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catholic-character-tournament · 11 months

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CONTESTANTS

I will make the bracket soon but if anyone has any reason why X character shouldn't be in the tournament, let me know. (Please no Kristen Applebee discourse, the pro-Kristen is catholic got to me)

Philip Wittebane has been disqualified

The main I'm ??? Idk if they should be allowed is Philip Wittebane/Emperor Belos

Propaganda was:

Okay okay so like he's technically Puritan-coded but like the Catholic background is still applicable imo. This man truly acts like he's a "savior" and really goes full martyr mode where instead of being like "yeah no my actions were reprehensible" he's like "I AM BEING PERSECUTED FOR DOING WHATS RIGHT BY RIDDING THE WORLD OF THESE WICKED VILE WITCHES". He also follows some Catholic symbolism pretty heavily in the last episode: he's posed similarly to Jesus being crucified, in a monster form he strikes a pose reminiscent of the Adam and God painting from the Sistine Chapel, and he even calls the Boiling Isles(a place full of witches and demons separate from the human realm) a "Perdition", which is "a state of eternal punishment and damnation into which a sinful and unpenitent person passes after death." in Catholic theology. So YES he's Puritan coded but I feel there's enough overlap to consider him for Catholic. Hear me out I know I said Philip was probably Puritan so like. Imagine how funny it'd be to be lumped in the Catholic pool. He would be FURIOUS at being called Catholic he would HATE it. It'd be hilarious. Please consider it.

His whole villain modus operandi is crowning himself Emperor in what could reasonably be interpreted in-universe as Hell (it's not, but it sure does fit a lot of the stereotypical requirements of Hell in roundabout ways, specifically Dante's Inferno kind of stuff) by claiming that he's a prophet/follower/proclaimer etc. of "the Titan's Will" which is basically just a reskin of God's Will aka the typical uber-controlling religious fear mentality the Catholic church was and still kind of is known for. He claims that "wild" or unrestricted magic is displeasing the Titan (the main, uh, god-figure? sorta? of the show) leading everyone to destruction (sin) and that the only way to "please the Titan" is to submit to "magical purification" aka have one's magic be sealed off to only allow one type of magic to be used at a time. Those that don't adhere to this "purification" are evil Wild Witches that must be eradicated. The whole ideology is just Catholic repentance and crusading with a different coat of paint. Not only that but he literally built himself a castle with Catholic aesthetics, specifically church/cathedral ones—it has tons of stained glass windows and painting depicting his "virtues" and accomplishments in clearly religious ways, similar to how Catholic churches use their stained glass windows. He also cloaks a lot of his actions as being a part of "the Titan's Will" and is the main interpreter of said Will, which is pretty much like being the Pope. The kicker of it all is that he's just using all of this as a ruse to eradicate all of witch/demonkind because he's a witch hunter with a grudge nearly 400 years old and still going strong—the ends justify the means and all that.

This bitch is a radical Puritan Protestant witch hunter (the Puritan part being subtext due to where he specifically originated from, the witch hunter part EXPLICITLY CANON) and he just goes full ham on the Catholic Pope aesthetic when he becomes Emperor—lots of gold, grand regalia/clothing, religious iron fist, the whole bit. Over witches and demons, the very thing he's trying to wipe from existence to "save humanity." He basically becomes the fucking Demon Realm Anti-Christ Pope or something. Something something you became the very thing you swore you would destroy something something. The finale of the show ends off with him BECOMING A DRAGON (Revelations allegory) because he got turned into parasitic green goop. The irony here is so massively ridiculous it's insane. Not only that but HE'D HATE BEING NOMINATED AS A CATHOLIC. CAN YOU IMAGINE? PURITAN WITCH HUNTER BECOMING TUMBLR'S CANONIZED PATRON SAINT? HE'D BE SO FREAKING PISSED ABOUT IT (deserved)

List below cut

Matt Murdock/Daredevil (Daredevil)

kurt wagner/nightcrawler (x-men)

Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Trigun)

Homura Akemi (Madoka Magica)

Vector the Crocodile (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Kirei Kotomine (Fate franchise)

Ronan Lynch (The Raven Cycle)

Temenos Mistral (Octopath Traveler 2)

John Ward (FAITH)

Claude Frollo(The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

Eddie Brock (Venom)

Enrico Pucci (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Amon from (Tokyo Ghoul)

Galahad (The Mechanisms)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb)

Johnathan (Shin Megami Tensei IV)

Seeley Booth (Bones)

Doomguy (Doom)

Pope Pinion IV (Cars)

707/Luciel Choi (Mystic Messenger)

Aymeric de Borel (Final Fantasy 14)

Dana Scully (the X files)

Father Alexander Anderson (Hellsing)

Ky Kiske (Guilty Gear)

Akane Kurashiki (Zero Escape)

Hell boy (HellBoy)

Kristen Applebees (Dimension 20's Fantasy High)

Louis de Pointe du Lac (Interview with the Vampire/The Vampire Chronicles)

Pastry Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

Sister Michael (Derry Girls)

Wesley Hailoh (Rhyme and Reason)

Abuela Alma Madrigal (Encanto)

The Derry Girls (Derry Girls)

Aslan from (Chronicles of Narnia)

Father Paul (Midnight Mass)

Helena Bertinlli (DC comics)

Jean Valjean (Les Misérables)

Mac McDonald (It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia)

Mark Heathcliff (The Mandela Catalogue)

Saint Citrina Rocks (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

Tatsumi Kazehaya (Ensemble Stars)

Belizabeth Brassica (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

Caesar Zeppeli (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Chrollo Lucilfer (Hunter x Hunter)

Father Brown (Father Brown)

Gabriel (Ultrakill)

Hot Pants (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Javert (Les Miserables)

Jeanne d'Arc (Alter) - Fate/Grand Order

Justin Law (Soul eater)

Lady Rhea (Fire Emblem)

Luis Serra Navarro (Resident Evil)

Mello (Death Note)

Ryker | Show: Roleslaying With Roman

Nate Ford (Leverage)

Nico D'Angelo (Percy Jackson)

Patton Sanders (Sanders Sides (Web Series))

Pucci (Jojos Bizarre Adventure)

Puss in Boots

Quasimodo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

SCP-166 (Just a Teenage Gaia)

Shadow the Hedgehog (sonic)

Sir Keradin Deeproot (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

The Penitent One (Blasphemous)

Tobias Schneien (Ghost Eyes)

Vito Corleone (The Godfather)

Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series)

Asia Argento (High School DxD)

chuck e. cheese

Bishop Raphaniel Charlock from Dimension 20 - the Ravening War

Blake Langermann - Outlast 2

Brother Cellanus from The Completely Unerotic Adventures of Brother Cellanus

carlos reyes from 911 lone star

Carrie White (Carrie)

Catherine of Aragon (SIX the Musical)

CC from Code Geass

Detective William Murdoch (Murdoch Mysteries)

Double (Skullgirls)

Doug Jones from The VelociPastor

Dracule Mihawk (One Piece)

Duo Maxwell from Gundam Wing

Father John Mulcahy- MASH

Felicia Hardy (Black Cat) | Spiderman

Firestar warrior cats

Flayn from Fire Emblem Three Houses

Frank Castle

Gerard from Unholyverse

Gloria Maria Ramirez Delgado-Pritchett (Modern Family)

Ibara Shiozaki from My Hero Academia

Inori Yamabuki/Cure Pine and Fresh Precure

Jason Todd in DC Comics

John "Soap" MacTavish (Call of Duty)

John Gaius (The Locked Tomb)

Junk rat from Overwatch

Knuckles the hedgehog from Sonic.

Kuroe (Magia Record)

Kyoko Sakura from Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Leliana (Dragon Age)

Lestat de Lioncourt - the Vampire Chronicles (Books/Movies/TV)

Libra (from Fire Emblem: Awakening)

Link - The Legend of Zelda

Maddie Fitzpatrick (Suite Life of Zack and Cody)

Marcy Park (The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee)

Mercedes - Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Michael Carpenter (Dresden Files)

Michael Corleone, the Godfather

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg from Ride the Cyclone

Philip Wittebane/Emperor Belos - The Owl House (disqualified)

Pontifex Belizabeth Brassica from Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy

Rin Okumura from Blue Exorcist

Robocop

Sasuke from Naruto

Shiozaki Ibara bnha

Shiro Fujimoto from Blue Exorcist

simon belmont castlevania

Steve Rogers

Tammy Edwards from the play Legoland by Jacob Richmond

Valeria Garaz (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 reboot)

Valery Michailov (Goncharov - 1973)

Zakuro Fujiwara from Tokyo Mew Mew

Kawabuchi Sentarou (Kids on the Slope)

Kaworu Nagisa (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

Emilio Santoz from The Sparrow

Remy LeBeau (Gambit) from Marvel Comics X-Men

jesus but from jesus christ superstar. i think this should count

Leon from 8:11

Sister Mary from The Young Pope

Replacement:

Miles Morales (Marvel Comics)

Friar Tuck (Robin Hood)

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theressomethinghappeninginparis · 1 year

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I have Carvier's diary pages next to me, but I don't want to read them now. I...can't read them now.

Instead, I want to show the analysis I found by Kurmo Konsa, a professor in Estonia who specialized in history and archeology. He wrote about "Technology creating a new human: the alchemical roots of transhumansit ideas". He is a professor with kind eyes mostly writing in Estonian, yet this one was in English. I'll write down what is important for me, the whole text is here to read.

Transcript of the first, second and third page: On the first page, he assures that alchemly is a science teaching how to transform any kindof metal into another and that by a "proper medicine". This certain "medicine" is called Elixir and when it is cast upon metals or impoerfect bodies it does perfect them in the very projection. This Elixir seems to be a cure-all, and it could be that "imperfect bodies" really means organic material since alchemy also deals with illness and healing.

Konsa references Roger Bacon, a man who dealt with mathematics, philosophy, optocs, alchemy and magic. According to him speculative alchemy was practised by only a few alchemists both with lifeless bodies and living substances and the human body was indeed the main subject. He also claimed a person could prolong their life if they used the "right tools"; whatever that means.

Finally, Bacon also claimed that since accidental processes and external factors can shorten a lifetime, there was also a way to prolong it. He also recommended a theoretical foundation of the Elixir: The elements have to be prepared and purified, so that they would be reduced to pure simplicity, and that would make the "perfect medicine".

Transcript of the fourth page: Here are the most important points I've taken:

Perfect imperfect bodies is a goal

Human beings, dead or alive, were used as subjects

Lifespan can be (probably) extended

Elements have to be purified for the "perfect medicine", an Elixir

Separate humours to purify them

I know I'm tinfoiling but I can't help and write down whatever comes to my mind. So. If Eckhardt is the 500 year old dude from Germany that was supposedly killed by the LV. And Vasiley, who uses the LV symbol in his papers, is also an anceint being. What does this tell us? I'm perhaps tripping, yes. Maybe Vasiley just has an old family tree. Okay, but then the Black Alchemist was killed, again, int he 14th century. But he was an alchemist. And he keeps popping up like the Lux Veritatis and Lara Croft and Vasiley.

Mega-tinfoil: What if both of them really are old, old, ancient, dusty as hell people and exist today? If the castle was owned by the LV, and Vasiley was/is part of them, he MUST know Eckhardt. This shackled Nephilim drawing with the helmet, do you recall? What if it's him and they kept him in the castle?

Transcript of the fifth and sixth page: My so called "theory" which is none since there is no proof but only speculation is as follows:

Eckhardt was killed by the Lux Veritatis in 1445

the LV were hired/owned(?) the castle Bouzor from 1939-1945

Vasiley uses the symbol the LV use as well

One of Werner's mails gives me the impression the Lux Veritatis, Eckhardt and the paintings are connected (how??)

the Obscura paintings were found in a monastery, what is the link to religion? Is there an alchemic one?

since the membership of the LV was hereditary, are there any members today?

the Periapt Shards are said to be the weapons of the LV

So. All this leads to this funny graph. Eckhardt is murdered by the LV. Their weapons are Periapt Shards. Vasiley uses their symbol. They were in castle Bouzor so Vasiley might know. He found the Obscura Engravings. Werner has knowledge of them. The Obscura Paintings also exist. And von Croy has been murdered by...Lara Croft? I seriously see no reason for her to do that. I mean, maybe it was personal. But all the shit that is tied to this, is this on accident?

Okay... I'm officially losing it, if you want to stop reading, go ahead. Also check the death notices in the newspapers please, I might appear there. You need to get my notebook and destroy it, I don't want anyone to think I am insane. This blog, too. The access details are on my desk, second drawer.

You will do that for me, right?

Right?

#tomb raider #angel of darkness #traod #classic tr #tomb raider angel of darkness #journal #aod #lara craft #tomb raider series

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khaderh · 2 years

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sketchbook

1)1. Hello, my name is Khader Herbawi, I am 19 years old and I am from Palestine but I was born and raised in Sarasota Florida. One small fact about me is that I can speak Arabic and English fluently!

