#something about the way these are framed. the intense violent romance of it all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

conspire | 1 | scheme

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Shouto Todoroki was standing outside your workroom.

This was unusual, as in the three years you’d both been attending UA, Todoroki had hardly been spotted anywhere near the support course rooms. Class H was typically avoided by anyone who didn’t want your classmate Mei to catch wind of them -- and very few hero course students had proved willing to do so, once they’d encountered her the first time.

Todoroki was one of the smart ones.

He looked incredibly out of place and yet almost comically festive in the doorway of the studio, his red and white mop of hair matching the horrible red and white heart banner someone had tacked above the entry for Valentine’s Day. He stopped midway through the door, eyes flicking over the other offensively bright decor, including several violently pink heart balloons and heinous red streamers that hung from the ceiling like sausages curing in a deli.

A ripple of interest went through the female segment of your classmates at his arrival, and despite yourself, you perked up too.

You didn’t know much about him, but Shouto Todoroki had the most interesting quirk you had ever worked with. You’d been paired for a project earlier this year where you’d helped develop an adjustment to his temperature jacket that used pattern recognition to help it anticipate changes in his quirk, in order to begin applying temperature controls sometimes even before he’d made the switch from hot to cold or vice versa.

You hadn’t spoken much on topics outside the project, but on the subject of your work, Todoroki had proved himself smart as a whip, asking insightful and probing questions, and making sensible suggestions based on what he learned from you. He’d been so keen on your ideas and so shockingly easy to work with that you’d lamented the project’s end.

It had only lasted two weeks, unfortunately, wrapping up before you’d had the chance to really delve into his personality or the actual science behind his quirk, and you’d been dying for the opportunity to pair up again and really study him since.

Less importantly, Shouto Todoroki was also inarguably the most handsome boy in your year, maybe even at all of UA. He was tall, strapped with lean muscle, and equipped with a facial symmetry that was almost more deadly than his quirk. Even his scar did nothing to deter from his good looks, only adding a roughed up, roguish charm to his otherwise pretty features. The first few days of your project, you’d had to pinch yourself on the leg more than a few times in order to reroute your brain from his face to the actual jacket.

You’d since put effort into ignoring his appearance, but you couldn’t really help that your eyes were pulled to him like a magnet whenever he stepped into a room.

Like now.

Todoroki’s own grey and blue eyes scanned over the faces of your classmates, stopping when they landed on you.

“Y/N,” he said in greeting, and you raised a bewildered hand. Several nearby girls shot you betrayed looks, like you’d been keeping an association with him secret. You’d have shot yourself something of a questioning look, too, if you could have. What reason would Shouto Todoroki have to seek you out outside of class? It had been almost a month since the project together. What might he want with you now?

“Hi, Todoroki,” you said, wondering if you’d awoken in some parallel dimension where he thought you were friends. “Uh, what brings you here?”

“I have a personal request,” he said in his low, soft tone, stepping into the room and making his way over to your worktable. He’d shed the grey blazer of the school uniform for the crisp white dress shirt and tie, and he looked unbearably good. As he drew closer, you could see the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt.

You self-consciously pushed around the messy wires and metal framing on your worktop, trying to clear space.

A personal request. Had he come for some kind of support item? Your mind suddenly ran with possibilities, and a thrill went through you at the potential to study half hot half cold in earnest. This was the kind of extracurricular project you’d been dreaming of, maybe even something that you could scope out and build as your submission for your senior project next month!

“Sure,” you said, gesturing to the other stool at your worktop and rifling around in your bag for a pen and paper. You’d probably need to take notes.

Todoroki stared at you. “Ah, not that kind of a request,” he said, eyeing your pen and paper.

Your cheer dropped. Oh.

“I had hoped to ask you in private, actually,” he said, something like discomfort flashing across his handsome features. He looked almost nervous, and you wondered wildly what kind of support request would make one of UA’s big three this awkward. Was he having a problem with his quirk that he didn’t want to cop to?

“Okay,” you said, looking up at him, “lead the way.”

A cool hand came up to grasp your wrist, tugging you out of your chair. Your face burned at the casual touch, and you felt the curious eyes of your classmates on you as you were led from the room.

Todoroki steered you through the hall and around the corner to a small alcove out of the way of student traffic. The alcove had clearly had the same treatment as your workrooms, festooned with a banner boasting a bizarre pattern of tiny All Might silhouettes interspersed with hearts. Your eyes felt like they might catch fire if you looked at it for too long.

“How have you been since the project?” you asked Todoroki, in the interest of being companionable. “Is everything on your vest still working well?”

A smile touched the corner of his mouth as he turned to face you. “It’s incredible. It still surprises me that it can predict what I’m going to do before I even think to do it.”

You flushed at the praise. “I’m glad. It was really cool work on. Your quirk is awesome - normally there are only so many variables with pattern prediction like that but the two sides of your quirk increased the possibilities exponentially, so the algorithm was hard to code. I had to get a little extra help from an actual computer scientist,” you admitted, before slapping a hand over your mouth, realizing you were rambling.

His smile widened and your traitorous eyes caught on his mouth. “You sound exactly as you did the last time we talked.”

You winced. “Yeah, sorry.”

His eyes widened and the hand on your wrist tightened. “No, I didn’t mean--it’s nice,” he said. His fingers seemed to grow the tiniest bit colder where he held you. “I would have liked to have worked with you longer.”

You tamped down on another blush, looking away. “Yeah. It’s too bad.”

Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall, and Himari Honda came wheeling around the corner.

Himari was another student you’d been paired with for a project at one time, and she hadn’t worked nearly as well with you as Todoroki had. A general course student with a quirk that let her track anyone within up to a mile of her person, Himari’s goal after graduation was to become an actress, with a particular focus on playing the love interest of powerful hero characters. She was certainly pretty enough, with large eyes, high cheekbones, and shiny pink hair that she wore in a long plait down her back, but that’s where her appeal ended. She wasn’t horrible, but she was a little too self-interested and it had certainly shown in how she’d handled your pair project.

Himari smiled winningly at Todoroki, and it became clear to you that she’d tracked him with her quirk. You knew instantly why she’d come to find him, today of all days.

“Hi, Shouto,” she purred. His fingers tightened where he still held your wrist.

“Hello,” he said politely.

You stifled a laugh at the carefully blank look he’d suddenly adopted. You guessed he’d been fending off advances of this type all day -- you’d caught sight of his shoe cubby when you’d changed into your own uniform shoes this morning, absolutely bursting with chocolate and brightly-colored valentine's notes. He was too handsome for his own good, it appeared. Still, it was interesting that Todoroki seemed not the slightest bit interested in what someone who looked like Himari had to say.

“Maybe I should go,” you said, tugging your wrist back, but Todoroki gripped you tighter.

“I still need to talk to you,” he said. He fixed you with an intense look like he could pin you in place with his gaze.

Himari seemed to ignore you. “Shouto, I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

“I’m a little occupied at the minute,” he said, gesturing to you. You gave a little wave.

Himari shot you a betrayed look like you’d beaten her to the punch, then puffed up like she was drawing up her courage. “Don’t accept her confession! Accept mine! I like you -- please go out with me!”

Your jaw dropped. You’d definitely not been in the middle of asking Todoroki out, but damn it took balls to cut another woman off like that. You couldn’t tell if you respected her or hated her for her shamelessness.

Todoroki shifted uncomfortably next to you. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t accept your feelings. You see, I was just about to ask Y/N out.”

Your mind went blank.

He what now? Is that why he’d brought you to this alcove to speak to you in private? Is that why he’d been so nervous back in the support studio, asking to talk to you alone? Shouto Todoroki had wanted to ask you out?

You wondered at that. You couldn’t understand why, when he could have his pick of any girl at UA. You were fine, sure -- reasonably smart with good grades and a neat appearance, but you weren’t anywhere near his level of mind-numbing attractiveness. More than that, you didn’t even have a quirk, and it was impossible that someone who wielded a power like half hot half cold was going to wade that far into the bleak depths of the dating pool. He had plenty of other options, so why come to you...?

Then, like a slow sunrise, it dawned on you what he was actually up to.

Todoroki was trying to get rid of all the confessions in one fell swoop. If Himari went back to her classmates and told everyone what had happened, rumors would spread very quickly that Shouto Todoroki was a dead-end bet. No one would try to ask him out anymore if his heart purportedly belonged to another.

That sneaky little fuck.

“Right,” you said, perking up and playing along gamely. “And I was just about to accept,” you announced to Himari.

Todoroki threw you a wild look like he hadn’t expected you to take this track. Shit, had you been supposed to reject him instead? You could, you supposed, but what hot-blooded woman in possession of sound mind and sound body would possibly do so? Did he also want to start the rumor that you were a complete nutjob?

“Um, I mean, I was about to respond privately,” you backpedaled. “Uh, nothing confirmed at this point.”

Himari gave you a furious look, her large eyes filling with tears, and turned on her heel, storming off. Your heart went out to her, just a little.

“You’d really accept?” Todoroki asked you as soon as she’d gone. Something unreadable glinted in his two-toned gaze.

You thought for a moment. Did he actually want to do this? It was barely a couple months until graduation, but you had nothing to lose in helping him. Maybe this was also your opportunity to study his quirk more closely, if you were going to be spending more time together to keep up appearances. You might actually be able to use him for your senior project.

“Sure,” you said, smiling up at him. “If you wanted this, I mean.”

A smile curved the edges of his mouth. “I did, yes.”

“Great,” you said, “Then you’re officially my boyfriend, Todoroki.”

His smile widened. “It’s Shouto.”

You looked at him in question.

“My name, it’s Shouto,” he said. “I’d like it if you would call me that.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest. This was all pretend but damn it was cute anyway. “Shouto,” you tested it out, liking the sound of it in your mouth.

Shouto seemed to like it too, unwinding his fingers from your wrist to slip his hand into yours. The cool of his fingers between yours was soothing, and you quite liked the way it felt.

“Are you free Saturday, then, for a first date?” he asked.

He did nothing by halves, huh? You laughed. “Yes, I’m free. Text me the time and place?”

He agreed and you traded phones, plugging in each other’s numbers. Then he walked you back to your workroom and left you with promises to see you Saturday, after sending you a characteristically straightforward this is shouto text to confirm.

You smiled as you watched him leave, pleased to be in on his little scheme.

You’d never fake dated anyone before so you didn’t really know what you were getting into, but you thought this could be fun. You were looking forward to whatever Shouto had up his sleeve.

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto

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shini--chan · 3 years

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Hiii, How would the 2p FACE family react to a stuck up reader? One that is about as stubborn as a mule and will snap at them for getting too close?

I would imagine it like this:

Yandere 2p! Hetalia America

Allen looked at you, completely forlorn in his affections for you. Just why did you have to be so stubborn, batting away his affections at every opportunity and give him the cold shoulder? He guessed that it simply added to your appeal. The unobtainable simply made the vying more intense.

Filled with yearning he approached you, where you were sitting on the coach. It was so unfair how you acted, playing all coy as is you were some nymph, the mere movements of you turning the pages being to elegant for him to look away. You had him completely enticed, so it was an injustice that you acted as if there were worlds between the two of you.

“Hey, sugar”, he greeted you, hoping for his desperation to leak through and simultaneously loathing betraying such weakness to you, “How are ya doing?”

It was a simple question, one with all the good intentions of the world, yet you only deigned to give him your usual response. A huff and you turned away from him, nose in the air. “I was fine until you showed up”, you sneered. Why did your words always have to hurt to damn much?

To Allen, this would be a nightmare, the sort of hell that would make him curse his own foolish heart. On a part, he wouldn’t completely understand how he’d become obsessed with you in the first place. The two of you would be opposites, and not in the good way because it would result in a lot of rage, fear, and undiscussed feelings. Allen would be expressive while you would cage all your feelings, at least, in front of him. In fights, he would get hot-headed and rage while you would be the standoffish ice queen. He would just want to unwind around you while you would have a stick up your rear and always have a few verbal taunts at hand.

On the flip side, having his obsession in no way requitted would pour oil into his fire – it would just serve to amplify his determination to make you submit to your own hidden feelings for him, something that he would tell you on more than one occasion. May the powers that be save this man, for he has watched far too many Hollywood romances.

Canada

“How about you let me in? I won’t hurt you?”, he tried to reason with you. Tried was a good word for it, considering his poor social skills and the tendency to stick his foot in his mouth the few times he did venture amongst ordinary mortals. You have the stubbornness of a scrawny old ass was no antidote to it.

“How about no?”

Cursing under his breath, he leaned against the door frame and pinched the bridge of his nose. Just why did you have to act like conceding to doing the smallest of favours, especially when he was appealing to reason, was like giving him victory.

“Just let me see the cut! Do you really want it ta get infected?”, he growled.

“Go away! I’m doing this on my own”, you yelled back, each word a whip of sand grating at his patience. It was nearly at an end as well. “(Y/n), don’t make me kick down the door.

Canada would be rather frustrated to deal with a person like you. Sure, he himself is a reserved man, that likes to keep his cards close to his chest and sit back and observe before he makes his move. But being in obsession, he would want to be open around you, expose the vulnerable and hidden parts of his personality. You being bull-headed and refusing to head in that direction with him would hinder him on that.

His frustration would then echo in his treatment of you – he would become completely stingy, acting out his emotions in violent outbursts as he would struggle to gain control over himself and the situation at hand. That would cause your cold demeanour to remain and your loathing for him to intensify which lead to a spiral.

England

Oliver was being insistent again and you didn’t like it one bit.

“Come on, love. Just one kiss. It won’t hurt; that is if you comply”, he sniggered as he wrapped his arms around your waist, lithe fingers digging into your side and trapping your arms to your sides. When he leaned up to plant a firm kiss on your lips, you turned away and sneered icily:

“It will hurt you more if you tried to.”

He growled into your shoulder, his nerves raw from distanced behaviour that had already lasted for over a month. In the beginning, he had told himself that after going a few weeks without any human contact aside from him that you would finally cave and accept his affection. Your defiance kept proving him wrong.

“You aren’t in the position to make threats”, he chastised you, and quick as a praying mantis he launched himself forward and smacked his lips against your cheek, to which your face twisted in disgust.

Out of all on this list, England would have the most extreme reaction. Oliver needs a lot of touch from the person he is fixated on, bodily contact grounds him. When he doesn’t get that, he would start to become aggressive. He is actually like a cat in that regard – he wants affection, just affection without all the constraints a mutual relationship with compromises carries.

He try to coerce you into giving affection to him, him rationalizing that if you get used to giving affection to him, then you’d one day grant him that willingly and even like it. For that, he would lock you up in a cupboard for days without any light and just minimal food and water. Else, if you would want something from him, then you would have to give him something in return – a kiss, a hug, or a cuddle session. Nothing sexual, not yet.

France

In truth, François would find your distant attitude very romantic and put you up on a pedestal for it. For him, he would either have a lover that would act as his anti-depressant or as some unachievable person that he could pine after. The distance would be an important factor for him, it would make you angelic in his eyes.

He would almost act like he is a knight in medieval times and you his courtly love – not somebody to marry, rather somebody to dedicate his life to, to fight battles in your honour and move mountains just for the smallest symbol of your favour.

That doesn’t mean that kidnapping if off the charts – he would do that if he thought that you were just endangered without him, unable to defend yourself from all the dangers of the outside world. Your continuous rejection would be a bitter pill for him to swallow, yet he would find comfort himself with the fact that he would have committed crimes with your best interest at heart.

#yandere 2p america #yandere 2p hetalia #yandere 2p england #yandere hetalia #yandere 2p canada #yandere 2p france #x reader #yandere x reader

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foilfreak · 3 years

Text

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

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Keep You Alive

Summary: An arranged marriage could be the end of the world for a queen whose heart is not her own anymore. It’s when Griffin has to make sure it won’t be the end of her life, that fear truly sets in in the place of trust long gone. Bringing back something dead will be a feat – magic or no magic. And the strongest magic in existence is against her. AU.

This has sat unedited for a long time and now that I felt the Griffin and Valtor feels returning, I finally broke it out of its little prison. What can I say? I'm a sucker for arranged marriages.

CW for some violent descriptions, mentions of blood and murder and sexual content.

Griffin's heartbeat punctuated each of her steps into the cold stone of her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. At least for the night. In the morning things would be different.

Her palm was clammy in Valtor's warm grip that never faltered despite the discomfort that had to bleed through to his end as well. He'd barely let her out of his reach all evening, and not once out of his sight. If he'd chosen to share her life and she'd agreed for her own sake and not that of her kingdom, it would've moved her, would've sent flutters through her heart. She wasn't above romance. It was above and beyond her.

Now the treacherous organ had leapt in her throat beating as if the tremble in her vocal cords wasn't straining her composure and self-control. The door closed behind them – her guards sealed outside to leave only silence in which her pulse pounded against her ears. And his. The quiet couldn't hide her like the celebration had.

