddling with things on her desk. "No, sir," she's practically growling, "it was disrupted. - Walker did! - It's not my fault your new attack dog got off-leash!" She pauses, huffs, and says more calmly, "No. Of course not. I'm sorry. - Well, I don't see how, with the new Cap strutting around barking orders! - What am I supposed to do? Tell Captain America in front of a dozen witnesses that he can't have his predecessor's favorite pet because we're not done reprogramming him? I didn't see that going over too well. I made a call. - No. No, no, no, we can still use him. The work's not finished, but he still trusts me. He'll be back." A pause as she listens. Angry again, she snaps, "What do you want me to do, shove a tracker up his ass? He'll be back, and we'll pick right back up where we left off! - Don't worry, sir, the Asset will be fully compliant and ready to use soon. I'll make sure of it. - Yes, sir. You, too." She hangs up and tosses her phone on the couch, grumbling, "Dick."

Cut back to Sam, Bucky, and Zemo getting going on their trip to Madripoor. On the plane, Sam wants to talk to Bucky about what he's learned so far, but doesn't want to bring it up in front of Zemo... until the notebook incident reminds him that Zemo already knows more about Bucky than he does.

After Zemo's line about the list, Sam angrily corrects him: "You mean people HYDRA used The Winter Soldier to hurt." When Zemo shrugs and his response is basically along the lines of "what's the difference" Sam is like "oh hell no."

"Those words you were reciting at him," he reminds Zemo, "what were they, Russian? They clearly meant something. They were supposed to do something. What are they?" "Sam, let it go," Bucky pleads, unable to look at either of them. "It's nothing." "You wanna drown in your guilt, that's fine," Sam snaps, "but make sure it's for the right reasons." He turns back to Zemo, who's smiling at this exchange because he's a monster and thinks Bucky's suffering is fucking funny. "I asked you a question, Zemo. What did those words do?" "They activate the Winter Soldier programming," Bucky grudgingly admits. He doesn't want to talk about it, but he's sure as hell not going to let Zemo speak for him. "Or, they did, before the Wakandans got all that shit out of my head." "It's a shame," Zemo says with a smirk. "Imagine the possibilities that come with perfect obedience." "I think you mean 'slavery'," Sam growls, "and I think you're in the wrong crowd to be looking so pleased about it. Remember that we can send your ass back to prison any time." "Of course," Zemo agrees, but with an arrogant smile that shows he doesn't believe for a second that these two have any real power over him. Still, he bides his time and sits back quietly, watching Bucky fidget with the notebook. Sam turns back to Bucky, seeing his discomfort; he won't let the topic go, though, not yet. He just softens his tone. "So, they 'activated the Winter Soldier'? What exactly does that mean?" Bucky shrugs, still not looking up. "Pretty much what he said - perfect obedience. What little consciousness they left me between cryo and the chair was squashed down, locked away. And I did whatever I was told, exactly the way they told me to." It finally clicks. He'd had his suspicions before, of course, but now Sam gets it. Visibly horrified, he stares at this quiet, broken man, and finally sees the truth of what he'd been through for 70 years: "They stripped away your autonomy. Shit, Bucky, they didn't even let you be a person. That's..." He swallows, looking like he'll be sick any minute. "That's awful, man. I'm so sorry." When Bucky tries to shrug it off and downplay it again, Sam gets angry. "Look at me!" He waits; it takes a few seconds, but Bucky reluctantly looks up and is surprised to see just how upset Sam is on his behalf. "It wasn't your fault. None of it. When Steve said you didn't have a choice, I had no idea... You really, truly had no choice; not even the ability to choose. That's horrifying." "I doubt it would make much difference to the people he's killed," Zemo points out snidely. "Or their families. Let's ask Tony Stark, shall we?" "You shut the hell up," Sam growls. He watches Bucky flinch and make that face - the face he's starting to really fucking hate - that says he agrees with Zemo. Bucky still can't see things the way Sam does; he still feels the guilt and shame, and even when he himself pointed out his lack of agency under HYDRA, it didn't click for him that Sam is right, not Zemo.

It's too much, too soon. Sam sees that and decides to change the subject, to give Bucky some time to process. He nods at the notebook, and they have their little Marvin Gaye debate, where Sam is over the top about it on purpose, because Bucky needs the distraction.

Of course, Zemo ruins it by opening his big mouth again and reminding Bucky of more trauma: his time fighting in WWII. That's why Sam latches onto the bit about Madripoor; to keep the focus not only on the task at hand, but off of Bucky's past that he clearly still can't cope with.

"James... You will have to become someone you claim is gone." Sam is officially ready to throw Zemo out a window. 😂 The only reason he doesn't jump to Bucky's defense again and basically tell Zemo to fuck himself (in a PG-13 way 🙄) is because Bucky's, as Sam pointed out in ep2, a grown-ass man, and because he's just learned how few decisions this poor man has been able to make in his life. Sam doesn't want to come across as another "handler," deciding everything for him, even if he does think this plan is stupid and needlessly cruel.

At the bar, when asked if he wants "the usual", Sam just casually waves the bartender off like "nah". Zemo already said they had business to attend to, so it's not like anyone would be suspicious that now's probably not a good time to be doing weird shots lol. (wtf even was that? I'm not sure I want to know, but...what part of the snake did he drop into that drink?)

Sam's not an idiot (I'm really so sick of this trend of turning intelligent characters into morons because the writers can't think of any other way to move their plot along) so his cell phone has been off this whole time. No sudden call from Sarah to put them all in danger. There was really no point to that, anyway; Sharon likely would have killed Selby for talking about Nagle with or without the excuse of "saving" Sam and Bucky. I mean, it's not like they know who fired that shot, ever.

"They cleared the Bionic Staring Machine," Sam still jokes, but he follows it with, "and they think he's a mass-murderer." "They think?" Sharon stares at him incredulously. "Didn't he kill pretty much everyone he's ever met?" "Wow." Sam glances back at Bucky. "She really is awful now." To Sharon, he adds, "You met Steve; do you really think he'd have defied 117 countries to protect someone evil?" "He did it for Bucky," she points out. "Let's face it - Bucky could blow up half the planet, and Steve's loyal-to-a-fault ass would still take a bullet for him." "You know I'm sitting right here, right? I can hear you." "Look, I don't think you're evil, Bucky," Sharon assures him. "But I know you killed a lot of people for HYDRA." "I'm not denying it." "He didn't have a choice," Sam snaps, glaring at them both. "But we're not getting into that right now. My point is, the government's afraid of Bucky, and they still pardoned him. All you did was steal something. I'm sure they can be persuaded to see reason." "The day the US government sees reason," Sharon quips, rolling her eyes, "is the day I sprout real wings and fly off into the sunset." "Careful, Icarus," Bucky mocks with a smirk, "the sun and brand new wings don't exactly go together." Then he shrugs and glances at Sam. "But she's not wrong."