2.My art piece was "The Garden of Earthly Delights", by Hieronymus Bosch.

The painting is surprisingly very big. It is over 7 feet tall and almost 13 feet wide.

Unlike most paintings, this painting is meant to be read like a book, from left to right.

The painter, Hieronymus Bosch, never dated his paintings and because of this, the date of the creation is up for debate.

At one point in time during the 17th century, it was known as "The Strawberry Painting" just because of a prominent strawberry tree in the painting.

It was moved from the Escorial to the Prado Museum by the government because of the Spanish Civil War.

3. When I first had seen the painting, I had no idea on what I was looking at. It had looked like everything altogether, all at once. After a while of looking at it, I started to notice and see more and more details. For example, the whole right side of the portrait is supposed to represent "Hell". I found it very interesting because this is people or Bosch's idea of hell back then. After researching facts about the painting, I later found out that he put himself in the painting as somewhat of a standing egg. But this isnt what interested me, what really interested me was that the fact he put himself on Hell's side. I couldn't help but question why would he do that and why didn't he just put himself where it made him look powerful or "cool".

This is an art that hangs around in my house. This is known as the Kaaba and is located in Saudia Arabia, Mecca. This is one of holiest places that exists for us Muslims and everytime I look at the painting I remember when I actually have visited it and remember crying the first time seeing it. It is very beautiful and has an amazing symbol and meaning. This is the direction that us Muslims pray, a lot of people mix up that we pray "to" it, which we dont. The reason we pray towards it is because represents the metaphorical house of God and the oneness of God. We believe it's been around for over 5000 years.

3) How old are you? I am 19 years old. What is the gender you primarily align with? I am a male. Where are you from? I am from Palestine, but I was born and raised in Sarasota Florida but I visit overseas every summer. What is your ethnicity? I am Middle Eastern/Arab What do you do for fun? Sadly I barely have any free time but when I do I love to game and watch anime. My dream is to become a professional gamer one day. Are you a member of any organized group? I am not. Where do you work? I manage my father's convenience store.(yes the stereotypes are real). What makes you uniquely you? I feel like what really makes me, me is all the experiences that has built up all the way to now. Like I dont think anyone could have the certain mindset that I have towards certain stuff after experiencing all that I have throughout my whole life. I feel like thats what really makes me Khader.

Religion is a big part of my life, I could even say it is my life. I revolve my life around religion. I consider religion to be my way of life. This is a picture of me making something called "Dua". Dua is one of the most beautiful thing somebody can do. It is a way of talking to God. While making "Dua" we can go as far as asking for stuff that we want, asking for forgiveness to just talking to God, telling him how your day was, what went didn't go your way today, what didnt, what upsets you, everything. Growing up I never had any relations other than family and friends, I never had somebody to talk to about my problems ( somebody who stayed atleast) or somebody just to have conversations with. "Dua" has answered most if not all my problems for me. Dua and Prayer represents me.

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hajimine · 3 years

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perennial destiny — fushiguro megumi x gn!reader

synopsis: megumi does not like the concept of soulmates. he wants to be able to choose who he loves—and he chooses you.

word count: 1.2k

genre: fluff, soulmate!au but not really, established relationship, soft!megumi (this is so cheesy fr)

soundtrack: on a clear day by joe hisaishi

a/n: i’m ngl i actually like this lol so i hope you guys do too! tysm @rintaroll for being my beta and for the song rec mwah ily (ew) <3

A light smattering of clouds paint the blue sky in splashes of white, providing you with a little bit of shade from the otherwise bright afternoon sun.

You gaze at the little ducks waddling around on the pond, following their mother’s path. Unconsciously, you feel your lips curl up into a smile.

“What are you looking at?” Megumi murmurs, face turned towards you as he uses his hand to block out the sun from his eyes.

Humming, you give him a cheeky smile. “Nothing.”

He scrunches his face slightly, biting back a smile. He's used to your antics at this point.

Using his forearm to cover his eyes, Megumi sighs contently, shifting the position of his head on your lap to make himself more comfortable. The added weight on your thighs feel comforting, almost. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The two of you stay in silence for a while as you bask in each other’s presence, enjoying the moment. The dark-haired boy plucks a stray dandelion beside him, inspecting it closely.

“Do you,” he starts, hesitating. You hum, urging him to continue. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

You stay quiet for a while, pondering his question. “I think I do, actually,” you admit. “It’s kinda sweet—the idea of it all. I’d like to think that there’s someone out there who’s meant for me, y’know?”

Megumi closes his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering as he considers your answer. He's really pretty, you think to yourself.

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit dumb?” He asks finally.

The bluntness of his words takes you by surprise. You laugh, gazing down at him with a fond look in your eyes. There’s a small frown on his lips; the crease between his brows a little more pronounced than usual.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you watch as he relaxes under your touch, the tension leaving his shoulders bit by bit.

You settle on a simple question. “What makes you say that?”

Megumi sighs, “The whole ‘fate and destiny’ thing. I think not being able to live your life the way you want to is a little depressing.” He purses his lips. “What if you don’t like your soulmate?”

You turn to look at the ducks again, but they were nowhere to be found. Now, the pond was silent, and there were no ripples in sight.

The pleasant smell of earth seeps into your lungs as you breathe in. Never in a million years would you have expected to have this kind of conversation with him.

You didn’t exactly peg him as someone who would be interested in the concept of soulmates at all. A soft smile graces your lips.

“Well, I suppose there should be a system to prevent that,” you squint, “maybe they would make it so that it’s impossible for you to hate your soulmate.”

Megumi clicks his tongue. “That just makes us robots then.”

This makes you grin. “Robots?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, now shy. “If that's the case, you really have no choice in your thoughts and feelings, it simply strips your humanity away from you.”

You stop running your fingers through his hair for a moment and Megumi shifts, nudging your hand with his head to get you to continue. Cute.

Amused, you ask him, “Well, what if soulmates are real, and I’m not your soulmate, what would you do?”

He plucks another dandelion from the ground and inspects it before holding it close to his chest.

“It won’t change anything.” He says, not an ounce of hesitation in his words.

“Wouldn’t you wanna find your real soulmate?” You inquire, the flames of curiosity dancing in your eyes.

Without wasting a second, he sits up, turning around to face you. He studies your face for a second, eyes traveling down the curve of your nose and down to the slight upturn of your lips before returning to hold your gaze.

Megumi speaks, eyebrows furrowed. “No. the fates or the heavens or whatever the hell is controlling our destiny won’t have any effects on my choices. I’m not about to be another pawn in the gods’ game of love. It’s the least I can do.”

And you laugh, light and bubbly; ignoring the fact that your chest feels abundantly lighter after his statement.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?”

His cheeks flare up, the headstrong confidence from a minute ago now gone, replaced by the charming bashfulness only a few have had the privilege to see.

“Well,” he mumbles, “I’m not gonna leave you just ‘cause some prophecy tells me to. I like you. A lot.” Maybe a little too much, but he doesn’t tell you this.

The breeze tickles your face. “Yeah?”

Megumi refuses to meet your eyes, but he continues. “I want to spend the rest of my life with someone I chose myself. Soulmate or not.”

It is not his words that make your heart flutter—it’s the quiet blossoms in his cheeks, the sureness in his voice. If fate was a human, you’re sure that he’d fight her with no hesitation. Heck, even if she was a god, knowing Megumi, he would fight her too, even if it’ll cost him his life.

You watch him twirl the stem of dandelion between his fingertips. He doesn’t blow on it, nor does he make a wish like anyone else would in the presence of the perennial, he simply observes the flutters of white falling from its head.

“So you would defy destiny if you had to?” You ask, knowing exactly what his answer would be even before he utters another word.

“Yes.” his dark eyes are steady, not a drop of uncertainty swimming in its depths.

The soft breeze suddenly feels a little too warm for comfort. “That’s awfully romantic, don’t you think?”

And he blinks at you, but he does not yield. “Well, I just think soulmates are awfully unromantic.” He says, the corner of his lips twitching slightly.

A genuine laugh bubbles out from your chest. “You’re a curious one, Fushiguro Megumi.”

The smile on his lips is a fond one. “What about you?” He props his chin on the palm of his hand. “What would you do if soulmates are real?”

“Ah,” you pretend to think, “you’d be my soulmate then.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but the tips of his ears are dipped in vermillion. “But what if I’m not your soulmate?”

You spare him nothing but a glance, rising to your feet before brushing the dirt off your pants. As you squint at the setting sun, a contented sigh escapes your lips. On days like these, you could fully take in the beauty of the afternoon sky as you observe the shades of reds and golds dancing in the heavens.

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to find my one true love.” You hum, biting back a laugh.

The dark-haired boy scoffs and stands up, walking towards you with his hands in his pockets. Half a smile graces his lips as he reaches for your waist, pulling you close. With the sort of tenderness he reserves just for you, Megumi rests his forehead against yours. He feels warm.

Megumi smells faintly of the earth—a product of the hours he spent sitting under the sun with you—along with a hint of the cool menthol shampoo he uses to wash his hair. And together, they create a blanket of comfort and familiarity, one that you’ve grown to call home. You breathe in.

“I won’t let you leave.” He mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. His palms feel comfortably warm on your waist; gentle and light, yet sure and heavy at the same time.

There’s a playful sparkle in your eyes as your lips curl up into a smile. “I know you won’t.”

per·en·ni·al /pəˈrenēəl/

(n.) a perennial plant

(adj.) lasting or existing for a long or apparently infinite time; enduring or continually recurring.

a/n: as always, reblogs are highly appreciated! please let me know what you think of this fic, i always love hearing from you all! also: yes, there’s another flower symbolism in this piece lol <3

-> writing masterlist | taglist is in the comments

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagines #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi #jjk imagines #❀ —𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄

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saltpepperbeard · 3 years

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Ravenous ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Well hello hello again lol! A bit weird, huh? I don’t know why exactly I had a sudden surge of motivation, but quite honestly, I’m not mad at it. While the shot I wrote a few days back was a more original idea of sorts, this one was an “anonymous” suggestion. A rather EYEBROW RAISING SUGGESTION™ if you know what I’m saying ha! But for whatever reason, dialogue and ideas started flowing, and here we are! Just couldn’t help but explore Katniss desiring to Spice Things Up a bit. With that being said shjdkhskdls-

Disclaimer: This fic contains NC-17 related material, but y’all been knew. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO LMAO.

And without further adoooooo...

Ravenous

It’s happening again. Our bedroom seems to rival that of the setting sun, the two dancing and paralleling. Just as the clouds and sky melt into orange, I too, find myself at its mercy. Just as the sun plunges beneath the horizon, so too, do our pelvises atop each other’s. Just as it sets fire to the grasses and trees as it plummets from sight, so too, do our roaming mouths and hands against each other’s bodies.

And just as the sunset is habitual, expected, so is the explosion within. It’s like clockwork. It’s like the mighty star’s journey across the sky. A soft, inviting, and consistent brightness is maintained throughout the day, before utterly exploding into color and passion as ebony surges forth.

The newness and its subsequent excitement must be why it’s so incredibly enticing, so normal in our schedule. To think, I used to be one with the dawn. The coldness, the solitude, and the call for survival...all were my essence. Now though, do I dance and take pleasure in the dusk, flooding with fiery color before all runs dark.

Not that I’m complaining in the slightest. No, I’m a medley of breathy giggles, mewled moans, and messy kisses. The usual, the expected, and the blissful.

So a subsequent shift in the cycle, in the ecstatic repetition, does indeed throw me when it presents.

Losing myself in Peeta each and every night allows my hunger to break free, spilling forth after being locked up for so long. It gnaws, it feasts, and it satisfies, before settling back to a hush, properly quenched. His initial touches, caresses, and kisses do marvels at igniting the starting flames. His following motions and salacious actions work wonders at surging the fire to a roar. And then his sweetness dampens the blaze into finality, into exhausted ashes.

But tonight...Tonight, it’s different. It feels...wrongfully intense.

I am not hungry- I am ravenous. It roars within me as if it’s never been satiated at all. It howls, screams, gnashing for a deeper satisfaction. The area between my legs aches almost painfully so, and the heat surging through my core snarls that it won’t be bested so easily.

Such a sensation almost feels instinctual, animalistic even. And with that notion crossing my mind, an odd picture presents itself within my subconscious. A symbolic representation? Or is it a solution, a suggestion that the deeper confines of my hankering body has pulled up? Either way, it’s bizarre, and subsequently earns a deep blush to my cheeks.

The image of a stag mounting a doe.

It’s something I’ve seen on rare occasion while hunting, a deeply intimate and almost sacred moment birthed from nature’s way. But translating such an intrusive image into our bedroom, into the current situation, and connecting the dots between the symbolism and the craving...

...Oh.

Oh.

My cheeks flush impossibly more so.

