#< however the romantic in me is not satisfied. i want them to be GLORIOUS i want them to be bleeding with power with every movement. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

americxn · 3 years

Note

Can I request Smut headcanons where reader is a detective and tries to seduce JPM to get information, but she el punished for being nosy.

Marked (JPM x GN!Reader)

alternative (more exciting) fic:

these aren’t really headcanons but we move

also, @undeadcortez very recently posted a fic titled deadly consequences that I would 1000% recommend reading as a general fic rec, but I also just wanted to mention it because I feel like I kinda followed a smiliar mood so please go read it!

warnings: hickeys, spanking, not full smut but still NSFW wordcount: 2.4k

James knew your game from the moment you first set foot in his hotel, your feigned innocence providing him with endless amusement. Under the guise of a temporarily homeless student needing a place to stay whilst your downtown apartment underwent lengthy renovations, you had booked a room on the fifth floor of the Cortez for seven weeks; of course this was all fabricated: you were an established detective, having graduated from college five years earlier and having been assigned a job looking into the recent disappearances at the Hotel Cortez. The disappearances were perplexing, even to you; five people had gone missing over the span of a month, their bodies undetectable. And hotel owner, James Patrick March, was at the top of your list of suspicions.

However, one month into your secret investigation had gotten you pretty much nowhere; James, a very private man, had only granted you with two meetings in the hotel’s bar, appearing for no more than ten minutes before excusing himself, leaving you with the barmaid, Liz. This, although incredibly disheartening, was perhaps the only thing that got you to the point that you were currently at now: working up the courage to knock on the door to James’ room for the date that Liz had set you and James up on.

Your nerves were overwhelming, the mounting anxiety that you would fuck this up and lose James’ recently ignited interest in you plaguing your mind as you rapped your knuckles on the hard wood of the door, your breath catching as it swung open almost immediately. You pushed down the flutters of pleasant delight that joined the nervous butterflies filling your stomach at the sight of him, glorious in his usual finery, a smile of genuine pleasure at your appearance growing on his pale face. Leading you inside with a warm greeting, he directed you to your seat at the long dining table in the centre of the room, his personal maid, Hazel Evers, nowhere to be seen. You keep your grimace hidden as you beheld the plate of steaming food already placed before your seat, your nerves reluctant to allow you to eat.

The dim light of the candles cast soft shadows across James’ face, the pale planes of his defined facial structure falling into shadow as you dined together, your glass of wine never empty as he took it upon himself to refill it for you, again and again. He provided pleasant company, and beneath your mask of growing romantic attraction with the man, you were secretly tucking every piece of personal information he offered you, which was limited, into a back pocket of your mind.

Hours passed, your eyes growing heavy from the copious amounts of wine you had consumed; you silently cursed yourself as a light film of alcohol induced bliss settled over, fogging your mind and softening the usually blunt edges of your conscious.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but when James offered you a cigarette, you stood from your seat, seizing the opportunity and slinking over to him, plucking the one he was smoking from between his lips, pushing away his empty plate and perching on the edge of the table in front of him. His eyes glowed with a newfound hunger as you gazed down at him, taking a deep drag of his cigarette before passing it back to him. Lifting your legs up, you rested your feet on the edge of his chair at either side of his thighs, your breath hitching when his cool fingers settled around your ankles, encircling them in a light hold.

Your feigned confidence manifested in a small smirk curving your lips in response to the eager glint in his dark eyes as you leant in slightly, cocking your head before asking a potentially dangerous question: “How do you feel about all those recent disappearances in the news? Has it affected business at all?”

James surveyed you carefully, the room falling silent as you waited for his answer, heart thundering. “I was wondering when you’d ask.” Was all he said, his lithe fingers tightening their grip on your ankles, pulling you off the edge of the table with a strong tug. You fell onto his lap with a gasp, James’ hands moving from your ankles to your lower back, holding you to him. You mulled over his words, trying to sort through all the possible hidden meanings that his tone, thoughtful and dark, presented. His body heat leeched into you with your close proximity, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t place as he brought his face closer to yours. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

His lowly spoken words drew your heart to a sudden halt, the muscles in your thighs braced on either side of James’ legs tensing up. He seemed to track the small changes in your body, his breath soaked with the smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey as his smile turned positively predatory.

“You can report me as being the culprit, but I can promise that it’ll do no good.” You drew away from him, your back arching as you tried to pull away, his hold on your back unwavering, not allowing you to move so much as an inch. “You knew?” You ventured reluctantly, a sense of dread settling over you as his tone fell utterly calm, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached up, running the knuckle of a cold finger down the side of your warm face. He offered a hum of confirmation, his finger trailing along your jaw and to your chin, forcing your head to lift slightly. “You were playing with me.” You concluded aloud, your voice unsteady as the fearful realisation settled over you. “Of course I was. I was made aware of your prying intentions from the moment that you stepped foot into my hotel.”

“I’m sorry.” You breathed in an immediate response, still trying in vain to break away from his close hold. “I’ll leave and just say that I didn’t find anything, I’m not -” you were silenced when James moved his hands to your upper thighs, pulling you roughly to him and bringing his face uncomfortably close to yours. “Are you really so bad of a detective that you resorted to attempting to seduce me for information?” His voice was close to a sneered growl, his hot breath fanning over your face as he spoke. At your injured silence, his words highlighting some unrecognised truth within you, he tutted, pushing you off his lap and abruptly standing, taking ahold of your wrists and forcing you across the room and through the open doorway into his bedroom.

James was meticulous in extracting his punishment, ripping the clothes off your body whilst you merely stood there, staring at him, transfixed and not at all reluctant to do as he ordered as he pushed your newly naked body on his bed. The smell of him clinging to the deep scarlet sheets was intoxicating and you lie there, gazing up at him. He scolded you when you tried to cover your modesty, reaching down to pry your hands away from your body, positioning them over your head and ordering you to keep them there.

“You’re sinful.” He whispered roughly and you nodded, agreeing with his comment with renewed desperation. “Keep your arms above your head.” You blinked at him, but did as he asked. Satisfied with your obedience, James took ahold of your legs, pulling you roughly to the edge of the bed, positioning your feet against the floor on either side of his body as he lowered his head to the base of your throat, his hair brushing pleasantly against your collarbones. His lips were soft and warm as he pressed several kisses to your skin, drawing a trail up the column of your throat to your chin. You followed his movements by tipping your head back slightly further with each kiss as he progressed up your neck, allowing him better access and silently inviting him to use his teeth to mark you.

As soon as his lips had completed their journey to your jaw, skimming against the bottom of your chin, he pulled away, denying you the full kiss to your lips that you craved. He kept eye contact with you as he moved down your body slightly, his lips latching onto your ribs and proceeding to give them the same treatment that he had just forced your neck to endure. This time, he allowed his teeth to graze against your skin as he travelled from one side of your torso to the other, goosebumps forming in his wake, chasing after his touch.

You couldn’t help but groan when he pressed his nose to the space just beneath your breasts, his hot tongue finally coming into contact with your skin as he kitten licked his way up to chest. From above him, your own eyes were clenched shut, your mouth slightly parted as you forced yourself to keep your hands above your head. All you wanted to do was weave your fingertips into the dark strands of his hair but you knew that in doing so, you risked upsetting James and cutting this intimate exchange short. Using his tongue, he softly traced the area of skin where your ribs sloped down to meet your torso, tracing and licking back and forth.

James continued his thorough exploration of your body, skimming his warm lips along your abdomen, past your bellybutton and to one of your hips. You hissed softly when he bit down on your skin, simultaneously latching his lips onto you and sucking harshly. He moved back and forth between your hips, painting them in turn with blotchy, deep red marks, the sensation becoming slightly more painful as his brutal onslaught on your skin continued. His bites and kisses become increasingly more intense, his teeth closing tighter around your skin with each nip, eventually becoming hard enough to draw blood, leaving you squirming and whimpering beneath him.

You were temporarily relieved when James pulled away, straightening and gazing across the marked planes of your trembling body with cruel excitement. That relief was short lived, however, when he took ahold of your torso, his strength unfathomable as he flipped you over with ease, placing his hands on your hips and pulling your ass up into the air, your knees scrambling to gain purchase on the edge of the bed, your back beginning to ache immediately with the strain of maintaining the compromising form he roughly positioned you into. The sheets were warmed by your own body heat against your cheek as you turned your head to the side, glancing behind you to see James taking in the view you presented him with, his dark eyes ravenous.

“What are you doing?” You squeaked, your trepidation growing when James rubbed a warm palm across the curve of your bare ass fully displayed to him. “What? Did you think that this would be fun for you?” He crooned, allowing his nails to drag painfully across your sensitive skin. You winced, turning your head and burying it into the sheets as you braced yourself for what was sure to come next. “You look so much prettier with my marks all over his skin.” He mused quietly, the words causing you to shiver in anticipation as you awaited the harsh impact of his palm that he was sure to land on your feverish skin. When it came, you still shrieked, the force that he used unexpectedly brutal, the crack of his hand against your skin echoing around the large room.

He gave you no time to recover, instead landing another, equally hard slap to the other side of your ass, establishing a cruel routine of alternating between cheeks, each hit more jarring as he worked to increase the sensitivity of your skin, causing a light burn to spread across the entirety of your ass, tears pricking at your clenched shut eyes, squeezing out from behind your lids and soaking into James’ sheets beneath you; he had one hand hooked under you, placed flat against your abdomen to prevent your ass from shying away from the palm of his hand, his rings a cold impact against your soft skin, only emphasising the pain and leaving you a trembling, sobbing mess before him, waves of nausea rolling through you as James inflicted his punishment on you, any arousal that his lips had built dissipating more and more with each collision of his palm on your smouldering skin, the noises he drew from you utterly satisfying to you ears.