At the party that night, it takes a few minutes (grumpy old man Bucky's not sure how to feel about the music lol) but a peek of pre-war Bucky comes out to play: they were told to "blend in", so he dances. At first he's just bobbing around alone looking stoic and out of place, but soon he's smiling and dancing between two attractive people - one male, one female. Sam is surprised, but before he can tease him for it, Sharon comes to get them all. Even she's a little "wait what?" at Bucky having a little fun lol. (recovery is not linear, guys. trauma doesn't mean "perpetually miserable, no fun, doesn't even know how to smile." in my TFATWS, Bucky gets his lighter moments; real ones, not humor at his expense)

When they find Nagle, Bucky's the one who notices and opens the secret door, while Sam keeps an eye on Zemo. Bucky catches Zemo trying to grab that gun; closes the drawer on his hand before opening it and taking the gun away. "Nice try." Nagle tries to get away while there's only one person watching him, but Sam catches him and forces him back into his seat. With a bruising grip on the back of Zemo's neck, Bucky drags him back over to where he and Sam can both keep an eye on him. Nagle is killed in the shootout as they're trying to escape; Zemo still runs off, blows shit up, and comes back with the stolen car so he's not totally useless.

I had no problem with Zemo being the one to kill Nagle; Nagle was the worst and def had to die, and Zemo has never had an issue killing anyone. Where I took issue with this scene was Bucky and Sam being dumb enough to let Zemo wander and get his hands on a gun. Nope. Not happening.

Anyway, shootout! Explosions! Funny banter! The seat thing, which is my favorite nod to CW ever lol... And then the conversation on the plane...

"You okay?" "Yeah." Sam sighs. "Just thinking." "About how to get Sharon that pardon you dangled in front of her?" He shakes his head. "About how Nagle referred to 'The Winter Soldier Program" like it was some kind of after school club; like you weren't standing right there. And 'the American test subject' like... Like Isaiah wasn't even a real person." He turns to face Bucky, looking angry and weary. "Makes me wonder how many times... How many times are we gonna run around in the same circles before people learn? And how many people need to get crushed underfoot in the meantime?" "Did you really just equate me with Isaiah?" Bucky frowns, not sure how to react to that. "That man is a hero." Sam opens his mouth to say something, but his phone goes off and Zemo approaches at the same time, effectively cutting off their conversation.

When they get to Riga and Zemo tries to guilt trip them over Sokovia, Bucky deadpan reminds him, "Neither of us were involved in that fight." "I doubt you'd have been much help if you were." He shrugs. "Probably not. But I like to save my guilt for events I was actually present for. It's a thing." Zemo laughs. "Fair enough."

Bucky goes on his walk, and meets up with Ayo.

#how it should have gone #tfatws #tfatws critical #if i'd written it #episode 3

[otonymous]

Prisoner Of Love (Ikesen Kenshin - NSFW)

Description: Can two victims of circumstance find their way to love? Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Spoilers for the first half of Kenshin’s MS.  Potential trigger warnings: angst, imprisonment, mild mentions of injuries, self-harm and death, self-loathing, anxiety, possessiveness (it IS Kenshin after all 🤣), slight dub-con elements, profanity, vaginal intercourse, squirting Word Count: ~3100 words (~17 minutes of angst and smut) Author’s Notes: Sending out a super giant thank you to the incredibly kind and gracious @azuchi-princess​ for commissioning this Kenshin piece from me.  I cannot tell you how honoured I am to have been entrusted with writing for your husbando! 🥰💕 It was an absolutely wonderful process working with you, and I’m so glad to have been able to indulge in my need for angst and smut at the same time!

(SPOILER ALERT!) This story takes place shortly after Kenshin has MC (read: YOU!) placed behind bars as his “spoils of war,” but I have taken creative license in altering the events that occur afterwards.  Moreover, the perspective shifts between that of the reader’s and Kenshin’s in the hopes of delivering that optimal punch of angst 👊🏼🤣

Please note the warnings listed above — especially the potential triggers — and avoid this read if anything makes you uncomfortable.  Otherwise, dear readers, I sincerely hope that you enjoy this piece! 💕

Chapter I (Kenshin’s POV)

Betrayal.

Cutting deeper than the sharpest blade.

Unforgiving like Himetsuru-Ichimonji, severing the red string of fate as quickly as it is drawn from its scabbard.

So why was it that Kenshin still couldn’t bring himself to hate her?

Footsteps echoing along stone walls in the bowels of Kasugayama Castle — the very place where he had her cast behind bars — Kenshin wanders, trapped in a hell from which there was no escape.

For the confines of the mind were impervious to even the God of War’s sharpened steel.

And in between each beat of his thunderous heart, he hears her: gentle tears rolling down that delicate face to fall on packed earth, the ground’s inhospitable chill reaching up through limbs to rob even the final vestiges of warmth from bone.  Her every shuddering breath is a weight upon his chest, suffocating until Kenshin clings to the reins of reason holding him back from storming her cell like a madman, animated solely by the fire commanding him to see, to touch…

…to love her.

Hands clenching into tight fists, Kenshin’s knuckles blanch whiter than his already pale skin when he slows to a stop.  Round the corner and there she’ll be.

Woman of the Oda.  The Devil King’s own.

She, who had lied in the same breath that commiserated with him as they waited for Sasuke’s return.  She, whose tears left him dazzled, catching the light of the fire like precious stones even as their salt stung, seeping into his open wounds.  She, who had held his hand within her own, caring not about sullying her perfect skin with his tainted blood.

Because tainted is what he is.  It is what he deserves.

And yet, he can’t help but see the moonlight in her gaze, shimmering like a spectre every time he closes his eyes.  Can’t stop himself from desiring the tender warmth of her smile.  Still wonders at her fearless bravado in the face of a man who brought nothing but death and destruction upon friend and foe alike.

Isehime.

No.

No, he will not see her, Kenshin thinks, gaze frosting over as he wills the ice in his veins to freeze a heart he no longer wanted to feel.  He walks away, forcing himself to believe that the sound of her sorrow growing faint was nothing more than mice in the walls.

Chapter II (Reader’s POV)

Ethereal moons beckon from scrolls depicting each of the four seasons — resplendent colours discordant against the drab stone walls on which they hang.

Cherry blossoms flutter against gold-foil skies; delicate petals frozen in time as they float across a folding screen.

Even the futon in the corner of your cell seemed fit for a princess at court, much more luxurious than the one in which you had slept at Azuchi.

The Dragon of Echigo had took it upon himself to see that his spoils of war would want for nothing, and yet he would deny you the one thing you truly desired:

The man himself.

Sasuke, Shingen and Yukimura would visit — sometimes together, sometimes in turn — graciously sharing their company for which you were so starved.  Your ninja friend swore with as much emotion as he could muster to do anything and everything possible to persuade his lord to release you, or at the very least, agree to see you.  Yukimura couldn’t stop shaking his head, the expression on his face indignant to see you treated thus, ‘boar woman’ though you were.  As for Lord Shingen, he likened you to a bird in a gilded cage, trying to tempt you with offers of freedom and a ready smile on his face that surely would’ve moved any woman to see it…

…any woman but you, that is.