What an oddity. Peeta more than satisfies me. He gives me something no one else could possibly come close to offering. He takes me to realms unthinkable, and charts depths once-unexplored. And yet, does my body yearn.

What a foreign desire. I never could have pictured myself in such a position- or...intensely aching for one, rather. With carnal intimacy being so new to me, to the both of us, I never expected my body to erect anything of the sort. But I suppose, the deeper and deeper we traverse in one another, the more and more we’ll unlock. I guess there are still things to be discovered about each other, and complex layers of intimacy waiting to be unlocked...

“...Katniss?”

As if my cheeks couldn’t grow any more fiery.

I must have been quite disconnected, lost in thought and libidinous imagination. My grey eyes rapidly blink to break from the haze, but the desire still careens within. Venturing out from the fog reveals Peeta once more though, his beautiful, bare, handsome form hovering atop me. He too, is flushed, small beads of sweat glistening atop his scarred skin to compliment the fiery sheen within his darkened eyes.

But where there would be normally be a crooked smile, or an agape expression of pleasure, there instead exists confusion, concern.

When our eyes finally meet with clarity, he reaches to softly cup my cheek.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice still husky, breathy, “You alright?”

I cannot help but swallow hard. How the hell am I supposed to vocalize such a thing? Is it too taboo to ask for? The idea of...Peeta...taking me from behind?

I’m a mess, shutting my eyes and turning my face into his hand, as if to hide myself away.

“Hey...” His voice sounds more concerned, and a bit warmer. Some of the huskiness has disappeared too. And subsequently, a spark of desperation alights within me; perhaps because the hunger screeches at me to maintain heat.

“Sweetheart-”

Softening sentiments are cut off by a carnal kiss, my body piloting me to fight the dip. I lace my hands around the back of his head and pull his stunned form closer, breathily moaning through the connection. When I feel his lips begin to part though, when I practically taste the confused question forming on his tongue...

I know I have no choice. I know it’s now or never. And if I could stare the hunger dead on, if I could address its call and dive into vulnerabilities with Peeta before...

Surely I can do this too. Hopefully.

“Peeta?” I quickly interject.

I expect him to remain close, but just as ferocious desire pilots me, so too does compassionate concern steer him. He leans as far back as he can with my hands laced through his hair, staring with those inquisitive, stunning blues.

“...Katniss?”

“I...I...”

Just as the first time we delighted in one another, my throat threatens to lock up from anxiety, from fear of the unknown. Just as before, I find it horribly difficult to vocalize my wants. But in knowing that soft and concerned stare, in understanding the eyes that expectantly wait, and in feeling far fierier than previous times, I find the strength I need to produce a voice.

“...Can we...try something different?”

Nerves drive me to bite my swollen lip, as if Peeta’s going to react poorly or something equivalent. But as truly expected, he blinks the concern away before the tension visibly melts above me.

“Oh! Yeah, uh...sure,” he murmurs, beginning to smile despite lingering bits of confusion still present in his brows, “Is that why you...?”

“Yes...”

“Oh,” he breathes, chuckling softly before leaning back in for another kiss. He nestles close once more, our bare forms pressing and creating small hints of tantalizing friction. Be it the throbbing within, or the very present feeling of his erection between us, I break the kiss with quickened pants.

Unbothered now, and in a better understanding towards my desperation, he moves to kiss and bite at my neck. My hips and eyes both roll, the intense lust leaving me less bothered by the various noises sounding from my throat.

Peeta too, must be quickly getting tugged back; I feel him twitch before he softly grunts into the tender skin of my collar.

“What would you like?” he huskily whispers, topping off the question by tracing my bone with his tongue.

Between nerves and the sensations he’s dizzying me with, I briskly shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it...” I wheeze.

I feel his mouth turn upwards against my skin, and he chuckles before drawing forth artistry, painting his way up my neck and cheeks with brushing lips.

“Alright...” he says thickly, and I think I can feel him quivering slightly, “Show me then?”

I tense, but catching his stare grounds me. Beyond the drippings of ebony lust and fiery coals, I can see that beautiful understanding, that adoration with zero judgement. It’s what drove me to explore initially, and thus, does it fuel me once more.

My hands come to rest upon his muscular chest, quivering ever so slightly as I give a gesturing push. He follows my direction without hesitation, moving until we’re both sitting up on the bed. Another bout of hesitance grips me, but upon seeing the sight of him, heavily engorged and nearly flush against his stomach, I break through once again.

My stare manages to break to a necessity then, gazing upon his amputated leg with another bite of my lip.

“Your prosthetic...”

I can see his breath catch, watching his chest heave as I momentarily avoid his stare.

“...I need it?” he whispers.

I can only nod, and he thankfully doesn’t press, scurrying off to retrieve and reattach it. I’m piloted once more; my body seizes the opportunity to get into position while he’s not looking. Though my heart pounds something terrible, though trembles alight in my limbs, I roll onto my hands and knees, poised and ready for what I crave.

Peeta’s to my backside now, so I cannot see his reaction to what I’m offering. I can certainly hear it though, as well as almost feel it, the room seemingly spiking in temperature the moment he notices.

“O-oh...”

I tremble in both deep anticipation and tension, still unable to look at him. There’s a bit of pause though, and right when I think I’ve made a mistake, I feel the bed shift with the re-introduction of his weight. My thighs clench something terrible at his presence behind me, and I feel my entire lower half quivering.

Made even worse when Peeta groans my name.

“Katniss...”

The amount of lust is incredible. I could almost rocket myself backwards upon him. It’s wild, and hard to imagine how I wound up in such a position. But through the salaciousness, through the smoke clouding my brain, nerves still manage to peek.

“Is...this okay?” I shakily whisper.

“Yeah...” he breathes, and I nearly run woozy at the sensation of his hands ghosting my curves, “Is this...?”

I almost move beyond my own control, thrusting my hips backward and placing myself into his grasp. It’s his turn to tremble, and he groans yet again.

“God...Katniss...”

I’m his craft once more. His hands grasp me, knead me, squeezing my voluptuous backside as he would when he prepares dough. And just as the touch readies dough for heat, it too, sets me utterly ablaze.

Unbridled moans and mewls sound from my throat at his massage, my legs spreading wider and my back arching further. There’s barely a connection between anxiety and my ravenous core anymore, hunger almost entirely at the helm.

“God...” Peeta moans again, and such a noise pushes me into raw desperation.

“Peeta...” I whimper in a tone so unlike my own, “Peeta...”

We’re on the same plane. He understands immediately. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just as hungry as I am, made raw by the sight before him.

So he quickly rectifies the situation. I feel the bed shift, before he brings a shaky hand to grasp one of my hips. I’m barely breathing, barely able to process with such deep anticipation. His following words almost don’t reach me, what with the beautifully torturous feeling of his head just barely brushing betwixt my folds.

“Okay...I love you, Katniss...”

I somehow wheeze, somehow manage, those words landing when nothing else can.

“I love you too- AH!”

I’m no stranger to the feeling of Peeta sheathing himself deep within me, to holding him snuggly and tightly in a space reserved just for him. We’ve danced in it and dazzled in each other so much lately that it’s, in fact, almost become something of a second nature.

So it’s definitely strange that just a mere change can have electrifying, incredible effects.

The cry from his entrance was utterly unavoidable; he feels deeper and heavier than ever before. I’m stunned at how different it feels, at the intensity behind it. He’s within familiar grounds, and yet it feels entirely new.

I’m dazed, but my hunger is utterly elated. It sings at the feeling, rejoices, driving me to slide myself backwards against him, swallowing him impossibly deeper.

His groan intersects beautifully with mine, the both of us likely relishing in the sensations. When I dare to ease my hips forward again, I feel Peeta’s other hand reach to grasp. With his hold complete, he pulls me back as he thrusts deeply.

And I already find that I’m quickly losing control, everything working to utterly unravel me.

The strokes, so deep and reaching, quickly earn a stream of incoherence from my hanging mouth. I moan and whimper and grunt a plenty, weaving a tapestry of pleasured nothings.

“Mmm...Oh, God...Peeta...”

There’s also something about this that strangely seems to amplify, something that makes it the most different from our previous sessions: I cannot see him. I cannot see the beautiful, wrenched effort on his visage, nor can I steal the moans from his lips. I cannot latch myself to his tender neck, nor can I run my fingers through his ashy locks.

It’s just the sensation of him within me. Nothing more but his powerful drives and our precious connection.

No wonder it’s so raw, so animalistic indeed.

But perhaps, not mutual.

Where I would expect Peeta to take off, to drive with reckless abandon, he instead remains...oddly consistent with his glides. They’re heavenly, and reaching, but unamplified. In fact, instead of speeding up as expected, he seemingly slows within me.

Such a turn, a difference in the usual chain of events, is enough to whip my head around. It’s my turn to furrow with confusion and concern, squinting through the intense mindfog to finally lay eyes upon him.

Which ends up being a blessing and a curse; the sight of him in such a position is almost enough to send me reeling further. Seeing him kneeling, grasping my hips, panting with reddened cheeks, and disappearing deep within...

A shiver runs up the length of my spine, exiting through my mouth as my voice just barely manages to quiver his name.

“...P-Peeta?”

“I...Um...”

It’s like we’ve switched places, what with him being apprehensive and me existing in a realm of thirst and confusion. Just as before, a cock of the brow and a building question is what spurs the opposite party into explanation.

“I’m...It’s going to sound...cheesy, okay? But I uh...It’s...Different I guess, not being able to...look at your face. Or kiss you. Or...”

He shifts himself a bit as he reaches for my face with a hand, effectively sending himself inward at a deep, torturous angle. It drives me strangely mad, my eyes rolling and my throat resonating with a squeak. It feels so foreign, to be reduced to this. And in my state, in my heightened desperation, I find myself blurting without much control.

“-Keep going.”

He freezes then, inside and out, looking upon me with widened blues. Such an expression mildly grounds me, offering a pang of guilt and a subsequent apology to follow.

“Sorry...” I wheeze, “I...I didn’t mean...If...you’re not...”

I’m a mess with my attempts to breathily stammer. But just as further guilt begins to bud, just as I fear I’ve forced him into an uncomfortable place, he gives such an unexpected and strong jerk of his hips that I yelp into the tense space.

When the shock leaves my system, when the static clears my brain, I’m able to see him beginning to smile once more, a bit more lecherous than before.

“Hmm...You know, different...might not be so bad then...”

“But-”

Again, he tortuously cuts me off, giving another strong jerk and sending me careening.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, looking at him with widened eyes, trembling legs, and a stunned soul.

“Because...” he grunts, softly squeezing and kneading my hips, “You like this, don’t you?”

He shifts then, focusing on slowly feeding himself into my depths, effectively earning a low grunt from his throat. A noise that’s quickly overpowered by my own, an open-mouthed moan as I squirm against the mattress, against his lovely torment.

“Peeta...”

“Yeah? You like it? Hmm, love?”

My eyes flash at his darkened vocals, followed by a bite of my lip to hush the rolling whimper. Something is most definitely in the air tonight. The sun surely exploded in its descent. We’ve never really been so...raw with each other, so driven and demanding.

But it seems neither of us have any qualms. Even my worry towards pressuring Peeta into an unfavorable session seems to back away, what with his ebony murmurs and expressions so evident. We seem to be re-aligning, re-joining each other on the same plane of passion.

Thus, do I desperately nod, at his complete disposal. I slide myself backwards then, easing until I’m practically touching his pelvis, panting and gritting at the extent of penetration.

“I’ve forever to kiss you..." he whispers.

Please...Please please.

I’m hardly with it enough to question the strangeness behind the newfound begging, simply squirming and existing entirely within the desperate space.

“...But not long enough to pleasure you so...”

Thus, miraculously, do any last bits of wall come tumbling down.

And I’m no longer in our bedroom. I’m within droves of ardent fire. I’m traversing the very surface of our sun. I’m in a place so foreign, a state so delightfully insane, where none have ever brought me before.

All from the sudden, strong, and intense reaches of him deep within.

Oh, how I fall apart. How I deliciously unravel. Being so pent up, so oddly starving, the hunger gorges and instantly sets me alight. Just as it screamed before, I too, find myself vocalizing with such strength.

It’s a medley, an absolutely chaotic medley of passion. Beyond my cries and his grunts, I can hear his pelvis slapping against my back side again and again. Beyond the flashes and shivers in my vision, I can see our bed hammering from the force he’s inflicting. Beyond the heat and pounding stream of blood, I can feel him hitting places so new and intense.

And it’s everything. I love him. I adore him. And I cherish the connection we have, the way we can send each other directly into the heavens. I never could have imagined. Even mere months ago, I never could have imagined.

“Gggh...Katniss!”

His deep grunt coupled with the groan of my name is enough to break me from my overwhelmed thoughts; the dig of his fingers into my hips is enough to ground me completely. I cannot escape the ungodly pleasure now. I am present, and at its full mercy.

