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soverxignfist replied to your post:
You revamped but still no good tagging system?
Her tagging system is better than mine! I don’t even have one :D
I honestly didn’t think a ‘tagging system’ was even important, honestly. Other than for threads. Which even then, I don’t do that. Because I’m not taking it that seriously lmao Let’s be real. If you need something, I’ll get it for you.
“Snow?!”
soverxignfist
Indeed~
|[~♜~]|:
❝ I really worry about you sometimes. ❞
Nice legs! Daisy Dukes! Makes a man go NOOT NOOT~!
|[~♜~]|:
❝ . . . ❞
soverxignfist:
-
Sleep had come easy to the man. Always had.
However, when he had grown used to sleeping next to someone, it was noticeable when their presence didn’t appear. While he had slept decently through the night, he figured that Larxene had only slept for a few hours, if even that. Most of the time she wasn’t in bed either. Waking up, Snow found himself alone, at an unusually early hour of the morning. Too bad, he had wanted to sleep in, but he wouldn’t push himself too.
Pushing himself out of bed, or at least sitting up, he stretched, before throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Bare hands pressed against his knees, barely dressed at all, wearing only a light muscle shirt, and boxers. It had been hot recently, and this was the only way he could sleep. Larxene didn’t like it when he slept nude, so he didn’t do it unless it was sweltering. A hand reached up and ruffled his hair, shaking the blond locks around, before looking about for her. He didn’t see her in the room, so he figured she might be elsewhere.
The last few months had been hard on the two of them, especially when she had unfortunately lost their child. He didn’t blame her, not in the slightest, but she seemed to have believed he should have. He never understood why, though he battled it consistently. There was no way he could think it was her fault, no matter what Karma she spoke of. He knew that sometimes, these things just happened. But she had been changed because of it. And he was scared for her. Scared she might lose herself, and sometimes, it seemed like she had. The woman’s eyes seemed broken at times, and that scared him more than anything else.
With that in mind, he suddenly had the need to find her. To make sure she was alright. He didn’t rush though, not wishing to cause a panic if everything was perfectly fine. Pushing himself up from the bed, he stretched again, arching his back in the sunlight as it warmed him, despite the fact it was a chilly morning. Maybe things would be alright today. A thought in his mind that he figured was the best thing to keep there. He and his little lightning bug needed a few good days. It was a shame they didn’t have more, but they had been through a big shock, and that always painted the world a little darker than it needed to be, even for an optimist like Snow.
Making his way out of the bedroom, he ventured down the hall, Frosty hues flickering lightly as he let them adjust to the different levels of light, only to find her at the kitchen table, with a cup of coffee. He offered a slight smile, before realizing she was drinking coffee. Larxene never drank coffee, she said it was too bitter. His head lifted as she gave him a mumbled ‘Good morning’, regarding her curiously for a moment before returning it. He moved to grip the pot of coffee, and pour himself a mug, already beginning before she spoke. That statement woke him up.
Wide-eyed, he looked up at her, as if unsure of what she said, only to pour scalding hot coffee on his hand. “WOAH!” he yelped, jumping a bit and setting the coffee down, wiping off his hand before looking to her, his smile wider than it had been in a long time. “Did…you say you were pregnant?” He questioned, before going over to her. He lifted her straight out of the chair (him being far taller than she was), and hugged her tight, kissing her cheeks over and over. He stumbled over words, barely able to speak as he held her, his excitement bubbling over so early in the morning. The message was clear though. He was overjoyed.
|[~♜~]|: Larxene couldn't help but wince a bit as she saw the scalding hot beverage pour all over the back of his hand. Shit. Much like tact, timing for benevolent purposes had never been her specialty either. I swear to fucking God if he burned himself because of-- But that grin sent her way instantly cut that thought off.
Enthusiastic, joyful, optimistic -- those were the things she saw in his expression. And those were all the things that had won her over in the first place. No matter how hard she'd tried to push him away, he'd just flash her that wide smile and take her foul attitude in stride. Looking back on it now, it was almost funny how something so simple as that had so radically shaken her to her core. (Of course, she'd never admitted as much back then). Right now, though, that smile seemed brighter than she ever remembered it being. But maybe that was because the Nymph hadn't seen it in so long.