With his brutal onslaught of your ass completed, James leant in licking a wet stripe from the top of your thigh, up your scorching skin to the plateau of your lower back, landing one final hit on one cheek whilst attaching his teeth to the other, sucking a deep purple mark onto your already brutalised skin.

You collapsed onto your side as he pulled away, admiring his handiwork, your ass glowing with welts from where his rings had hit, pulling small raised marks up onto your burning skin. You watched as he stooped, gathering up all your clothes and bundling them under one arm, making a show of tucking your underwear into his breast pocket with a flourish before stepping away from you. He reached into the pocket of your jeans, locating your key card for your room on the fifth floor and chucking it onto the bed beside you.

“You can find your own back to your room. I’ll be expecting your next visitations to collect these.” He explained wickedly, gesturing to your clothes in his hold, throwing a self-satisfied smirk your way before turning on his heel and exiting the room. You stared after him in disbelief before shooting up, calling his name as he disappeared into the other room.

By the time you had stumbled after him, every inch of your body aching following his rough assault on your body, he was gone. It took you at least twenty minutes to work up the courage to leave the room, racing through the halls to get to your floor, the cool air of the hotel soothing your minor injuries as you barrelled barefoot down hallway after hallway, deciding to take the stairs. Thankfully, the late hour meant that the corridors were blessedly empty and no one was around to worsen your humiliation, much to James’ disappointment, who silently trailed you back to your room, the echo of your hotel door slamming and the following click of the lock making him chuckle.

Taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins

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trellanyx · 3 years

Text

Dark!Stolas AU

I started to send a prompt to @vizowrites after reading the latest installment of her Dark!Stolas AU, then realized I wanted to write it instead. lol This is meant to be a direct sequel to Where You Belong. Thanks for letting me play in the sandbox for a bit bb!

Fic Warnings: This is an AU where Blitzo does not want to have sex with Stolas, and only does so in order to have continued access to the grimoire. Stolas has no qualms about using this leverage to keep Blitzo in line, or ignoring Blitzo’s boundaries. Nothing sexual happens in this fic, but if you don’t like reading fics based off this premise, this isn’t for you. Like the title says, Stolas is not a good person here.

“And you,” Stolas said, his gaze flashing back to Striker with a near break-neck speed, flashing in a surge of barely contained power that still seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. “While I admire that terribly forceful nature of yours, I highly suggest that you remember just to whom you are speaking. And just to whom you owe your continued opportunities that keep your schedules oh so busy. Which reminds me, darling Blitzy….bring the book with you to our next meeting.”

“Blitzy! There you are, darling.”

Regrettably, Blitzo thought. He placed the book on its usual place on the nightstand and shucked off his coat. Stolas loved it when his favorite toy showed such ‘enthusiasm’, not noticing, or perhaps not caring, that Blitzo’s only motivation was to get the night over with as quickly as possible.

He didn’t know which option was worse.

“Look, can we skip the roleplay tonight? My back has been bitching at me all day.”

Stolas giggled. “Ah yes. Isn’t that post-coital ache just delightful? I know my best mornings always happen when I can’t walk straight.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes. In the beginning, he’d respond to comments like that with something along the lines of, “I hear a good ass whooping produces the same result”, but Stolas always interpreted those retorts as encouragement, and Blitzo eventually stopped bothering. He nodded to where Stolas was decadently sprawled along a twilight-violet chaise. “That the spot you’ve decided on?”

“As thrilling as it is to be the center of such undivided attention,” purred Stolas, “I’d actually prefer we take things slower tonight. It feels like ages since we’ve had the chance to simply…talk.” Stolas’s eyes gleamed scarlet, all four of them pinned directly on Blitzo. “Given both of our busy schedules, after all.”

Blitzo stiffened, feeling his stomach shrivel with a sudden chill of terror.

“Stolas--”

“Sit, please,” said the prince, waving a hand at a matching armchair Blitzo knew hadn’t been there a moment ago. “I’m as eager to receive your glorious cock as you are to give it to me, but another need must be satisfied first.”

The words tumbled out of Blitzo so quickly they nearly slurred together. “If this is about what happened at the office, I swear--”

“I said sit.”

Blitzo’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. He power-walked to the chair, unwilling to risk finding out what Stolas might do if he thought Blitzo was taking too long. But Stolas only giggled again, as if seeing Blitzo so flustered was cute.

“Though since you bring it up, I would like to discuss what happened when I last tried to visit you. I fear there may be some…misunderstanding among your employees about just what our relationship is like, Blitzy.”

“We don’t have a relationship, Stolas,” snapped Blitzo. “We have an arrangement. I fuck you, you don’t fuck over my business. Cut and fucking dry.”

Stolas clucked his tongue. “Blitzy, we are lovers. You could at least try to put in a little romantic effort outside the bedroom.”

Blitzo bared his teeth. “I’m plenty romantic,” he said, in a moment of reckless defiance. “Just not with you.”

Stolas blinked, and Blitzo nearly bit through his own tongue. He did not, however, take back the words. He was engaged now, for fuck’s sake. And the memory of his fiancé almost spitting in the eyes of demon royalty was enough to give Blitzo just enough courage to wipe out his remaining fucks.

You wanna talk, bitch? Fine. Let’s talk.

Stolas tapped a claw against his thigh. “Are you now?” he asked, terribly soft. Blitzo opened his mouth to snarl back, but it hung open when Stolas suddenly beamed and said, “Why Blitzy, that’s wonderful!”

“….It is?”

“Of course!” trilled Stolas. “I’m so happy to hear there are other paramours in your life! Not surprised, of course, my dear little imp. Who could possibly resist such a beautiful and wickedly talented creature like yourself?” He laughed gaily. “I wondered why that fiery little fellow seemed so testy last we met. Jealousy, hm?” Stolas gave a sage little hoot. “I understand, Blitzy. Love makes fools of us all.”

Blitzo couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. “Striker, jealous of you? Listen bitch--”

“Blitzy, darling, it’s alright,” Stolas soothed. “I understand.”

Blitzo raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Do ya now?

“It’s not the first time I’ve been threatened over our little courtship,” said Stolas, still smiling. “At least he didn’t throw something at me! Poor Seymour,” he sighed. “Two centuries of care, gone in a blink and a crash. Fortunately my reflexes are better than my wife’s aim!”

“…Am I on drugs?” Blitzo wondered. “Is Verosika about to pop out with a horse head or somethin’? ‘Cause I’m not gonna lie, that’d actually be a pretty sweet upgrade for her.”

“Silly imp,” giggled Stolas. “Well! Now that that little bit of unpleasantness has been cleared up, I say we move on to more enjoyable activities. How about some refreshments before we start?”

Blitzo withheld a groan. Feeding each other was one of Stolas’s favorite forms of foreplay. He’d constantly nip at or suck on Blitzo’s fingers, to say nothing of how often he’d pretend to feed Blitzo a strawberry or something before replacing it with his mouth at the last second. But if it got Stolas to stop asking questions about his and Striker’s relationship, Blitzo was up for anything.

“Just no strawberries, okay? Last time they made me break out in hives.”

“Alas, tonight I’m simply thirsty.” Stolas pulled a silver bell from his robe and gave it a dainty ring. Then he winked at Blitzo and added, “Of course, that’s always my mood when you’re on my mind.”

A servant imp appeared almost instantaneously, carrying a tray with two shimmering glasses of wine.

“I really do feel much better now,” said Stolas, taking his glass.

“Good for you,” deadpanned Blitzo as the servant turned his way. “Now can we get on with--”

CRASH!

“FUCK!” Blitzo scrambled backward, tripping over the arm of the chair and falling onto the floor. His claws scratched the tile as he scooted backwards on his ass, away from the servant who was now a solid block of stone. Blitzo’s wineglass was shattered on the ground. Why…why did it look like the exact shade of blood?

Stolas took a long, indulgent sip of his own wine. “Wiggles, this is Blitzy. Blitzy, Wiggles.”

“Stolas, what the fuck?!”

“Wiggles hasn’t been with me as long as Seymour was,” Stolas continued, not needing to raise his voice to talk over Blitzo’s panicked yelling. “I daresay Wiggles isn’t even his name, but that’s neither here nor there.”

The prince unfolded his unnaturally long legs and walked around the statue of Wiggles. “He’s a good servant, as far as imps go. Obedient, polite, deferential…he knows his place in the world and is content with it. Like Seymour was.” Stolas placed a hand on the top of Wiggles’s stone head. “And like Seymour…”

Blitzo realized what was coming a split second too late. “DON’T--!”

Stolas lightly pushed, and Wiggles fell forward. There was a sick crack when the statue hit the ground, and Blitzo watched in horror as Wiggles’s now detached head lay face-first in the puddle of wine. Stolas waved his hand, and the rest of the body crumbled into dust and rubble.

“Gone in a blink and a crash,” finished Stolas.

There was no flirting or good-natured silliness to Stolas now. He stared down at Blitzo with cold disappointment. Blitzo barely dared to breathe, let alone move.