And when a thrust hits just so, when a piece of my glass cracks and threatens to shatter, it’s no wonder that my arms fall instantly gelatinous. I cry and toss my head back, sending a rolling ebony wave before my front half descends. I desperately grip the blankets, knotting the fabric with begging grunts and whines.

But it only continues to build, and build, and build, impossibly faster and impossibly deeper. Our souls are tangled, so very tangled, dancing and intertwining and refusing to let go. Naturally, I start to ascend, faster than I ever have before. The fire licks its way up my belly, caressing my jiggling breasts and-

...No, that’s his hand, reaching beneath to knead and massage, emboldened and salacious. My eyes roll something terrible, my hips even more so, more and more of the glass chipping away. He’s snarling, almost yelling; I know he’s so close too. But somehow, just as he always has, Peeta dashes through the chaos and holds me above all.

His wandering hand suddenly juts backwards, racing down my body before fingers find their prized destination. There’s a subsequent bolt of electricity at my core, followed by a heave of tension as cracks spiderweb throughout. I’m on the cliff, on the edge, writhing and seeing it shatter before me...

“Peet-”

The final note of his name shifts into that of a divine keen, elongated and reaching as my wings outstretch. I feel like I’ve never flown so high before. It feels as if though I breach the very reaches of our atmosphere, everything whited out and flashing with a dazzling array of color.

Surely I’m screaming. Surely I’m crying out with such forceful contractions wracking my system. But I can barely breathe, barely process. There’s nothing but this. Nothing but him.

Him- somewhere below, I can hear his desperate groans. He too, yelps like he’s attempting to hold on to the Earth, to stop such a rapid ascent into space. But with a distant, cracking yell, and with another push that drives me even higher, I welcome him into my flying embrace.

I hold onto him so tightly. I fly and dance and marvel in the closeness, in the connection we share. I soar hand in hand, his softness rivaling that of the cloud we pass. Before eventually, inevitability, we must return to a realm more frequented.

I land hard. My form essentially evaporates upon impact. The moment Peeta breaks our connection, the moment he releases my hips, I fall into a heap atop the blankets. It’s no surprise that I’m shivering, nor that I’m weeping, overwhelmed to the warmest, highest degree. I remain on my stomach, limbs sprawled every which way, continuing to pant and ride through the occasional aftershocks.

When the sound of my pounding heart departs from my ears, when I become more aware of my surroundings, I can hear Peeta on the bed behind me, heavily panting all the while. Surely he’s sitting back, likely riding the same lingering effects as I.

But I need him. After almost selfishly delighting in such pleasures, I miss him. So I turn my head against the blankets, attempting to look in his direction as I reach with a hand.

“P-Peeta?”

Unsurprisingly, he understands. In mere seconds, he heaves himself beside me, flopping down atop the mattress. Though I’m utterly exhausted, and akin to jelly, I hoist myself onto my side and into his arms, our bodies as close as possible without the added element of fire.

And there, I snuggle, I caress, I kiss. I make up for the missed touches. He of course, reciprocates, the both of us tiredly offering all the affection we can muster between our shaking breaths. Soon enough, falling back into our usual patterns, we begin to smile. Then breathlessly giggle. Then speak and whisper sweet nothings through our exhausted exchanges.

“Oh...my God...Oh God...” I wheeze into one of our many kisses.

Peeta snickers a bit then, his hands beginning to softly rub circles against my bare back.

“I don’t...I don’t know what happened...what came over me...” I whisper, shying away to nestle my cheek against his.

He laughs more then, somehow managing to tug me even closer.

“Hooo, well...Whatever it was...I’m glad...I’m glad it did...”

I feel myself blushing, somewhat...shocked by the intensity of my actions. And in considering my behavior, in considering how ferocious the hunger was, it unsurprisingly reminds me of the likely sacrifice Peeta had to make in order to appease. I flush even harder, moving to hide my face against his perspiring shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” I murmur against his sweet skin.

“Hun?”

“I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t...”

I of course, struggle through my words, through my explanation. I’ve never been good at saying something. But my love patiently waits, expectantly waits, continuing to softly rub me through the silence. As usual, his understanding anchors me, and I whimper the truth rather sheepishly.

“It just felt so good, Peeta...”

To my relief, he gives a hard, handsome laugh, rattling our tangled forms.

“That’s all I could ever hope for, sweetheart...” he replies with lingering chuckles, pressing his gentle lips to my dampened hair.

I sigh at the tender contact, but continue to push myself.

“Really though...I’m sorry...I didn’t...want to make you uncomfortable...”

“You didn’t.”

When I huff against his shoulder, he softly tugs me backwards, allowing our stares to connect once more.

“You didn’t, love. Clearly.” He chuckles a bit more, before falling back into his earnest tone. “Like I said, it was just...different, that’s all. I marvel in your beauty, you know.”

When I scowl at him, at the compliment, he grins even wider.

“And yes, I’m used to seeing your face in this. But thankfully, every inch of you happens to be stunning.”

“Peeta...” I groan, feeling my cheeks flush something terrible beneath his onslaught of tender eloquence. Once more, he laughs, before leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

“I just got to address the less...frequented places,” he continues with a smirk, “Which after tonight, won’t stay that way for long, I’m sure.”

I huff, which again, earns another snicker coupled with a kiss. When we break away however, I find myself staring into those sparkling, warm blues. His expression shifts into something more gentle, more awed, surely catching the earnestness behind my stare. My hands reach up to cup his face, stroking my thumbs against his scarred yet softened skin.

“I did miss this, you know...” I whisper, topping my words off with a kiss to his nose.

“Well, I did say we have forever,” he replies with a growing, crooked grin.

“That’s not long enough for this either...”

I pull him into perhaps the softest, tenderest kiss of the night, one more fitting for the day than the dusk. It’s one I pour all my adoration into, of course having to verbally proclaim it all the same.

“I love you so much...” I murmur against his lips.

Once more, the connection breaks from the strength of his smile, delightfully warming body and soul before the sentiments are returned.

“And I love you...”

There we remain for numerous comfortable beats, continuing to lazily kiss and caress until the last of the sunlight disappears from the night sky. I find myself contemplating what lead to such an explosion, what lead to my desire firing off to such an extreme degree. Of course Peeta would be on the same wavelength, though the grinning question that breaks the silence gets me laughing and shoving his chest.

“You don’t...happen to have further tricks up your sleeve, do you?”

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imhereforbvcky · 3 years

Text

Watch Me Run - Part 17

Masterlist - Series Masterpage - Part 18

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader)

Chapter: You finally make contact with the Avengers again but everything is not as it seems. Or rather everyone.

Word Count: 1928

A/N: the next 2 chapters are more “Move the damn plot, Mee!” than “yes, brain! Deliver some flowing, symbolic prose!” I’m not thrilled about it either, but here we are.

The village was small. Hearty in the way towns are that have crawled out of the wilderness, just barely keeping the wild at bay. It was rugged and worn, and if you’d been there by yourself, you’d have passed right through without marking it.

Bucky pulled the creaking truck beside one of the larger single-story buildings. You’d have guessed the shutters hadn’t been painted since they were installed sometime in the late 1960s. The windows were probably last cleaned around the same time. The concrete wouldn’t need painting. No, eventually it would crumble into the dust whence it came.

For now, the entire side of the building had taken on a soft brown patina; decades of road dust streaked grey with the steady drip of melting snow and ice. Most couldn’t have picked it out of a line-up from the other buildings. Nothing distinguished this one as a government building except the sign in the filthy window of the door advertising its hours of operation. You doubted very much if their adherence was strictly enforced.

“Only library with wifi for the next hundred miles,” Bucky had told you as he gassed up the truck for the drive. You’d yawned and handed him a coffee in a white styrofoam cup. The liquid was black and cloudy as the sky overhead. Even the 3 creams you’d dumped into yours had done little to brighten the stale, hefty brew.

The library door groaned when Bucky drew it open for you. Not the gentle squeak of a place welcoming a new guest. No, this was the deep angry howl of a door stubborn and calloused in its disuse. The woman scowling at you from behind the counter stood as the physical embodiment of the very sound. Grey wisps of hair tumbled out of a hastily tied knot, a worn and grease-stained flannel hung on heavy shoulders over top of a fading wool knit. The collar had begun to fray long ago, as had this woman’s patience.

“Hi.” You offered as pleasant a smile as you could find, a customer service smile, though you were the customer.

The frown didn’t budge one millimeter. Her eyes though, turned to Bucky when he stomped heavy boots on the rug at the door. Muddy slush from the day-old snow dropped off his boots in clumps.

“Please wipe your boots outside,” she scolded.

“The snow’s right up to the door—“

Her head snapped and her eyes burned with the sort of anger only a stern teacher could conjure.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded before cracking the door just enough to knock his boots on the brick wall.

“Do you need somethin’?” she asked you. Not, ‘Can I help you?’ Not, ‘Are you looking for something in particular?’ Not even a, ‘Are you lost?’ This was a terse, ‘Honey, I know you’re lost and I know trouble. I want nothin’ to do with either.’

“Yes,” you jumped forward, matching her eagerness to rush you out. “I’m um… I’m not from here and—“

“Well I can see that.”

Bucky stepped in then, a scowl as deep as her own. He turned it down on you though. If you could kick yourself, you would. One of his rules of being on the run – don’t give away unnecessary information. Not who you are, where you’re going, who’s coming for you, not even what you need. Be nondescript. This was a difficult rule to follow when you were a nervous talker, when your sympathy scale was off the charts and the best way you knew to communicate was to connect in a personal way.

“We need to use your computer,” Bucky said simply. “You have internet here?”

She pointed to a back corner of the building. “Yeah. We even have indoor plumbing,” she grumbled.

“Well, she hates us,” you fidgeted, leaning close to whisper at Bucky’s shoulder as he led the way toward the computers. “You remember people you hate. She’s going to report us or something.”

Bucky chuckled as he looked back at you. “To who?”

“I don’t know… a Mountie? Loki could be anywhere right? Anyone?”

“Loki is from another planet. He’s not Interpol. There’s no hotline running for us. Far as she knows we’re a couple on a fishing trip.”

“Really? You don’t think she’ll remember us?”

He shrugged, pulling a chair over beside the one he took in front of the computer. “She wouldn’t have remembered some idiot who forgot to wipe his boots. Probably gonna remember ‘I’m not from here, please like me,’” he teased, donning a high squeak of a voice.

You smacked his arm with the back of your hand. “That’s not what I sound like.” A glance over your shoulder at the woman unfurling a cough drop at the desk. “She just looks so unhappy. How many people smile at her in a day, you think?”

“Not enough,” Bucky agreed. Grim places made for grim people. Harsh living and meager needs made even the softest people harden at the edges. Necessity, he called it. Survival.

“See. I might be the weirdo that cowered at the library door, but she’ll have a story to tell her partner when she gets home. Bet she’ll laugh about it.”

Bucky chuckled, sparing a glance over to you as he booted up the software. The computer was ancient and it made a dissatisfied grinding noise at the request.

“You laughed at least,” she nudged his shoulder with her own.

“That wasn’t a laugh,” he argued, failing to stifle a grin. “That was a… a snort at best.”

“Oh come on. There was at least a chortle.”

“A what?”

“A chortle! Look it up, we’re in a library. Ma’am!” you hollered, turning over your shoulder and waving.

“Knock it off!” Bucky laughed, reaching for your arm and pinning it to your side.

“Ma’am, could you point my friend here toward the dictionaries, he needs to look up a word—Umpfh!”

He’d clapped a hand over your mouth, the other still firmly wrapped around your arm, enveloping you thoroughly.

“No, we’re fine with the computer. Internet, so helpful,” he hollered, over your muffled chuckle.

The soft tickle of breath on his hand, the gentle shake of your laughing shoulders set off that warm, brightness in his chest. He was smiling down at you as he let go.

“Well I definitely got a smile, at least,” you nudged when he did lift his hand away. “You don’t smile enough either.”

“I smile.” His brow crinkled, like he wanted to scowl, but then… he would be proving your point. So he kept a half a smirk on his lips.

“Well, yeah, everybody smiles sometimes. But you rarely, and you never laugh—“

“I do too. I laughed yesterday when you fell on the stairs.”

“That was rude. You didn’t warn me they ice up like that.”

“It was funny,” he shrugged. “You looked like a cartoon. You should’ve seen your face.”

“You should see your face, Sir Scowls-A-Lot.”

“Scowl?” His eyes went wide and the smile threatened to erupt into an astonished laugh.

“Yes. You have the worst case of RBF I’ve ever seen.”

“What the hell is RBF…?” he wondered. But by now you were talking over each other, arguing and laughing all at once.

“People say, ‘If looks could kill…’ but, really. When you’re grumpy it’s like… if looks could kill, gimme Captain America’s shield because, nothing could stop those silver bullets.”

“It’s not that bad,” he rolled his eyes, typing away on the keyboard.

“It is. I mean, it’s fine, it’s a good looking face, so it works. But it’s a definite scowl.”