Her wedding had been one of great splendor, talked about in the whole of the Magic Dimension. A feast of bread and wine from the rich wheat and grapevines her land bore. Silk and jewels from Valtor's mothers. No parental blessing or a hand to lead her down the isle where he'd waited like death coming to claim her at the end of the line. She should have taken another path but there'd only ever been the one for a queen with the naive heart of a free woman.

Valtor had unveiled the world in front of her only to capture her eyes in the frozen cage of his. He'd whispered a compliment of her beauty on the tail end of his loudly proclaimed vows of emptiness. He'd kissed her hand countless times with his burning lips and her mouth only once. But once had been more than enough to stain like the pouring wine. Spilling red. Dripping blood. The words were spiraling in her mind like the rusty railings of the winded staircase she was tumbling down. Right to where her own bed awaited like a tomb for the coffin of his embrace.

His arms were around her and pressing the smooth fabric of the dress into her skin. Like an ice block sticking to her flesh to rip it off upon removal. She'd bleed to death but her foolish heart only pumped her veins fuller of red too dark to be a precious stone. She could almost smell the smoke rising from the ashes in her lungs where his breath lingered. But fear was good. Fear made you alert and sharpened your senses. Fear kept you alive. And that was her one goal tonight – survive her own wedding night.

Valtor's deft fingers found the laces of her bodice to differentiate from the stillness of his hand back when hers had rested in it. He'd been... not inept–as much as she wanted to call him that, she couldn't afford delusions–but stilted, as if the life had drained from him. And now he'd drain hers instead of working for the creation of a new heir for her kingdom. There'd be no more heirs if she didn't play her role right, no more autonomy... no more peace.

Her lips were swallowed in Valtor's kiss silently slithering over her senses like a starving snake. His fingers threaded in her hair to make the elaborate hairdo–designed to hold the crown on her head–give way like a broken dam with just a few strategical touches. The pull of his power was wringing tears from her soul as her hair spilled down her figure just like his breath flooded her lungs. He had more magic than her, his mothers more still – the only ones to still yield the craft in its full potency. She had to count on their arrogant use of it, on their lack of strategy to defeat them.

The taste of sweet wine and sugar from the buffet of pastries was bitter all the way into her throat with his tongue shoved in her mouth as if to block out her air. Their first kiss had been far less vindictive out there in public and she had to give him credit for his own acting if not anything else. He was at least putting decent effort into her assassination.

It was her own breath assaulting her ears once he let her have a gasp of oxygen. She was panting next to his barely quickened inhales, the puffs of cool air in a jarring contrast with his flushed cheeks. His adrenaline had to be rushing as high as hers. The only thing they had in common was the opposite ends of her murder they stood on.

"You're breathtaking," Valtor lied through his teeth, his facade impeccable with all the magic underneath filling potential cracks. All she had to fight him with was her own wit and skills.

She let a smile crawl on her face despite herself. If it were as breathtaking as he claimed, he'd drop dead from suffocation. And if not, it would be a horror show to haunt him for his crime against her. "Are you sure at least half of it isn't just the dress?" She wanted it gone as much as he did. At least then they could stop pretending this farce had anything to do with love or her happiness. It was all about politics. That was all her life was ever going to be. Funerals over politics.

"To be honest, I haven't even noticed the pattern." That would be hard to believe if not for his keen gaze keeping track of her mannerisms and words in search of telltale signs about her awareness of the truth. "I've been thinking of what's underneath," he sent her stomach lurching at the thought of what would come after the stardust of her wedding crumpled in her feet. After her death.

"Why don't you find out?" her voice tempted, no deception in play. "Or are you afraid?" Challenges were the way into his head. She'd figured as much while he'd been prying around into her heart. He hadn't had one for her to return the favor. "I didn't bite when you pulled off my veil." She hadn't had to. He'd bitten the bait as the wedding ceremony dictated.

"Did you expect me to be bolder?" Of course not. He was no fool despite his arrogance. "We were in public."

"You've been a perfect gentleman all evening." Except for plotting her murder. She was no fool either. "Why don't you drop the act?"

The lightness dropped from his face leaving serious features carved in ice. He'd be the most gorgeous statue she'd seen. Instead, he was the vilest being she'd encountered. A charming prince to her face and a murderous backstabber when she turned away.

His fingers reached under the fabric and she assisted the dress off of her body to spare herself his prints on her skin after the few times she'd let them leave his mark on her being. His gaze was more than unbearable, flaying her alive for him to wear her title as his own once her kingdom was annexed by his mothers' empire to be erased from history. No name would mark her downfall, nor that of her land. No grave would remember her existence. So she wouldn't remember his in her being, wouldn't let him leave traces of it on her body. Not again.

Valtor let her step out of the dress of her own volition–a last courtesy to himself as he devoured the sight of her nakedness after he'd taken her underwear along with the masquerade–before pushing her back on the bed with the roughness of an animal. Something sparked in his eyes that could have singed her with a surge of passion had she chosen him to bed her. Now it was just a dull pain in her lower stomach from the nerves knotting themselves there as she waited to be burned alive.

Instead of his magic it was his scorching skin on top of her pulling a squeak out when his weight pinned her down and her nipples brushed his chest. He was lying on her, naked in the second it'd taken him to climb over her despite the stumbling from the wine or other intoxication. His hot flesh roused goosebumps on her own as her stiff muscles writhed in confusion below.

The hum he stole from her with his kiss carried her unbridled surprise like a charge of magic. She was revealing herself, caught off guard by his naked frame. His cock was pressed into her hip, hard as a rock and bruising her with the pulse of arousal it sent through her despite the cause of it being her own blood in his mind's eye. And his hands grabbed her thighs pulling them apart to open her up to him and fill her with the impulse to give in. His hot mouth on her neck singed her alertness and his muscles pressed into her, crushing her resistance.

He reached between them and a whine tore from her lips. Enough to startle both of them with her genuine desperation and distract him to give her the time to catch herself. All thoughts of his cock emptied from her head. Only the memory of the liplock she'd had on him was left after the wave of his magic, tangible even to someone with much less of it.

She grabbed his wrist with a couple inches to spare between her throat and the razor sharp point of the dagger he'd conjured. "If you kill me, you'll be dead by the next full moon." Her eyes burned into him the same way his skin did under her hand as he drove the blade through the air between them. His strength ate away at hers while his magic scorched her fingers like he'd set them on fire.

The blade stabbed through the bed on her left piercing her ears with the wail the mattress gave. It was like a shriek of death and the cry of a newborn all at once. She was alive. She just had to keep it that way.

"I've poisoned you," she fired out before he could change his mind and slice her throat open anyway. She held his gaze as it flared, the intensity of it licking at her to consume her or melt her skin.

"Wine?" was all he asked as he sat on top of her, his arms trapping her between them like thick steel bars.

"No." That would have been too risky with so many people around. "It was my lipstick." He'd ingested the poison at the wedding ceremony. And she'd ingested it, too, from his tongue stuffing her mouth. "It's a slow poison. Designer. It's tied to the phases of the moon and I'm the only one who knows the antidote." She'd been tempted to use belladonna and be rid of him, watching him struggle as even Belladonna failed to help her son. Even her magic wouldn't be able to counteract extract from the plant. But Griffin didn't want the revenge of the three witches. She wanted them to leave her alone. "It needs to be taken every month. Otherwise, the newest tide of the poison will kill you. So if you want to live, we're stuck together," she had to sell this even without his charm at her disposal. Considering she wasn't entirely convinced of being his only option. He always had tricks up his sleeves. Could she count on him being naked when he'd pulled a dagger on her out of thin air? "No more weapons in my presence. And you can't go to your mothe-"

"I won't." The reply caught her off guard again unlike his mothers' departure in the late hours after the wedding reception. They'd distanced themselves as insurance in case something went wrong. They'd renounce Valtor's actions and have an alibi. He was on his own as well. Under their control.

"You understand that I find that hard to believe after your attempt on my life." She could still see the gleam of the blade – brighter than her eyes and colder than his. It was just her magic suppressing the shaking of her muscles that nearly left her wishing for the fire he hadn't used on her. Or for the heat of his body. His erection still burned against her skin.

"I wasn't going to kill you," Valtor's words had her teeth grinding together before she could swallow the load of crap he was trying to feed her in revenge for the poison.

"Were you planning on keeping a lock from my hair then?" She'd push him off of her but just the thought of any more of him touching her was too much. She couldn't stand the beauty of his appearance and the ugliness of her own attraction to him despite the knowledge in her head.

She'd known his behavior had been an exercise in decorum and his courteousness had been practiced. Yet she'd still fallen for his horrible attempts at jokes that had been too genuine to be anything but, for his sharp mind that couldn't have been an imitation just like the diamonds he'd given her, and the look in his eyes when the sparks had died to leave behind an emptiness begging to be filled. She'd sworn no one could fake that. He'd deceived her and she had to accept it. Sooner if she wanted to be alive for the later.

"I was going to use the dagger, yes," Valtor had her attention pinned to the bed with a knife as well, dissecting it with the emphasis in his voice, the frustration in it. As if she was the traitor between the two of them. "I was going to draw blood from the hollow of your throat to bind us together with magic."

"What?" The hollow of her throat? How was that an explanation? A justification of his actions? Was that supposed to make her feel better? She was a sacrificial lamb in a game of politics, nothing more. She wouldn't be able to look at a chess set ever again even if she got the opportunity, if she survived her wedding to him.

"My mother can read minds."

Lysslis. Then her plan would have been no more than a delay of the inevitable. If Valtor wanted it, she'd die after Lysslis read her mind for the antidote. She was fully dependent on him slicing into her neck like she was a woodcarving.

"I was going to bind us together by mixing our blood. That way when she tried to read one of our minds, she'd see nothing. As if the 'voice' has jumped into the other."

Vocal cords. Her throat. Griffin brushed her fingers over the delicate flesh. He would've given her a fighting chance against his monstrous family and she... She gasped. She'd poisoned him in return.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She'd poisoned him. Poison! She'd thought he was her murderer. She'd swallowed her heart about a thousand times that day alone, the broken pieces slicing through her insides every single one of them. If she'd leaked blood, she would've flooded the whole planet. If she'd let herself cry, she would've shriveled into nothing after the sorrow had spilled from her body. "Why didn't you tell me? You should have told me!"

"I couldn't risk it. I thought she might read your mind."

Her blood froze solid in her veins when she had to move. What good was being safe in the future if she'd betrayed the past to his mothers? She had to warn-

"She didn't deem it necessary," it was the disgust with which Valtor spat out the words rather than their meaning that left her shivering as the ice freed her. "Probably thought it was a waste of efforts since you were to die anyway. They were so secure in their victory. I couldn't risk putting you in more danger. Or myself." His hesitation clenched her heart with her own distrust mirrored in him. "It would've been harder to keep my plan from her if I'd let you in on it. Our interactions always linger on the surface of my mind."

She was flushing again, this time from the warmth of the confession accompanied by that of his skin against hers. She laid her hand on his chest covering his heart, no flinching from him to choke her. "Valtor-"

"I thought you trusted me enough." His gaze stabbed her with the icicles it shed right over her vulnerable flesh. "I would've explained. I wanted to make it as painless as possible and sex magic can be used to a great degree for relieving distress, both emotional and physical."

Oh. Well, she hadn't known that. She had the archives she'd inherited from her mother and knowledge she'd gathered with Ediltrude and Zarathustra and Faragonda and there was still much more. He knew more than her after studying under the only ones that still possessed primal magic. All she'd had in her mind had been the warning she'd gotten and the dagger he'd held above her ready to shatter her skull.

"You were terrified of me," Valtor cupped her cheek and the familiar tenderness had her shaking as the terror oozed from her pores to stick to her skin. So much for her collected facade. "I thought you were just nervous because of our wedding night but you thought I'd kill you? Did I fail that hard at conveying my feelings for you? I know I was being subtle but I was certain we were on the same page."

They had been. They had been and then that page had been torn out of her hands. Her eyes welled up with tears when Zara accidentally tore a hair while braiding her locks but she hadn't even been allowed to cry or scream at his assumed betrayal. She'd had to keep her agony inside where it'd charged at its prison and broken all of her bones.

"I had a source that informed me of the plans for my assassination. A source that I've known longer than you," and that was miraculously still safe thanks to both their unassuming power that was safe in Griffin's mind, "and when you never tried to hint something was wrong or warn me in any way... it sounded reasonable."

They'd said they'd wanted a peace treaty between the Ancestral Empire and the Council's Sovereigns and their allies. Then why pick her as a side in the marriage? She was barely on peaceful terms with the Council, only thanks to her connections and her refusal to bow before Belladonna and her sisters. She'd been the perfect victim to show both sides what happened to anyone who opposed the Empire. Killed. Her kingdom annexed. Her heritage erased like it'd never existed.

"You should have told me before pulling a dagger on me." Even if she hadn't asked before she'd poisoned him. She couldn't have afforded it but he could have explained once in the safety of her bedroom. He'd acted every bit as suspiciously as she'd expected him to.

"Griffin, I'm so sorry you had to go through this," Valtor pulled her into him and she inhaled him. Still, she couldn't nuzzle her head in the crook of his neck, couldn't even hold on. "But poison?" Valtor's wide eyes betrayed his worry. "I never realized your extensive herbal knowledge could be used to such a hostile advantage." The joke fell flat and his chuckle broke its spine with nothing to land on. "Please, tell me there is an antidote that will neutralize it for good."

Griffin nodded. Of course, there was. She wouldn't have put on her lips something that could kill her if she skipped her monthly maintenance. The whole point had been to remain alive. "It will take time to prepare, however."

"Then it will be our second order of business. We still need to bind our blood together." His fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger and his muscles met no resistance pulling it out of her poor mattress. She was the one swallowing at the screech the insides of her bed made as the blade slid through them on its way out.

"Do we have to do this right now? Can't it wait? At least until the morning?" Possibly never? The only thing she wanted was to curl up in a ball and sob her eyes out, every shuddering breath a reminder that she was still alive. Though, a knife to the throat was definitely preferable to Lysslis in her head. Or Belladonna's frost and Tharma's lightnings coursing through her veins.

Valtor studied her for a moment, the blade motionless in his hand yet it drew her cautiousness. Her gaze darted to it to return to Valtor just as quickly but the message was clear. "You still don't trust me." No question about it. It was a fact. To both of them now.

"I want to. I really do."

The softness of his hair between her fingers. The warmth of his laughter vibrating in her ears. The hardness of his erection pressed into her. She wanted to feel all of that without flinching every time he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek or slid it down her body to grab at her curves. But it wasn't up to her. They were alone in the bedroom but there was a whole kingdom that she carried on her shoulders. She couldn't stumble and shatter it. Not after she'd refused to bow and let it be taken.

She shook her head. "I know how this game is played." He'd been honest with her but not open. Even his reasons couldn't illuminate the shadows of doubt in her mind where the monsters hid from obliteration. She just couldn't close her eyes and turn their shine on the inside to free herself of the creeping suspicion. She didn't have that power.

"I am not playing a game. And neither are my mothers."

Valtor raised the dagger and Griffin pressed herself into the mattress even though she had nowhere to escape. A jolt shook her when Valtor pierced the headboard with it leaving the blade sticking out. Her headboard. As if ruining her mattress hadn't been enough.

"We don't have to do the spell at all if you're not comfortable with it. But once my mothers learn you're still alive, there will be retribution. Towards both of us. We have to be ready for anything. They knew I was fond of you and thought it a bonus test of my loyalty. It would be in our best interest to get this done as soon as possible." Valtor shuffled down, letting the world loom over her without his body on top of hers to shield her.

"Wait!" Griffin grabbed at him, relieved by the pause that followed even if the silence wound tight around them with nothing more she could say. Everything turned to ash on her dry tongue despite how hard her voice clawed at her parched throat.

"I can't watch you flinch away from me. It's the same as stabbing me with the dagger." His tired eyes skipped into the distance as if to find support of his words in the past. The realization gripped her throat worse than slicing it open would be. "If you can't trust me, then don't cure me from the poison. It will be torture to live when I've finally found someone I could love and then driven them away," he slapped her in the face without even moving. Maybe that was the key to the impact. He was as still as a statue. Cold, hard stone colliding with her fragile flesh.

"I wanted nothing more than to trust you but you never tell me the whole story," she sat up. If he viewed her as an opponent, then she'd be one. "First, it turned out you were their son, then, you showed me you had magic, and now all of this. I try to understand but every time I feel secure in our relationship and in knowing who you are and what I mean to you, you crack in half and there's a whole another person under the crumbling shell... and I need to start again."

"If I wanted you dead, I would've killed you already," Valtor's irises were bursting with flames. A sight very similar to Tharma when she got angry.

Griffin closed her eyes and pushed her frustration out through her clenched teeth. "And I can still kill you." Looking at him hurt with his insistence to follow up on her threat, every step they made leading them closer to that despite their unwillingness. "This is getting us nowhere." She had no strength for more. They had to put an end to all that.