For in your eyes, there was only ever Kenshin — the man who came to your rescue time and time again without knowing your true identity.  Intoxicating like the finest sake, each and every moment spent by his side became a precious embrace of a memory, emblazoned in your mind until it was impossible to forget:

The black cape that flowed from broad shoulders like a powerful wave, trailing behind him that night he saved you from those thugs in Azuchi.  The way your feet dragged behind his footsteps, moving slow just to watch him cut swift through tall grass with all the seasoned grace of a dancer.  His porcelain skin glowing from within as if lit by the light of his own moon.

And in his eyes…sorrow as unfathomable as the sea was deep, rising like smoke from sapphire and emerald in those rare moments the Dragon of Echigo let down his guard.  But alas, no more.

You had broken his trust.

How many nights have you lain awake, seeking out pinprick stars through the sliver of window high above your prison and thinking about how things might have been different?  What if you had disclosed your relationship with the Oda at the very start?  Would the press of the cold steel of his blade be more of a consolation against your neck than the heartbreak spreading from chest to limb every time you lay down to sleep?

Sleep?

No, that was not forthcoming these days — rest a luxury you couldn’t afford until the moment you could face Kenshin for yourself and tell him that you never meant to hurt him, never meant to lie.  That though Nobunaga found you first, you had no ulterior motive in approaching Kenshin other than the fact that you…you…

…simply couldn’t stay away.

No matter what anyone tried to say about him.

For even on the battlefield, every nerve singed as the stench of freshly spilt blood filled your nostrils, you still couldn’t tear your gaze from the one they revered as the God of War.  Like an immortal stepping from an unfurling scroll, Kenshin moved with the fluid grace of a master painter wielding his brush, completely at one with his sword as he dispatched his enemies with a precision that terrified and awed all at once.

And when he held you in his arms that night — the same hand which had claimed countless lives bleeding into your own as you clasped it in prayer for Sasuke’s safe return — you had felt no fear; only the wish that time would stretch into eternity so that you might forever have him near.

“Kenshin.”

You say his name once…twice…the syllables rolling off your tongue to echo down the hallway like a ghost, lonely and forgotten in the dungeons of Kasugayama Castle.  What was freedom to you when you couldn’t bear to break the shackles chaining you to a god who would never look your way again?

Chapter III (Kenshin’s POV)

“Kenshin.”

Her voice halts him in his tracks, one hand shooting out to rest upon the cool stone wall as Kenshin bolsters himself against the sudden weakness in his knees.  When was the last time he heard her speak his name?  Had it always sounded so melodic, caressing up the spine to curl gently upon the lobe of his ear?

That she is calling for him at a time when she should’ve been fast asleep is a source of elation and anxiety all at once, She is thinking of me tempered by the dread in knowing that she wasn’t getting the rest her body needed.  And slowly, slowly…the scales start to tip: if she didn’t sleep, she’d become too exhausted to eat.  And without eating, she would…

…die.

The nightmare would begin anew.  Except this time, it would be her blood on Kenshin’s hands, spilling crimson over the scars left behind by Isehime’s lifeless body.

She’ll slip away from you like the other, the voice in his head chastises, full of malice as darkness begins unfurling from the corners of his mind, tightening the vice in his chest.  They come hard and fast, thoughts tangling one over the other like a labyrinth of vines from which there was no escape:

Poison runs through your veins.  Loving her would only doom the girl to misfortune and regret.

If she is not yours, could you possibly surrender her to anyone else?

You cannot outrun your curse.  All those you hold dear will end up like Isehime: sleeping in the cold earth.

No one must lay eyes on her beauty, witness her elegance, know of the rare flower blooming in the depths of this dungeon.

No one but you.

Fist pulling back, Kenshin releases the full force of his strength in a punch to the wall.  Bruised bone and shredded skin send blistering pain to interrupt the cacophony in his head, silence reigning supreme once more until

“Kenshin?”

…she calls for him again, voice coloured with anticipation this time.  He hears a shuffle, sees her in his mind’s eye — throwing off the covers of her bedding to press against the bars, straining to peek around the wooden slats that kept her from freedom.  Kept her from him.

“Please, Kenshin…is that you?”

He knows not why he does it, body moving before his mind is even aware.  Kenshin had managed to make his way to her cell undetected every night since he put her there, standing silent in shadowy corners just to watch her sleep, allowing the rise and fall of her breath to soothe him with the knowledge that she was still very much alive.  But now, in a single moment of thoughtlessness, he had thrown it all away.

She gasps to finally see him and even the sound of that is beautiful, resonating clear like the note of an expertly plucked koto.  His gaze falls on her tightened grip around the bars, follows the solitary tear gathering starlight as it rolls down her cheek.  And when her eyes widen in horror to look upon the state of his injured hand, Kenshin feels it:

A shift deep within, barely perceptible but wholly significant, like ice cracking beneath the surface of a frozen stream.

And the rush of waters that follows drowns the lovers in a flood from which neither was capable of nor willing to escape.

Chapter IV (Reader’s POV)

Perhaps he really was a god, answering every prayer that ever slipped past noiseless lips to materialize before you in that prison.  His white kimono is pristine beneath that black cloak, as if emphasizing the sanctity of his being, the unalterable distance between Uesugi Kenshin and a mere mortal such as yourself.  But then the rivulets of red run down that swollen hand to tell you otherwise; the revelation bittersweet because maybe now, there was a way for you to be together, complicated though circumstances were.  

So you reach for him through the bars and he complies, watching as you lay kisses upon bruised fingers, feeling the familiar sting of your tears as they seep into wounded flesh and broken hearts — full of sorrow, full of joy…and impossible to stop.

“Push me away.”

His voice is soft for the hard edges of his words.  Head lifting, you meet those striking eyes, focused and still.  Yet, you felt the storm brewing in those blue and green depths, turmoil barely concealed beneath the ice of his gaze.  And there, standing before the man whose very blood stained your lips, you refuse.

Lightning flashes in those eyes and suddenly, his fingers are curling tight about the sleeve of your kimono, Kenshin pulling you close through the bars in one swift motion until the stilted rhythm of his breath is dancing hot over your skin.  

“Say it.  Say you hate me, that you want absolutely nothing to do with me.  Do it now or else—”

“No.  Never.  How could I ever bring myself to hate the one I love—”

The grimace on his handsome face cuts you off, the great Dragon of Echigo trembling at the very word, love, like it was dirty, taboo.  And as the final threads of control slip from his grasp, Kenshin is moving once more without thought — his body a slave to the dictates of the heart.  Yanking on the ring of keys hanging from his tapered waist, Kenshin throws open the door to your cell and in an instant, he is by your side.