“A good looking face?” His entire visage lit into a grin now. His grey eyes were sharp and glittering like the cat that got the canary.

You were suddenly, glaringly aware that you’d been carrying on about all the little looks you’d noticed about your indefinite bodyguard all while you were still pressed tight against him from shoulder to hip. Heat flooded your cheeks and nose and throat at a record pace as you scrambled for a proverbial ripcord.

“Oh, you know you’re handsome.” When had denial ever worked for anyone? Misdirection, was clearly the way out. “Don’t act like I’m the first person to tell you that.”

He was still as marble for a long moment while you picked at your nails. The grin had dimmed a little, no longer a beaming mischievous thing, it had settled to a gentle warmth. He was Bucky again, the one who carefully assuaged your fears, who listened, who made eggs when hot pockets wouldn’t do.

“No,” he agreed finally and you looked up at the sweet softness of his tone. “First time in a long time it’s mattered to me, though. For some damn reason… I care what you think.”

“Hello?? Is this thing even working??” Tony’s voice thrummed angrily through the computer’s speakers. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

Bucky took a sharp breath, deep into his lungs, breathing in the last of the stillness between you and taking it with him when he turned to the monitor. “Yeah,” he said and then he was talking to Tony. Something about a Doctor and the big bang and some powerful stones. But you couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky.

Tony was irritable. Fuming, actually. The “doot-doot blub-blub-ting doot-doot” of the videocall ringtone repeated again, fueling the inferno. Waiting on technology was not something he was accustomed to. Waiting for inelegant, vulnerable technology that was too old to exist to project an image of the inside of his offices out into the world, well that would have been an a resolute No before today. But his teammates are nothing if not stubborn. Barnes most of all.

“Finally!” he sighed, leaning forward and peering at the image. “Why is it so grainy. I can’t… That’s a terrible picture.”

“It’s good enough,” Dr. Strange deadpanned beside him.

“No that can’t be it. Connection’s bad or something. They can’t even hear us talking!” He began waving haphazardly at the screen, hoping to catch the eye of the soldier or the stone-keeper.

That’s when he noticed what was actually on the screen. Bucky’s arm around you, tightly. A laugh. The goddamn Winter Soldier, your guardian for this mission, looking down at you as though he…

“Holy shit,” Tony mumbled, leaning closer. “Are you seeing this?”

“Yeah, you have to allow the app to access your microphone,” Strange rolled his eyes, entirely missing the point.

“Hey, Rogers?” Tony called just as Steve strode into the room, slightly out of breath. “I think your bestie has compromised the mission.”

His eyes were glued to the screen as Steve leaned his shoulder with a hand on the desk to get a closer look.

“Indeed,” he hummed through a grin as he watched the screen.

“What?” Tony frowned up at him.

Steve shook his head minutely. “Bucky’s fine. He’s only ever failed one mission. And I’m not this mission.”

Tony’s frown never lifted as his eyes darted over Steve. Doubt clouded them for but a moment. He hammered a quick line of code into the digital projection of a keyboard and swiped the screen away.

“Hello?? Is this thing even working??” Tony asked after patching the room’s audio systems through to the rudimentary video conferencing software. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

Not a second later, Steve – or rather Loki projecting himself as Steve – noticed a slight shift in the cameras in the room. One after another, they made slow sweeping turns until he stood squarely within each and every frame.

Part 18 >>

#bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst #bodyguard bucky #bucky fanfiction

50 notes · View notes

touchmycoat · 3 years

Text

on Promising Young Woman

i was hesitant to watch bc i knew a spoiler, but @trixree convinced me to watch it and i’m very glad i did. all things aside, it’s just damn well-written—pacing’s top-notch, every act shift was action-driven with a female lead, and it balanced the pleasure of a revenge fantasy against the soul of the story SO well.

thoughts & spoilers below

elephant in the room: yeah I hesitated to watch the movie because I know Cassie gets murdered in the end. After watching the scenes that followed, I...have a better understanding of why that was the choice. I still hated that it happened, period. I literally said “fuck you” out loud to the morning after shot, with the sunlight pouring down on her in the white outfit and she had her arms outstretched—yes, she’s a martyr, yes, she’s the “morning angel,” but fuck that, I didn’t need her to be a martyr. I so desperately wanted the movie to give her more than that.

Like Jenna and Wesley said, it was a superhero movie. That lasted until the choice to kill her.

Thoughts on why they did it: for the ironic morning after, where the audience sees not-Zac Efron sob and whine about how he’s going to lose his marriage and family and job after he just knowingly murdered a woman. Where we get to see Schmidt (fnjdnfjdnf what a casting choice, i lost my mind) say the words to Al Monroe that women like Nina needed to hear—it’s not your fault. None of it was your fault. We get to see the violent and continuous forgiveness of men that dead girls have and continue to pay for.

But my question is, what part of the movie managed to give the audience comfort that legal authority is the solution to this problem? The ending felt squeaky clean wrapped-up, yes, but the anxiety that ran deepest for me throughout this entire film was the fact that Cassie was leaving these men alive. All the men she’s found in the clubs, the man whose car she smashed, the entire law firm that specializes in burying rape cases—to me, every man she left alive was one more factor that could come back and bite her. That was my concern, and it was by no means alleviated by the scene with Bo Burnham and the detective right before the wedding.

I guess that circles back to the question of what the film is trying to be, though. It’s a different take on a revenge thriller. It isn’t meant to deliver a smash-burn-kill catharsis. Rather, it operates on a realer level. Which I love, actually! When she told the fedora guy that she’s not the only one who does it, it felt like a very enticing call-to-action lmao, and like a moment that ought to haunt the “good guys” that watch this film. The movie did so well to manifest and deliver the “enough is fucking enough” attitude that everybody ought to have about sexual assault under the influence.

More on why they killed Cassie: to really lean into the specter of Nina who has so haunted the entire narrative. Even handcuffed to the bed, Al Monroe never said the word “rape.” Nobody wants to, they keep skirting around it and refusing to acknowledge it for what it is. That’s why the movie does it for us, the audience. Instead of saying it, the movie gives its thesis on what rape actually is—a murder. A squeezing-out of a woman’s existence. Al Monroe rapes and kills Nina Fisher before the start of the movie, and the movie ends with Al Monroe killing Cassie. It ends with the violent burning of Cassie’s body, and fucking Schmidt kicking her hand with the childishly painted nails back into the bonfire. The parallel destruction of women is evident.

Did the ending feel like enough of a resurrection?

On a fandom level, I am happy to do the work of seeing the Romance in it. Cassie evidently anticipated her own death, perhaps even sought it—it’s easy to picture a fic focused on Cassie’s thoughts pre-bachelor party, where she’s just so happy to finally be joining Nina again. Where she gets to sign a text Love, Cassie & Nina. I fucking adore how much of an agent she was in the action throughout the entire movie, and the ending definitely did some work in resurrecting that agency.

On a real life level though, I’m so, so fucking sad she essentially had to commit suicide to get the justice she sought. She really is a martyr, but no part of the story indicated she was happy to be. There’s no relief in what she chose—it was simply what had to be done, because nobody else would do a goddamn thing.

Oh boy, the movie did so well to play Ryan as a good guy up until the very end. When time came for him to own up to his mistakes, he flipped like a fucking dime. Suck it #NotAllMen.

The evocations of childhood were interesting. We have the notebook, the scrunchie, the pink bedroom, the childhood photos, the juice box, the friendship necklaces, the painted nails. What is that doing?

- It’s a visual touch point for the arc words “we were just kids!” used as a protestation by rapists and assaulters to excuse their actions. Men get to be “kids” who made mistakes, women get repeated insistence that their actions have consequences, that they shouldn’t have gotten that drunk.

- It signifies Cassie’s vulnerability, her childhood best friend that she’s never been able to move on from. Functionally, I thought it was a brilliant way of grounding how tender the center of her story is, that she’s actually operating from a very simplistic point of pain and loss, considering how cool and violent she gets to be throughout most of the movie.

- It becomes a symbol for destroyed innocence when it’s the last bit of Cassie we see before her body’s burned. The movie re-positioned the meaning of this word “innocence,” I think. It’s not about women being ruined after rape, it’s about these women being people. Cassie’s last monologue about Nina does so much work to hammer that home—Nina’s value was never about innocence before or after her assault, it was never diminished. She was loved because of who she was as a person, but Al Monroe squeezed the life out of her anyways. Childhood and innocence become about the happiness that existed before men attacked, and the men get to symbolically destroy it one more time with a kick into the pyre. But then comes the resurrection, and in a way, the movie returns Cassie to that happiness with the last texts she got to sign with her best friend and a winky face.

The penitent lawyer was a hell of a narrative choice. I did accept it, and I like it mainly for what it showed of Cassie—that she is capable of forgiveness. By putting the scene with Nina’s mother right after, it transitions Cassie into a spot of hope pretty damn effectively. I also like that it didn’t take Cassie’s emotional labor to get the lawyer to that place, and that he was already self-flagellating (the dead plants behind Cassie in that apartment were a great touch) before she got there. I like the possibility that Cassie could have forgiven herself for not being there for Nina.

That’s why I’m so damn mad she’s dead!!!! She recognized how destructive her pattern of behavior is, and put an effort to stop that for herself and for her relationship with people she cares about. Yeah, Ryan proved an asshole, but it wasn’t even about him!! She laid it clean out for that guy!! No forgiveness. He was not an innocent bystander. He does not get to get away with anything, and all the ways he chose to behave after the fact just further proves it!

Cassie was stunning, and dangerous, and incredible. Narratively, she really could have gotten away with it. I don’t want to buy this finale, that it takes the destruction of another woman to bring justice to the first. I don’t care how neatly framed it was, that was not a happy ending.

#promising young woman #it was fucking great #and i'm still fuming about it

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thepencilnerd · 3 years

Text

Pasta and Dinner Parties

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.”

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

Draco and Hermione have reached a domestic milestone. They've finally decided to move in together. Draco invites her over for dinner, but what would a little Slytherin hospitality be without some sugar and spice?

Rated M for language and discussions of heavy topics in future chapters

Full fic + updates on AO3

"Luna sent a box of these over, wonderful isn't she?" If lovesick eyes had a picture to accompany the definition, Theodore Nott’s face would be front and center. In his left hand, he held an empty cardboard carton with a sticky note adhered to the front flap.

Simmer for 10 minutes with a sprig of rosemary and a teaspoon of salt. Keeps away the balfspracks.

Blaise rubs his eyes. It’s half-past five and he’s already had it with Theo. Had it. Patience wore down to the bone. Basta. Finite incantatem. In all honesty, he’d gladly throw himself in front of a flying—

A shorter figure crept up from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gives her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, which seems to loosen the wrinkles settling over his forehead.

"Ladies," Pansy jests, mediating the arguments between the two as always. "I'm sure there's more than enough pasta to go around."

"Not pasta," Blaise muttered. He tried to concentrate on the lingering warmth Pansy’s lips left on his face. The poor bloke sounded like he was about to hurl.

At this, Theo rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, you can flaunt your Italian heritage some other time, now let me work my culinary magic!”

Blaise takes a deep breath. High blood pressure, he remembered Pansy saying. Need to stay calm. "Mate, I love you, I really do, but if you don't tell me what those green things swimming about in my favorite crockpot are, you have another thing coming."

"You used a crockpot to boil pasta?" Pansy’s head popped up from behind Blaise’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkled like she’d caught a whiff of something foul.

“Not pasta.” Blaise was a broken record.

Draco groaned from the living room. The headache from earlier evolved into a full-blown migraine by the time lunch was over. His eyeballs were absolutely throbbing. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if it would relieve any of the aching. To no avail.

"Granger's coming over in half an hour and we’ve yet to transfigure a dining table." He verbalized his misery in as simple terms as he could. Sitting on the living room couch, he calculated the farthest distance from the kitchen and found himself just a few feet away. Problem with having a small flat. He couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice. Not with the demon baby currently going stir-crazy with a gavel in his skull.

He questioned his level of sobriety when he agreed to this.

Meeting Hermione Granger’s parents had been less stressful than this.

Introducing her to his mother was a Christmas tree full of Christmas presents compared to this.

Sitting in a train compartment with 2nd-year Hufflepuffs sounded more bearable than this.

Why, oh why, did he have to open his big mouth that night?

“Seems proper that I’d at least get to share dinner with them before we move in together,” Hermione shrugged. Her hair was still damp from her—their—shower. Stray curls escaped, framing the curves of her face. Draco loved how her sheets always smelled like her soap. The scent of her shampoo was reserved for the pillowcases.

“Come over for dinner,” he suggested. Quite impulsively, really. “Allow me to treat you to an evening of... Slytherin hospitality.” Draco’s trademark grin served him well. Resting on his side, Draco was propped up on one elbow with no shirt and sheet draped over his bottom half. She wanted to believe he was wearing briefs underneath. He looked absolutely wicked.