She spun around and grabbed the dagger, pulling it from where he'd wedged it in her headboard. It took up the last of her energy and she was running only on resolve as she pointed the sharp tip towards him. Slowly she inched closer until the edge of the blade was pressed in his chest to no reaction from him. He stood there like he was made of stone but he wasn't. The heat of his skin was tangible on hers and his hot blood would spill if she applied gentle pressure.

"Well? Aren't you scared?" She was putting all her efforts into steadying her hand. One wrong movement would be fatal whether she cut through him or not.

"Afraid of what? Put this into context so I can be fully honest with you. Not leave anything out." He was pushing on purpose and she had to stab him just for that. He was lucky he was her weakness.

"Afraid of pain? Of humiliation?" She'd seen his ego. If it stood between them, he wouldn't see anything over it and if she poked it, he would never forgive her. No matter what he said about his feelings for her. His ego was his weakness and it could be exploited against both of them.

"What humiliation is there in being claimed by a woman?" Claimed? Did he think she was going to cut a brand into him? After he challenged her to kill him? "You are my queen and I vowed to be yours." She leaned forward, falling, the dagger nipping at his peck before she could brace herself against the bed. "I meant that, whether you believe it or not. And I am yours to kill, too."

"What about pain?" her voice trembled with the weakness she couldn't afford in her hand.

"Pain... Pain is a reminder. You can only feel it if you're alive. Breathing is pretty much a guarantee for pain but at least you know you are still in the game." Much too poetic for her. All she got from pain was pain. It was why she'd asked him to be careful with his words.

"What about pleasure?" she lowered her arm, the dagger still clasped between her fingers but now too heavy to hold in vain.

"Pleasure doesn't tell you anything. Not even if it's real or not. But it sure leaves you wishing it was." Valtor looked at her, his gaze clutching hers. "You want the truth? I did consider killing you with this dagger. I was afraid of what defying my mothers would mean. So I considered completing their order. Once again. Like every single time before but I couldn't use my magic. I would take the dagger and carve it into your heart until there was nothing left of it and all your blood was soaking my hands, my skin, all of me. Until your pain soaked all of me so I'd remember–always–that I was alive and you were not. That you'd been alive until I'd spilled all your pain and left you to die to save my own skin." Valtor paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "I can't watch you bleed, Griffin. But I will if it means you're safe. I will cut into your throat and hope the burning reminds you that you're still breathing. I know that's familiar to you, it's real. And you're the most real-"

The dagger clanked against the floor. Somewhere in the far end of the room. Somewhere they wouldn't have to look at it and he'd only be able to look at her.

The sound broke them loose from their respective traps and she lunged at him. Valtor met her halfway, opening his mouth for her tongue to claim him, this time truly. Not like those kisses before that they'd both poisoned. They didn't have to be each other's pain. Only each other's lives. No matter what had been carved on their beings by uncaring hands and pointy words.

Valtor laid her back down on the stabbed mattress. His care morphed smoothly into passion as his hands roamed her body squeezing at her curves and caressing her responsive flesh. She threaded her fingers in his long blond locks to hold his mouth where she could reach it and suck on his lips, trace her teeth over them and nip at his pain receptors.

His hand traveled down her body in lieu of his busy mouth and found its way between her legs to stroke her willing arousal to the surface of her being after the heavy conversation. It didn't take long for her nipples to perk up against the warmth of his chest. His fingers dived in her wetness after a couple pulls on her purple strands once he got the hint of her own tugs on his hair even if some of them had been just passion and not a hidden message.

One last reassurance sought–as if her frantic breathing was not enough confirmation of her craving–and Valtor filled her. Too slowly for the pleasure to explode inside her, her lungs only fully expanding once his whole length was inside her to breathe in their closeness, no fear tainting their joint existence. It was just the thrill of Valtor's touch that set her skin ablaze and sent her heart racing.

The chamber was filled with their shared sounds, a whole concert taking place in private and leaving no room for the stifling silence they'd entered to. The air around them was alive and vibrant with their movements–maybe even some magic–as she met the thrusts of his hips and he left hickeys wherever the hitches in her breath drew him like a map.

Her nails dragged over his back to leave her own traces and hold on as she pressed her cheek to his chest listening to the deep groans he spilled for her. It wasn't the pain that made him tremble like the strings of a harp under her fingers, nor was it fear. It was the mark of her presence that drove his voice inside her mind and if he could trust her pleasure, she could trust his pain, his blade in her throat.

She bit into his shoulder and held on like a bloodthirsty hound while the waves of orgasm shook her. If they took her away, she'd carry a piece of him with herself. His arms around her held her in place, though, held her whole and the confession of her pleasure tipped him over the edge of his own orgasm.

"Griffin," the strained grunt of her name against her ear was like a gunshot missing her body but still carving into her ribcage. Only, it didn't dig into her heart.

It cut it loose from all the strings it sliced itself onto every time it moved, shaken off her throne by the hands grabbing for her crown. She was safe in Valtor's lap, in his arms.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #arranged marriage au #2.0

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ae0nx · 3 years

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FRUITS BASKET S2 EPISODE 18 + short Ep 1-17 english dub recap

AND I'M BACK WITH THE MADNESS.

Took a bit of a break from the Fruits Basket recaps because life happened and I wanted to focus a bit more on my art career and my webcomic. But, I came to miss doing the recaps! So, I'm gonna try and finish season 2 and do some of the left over recaps now in time for when Season 3 drops!

I HAVE however been re-watching the older episodes of Fruits Basket Season 2 with the english dub this time and I have a few notes!:

A shoutout to the wording used in the Yuki 'confession' scene on the beach with Tohru. However, in the sub the confession came across a lot more like platonic love to me and in the dub the confession came across a lot more romantic. (Especially in the episode after where Yuki says he doesn't regret kissing Tohru lol)

Laura Bailey stays killing it as Tohru. All the little vocal inflections are so freakin cute and make her sound more human! But that also speaks to the editing as well which is great. The balance between a little naive and scared and yet strong and determined in her scene with Akito was... amazing.

(Also... all of Akito’s most violent and hurtful moments are when it’s dark... I dunno I just found that cool and interesting lol)

Jerry Jewell in EPISODE 9?!?! His scene with Akito always gets me regardless but Jerry Jewell's performance was heartbreaking! Ah, I could cry. (I did) The little shake he did while declaring he wasn't in love with Tohru because he can't say that shit actually truthfully? 😩 Also... is he intentionally making Kyo’s voice sound a little deeper? It definitely sounded like it in that episode with Kagura. I like!!

While I LOATHE Akito, Colleen Clinkenbeard is amazing, I've never heard her sound this sneakingly evil! And yet... it's slightly carefree too. Reminds me a lot of Shigure. As I said before, Akito and Shigure's english VAs pair up so nicely in audible form.

I love how flirty Hatori was in the English dub when it came to him and Mayu’s episode. It was a really lovely performance from Kent Williams :) I always read that scene of Hatori just being friendly when asking Mayu out to get something to eat but this was a whole other wonderful take!!! <3

I LOVE KIMI TODO’S ENGLISH VA’S PERFORMANCE OMG. THANK YOU, CHERAMAI LEIGH 🤣

Kakeru’s English VA continues to sound cuter and cuter... 😘 Whassup, Aaron Dimsuke? I kid, lol

I lovee the fact that Haru calls Yuki ‘fragile and kind’ (two typically feminine presenting descriptions) and Yuki took it as a compliment! I dunno about the description of fragile as many people could take that offensively, regardless of gender, but the way it’s explained here it’s almost like he’s describing him as precious?... Coulda went with that instead...

I like the decisions for the moments where Mikaela Krantz emphasises on Momiji’s put on German accent and when she tones it down and return to his natural voice

But anyways... lol, this episode was... a LOT. Not an easy breezy one for me to come back to at all... I’ll be watching the english dub.

TIME TO DIVE BACK IN!

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- Hiro's so cute at the start of this episode talking about his sibling and how he wants to look out for his mum. Of course, it's in the most Hiro of ways but this scene definitely warmed me up to him a lot more :)

Hiro’s mum is like a future Tohru, haha

That hair animation they give Rin is always great 😂 I hope Takaya-sensei is proud.

It’s so curious how Hiro speaks so honestly and true to Rin yet is so careful of her emotions. He’s never really been like this with anyone but Kisa, especially not the other teens or adults. It kinda shows how much seeing what happened to Rin by Akito’s hands really got to him and traumatised him. Of course, Hiro’s not just doing this because of his trauma but cos he genuinely cares!

- I noticed that there was a slight parallel between Hiro + Kisa and Rin + Haru. Kinda highlights why breaking the curse is important to Hiro and gives more reason as to why that event with Rin and Akito freaked him out.

- I dunno if this is intentional or just an animation glitch but I’ve noticed that in that long panning shot in the opening theme that closes into Yuki, Tohru and Kyo looking at the sunset, it looks like Kyo’s experession kinda ‘glitches’ in between a smile and a stoic look. Again, I don’t know if it was intentional, but I like to think it’s as a little show of Kyo not really managing to attain true happiness fully (for now anyway).

- (Also, I think that this opening song might come third in my list of most favourite opening songs in Fruits Basket history!!! <3<3<3)

- I’m super glad that Shigure and Rin scene didn’t go any further than it needed to... 👀 but the fact that Rin thought ‘Gure would be up for using her body as a bargaining chip says more about Shigure than Rin in my humble opinion...

Self-loathing? From Shigure? Unexpected. Empathy? For him? A little.

...Damn it.

🤣

I’m sorry. This scene is very gorgeous, well lit and beautiful and dramatic. But, I can’t not laugh at how early 00s gothic romance this is! But, I love it. It’s sweet and probably the first ‘raunchy’ scene we’ve gotten in this anime, ooo la! But, that kiss animation was kinda awkward for me, sorry. 🤷🏾‍♀️

I hate that Rin is AGAIN getting Outfit Appreciation Award when she’s literally killing herself with stress and worry but... amazing wardrobe as always. 5 stars.

Is it just me or does every zodiac member see Tohru as a parental figure or associate her with motherhood, except for Kyo?...

*mentally notes essay of Tohru being the depiction of being a ‘merciful God’ compared to Akito being the decpiction of being a ‘vengeful God’*

Heartbreaking.

but... WHY DO THEY ALL HAVE TO HAVE PARENTAL ISSUES?!

Also, Briana Palencia in this scene was amazing. Everyone is so, so good in this show! Dub and sub!!

...I totally forgot about this bit of Rin’s backstory. I love that they really highlighted how drastic the change was from happy family to an abusive household. Obviously, there must have been some cracks in the frame of the happy family and Rin as a child was inquisitive enough to see them. ...Only for her to be later punished for it.

Kazuma!!! He and Tohru just be constantly saving these zodiac kids, man.

- Rin’s parents might just be at the same level as Kyo’s dad on the ‘WORST PARENTS OF THE ZODIAC CHILDREN’ list. Well... until later...

🥺💝

Beginning to understand why they’re so attached and bonded to each other now. <3

- Also, lowkey, Kagura’s mum is great! From her protecting Kagura from going to the beach house because of Akito to her taking Rin in without question! And she seemed completely cool with Kyo too! Yay to good parents in anime!!!

- The confession scene between Haru and Rin is so pure and blunt yet romantic and just... so them <3

- I’m not even gonna put any screencaps from the final scene with Akito because I find Akito is just disgusting. But, really? Pushing someone off the balcony?! I mean... I remember why Akito’s feelings for Rin are so strong and darkly intense but I still can’t excuse their actions. I kinda don’t like that they presented this very abusive and violent moment as... poetic? I mean, it matches Rin’s ‘style’, I guess? But... this is just someone going past the limit.

- And her landing like that on the conveniently pointy stone? I was surprised she didn’t damage her spine...

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

I’m so happy I’m watching Fruits Basket again! This anime really is the best! And it DESERVEDLY won Best Drama at the CrunchyRoll Anime Awards! Yayyyyy! Sorry, if this ended on a weird note, I did enjoy this episode. Just a very dark one to return to 😅

See you... soon? Haha!

#fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket 2020 #fruits basket season 2

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moons-and-stars-and-shit · 3 years

Text

hii!! congratulations on 300!!( ˆ͈̑꒳ˆ͈̑ )੭♡

may i request a star matchup, please? my star sign is virgo, and i ship myself with kuroo˃̵͈̑ᴗ˂̵͈̑

𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕡 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕂𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕠 ♏︎♍︎

𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑠 🪐

Virgo is ruled by Mercury and Scorpio is ruled by Mars and Pluto.

This combination is very heated, thanks to Pluto’s influence.

The two Signs unite to form the basic foundation of human relationships — Mercury’s communication and Mars’s passion.

Mercury and Mars go well together; Mercury is about the conscious mind, and Mars is about the passion of romance.

Scorpio is rambunctious and intense, and Virgo is attracted to this energy.

In turn, Scorpio needs the loyalty and practicality inherent in Virgo.

𝐸𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 🔥💧🍃🌬

Virgo is an Earth Sign and Scorpio is a Water Sign.

Scorpio is a very deep Sign; it’s an ocean, and too much turbulence will cause a violent storm.

Scorpio emotionally hides in their shell, but when the pressure becomes too intense, suddenly explodes.

Their mutual need for emotional security fosters extreme loyalty to one another. But while Virgo is simplistic, with everything laid bare on the surface, Scorpio is more concerned with the undercurrents of life.

Scorpio can show Virgo life beyond the literal surface, and Virgo is attentive enough to pick up on this hidden conversation.

Virgo can teach Scorpio the facts and that they are sometimes quite literal and can be dismissed at face value.

Scorpio appreciates Virgo’s practicality and Virgo enjoys Scorpio’s devotion — it proves they are loved and appreciated.

𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 🤞

Trust is a very challenging issue for both of these signs and this is something they can finally talk about with each other.

There is a strong understanding here, for one of them fears betrayal more than anything, while the other hates it and gets vindictive as soon as any sign of dishonesty is in sight.

The best thing about their connection is in their ability to understand each other in silence, not ever wanting to let each other down.

𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 🤝

Virgo is a talkative sign, ruled by Mercury the planet of communication, but they hold on to a much more quiet and intellectual side of Mercury than we might anticipate.

Scorpio represents a deep silence of the flow of a river, and they will both have a strong urge to jump into the depths of silence together.

Their intellectual contact is stimulating, often strongly influencing their life and their truly deep emotions.

It is almost as if they wouldn’t be able to form a relationship without this ability for non-verbal communication that makes them perfect for each other.

Both of these signs are prepared to go all the way - Virgo in their intellectual depth and Scorpio in everything in life.

This will inspire both of them to search for all sorts of answers together, analyzing each other’s psyche and determining the source of their problems with the world, or with each other.

Through carefully chosen words, they can help each other heal or regenerate from difficult or even devastating experiences.

It is a good thing for both of these signs to have each other in the time of need.

𝐸𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 😠😔😊

If someone can reach the emotions hidden behind the extremely rational approach of Virgo, it is Scorpio.

We could say that this ability hides in both of them and the dig up goes both ways.

The problem here is in the fact that they remind each other of their imperfections.

Scorpio is a sign in which the Moon falls and at the same time the sign of Venus’ detriment.

All emotions get lost here, as if Scorpio is a black hole that cannot get enough.

Virgo partner is already sensitive and when in love, does everything they can to satisfy their Scorpio partner.

This can feel like investing into a black hole with no gratitude whatsoever.

Still, there is no other sign that can sense the needs of Scorpio better than Virgo, and no other sign that can dig up the emotions in Virgo better than Scorpio.

An emotional relationship between them can turn out to be truly dark and difficult, but also incredibly strong and intimate.

The only thing that can bore their emotions to death is the criticism they are both prone to.

𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑠 🤲

Both of these partners will value depth, intellectual most of all.

There is nothing in the world that is as exciting as conversations that are so intense and so challenging for their minds.

Most of the time they will agree on things they value most, although they might stumble upon a huge problem when they get to the point of throwing out the trash.

Even though Scorpio doesn’t normally accumulate things, and loves throwing them away, those they hold on to can be quite disgusting to a Virgo.

Just imagine as their first child is born and Scorpio wants to frame that dried out residue of an umbilical cord.

Do you think Virgo would want to wake up to this in their apartment every morning?

𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝐴𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑦𝑠 💪

For the same reason their values might differ, their daily routine might differ too.

Virgo will clean, that’s a fact, simply because a clean house creates a clear mind, and Scorpio won’t have much trouble fitting in, unless their personal belongings are questioned.

However, when they choose places they want to visit, or clubs they want to go to, their choices will differ greatly.

It is not hard for them to compromise to keep the relationship going, but it can be quite dark and demanding for both partners.

If they don’t start willingly hanging out in some tidy cemeteries, they might run out of options that would actually keep them both interested and happy.

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 💕

That changeable nature of Virgo will be settled down by the fixed quality of their Scorpio partner, who will keep their relationship exciting for a very long time. In general, there is a problem that these partners share when it comes to Venus, and their relationship is often a reflection of these troubles.