“Fine.  Then I’ll make you hate me.”

His whisper is a promise.

The keys clatter as they’re thrown to the ground, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, deafening with every pounding beat of your heart to feel his lips on yours for the very first time.  The insistent tongue pushing into your mouth carries a hint of sake, the fervour of his kiss leaving you intoxicated and desperate for more.

Long fingers thread through the silk of your hair, Kenshin’s grip gentle yet firm as he angles your head to deepen the kiss, bringing you closer and closer until the end of his exhalation marked the beginning of your next breath.  And hadn’t it always been this way, you forever chasing after the mystery that was this beautifully broken man?  The intensity of his want is a spell that bewitches, inexorably pulling you into the crucible of his desire, passion matching yours flame for burning flame until all else was extinguished.

Good and bad, right or wrong.

Words insignificant like ash in the face of this all-consuming love.

“Hate me,” Kenshin begs, teeth sinking into your lower lip until the taste of your blood mixed with his.  “Please…or else I’ll never give you up.”

Open-mouthed kisses now trailing wet along the column of your neck, your fingers find purchase in his golden hair, pulling hard as you yield to the sensation of his breath moving lower and lower still.  Kenshin groans, the sound resonating from deep within his chest to send a rush of heat that dampens the sacred space between your legs.

Body ready and heart set, your mind had been made up long ago.  So you grasp onto those shoulders — broad and strong — to pull Kenshin up before you.  And in the silent space between the beating of twin hearts, you say with a conviction so strong there could be no doubt,

“I am yours.”

The sound that catches in his throat is guttural, almost feral as those eyes of emerald and sapphire train on you with the intensity of a thousand suns.  A sea of emotions flit across that handsome face, subtly shifting until one finally wins out:

Need.

You barely feel it though it must’ve taken considerable force to tear your obi off, the sumptuous kimono he gifted you with slipping from your shoulders as the God of War sets you upon the futon fit for a princess.  Elegant even in haste, Kenshin disrobes with the grace of snow falling on frost-covered pine, revealing porcelain skin stretched over perfectly sculpted muscle that beckons to your every nerve.

And before the dungeon’s chill could rattle your bones, he gathers you into the heat of his embrace.  Skin to skin, the arms wrapped around you tremble when he whispers, “I’ve wanted you so desperately, I-I don’t think I can hold back.”  

Head falling back onto your pillow, you will Kenshin to see the sincerity, the surrender in the darkened gaze that reflects his very image.

“Then give me everything.  I want…all that you are.”

It tears a breathless gasp from your lips, mouth drawn open in a silent scream when Kenshin fills you to the hilt with a single thrust — the thick, hard heat of his cock testing the limits of your body with its size.  Equally skilled in bed as he was on the battlefield, the God of War is a force to be reckoned with, the swing of his hips graceful even as they connect with yours, ruthless in speed and intensity.

He moves within your body like he belongs, pulling out only to dive even deeper into slick depths until pleasure bloomed pink along your skin, the hardened tips of your breasts so enticing Kenshin couldn’t help but take them into his mouth in greedy turn as he continued thrusting, harder and faster until your legs began to shake.

“Oh god, Kenshin!  You feel…so…good...ahh!—”

Pants and screams echo down darkened corridors, the sound of your pleasure in being taken this way resonating in the corners of every prison cell until you think to bite onto the sleeve of your kimono.  But Kenshin just shakes his head, the sweat of exertion glistening on his body as his fingers move towards your mouth.

“No, I want…hmm…to hear you.  Every sound you make is…precious to me.  Let it out.”  

With that, he removes the embroidered fabric, lips pressing to yours to swallow every licentious moan for himself as he props your legs up against his shoulders.  All of a sudden, like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place, the motion awakens sensations you never before knew existed.

Unable to scream with your lover’s tongue in your mouth, your body responds in the only other way it knew how: convulsing beneath Kenshin until he is forced to pull out, allowing a flood of your arousal to cascade past swollen lips, spilling down the insides of your thighs in a lewd display that wets the bedding beneath your entwined bodies.  And yet,

“More.  Please, Kenshin…I want more…”

…you were insatiable.

The sight, sound and smell of you so undone ignites a fire inside the warlord, his mind scrambled by lust.  And when he slides into you once more, he fucks with absolute abandon, yearning for complete union even as he leaves you breathless to finally spill into your depths.

* * *

You awake to moonlight glowing soft beyond shoji screens and the rhythm of a heartbeat, measured and slow beneath your ear.  The robe you wore was fresh and soft; vague recollections of Kenshin gently caressing your fatigued body with a washcloth filtering in and out of your thoughts.  At some point, he must’ve carried you to his chambers, sleeping now as you were upon his chest.

Lifting your head, you gaze at your lover in repose.  It fills you with affection to see him — heart tightening to bind you to this man.  And as his muscular arm winds about your waist, you knew you would forever be a willing prisoner to his love.

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen kenshin #ikemen sengoku kenshin #uesugi kenshin #ikesen kenshin smut #ikesen smut #my writing #commission #azuchi-princess #thank you again my dear! #you are lovely to work with

[cancelingthenoise]

Unworthy

Soooo, after a 13 year hiatus, I’m trying to get back into writing and where better to start than fan fiction and with my fave OTP.  But buckle up, it’s a heavy one.  Hopefully I’ve tagged all the appropriate trigger warnings; apologies if I’ve missed any - please let me know if I have!!

Summary: Addict.  Junkie.  Worthless.  He has been gone for three years and is ready to come home, but his biggest enemy is still the one inside.  

Rated: Mature (Addiction, Recovery, Implied Drug Use, Drug References, Mild Sexual Content)

Cross-posted to FFN and AO3

He inserts the coins and dials a number he knows by heart.  The only one that is permanently branded into the recesses of his mind. As it rings, he hopes – let it be the right number, let it still be her number, let her pick up …

Hello?

“Kagome.”

Inu … Inuyasha?

“I … want to come home.”

Where are you?

He tells her the city, the intersection, the name on the warehouse nearby.  Everything that can pinpoint exactly where he is so she can find him.

I’m on my way.  Stay put.

There’s a tone in her voice he can’t identify and it sends pangs straight to his heart, but she’s coming. She’s coming.  

And so, he waits.

Two hours later a familiar red sedan pulls up in front of him and its driver approaches.  She’s older now, tired, he notices as he stands to greet her.  He watches as she looks him over.  He’s dirty, he knows, and even his demon-blood cannot mask how battered and bruised he is.  He’s shocked but admittedly pleased when she wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes him in an embrace.  Her scent is altogether lovely and calming, like coming home.

It takes every fiber of his being not to whine when she pulls away and looks him square in the eyes. Her grey eyes are intense and full of contrasting emotions.  All for him. “Let’s go.” She finally speaks, her tone decisive and unyielding.