Hermione scowled tentatively but surrendered with a smile. Her chest rose before she let out a sigh. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d experienced an inkling of that before.” Mirth graced her tone.

The embers from the fireplace bounced off of her bare skin like rays of summer sun; warm and welcoming. Draco’s fingers fondled the strap of her bra, the only thing she was wearing, and earned a breathy giggle from her. Tugging the lace down, he sat up and started pressing a trail of kisses along her skin. Goosebumps erupted where his lips traced her flesh. The bath had stained her skin; she tasted of rosewater and honey.

Hermione let out a hmph and tried to focus on the book she was holding. She developed a knack for knowing when he craved attention. Whenever Draco came over, he turned into a literal child. Always nagging and begging for her every time he got the chance. If she wasn’t superglued to his side, Hermione would bet a million galleons he’d throw a fit.

“Turn around and face me instead. I don’t fancy being smothered by your hair while we sleep.”

“How do you turn on the stove?”

“Granger, help me fix the antenna!”

“Could you take a look at this spot on the back of my head? I might be balding.”

“Granger, I think I nicked myself on the aluminium.”

“If you weren’t wearing so many clothes, we’d probably warm up faster. Becoming a pair of popsicles isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”

This time around, his demands were very clear.

“Pay attention to me.”

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book. Shock painted her features like a splash of cold water.

She blinks once. Twice. Three times for good measure. And then, her lips break into a blinding smile, pearly whites and all. The corners of her eyes curl into half-moons and her whole body shakes with glee.

Sweet Merlin, he was fucked.

Setting her book down on the nightstand, Hermione sits up straight and looks at Draco expectantly. He sits unmoved beside her. Staring. Admiring. Waiting. The cheeky grin that etches into her face is one Draco would give the world to see every day.

Draco leans back against the headboard and stretches his legs out towards the foot of the bed. Scooting closer to her, she flips her leg over his awaiting lap. She’s straddling him in the span of two seconds. The feel of her bare flesh against his is utter bliss.

Her arms wrap around his neck like a koala bear and her head nestles into the crook of his neck. Despite lathering him in her soap, he still smelled like Draco. All these years of dating and she still couldn’t put her finger on the bevy of aromas.

Draco mirrors her actions like a reflection, one and the same. His arms make her feel so incredibly small when encased in them. Like a bear cub. Or a kangaroo in a pouch. Maybe mammals would be an appropriate term to generalize how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, but it wasn’t the most attractive or poetic—

“I thought we finished showering earlier,” he sighs into her hair. “Why is there steam coming off your head?”

She blows a puff of air into his neck and he jolts at the sensation. Ticklish. Draco knew that secret would die with Hermione and she was honored to keep it. Unless it served her in times of duress.

“I was just thinking about how safe I am when I’m with you.” The tip of her nose brushes against the junction above his throat and feels his heartbeat, delicate but strong.

Da-dum.

Pulling back, he slides his left hand along her cheek and she leans into it like second nature. Hermione raises her right hand and cradles it over his. The way it pales in proportion almost makes him break into laughter. When she presses open-mouthed kisses down his bare wrist, Draco resists the urge to take her right then and there. It’s too perfect of a moment to ruin. Not tonight.

She’s even more tender when her lips reach his scar. The marred flesh that takes him back to his inescapable past. A reminder of everything wrong he’s been taught since childhood; everything bad in this world; everything wrong he’s done throughout his entire life.

But more importantly, it’s a symbol of how much good was left in this dismal world.

It’s a battle scar that reminds him that he lived.

Something that motivates him to keep trying.

A reminder of how despite being swallowed by the darkness that plagued the world, he chose to hold onto light.

A reminder of how above everything, he chose Hermione and Hermione chose him.

He takes a moment to look at her, really look at her, and melts.

Hermione is a vision actualized. He sees the dreams and aspirations swirl about her irises in flickers. Roaming freely and always there when you needed them. He wants to bask in them. Relish in them. In her. For as long as she’ll keep him, no matter how infinitely small or finitely large. He’d burn through galaxies if it meant seeing her happy and safe. Anything and everything he could provide for her was his to offer. She need only ask.

Draco Malfoy was wholly and irrevocably head over heels for Hermione Granger.

Magic and might, save him.

No really, save him.

What the bloody hell was that infernal yapping?

"I, for one, thought it would be better to go to an Italian restaurant, but Blaise here," Theo quipped. “—wanted to dish out his non-existent cooking skills,” He paused to stir the pot. “At least Luna was kind enough to—”

Blaise stomped his foot on the kitchen tiles. Miracle they hadn’t cracked yet. There was no point in trying to hide his tantrum. “Just because my ancestors were Italian doesn’t mean I’m a master chef!” He narrows his eyes. “Honestly Theo—” The words die in his throat when Theo fishes out a noodle from the pot. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him but he swears it flipping wiggles. “What in Merlin’s great magical kingdom is that abomination and why the ever-loving fuck is it green?”

Pansy gave his cheek a pat. “Colorful, Blaise. Truly”

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

A crash echoes from the kitchen and Theo lets out a screech that rivals grindylows.

Pansy takes a long, calm sip. Likely pumpkin juice. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it were laced with some pre-appetizer spirits. How she managed to deal with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum was beyond him. Hell, he needed some right about now. At least to dial down the nerves. Not to mention the spike in blood pressure provoked by his flatmates.

The remaining minutes pass like clockwork and before he knows it, the front door dings. Never has a bell sounded more menacing than now. Why is he so nervous? She’s met them a few times before and they’ve definitely shared rounds of drinks. No doubt, gone to Diagon Alley with Parkinson, Lovegood, and Weasley. The tolerable one.

Did he clean his room?

Theo promised to dust right after tea but the bloke was delusional about everything except Lovegood. A bit poetic, not that Draco ever cared to admit it.

Pansy and Blaise stopped by the market yesterday and restocked the pantries and fridge.

And then Luna dropped off her bag of goodies this morning.

“She’s early.” Theo stuck his head out from the kitchen. Why was he covered in flour?

So many questions. Draco didn’t even care to know the answers to half of them.

“She’s always early when she’s excited.”

The three stooges stand shell shocked and stare at Pansy. They just stare.

She blinks like an owl and shakes her head. “Honestly, are you three just going to stand there or is someone’s boyfriend going to get the door?”

Draco’s brain registers the words too late for his liking. He’s dead sober but his brain is all fuzzy. Just as she’s about to knock for a second round, Draco’s feet propel him to the door so fast a whip of apparition cracks.

The door clicks open to reveal a dazzling frame. Hermione Granger is, to say the least, an unreal figment of everything good in the world. War heroine, member of the Order of the Phoenix, magical, academic, and practical genius, pure in mind and soul, and his girlfriend. His girlfriend. His. Donning a pair of black leggings and a flowing cream blouse, she’s bundled in a beige trench coat and blush pink scarf. Dark mahogany brown ankle boots boost her height by a few centimeters. Draco still overshadows her by a good head or two. Nevertheless, it’s a thoughtful effort. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.

“Hello—woah!’

Draco’s arms are around her instantly and she’s brought into the house. His broad shoulders envelop her into a cloaked embrace that lets his scent wash over her. He never wants to let go.

Initially surprised at the abrupt shift in balance, Hermione relaxes into his hold within seconds. He still smells like her soap and Draco and… smoking?

“Blaise!” a female voice shrieks. “Don’t just stand there Theo, do something!”

A cloud of smoke—contained by a bubble charm, thanks to Pansy—swirls above the stovetop, large and foreboding. The source? A deep green crockpot placed on one of the burners.

Wait. Why is a crockpot on the burner? Hermione wonders.

“I told you we needed to salt the water and add the rosemary! Now you’ve got balfspracks all over the bloody place!” Theo’s voice changed from panic to mockery. He turned his nose upright and growled in a nasal tone. “‘Oh, salt is acceptable, but rosemary? Unacceptable. A disgrace to all cuisine Italian. May as well—’”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. By the end of the day, he’d probably have to ask Hermione to heal his bruises. “Bloody hell…”

“Oh, it’s my fault now, is it?” Hermione realizes Blaise’s name suits him very well. Almost too well. In any other life, he might have been sorted into Gryffindor with that fiery temperament. “Next time we have a guest over, we’re ordering take-out. From Hogsmeade!”

“Someone help me get rid of this burnt pot of—whatever the hell pasta Theo was making,” Pansy gags while trying to contain the swelling bubble. The scent is overwhelming. Something between seaweed and polyjuice. Perhaps a vile mixture of the two.

“EDAMAME!”

“NOT PASTA!”

Draco can’t tell whether he wants to burst into laughter or cry. Maybe he’ll do both. Hermione was there to wipe away the snot or tears, regardless of whichever it would end up being.

Giving him a chase kiss, Hermione placed the gifts in his hands and made her way to the lounge. Draco was going to kill them. He was going to kill them dead.

She pulled out her want and raised it towards the giant orb of smoke, confidence igniting her eyes. Her wand moved as if it were on its own, guided purely by magic and intent with an undeniable essence of Granger. She draws a broad circle that covers the entire room and summons the wisps of smoke like a magnet. The ashy tendrils of burnt food claw their way out of the floorboards and ceiling cracks, latching on for as long as they can before they’re drawn out Aiming towards the ajar door, the coils of smoke and singe are thrown out the entrance with a deafening gust.

A single strand of hair falls out of her ponytail.

She blows it out of her eyes with a single, deliberate puff.

The corner of her lip quirks upwards the slightest.

It’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked.

If Draco wasn’t so overcome with the urge to skin his friends, he’d dive in there right now and kiss her numb.

The flat has returned to an atmosphere of calm.

“Fucking finally,” Draco mutters out loud. Not intentionally but he doesn’t regret it one bit.

Pansy, Theo, and Blaise resemble owls; wide eyes, unmoving bodies, twitching necks that swivel side to side.

Theo breaks the silence with something along the lines of a chortle. “Welcome to our humble abode, Granger.”

“Pleasure to have you here,” Blaise adds. His hands are still clenched around Theo’s shirt collar.

Pansy is still trying to catch her breath having inhaled a hefty amount of the fumes. Blaise and Theo had probably tumbled around the living room enough to avoid the thick of it. Still, she refuses to let it impede on her hostess abilities.

“Hermione!” Pansy coughs. “Why don’t you and Draco check out upstairs while—” she pauses to glare daggers at the two boys covered in God knows what, “—we deal with the mess down here.”

Hermione draws out the excess smoke from Pansy’s clothes and hair with a swish of her wand. The next thing she does makes the three boys’ jaws unhinge. They bring each other into a warm hug and laughter rings in the air.

“It’s good to see you too, Pans,” Hermione breathes. Draco was definitely going to have a fit over this later.

Hermione gives Theo and Blaise a shy wave. Hopefully, they’d understand. In any other instance, she’d be more than happy to rid their clothes of the stench. They wouldn’t even have to ask. But this was Pansy Parkinson and if Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson, she knew that the Slytherin would want to drag on punishment as long as possible before even thinking of succumbing to forgiveness.

Hermione Granger’s stubbornness coupled with her Gryffindor loyalty?

She’ll be damned if she lets either waver when surrounded by friends.

Draco clears his throat forcefully and offers his arm. “Upstairs then, shall we?”

Hermione loops her arm through his and grins. It’s contagious and Draco already feels his anger ebb into affection.

She speaks almost as lightheartedly as the wand movement for a levitation charm. "We shall."

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #dramione imagine #draco x hermione #theo nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #dramione fanfic #incorrect dramione quotes #hermione x draco #post wizarding war #crack fic #dramione headcanon #harry potter #hp quotes

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a-vild-bluemyrtle · 3 years

Text

BUNNY | Seth Clearwater x FEM!OC/Reader | AU

Seth Clearwater x Female OC | One-Shot | Twilight AU! | Hurt/Comfort

Seth phases into a wolf when he is 19 and not 14 – Reader and Seth have been together for 2 years now and all of a sudden, he disappears in thin air: no calls, no messages, nothing. Read it also on: Wattpad - FF.net - AO3 ______ First attempt at a One Shot. I’m not used to write this kind of stuff, but I tired anyway. I hope you like it! - Requests are open :)

Where are you, Seth? Where the hell have you been this week? Why are you not replying to my messages? It's not like you. Pls, call me.

It was the fourteenth message sent that day. She was almost going insane without him. For the last two years, they have been seeing each other almost every day. Going to La Push and spending a lot of time there during the weekends, with him and his friends, became a sweet habit. Her parents didn’t even ask her where she was going every Friday night now, they already knew that she was going to stay at the Clearwater’s with him and his family. Her parents adored Seth. He was the first guy they ever approved. Also because it was almost impossible to not like a person like him, who could bring the sun in every room he entered.

A week passed, and Seth never replied to that message and to the other ones she kept sending him.

"Why are you doing this to me? Did I do something wrong? Please, Seth, answer. I miss you.”