This can lead to all sorts of emotional blackmail, their tendency to control each other’s lives, and if not this, than constant criticism that makes them both feel guilty or simply sad.

The best thing they can do is decide that they will value each other and be thankful for each other in this relationship.

If they develop a strong sense of gratitude, their relationship might be extremely deep, exciting and truly appreciated by both partners.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fandom #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu matchups #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo headcanons #kuroo hcs #submission

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josy72 · 4 years

Text

Rich Juzwiak

12/06/19

Filed to:PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE

Image: Neon

It’s almost shocking to see Noémie Merlant and Adèle Haenel in a modern setting and contemporary fashion. They disappear so much into the characters they play in Portrait of a Lady on Fire and the world they inhabit—a brief but idyllic love affair in 18th century France—that reality is jarring in contrast. (It’s kind of like when you started seeing Downton Abbey’s actors in other roles.) This is not to erase their past acting accomplishments, just to note how indelible their work in Céline Sciamma’s polemic romance is.

A follow-up to our interview with the film’s writer-director, Jezebel talked to its stars, both French, about finding their characters’ love on screen. We met in person in late September while they were in town to present their movie at the New York Film Festival. Merlant was, like her painter character Marianne, somewhat reserved, while Haenel, who plays Héloïse, the unbeknown subject of Marianne, was intense. “Sex scenes are violent for actresses, and this time it was not,” Haenel told me. She explains why in the interview below, which is edited and condensed.

JEZEBEL: What do you make of the rapturous response this movie has received?

NOÉMIE HAENEL: We did the movie we wanted to do, first. We did it very sincerely and with a lot of imagination—everything that creates a piece of art.

ADÈLE MERLANT: We were so excited to do this because it’s a love story, but there are so many things in it that we wanted to share, that Céline wanted to share that I think are really important. To see that people connect with us, with the film, it’s so warm.

Haenel: It’s a new proposal of love that is usually not portrayed, a proposition with a lot of equality in it. It shows the sexiness of equality, the sexiness of consent. I think we need it. As artists, we have the responsibility to offer new stories for people to live. The major story about a successful life is about possession. It’s about having your wife, your dog, your house. I think it’s not enough. We need different stories. We need for people to think about their life in a different way, having other expectations. I think this is why the response to the movie is very strong: We offered a new possibility. Love, which is not only about the possession of somebody or sadness. You can create with somebody and love this person and the fact that it has an end doesn’t mean the feeling itself is dead. The journey of the feeling continues in you. You will become somebody more alive; you will have higher expectations in life.

It shows the sexiness of equality, the sexiness of consent.

Merlant: It’s another vision, another angle. The woman’s vision. We don’t have enough of that.

Is that one of the things you referred to as wanting to share with the world?

Merlant: This. I was happy to read [the script]. I love love stories.

Haenel: Me too.

Merlant: And how it was written, it took the time to build. We are in a society where we don’t take time. In movies, everything is frontal. Everything is here. You don’t use your imagination. I think that’s less erotic. I feel more intelligent when I watch this kind of movie, more part of it. There is this, that was, for me, new or not shown enough, and also this vision of women. It’s a movie where the women fill the frame and take their freedom in a world where there is restrictions everywhere. They find their way to love. They don’t talk about men because it’s a vision of a woman writing this movie. We see something that we’re not used to seeing in movies and that is us. Women. It’s another vision, but it’s a big vision because it’s more than half of society. Just this thing of, “Let the women express themselves,” and how are they when we let them do that. They live their desires.

Haenel: It’s very important to create new stories that people can identify themselves in because the common story I talked about—about success—is in a way naturalized in society, but most of the people feel uncomfortable with that because they just cannot fit in.

Adele, I assume you were aware that this was being written given your [past] relationship with Céline.

Haenel: Mmmhmm.

How much did you know? Was it at all collaborative at the conception phase?

Haenel: No.

So she presented you with the script one day and said…

Haenel: “Voilà.” It took her a long time to write it, I think three or four years. I was aware that she was planning on working with me again, but I didn’t really know what she had in mind. It’s okay because I trust her. She gave me the script, it took me three days to dare to read it. I was like, “I hope it’s going to be good,” because I had high expectations. I read it, and I… as you know, she won Best Script in Cannes, so it’s a great script. I was touched, I was moved, and I was excited. I said, “Okay, yeah, we are going to try to create something that has never been done before, in a very naked way and in a very sharp way.” I feel like we are a team, Céline and I. Noémie came later and she is totally part of the team. When she arrived on the movie, it was, “Okay, this is what it’s about. It’s not just about the relationship between Céline and I—it’s about sharing this. It’s about welcoming a new person that comes with new ideas.”

Is the chemistry you have on screen natural? Did you do anything to foster it?

Haenel: The chemistry comes from the fact that we didn’t really rehearse together. I was just there when Noémie went through the casting process, so I met her at that point and we played a bit. To me, it’s a great way to meet somebody, to do it while acting. I think the chemistry comes from the fact that we were listening to one another, just trying to really catch the reaction. It’s like the beginning of the wave, trying to understand where Noémie is. Before the emotion comes to the surface, I try to see where she is. I think this kind of game we had while acting, this is what creates intimacy. We don’t pretend we know each other but we are really meeting each other. We built the characters in an intricate way with the process of the movie.

It sounds like the process you went through is much like that which your characters went through, learning about each other slowly and intuitively via silent cues.

Merlant: It completely is. We hadn’t rehearsed before, and Adele and I were building a collaboration as Marianne and Héloïse. You know when you start to work and meet someone, first you look at the other, you don’t talk much, you hesitate, you’re confused sometimes? We were using the reality and putting it in the story. Adele is someone who is really intense in the sharing process. She likes to play; she likes to make jokes. Everything is written, even the looks. But how you feel the look, how you put life in the look, because you can look in someone in many different ways. But it’s her look, her gaze. I like to play, too, and I like to open the borders. Every time she was giving me a proposition, I was surprised, and so I reacted and she reacted to that. It was always like that: We were building it in the instant.

Haenel: It’s also about being light while playing, like a boxer. You just move in every direction, whatever your partner does. It’s like that to me, to meet on the set.

What made the love scenes easier is not the fact that there are no men. It’s the fact that there is an idea.

The cast was almost entirely women, from what I understand the crew was very female-heavy as well. Is there a practical advantage to that?

Haenel: Yes. It changes [things]. I’m used to being on set with a lot of men. It doesn’t mean I didn’t have great experiences working with some men, but for sure, at this point it is an experience that is very rare.

Merlant: There were men in the crew, but in the acting yes it was only girls. I don’t want to make a comparison, but there are a lot of movies with only men, and we don’t really notice it. It’s normal. It was interesting because we don’t act and live in life in the same way when we are only with girls, like when men are with men. It was interesting to show this. It was interesting to live this during the shooting. It’s something else. There is no domination of the body. Society builds something between men and women.

Did it make the love scenes easier in any way?

Haenel: No, what made the love scenes easier is not the fact that there are no men. It’s the fact that there is an idea. There’s a point of view on love. That makes it easier. When there is no point of view on what sex is, you are the one stolen. This time was different, we didn’t fake anything, we just had this idea of the armpit. Celine had it, and then it’s not about you not giving something you don’t want to give. It’s about you collaborating on an idea. For me, it could have been like the entire crew on the set and it would have been the same. It was just another thing. There’s nothing different in this scene. The only difference is normally, sex scenes are violent for actresses and this time it was not.

Merlant: Even if it’s between girls. This was made with a lot of respect and collaboration.

Haenel: And fun.

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fairstarlights · 4 years

Text

Crowns and Thorns

Chapter Summary: Things take a turn for the worst but someone is determined to make his dark strange friend feel better.

Chapter Warnings: General angst

Pairings: Prinxiety and Logicality

Word Count: 4,457

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

- Chapter 4 -

“Wow.” Roman in amazement and horror said after Virgil unlocked the door and pushed the door open to the shop. Well, it wasn't a shop, it more like an office. A very messy office. Virgil crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame as Roman disappeared into the room looking at the huge mess.

“I knew I said I would help, and I will, but you only have till Friday? This guy must be the worst, but have no fear you're Prince is here!” Virgil smirked. He could hear Roman's boots clunking around the room for a while until they suddenly stopped. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Ro?”

“Virgil.” Roman sounded horrified. Virgil frowned and maneuvered his way to where he think he heard Roman's come from. Virgil found him and Roman was holding a paper in his hand, eyebrows furrowed. Virgil to his side and looked at the paper. Virgil's eye's widened. It was the original official document that declared magic to be illegal and if caught, was punishable by death.

At the bottom was King Thomas' signature and Crown seal. Roman's hands were shaking. “What is this even doing in here?” Virgil looked nervously at Roman, whose face now looked furious. “We should burn this.” He hissed. Uh-oh.

“Breath, Roman.” Virgil said softly as he slowly tried to take the document out of his friend's shaking hands. Roman looked at Virgil like he just sprouted three extra heads.

“You're telling me to calm down? Do you know what we possess? If we get rid of this, thing's could change! People could be open and free to use magic again. Do you know how much that could help people? Some people could be living their dreams if they could only be using their abilities.”

“You really think that's a smart idea, Roman? Just to burn a document and then, what, go tell people it's okay to use magic again? What proof are you going to have? A pile of ashes?”

“No. I'll assemble a large group of people and have them witness it. Just imagine what good would come of it!” Virgil glared at Roman.

“What makes you think that's going to stop the King from just issuing another decree? Plus, how would you go about joining the Royal Guard then? I doubt King Thomas would want a personal body guard who is just going to burn is stuff.” This was all coming out so much harsher than Virgil was intending it but Roman couldn't just throw everything out the window over a document.

Roman seemed to disagree. His body language was going into a defensive stance and his eyes weren't as warm. Neither one of them liked when they had these intense arguments. They always ended up saying harsh and hurtful words to each other that most likely never really goes away. With Virgil's fear and anxiety constantly running through him, whatever Roman says during these times were the worst. It was time to stop this before it got bad.

“You don't even want me in the Royal Guard in the first place, so what do you care?”

“I care a lot more than you realize.” Virgil said softly. Roman looked taken aback for a moment. Surely Roman was wondering why Virgil wasn't being harsh and firing back. Roman crossed his arms.

“If you really cared, you'd let me do this.”

“I do care, which is why I can't let you do it. It's my responsibility to look after and transport whatever is in this room whenever need be. If something gets damaged, I will have to take the blame.” Roman stared blankly for a second, looked down at the paper then back up to Virgil. He opened his mouth then closed it, as if asking himself if he really wanted to ask that question. Then finally,

“Are a messenger for King Thomas?” Virgil felt his heart both stop and quicken at the same time. Roman could be pretty dense sometimes but he knew how to put pieces together given time. Although, the way Roman phrased the question, he could get around it. He wasn't a messenger for the King directly.

“Well, no, not exactly. I get my instructions from others.” Virgil said smoothly, but inside he was cringing. Since when did he start lying? And to Roman of all people? Roman looked suspicious and really, not at all convinced. It wasn't that surprising considering that Roman knew Virgil like he one of his favorite and well memorized theatre performances. And well, Virgil did not have the skills to preform.

“Right. So, who will you get your instructions from then?”

“It could be from a couple people.” That wasn't too far from the truth. If anyone was going to be giving Virgil any instructions it was going to come from either Advisers Logan or Patton. They were a couple people. He really needs to stop.

“Why are you being so indirect and dodging my questions? Do you not trust me?” Roman asked, eyebrows raised and looked slightly hurt and frustrated. Virgil averted his eyes and scratched the side of his nose, then he shrugged indifferently.

“What does it matter? You're going to be gone soon anyway.” This voice was monotone and almost cold and it almost hurt to revert to being enemy like again. Virgil kept his eyes on a stack of papers but he could feel Roman's eyes on him.

Roman walked past him and whispered, “I'll find my own place to stay till I head back to the village tomorrow.” And out the door he went. Virgil gritted his teeth and swiped violently at the papers he had been staring at and they all scattered into a bigger mess on the floor. Well, guess he had to pick that up and sort that back out now. Something he would have to do with Roman later. But seriously, lying and dodging questions? What the heck was that?

-- Thursday --

Roman packed all his belongings into his bag and said his goodbyes to Alexander. It would be another week before he would be coming back. He looked at the ride that would be taking him back home and felt a pang in his chest. He came with Virgil and he would be leaving and going home without him. He would be going home and not be able to see or interact with his best friend. He stepped into the sheltered cart and sat down.

Maybe, he was being selfish? Virgil found a real job and in a nice area. Was this what Virgil was referring to a while back? That weird conversation about moving away from the village, getting a good job and... Roman's eyes widened in his apparent epiphany, finding a wife? Did Virgil find romance while he accompanied him during their trip? Is that what Virgil was doing when he left Roman for hours while he trained? He was achieving his own dreams, and Roman, he was actually holding his friend back this whole time.

A small bitter sweet smile formed as he looked toward the general area where Virgil now lives and works. The early morning mist made it hard to make out things but he could see people walking around and doing whatever these people do in this town. Working hard to achieve their goals, probably. Roman smiled for real and rested his head against the side of the carts walls as he people watched. For now, his stay here was only temporary, but one day he would be in the castle by King Thomas' side and help be a protector of all.

Once all the people were loaded into the cart the driver announced they would be taking off. Roman sighed as the cart jerked and then moved forward. It wasn't a minute later when he heard something. He looked over and saw someone running. Everyone was looking at the figure sprinting towards the cart. As the person grew closer Roman reconsigned who it was, it was Virgil! Roman sat up and leaned forwards, Virgil was almost caught up, which was surprising because Virgil didn't run and the cart was going relatively fast. Once his friend was in ear shot Roman decided to speak up,

“What are you doing?” Virgil was clearly out of breath and in no position to talk but he managed to wheeze out a,

“Catch me.”

“What?” Then Virgil threw himself at the back of the cart and grabbed onto it. Roman gasped and pulled him up. “Are you an idiot?!”

“Apparently, I feel-” he coughed, “-like I just-” he took a sharp intake of breath, “-ran five miles under two minutes.” Virgil said as he continued to breath heavy. He sat up fast though and turned to Roman. “I don't have much time though, this cart is going fast and if I don't hurry this is going to leave the town and it's going to be a long walk back.” Roman frowned, he was confused.

“Hurry? For what?”

“I have to...” Virgil looked away, “...apologize for how I acted yesterday. I don't know what came over me.” Roman smiled sympathetically.

“No, it's okay, Virge. I understand. You're finally realizing what you want out of life. You've set goals and you're actively going after them. I couldn't be any prouder. Also, your lady friend must be quite special if you've been keeping her from me this whole time.” He beamed at his friend. Virgil looked beyond confused.

“What? Goals? Lady friend? I don't-” Roman held up a finger to silence him.

“I know you've been spending all this time out with your new lover.”

“I sure have, but they aren't new.” Virgil responded immediately. Roman blinked, taken aback.

“You've been with them this whole time?”

“Not officially. We've been kind of dancing around this for years.”

“From the town?”

“No the village.” Roman frowned.

“Do I know her?” Virgil rolled his eyes and leaned forward and whispered.

“It's not a her.”

“Uh- my apologies for assuming. I didn't know-”

“For a wanna-be Prince and a Knight in training, you aren't very sharp.” Virgil emphasized the last word. Roman winced. Virgil kept going, keeping his voice low and serious, but with a hint of nervousness, “You know I- uh-wow-” Virgil looked nervous.”- love you, right?”

Roman hesitated, “As a best friend?” It was met with silence. Roman sighed inwardly. Honestly, this was the best news he had ever been given. His feeling were reciprocated, but this couldn't happen. It wasn't allowed. Neither of them could afford to be found out. It wasn't a law or anything, it just wasn't socially accepted to be attracted to, let alone be with someone of the same gender.

He smiled sadly and pulled Virgil into a tight hug. Virgil tensed up. Roman whispered, “Go back to your home, you're going to be happier there, forget about m-” Virgil pushed Roman away hard, then he whispered lowly, looking around as if to make sure no one was listening in.

“I'm not the idiot you think I am. You think you can keep that hidden but you can't. I've seen you do it to other people and I've suspect you've done it to me before. I trust you, Ro. But, if you keep doing that, you won't be any better than those people you escaped with.” Roman paled, Virgil knew? “You may not think you're hurting anyone, but you are. You're whispering those thing and- I don't even know exactly what it is or how you're doing it, but it has to end. Now.” Roman was panicking, Virgil found out. He knew he was doing it to other people. He must think he's a monster. Roman froze. He has to change this, one last time.

Roman sighed and then grabbed Virgil and pulled him into a hug. Virgil tensed up at first then struggled to get away. Roman could feel the guilt rising up in his stomach but he pushed it down and whispered, “I love you too, Virge. I always have. But I can't have people knowing. At least you know why I don't hug you and I know why you don't try to hug me. I'm sorry, for this.”