“Let’s not forget what our actual roles are, my precious little imp,” murmured Stolas. “You are exceedingly good at what you can do with your body, and because of that, I allow your little family venture to succeed. Every time you rendezvous with the world above, you pay your way with my magic. Your daughter sleeps under a roof built from my generosity. Your lover fucks you in a bed gifted by my mercy. I could rip everything away from you, Blitzo. Everything you’ve ever touched. I wouldn’t even have to leave this room.”

Stolas knelt down, ignoring the way Blitzo flinched back. “But I don’t do that, darling. Because I love you. You’ve brought excitement and joy back into my world the likes of which I haven’t felt since my daughter was born. Of all my collections and all of my toys, you are my favorite.”

A crimson glow slowly bled into existence until it outlined Stolas’s entire body. Blitzo couldn’t look away from him, and wasn’t entirely sure that Stolas wasn’t making that possible. The air seemed to constrict around him, making his temples pound and his nose bleed.

“What you do with your time is your own business, Blitzo. But when I call on you, full moon or not, I expect you to answer,” whispered Stolas. The use of Blitzo’s full name stung him like a brand. “When I ask for privacy, I expect to not be interrupted. Above all, I expect you to make sure your associates know their place around us – and mind it. Do you understand?”

Blitzo jerked his head in as much of a nod as he could manage.

“They may hiss and spit all they like, but they will stay out of our way. Else I will remove them myself, and I will make you watch. Do you understand?”

Another nod.

“Say it, Blitzy.”

“…I understand,” said Blitzo through gritted teeth. The moment he did, the air returned to normal, leaving Blitzo gasping for air like a drowning man. Stolas finished his wine, and looked out the balcony window behind Blitzo.

“Ah! And there’s the moon. What a beautiful sight – not as lovely as you, of course.” Stolas cupped Blitzo’s cheek, looking at him with a familiar expression of lust. “Come darling,” he purred. “The night is still young, after all.”

#helluva boss #blitzo #stolas #helluva boss stolas #helluva boss blitzo #vizowrites #felt like stretching my evil writing muscles lol #thanks for letting me borrow him vizo!#does blitzo try to lay low or does he immediately go home that night like BABE GET YER RIFLE WE'RE GOING OWL HUNTING #it's up to you XD

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wildlyglittering · 3 years

Text

The Journey Begins with a Smile

So ages ago (and I do mean ages) I asked people to give me some Nessian prompts and I had four requests. Not many so that’s completely doable I thought.

Since my request, things didn’t go so well for my personal life and then, on a global scale, a pandemic hit. Both those things meant I wasn’t writing or even reading much.

BUT I was determined to fill those requests - even if the requesters had forgotten or no longer cared! Luckily I have managed to get my groove back so am trying to ride the writing train for as long as it will carry me!

@ekaterinakostrova requested something where Cassian made Nesta smile for the first time. I’ve taken some liberties to fill the prompt but here it is. Finally.

I hope you enjoy!

***

The multi-level gardens of the Day Court stretched outwards like a labyrinth.

Unlike the Night Court, whose gardens were sensibly flat, Day’s held winding staircases which lead to a plethora of mezzanines, stacked one after another. Each offered a new delight; pools of water swimming with gold and white fish, pagodas draped with ever blossoming honeysuckle or fountains carved with the curved forms of caressing lovers.

Some paths appeared to lead to dead ends, but the experienced visitor long learnt appearances were deceiving. As long as the explorer had the foresight to move thickets of ivy and trailing roses aside, they would find smaller paths twisting towards secret grottos.

Aside from the romantic allure of mystery, the garden’s contained an energy which reverberated through Cassian’s bones. Although the deep calm of the Night Court lands was his preference, Cassian found staying in Day was never an unpleasant experience.

Wandering the gardens would have been its usual satisfying activity if not for the frustration simmering in Cassian’s veins. Not an hour before he’d bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the copper of his blood before storming from the bedroom suites, leaving the other occupant behind.

His anger, and hers, were twins to each other. When the subject matter at hand arose, rational discussion dissipated like smoke in a storm and, as they were both apt to lose their tempers, that’s exactly what they did. After those times, it was best they stayed apart.

Being away from the Night Court brought up the familiar argument.

Cassian scrubbed a hand over his face, they were in Day on Rhys’ orders otherwise they wouldn’t have been there at all.

The knowledge of who Lucien was to Helion, and who the Lady of Autumn had been, was now widely known. Now, the painful possibility of civil war loomed over the Courts, brought on by the betrayal of an unwritten code of conduct. Helion was thinking ahead, reaching out to all potential allies in the hopes if he gained enough, Autumn would be dissuaded to start conflict.

There was no question Rhys would pledge to Helion.

It didn’t hurt though, Rhys said, to pay Day a visit.

Rhys spoke about contingency planning and counter-measure tactics but Cassian had known Rhys long enough to understand the guise. Under everything lay the ripple of the question of Spring’s allegiance and the inevitable shift of power towards the next generation of High Lords, including those Rhys was unable to befriend.

Custom dictated High Lords, and now High Lady, were the only ones to be allowed in the sanctum to speak politics. However, Rhys requested the attendance of his Inner Circle - where Rhys went, his most trusted followed.

What was less clear was the rationale behind Rhys’ request that those connected to the Inner Circle also attend. It was, Cassian believed, Rhys’ attempt to keep his friends compliant and a way to curry favour from others - namely Lucien who always hungered for time with Elain.

This secondary request was the one which opened the festering wound close to the surface of Nesta’s skin.

In an effort to find some calm, Cassian took to walking the gardens, like he had many times before. Like those times before, his steps took him a familiar route. Maybe, in the depths of his subconscious mind, he sought out what would bring him solace no matter how measly a sliver.

He ventured down a staircase, overflowing with floating lilacs, and onto a terrace which was surprisingly spacious for such a narrow-arched entrance.

This particular mezzanine was paved with sand coloured stone and framed by apple trees, their branches reaching towards each other like fingers. The waist high balcony overlooked the next level down – the glass domed ceiling of the sunken library.

This terrace, tucked away in the constructed gardens, housed the collection of seven statues who all faced inwards, into their circle, for eternity.

Like all statues in Day, the figures had been carved from marble run through with thick veins of gold and silver. Unlike the other statues, Cassian held an interest for these and these alone.

Whichever sculptor Helion found, he found one with talent. Despite the fact they were rock the sculptures contained something so painfully real. They were motionless yet their bodies held motion, they were emotionless yet their faces held emotion. When Cassian reached out to touch them, he swore there was bone beneath their stone skin.

Day was never more glorious then how she was now, in the full swing of her namesake and the wide blue sky called to Cassian to dance. Though his muscles ached to obey and his wings quivered in anticipation, he wouldn’t fly. Day was filled with sharp, ornate spires and he’d navigated a similar path unsuccessfully before.

But being trapped on the ground did nothing to help his mood; his legs shook, his eyes stung. Cassian was tired of the burning sun, tired of being apart from his friends, tired of the endless political deliberations of the other High Lords.

When he was unable to fly, Cassian needed to find other ways to curb his energy. One of those ways often involved his willing mate.

Except, at this current time she was not quite so willing. The blush pink rooms they were guests in were uncomfortably close to the rooms of others so Nesta didn’t want to make love to him here. She was even less likely to be inclined towards Cassian’s persuasions following their argument.

This was a radical departure from how they were in the isolation of their mountain cabin, especially in those final days. Time had turned into hourglasses and the sand of their lives trickled through their fingers fast then they breathed.

They couldn’t move to each other quick enough then, couldn’t remove their clothes fast enough, couldn’t press their bodies close enough.

Since their return to Velaris it was as though Nesta was turning into stone as cold and hard as the material of the statues Cassian now stared at.

Cassian sighed, drawing a deep breath of the lilac scented air into his lungs and walked towards one statue in particular. The one he thought of as his twin.

The stone fae stood high on the ends of its toes, as if it couldn’t bear to have any part of itself touching the ground. The arms stretched over its head, fingers straining upwards, begging for the sky to claim it. The figure didn’t have wings but Cassian imagined them, stretched out behind, broad and strong.

Cassian’s own wings, tangible flesh and bone, twitched as a breeze drifted past.

The circle existed for centuries but grew in number over the years. The first ones, the original ones, hadn’t changed but the way Cassian looked at them had. Once a carefree nature danced about them but, like all things weightless, that had floated away.

The invisible weight on them now was hard and heavy. Even the figure for the sky had something buried under the surface that hadn’t existed before.

Cassian was no fool – he recognised his own transference. What he saw; fatigue, anger, sorrow – these were his own burdens and in turn he projected them onto the poor stone creature in front of him willing it to absorb what he didn’t want.

Cassian ran his hand once more over his face. He wanted his effigy to take Nesta’s words which today were sharper than usual with insults flung towards his family with flippant ease. He reminded her that when she spoke with venom against them, she spoke venom against him.

Take your antidote then, she’d sneered, beg your friends to draw it all out if you think I’m such poison.

Nesta hadn’t been fully happy in the mountains but she’d been as close to peace as he’d ever seen. Finally, a part of Nesta was at rest, and the female Cassian loved was in a place he loved. All had been right for a time, their hearts in full growth, only to shrink into themselves when they were summoned back to Velaris.

Cassian would be misguided to think their arrival in Day was what agitated Nesta to begin the fight that morning. He could pretend she picked up on his restlessness or that she didn’t care much for the Court however the latter was a lie.

During her lengthy rehabilitation Nesta had visited Day on numerous occasions, sometimes with Cassian but often without. On the instances he visited her he was forced to choke down his jealousy at seeing Nesta and Hellion walking arm in arm, understanding that the High Lord of Day was playing a significant part in helping her heal.