Snow had handled her miscarriage at lot better than she had, sure, but she knew the ordeal had taken its toll on him, though it wasn't because he was crushed like she had been. Well, no, he had been quite upset at the news, but he hadn't despaired as much as she had. And Larxene suspected that the dark place she had gone to was why his optimism had noticeably weakened. In recent days, she mentally kicked herself for it, for causing him more concern and stress than was necessary. She may have opened up a lot when Snow had become a part of her life, but she'd never lost that independent streak of hers; she still had a hard time accepting that he was going to worry about her whether she liked it or not.
But the Nymph didn't think about how pathetic it had been of her to make him so concerned for her at that moment. No, she was just happy to see that familiar, warm smile on his face, which she found herself reflecting back at him in full.
She opened her mouth to respond with a teasing remark -- something along the lines of 'Well, seeing as you managed to miss the mug entirely and ended up giving your hand a coffee bath, I guess so' -- but he lifted out of her chair, as if she weighed no more than a doll, before she could even let her words take form on her lips.
Snow had always expressed how he had wanted a family of his own, but she'd never quite understood why. Or maybe she had, but she had never known the intensity of longing. But the way he couldn't even form a coherent sentence out of excitement, the way he kissed her cheeks with such elation, showed her just how sincerely he wanted this child. And to her own surprise, she found herself feeling just as jubilant as he was.
Any anxiety she'd felt over her pregnancy vanished as she embraced him back, laughing breathily as joyful tears blurred her vision.
Maybe there was hope for them yet.
-
Articulating was not a strong suit of the Hero, he wasn’t great with words by any means. People often thought him stupid because he seemed simple. But that wasn’t the case at all, in fact it was the exact opposite of such. He was very aware of what needed to be said, what should be said. But he preferred to communicate it by touch, at least with those he was close with. Such was why those “accidental” brushes with Larxene were a continuous affair. He was trying to convey just how much he cared for her, even if he could just verbalize it. Word were easy to fake, while touches, well, it was easy to tell if a touch was forced or voluntary. He meant evert meaning behind those touches.
Yes, he worried for her. Beyond measure he worried, for those fits of anger she suffered were not rational, they were not natural. Something within her was broken, and it caused such unrivaled anger. He let her beat on him until she felt at least a bit better, and instead of an apology she just stormed off, too frustrated to speak. He wanted to let her know he was there for her, if his role as punching bag didn’t prove that enough. There were many reasons he touched her, often in obvious ways. Particularly with her face and head. All of his touches were gentle, caring, as if to convey that he did find her attractive, and he did enjoy her presence. But sometimes he felt like the message just didn’t get across.
The day they were on patrol together, was the first time she ever showed that she understood what his touches meant, what he was trying to convey to her. They had been heading back, and he actually was just thinking about what he’d be making for dinner when he got back to the camp when he felt that light brush of leather across his wrist. Surprise crossed his expression as he turned, seeing that Larxene was the one behind that touch. The surprise quickly melted away into a smile, small of course. He didn’t want to embarrass Larxene, for then he might get a punch that he actually deserved.
But he wasn’t going to let this moment go. Before she could retract her hand completely, his moved, gloved fingers returning that touch along her wrist, as if to let her know he shared her fear, that he couldn’t lose her. But he didn’t end it there. Instead of letting her sit with that returned touch, he decided to take a further step. His digits found hers, intertwining to hold her hand within his own, his rather large hands dwarfing hers, but still accomplishing the task he had set out for.
|[~♜~]|: Larxene, though unwilling to admit it, was just as challenged when it came to saying what was on her mind — always had. It was as if she’d always been on a different wave length than those around her, her words and thoughts always distorted or lost in translation. And though she was quite competent at expressing the negative, that was really all she was able to communicate; the Nymph had estranged herself from all other emotions before she had lost her humanity, rendering them foreign to her upon her birth as a Nobody.
But that no longer seemed to be the case. No, many things had drastically changed about her since Snow waltzed into her life.
He’d been an unwanted tag-along at first, stubbornly pursuing her company even when she made clear that she would not tolerate his presence for any more than five minutes at a time, but the Nymph just didn’t have it in her to drive him away. Maybe she’d just been lonely for too long, or maybe she had just been overly bored; the two concepts had been synonymous at that point in time, so it had been hard to tell.