“Roman. Don't-!”

“Forget about this conversation. Forget about this, about your apology, about your confession, go back to your home and go back to work. It'll all going to be okay. Shh, calm down.” It was gradual but eventually Virgil stopped struggling and went slack against Roman. The guilt and shame that Roman was feeling was overwhelming, near unbearable. But he believed it would be better this way. He better get Virgil back to town before he comes to.

Roman stopped the driver and carried Virgil back into town. It took about thirty minutes, maybe a little more and when Roman opened up the office slash Virgil new home, he saw the place was a total disaster zone. Well, it was already a disaster but now it looked like someone had ransacked the place. The piles of papers that were once stacked high on the tables were now gone and all over the floor, and some of the tables were turned over. Crap. Roman took his friend up the stairs and into his room and laid him down on the bed. He looked at his sleeping form for a moment and wondered if Virgil always looked this peaceful when he slept. Or. Maybe it was the fact that Roman told him to calm down. More guilt. Roman clenched his fists. No. No more of this. Not to Virgil. This really was going to end, right now. He climbed into the bed, laid down and put his arms around his friend. The friend he would die for. The friend he loved more than life itself.

“Virgil. This is the last time I will do this. This isn't a command but, if you ever find out what I did, or what I am, you don't have to forgive me or ever talk to me again if you don't want to. I won't ever do this to you again. This, what I do, won't affect you anymore. I give you my word.” Roman shuttered as he felt a strange sensation inside come over him and a physical one, particularly that was any part of him that was touching Virgil. It was like small electric shocks. Like as if it came out of Virgil himself. Roman remained still until the shocks coursed through him and then disappeared.

Roman let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and let go of Virgil. He rolled onto his back and then looked over at his friend, and smiled. Hopefully, they would be okay again one day.

Virgil groaned as he blinked open his eyes. What the heck, why did he feel so funny? He felt... lighter somehow. What time was it? He sat up and looked out the window. It was dark. Oh. Time to go back to sleep. He laid back down then immediately sat back up.

“Dark?! How long did I sleep in?! What the actual heck?” He jumped out of bed and stumbled groggily out of the room. He stopped short at the stairs, pausing to gain his bearings before he accidentally threw himself down the stairs and potentially injured or kill himself. Okay, the last part didn't sound too particularly bad right now, but this was no time to be dwelling on dark troubling feelings right now. He had a office that he had to clean and organize by the morning. An office that he threw a hissy fit in and basically just made everything harder for himself. Logan, freaking Royal Adviser Logan was going to here at who-knows-when o'clock in the morning and expect a pristine clean and neatly filed office.

Virgil raced down the stairs, tripping a few times, and once at the bottom, he froze. “What the actual heck is going on in my life right now.” he whispered is disbelief. He rubbed his eyes, ya know, just in case he was hallucinating from the stress. When he opened them the room was still like it was.

Not a single paper was on the floor. No overturned tables. The papers were neatly stacked in small rows on the tables through the office. The quills, ink pens and ink bottles were all gone and assumed were in the wooden boxes that were stacked on one of the tables. Who had the time to do this? And why? He shrugged and walked over to a table, he had to file these away anyway so might as well get busy.

-- Friday Morning --

The door opened and closed and Virgil jolted awake, nearly falling over. He clutched the sides of the tall filing cabinet he was sitting on top of and watched someone unfamiliar walk in. He looked around with this big stupid grin on his face. Great. Now he was stuck sitting on this cabinet till this moron left. The door opened again and Logan walked in and stood beside the other man.

“Look, Lo! He sure did a diddly darn good job! This place was a mess!”

Logan adjusted his thick framed glasses, “What did I tell you about calling me that in public?” The other man pouted. Oh god, that was adorable.

“Yeaaah, but no ones in the room! Come on, call me something fun.”

“Absolutely not.” The man shimmied his shoulders and looked over the top of his own thin wired glasses.

“Or we could play Patton-cake.” Logan's eyes went wide for a second as the other man took a playful step forward. Or, at least Virgil hoped this was going to be playful. He didn't want to know where this was going. He reached into his pocket, took out his quill and chucked it cross the room. It bounced off the window and rolled on the floor. The two stopped whatever what was about to happen and looked over at the quill. Virgil took this time to discreetly and quietly make his way down the cabinet but his foot slipped and kicked against it. Virgil scowled, that was his luck. He turned his head around to see the Logan and his companion staring at him. He probably- no- he was definitely the biggest looking idiot in the room right now. He really wished Roman were here to give some sort of commentary and take eyes off of him while he climbed his way down. But, no, he was subject to the humiliation of having one of the most important people in the Kingdom watch him climb off of a cabinet for no apparent reason.

As he jumped down to the floor he stared at it for a moment before glancing up. They stood in complete silence for a few beats before Logan's companion grinned broadly and walked up to Virgil.

“You must be Virgil! Logan told me all about you! He said you looked like you needed sleep but I think you just look a little stressed. Can I make you some tea, kiddo?” Virgil blinked. Kiddo? This guy didn't look much older than Virgil himself. Without waiting for an answer the man walked behind the office counter and started making noise. Was there a kitchen back there?

“You did an excellent job cleaning up the place, Virgil. I am impressed. Although, I do have to ask, why were you on top of the cabinet.” Virgil looked back at the cabinet and scratched the side of his nose.

“I was, uh, sleeping.” He whispered the last word. The other man suddenly popped his head around the corner, causing Virgil to jump a bit.

“You were sleeping on top of the cabinet? Why?” He looked worried then looked at Logan with a stern face. “Did he not give you a bed?”

“His sleeping quarters were fully furnished, Patton. I would not have let him stay here without making sure he had somewhere to lay.” Oh. Patton. The other Royal Adviser. So he embarrassed himself in front of two important people. Great.

“You've made mistakes before...” Patton responded.

“Falsehood.”

“Falsehood?” Virgil raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, it means-”

“No, I know what it means. I meant, who even says that?” Patton giggled and in return received a glare from Logan. Patton kept his smile but looked elsewhere.

“You what else is falsehood? The falsehood falsehood Logan just said!” Both Logan and Virgil turned to look at Patton in confusion. “Okay, Logan, remember that one time when Thomas-”

“King Thomas.” Logan corrected, “There is someone else present.” Patton rolled his eyes.

“Do you remember the time when King Thomas was coordinated and you forgot his ring, or that other time when we-?” Patton trailed off. Logan's face turned red as if he was reliving the memory. Virgil smirked.

“Okay, maybe there where quite a few times but I haven't-”

“-or would you say it was...infinitesimal?” Logan groaned and thew up a hand.

“I misuse a word ONE TIME and you don't let it go. You don't see me getting onto you about thing's like that.” Virgil covered his forming smile with his hand as he watched the two continue to banter back and forth like five year old's. Virgil's mind immediately wondered to Roman and their fight yesterday, his smile faded and his hand slowly fell to his side. He didn't notice or hear when the two stopped bantering and focused on him. He was too deep in his mind, contemplating what he could have done differently. He was pushed out of his thoughts as Patton slung an arm around his neck, making him hunch over a bit. He scowled and looked over at Patton.

“Hey, want to hear a joke about a piece of paper?”

“Uh-”

“Never mind...it's tearable!” Logan pulled off his glasses and rubbed between his eyes and Virgil... he rolled eyes.

“Wow.” Virgil deadpanned.

“You better get used to that, he loves-”

“Dad jokes!” Patton said excitedly. Oh my god, this guy was too pure. He was going to get infected.

“You're not even old enough to be a dad.”

“The way things are going, I don't think I'm going to be having any actual children.” Virgil looked at Logan who shook his head at Virgil as if Patton just straight out said they were together and he was denying it. These guys did not know how to be discreet. It was sickeningly sweet and he was going to get major cavities. Logan walked over to Virgil and handed him a envelope.

“We just stopped by to drop this off. It's a list of everything we will need delivered tomorrow.”

“Logan.” Patton drawled out in a fatherly type voice as he brought out the tea kettle and some cups. “Tomorrow is Saturday! Virgil doesn't work Saturday's.” He set the kettle down on the table and poured them all a cup. He turned to them and handed them one. Virgil looked down at his, he didn't actually like tea. He looked back up at Patton who was looking at him with something that looked like barely contained excitement. Virgil lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip.

It was actually pretty good. It didn't taste like anything they grew up having in the village. Patton was looking at him with expectantly and Virgil shifted his eyes and mumbled, “It's okay.”

“You sure bet it is! I don't know why you didn't make some sooner. It's the finest tea we grow in this Kingdom, not many can afford to buy it, but Lo and I figured we could give you a package of it for you and your brother!”

“My brother?” Patton nodded.

“Yeah, didn't you tell Logan your brother would be staying with you? Where is he anyway?” Patton asked and looked around quizzically. Virgil shrugged.

“He left. We kind of had a fight, so he went back home.” Logan and Patton exchanged glances then looked back at Virgil, who was staring vacantly at his tea before taking sips intermittently. Virgil had a couple day's to endlessly worry and fret over his fight with Roman.

“Well, I mean...” Patton started, “He might come back and try to make things right! Your brothers, you guys will be okay in the end.” Patton said with a big grin.

“But will we? Does it even matter?” Virgil said before he could stop himself. “He lives pretty far, and the fight was pretty bad. It might not ever matter. He's about to do something idiotic and I probably won't actually ever be able to see or talk to him alone again.” There was a deafening silence in the room that Virgil didn't notice because he was too wrapped up in his bleak thoughts.

This wasn't going the way he planned. At all. Patton thought, frowning, as chewed on his bottom lip in thought for a moment before tugging on Logan's sleeve. Logan looked at his with a raised eyebrow.

“I have a plan to cheer up our new friend!” Patton whispered excitedly.

“How?” Logan asked.

“Find out what make him happy!”

“Patton, he's grieving. You can't just-”

“Oh, of course I can.” Patton waved his hand dismissively and Patton felt a dull ache in his chest, “I do it with Thomas all the time.”

“That's not always the best. Plus, speaking of Thomas, we have to get back to attending to him soon."

“Logan, I know you mean well and you try to think everything out rationally and all, but you don't know everything." Patton said with a little more attitude than intended and it earned him a concerned look. Patton smiled and shrugged, "Thomas will be fine without us for a while, right? Plus, someone else really needs a little cheering up right now. Come on, let's help out our new friend.” Logan eyed Virgil for a moment then sighed and crossed his arms.

“Fine, but only for a few hours. Thomas still needs us today. Especially later this evening.” But the words fell on deaf ears. Patton wasn't paying attention. His heart was a flutter and there was a burning desire to make his poor sad child happy.

---- Story Tag List ----

@laytonsartblog, @ambrechandra

Thank you!

#sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #prinxiety #logicality #logan/patton #roman/virgil #roman sanders #ts roman #virgil sanders #ts virgil #logan sanders #ts logan #ts logicality #patton sanders #ts patton #sanders sides au #my work

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ofcloudsandstars · 4 years

Photo

Celestial Forecast Week 24-1 (っ– ‸ – )ﾉ ✧・ﾟ:*

Sorry this is late but I have been swamped with the PSD (pisces seasonal depression) which the retrograde isn't helping. Long story short this week is going to be good if you use the retrograde wisely and focus on abandoned projects you promised you will finish. It will however be bad if you decide to call up old lovers or get involved romantically. This week is calling you to dreg up hidden manipulative behaviors and suppressed emotions which will only become more amplified as the moon waxes towards it's full moon phase. Use some boundaries and protection magic against people's inner toxic demons which may pop out unexpectedly or even against yourself to not hurl repressed emotions you might have been bottling in forever onto people that may never see you the same way again. It's time to do some therapeutic shadow work and cry about things.

Notes: I make this for a group in London so the weeks are from Monday to Sunday and the time is set to UTC.

Also this may be the retrograde blues talking but this may be the final weekly forecast I dunno I have been feeling hell lol.

24th

Sun in Pisces sextiles Mars in Capricorn Eros moves into pisces

Moon in Pisces conjunct Neptune in Pisces Jupiter in Capricorn sextiles Moon in Pisces

Energy: The energy will be creative, passionate and the pinnacle of Pisces season creativity. The little asteroid of passion and sexuality, Eros, will shift into Pisces today yet this energy shift will be boosted by the powerful aspect of the Sun sextiling Mars in Capricorn and the final transits of the moon in Pisces conjuncting Neptune and sextiling Jupiter. Together these aspects will create a fusion of energy of flowing creativity and inspiration. Today is an ideal day to work on art or explore life's pleasures and expressive meaning and you will have the intense desire and motivation to do so thanks to Eros and the sun sextiling Mars. If you need a boost to work on art or are seeking divine inspiration to find new spiritual direction in life then today is the ideal day.

Recommendations: Anything magical, trance, art, sex magic,

_____________________

25th

Sun conjuncts Mercury rx in Pisces

VOC 2:12 - 6:47pm Sedna in Taurus Sextiles Moon in Pisces Moon in Pisces Sextile Pluto in Capricorn Moon in Pisces Sextile Saturn in Capricorn

Energy: Today will feel transformative and emotional. The sun will conjunct Mercury retrograding in Pisces which will help us reevaluate our mental state and the dreams we've been denying ourselves. This energy that already asks use to rephrase our patterns and fine-tune our inner methods will be amplified by the lunar transits activated by the moon in Pisces. The moon will sextile Sedna, Pluto and Saturn at different hours whose energies will bring up hidden fears, subconscious habits yet the positive influence of the sextile aspect will make it possible to reconfigure these habits, fears, and in Sedna's case any bitterness that can be transformed into positive creativity. With the moon void of course for most of the afternoon it's a great time for self reflection and shadow work to help us finally break free of some patterns that the retrograde is flooding to the surface.

Recommendations: Shadow Work, journaling, divination

_____________________

26th

Mercury rx Pisces sextiles Mars in Capricorn

Moon enters Aries Moon Conjunct Chiron in Aries Moon opposition Juno rx Libra Ceres in Aquarius sextile Moon in Aries Mars in Capricorn squares moon in Aries

Energy: Today will feel like a restart after the past two days as the moon returns to Aries. If you have some goals you want to check off your list today's transits will give you a boost with Mercury retrograde sextiling Mars in Capricorn and Mars in Capricorn squaring the moon in Aries. Mercury sextile Mars gives us the boost to achieve a lot of work in a short time frame and the confidence to take on anything. With mercury retrograde this may bring up past projects we could have dumped in the 'too hard' basket or have been putting off. With the tension of the mars and lunar square you will have the desire to channel your energy in emotionally fulfilling ways yet the square can also potentially bring any repressed anger or frustration to the surface. This may be doubled by the moon conjunct Chiron in Aries that could bring old wounds to light. However this energy could be soften by the earthly mother energy of Ceres that will sextile the moon that will give an element of softening and need for self care if we end up being too hard on ourselves. Additionally to add to some unpleasant emotional flavors of today the moon will be in opposition with Juno in rx which could resurface feelings of negative past relationships or feeling lonely yet unable to figure out how to reach out. However in a somewhat positive note, this feeling of soloness amplified by the moon in independent aries can help you focus on yourself and the tasks you need to complete which will get positive boosts from the previous aspects.

Recommendations: Grounding (it will help you center your energy to get tasks done), drinking brews with solar or marsian correspondences to help with motivation, such as lemon tea, coffee with a little bit of red maca powder or a light kick of red peppercorn, roobois red tea with rhodiola or ginger orange juice. Wearing charms, talismans, crystals to help ground, focus and get things done.

_____________________

27th

Moon conjunct Venus in Aries

Jupiter in Capricorn squares moon in Aries

Saturn in Capricorn squares moon in Aries

Pluto in Capricorn squares moon in Aries

Energy: If you were considering connecting with a previous lover today during the retrograde I may advise against it. With the moon conjunct Venus in Aries it may seem like a heavenly day filled with passion and desires for creativity yet paired with the remaining lunar transits as the moon will make a square with Jupiter, Saturn and Pluto throughout the day it may bring up excess, negative repressed feelings and even feelings of loneliness if they were buried deep within. With Venus in Aries love becomes passionate yet also something we may rush into without thinking. With the negative feelings that the other squares may bring to the surface it may make us want to pair up quickly the moment we see someone we only somewhat like or act rashly towards our loved ones if we have been feeling a lack of affection from them.

Romance aside this is a great day to do some self care and work on self love. Take yourself to a sauna house, or make yourself a nice hot bath or cook yourself a nice fiery meal. Be careful with the type of self care that involves a lot of spending money as the Jupiter x Moon square could make you empty your wallet for the sake of 'treat yo self'

Recommendations: Love protection magic. Self love work. Make a love attraction perfume or bath or some talisman if you wish to attract love (as the moon is waxing this would be a good time to cast love magic spells)

_____________________

28th

Venus in Aries squares Pluto in Capricorn Mercury in Pisces sextiles Uranus in Taurus

VOC 3:25am - 7:29AM

Moon enters Taurus Moon in Taurus conjunct Uranus in Taurus Eros in Pisces Sextiles Moon in Taurus Mars in Cap Trines Moon in Taurus

Energy: Honestly the transits seem hell bent on exposing negative patterns with romance but it's a good place for self reflection if you have been feeling like there are any issues with you attracting love into your life or if there has been disharmony in your relationships. With Venus in aries squaring Pluto in Capricorn it can have the profound effect in your love life that could expose manipulation in relationships or even bring about new love that could be instant soul attraction (with the risk that this attraction can be as possessive and even violent as it is passionate and sexual). The difference lies in the individual and what the retrograde is floating to the surface for you.