And with this voicemail, she reached the target of 80 calls – none of which was answered by the only person she wanted to talk to.

The days passed, the weeks passed, a month passed, and it was like Seth’s presence was disappearing more and more from her life. If there were no photos on the walls of her bedroom, of both of them together, smiling and in love, she would have wonder if their relationship hadn’t been just a dream.

Every morning was the same now, waking up with her eyes swollen because of all the crying, checking the phone for a sign, her heart breaking a little bit more for all the replies she wasn’t getting, crying again because her chest was aching.

She missed everything: the sweet and adorable smile of him, the way he used to hug her like he didn't want her to run away from him; his goofiness, his always positive way of seeing life and things. She missed the afternoons spent at Second Beach, with him surfing for hours and her reading her graphic novels on the shore. How many pictures she used to take of him while he was in the water. His favourite natural element. The same element they tattooed on their chest, as a symbol of the love they felt for each other. It was one of Seth’s crazy ideas. He was full of tattoos on his arms and his legs while her skin was as white as a canvas. And he loved to paint.

“I’d love to paint you with all the colours of the ocean”, he said to her one night, the same night they decided to get that matching tattoo.

"Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe it was only in my mind or my dreams". She sobbed while holding a photo taken by Leah one day when she forced them to go hiking with her. Leah loved hiking, Seth too, but she… kept doing it just for the two of them. Watching them happy and having fun warmed her heart every time, and she felt a bit more in love with him every second.

She used to think that what they felt for each other was more than affection, more than love. They were end game, soulmates and multiple time he showed her that it was in fact true. It was like they were destined to be together.

She took her phone again, wiping her tears from her warm cheeks. One last call.

Only this one last call and then she would delete his contact.

Her fingers were shaking while dialling his number, which she knew by heart. She kept praying in her mind, in every possible language and to all existing Gods that he would pick up this time. He had to. Their relationship couldn’t end like this.

“Please Seth, answer. I cannot leave without you”. She said in a trembling and feeble voice.

“Please, Seth. I love you”.

The phone kept calling but no one was answering, again, as it happened for an entire month. She said to herself to wait until the voicemail message, until the very last ring of the phone.

And the last ring arrived, unanswered.

Her heart broke again, this time for good.

Her arms felt by her side, her hand loosening the grip on the cell phone, making it fall on the floor. Tears were falling down her face.

She started sobbing loudly, her breath becoming heavier.

It couldn’t be real. She refused to believe he had left in this horrible way.

“Bunny?”

A warm and familiar voice came out of the phone, unexpectedly. A voice she missed like air during that month.

“Bunny? Bunny?! What happened?”

She opened her eyes, astonished and confused about how to feel.

“Bunny, please answer. I’m so sorry. It was a mess. I’m a mess. Please Bunny. I missed you like hell. Please baby, forgive me.”

How good it was to hear his voice again. He calling her "bunny" still gave her butterflies in her stomach like the first time.

She wiped her tears again, an act that had become so usual during that month. She cried so much and so many times that she wondered if there were tears left in her eyes. And there were.

“Bunny, are you home? I’m coming right now. Wait for me, baby.”

She finally dared to take her phone from the floor. She looked at Seth's image on the screen, with his long hair moved by the wind, his dark eyes sparkling from the sunlight, and his skin dried from the sea salt. Her heart skipped a bit.

She missed him so much and the only thing she desired at that moment was one of his tight hugs in which she loved to drown.

“Seth”. She called him in a quavering voice – she was about to cry again.

“Bunny… baby. I’m so sorry. I’m almost there, almost home. Can you wait for me?”

She quickly nodded, sobbing.

“Yes, please hurry”.

“I’m coming. I love you, Bunny. I never stopped loving you. I’ll never do.”

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starlightshore · 4 years

Text

undertale theory: Red Souls are unnatural, it’s the Angel’s Power. Chara may have had a Golden Soul

Please read my previous theory post on DT not being the red soul if you haven’t already. tldr; the color gold is repeatedly shown as the color for determination, in the saves, the golden flowers, the heart locket. I ended that post with a discussion on what Red could be, since it’s not determination. I had trouble because it’d have to fit both the pacifist and no-mercy endings equally.

My answer is Red = Power, Gold = Determination. Chara had a Gold Soul that turned into a Red Soul.

Ok, how did I get there? So like, here’s my Tea. SAVE points clearly come in two colors at the very least. The Red soul in UT and DR have the colors gold and white respectively. The first is Determination, the second The Angel’s Power. Why did I say the Angel’s power?

(photo ID: A screenshot of Deltarune, Father Alvin speaks to Kris. He says: “Let the Angel’s power light your way.” end description.)

Let’s buckle up. This is another long one.

I don’t think I need to explain player theory, do I? Yes? I’ll be quick. The combo of a few things. Firstly in this interview Toby explained that:

“I will say that basically, what you're seeing here is not the world of UNDERTALE.“

“...To rephrase that, DELTARUNE's world is a different one. With different characters, that have lived different lives."

Next, there’s Toriel only using fire magic in UT but not in her home in DR. Monsters have graves instead of performing their dust spreading traditions in UT. Humans aren’t feared for their powerful souls while monsters are seen as fragile.

Why bring this up? We don’t know if humans naturally have souls in DR. I’d even argue because souls are the culmination of your entire being, and as it exists as something you use to navigate DR and control Kris + friends with, I’d argue it represents YOU solely.

“At the start of ??????, Kris is a LV1 Human. ‘Body contains a human SOUL.'”

Either the red soul is Kris’ soul changed Red, or it’s a foreign entity taking over their body. I don’t know which fits better, because with the first is the vibe I get from us taking Kris’ previous SAVE point. This action can symbolically represent us taking over their literal body and soul here. Obviously, the red soul put into Kris has to be either Kris’ old soul taken over or brand new, as the description says there’s only A SOUL. Singular.

Now, back to the Angel being connected to the Player. As other smarter people have said, this is the song track that plays when the soul is used to close the Dark Fountain. Simply called, “Your Power.”

(photo ID: Another Deltarune screenshot. Kris and Susie standing at the Dark Fountain, the Red Soul floating upwards to close it. end description)

With the combo of that and SAVEs being the “power of x”, a literal shining light of power, I feel it’s safe to connect all of these together. The Red Soul is You, the player, you use your the emotion of Power to bend time and control Kris. It is “Your Power” through the Soul that you can leave the darkworld. I’d argue that both the Red Soul and the white light are the same Power by all of these being used for both the SAVE point and the red soul.

Now, you could say that this could just be separate from the Red Soul like how Determination is. After all, all humans have determination. Power being the SAVE power in DR doesn’t mean the Red soul also means power. Kris even used the SAVE point before your control, and if you’re the Angel and it’s your light, how come they had it before you came?

Well, to that, I’d argue while we’re the Angel, we might not be the true true Angel. Kris was possessed with the Red Soul before we got there. Gaster had to make or at least connect to the Red Soul at the Vessel creation scene. All these connected themes tie you to the control of the player to the red soul and the word “power.”

More evidence, simply put by Chara in the No-Mercy Run:

“Greetings. I am Thank you.Your power awakened me from death. My 'human soul. 'My 'determination.' They were not mine, but YOURS.”

There are three things Chara says here. Your Power, Your Soul, Your Determination. They’re separated. They’re different things.

“ Why was I brought back to life? You. With your guidance. I realized the purpose of my reincarnation. Power. “

Here’s more emphasis on the word Power and it’s connection to You, the player. Chara is being literal here, your red soul brought them back from the dead.

We know for a fact that Chara’s soul was red at least when they died. The coffin, painted with a red soul, is described with: “ * (It's as comfortable as it looks.) “” And with the artificial nature of Gaster calling onto You to control Kris, I wouldn’t say it’s that far fetched that he’s the reason Chara’s soul color is red now. They lied in the same time period, as Chara had lived in New Home and Gaster lived in Hotland. It’s been a long time since Gaster was the scientist.

(photo ID: Screenshot of Undertale, Frisk stands in front of Gaster Follower #1, a greyscale Goner monster of the orange monster in Hotland. They say: “It makes sense why ASGORE took so long to hire a new Royal Scientist.” end description.)

The game repetitively mentions that Chara died a long time ago.

“ * You're not actually (player name) , are you?* (player name)'s been gone for a long time. “

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they’re both described this way. At the very least, it’s not a stretch they’d been at the same time period, and had interacted. As Asgore’s trusted royal scientist, tasked with likely trying to find a way to free monsterkind without killing Chara, would of had to studied their soul. And with his very direct connection of connecting to the Player’s Red Soul in DR? It’s Gaster’s doing that they’re red.

We know either Kris didn’t have a Soul or their soul turned red. We see the Red Soul change colors in battle, so we know it’s possible. If it’s the player’s connection that’s brought Chara back, and you play through Chara who influences Frisk, that’s all Red Soul work. Gaster is likely the reason Chara is back from the dead and that we can play Undertale. Bam.

and here’s my last piece of evidence that Chara and Frisk by extension aren’t natural reds either:

(photo ID: The Undertale collector’s edition has a golden heart shaped locket with the deltarune symbol on it’s face. Next to it, a small art booklet with the word “Undertale(tm).” In the logo is a red heart. Below the logo is a gold soul, and below that Frisk falling into a patch of golden flowers. End description)

The locket is Gold. The soul is gold here. Now, maybe it’s only not Red because the art is in sepia gold tones, but the logo still has a red heart. I wouldn’t put it past Toby to have made this as a hint.

and again, there’s no red flower. Only Gold.

(also i am aware someone else has made a similar “red is not natural” soul color theory recently, but I only saw that when researching this and I feel I’m having more to say than just that here so it’s fine? I hope?)

anyway, tldr; the word power is both used to describe the Red Soul and the white SAVE power, it’s heavily connected to the Angel’s power and light. Gaster’s influence in this artificial soul can imply the Red color is unnatural, and he could very well have given Chara this soul color as they lived in the same place/time period and had the means/job to do so.

also anyway I think a Gold Soul would be cute as hell and a cool concept, please feel free to use it. I love to see it

#undertale #deltarune #deltarune theory #undertale theory #ut theory #dr theory #theories #personal stuff #ok to reblog #long post

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lamortexiii · 3 years

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Cryptic Mystic: We Are the Mask

The things you like, how you socialize, your reactions - all make up parts of your personality. Deciphering the truth from the lies; we possess the ability to morph who we are. How much/what do we mask, and what purpose does “masking” serve? This month’s blog dives deep into a few topics that all tie together to create one collective theme. As most things in life, these topics are intertwined. You’ll likely take something different from this blog than the next person, but that’s how my blogs are, as you probably well know… Now, without further adieu, let’s jump into this one.

To start, I’d like to take a moment to ask that you visit the website 16personalities.com and take their personality test. I guarantee you’ll gain valuable insight into your personality, and how you compare with others. It may even help you to better understand yourself or others. I always get the result of “Protagonist: ENFJ-A”. This result hasn’t changed in the last 5 years, however, psychologists and layperson test-takers alike will let you know that throughout life the results can change. So, on a scale of 1-100, here are my detailed results:

MIND (Introversion VS extroversion): 89% extroverted

ENERGY (intuitive VS observant): 79% intuitive

NATURE (thinking VS feeling): 53% feeling

TACTICS (judging VS prospecting): 94% judging

IDENTITY (assertive VS turbulent): 56% assertive

Personality is a somewhat stable thing but has the potential to change over time in certain ways. There are some parts of us that I fully believe will never change. I term those the “concrete personality factors.” However, there are plenty of things about our personality that we can change if we try. Strong willpower and mind can aid in changing one's personality traits that are malleable. The not-so-malleable personality traits are much harder to change (if changing them is even possible) and would take a great amount of self-discipline and maybe even some serious professional therapy. My perspective: embrace who you are! If there is something about yourself that you would like to change because it is harmful to yourself or others, then work towards that change. At the end of the day, you are the only person who holds the key to changing who YOU are. The choice is ultimately yours. I tell people, no amount of therapy can change a person unless they truly want to change in the first place. Just like no one else can force you to change. Changing requires work and effort on YOUR part.

So how do masks tie into all of this? People hide who they are behind metaphorical masks all of the time. We see this in several realms, however not all always apply in this context to everyone. We see examples of people “masking” who they really are through makeup, clothing, behaviors, and actions on a daily basis. Some are better at hiding who they are than others, and some of these folks you likely believe that you know who they are, but in reality, you have no idea. That’s one of the interesting things about the internet - you can be whoever you want to be. Whether that is your true self or a figment of who you are, the internet is a place where we see the most “masking.” Deciphering the truth from the lies in this digital world can be challenging.