Nesta would spend every minute in this place if Helion asked her to.

No, everything triggered from Rhys’ request that Nesta come to Day.

In Nesta’s eyes, Rhys’ request was a command; a command which served only to appease Rhys’ ego and prove he would always be able to demand the lives of those around him bend to his will.

Rhys wanted Cassian to be in Day and Rhys wanted Nesta to provide a pleasant distraction for Cassian’s restless nature. There was no other purpose.

The bitterness bled into Nesta at the fact Rhys demanded her attendance in a place she adored and would visit without complaint. Rhys had smirked it was the ‘without complaint’ he’d wanted from her for once.

She came only because Cassian had pleaded.

The heavy honeysuckle cloyed at Cassian’s nose and he decided to leave the gardens before he drowned in the scent of flowers. He’d find Az, a permanently sympathetic ear, who would patiently listen to Cassian’s complaints about how suffocated he was in a place he longer wished to be.

As he turned, a flash of marble hidden in the trees caught his eye.

Cassian hadn’t noticed anything else on this mezzanine before but it was no surprise, the white figure among the deep green leaves was set apart from the circle and tucked out of sight.

Drawing closer he saw the statue stood with its back to the rest, head titled downwards. The marble designed to be the hair splayed outwards as though caught in a tumultuous wind. Something about the statue, something about her, hollowed out Cassian’s chest.

“Why didn’t Helion put you with the others?”

“Because she doesn’t belong with the others.”

A voice, smoky and deep, carried across the space and Helion appeared from behind a wall of ivy onto the terrace next to him.

Cassian quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know about that secret passage.”

“That’s the whole point of it being a secret,” Helion said with a wistful sigh. “Now I’ll have to move it.”

“Don’t on my account.”

“And have you get here quicker to start your sulking? I don’t think so.”

Cassian opened his mouth to refute Helion’s words but the High Lord spoke over him.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said with a nod to the statue. “Out of all them, this one’s my favourite.” Helion turned to Cassian, dark skin glowing from the light within, mischief in his eyes.

Cassian bit his teeth together.

She was beautiful though, curves and angles, and the strength of stone. But who were they speaking of? The statue or Nesta herself?

“Why is she over here and not with the rest?”

The smugness slid from Helion’s face, his dark eyes scanning Cassian’s face, categorising every imperfection and scar as though he searched for something. Perhaps he wasn’t able to find what he wanted and a sad smile crept onto his face. “I told you – she doesn’t belong with the others. If I put her in the circle where would she gaze? At the ground? I won��t have that for her.”

Cassian’s mouth twisted, “She’s already looking at the ground.”

Helion cocked his head to the side, like one of the curious dogs in the mortal realm who sensed an invisible Cassian without truly perceiving him.

“Interesting how we can view something so differently. Tell me,” Helion said, “what are you seeing?”

They stood, arm length apart, one a High Lord and one a General. One draped in white and gold silks and the other clad in black leather. Winged and grounded.

Centuries existed between them with decades of Helion’s decadent parties where his fingertips would trail across the skin of Cassian’s muscled forearm, his mouth curled into a sensual smile. They’d not gone to bed with each other but shared at least one female over the years.

Here they stood in the sun; no lustful invitations, no pulling of rank. They were two males, competing in a game with stakes Cassian didn’t care for.

Still, he described her. Head downward, eyes downcast, eyelids. No sculptor would ever be able to create something so fine but Cassian swore there were delicate, long eyelashes casting a shadow against the sharp sculptured cheekbones. The graceful neck curved into a collarbone and clavicle with strands of stone hair caught in a storm of her own making.

Head and eyes down. This is what Cassian relayed to Helion. “Are you satisfied?” he growled, “I’m tired of playing.”

Cassian had jested over the years that Helion had a way of undressing him with his eyes, of looking beyond the armour and siphons to the male underneath. Helion had roared with delight and asked Cassian if he wanted to put that feeling into action.

Now, with the High Lord’s dark eyes on him, Cassian believed Helion was witnessing something deeper, that he was now staring beyond bone and blood.

“I know when you’re upset,” Helion said, glancing away, “and where you go when you are. You’ve walked this pathway numerous times and besides, these are my gardens, they tell me everything.” Helion’s eyes flickered back to Cassian, “You’re not as prone to idiocy as Rhys would have you be. Look again and try and do it properly.”

I have, Cassian wanted to tell him but he hadn’t.

Her stone feet were planted on solid ground, the stone hands down by her sides with the palms facing upwards. Her head was still down as were her eyes.

The figure seemed to change the longer he looked, one expression melting into another, completely different from before; disinterest, anger, peace. Cassian followed the line of her eyes to the gold domes roof of the sunken library glinting in the sunlight on the mezzanine below.

The statues full lips were tilted upwards into a smile, small but there.

“You don’t love Day,” Helion said to him, his deep voice breaking through the storm of Cassian’s thoughts.

“I enjoy it.”

“But Day will never be home.” Helion raised a robed arm towards the sky, long dark fingers stretching out, the light greedily swimming around his skin. “You seek freedom and you can’t find that here. So, my question to you oh miserable one, where do you find freedom?”

Cassian shrugged; this was an easy question and though Helion already had the answer, Cassian would play a little longer. “Velaris. The mountains.”

“And who are you free with?”

Helion’s tone was sly and conspiratorial as though he was inviting Cassian into a darkened room and asking him to share all his secrets, whispering across velvet pillows or through draped curtains. It was like honey dripped from Helion’s mouth.

Cassian’s fists clenched, tendons sliding over bones as he flexed his fingers.

Helion was skilled at drawing out confidences that most fae wanted to keep hidden. He emitted some strange magic which made Cassian want to dash to the nearest scribe and spill everything he had. Names and faces swam into Cassian’s mind, seemingly at Helion’s bidding, the most prominent being the one who spent her morning scowling at him.

Her name took shape at the end of Cassian’s tongue.

“You know who,” Cassian choked the words out in lieu of the ones that was forming, “don’t play your games.”

Helion stepped closer to the statue with a sigh and trailed a graceful finger across the carved lifeline on her upturned left palm. The line cut off not long after it started before beginning again, half a nail width away. It matched the real version perfectly.

Helion pouted and peered over the ledge. “It’s no fun if you don’t want to play but let’s not then, let me share with you a truth which your own truth speaker doesn’t care to bring to you. Nesta isn’t free in Velaris, but then you do know this.” Helion’s eyes glanced from the sun glinted library roof to Cassian’s face.

“She’s free here though. My statues, my darling beauties, represent the hearts of my most welcomed guests and while you are quick to immediately assume that Nesta spends her time staring at the ground, I see she is simply seeking her own peace.” Helion shrugged, gold and white silk sliding over smooth dark skin. “Freedom looks different for everyone.”

“I know that,” Cassian snarled, teeth bared, “I don’t need some heavy-handed lecture.”

The air began to pulse as an energy reverberated around the stone of the terrace. The tree branches shook and the leaves rustled. One growl of power to a disobeying dog. A warning; never bear your canines at a High Lord in the very Court his blood runs through.

Cassian uncurled his fists, splaying his fingers in Helion’s eyeline. Acquiescence. Cassian was guilty of foolish behaviour but he was no fool.

Helion’s tone had bite. “I’ll forgive your misjudgement on account of your poorly developed emotional response mechanism but only this once. You get away with burying your head when in the Night Court but I won’t have it here. Let me speak plain - this statue is an everlasting part of my garden but it’s rock, expensive rock, but rock. I would happily welcome the originator of its visage to become a permanent member of my Court. I think she’d accept, don’t you?”

Although the power of Helion still sang its presence, Cassian restrained the urge to turn feral. He didn’t, wouldn’t, because despite what others thought, Cassian was no animal. Besides, some part of Helion’s words wormed their way through Cassian’s brain.

Perhaps Helion discerned the calm Cassian was desperately trying to maintain because his voice was soft when he next spoke. “You have two options my handsome friend; go together to a place where you are both equally as free or find your freedom apart. Sacrifices have to be made and they shouldn’t all be hers.”

The sweet scent of roses and lilacs drifted through the mezzanine and Cassian looked down at the statue’s open palm.

“You can spend your time out here staring at an exquisitely carved piece of stone or you can reach for something real,” Helion said. “Your choice.”

Cassian thought of the circle of statues at his back, most especially the one on its toes spending centuries reaching for something that never came.

The squeeze on Cassian’s shoulder was gentle. “You’ll find her in the library,” Helion told him, “but then, you already knew that.”

Cassian sighed and closed his eyes and when he’d opened them, Helion had gone. Only the hanging ivy swaying by the wall was any indication of where he’d gone. Cassian looked back at the statue’s calm and serene face before trailing a fingertip onto the other open palm, half expecting her hand to curl around his, finding that he wanted it to.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I knew.”

Cassian wanted everything; Nesta, the Inner Circle, Velaris. He wanted his freedom; long fought for and hard won. He could have all those things if he pushed hard enough - but only for a time. His desires co-existing side by side would have lasted as long as a breath in the span of his lifetime.

There will be cost and Cassian understood the price.

He left the mezzanine and its sculptured delights behind. They were just statues, fixed to stand forever. Living things were meant to move.

The library was cooler than outside, filled with white marble columns and an expansive white marble floor making the space larger and lighter. Ivy weaved its way up the columns while the golden domed roof provided a welcoming warmth, counterbalancing the coolness of the stone.