The potential for new attractions will be heightened with Mercury making a sextile with Uranus and the moon in Taurus that will conjunct Uranus briefly bringing about new surprises, new perspectives and new impulses. Additionally this energy will be piled on with both Mars and the sexual asteroid Eros making a sextile and trine with the moon in Taurus heightening any sexual urges or strong impulses to go after our desires. This will be a great day to channel this volatile yet passionate energy into projects or if the frustration of it all is getting to you then channel it into some sex magic but take caution. The energy is a bit tricky and will be like playing with fire so if you do choose the latter be wise and protect your energy.

Recommendations: divination regarding matters of the heart, sex magic

_____________________

29th

Sun in Pisces sextiles Moon in Taurus Neptune in Pisces sextiles moon in Taurus Ceres in Aquarius squares Moon in Taurus Jupiter in Capricorn trines Moon in Taurus

Energy: Today's energy will feel highly emotional yet positive. The Sun and moon sextile along with the Neptune and Moon sextile will bring a day where we will feel extremely sensitive and our feelings will be amplified by the solar sextile. However these transits along with the moon that will Trine Jupiter will bring about a positive warm mood and an ideal time to share emotions with loved ones. If you were feeling lonely before or unequal in a relationship this is a good day to talk about it. However Ceres will square the moon which can create a dynamic where we may feel we have to take care of others emotions or sacrifice our boundaries for our loved ones to attempt to take care of ours so make sure you set boundaries and protect your space.

Recommendations: Journaling, talking it out, crying on the subway alone (it's ok it's pisces season), casting blessings for loved ones

_____________________

1st

Moon conjuncts Sedna in Taurus Moon trines Pluto in Capricorn Moon trines Saturn in Capricorn

VOC 3:52PM-7:20PM Moon enters Gemini Moon squares Eros in Pisces Moon squares Mercury rx in Pisces Chiron in Aries sextiles moon in Gemini

Energy: The first of March will start off with diving deep into your personal underworld. The Lunar transits will bring an emotional day of examining our values and being transformed by our emotions or from previous traumatic or hard life lessons. Most of the aspects are harmoniously flowing so you will have the opportunity to work through it. With the moon conjunct Sedna it sets a tone for the rest of the aspects that there is the ability to transform what's negative into positives and create new life from the dim of the pisces retrograde depression zone we may all be drowning in.

Recommendations: Meditation, focus on the heart area. Divination. Drink hawthorne tea or heart-opening teas. Free-writing, journaling.

#celestial forecast #witchblr #astrology #week #retrograde #magic

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yeoldontknow · 5 years

Text

Mirrors

Author’s note: this acts a preface/prequel to baekhyuns story in the Did You See Universe. it does not follow the usual format, because its the story of how he and his OC meet. once their story officially begins, it will fit the style of the universe. i was just feeling this for the last week and wanted to do something in a (belated) celebration of his birthday Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader (oc; female) Summary: Having bought an empty building to convert into a bakery, you realize one thing: this is the single most violent risk you have ever taken in your life. It takes the kindness and honesty of a stranger to realize that, sometimes, risks are worth being taken, even if you regret them at the very end. Genre: fluff; romance; slight angst Rating: PG Word Count: 5,531

The building looks less optimistic in the dark. Less hopeful, less promising...just less.

Or maybe the less is just you.

The smell of rain lingers in the air, summer’s static electricity tickling your skin as you stare, eyes glassy and unfocused, at the empty shop before you. Once, you thought this small rectangle looked cozy, warm - you were excited to love it into something magnificent. These windows would glow like a beacon, you had said, welcoming and yellow and sweet, exactly like the sugar that would coat its floors. It would be a place made for sharing, for candied sentiments to nestle and burrow, grazing idly at the fingertips of those who would enter, softening them.

You were optimistic, then. Even if it wasn’t that long ago. Even if, perhaps, some 48 hours before you’d said those same words with a conviction that bit like a viper. You were excited, and you were challenged. You thought you were ready.

Tonight, the windows burn grey, dormant with the sort of emptiness that stems from regret. You still see yourself there, inside and smiling - happy, even if this vision of yourself doesn’t truly know why she bothers with delight. You see all the things you wanted, all the things you wanted to create, but rather than feel empowered, all you can muster is one solemn, honest thought:

This is going to hurt.

A small part of you knew this, even from the start, that nothing about this journey would allow you to stay the same. When you signed your name on the papers, the pen felt heavy and unbalanced, dragging over the line with an unsteadiness that warped your signature. When you were shown the building, the counters looked precious, renovated into something you probably didn’t deserve, but wanted just the same. Even then, you were haunted by the voice of your mother, her shrill soprano echoing that things like this are too good to be true.

You’re too young for this, you think, too young have done this - to be doing this. To own a business, to start a life, to build the stars rather than reach for them. Where you stand at this moment is purely the result of your reckless imagination, your bold overconfidence, and the thrill that comes from the promise of after.

The after of graduation, of choosing, of learning to let yourself say no. Your life was littered with countless false starts, each more impressive and daunting than the last, all the result of jumping at the promise of after. It took two years after dropping out of university to commit to an idea that brought you happiness, rather than respect. Five more to feel like you earned it, like you achieved it, and it was only when you finally learned to stomach the unbearable terror of wanting that you realized dreams like this taste bitter.

With a sigh, your hand grips tightly around the neck of the bottle of wine at your side, readying for a drink. As a consolation prize, your mind settles on your diploma and certificate of skill mastery on your bedroom wall - both neatly framed, too new to truly be dusty, but wholly comprised of things that amount to little more than inexperience.

Lifting the bottle to your lips, you smile as you take a swig, trying not to laugh at your delusions of grandeur. It’s your second bottle - or maybe your third. You don’t really know anymore, because numbers don’t matter as much when they aren’t amounting to a debt. That’s what it all is, really. A loan and a debt and the understanding that anyone can make a cupcake taste good, so why should they pay you to feed them?

You saw the number on the bank receipt and felt enticed by it, by the idea of buying an oven, a mixer that would take both your hands to make it work, a refrigerator, paint. When there was distance, it felt empowering, liberating. You no longer had to ask what you would do if you had money, because you had a lot of it, and isn’t money how dreams come true?

Yes, you think, taking another drink and noting with a grimace the bottle is getting lighter. Yes, but dreams don’t demand you pay them back.

It’s an odd experience, the realization that happiness quakes as it breaks apart, seismic in its effort of unmaking your perception of hope. Tonight, you were happy - you were supposed to be happy. Everything you hold is a gift - the wine, the red bag holding another bottle of wine and a bottle of champagne, the necklace around your neck. Your father gave this to you, proud that you are taking ownership of something, anything.

Mind blank, your free hand fondles the chain, knowing that luxuries like this come with a promise, and demand one just the same.

A light in the building to your right flicks on, catching your attention. The store is a twin to the one you purchased, originally connected as one large unit until it was renovated into two, split into mirror images. You were told they share plumbing, and even now you are still unsure why this is relevant.

The windows in this space, however, glow the way you know yours would, with a warmth that makes your heart hurt. Something about the walls seem to glimmer, yellow paint transcendent - becoming the sun - and playing with the light as though the shade itself created it. It’s empty inside, save for some tables and a few antique chairs. They’re scattered, though not altogether cluttered - there’s order to this disorganization, a purpose to the placement that has not yet been filled.

And inside, a man. His hair is messy, much like yours, though it is not windblown. Merely, work blown. The sleeves of his hoodie are rolled up under his apron, a green cut of muslin cloth that brings out the pink in his cheeks. Tools line the pockets, pliers and scissors and handles to things that disappear beneath the fold. A chuckle escapes your chest, surprise and bewilderment unable to discern his trade. He seems too pretty to be a hardware man, strong and built in way that looks comfortable, not powerful. He bites his lip as he lifts something, walking, with sure steps and a proud smile, towards the door.

His store is in the process of becoming, growing and taking shape as though it were born from the earth. Turning back to your own, you blink once at the ugliness, the signless front,and wait for it to become something, too. Lifting the bottle once more to your lips, you hum, the noise of a silent cheers to his success.

‘Are you okay?’

A voice startles you mid drink, spills more into your mouth than you would have liked, and you swallow it down with an awkward gulp. A short distance away, the man from the store stares at you, dropping his garbage to the curb as his smile turns from proud to serene, remaining neutral. Worry glitters in his eyes, the intensity of his furrowed brow unable to penetrate the aura of calm he exudes.

A hiccup rises from your throat. You don’t both to cover your mouth.

‘You’ve been out here a long time,’ he continues, smirking as his eyes move down towards the bottle of wine. Almost imperceptibly, he nods as though he understands and does not mind.

Narrowing your eyes, you regard him cooly, unsure what to make of him. For a moment, it feels like you’re being judged, but you swiftly realize this is just projection. You’re used to it - you do it so often to yourself. ‘Were you watching me?’

‘Not really,’ he shrugs, wiping his hands on his apron. He takes his time with the motion, palms moving down over a flower logo as though he wants to take his time savoring it. ‘I’m cleaning up inside…’ his voice fades as he nods to his store, unsure of how to explain himself. ‘You’ve been here a long time.’

Turning back to your store, you nod as you take another drink. He’s handsome and sweet and charming and successful. The boyish way he smiles and offers you his attention, his eyes dance in the streetlight, alive and gentle and young, makes your blood rush in your ears. When you look at him, your mind empties; when you aren’t looking at him, your skin hurts, wanting to feel him all over you. These sorts of things are too good to be true, your mother said. You’re sure this theory applies to men.

‘I’ll be okay.’

‘Are you alone?’ he continues, concerned and soft.

From your peripheral, you see him look around the street, searching for your car or someone waiting for you. Finding none, his gaze settles back on you, and your cheeks flare with heat under his scrutiny. Neither pressuring nor demanding, his eyes do not wander, simply looks at the side of your face, patient.

When you face him, he beams, delighted, and you are unsure why he does so. You suppose it’s because you’re drunk, and sober people always smile at drunks on the street, humoring them. Either that, or they frown, and you don’t think a frown would suit the softness of his cheeks. ‘Why does that matter?’

The rain seems to sense the possibility of healing, acutely aware that this man could be the next thing upon which you rest your hopes, and breaks from the sky, reminding you that all your careless decisions eventually gather to drench you.

Cocking your head up towards the clouds, you laugh, a wet, empty sound that feels more sad than amused. All day it’s been threatening to rain, the sky taking on a silver hue and dampening the air with moisture. Of course now, at this moment, it chooses to set itself free. And so you laugh, you laugh and laugh until the noise warps into something broken and splintered, throat shattering.

It’s good that you are whelmed by this rain, because at least now you will not owe the world your tears.

‘Come inside,’ he says, heading towards his door, eyeing you with an urgency that doesn’t feel directed towards the weather.

You study him, the way he seems unbothered by the rain and the way his smile remains, burning and burning through the night into your heart. Droplets catch on his hair and skin, small orbs attracted to him and clinging to his features. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your throat feel tight, in a way that means no matter how you see him, from this moment on, he will never be anything less than striking.

And you, deep into bottles of wine and wet in a way that makes you look bedraggled rather than glistening, whimper, a pathetic noise that’s about as embarrassing as you feel.

‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ you sniffle, wiping your nose with your wrist, the bottle sloshing as you move.

People aren’t usually like this with you - things in general are not this way. You’ve grown accustomed to making your life sweet, to doing it yourself - by yourself. From where he stands, he is not unlike an ambush, an accident that startles the unsuspecting, rattling you much the way love does. In this sense, you assume, love and accidents are the same.

‘It’s raining,’ he says with a giggle, easing his good over his head. And just like that, you swoon. ‘Just come in and get dry. You can call an Lyft without destroying your phone.’

He slips into the back room, pushing through a door that opens to reveal more antiques before tossing you a boyish, encouraging grin. Awkwardly, you stand with your arms pressed to your side, careful not to bump into things or spill your wine. There’s more in this space that you could not see from the street, end tables and empty wicker baskets; a long table that likely once served a family stands alone, looking weathered though not forlorn. Boxes scatter the floor, more tools you don’t recognize and tissue paper with the same logo as on his apron spread across parts of the floor.

‘I should have said,’ he announces, emerging through the door and speaking as though he’d been in conversation the whole time. ‘My name is Baekhyun. Sorry about the mess.’

Thrusting his hand forward, he presents you with a small while towel, fluffy and clean, and looking brand new. You smirk, realizing this is likely the newest thing you’ve seen apart from his apron and the paper. Taking the towel, your fingers brush accidentally, briefly, but the warmth of his skin catches your attention. Strength has burrowed into the joints, powerful and firm in the way he touches and holds things, confident in his grip, and once more, like this, he takes control of the flow of your blood.

‘Thank you,’ you murmur, feeling your cheeks grow hot. Slowly, you run the towel over your hair, looking around the store once more. ‘Are you an antique salesman?’

Baekhyun sighs, glancing down at his feet as he scratches the back of his head. ‘I’m a florist,’ he clarifies, suddenly shy. ‘The antiques were left to me by my grandmother when she passed. Once the flowers come in, they’ll serve as displays, decoration inspiration for once the flowers are home, things like that. They should be here in a few days.’

‘These are pretty,’ you say idly, handing the towel back to him and gesturing vaguely to the chars. Their curved backs are regal, elegantly holding silk designs in their centers with various flowers on display. ‘I’m sure it’ll look beautiful in here once everything is set up.’

Baekhyun laughs, folding the towel as he cocks his head to the side. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Oh, sorry.’ Shaking your head, you sigh, flustered. ‘Y/N. I bought the lot next door.’

‘Yeah, I figured.’ As soon as he says it, his eyes bulge wide, abject shock painting his face and one hand rising in defense. ‘I’m not stalking you or anything, I promise. When I got this place the leasing office told me the building next to it had been purchased as well. I guess they figure since it shares plumbing we should know who our neighbor is.’

Humming a noise of understanding, it’s your turn to glance at your feet, shifting your weight side to side as you consider his words. He’s owned his shop for the same length of time as you, perhaps even less, but the difference in devotion is palpable. Even in this nearly empty state, a limbo of soon and not quite yet, it still feels like potential. When you raise your eyes to look at him, you can almost see the flowers line the walls in your peripheral, a rainbow of delicate petals carefully selected for their fragrance.

These colours suit him, suit the almost tender way he regards you, a laugh tucked into the corner of his lips, ready to be free at any moment. They suit the brightness that lingers beneath his skin, all things around him suddenly more because he’s near, and he has chosen to care. And while it would be easy to see him as someone malleable, all you can do is see him as someone brave - someone unafraid of sustaining responsibility.

‘So what do you do?’ he continues, leaning against the table, arms crossing over his chest. ‘Or, rather, what will you do?’

‘I’m a pastry chef.’

It feels easy to say, the words rolling off your tongue with little pomp and circumstance, but they don’t seem to fit. A curve in your bottom lip grows, a pout that did not exist before, unsure if you are fit to call yourself as such anymore.

‘That’s incredible!’ Baekhyun exclaims, delight painting his features.

His surrender to sweetness and joy is swift, all encompassing in the way he gives over to childlike pleasure. With this kind of smile, you imagine him biting into one of your cakes, mouth wide and eyes closed and fingers soiled enough to be licked clean. You wonder if he would like it.

‘Is it?’ you challenge gently, your weak humor testing the truth, though you don’t know if this challenge is meant for him or yourself.

He furrows his brow, quizzical, and your thumb twitches, wanting to wipe away the crease. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ he asks, voice soft. ‘It takes an incredible sense of creativity and mastery of skill to do that.’

‘See, you’d think that,’ you half-heartedly agree, lifting the bottle to tip it towards him, ‘but anyone can make a cake.’ Bringing the bottle to your lips, you ready for a drink before catching sight of his curious, sympathetic eyes. Part of you doesn’t want to let him down, or disappoint him, but you do not know if this part is the wine or truly you.

‘Have you ever ordered a cake?’ you ask instead.

‘Yeah,’ he shrugs. ‘A few times.’

‘Not from a grocery store,’ you clarify with a knowing smirk. ‘I mean from an actual bakery.’

His smile falls. ‘Oh. Well, then no.’

‘See?’

‘But people love cookies and cupcakes,’ he urges, unwilling to be defeated. ‘There’s always a market for that.’

‘There’s always a market for flowers,’ you correct with a grin. ‘A holiday, a wedding, a funeral. There’s always something.’