He has nothing but the clothes on his back, but instead of a pitying glance, she nods.  It’s almost cathartic that she’s here and he has no physical baggage to take.  She tosses her purse from the passenger seat into the back so he can settle in.

He notices the ring when she places her hands on the steering wheel.  Ten-and-two, ever predictable.

“You’re engaged.” He cannot hide the shock, the disdain that he feels.

“Yes.”

Her response is sharp and leaves no invitation for a response, but he can’t help it as the jealousy bubbles up through his core.

“Had enough waiting on the addict to clean up his act?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels instant regret.  He’s always been a hothead who runs his mouth before thinking, but he can tell these words sting deep.  They pain him too.

She flinches and releases a haggard breath.

“That’s not fair.  You left.  You stopped calling.  You stopped picking up.  You couldn’t even text.  And then your number went out.  Now you’ve called me from a payphone.  It’s been three years.” Her eyes remain firmly on the road, hands clenching the wheel, but he can see her body tremble and hear the strain in her voice. She’s angry.  Furious.

He slumps, “I’m sorry.” His whisper is meek as he understands a mere apology is not nearly enough to make amends for the past.  It doesn’t explain why he had to disappear, why he went away for so long.  It can’t make her understand his reasons.

She nods almost imperceptibly and seems to consider a game plan.  “I’ll take you to Sesshomaru’s.”

“No.” He’s vehement. There’s no chance in hell he will turn to his half-brother.  Especially now.

“Sango and Miroku’s then.”

“And?” He balks at the conjunction.

“They’re married now. Have been for a year.  You would’ve been his Best Man, but …”

She trails off, but he understands.  They couldn’t find him, reach him.  The hole he left in their lives appears to be much greater than he imagined.  

They drive in silence for nearly an hour.  He wants to speak, wants to tell her everything, but he can’t find the words; and based on the furtive glances she keeps sending him, she can’t either.

“I was so scared you were dead.” She finally whimpers.

“Some days I wished I was.” He admits forlornly.

She looks at him for a few moments before staring back at the road, brows furrowed, mouth turned down.

“I’m glad you’re not.”

Those are the last words spoken before silence consumes them again.

After they hit the city limits, she drives to a house in the suburbs.  It looks like a dream with its double-attached garage and neatly manicured lawn.  A chokecherry tree sits among a bed of flowers in the middle of the green; simple yet attractive and he knows whose home he stands in front of.  She leads him from the driveway to the royal blue front door and it opens almost immediately, revealing two faces he has longed to see almost as much as Kagome’s. Their expressions are a combination of disbelief and relief.  Miroku does not hesitate to embrace him with a sigh as Sango looks on with tears in her eyes.  He reaches a tentative hand out to her which she grasps tightly with a closed smile.

They usher him into the house and guide him to their kitchen.  Miroku settles him into a spot at the breakfast bar as Sango pours him a glass of water.  They do not speak, though the questions in their eyes are obvious.  Miroku nods at him as he and Sango walk back to the door, to Kagome.  She hasn’t come in.  Her face has been drawn since they stopped speaking during the drive.  

He waits inside the kitchen as they speak outside.  He could train his ears to listen to their conversation, and briefly considers it, but he chooses not to.  His absence has prohibited him from those intimacies.  They are different people now, just as he is.  They are probably discussing how to get him on his feet again as quickly as possible so they can get back to their lives.  Why would they want him to stay? Why would they want him around for longer than necessary?

Miroku and Sango return to him.  He hears the telltale roar of an engine and knows Kagome has gone.  He feels sadness, but knows why she’s left without a word. After all, who can jump right into caring for your former partner who has all but risen from the grave?

Sango looks him over, assessing him thoroughly.  He avoids her eyes, unsure of what emotions she’s wearing and afraid to meet them.  Shame fills his bones.  Maybe he should have stayed away.  Maybe he should have stayed dead in their minds.  He is a spot on their pristine lives.

Miroku refills his glass of water and replaces it on the counter before sitting on the stool beside him.

“You’re alive,” he finally breathes.

Inuyasha meets Miroku’s gaze and is warmed to see compassion and joy in his deep blue eyes.  The shame that was eating him just moments ago fades ever so slightly.

“You’re home.” Miroku states, “It’s a miracle.  Where have you been? What have you been doing?”

The dam is officially broken and all the questions that he knew were coming are finally bare, and despite everything, he feels entirely unprepared to answer.  So he starts slow, begins with the day they last saw him.  He tells them of his travels, the hitchhiking, the homelessness, but skimps out on the details of things he has done, the sins he has committed.  Those are secrets he will take to the grave.  He is unwilling to mar the consciences of those he loves.

“Have you…” Sango shakes her head, unable to finish her question, but he fully comprehends what she means to ask.

“No.  I’ve been clean since the day I left.”

“Then why?”

“Loose ends.” He murmurs. “I had to settle my debts.  They … they would’ve come for her if I didn’t comply.”

“For so long?”

Three years is nothing, he wants to tell them.  He’s lucky he only had to serve that long.  Naraku is a malevolent bastard and exploits the last breath out of most.  Frankly, his death would have been an easier price to pay.

“I had to earn my freedom.” He admits this ashamedly and hopes they don’t press for more.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It wasn’t so simple.”

“So you disappeared.” Sango states brusquely, her tone is harsh and unforgiving.  “You broke her heart, you know.  You broke all of our hearts when you left.”

That admission freezes him from the inside.  He knew his absence would be difficult for them all, but hearing it spoken aloud affects him more than he thought it would.  He imagines Kagome sobbing into her pillow.  It’s a scene that is all too familiar, he’s caused her many tears – too many.

“I know.  I’m sorry.” He repeats his submissive apology from earlier and slumps, his forehead almost touching the counter.

“You’re here now,” Miroku responds comfortingly and places a hand on his shoulder, “You’re here.  You’re alive.  You’re safe.  That’s what matters.  We can help you now, if you want it.”

He lifts his head and looks directly at Sango whose cinnamon eyes convey grief and yet hold a glimmer of hope.  He turns to Miroku who is awaiting his response.

“Yes.” He declares, confidence daring to materialize, “Please.”

Later that evening he is settling into the spare bedroom they’ve given him.  Before him is a suitcase of his belongings that Kagome has dropped off on the front step.  He takes a breath and opens it.  He is quickly overcome with her sweet scent which is deeply embedded in each item. The clothes are slightly too big for him now.  Three years of constantly moving, being on the run, and meager meals have diminished his former stature.

Amongst his clothes is a red leather-bound book.  A journal. It smells more intimately of Kagome than everything else.  She has wept openly on these pages, he can tell.  He opens it and thumbs quickly through the pages.  Each entry is a letter addressed to him.  As he flips through the journal certain phrases jump out at him amidst the lines of her loopy hand.

I want to hate you.

Where are you?

I wish I had never met you.

Are you alive?

I wish I could hold you.

Please come home.

I love you.