Nesta was exactly where Cassian knew to find her, tucked away in her favourite loveseat under an arch in the romance section.

In the mountains Nesta told him how she spent her days in the Day Court; meals with Helion, walks with Helion, talks with Helion.

They all made Cassian’s stomach twist.

Nesta also told him she learnt to be alone with her thoughts. In those moments she went to the library, one of the few places she found comforting. There hadn’t been many safe spaces on offer to her in Prythian.

Cassian stood a small distance away behind one of the larger columns, folding his wings in as tight as he was able.

Nesta would always be one of the most beautiful females he’d ever seen. As she was now, with her head bent to her pages, she matched the statue above their heads; watchful and waiting.

Her face, smooth and still, could have been carved from stone, a testament to how expressionless she could be. If Cassian hadn’t experienced the passion, the sadness and the rage which existed underneath he would have believed she felt nothing at all.

Her cool voice carried across to him.

“Are you going to spend all your time lurking in the shadows?”

“I don’t lurk.”

Nesta looked over briefly, a delicate eyebrow raised, her pink lips downturned. Those blue-grey bore into him. She wasn’t in the mood for playing.

Cassian sighed and walked toward her. At least, he thought, Nesta shifted on the loveseat to make room for him. After their argument he thought she would be more inclined to try and beat him with the book she’d turned back to read.

They sat in strained silence. Nesta’s soft breaths out of sync with Cassian’s. She inhaled on his exhale. Everything was out of sync with them, even down to the core.

Cassian let out another sigh. Maybe he could fix this, re-set where they were going wrong. He shifted, his leg brushing against hers, so he could see her while he spoke.

“I was speaking with Helion,” he said.

Nesta kept her face to her book but raised an eyebrow again, “Oh.”

“Yes, in the garden.”

“Hmm,” she murmured and turned a page.

“He found me through one of his secret passageways.”

Nesta’s lips quirked into a small smile, “Now he’ll have to change it, so you don’t find it.”

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“He has many that he’s always changing. I wouldn’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

The silence fell over them again like a fog. They’d reduced themselves to small talk between strangers, Cassian at a loss for what to say and Nesta with no desire to help him find his words.

“He found me in the statue circle.”

She was about to turn another page, although she hadn’t really been reading since he sat down, but her fingers stumbled and she dropped the book which landed with a thud.

Cassian picked it up, the gold embossed words on a cover of rich green telling a story of love. Nesta reached out and as she did, Cassian used his other hand to grasp her wrist, “Nes...”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “Let me go.”

It was a weak command, her voice shaking as she spoke but Cassian would always obey her will and he released her wrist. Nesta snatched at her book.

She didn’t open the cover, abandoning her pretence of reading and instead placed the volume on her lap, staring upwards towards the ceiling.

“I hate those statues,” she said.

“I know.”

“You have to visit them every time you’re here.”

“Not every time,” he replied but she turned, looking him in the eye.

“Yes, every time. I’ve seen you and I’ve felt you through the bond.” She looked away and started to trail the lettering on the cover with a fingernail. “Besides, Helion tells me you visit them a lot.”

Well, Helion is a spy and a snitch, Cassian wanted to say but bit those words down. This was Helion’s court and those were his garden’s, his statue’s. He went where he pleased and talked to whomever he pleased, and that, unfortunately, included Nesta.

“After our argument this morning I knew you would go there instead of coming to see me,” Nesta continued, “you and that damned circle.” Her voice cracked and she bent forward, placing her face in her hands so Cassian couldn’t see. Strands of hair fell from her crown braid over her forehead.

“Nesta,” he said, and Cassian took her wrists in his hands, gently pulling them away from her face.

Her face had blanched a stark white and the rims of her eyes were tinged pink. Despite the sheen of tears in them, Cassian knew she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Nesta always found a way of shoving everything into a box in her soul.

“You all get to spend eternity gawping at each other in every Court in every form, don’t you?” She snatched her hands away, smoothing down the frayed hairs away from her face, wiping at her eyes.

“They’re just statues,” he said.

“I know,” she hissed, “Don’t be belligerent Cassian, we both know you’re too smart for that.”

“I’m not being-” but he stopped speaking and sat back against the marble wall, his wings hitting them with a bang.

Cassian closed his eyes, trying to think of what to say to make any of this better. He thought back to their argument in the bedroom, mere hours ago which felt like days, surrounded by excessive amounts of silk in various shades of pink.

“There’s a statue of you,” he said, envisaging it like some lost old memory and not something he had been staring at less than hour ago. The image was clear in his mind; the windswept hair, the upturned palms, that lovely but sad face with its hopeful, delicate smile.

“I know.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“It’s set apart from the others.”

Cassian heard the rustling of her dress as Nesta shifted. “Helion told me he wanted it separate from the rest because it didn’t suit the others.”

Cassian’s heart picked up its pace, “What do you think about that?”

“I agreed. The statue should be away from the rest. It doesn’t fit with the others.” Nesta let out a gentle sigh. “I don’t fit with the others.”

Cassian opened his eyes and stared into the distance.

The gardens were a labyrinth and the sunken library even more so, rows of white bookcases lined with vibrant colours, pastels or even shimmering golds stretched outwards until they stopped short of the central atrium, right underneath the top of the dome. The light shone through in beams and specks of dust danced amongst them.

They both sat rigid and unmoving with muscles locked into place and stared ahead, not at the rows of books but at the future in front of them, at decisions that would take them away or bring towards.

“Would that suit you?” Cassian asked, his voice thick. “Being apart from us? Elain? Amren? Me?”

Nesta’s fingers twitched on her lap, digging deep into the material of her skirts. “I don’t need to consider Amren in my plans and she knows this. Elain will understand in time; besides she has her own life now and gets to live the way she wishes so I don’t understand why I cannot.”

She paused. “Feyre will be irritated but she’ll come around in time. She’ll have to.”

“And me?”

The seconds of silence lasted longer than Cassian liked. There was no definitive answer, no immediate outpouring of emotion. His breath rasped in his ears and now he could hear Nesta’s, finally in time with his own. Her voice was quiet, travelling from a universe away.

“You can’t seem to understand why I don’t love the Night Court as much as you do so I don’t know whether you’ll come around in time.” Nesta picked at a loose thread on her dress. The more she pulled, the more it seemed she unravelled the sinews in his heart. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait until you do, if you do. I don’t heal in the Night Court; I can’t heal among those who hate me.”

Cassian wanted to reassure her; to say he would understand why she couldn’t love the Night Court, that eventually she would heal amongst the copper roof tops of Velaris and she was never amongst those who hated her. The words stuck in his throat and burned.

His love for the place he called home was built in his bones, constructed as part of him as he had wings on his back. Without his home he wouldn’t be Cassian of the Night Court, he wouldn’t be anyone.

“Helion has offered me a home here,” she continued.

Cassian nodded, his head bobbing on a neck that now felt too thin. Cassian understood Helion wanted to offer Nesta a home in Day, he wasn’t aware he already had. “Would you be happy here?”

“I think so.” Nesta let out a mirthless laugh, “Day is the opposite of Night and so the Court would suit me just fine.”

Something burnt inside his chest. His overworked, overwrought centuries old heart was now in flames and this was the beginning of it turning to ash.

“I can’t live in Day,” he said. “The Court is fine enough but this place would become to me what Night is to you. It wouldn’t sustain me.”

“We’re at an impasse then. The road ahead of us is splitting.” Nesta spoke the words with cold, impassive authority, the kind of tone she used for others which led them to assume she was a heartless creature.

But Cassian could feel her as he always had. A crack across her heart ran deeper than anything before. She’d been through hell and come out the other side carrying what pieces of herself remained within her clenched fists. This couldn’t be the event which broke her, he couldn’t be the fae that broke her.

Sacrifices, Helion told him less than an hour ago, needed to be made. But not all sacrifices needed to be a bad thing. Sacrificing something didn’t mean you would always lose; it may mean winning something more valuable.

“Yes,” he said, voice soft, “if you think the road only has two paths to choose from.”

Nesta took in his words, and Cassian could sense the moment they landed in her mind, how she sounded out their meanings. A strand of wavering hope rose between them.

“Oh,” she said but her voice held a tremor, the edge of anticipation she was clinging to and the thread wound itself tighter round her finger until her flesh turned white.

“I believe this morning an angry female hissed at me about retreating back to the mountains and staying in the cabin forever.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Well, I believe the female had a right to be angry as I believe said female was being abandoned by her mate.”

“He would never.”

“Hmm.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “I don’t want to leave them,” he said.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged and her hope dissipated from her like smoke. “I know,” she said, “I just-”

“However,” he interrupted, “that doesn’t mean I won’t leave them. At least on a semi-permanent basis.”

Nesta took a deep breath in.

“I can’t live here,” he gestured outwards to the marble pillars and trailing ivy and streams of violently bright light. “Day isn’t for me but Night isn’t for you. My life is in Velaris and I have responsibilities that I can’t leave and friends I want to see, but as long as I’m somewhere near, somewhere I can fly to them I think that will be fine.”

Nesta released her breath and Cassian carried on. “I can’t lose them Nesta but I won’t lose you. I’ve waited a long time for you even before I understood what I was waiting for. If Velaris will destroy you then at some point the city will destroy me too.”

He continued to stare ahead but Nesta’s arm brushed against his as she moved, her slight frame against his broad one. From the corner of his eye, he saw her pale face gazing at him and if he turned to her, he would see her hope anew.