‘People can pick flowers themselves.’ Baekhyun leans forward, invigorated by your argument. ‘And, I’m always going to battling the online market, courier delivery. No matter what you do, someone else can do it, too. Owning a business is more about marketing yourself than your product.’

Rolling your eyes, you take a drink of wine. ‘You sound like my father.’

Baekhyun winks. ‘Then, he’s a smart guy.’

Silence befalls you both as he watches you, eyes searching you face, learning you. The rain on the street and on the roof becomes a soundtrack to the way he reads you, calm and casual, as though you are a thing worth being devoted to. With this sort of intense stare, you think you should feel vulnerable, and probably would with anyone else, but he it’s comfortable - being alone with him is natural, the most relaxed you’ve been in weeks. Around him, you do not slouch, do not make yourself small, not even when confronted with your own self judgment, and this is how you know he is important.

Biting your lip, you turn and step back until you touch the table, settling beside him to recline. Warmth radiates off him in waves, eyes still on you and tickling your skin. Inside your pocket, your phone vibrates, reminding you the point of being indoors was to call a Lyft, but your limbs feel heavy. Leaving him feels like it would hurt, even though you don’t actually know him, even though you may likely never see him again.

Still, you want to cherish the sensation of staring at the sun and feeling it look back, basking in this sort of luxury for as long as you can.

Humming to yourself, you glance to either side, aimlessly lifting the bottle and bag, unsure where to place it. Baekhyun chuckles, wrapping his hand over yours to take the bottle, and you turn to face him, electricity running through your veins and making your breath catch. His touch is wildfire, a current that rumbles inside you harder, and longer, than tragedy, and deeper than fear. His firm hold shakes things within you, demands your attention, your focus - that you witness the full experience of it.

Gingerly, he pulls the bottle from you, keeps his eyes on yours and does not falter as he presses it to his lips, moaning gently as he takes a drink. His eyes flutter closed, lashes splaying across his cheeks as he savors it, before swallowing and placing it beside him, out of your reach. .

‘That’s a lot of wine,’ he says, voice low as he licks his lips. ‘You celebrating?’

For a moment, you blink at him, mouth dry and hands needy, wanting to fist in the fabric of his hoodie to pull him close.

‘Not anymore,’ you manage. ‘My parents hosted some party for me, glorifying the fact that I decided to open a bakery to all our friends and family. The shame when I told them I hadn’t even started looking at paint let alone an oven…’ Your sentence fades, words going thing as you remember your father’s scowl and your mother’s bark of your name, appalled, not that you would take a risk but that, you would fail again. ‘I left after that, but not before I grabbed these.’

‘You’re lucky,’ he whispers softly, just loud enough to be heard.

You snort, lowering your eyes to the floor and studying your shoes beside his, the same shade of red. ‘Not really. I dropped out of university and had to start over, and now I have this loan I’m sure I’ll never be able to pay back, on top of school loans. I feel like I fucked my life up.’

‘I meant that you have people to celebrate with you. Family.’

When you look at him again, there is no trace of sadness on his features, demanding that you do not pity him. Instead, he regards you behind a collected barrier, one he has likely spent years cultivating with careful, polite expressions that do not put lines or creases at the corner of his mouth. His placid silence tells you he is not sad but envious, and for this the tightness of guilt turns your tongue heavy.

Swallowing thickly, you lean back, hands gripping the table as though bracing for a fall. ‘I’m sorry,' you manage, words thin.

‘My friends are my family,' he continues, eyes glossy with affection. 'They can’t afford a party like that, not really.’ Minutely, he nods as though granting them approval, but shows no sign of shyness at sharing his personal life. On the contrary, he seems glad, shoulders lifting as though unburdened. ‘You’re making them proud, even if it doesn't feel that way.’

Pressing your tongue against your teeth, you hold tightly to the table and remain quiet as his gaze roots around inside you. You aren't really sure when you become so exposed, or when he decided you were the sort of company he needed to share these details with. A generic reply doesn't feel like it would be enough, the scale of equity uneven and tipped in a favor that would tarnish the thread of connection that has seemingly grown between you.

You aren't really sure what to say at all, and so you change the topic, pausing the discussion of family until you know him better, or, perhaps, best.

‘Were you scared?’ You sound scared, mild and meek and wholly unlike the person you know yourself to be. Coughing, you clear your throat, hoping to deliver yourself back to confidence. ‘When you bought this place, I mean? That it just wouldn’t….be.’

‘Yes,’ he admits, nodding once with vigor. ‘Terrified, but mostly excited. I couldn’t let the doubt stop me, not after all the work I’d put into this. Being a florist takes a lot, but not many people know that. It’s more than just flower arranging.’

‘Did you get your MBA?’

‘I’m working on it now.’ Baekhyun rolls his shoulders back, proud to say these words and proud of himself for achieving the dignity that comes with the phrase. ‘It’s been start and go, a lot like you.’

‘I jumped into this,' you counter, shaking your head and looking off in the distance, remembering. ‘They teach you how to run a business alongside the normal skill classes, but I was never someone’s apprentice. It’s so bold of me, to rush in.’

‘You must be pretty good.’ He speaks as though he's sure, as though you cannot be anything less, and you blink at him in surprise. ‘You must have seen something in yourself that told you it’s possible. Sometimes, that’s enough.’

Once more, you gaze out into the rain, watching it fall evenly onto the sidewalk. Baekhyun is not incorrect, and you shiver, wondering how he could have assumed so accurately. At university, you graduated top of your class, praised for flavor and aesthetic and for the tenacity of your drive. Riding the wave that came from compliments and arbitrary scores lead to this moment, but then, this is a moment you are sharing with him, and all at once, it does not feel so grim.

‘If you knew how it would turn out, would you still have done it?’

His question lures you back to him, the even cadence of his tone causing your mind to halt and relax, body swaying slightly into his with a gentle nudge.

‘Done what?’ you ask, hazy from the scent of his cologne.

‘Bought the building to make it into a store,' he offers, leaning closer to press against your shoulder. ‘Would you still have done it if you knew you were going to regret it?’

He phrases the question in a way to make it easy for you to say no, to give yourself the opportunity to imagine how it feels to be free of burden and done with the weight of choices that often feel as though they belong to someone else. He phrases it to give you an out, but he watches you, expectant, a smile tucked into the corner of his lips as though he knows.

And you, already learning that he knows you better than yourself, sigh, knowing that his assumptions will always be correct; that, somehow, as though he had known you for years, he would always see the heart of you.

‘Yes.’

Admissions like this should be liberating, you think, and you wait for the exhilaration that comes from freedom, from acceptance, realizing now that you likely held onto the table in preparation for this very moment.

It does not come.

Instead, peace saunters down your spine, a cool, collected calm that comes from rationality and the lucidity that comes with the fade of alcohol. Breathing no longer feels like something you need permission to do, lungs full and slowly learning to ache with a sense of purpose, rather than responsibility. You would choose this over and over again, recklessly abandoning your best judgement in the effort of delivering yourself to pleasure.

The slow burn of this high will fade, you know, once you are alone and Baekhyun is not there to make you seem sweet, rather than the world. But, for now, you are grateful, and, all at once, remember that the point of this moment was find a way to leave it behind.

Removing a hand from the table, you keep your eyes on his as your fingers dig into your pocket for your phone, hesitant and regretful. There's more on this phone than just an app to take you home - there is home. Parents, missed phone calls, ignored text messages, the time and the understanding that the length of your absence is worrisome. In this empty shop, in this moment, at Baekhyun's side, things feel simple, easy, exciting.

You will likely never be sure of many things, but you know that leaving him, breaking this moment of honesty and trust, would be cruel. And so, you hold your phone, ready, but do not take it out, and turn instead to watch the rain once more, hoping for thunder to clap its approval of you.

‘Sometimes the city makes its love when it’s raining.’ Baekhyun tosses the words out like they’re sacred, like they’re treasures he allows himself to share with you. Like this, he breaks the silence, the honey of his voice making you sigh. ‘That’s what my mother always said, so I wouldn’t see the rain as something sad.’

You groan, letting yourself be dramatic because, all at once, things feel like an ending. Pulling your phone out, you unlock it before you can ready any of the notifications, moving to your app and pretending this was a party, this was a date, this is an evening that bleeds with reasons to see him again.

‘I’m suffering,' you slur, eyes going wide and realizing you are more tipsy than you thought you were.

A blush spreads across your cheeks as you scold yourself, distraught that you had held it together, but just couldn't make it to the end. How very like you.

And he laughs, really truly deeply laughs, a high pitched sound that makes your hands falter. In his chest, he carries music, a melody resonating from the rhythm of his delight, and you burn for him. You burn and you burn and you burn.

‘You’re going to be okay,' he says, composing himself. 'You’re just drunk.’

‘It’s easier to suffer when you’re drunk,' you quip, requesting your ride with a frown. 'It means you can forget it in the morning.’

Playfully, he nudges your shoulder, quirking his eyebrows with a boyish grin. ‘Then, you’re going to suffer in my arms if it takes all night.’

‘My Lyft will be here in three minutes.’

You don't know why you choose to say it, and you close your eyes momentarily, feeling your heart sink. It's the worst thing you could have said, understanding just seconds later that he is flirting and likely never will again after being rebuffed so cooly.

'Then,' he chuckles, seemingly unfazed, 'we make three minutes a whole entire year.'

The ease of his speech catches you off guard, mind racing to process if you had misread his sentiment altogether. He's naturally good, naturally kind, and, most likely, says things like this to everyone, heart willing to share a moment of affection. You are drunk, you remind yourself. You are drunk, and therefore unable to see the difference between flirting and kindness. You are drunk.

‘Your kindness is so pure, so good.' Turning slightly, you reach to take the gift bag of alcohol, wondering how much of this will make it through the night. ‘Goodness doesn’t come easily to most people.’

‘It comes easily to those who have the opportunity,' is his swift reply.

He does not move to give you your wine, and you eye it stoically, hoping that he keeps it, that he drinks from it; hoping that he presses his lips to where yours have been all through the evening.

‘It doesn’t come easily to me,' you murmur, distracted by the imagined sensation of his lips against yours.

‘Y/N?’

Humming with a start, you turn your attention back to him, soul eased by the mere sight of him.

‘See?’ he laughs, amused by something you cannot see. ‘Your first instinct when I said your name was to smile. That says a lot.’

Lightning flashes outside, the first of the storm, and, though thunder does not follow it does not mean you do not quake with the onslaught. The brief flash of light illuminates him in a way you think too ethereal to be human, a blinding and brilliant moment of transcendence in which you finally understand that the flesh of men can often be construed for the flow of angels. Tomorrow, you fully expect him to be gone, a mirage of your exhausted imagination and weary heart.

He does not blink in the light, simply shines through it, radiating as if he consumed it and kept for himself, powered by the glory of it all.

A black car rolls up slowly to the store, your phone buzzing in unison with its approach.

The night is over, but it does not mean you must leave him. He is worth the pain of return, the pain of an attempt, and even though it cannot be for yourself, right now, it is reason enough to want to try.

‘Do you feel better?’ he asks, glancing out to the car with a forlorn expression of longing. ‘Well enough to go home?’

‘Yes,' you say, unsure if he means your health or your heart. ‘But then, why does it still hurt?’

‘It’s going to hurt.' The sureness with which he says it turns it into something reassuring, something less awful and easier to stomach. 'It’s always going to hurt. Risk is uncomfortable, but that’s why risk and reward both start with R.’

You laugh, cheeks tight from the heat and the wine and the hope that has nestled beneath your skin. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘Sure it does,' he insists, as though he’s never been so wise in his life. ‘But I think what’s most important is that in risk, you are never alone.’

‘How so?’

He lifts his finger to tap the tip of your nose, blissfully ignorant of the fact that this touch, this brief moment of intimacy makes you swoon. You swoon and you yearn, knowing nothing, from this moment onward, will ever be the same.

‘Because my store is next to yours, and that means we’re together now. In risk, we are not alone.’

Yes, you think. This is going to hurt.

#baekhyun x reader #exosnet #kpopwonderlandtag #kwriterskollection #prettyboysnetwork #baekhyun fic #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun au #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun scenario #exo au #exo fluff #exo fic #exo fanfic #byun baekhyun

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scripttorture · 5 years

Text

So, bouncing off of that last anon. How do you think serial killers fit into the mix, people that "torture" and rape and kill consistently? Since they're people that hurt others repeatedly and seem to come out doing it more or less, like how ted b*ndy managed to seem a okay until he was caught, do you think those persons suffer the same damage as torturers? Is it in a whole different thing entirely? Do you think we romance serial killers for the media and our understanding of them isn't truth?

The ask was accidentally deleted but I had saved a copy and my answer.

This is the previous ask being referenced in case any one wants to read it.

I think that I don’t have enough evidence to conclusively say one way or another.

My reading has been pretty focused on torture, war and human rights abuses, not serial killers. So there might well be differences I’m unaware of.

Off the top of my head I can think of at least one important difference: serial killers don’t have any where near the same number of victims as torturers. Torturers spend a lot more time abusing people then serial killers do.

The killer you referenced confessed to killing thirty people. An estimated 20,000 were held at Tuol Sleng when it was used as a prison by the Khmer Rouge. They were all tortured and multiple torturers will have been involved in the abuse of each individual victim.

The killer you referred to committed his crimes over an almost twenty year period. Tuol Sleng was used by the Khmer Rouge for about three years.

The scale of these crimes, the intensity and the duration of the violence is different. Radically so.

And it may be that the difference in time frames, scale, duration and intensity of violence makes a difference to the health of the criminals committing them.

My understanding is that serial killers act alone.

Torturers do not. The group pressures that effect torturers, and the threat they pose to each other, could also make a difference. They are at least a confounding factor, ie something that could potentially have an effect and would need to be accounted for in a comparison experiment.

It’s also possible that serial killers and other sorts of abusers are just as severely effected as torturers. People can be good at hiding severe mental health problems.

I say this as someone who has had severe problems for decades. I’ve been, obviously, visibly mentally ill around people who just- didn’t pick up on it. Not even after years and multiple episodes.

It’s perfectly possible for someone to have one or two of the common symptoms and have no body notice. It’s possible for them to appear, if not ‘fine, then odd or ill in ways that are not connected to mental health.

Insomnia and chronic pain often get chalked up to the pressures of modern living. Depression, suicidal thoughts, isolation, addiction, memory problems- can all go unnoticed for years. Especially if the person suffering from them doesn’t want them to be noticed and works to avoid people noticing them.

My instinct is that if someone seemed ‘perfectly fine until they were caught’ then it’s unlikely they were actually fine before they were caught. Mental illness rarely develops overnight.

From the little I have read about serial killers, I remember researchers stating that the killers, like torturers, didn’t reliably report their own actions or responses. Torturers often view mental illness as ‘weakness’ and are unlikely to report their own symptoms until those symptoms become so obvious they can’t be hidden. Serial killers may behave similarly.

But all of this is conjecture. Because so far as I know no one has done the study to compare the two. I think any such study would run up against multiple problems early on. It would have to reach a suitable definition for both groups. It would have to find a decent number of willing participants from both groups. It would have to account for things like cultural differences, age, prior health. It would have to find a way to counteract any distortion or misinformation from the participants.

That’s a big ask. You’re talking decades of work.

I don’t know what the answer would be. However, given how common and deep rooted our response to torture is, I find it unlikely that anyone could just be ‘immune’. The processes that underlie these responses are fundamental to our ability to function, as individuals and as a species.

I also think there’s a really strong tendency to write off and reject people who do awful things.

It is easier for us to pretend there’s something different and broken about them, something fundamentally wrong with that particular individual then it is to accept that a person did that.

Until there is conclusive proof that these people are somehow fundamentally different, I believe it’s more likely that they are us. That we are the same.

This is a frightening thought to many people. It suggests that we may not be able to trust in the innate goodness of those around us. It also suggests that we personally might be capable of committing atrocities.

And I think it’s very easy, when confronting that fear, for people to stamp their feet and go ‘No, I would never ever. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. They must have something wrong with them.’

I don’t think this response, natural though it is, helps us to deal with the hard work of preventing violence and rehabilitating offenders.

Getting round to the last question- yes, I think serial killers probably are romanticised in media.

But so are killers generally.

We have whole genres dedicated to unrealistic, glorified portrayals of killers. As a global society we romanticise violence. We present it as a ‘reasonable’ or ‘inevitable’ solution in fiction constantly. We portray non-violent solutions as ineffective, weak or ‘unrealistic’ even when they are historically recorded and definitely happened. A constant, recycled plot in a certain brand of story has the hero ‘overcoming’ his distaste for violence so that he can heroically join the army/resistance and kill a whole bunch of people.

Once again, I don’t have a problem with any one’s favoured form of fantasy, it’s the tacit acceptance that this is realistic that I find worrying.

The romanticisation of serial killers may well be a problem. But, in my view, it’s only a small part of a larger problem; the romanticisation and unrealistic depiction of violence itself.