It had not taken long, though, for the man to start growing on her. Snow may have appeared simple-minded to most, sure, but he was infectiously optimistic, even for someone as negative and cold as Larxene. Her patience still had its strict limits for some time, but as she slowly (very slowly) warmed up to him she stopped waiting for him to seek her out, choosing to take the initiative instead. She began looking forward to his company rather than dreading it, though she never let on as much for a long time — she had been curious to see just how much he could take of her less-than-pleasant demeanor he could take before getting fed up with her.
But it had proved impossible to remain cold towards him forever. There were those rare occasions where Snow had managed to get a genuine smile or laugh out of the Nymph, moments where she allowed him to touch her in such ways without the usual sharp rebuke.
And it appeared another such moment would come to pass.
Having been unsure of how Snow would react to her attempt to communicate she thought of him, she shivered at his touch as if she were startled by it. And perhaps she was; she knew he worried over her sometimes, but she had never anticipated that he feared losing her, however silly his fear was. Larxene was among those stubborn bastards that simply refused to die, no matter how hard one hit them. If Snow lost her to anything, it would be her own madness — and that fear, unfortunately, was all too rational to have.
He did not simply return that brush along the inside of her wrist, however. No, with a small smile, he’d moved so that he held her small hand, twining their fingers together gently. Normally, she would have squirmed away at such a touch, even on a good day; she had her limits, and anything lasting more than a second or two made her inexplicably uncomfortable. But the Nobody did anything but shy away from him this time.
The Nymph always experienced a strange sense of gravity when she was around him, now more so than ever. It wasn’t the crushing kind, but rather the type that kept a person from drifting away, that kept both their feet firmly planted on the ground. And for one that was so often lost in the chaos of it all like herself, something steady was needed to restore equilibrium. And Snow’s touch, amazingly, did just that.
Larxene gave his hand a gentle, quick squeeze in response, and she allowed Snow to hold hers for as long as he would permit such contact, quiet and content.
-
It had taken Snow years to figure out what the name on his wrist was supposed to mean. Orphaned from a young age, there was no one to explain to him what those words meant. The other kids on the street didn’t know either.
He grew up with a gang, one that he eventually came to lead. He, and his gang protected people, not like the other gangs of ratty-kids that spawned. Snow and his friends fought monsters, protected people. Shop-keepers would occasionally throw them some extra food, or even coin if it meant their shop would be okay at night. The people enjoyed them, and eventually, Snow went to ask what this name was on his wrist, noticing that everyone had it. The answer he got was.. interesting. A soul-mate? Why weren’t they allowed to choose who their soulmate was? Why was this fate shoved upon them by some god? And why should he trust that god, if he was allowed to grow up on the streets, hungry and cold? These questions raged in his mind, and often fell from his lips. The only answers he got were sad, knowing smiles. They had all thought the same at one point, but once they met the one who’s name was marked on their skin, they forgot such questions.
Fate had a nasty way of showing it’s ugly head.
He was on solo-patrol in Traverse Town, one of the places N.O.R.A. had come to call a home. Nobodies and Heartless were the main problems, but those were easily taken care of, a few swats and they disappeared. But tonight, it was quiet. Eerily so. He was on guard for that reason, and that reason alone, and that’s perhaps why he didn’t get taken down by his assailants first attacks. The struggle lasted for a few minutes, Snow managing to hold his own against the lightning quick assaults, but eventually he was down on the ground. He could feel the pressure of someone kneeling on his solar plexus, cutting his breath sharply, even without the knives at his throat. Icy hues finally focused in on who was attacking him, noticing it to be a rather small, blonde woman. To think one so small could take him down! The irony was not lost on him, as he had taken down creatures many times his size before.