He shudders as he realizes that these pages hold missives from the last three years.  These are Kagome’s thoughts, her feelings.  This is an intimacy he thought was nearly impossible now.  She has to have put this with his things on purpose.  She’s thorough like that.  Every action is purposeful, thoughtful.  He finds the last entry in the journal, it’s dated today.

Inuyasha,

This is a collection of letters that I began writing when I realized you weren’t coming home anytime soon.  Eventually I thought you weren’t coming home at all.  I used these to talk to you as if you were still by my side.  I don’t know what you’ve been through and maybe giving you this journal is selfish of me, but I needed you to see.

I hope they help you understand why I can’t be the one to help you right now.  I need time. It’s ironic saying that after you’ve been gone for three years.  It feels like there’s been nothing but time between us.  I thought you were dead when I received your call today.  I thought I was hearing a ghost.  I’m so grateful you’re alive, but things are different now.  We are not the same people we were before.

I need to figure this out.

Please understand.

Kagome

It isn’t until tears splatter on the page that he realizes he is crying.  Of course she needs time.  He knew this was a possibility when he made the phone call this afternoon. He’d hoped against hope that she would come for him and take him back fully.  But that was wishful thinking.  He knew there was a chance she would turn him away.  She could have hung up as soon as she heard his voice.  But she came for him, made arrangements for him.  But she is engaged to another man.  She needs to figure out if there is still room in her life for him.

For her, he’d wait a lifetime.  Even to just be her friend.

It is another three months before he sees Kagome again.  He’s read that journal more times than he cares to admit.  All her sleepless nights are immortalized in those grid-lined pages, that he’s now dog-eared and bookmarked.  Her worries, fears, even her dreams laid bare.  He knows how often she cried when he was in the depths of his addictions, but it has taken this journal to make him truly appreciate how deeply he hurt her, even after he was gone.  And to his astonishment, it wasn’t the behaviour that hurt her the most, it was his poor viewpoint of himself.

I wish you could see you how I do.

I should have told you more what you meant to me.

I regret every moment I didn’t say “I love you.”

He knows Sango sees her regularly, he can always scent her when Sango arrives home.  It’s not as if they’re keeping their meetings a secret, but he’s respecting her space even though it kills him.  It bothers him when he can smell the sadness of her tears and the tinge of fatigue.  He wonders what causes her tears these days, why she’s so often tired, why sometimes there’s a trace of illness in her scent that lingers on Sango.  From Miroku he learns that she’s busy with her residency at the hospital.  Ever the studious achiever.  Ever wanting to help others.  To heal.

This is the reason he knows she’d never give up on him.  It’s why she was the one he called.  She’s a walking bleeding heart, always has been.  She sees the best in people, even when their best is a mere speck amidst obscurity.  When he was at his worst, she stood by him.  When everyone else had lost hope and he’d been slipping deeper into his addictions, his darkness, she stayed.  She brought him back from the brink of death’s door one too many times.  Back then, she truly loved him.  And he’s holding onto hope with every fiber of his being that she still does.

He hopes she’s proud of him and the progress he’s making.  Since he’s been back, he’s found work thanks to Miroku’s contacts in construction.  He’s proven himself to be a hard worker and has met a journeyman to mentor him as an apprentice in iron work.  It’s also helped boost his confidence with reintegrating into society.  At work, no one cares what his past is, what skeletons he hides in the closet, as long as he gets the job done.  At work, they’re all sinners just trying to get by.

He stays away from the parties and the after-work bar stops.  He recognizes the patterns in some of his colleagues all too well.  One drink leads to two leads to three leads to smack or blow or both which leads to miserable mornings because you’ve spent all night chasing that first-time spark.  No matter how hard you try, you can never attain that feeling again and still you chase. It’s the vicious cycle.  He’s done with that life.  It’s taken too much away from him, cost him too much.

Miroku and Sango have let him know that Kagome will be coming for dinner, so he’s had ample time to prepare.  But when she arrives in the doorway and her scent hits him like a freight train, he panics. Has she had enough time? Has she made a decision? Will she want him to stay away?  He runs to his room and leans back against the closed door.  He’s stared down the barrels of guns with less fear than what he’s experiencing in this moment.  

He smells her before he hears her footsteps arriving at his door.  Trepidation grips him as he hears her voice call to him for the first time in three months.  This is so much harder than that very first phone call that has brought him home.

“Inuyasha?”

She’s there, he can tell her face is pressed to the wood.  Her voice is soft, hesitant.  Perhaps she is just as nervous as him.

“Can I come in?”

He quakes as he reaches for the handle and turns it painfully slow.  He inches the panel open.  Finally, finally, he opens it all the way and turns to face her.

Her face is a portrait of concern and tenderness.  Her grey eyes are intense as they’ve always been and are already filling with tears. Her arms are wrapped around herself as if she’s blocking a gale.

He steps aside to let her in and shuts the door behind her.

She stares at the floor and he focuses on a spot on the wall above her head for a few moments.  He is completely stunned when she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and clutching as hard as she can. As he wraps his arms around her shoulders, she sobs fiercely and he feels tears prick the back of his own eyes.

He cups the back of her head, gently stroking her hair, and whispers repeatedly, “I’m sorry.”

It feels as if hours have passed when Kagome’s tears finally subside.  His body protests when she begins to pull away, but she clasps his hand and pulls him to sit on his bed.  She pulls a tissue out of her jeans pocket and wipes her face.

“Sango tells me you’ve been working,” her voice is pinched from crying, but he admires her attempts at normal conversation.

“Yeah, it’s going well.”

“Good,”

She smiles then and he thinks it’s the best thing he’s seen in years.  Her eyes are red and swollen, and her cheeks are ruddy, but her smile can still light up a room and he’s glad that it’s his.

“I … really am glad that you’re home.”

“Me too,”

“I’ve missed you a lot,

“Me too,” He feels like a goddamn broken record, but he may combust if he attempts more words.

“And … I’d like it if we could start hanging out again.”

He gapes at her, slack-jawed and eyes wide.  While he has been hoping for this, it is still a surprise to hear it straight from her lips.  His mind races with all the things he wants to say and his heart is lodged in his throat.

“That is … if you’d want to,”

He realizes that he’s taken too long to respond and she’s beginning to backtrack.  In a lot of ways, they are still the same people they were; confident in so many circumstances and yet, with each other, eternally hesitant and nervous.

“Of course I want to,”

The words rush out of his mouth in an effort to reassure her.  

“I would love to spend time with you.  I just wasn’t sure … if you’d …” he’s stumbling and feels like a fool, but he needs her to know.  He needs her to understand just how much he wants to be back in her life.

She smiles again and his world warms once more.

“I guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer.”

It takes him a moment to remember that their friends are downstairs with dinner and they stand together. He realizes as they descend the stairs that she has not let go of his hand at all.  Her diamond ring is notably absent from her finger, but he leaves that question for another time.

Dinner is a simple affair and it’s the lightest he’s felt in years.