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#writing advice #tw torture #tw murder #serial killers #torturers #behaviour of torturers #writing torture #writing torturers #effect of torture on torturers #violence in fiction #mental illness #fictional justifications for violence

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svt-writers-club · 5 years

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Villian AU Wonchan? 🥺🥺🥺 (if you need an excuse here it is)

lichiitea always spoils me by giving me excuses to write the things i wanna write and honestly i love being spoiled and am also a weak bitch so :3c

i know you guys love jihan for this au but you guys need to make way for more angst ships up in this villainy

to celebrate fear being the theme song of villain au, here’s some villain au wonchan romance (?)

TRIGGER WARNINGS IMMINENT! if you’re triggered by/are not comfortable with blood, violence, gore and overall violent descriptions and imagery, then STOP HERE and move on to something else, thank you! (Feel free to message me if you think there are other trigger warnings I should add to this post)

- Chan doesn’t know what love is.

He knows how to make love – to create it out of nothing but magic. He knows how to force love, to manipulate minds into feeling something that isn’t there. He knows that it exists, that it’s a powerful force, but he doesn’t know what love is.

At least he doesn’t, until he meets Jeon Wonwoo.

- Jeon Wonwoo is a scrawny thing, at first. With large glasses and a larger sweater, he stumbles into Chan’s teashop. The friendly little bell jingles, the tourists who wandered into Chan’s shop turning and eyeing the newcomer disinterestedly before returning to their conversation.

Chan watches the stranger look around his humble tea emporium confusedly, nervously fiddling with his glasses. He’s not classically handsome, Chan thinks, although he supposes there’s something appealing about that sharp jawline and soft sweater.

He plasters on a smile and glides towards the lost mortal, his hanbok sleeves fluttering slightly in an absent wind. “Welcome to Lee’s Tea Emporium,” he chirps. “Table for one?”

The mortal blinks, lips pursing. “I… don’t know how I got here,” he says sheepishly. Too sharp eyes scrutinise Chan suspiciously from behind treated glass.

“That’s normal,” Chan lies smoothly, with another charming smile. “It’s the winding streets. Let me find you a seat with a view.”

This one will be fun to mess with, he thinks to himself, without knowing that he’s completely wrong. Well, Chan’s not really used to having the tables turned on him.

(He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it ever.)

- The mortal finds his way into Chan’s tea shop every day for the next month. He comes in at precisely twelve-eighteen in the afternoon without fail. Chan keeps an eye on the clock, the ticking of the minute hand always corresponding with the welcoming jingle of the bell.

Chan is not intrigued. His interest is barely piqued.

After all, there’s a new villain in town. A villain that’s painted in hues of insanity that call to Chan like a flame to a moth. He’s drawn to the jagged edges of the dumbass carved on the skin of the small-time criminal, the sheer lack of restraint in the way bones in the face were broken.

It’s not love, but it’s something close.

- Seungkwan says this Wonwoo guy is bad news. It’s funny, because Chan has been telling Seungkwan that Hansol is way out of his league, but he never listens either.

Chan isn’t stupid. He doesn’t want to end up with a broken face and shattered pride. He’ll play this strategically.

He hangs out along the edge of Wonwoo’s territory, causing havoc and having fun, trying to draw out the elusive madman. He fucks with the police station a block away, then casts illusions in a park right outside of the new villain’s territory.

It doesn’t take very long.

He’s in the middle of perusing a jewellery store who decided not to fuck with him (or his wolf familiar, Dino) when he feels a menacing presence at the door. Chan doesn’t stop scrutinising a pair of diamond earrings, although he does tilt his body so the newcomer knows he’s been acknowledged.

“You’re in my territory,” a deep voice rumbles. There’s no menace in his voice, but a shiver runs down Chan’s spine anyway.

“Am I?” Chan asks with faux-confusion. He turns towards the stranger fully, eyes trailing over the neat shoes, tailored suit and polished cane. His gaze lingers on the almost-familiar face, jolting when he realises it’s his newest regular.

“So it’s you,” the mortal, Wonwoo, says. There’s not timidity in his gaze, no hesitation as he saunters into the store. “You’re the warlock shop owner.”

“You’re the mousy writer,” Chan retorts, standing his ground. Something in him quivers as Wonwoo strides forward like he belongs here. It’s titillating. It makes him yearn for something that he shouldn’t want.

Wonwoo’s gaze is sharp as he stops a hair’s breadth away from Chan. “That’s not me.”

“No?” Chan raises an eyebrow. “A mask is still a facet of you, even if you don’t realise.”

“Maybe I’m not hiding.”

“Everyone’s always hiding.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow coolly. He plucks the earring out of Chan’s hand casually. Their fingers brush. “And what are you hiding, little warlock?”

The question genuinely stuns Chan.

He doesn’t even notice that Dino has her head bowed, tail between her legs because she’s faced with a predator with sharper teeth and an insatiable thirst for blood – a predator that doesn’t need teeth and claws to tear a man apart.

Chan isn’t scared by that. He’s a man that can command the four elements whenever he can, that regularly plays with the simple minds of mortals any time he pleases.

What can a mortal like Jeon Wonwoo – who has no powers, no way to battle against Chan in a duel and win – do to him?

- Chan is obsessed.

He finds himself scrolling the news for a glimpse of the villainous madman, his gaze following Wonwoo’s civilian persona with an intensity that would scare a regular mortal.

Chan plays with feelings at the drop of a potion, can craft poisons and antidotes from the top of his head. With a wave of his hand, he can bend physics. At the touch of his lips, men and women crumble at his feet.

And yet…

And yet.

His mind is twisted around. Maybe Wonwoo has powers after all.

- It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon. The morning has been unproductive; all Chan can do is stare at the clock, impatiently waiting for twelve-eighteen. Energy thrums under his skin, sparks trailing across his fingers with every task he finishes unsuccessfully.

The moment the jingle sounds, Chan is greeting Wonwoo at the door. He hates with a passion – from Wonwoo’s soft grey cardigan to his round wire-framed glasses, all the way to his soft hair that Chan wants to bury his handsin and ruin.

He grabs the writer by the collar, dragging him into the kitchen and tossing him unceremoniously against the marble counter.

“What have you done to me?” Chan hisses. His hair whips angrily, eyes flashing silver as his frustration culminates in energy that fills the air and makes the air thick.

Wonwoo sheds this false persona he’s sunk deep into, back straightening and eyes darkening.

“I haven’t done anything,” the psychopath says, but he’s lying.

“You did,” Chan snarls, crossing the space between them. He lifts Wonwoo effortlessly, but he’s unfazed. He gazes at Chan like he’s the one in control. Chan wants to break him. “What curse did you put on me?”

The smirk that curls Wonwoo’s lips knows much more than Chan can ever know. “We’re all cursed. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Maybe it’s the world that’s crazy.”

And somehow that makes sense. The world has tilted and turned insane right in front of Chan’s eyes.

“You’ve done something to me,” Chan says.

Wonwoo smile, slow and wicked. “Maybe I have.”

- Chan doesn’t know what love is. He doesn’t.

But he imagines the way Wonwoo’s eyes scorch his skin as they watch him is as close to love as he can get. The desperate way Chan hangs off Wonwoo’s every word, goes from calling him Wonwoo-ssi to Wonwoo hyung to just hyung.

Wonwoo learns the ways Chan plays with mortals, then learns how to play Chan’s body like the well-loved piano in his shitty apartment out in Itaewon. He takes Chan’s hand then breaks him sweet and slow – almost tender enough to make Chan believe there’s something more between them.

Wonwoo fills his every thought, so he doesn’t even hesitate when Wonwoo asks him for a single spell that causes devastation.

And it devastates him when Wonwoo tosses him aside, like he’s nothing more than an empty gun.

#seventeen #svt #lichiitea #serrauthor replies #villain au #tw violence #tw blood #tw death #tw gore #wonwoo #dino #chan #wonchan #i wonder if you guys think i only have seventeen followers bc i'm always answering the same people #any lines wonchan sing during fear literally correspond with their villain au counterparts #i'm still screaming

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i-love-charles · 5 years

Note

Hi hi i got a request if it’s ok can I get Charles doing a duet with fem reader♥️♥️ P.S I love your account

[thank you so much for the request and the compliment, I’m glad you enjoy my works. you didn’t specifics whether you wanted headcannons or a mini fic, but it turned into a mini fic so I hope that’s alright.]

[I’m sure the vast majority of you know this song, but I’ll link it here anyway.]

A Safe Return

Notes: Female Reader + Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan, Singing, Character Injury, Racism, Mutual Pining, Fluff

Wordcount: 1,636

Your fingers worked patiently with the needle in your hand, carrying it through the bullet holes of the fabric on your lap; through and between the frayed patchwork of the garment and out again for your other hand to pull through. A recent gunfight with the Lemoyne Raiders had left you and the other women at camp with a lot of shirts to fix up, and clearly you weren’t the only one tired of this chore. An irritated sigh sounded from above you on the opposite crate where a impatient Mary-Beth sat, mending at a pair of men’s long johns that also had holes from the shootout evident on the material.

The camp was quiet and tense; Arthur hadn’t been home in days. He usually left for nights at a time for hunting or privacy but this time it was serious – ‘O’Driscoll serious’, as Dutch had put it. A visibly anxious Charles sat upon a stump at the campfire, steady hands sharpening a point in his perfected arrows. Much like yourself, Charles was probably closest to Arthur, and right now you were trying not to think the worst. As if sensing your worry, he met your gaze with his lash framed coffee eyes and you shared a shaky smile as if comforting each other for a brief moment. The butterflies in your stomach run a mile at the interaction and you look back down at your chores to avoid blushing like a fresh beet.

These past six months had been confusing for you. A new member; mysterious, quiet, private, and yet there was something about him that felt familiar. Almost like you were meant to be, you stifled an embarrassed giggle each time that thought crossed your busy mind. Romance didn’t last when you were on the run, even if you were running together. An outlaws life is constantly on the line, how can you care for someone if any day has a high chance of being their last? You had comforted Molly numerous times, wiping running rouge from her tear stained cheeks and guiding hair from her eyes as she cried about Dutch.

Your thoughts were torn away as a short and shy Kieran made his way past the women’s tents, a barrel of bundled hay for the horses clutched at his chest. Mary-Beth’s breath hitched in her throat and she stilled slightly, her eyes drifting from the patchwork to Kieran’s. He stopped briefly before you both before letting out a shaky greeting with a violent shade of pink staining the apples of his cheeks. “____. M-Mary-Beth, you look real ‘purty to-”

His compliment was cut short by a drunken and stumbling Micah, whisky in hand and black leather trench-coat slipping from one of his shoulders. He brought an arm around a visibly terrified Kieran. “What you doin’ interrupting the help, boy?” The overpowering stench of alcohol laced the condescending words that fell with his rancid breath, so strong it wafted to yourself and Mary-Beth. “Ya’ know what I think? I think ya’ know exactly where Arthur is, so why don’t ya’ just tell us and Dutch’ll kill ya’ quick.” Micah’s tone became impatient and knife-like with anger, one of his fists came up clutch at Kieran’s throat and he dropped the bundle to the ground in shock. Charles lifted from his seat, yourself and Mary-Beth did the same, and hurried over in angry strides to the scene before him. A large fist connected with Micah’s smug grin and he stumbled backwards, releasing his grip on a shaken Kieran.

“The help! Have some goddamn respect!” Charles shouted. Micah flinched at his fiery temperament; an angry Charles was more than a rare occurrence - he’s the pinnacle of ‘calm and collected’. You stepped forward, grabbing Charles clinched fist to signal him to step away, that Micah’s less than worth it. Charles complied and held your hand, squeezing it quickly as a thank you.

A calm and mocking laugh erupted from Micah and he turned back to his towering opponent, his gaze settled on the scene before him. “A darkie? Aren’t you the lucky one.” The words slithered from tongue serpent-like and your blood boiled at his words. He lifted a clenched fist up to wipe at the blood beginning to seep from his busted and bruised bottom lip. “Now that I think about it – Arthur’s probably de-”

Thankfully, Micah’s moment was cut short by the abrupt rearing of Arthur’s horse from the bushes. His white Arabian, Eliza, came to a dramatic halt before all of you. Loud and extremely agitated whinnies erupted from her as she jumped and skid across the flaky dirt, bashing into the side of the wagon and her saddle was hanging loose around her back, atop of it lay a bloodied and bruised Arthur. His body lay across the saddle limp and barely conscious, slight droplets of blood from Arthur’s wounds painted themselves upon the perfect white coat of his mare.

“Arthur!” Mary-Beth exclaimed from beside you, running alongside yourself and Charles to the fragile man.

___________

Charles lifted the tent flap from outside, entering quietly as to not wake the restful and recovering Arthur, a cup of water and a fresh bowl of Pearson’s stew in hand. His eyes drifted across the tent to where you had perched yourself in a flimsy chair beside Arthur’s cot. His gentle faced sent a genuine smile your way, you returned the favour as he sat in a chair opposite.

“How’s he doin’?” Charles spoke quietly, placing the stew and water on Arthur’s table. Your eyes drift to the loose tendrils of his hair that splay past his face, the curls creating slight shadows against his cheeks. You take a second to admire this otherwise dull detail before snapping yourself out of the sudden daze.

“Susan said he’ll be awake in no time: bullet wound on his shoulder is healin’ real nicely. Jus’ needs to take it slow for a few days.” You both shared a muffled giggle, knowing full well Arthur isn’t one to ‘take it slow’. “Anyway.” You chimed, meeting his calm intense gaze. The tent became practically airtight around you and an inevitable blush spread across your rosy cheeks. His gaze bored into yours, almost challenging you to look away – to which you refused to comply.

“____.” Arthur croaked from the cot beside you suddenly. Both yourself and Charles tore from each others intense gaze. You lifted a palm to Arthur’s forehead and it radiated a heat against your skin along with a thick sheen of sweat. Charles brought the cup of water to Arthur’s mouth whilst lifting him to sit against the cots headboard. He gulped down the water appreciatively and winced at the deep pain in his shoulder. “Damn O’Driscolls.” He muttered, stretching his legs out in satisfaction. “How long was I out for?”

“Three days.” Charles answers coolly, placing the empty cup back down beside him.

“Shoulda’ sent you a postcard back from O’Driscoll paradise.” Arthur joked, prodding the bruised skin of his arms. The three of you giggled in response and the atmosphere around embraced you with safety and familiarity, especially now that Arthur was home. The two most important men in your life sat beside you – Arthur, practically your brother after all of these years on the run together, and Charles, a man that made your knees weak and your heart heavy.

“We should have a party later in camp. To celebrate Arthur’s safe return.” You thought aloud, Charles nodded appreciatively at your response; tensions in camp were thick and awkward, getting everyone drunk and joyful was usually the only time people let their guard down – it was more than much needed, it was deserved.

“I don’t want no fuss.” Arthur grumbled, shifting from beneath the thin linen sheet upon his lap.

“I’ve got just the thing.” Charles answered, sifting from the pocket of his dark slacks before bringing out his trusty silver harmonica. “We’ll just celebrate in here, the three of us.” He lifted the instrument to his plump plush lips and began to create a delightful melody that swayed its way around the tents confines. You recognised the tune, a particular favourite among camp thanks to Uncles typical drunken singing antics. Yourself and Arthur began to clap along with wide grins to his notes and Arthur urged you to join.

“I don’t have an instrument, Arthur.” You pleaded, pouting your lips slightly at him like any other annoying sister would.

“Isn’t the voice an instrument?” He teased, continuing to clap along. You poured again and he smiled at you smugly. “You said it yourself, a party for me.” He chuckled and you gave in, plucking up your courage and singing sweetly along with Charles harmonica. His eyes lifted to yours and he clung to your words as your instruments bounced off of one another, dancing perfectly together like ice cream on a hot summers day or fresh coffee in the early mornings.

“Well, let me have a ruler and a saw and a boardAnd I’ll cut itI’ll climb up the ladder with a hammer and a nail And I’ll nail it”

“Well, we worked so hard to build a little house Together In the snow or the rain or the ice cold windWhenever”

“No matter Any weatherWe’re together”

Charles set down the harmonica and began to join in, the smile plastered across his face sent the butterflies a-mock again in your chest. You were both supposed to be looking after Arthur, and yet, he practically disappeared in your mind. Right now, you shared the moment with Charles. His voice replaced the harmonica just as sweetly, your voices melded together and it took all of your willpower not to lean forward and press your lips against his like you’d always wanted to. For now, a sweet song in a cheap tent would have to do.

[also, it turned out a lot longer than I originally intended, also sorry for the delay. I’ve updated a few times on why I’ve been inactive but I’m back now thankfully]

#rdr #rdr 2 #Red Dead #red dead redemption 2 #Red Dead Redemption #charles smith #arthur morgan #female reader #nct fluff #romance #mutual pining #racism #mini fic #request #i love charles imagine #red dead 2 #character injury

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