As he croaked his name, thinking it to be his last words, he prepared himself for the pressure of metal on flesh, but instead felt the woman snatching at his wrist. The one with the name tattooed upon it. Curiously, he cracked one icy hue, having closed them in preparation for death, registering the shock on her face. Such shock for hearing his name, and seeing the one on his flesh. And then it hit him like a freight train. “You’re Relena!?” He questioned, letting his head drop back to the stone ground. Of course he’d get killed by his soulmate. Such frustration he had with the whole concept, why wouldn’t the person who his soulmate feel the same. But of course they’d get violent. Though, judging by the shock this wasn’t a pre-meditated thing. Simple fate.
|[~♜~]|: Perhaps the Nymph should have put him out of his misery as soon as she’d heard his name. It would’ve spared them both from being subjected to that unwanted destiny, from that sick joke of a fate. She would’ve finally been free from every aspect of her past, and he would not have had to carry the burden of having a soulless soulmate — oh, the irony — for the rest of his life.
If only she had not indulged her curiosity and seen her name on his wrist.
As a young child, Relena Dauterive had been told that the name she had been marked with belonged to the one who would be “the dearest friend” she would ever have, and she would get to meet them the day she came of age. (Such simple terms were necessary, since she, being a curious five-year-old, was unable to comprehend what a soulmate was at that time.) For a girl who’s life revolved around her friends, she couldn’t have been happier to be gifted with such a birthmark — even if the name on her wrist had appeared there by no choice of her own.
Yes, Relena had had no qualms with her fate being decided for her. But her contentment had ultimately been short-lived.
Upon her sixteenth birthday, Relena was told that she was among the minority who, for one reason or another, either could not yet be with or would never be with their soulmate.
Some people had soulmates who were not of age or not born yet. Others had soulmates who had died before they came of age. And then there were some, mainly gypsies and criminals, who were denied the right to be with their soulmate because of familial or government disapproval (which had made Relena seethe with righteous fury). But her circumstances had been different. According to the council in charge of recording and keeping track of soulmate matches in Paris, there had never been anyone in the city at any point in time with the name “Snow Villiers.” The members hadn’t even found records with his surname or variants of it; the same went for his first name. Perplexed, the Parisian Council had requested access to the national files to see if her match was located in a different region of their small world, but it had found nothing.
It would’ve been one thing if “Snow Villiers” was an alias someone had assumed — but whatever deity was responsible for designating soulmates only marked people with their significant other’s true name. And as far as the people in La Cité Des Cloches knew at that time, Relena included, there were no other worlds besides their own.
She had been told her name was a mistake. And to her, that meant that there was no one out there waiting for her, that there was no one who would accept and cherish her as she was, and that she would marry not out of love but out of necessity. (Women on her home world were considered to be property, not people, and thus were not allowed to take care of themselves).
Upon learning of this cruel truth, Relena (now Larxene) had loathed both the man who was her supposed “soulmate” and the deity responsible for staining that man’s name upon her wrist.
And part of her still did.
The Nobody willed herself to force her blades against his neck with lethal pressure, to finish what she’d started. But not matter how hard she tried, her body would not obey her. Her wrist would not bend and swivel, her shoulder would not send the force needed to press those blades through his flesh; she might as well have been paralyzed. Blonde eyebrows knit together darkly as pink lips pulled back into a snarl.
It appeared that there was something in that hollow shell of a woman after all, and that something would not allow her to kill the man fated to be her soulmate — no matter how much she wanted to.
After a moment of involuntary hesitation, Larxene reluctantly retracted the gloved hand that held the daggers to his throat and got off the burly man, but she made no move to help him up. No, she just glared down at Snow, her expression unreadable. Without looking away, the woman slid back one of her sleeves and untied a piece of cloth from around her wrist.
They were almost grotesque, those thick, rope-like blemishes that marred her pale skin. But those discolored scars did nothing to disfigure the name tattooed there — the name of the man lying on the ground before her.
Larxene might have pitied the man at that moment, had she been capable of such a thing.
-
"Oh come on." He started with a chuckle, crossing his arms as he looked to the little lightning bug. Someone he had never imagined he'd have this conversation with. "Not even a little peck?" He teased, shooting her a wink.
|[~♜~]|: The woman shot him an amused glance in response. ❝ Hmmm, maybe.. Or maybe not, ❞ she mused, the corner of her mouth twitching upward into a smirk. After a moment "contemplation," she got up on her tip-toes, her lips barely an inch away from his lips --
❝ Nah, I think not. ❞
And that's when fell out of her relevé with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.