I’ll tell you a story about an encounter I had early on in the age of technology and computers. Back in the olden days of dial-up internet, we had these things called chat rooms. Haha. Okay, I’ll stop acting like most of you don’t know what the hell dial-up and that whole era of technology looked like because I’m sure that a majority of you experienced it firsthand like me. Anyway, so I was in a chat room talking with random strangers. I really hit it off with this one guy. We liked a lot of the same music and had a similar style. He sent me some pictures and I thought he was attractive. We had good conversations. It was a good friendship so far, so after talking with him for a few months I decided to set up a meeting. I decided to be on the safe side just in case and take a friend with me to meet him for the first time. A friend of mine needed to go visit her boyfriend so she agreed to give me a ride to the location and agreed to leave me there while she ran to her boyfriend’s house only if I was comfortable. If I wanted her to stay she agreed that she would stay with me. We drove the 30 minutes into town and approached the location in her pickup truck. As we came closer to the building I could see a guy standing outside of the building (it was a bar) and he was smoking a cigarette. He was wearing all black, chains hanging off of his pants, and a front-facing black baseball-style cap. I knew that had to be him. We stopped in front of the building and he walked towards the truck on the driver's side where my friend was sitting. Upon reaching the window, he looked absolutely nothing like the picture he had sent me. In fact, he was much older than the picture he had sent me. Yes, you can laugh, your friendly neighborhood witch Kavita was officially catfished before catfishing was a thing. *cue laughter* He had an extremely creepy energy coming off of him (and not the good kind). He asked what we were up to, and I told him we had some errands to run, but that I just wanted to stop by and say hi. He was eyeballing me like a piece of meat. I grew intensely uncomfortable. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. My friend sensed that this was not the meeting I had intended and explained to him that we had to go, but that it was good meeting him and quickly drove away. She began laughing, looked over at me with a sheepish smile, and said, “what in the fuck was that?!”

Oh, the early days of the internet. It was the wild west. It still is to a certain extent, but back then it was a much different time. My story paints an important picture about how people can easily put on a mask to impress others or to lure in their prey. I’ll never be certain of that man’s intention, but he lied about many things for one reason or another and that’s not cool.

Looking at masks from a literal perspective and their origin, the first masks are from at least 9000 years ago. They were thought to have been used for occult rituals in countries like China and Africa. Some masks were to ward off evil spirits, while others were used for disguise, entertainment, or even for religious worship. The earliest masks were made from tree bark and leather. Some of these masks were in the shape of a human face, however, some were shaped like animal faces. Animal face masks often symbolized the connection between native people and nature. Many tribes and ancient cultures (some of which still exist today) gave utmost importance to nature, animals, and the world around them. As time went on, sometimes animal masks were used in sync with someone’s zodiac as a form of personal representation.

Masks have come a long way since their invention. Today masks can be used for protection (as we know all too well in this day and age), as well as to supply oxygen and other drugs during procedures or in life-threatening situations. We see people wear masks on Halloween (counting the days over here!) as well as for social gatherings, such as a masquerade-themed party or on New Year’s Eve.

So, we’ve talked about metaphorical masks as well as masks in the literal sense. I hope that you were able to take something from this blog. Whether you learned something new that you found interesting or maybe you even learned something about yourself through that personality quiz. Until next month, be easy and stay safe out there my fellow earth wanderers.

<3 - K

Cryptic Mystic Blog by PsychVVitch @psychvvitch

www.LaMorteXiii.com

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas · 3 years

Note

We need something with that new tattoo thing you just reblogged, like now

Oh you mean the one I just recently reblogged? done by @gspaepro? lets fucking GO. Also this shit is now canon in design, since I have the permission from them

Yiga rituals were very intricate. Motions and actions done in silence, motions done underneath candlelight and in the shadows. It was why traditional romance just. Didn’t suit their style, their way of life. Stuff like coffee dates, stuff like retiring in a farm, even wedding rings were not very common. It was one of the MANY reasons why it boggled Kohga’s mind, why he thought buying him an expensive ass wedding ring was the way to his heart. Don’t get Kohga wrong, it was a sweet gesture, but it was so...solid, so finite. It made Kohga feel like he’d be boxed in, like a cow behind a fence. He didn’t like it.

“But you still shouldn’t have done that.”

He told himself. It had been years since Sooga attempted a proposal, and just yesterday, he tried again. Kohga was mad at first, but now that he sat here, in his bed, thinking about it, he realized that it wasn’t fair to Sooga. poor guy really poured his heart out to him, only to have it be rejected. It was why he avoided him all day, and had Von watch him in the meantime (usually he reserved that for Cil, but he REALLY didn’t feel like getting hit on right now). He needed to make it up to him. He needed something that wasn’t so ridged as those stones. Then it clicked. He went to the door, and turned to Von, who was laying the flirts on THICK to some foot soldier.

“Von, grab ass later. I need you to summon Sooga for me.”

“Yes, Master Kohga. You, me, your quarters. Tonight.”

He shot the flustered foot soldier a wink, and went off to go get Sooga. Wherever the hell he was. Kohga set everything up, just in time for him to knock at his door.

“Come in.”

Sooga opened the door slowly, helping himself in, and just. Standing there. Poor guy looked so stiff, as if he didn’t practically live in this room.

“Master Kohga, I just wanted to say-”

“Shh. Sit down for me, right here.”

Sooga sat down on the stool right by the bed. There was a silence as Kohga sat down on the bed.

“Sooga, I’m not mad. Okay? I get it. You really, really thought I was ready, after who knows how many years-”

“Three.”

“W-really three years ago? Fucking hell time flies. Anyhow, I’m sorry. I snapped because I was uncomfortable. But you didn’t deserve the way I yelled at you. So, I want to make it up to you.”

Sooga hesitated. He put his arm on the small table, as Kohga motioned for him to do.

“Master Kohga...are you...?”

“Yes. I’m going to give you something better than some stupid ring. Not that it’s stupid, It’s beautiful really. I just. Sooga, it’s not me. I want something that’ll let us BREATHE you know? So. I’m going to SHOW you what you are to me. Not with some rocks. Not with some gold and silver and something you can buy. It’s something I need to show you. Take off your sleeve for me.”

Sooga obeyed. Tattoos were a very intimate, very special part of the Yiga culture. You had to have one JUST to be a Yiga. Anything else done after that were usually done in bouts of passion, to show brotherly connections, to show a friendship unlike any others, or in this case, love. And to get such a sign of affection from his Master? His body was already his to play with.

“You are an artist, Master Kohga. I already boast that I have the most respectable brand out of everyone here.”

“Sounds like you. Idiot.”

He chuckled. Kohga wiped down the arm, just so nothing would get infected. Using a very special type of Yiga ink (that only Kohga was allowed to give for the clan to use. He made it himself, afterall), Kohga seemed to already have an idea in mind, and started to work. Tattoos were painfully slow to do, especially with the design Kohga had in mind. But Sooga didn’t mind. A few hours of pinpricks were worth it, just to be near his Master.

“May I ask...what made you decide to give me such a gift?”

“It felt...feel. The ring kinda...sorta...doesn’t. Feels restrictive. Like a bedazzled leash.”

“That sounds like a gift you WOULD like, though.”

“Shut up, you.”

They both chuckled at that. Sooga sat still, watching as the needle pricked his arm over and over, watched as the needle pushed the ink into his skin. Sooga always LOVED watching him tattoo people, on the rare chances he did so. Such careful, so caring of a touch.

“You know. This reminds me of when I first fell in love with you.”

“How so?”

“When you gave me my first tattoo. The one right on my thigh. I was so...transfixed. Such a strong man, with such a gentle touch.”

“Pfft. I remember that. You were such a string bean back then!”

Kohga chuckled. Those arms weren’t always so huge and bulging, and the rest of his body wasn’t always so meaty.

“I was. I saw nothing wrong with it. That is, until I noticed the man I had affections for, was constantly surrounded by big, bulky men. Suffice to say I was...jealous.”

“Even of Cil?”

“ESPECIALLY of Cil. You two looked so close back then. He was constantly at your hip. I always thought you touched him like this.”

“I mean, I DID do his tattoos. One of them anyway.”

Kohga was careful as he worked, making his motions slow, as if he’d startle Sooga if he moved too fast.

“One? What of the other?”

“He copied the one I did, put it on his other hand.”

“No wonder they always looked so different to me. It lacked the warmth of your style.”

“God you gotta make shit romantic all the time, eh?”

Sooga was so awestruck by the pattern. Lines and curves started to decorate his arms, slowly finding rhyme and reason against his skin.

“I can’t help it. When I’m near you, love is all I think about. You’re...the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I get that a lot. Usually four times a week.”

He chuckled. After the lines, Kohga painted what looked to be almost like serpents. He was curious.

“What is the meaning of this design?”

“These lines and shit? They represent stability.”

“And the snakes?”

“Means ‘ties that bond’, essentially. It’s...stupid. But my dad had tattoos like these, kinda.”

“I’m honored to share in the resemblance.”

“I’m gonna add more to it though, If I'm gonna be railing that ass, I don’t wanna think about my old man. Old MEN sure, but not mine.”

Sooga chuckled, shaking his head. His Master had SUCH a way with words. he watched as the lines and curved and snakes soon gave way to the classic Yiga symbol. Done as carefully as the first one had been done. He watched as Kohga carefully, and slowly, added what looked like sickles to the symbol.

“Sickles?”

“It’s more or less Yiga branding. To show where your ties are. Case you somehow forget where you belong.”

“Wouldn’t ever. Even if I had amnesia. I would know in my heart where I belong.”

“Sounds like something stupid you’d say. That’s all your stupid, mushy gushy bullshit.”

Kohga added dots, little criss cross designs, and of course-

“Bananas?”

“....because you’re sweet.”

“And you call ME mushy!”

Sooga threw his head back in laughter, which was cut short as Kohga smacked his arm, making Sooga wince.

“Ow! It’s TENDER, dammit!”

“Then quit makin’ me wanna do it! You moron! And it’s...more than just some stupid lovey shit. See how its one, two, and then one?”

“Yes?”

“That’s...us. Us together. We’re more together. Plentiful. That and I might be kinda hungry.”

“Do you need a break?”

“I’m already being romantic, if I stop now I’m not gonna finish, and this tattoo is gonna look ugly as shit.”

“Unlike you.”

Kohga shook his head, scoffing. Absolute idiot. More criss crosses, more dots. Then something Sooga knew immediately.

“Yeah, it’s your weapon, big guy. You remember when you got it?”

“Yes. You gave it to me, upon announcing my new duty of protecting you. It was such an honor. Such blades being crafted, and for ME.”

“You know, I designed it myself.”

Sooga looked at the blades at his hip, then at the red ink. Bright, like the spilled blood of their enemies.

“You did?”

“Yep. You’re...different, Sooga. You needed something that was more than them. I-woah, you okay?”

“Yes, s-sorry. You just. Touched me and...sometimes it makes me jump.”

Kohga chuckled, lightly strumming his thumb over the spot he just touched.

“Right here?”

“....yes. You’re just. You have very soft hands. Always so delicate. It’s why I...I wanted to put a ring on your finger.”

“This again.”

“I’m s-sorry! I just. I just really. Really love you. With all that I am. I wanted to show it to you. But...I think I see what you mean.”

“How so, big guy?”

Sooga paused as Kohga continued his work, cautious as ever.

“You don’t want the traditional means of matrimony. You want to be free. You want to do as you please, and you feel as though a ring in a confine. I make you feel restricted. And for that I’m...sorry.”

Kohga put the needle down, lightly blowing at the ink. He looked down at his work, and even though his ass hurt from sitting down for so long, he was in fact, VERY proud of himself. Long sleeve of red, detailed, careful designs and patterns. Something that meant something to them.

“You know what those last two slashes are?”

“I...no.”

“It means instead of just one strike, you have two. Two weapons, instead of one. It means...you have me. Ring be dammed.”

“Does this mean i...understand you properly?”

Kohga looked up at him, before grabbing his face, and pressing his lips against his. It was an out of the blue kiss, one rough and full of affection Kohga had for him. It lasted only a second, and Sooga missed it right when Kohga pulled away.

“Yeah. You did. I need YOU. I need our lives. I need to exist with you. I don’t need this other crap. I need...what I show you, right here.”

Kohga’s soft fingers slid over his work, and it almost made Sooga shuddered. There was something so tender, so sweet and loving about the touch. Even the way his skin felt raw and sore, it made his heart thud in his chest. Sooga caught Kohga’s hand in his own before it could pull away.

“What if I sold the damn thing, and we went on a vacation? A long one.”

“I’m listening.”

“To some far off land? I’ll pack, I’ll even carry you over every mountain and hill.”

“Hmmmm...not QUITE convinced.”

“I’ll make every beauty of the world feel hideous in your presence.”

“Now THAT’S what I’m talking about. Let’s do it. After THIS has healed, of course.”

“This might heal. But my heart will never, not so long as your gaze stabs it so.”

“This...is gonna be a long vacation. I can’t wait.”

Kohga chuckled, holding onto his shoulders and kissing him again. Just one more time.

#asks #Kohga #Sooga #this was #maybe the gayest thing ive written #maybe

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