“The cabin needs more work to make it habitable all year round and the winters are hard and isolating. I’ll need to fly to Velaris more often than you would want and you’re still going to have to visit your sisters. Honestly, I’d hate to make Elain angry.”

There was a soft sob next to him. “I’d hate to make Elain angry too,” but she smiled through her tears.

“We’ll have to think of a way to transport all your books. I’m not flying them to the cabin, not if you’re bringing that twelve book saga you’re into with the-”

Nesta grasped his chin in her slender fingers and turned his face to hers. Shining in those blue-grey eyes through the misty layer of tears was pure delight.

“Thank you,” she whispered and brought her mouth to his. The kiss was sweet on his lips, soft and slow and filled with the promise she would always love him. Cassian deepened the kiss, sliding his hands over her waist before trailing upwards on her back to tangle in her hair.

They stayed like that for a while, his tongue seeking out and sliding against hers; wet, luxurious kiss after kiss. Cassian groaned and gripped Nesta’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her dress and he swung her up and over onto his lap.

She pulled her mouth away and gasped, “No! Not here, not in front of the books!”

“The gardens then?” he joked and received a flick to his chin for his trouble.

“Helion will be disappointed.”

“That’s perverse.”

“No,” Nesta crinkled her nose, “that I won’t be making my home here.”

Cassian trailed his hands up Nesta’s back to her hair, tangling the strands around his fingers, looking forward to when he could make it took as disordered as her glorious statue’s. “Make this place your holiday destination. I’m sure you’ll frequent Day every time I’m in Velaris.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“And when we’re done appeasing the world we’ll be together again, at home.”

Nesta’s eyes scanned his face, the way Helion’s had done earlier, but instead of an assessment that had left Cassian found wanting, her eyes were soft and the blue-grey was the colour of the sky in the Night Court just after a storm.

“Yes,” she said, “at home.” She leaned in to kiss him again and before Cassian closed his eyes he soaked in the image, letting it burn forever into his mind. A perfect picture of Nesta in the flesh; her fluttering eyelashes, freckled nose and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

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orsuliya · 3 years

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Hi) Do you think Awu would be happy with Zitan? I think the best thing Daddy Wang did was to force het to marry XQ. I mean he knows his daughter well. I think all those men (Zitan, Helan Zhen, Huaien) who were in love with her, would eventually dissapoint her. Which happened pretty early with Zitan lol I think they all lived in a fantasy, without really realizing what kind of a woman she is. I think they happen to be compatiable with XQ on all the levels. And he is the only one that matches her spirit. And the one she truly admires and looks up to) Potato is the only one who got over his affection towards her and managed to treat her as a sister or a friend) Who knew)

Ah, I knew I couldn’t keep escaping this question forever. This is absolutely not a slight against you, Reasonably Potato-Friendly Nonnie, not at all. It’s... complicated.

Now, let us consider how could such a marriage even take place. Of course there is always the elopement, although in order for that to succeed Zitan would need to be much less... Zitan. But is there any possibility of getting Awu and Zitan hitched even earlier for the purpose of this exercise? Well, yes, there is.

I am not going to consider a pre-series betrothal if only due to Awu’s age. Besides, such a betrothal would be akin to putting a cat among pigeons, which is something that Daddy Wang might absolutely do... but not without a guarantee of proportionate gratification. Letting such an agreement stand for long - with no possibility of sealing the deal early - is a no go, not when every other party would try to tear it asunder, use it for their own purposes or strike preemptively just in case.

Yes, I know that Daddy Wang had no intention of giving Awu’s hand to any of the Ma princes. And certainly he wouldn’t be able to marry her off to Zitan, should Zilong still be free, not without alienating his sister completely by building up a rival claimant with his own two hands.

Of course Zilu works his magic and Wanru becomes Zilong’s Crown Princess; this opens new, exciting possibilities. Potato is off the table completely: surely Awu could never become a second wife and neither would the Xies agree to see Wanru degraded so. This makes the rather stubborn Empress Dowager malleable; now what?

Well, let’s say that Xiao Qi pulls a runner much, much earlier, about five minutes after catching and putting Awu down. Even then Daddy Wang wouldn’t be all that keen on having Zitan as his son-in-law... unless one of two impossible things happened:

Impossible Thing number 1. Daddy Wang decides that Potato is an evolutionary dead end and decides to change horses halfway through the race. No, I do not mean that he goes for an earlier coup. He simply elects to switch his prospective puppets; I have no idea why would he do that, but he totally could, you know. Potato gets mashed in mysterious circumstances, Zitan gets Awu... for about nine months or however long it takes them to produce an heir... and then chokes on his own flute the minute a son is born unto him. Or rather unto Daddy Wang, who snatches this shiny Platinum Ticket up immediately. Awu gets a sweet gig as an Empress Mother, should Daddy Emperor expire prematurely. And they all get killed by the wondrous duo of Zilu&Jianning. Or maybe not, since the governor of Huizhou would probably stay loyal in this scenario, giving Xiao Qi enough time to save everyone and their dog. As always. In this scenario there is every possibility that Awu wouldn’t become disappointed with Zitan... because he wouldn’t live long enough for that in any case. And even if there was enough time for that to happen, Daddy Wang would make sure there were no dark clouds to throw shade on their marriage… for as long as it actually lasted. Why am I so sure that Zitan would have to die in this scenario? Well, how else could Daddy Wang install his Platinum Ticket on the throne? The way I see it, in this case Daddy Wang might not even go for the throne himself; a grandchild is, after all, a wholly different thing from a grand-nephew.

Impossible Thing number 2. Daddy Wang gets hit with a low-flying brick and gets a truly genius idea of making peace with the Xies. Wanru is married to Potato, so if Awu gets married to Zitan, there is simply no way that either side could step out on this status quo by, let’s say, marrying a daughter off to Xiao Qi and his big bad army. The only problem is that nobody would take such an entente lying down. The Empress Dowager wouldn’t, since it basically halves her own power as a prospective Empress Mother. Zilu&Jianning wouldn’t, since a Wang-Xie alliance could force them to wave their own chances goodbye. And the Emperor certainly wouldn’t, not when much of his power derives from serving as a mediator between warring factions! Even for the Xies and the Wangs it makes little sense: why take half a pie when you can have it whole? Without an external factor forcing their cooperation, there’s just no way they would go for that, unless as a way to shore up their positions. But that is a strategy good for the currently weaker Xies, not for Daddy Wang! Damn, that would have to be one heavy brick! Anyway, this scenario requires both couples to take part in an elaborate court dance of precedence, power games and daily balancing between two factions. Otherwise it all comes toppling down. This dance is certainly something that Awu can do… but Zitan absolutely cannot, not with his tendency to act like an offended kindergartener every time his ego gets hurt. Potato is much more likely to swallow an insult or ten than Mr. Flute and Awu would quickly see her husband for the child he is. No long-lasting happiness to be found there, sorry.

In both these cases court life would quickly reveal Zitan’s true face. Oh, I doubt he would go full-blown villain in either scenario, regardless of his probable life expectancy. The problem is that Awu knows and loves Zitan as this happy, carefree prince. What concern is Cheng’s governance to Zitan? He’s the Emperor’s youngest, most beloved and most spoiled son, the one with a greatly favoured mother; in this family even the presumptive heir gets little to no actual preparation for ruling and neither does the most talented prince!

Marriage to Awu automatically catapults Zitan into the very centre of Cheng’s political scene. What is permissible and even cute in a favoured youngest princeling is catastrophic in a pillar of the Empire. And Awu? Awu would be there with him all the way; infinitely more capable and yet comparatively powerless. Because riddle me this: what happens once Zitan’s beloved wife starts to show him up? As she inevitably must, knowing them both. Somehow I don’t think he would glow with pride or boast about her accomplishments. We saw how Zitan treats most women in his life, how he treated Wanru when she was his best ally and even Su Jin’er while she served as his spy. Women are allowed to have their own agendas and interests… as long as their agenda is to make Zitan great (again), regardless of any actual pay-off for them and theirs.

Love… love would last for a while. But you see, Zitan exhibits another worrying tendency, which would show its ugly face sooner or later. Starting from the Huizhou arc, he no longer sees Awu as she is and stubbornly tries to make her fit the mold he constructed in his head. And that mold is designed in such a way as to make him, Zitan, shine. He came late to their elopement? He didn’t come late at all, she just didn’t wait! He’s the faithful lover here. That mold is also very, very stiff and not very big to begin with. Surely what Awu wants most is to be an Empress. She’s a Wang daughter and Wang daughters become Empresses, who cares what Awu actually thinks or feels. Oh, sorry, that’s the second mold he constructs, the first was Zitan’s little wife, completely satisfied with living somewhere far from the capital and listening to his dreadful poetry all day long. Yeah, that romantic fantasy? It could have never happened; while believing in it might be forgivable in a fifteen-year-old Princess, it’s rather less so in a Prince who may become a target at any moment due to the Xie-Wang rivalry.

Okay, I have no idea where this whole thing is going and it shows. Let’s look at the third impossible thing, namely what would happen should that bloody elopement end in a success.

Impossible Thing number 3. Awu and Zitan run away and for some reason Daddy Wang doesn’t track them down. Which would take him a week at most, since neither Awu nor Zitan are all that inconspicuous, unmarked golden leaf or not. Golden leaf of presumably imperial grade is hella suspicious even without any markings, so kudos to Jinruo. But then how could she know any better…? But let’s say Daddy Wang gives up. And so do the remaining Xies, who just lost their potential claimant. And so does Zilu, who would totally set a potential rival loose. And the Empress Not-Yet-Dowager, paranoid that Zitan could be plotting with provincial magnates. And the Emperor, once he wakes up! Not like he wanted to put Zitan on the throne, right? And so does every single other interested party who could use a nifty imperial figurehead of their own. So Awu and Zitan settle down in a small house somewhere in… somewhere. What then?