- - - - -

If there’s anything his life has taught him, it’s that happiness is temporary.  Six months of being home, six months of stability, and three months of having Kagome back in his life on a regular basis have made him happy.  It’s a feeling he didn’t think was possible, didn’t think he was worthy of.  After all, when life has ceaselessly handed him cruel lessons, why would happiness even be an option? So when it all comes crashing down as he’s out running errands with Miroku, it doesn’t surprise him, but it still hurts like a motherfucker.

“It’s you.”

The words are scathing and resentful.  He dreadfully lifts his gaze to meet the eyes of the person who seems to offended by his mere existence.  She’s a petite woman with short black hair, but the animosity in her eyes belies her diminutive stature.

“How dare you?” Her tone is soft but punitive.  “How dare you insert your filthy little hands back into Kagome’s life.  She was finally moving on.  She was happy.  She was going to marry Akitoki, he would have taken care of her.  He was good for her.  But you couldn’t stay away.  She broke off her engagement because of you.  You’re taking advantage of her heart.  She’s let go of her chance at happiness, and for what? To take care of you? A worthless little nobody who can’t wait for his next fix?”

The woman is viciously relentless.  Her diatribe is unforgiving, slicing him to the very bone.

He is completely frozen. He wants to yell back at her, tell her that he’s quite aware of how he is undeserving of Kagome’s compassion and forgiveness.  He knows that he’s been the cause of her pain and tears.  He knows he’s gotten more second chances than he deserves.  He knows her life was easier without him.  He knows Kagome is better than him.  He knows.  Oh, he knows.

He vaguely registers that Miroku has taken a step between them and is reprimanding the woman.  Eri, he remembers.  She’d been a friend of Kagome’s through school and had been more than vocal of her disapproval of him even then.

Eri quickly turns her malice toward Miroku.

“You’re no friend of Kagome, letting this fuck-up back into her life.”

“That’s enough.  I won’t allow you to continue vilifying Inuyasha.  And Kagome is fully capable of deciding for herself who she associates with.”

Miroku’s tone is level, but Inuyasha can tell he is running out of patience.  Miroku grips his elbow and guides him away from the venomous witch, but not before she can get a final word in.

“You should have stayed dead.”

He flinches then, her phrase echoing endlessly through his mind, settling into his gut and clawing at him from the inside.

Somehow Miroku gets them home, everything is a blur with that bitch’s voice reverberating in his skull. He hears Miroku’s voice, but he cannot focus on the words.  All he understands is hatred and disgust.  Everything he has worked for is worthless.  Is this the way it’s always going to be?

She finds him on the back porch, sitting on the stairs, staring blankly toward the sunset.  She sits beside him on the step and sighs. Her voice is weary.

“Miroku told me everything. I’m sorry that happened.”

“She wasn’t wrong.”

“What?” Her shock is more than evident.  She clutches his forearm with both hands and he can sense her tears beginning to form, “How can you say that?”

He doesn’t dare look at her, he knows it’ll ruin his resolve.  As low as he feels, he feels a ripple of anger brewing in his gut.  Eri’s words have been festering in his brain, allowing an old and familiar voice to break through.  He’s a half-breed, accepted but unlovable.  He’s stupid and useless, completely unworthy of happiness. He’s committed too many wrongs to ever deserve redemption.  It’s been a long time, but the feeling inside is one he’ll never forget.  He’s craving a high to numb this pain, this goddamn fucking anger.

“If you want that perfect life, you should take it.  I don’t want your fucking pity party.  I know you look down on me.  Poor Inuyasha and his asshole attitude.  The only time he’s bearable is when he’s high as a damn kite and that’s only because he doesn’t know up from fucking down.  Of course, the downside is that he might stop breathing.” He scoffs harshly, “Or, is that the upside?”

He knows his voice is bitter and that he’s gotten louder.  It’s echoing the one Eri used earlier.  He’s shaking from the anger, or is it something else?  This scene feels all too familiar, almost like déjà vu; but somehow, it’s different now.

“Inuyasha.  Stop.”

She’s pleading with him, her grip on his arm has gotten tighter.  He knows she’s weeping openly; he can scent her tears and hear the stutter in her breath.  It’s all too familiar.  After all, this is what he’s good at: making her cry.

“Doesn’t fucking matter I’ve been clean three years.  That’s all anyone will see, a fucking deadbeat addict.  You’d be better off with that doctor.  He can take care of you, pamper you.  He’ll be enough.  He’ll deserve you.  That’s not me.  That’ll never be me.  All I’ll ever be is a fuck-up.”

“Don’t.”

She whimpers and lets her grip loosen.  He’s sure she’s going to walk away, get back in her car and leave.  He keeps his stare steady on the sun that has almost completely slipped beyond the horizon.  There’s a war waging inside of him – his angels and demons come out to play.  Not for the first time, he bitterly wonders if this continued sobriety is worth it.  She’s going to leave, just as she should.

When her hand comes up and gently cups his cheek, he is completely undone.  She tenderly moves his face, but he keeps his gaze downcast.  Her hand is soft and warm to the touch as her thumb swipes away his tears.  Of course she’s staying.  Her bleeding heart won’t let her leave.  He cries for her, her lost opportunities, her damn sympathetic selflessness.  But she surprises him again in what she utters; and in her words, he finds hope.

“You have always been enough for me.  I have always seen you.  The you who loves me and would do anything to protect me.  The you who acts tough because you’re scared of rejection.  The you who wishes you could change the past. The you who is more determined and smarter than you realize.  The you who has worked hard to conquer those shitty demons inside.  That’s who I see.”

She sighs and he feels her whole body tremble.

“Every time you used, I was terrified.  I was so scared that you wouldn’t wake up one day, that you’d stop breathing, that your heart would fail.  That I would lose you.  It made me angry, it’s why I pushed you so hard.  I wanted you to get sober for me.”

He meets her eyes then, their pretty grey glimmers in what’s left of the sunlight through the sheen of her tears.  In them he finds no pity, only benevolence.  Everything she has said, he has heard her say before.  He’s read it before.  But this is why it isn’t a complete déjà vu, it’s different.  It’s different because they are different.  They have grown and she confirms it with her next statement.

“It was selfish.  I wanted you to get sober, but you needed to do it for yourself.”

He reaches up to grasp her wrist, lightly squeezing in lieu of all the words he wants to say.

She lets the corners of her mouth turn upwards ever so slightly.

“And you did.  You succeeded.  I don’t know what you’ve been through these last few years, and maybe I’ll never know, but what I do know is that you came home.  You did what you had to and came back to me, and I am prouder of you than you can ever imagine.”

She presses her lips to his forehead and gathers him in her arms.  He allows himself to take comfort in her embrace because comfort is not happiness and is not so easily taken away.