Well, that small house… While Awu might be able to live and even thrive in such circumstances, Zitan is made out of different clay. Who was it that complained about the Imperial Mausoleum, which was basically a palace; and who had her wedding night under the stars dealt splendidly in Ningshuo after the first cultural shock? Okay, let’s say he sees this new servant-less and palace-less life as his Glorious and Noble Sacrifice, which is the only way I can imagine him being more or less happy with it. He woud drive Awu mad in a month. Either she gets a husband who is visibly unhappy – even if he doesn’t actually say so – or one that keeps indirectly blaming her for their new circumstances.

Also, I don’t think Jinruo’s stash would last all that long, not if they wanted to keep some standard of living, not without replenishing it in some way. Surprisingly, they both have some rather marketable skills; Awu is good with budgeting, for example, and Zitan would make a credible music master or calligraphy teacher. They could be… reasonably happy with that? Although seeing as Zitan is perfectly content with sitting a whole year out in his room, doing… nothing, I can’t see him being all that eager to make an honest living.

Then children would come and with children usually come problems, pulling them both further into the daily grind. Now, Awu would probably be okay with that, but Zitan with his lofty ideals? Zitan, who wasn’t able to imagine how Awu could possibly love or do anything more than tolerate a mere soldier? Somehow I can’t see him being anything but deeply unhappy with this rather prosaic existence. And unhappy with being unhappy, because he should be ecstatic, right? He married his love, he fulfilled his dream! How can he feel so... so mopey about it?!

He would be unhappy and unhappy with being unhappy, and sooner or later he would start searching for somebody to blame. And Awu would take that blame, at least in the beginning. Not because she’s a doormat, no. Because without her loftly titles, without her family and her position, she would probably feel much more vulnerable. We know how she felt about being a traitor’s daughter and Xiao Qi did everything in his power to shore up her position, even as he assured her that it mattered not at all. Would Zitan be half as observant and supportive? Yeah, I don’t think so. Besides, there would be a grain of truth in Zitan’s accusations: while it wasn’t Awu who came up with this whole idea, it was her mother who organized the elopement. Zitan was the victim, a poor unknowing lamb led to the slaughter the boat.

And you know what? Even if no blame was being thrown around, even if they both found acceptable equilibrium in their daily lives, even if they both were more of less satisfied with their new existence… it would still be a bloody tragedy.

And no, I am not talking about their differing levels of maturity or the fact that I rather doubt that a man like Zitan would be able to keep a woman like Awu permanently satisfied in every aspect of their lives.

My main beef with the elopement scenario is the fact that Awu was born to move empires, not wither in some backwater. She’s designed to operate on an entirely different scale! For all that she may dream of having a pretty little house somewhere in Ningshuo, those dreams take on an entirely different flavour knowing that the man living with her in that pretty little house would be Xiao Qi. You don’t exactly need to decide the fate of empires yourself when you have a man who could easily do just that eating out of your hand. The level of satisfaction is more or less the same, I guess. Note that even at the end Xiao Qi and Awu don’t give up power. They may choose to live quietly in their beloved Ningshuo, but the moment something goes really wrong? They will be back in the saddle in five minutes flat. That big bad army isn’t going anywhere either and that neat final voiceover? Gives us a pretty good idea as to their plans for the future:

grasslands + grateful and thus loyal manpower + big bad army = economical and military powerhouse + all benefits of being a vassal state + de facto independence

That’s no withering in obscurity, let me tell you! Not like living with Zitan under an assumed name would be.

ETA: Oh, I know what the question was! Do I think that Awu would be happy with Zitan? NOPE.

#ask and answer #what was the question again #sorry for going off like that #zitan oh so pretty and oh so useless #the rebel princess #monarch industry #rebel princess meta

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that-yandere-life · 4 years

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Thor for the nsfw list

[Thank you for helping me celebrate! I was in a serious Thor mood tonight so here it is, I hope you enjoy!]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Thor would have never gone into his first time not knowing what aftercare is, his mother would have thoroughly educated him prior. Now a man of experience he would be incredibly dutiful in making sure you are taken care of.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Favorite part of his: Let’s be honest it’s his dick. Obviously very proud at his godlike status below the belt as well as his bloodline. Able to use it with exceptional ease and accuracy, you will be utterly lucky to have caught his attention.

Favorite part of yours: Your breasts, his favorite place to sleep, or lay when he is having a hard time. Not to mention his favorite area to give special attention to during foreplay, bite marks and tender bruises will be everywhere littering your skin.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside of you, he wants you pregnant with his heir yesterday. Not only will it tie you to him forever, but he will have someone to follow in his footsteps. Plus he can’t wait to see the changes in your body as you grow his child inside of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wants to sleep inside of you, as often as you will let him. Super into cockwarming, at night, and in the morning after you both wake up.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Heavily experienced, he is over 1000 years old after all, that translates into any number of partners. More to pleasure you with in his mind, as he knows exactly what strings to pull to make you have multiple earth shattering orgasms every single time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Riding him while facing him, he wants to watch your breasts bounce as he holds your hips steady fucking up into you at an unnatural speed.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Thor is a big teddy bear and he loves to laugh so of course it will be a mix of silly and romantic most of the time. Not afraid of embarrassing situations much anymore, especially being super secure in your relationship.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Not many men like to be hairless, however he is one that absolutely does. Wants the reality of his glorious member to be fully on display every time you make love.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sweet and kind hearted, every session will have elements of romance even if it’s a quickie. He can’t help but show his love for you in the moment.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Rarely he wants to save every bit of himself for you, even if he has to be away. It will make the time when he returns that much better for both of you. To have that pent up frustration and emotion that needs to be expressed.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Uses his ability to control lightning to give you well placed minor shocks that enhance any sensation in ways you could never imagine. Especially the work he can do with it on your clit for ultimate stimulation.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Hidden in the hallway in the castle on Asgard, usually during a feast where the two of you can’t wait long enough to return to your shared bedchambers. Or in a closet during one of Tony’s parties on Midgard, which you both visit quite often. Rarely does he go anywhere without you anymore.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Whenever you undress, even if it’s not in a sexy scenario, just seeing you in the state will instantly turn him on. The simple act of your clothing being removed seems so intimate and personal to him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I can’t imagine that Thor would want to share you with anyone, wanting to be the only one to touch you in that manner. That’s not to say that he wouldn’t let someone watch if you were wanting or willing.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Thor should be known as the god of oral because his skills definitely would make you want to worship him alone. Not to mention that he would want to do it whenever you would let him, truly enjoying what it does to you. For him he enjoys when you give it to him as well, often suggesting 69ing when you offer.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

A mixture of both, he would start off slow and sensual making sure that you get used to him inside of you. Then as the pleasure increases for the both of you he can’t help but up his level of speed and level of roughness. You will definitely feel it in the morning regardless, but he will take care of you so it’s worth it. ;)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

The two of you will test out pretty much any private space the two of you can find. Even quick sessions with Thor are incredibly satisfying, providing a blinding orgasm.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Who would question a God at the end of the day? Thor can pretty much do whatever he wants with you, and no one will say a goddamn word. Even if they do, he can intimidate them into forgetting all about the complaint.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless Stamina, he can go for as long as you can. Only stopping when you are done for the time being. Realizing that you have a limit where he doesn’t really have one at all.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Would be open to trying toys if you suggest them, not knowing much about that aspect of sex due to the technology. Not that you would really need them when you have him, he is a one man sex toy in the flesh.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not much for teasing, would much rather be straightforward. Same goes for him, he doesn’t want to be teased really, he just wants you to tell him you need him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud! In all the best ways possible, he will constantly let you know how you are making him feel. How good you are to him, and how lucky he is to have you. Then he will also be unable to hold back grunts, groans, and moans. Likely screaming out triumphantly as he climaxes, the squeeze of your orgasm pushing him over the edge with you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Wants to try pegging when he finds out about it, trusting you so implicitly that he will ask you to try it with him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Let’s just say he has the biggest natural cock you have ever seen in every aspect.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

CONSTANT! Always wants to be touching you, feeding into the intimacy, and making you feel incredibly as often as he can.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After you are comfortable he is out like a light, holding you close to his form. Soon gentle snores will fill the room, able to completely relax in your presence.

#yandere marvel #marvel yandere #thor odinson x reader #yandere thor #Anonymous

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astertataricvs · 4 years

Text

Miya Atsumu; how endearing

summary: Atsumu would frequently receive confessions from girls. But yours is the one that caught his attention.

word count: 2k+

Above the busy city, the honking of cars, the people walking down the street, and in a certain place where Inarizaki High School is established. The eminent azure tinctured heavens cloaked the world. It was an ordinary day the disseminated powder-puff clouds drift indolently across the interminable sky as the fresh sunlight irradiates the crevasses of every place – dusting off the darkness with the sun's glorious celestial entity.

Suna Rintarou stood in the rooftop, both elbows propped on the banisters as the youthful breeze of spring brushes through his body with the chorus birds above singing happily along with its kinds. He relished the calming atmosphere, feeling as it has a touch of magic, as if anything may happen that would grant him a magical experience.