He goes back to her apartment with her that night.  Their apartment.  It looks the same as the day he left.  He is simultaneously comforted and haunted by the familiarity.  This place that they made home together.  Where they laughed and fought.  Where he wasted his nights and she cared for him.  This is where he had joy and lost it.  This is where he left her.

She putters around the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea.  As she pulls two mugs from the cabinet, he realizes that they’re the matching set they painted for each other on a date some lifetime ago.  She sees the recognition in his stare and begins to speak.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I kept everything the same.” She smiles timidly and her eyes are filled with earnest, “Everyone thought it was unhealthy, but it kept me sane.  They tried to convince me to move out of here, and I was adamant that I wouldn’t – couldn’t.  Because if you came home and found I wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself.”

She busies herself again, pulling out a tin of teabags and a sleeve of arrowroot cookies.

“And then as time went on and I started fearing the worst, I needed to hang onto my memories of you, of us.  So, everything stayed the same.  Even though I was moving forward with school and … eventually, Akitoki,” She glances downward, sheepish.  “Home was my constant.  It was me. It was you.  It was us.  It is us.”

He steps toward her. He has so many questions and a spark of hope is igniting in his veins.

“Why?”

The word hangs between them and he tries in vain to push that hope down, down, down.  It is such a simple word, and yet holds so much impact.

She lifts her eyes to meet his, grey colliding with amber, understanding pouring through.

“We met when I started my residency. He was a third-year.  At first, I didn’t pay him any mind, but he kept persisting.  Eventually I figured meeting for coffee wouldn’t hurt.” She pauses, reaching for his hand.  “You have to understand that you’d been gone for almost two years.  I was lonely.  And … and he was safe.”

She scoffs, grips his hand tighter, and leans fully on the counter.  

“He was a proper gentleman. Waited a month before he kissed me the first time, even asked permission before he did.  It was another month after that before we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend.  It was a bit of a surprise when he proposed on our anniversary.  Obviously, I said yes – you saw the ring.  Except, it felt wrong.  It was all wrong.  We hadn’t even talked about the future or even moving in together, hadn’t done more than kiss.  But I guess that’s part of propriety.  And yet, I said yes because it was safe, that stupid word.”

His mind is racing.  Safe is not a word he has ever been associated with. What does it even mean? He searches her face for a clue, and anxiously waits for her to continue.  This is a conversation they have not deigned to have yet in the three months since they’ve been friends again.  The kettle is boiling rapidly now, but he knows that it’ll automatically shut off.

“Then five months later, you called me and this feeling I hadn’t felt in so long came rushing back. You were alive.  It was like the clouds were finally parting after a heavy rain.  I didn’t know what to expect when I came to pick you up, and this tiny part of me told me not to go, but it was right.  I felt right again, but I was scared.  So I stayed away.  Then I heard from Sango and Miroku that you were working and doing well and I was missing out on that.  I broke off the engagement.  As much as he was sweet and safe … he wasn’t you.”

Tears are welling in her eyes and he feels his are getting misty as well.  He steps and pulls all in one motion, wrapping his arms around her tightly. His heart is pounding out of his chest and that spark of hope is now a flame.  

She draws in a haggard breath and mumbles against his chest.

He tilts his head down to look at her, silently pleading for her to repeat what she’s just said.  His ears picked up her message, but he needs to know for sure.

She tips her chin upwards and shyly brushes her lips against his and repeats herself a little more loudly, “I love you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Her eyes darken and she presses a kiss to his jaw.

“Because you’re you. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away.”

He whimpers, “Kagome,”

She kisses him fully then, grasping his face to ensure he can’t pull away, not that he wants to.  His heart is exploding.  She has always been able to read him, know what he’s thinking. And she has always known what he needs most.  This kiss is full of promises, assurances.  This is real.

“You are important. You are loved.  You are worthy of it all.”

She guides him to her bedroom.  Their bedroom.  He sits on the edge of the bed in disbelief that he is back in this room.  He can hardly believe that this woman is standing before him with love in her eyes.  This amazing, beautiful, strong, resilient woman who is holding the door to happiness wide open.  He only has to cross the threshold.  He falters. Happiness is dangerous.  Happiness is temporary.  But she is here and he trusts her implicitly.  With her, happiness is feasible.

With one look into her deep stormy eyes, he makes a choice.

“Kagome.”

Her name.  The only word he seems capable of uttering.  In her name he promises to try.  Promises to treat her well, make up for the pain he has caused her.  Promises to try and see himself through her eyes.  Promises to be kinder to himself.  Promises to help build their life together back up.  He knows with her, they will succeed.

She caresses his face and drops her lips to meet his once again, resting her knees on either side of him. He clutches her waist and revels in the familiarity of her body pressed against his.  Their motions are slow, meticulous, not dictated by hormones and lust.  And they fall into a routine, a dance that hasn’t been done in years and yet they fall back into with practiced ease.

With every kiss she presses hotly into his skin, she whispers continuous affirmation.  

You are enough.

You are worthy.

You are mine.

I love you.

He finds words still impossible to formulate and voice, so he allows his actions to speak for him. Each caress, each kiss, each touch is full of reverence and adoration.  When he finally sinks into her and they become one, he truly feels like he is home.  And all of his feelings of unworthiness and self-loathing begin to ebb, for it is the love of this woman and her unwavering belief in him that he can begin to heal.

As they settle into each other, heavy with the lure of sleep, he whispers in her ear, “I love you.”

She nestles into him closer and kisses his wrist.

For the first time, in a very long time, he feels worthy.  

FINAL NOTES:

I wanted to mention some things as a bit of a debrief to this story, if you will. This is a story that is very personal for me and is quite heavy. Hopefully the ending was enough of a pleasant one to offset the weight a bit.

The way I designed this story, Inuyasha and Kagome are separated during the toughest part of his recovery. The decision to stay with or leave a partner with addiction is a difficult one and can be different for everyone, especially because addiction is so highly stigmatized. A lot of the time the person struggling already carries guilt. Addiction so very often stems from trauma, depression, and/or other forms of mental illness and these need to be addressed first.

Regardless of whether you stay or go, it is important to set boundaries for yourself. Addiction is often labeled as a third-party to relationships because it attempts to wear down the people involved and whittle them down to their weakest and worst. If you are supporting someone through addiction and an active part of their recovery, it is vital to remember self-care and recognize when you need to say no and that it is okay to do so. It is NOT your responsibility to "cure" them.

If you are somebody who cares for someone struggling with addiction, I am happy to share resources that I have found helpful if you would like to reach out.

On another note, I do have ideas about where and what Inuyasha was up to during his three-year absence. It would probably contain heavier content than this piece, but also be a bit more fantastical. If the inspiration hits or if there’s interest, I’ll probably try and write it. Anyway, comments and likes are love. Thank you so much for reading my return to fan fiction!

#inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fic #omg i'm writing again #inukag #tw: drugs #tw: addiction #angst #angst with a happy ending #angst with a hopeful ending #tw: low self esteem #tw: depressive thoughts #rated m