Suna's eyes settled on the landscape before him, the varying types of edifices and houses with several colors that festoon the once cryptic hollow space billions of years ago. It was a sight indeed, suited for a man like him who's quiet all the time. But his eyes never missed catching two figures beneath him: a girl with long ebony hair and a familiar blonde hair who he was certain that it's their team's setter, Miya Atsumu.

The middle blocker already has the knowledge of what was going to occur among the two. It's the same scenario that he'd frequently witness every lunch break, Atsumu receiving a confession again, and he'd reject the girl straight away without batting an eyelash.

He doesn't care about what will happen anyway. That is precisely why he never had mentioned it to the setter that he'd often be the spectator of him acquiring a girl's love. It's not notable to him, and he isn't the type of guy who likes to stick his nose into other people's businesses. He likes to avoid that. He will always be doing that.

Although he's sick of perpetually seeing a confession from his usual spot, his eyes have adhered to the two persons who are beneath him.

Miya Atsumu has once again been summoned by a girl that he doesn't even know that she's actually studying here.

In the to-do lists of the girls in school, one of many cliché things there was to confess to someone at the courtyard of the school. Anyone with courage enough to do that was worthy of praise, even from Atsumu himself. He admired them for it but did not think it was riveting. Just another day at Inarizaki. Another thing to cross off on a list. Atsumu couldn't even remember the name of the last girl who confessed to him.

"I like you, Atsumu-kun!" The girl declared while eyes were sealed as her cheeks tinged in roseate hues.

Atsumu executes a subtle sigh as he straightens his back, preparing the words itching in his throat that he'd regularly answer girls.

"Sorry but I'm not interested." The girl pressed her trembling lips to keep the tears at bay.

Atsumu watched her with disinterest and full of boredom written on his face. It's the identical expressions he'd perceived whenever he'd reject them. Melancholic and tearful. Composing themselves from crying in front of him because they refuse to witness them weep by him, which is the thing he's most thankful for. He's not the one to blame if they'd cry to their friends in the girl's restroom or anywhere they pleased.

They were the ones who chose to confess to him even though they already knew the answer they would gain from him. The only emotion that keeps them from venturing their plan is their unyielding tenacity; their friends stimulating speeches and the hope that he might like them back – and that latter is what Atsumu despises the most.

He doesn't want to waste his time frequently hearing a girl's confession, it's revolting for always hearing it – though, he appreciates their feelings they possess for him, but it's not thrilling anymore.

Atsumu had achieved his task, so he excused himself first and left the girl behind, granting her an alone time to weep.

It is something that he doesn't want to see, he knows the feeling of rejection, but not in a romantic aspect, yet he is aware of how disheartening it felt – like you were being shrouded with darkness and feel the clenching of your heart inside your chest. Though it appears that Atsumu looks like he had tons of relationships in the past, he won't be ashamed of proclaiming to the world that he has stayed single ever since the day of his birth. Heck, he would admit that he much prefers being disengaged with the clutches of relationships and stay inclined to volleyball instead.

That's more preferable and pleasant to hear.

Atsumu tossed the ball to his twin and was satisfied as they earned a point with his set up. The coach decided to hold a practice match with every member of their club. Presently, they were having a match with Kita and Aran, who were on the other side of the net. It never ceases to amaze him every time he'd view their ace's spike and their captain's substantial receives. Despite being impressed with his teammates, Atsumu also gives his all in the game, and the thirst for victory enkindled in his system.

This is the thrill that he craves, not the same as the daffy confession of every damn girl he'd constantly receive every day.

"'Tsumu, are you done being a freak staring into space? Coach gave us a water break." The monotonous voice of his twin had snapped him out from his stupor.

"Shut the hell your mouth! I don't want to hear it from someone whose face is always stoic," he countered before stomping his foot and sauntering to where everyone was taking a rest and drinking their filled water bottle.

Osamu shrugged and followed his twin. Their captain had scolded them yet again with his more indomitable appearance and bland voice. Osamu told the blonde that Kita is more vacuous than him, and Atsumu wouldn't deny that because it's a fact. But still, the setter categorized them both in the same kind of species – the emotionless species.

He has no idea why he and his brother had distinct personalities, yet they are twins. Sometimes, he couldn't determine what Osamu was thinking about and his emotions except when they'd argue.

He is the actual opposite of his brother, lively and not impassive like him.

That is why he thinks that he's reliable and more preferable because he can show different emotions rather than Osamu, who is perpetually stoic as the same as the captain. Musing about it makes his ego skyrocketed.

Suna and Ginjima, who happened to witness Atsumu grinning like an idiot by himself, had caused them to step back and weirded out at him – well, he's already weird in the first place, though – but this kind of behavior only made him weirder.

'Is it the reason for getting confessed almost every day?' Suna mused while drinking his water.

A strum of a guitar resonates throughout the area, causing all the members to pause from their movements as their ears perked up upon hearing the sound of an instrument. It strummed in a familiar melodic pattern, but no one can figure what song it is. Suna knew that it's an acoustic guitar because of its vibrating strings and its sweet and softer tones.

Before they could even start a query, a woman's voice yet again halted them from their tracks and rendered them mute. Even Atsumu, who was in his stupor, had snapped back to reality once a sweet voice of a woman had rung within his ears.

I've never gone with the wind, just let it flow Let it take me where it wants to go

All of them are curious about the one who's singing, and they could distinguish that the noise is coming from outside their gym. Kita also grew curious, and his feet led him to the doors to discover the person behind that beautiful voice – even the captain admits that – Atsumu did not hesitate to follow Kita. His curiosity overwhelms him and wants to find out who is singing.

His mind is full of queries as to why someone would sing outside the gym. There are lots of rooms and areas in the campus for her to take a sweet moment by herself. However, Atsumu couldn't deny that he was pleased to hear the charming voice of this mysterious girl.

As once Kita and Atsumu took a peek outside, the setter's lips instantly dropped once his eyes landed on the girl he knew too well.

'Til you opened the door, there's so much more I've never seen it before I was trying to fly but I couldn't find wings But you came along and you changed everything.

Atsumu's eyes are like glue, transfixed on you, who is singing and playing the guitar. He didn't tear his gaze away from you even if he could hear the footsteps approaching behind him.

He doesn't have any clue why you were doing it here, as if you're a busker who sings and plays in streets or any other public places. But most of all, he feels his breath hitch when you stared into his eyes while singing the lyrics while playing the guitar. Your eyes never left him, and he did the same thing.

Atsumu let himself be absorbed with gawking to you as you played.

You lift my feet off the ground You spin me around You make me crazier, crazier Feels like I'm falling and I'm lost in your eyes

While you're singing, you suddenly step forward and mosey toward where Atsumu stood. Now he could feel his body turned rigid and as if his breath had seized by a lurking spirit, making him breathless.

As you finally stand before him, you sing the last lyrics of the chorus.

You make me crazier, crazier, crazier.

"I like you, Miya Atsumu-san," you confessed, voice laced with fondness, no hint of jest but utter sincerity. Looking at him like the king of the jungle that bears pride and gallantry and wouldn't waver whoever it confronts someone.

Atsumu swallowed the lump inside his throat, caught off guard, speechless and dumbfounded. Now he comprehends the situation as to why you were singing outside their gym.

It's because you were serenading him. But why English, though?

Atsumu hadn't foreseen that it would happen to him, someone serenading him as their type of confession.

That is beyond the usual. You remarkably caught him by surprise, and this is the first time he couldn't produce a coherent speech in his head – except when he's taking an exam.

"I—"

"That's all!" you squawked and bowed to him before bolting away and left everyone in an astounding state.

Kita looked over at Atsumu with his usual expression, but inwardly he was surprised as well, knowing the fact that this is the first time he had heeded a woman serenading a man. That's off-the-wall.

Everyone directed their gazes to their setter, who's still flabbergasted at the scene a while ago and stared at the path where the girl had run off.

The known Miya Atsumu, who doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, had become speechless.

Atsumu blinked his eyes, returning him to his senses from his astonishment. As he assimilates the extraordinary event earlier into his brain, he suddenly evokes a chuckle. He was dazzled by your outlandish confession and had come to pique his interest – he's not gonna lie – the way you confessed to him was impressive.

The most shocking for him was, he never perceived you to be this daring enough to serenade him in front of his teammates. Moreover, it never forded his mind that you like him in a romantic aspect since you would approach him as a mere classmate only. You haven't provided him with a hint that you fancy him. Well, it makes sense for Atsumu why you don't look like it.

After all, you are his seatmate all this time.

'How endearing.'

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #miya twins #hq #hq x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction

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a-student-out-of-time · 3 years

Text

Twisted Sister Arc Review Part 1

Hi guys I’m the Anon who does the reviews around here…guess you could call me the Review Anon? Wonder what the lore behind me would be…anyway that doesn’t matter! Point is, I have an Arc to review and Jesus is this a big one. So big that A) I’m doing submissions (with permission from the Mod of course) and B) I’m splitting the review into 3 parts. Heavy Arcs are Heavy and a LOT of stuff happens here so let’s get right into it!

So, the parts of the Twisted Sister Arc are first the Massacre, second is the Mindwipe and third is the Prison Break. Last one doesn’t start with M but I’m not doing rhyming here, but that’s enough time wasting let’s get right into it~

Massacre

Easily the darkest part of the Arc but given the Arc is basically Kanade being a Slasher Killer here, what do you expect? While Danganronpa is a franchise about murder, and we had serial killers in it both canon and fanon the nature of the Killing Game means that a full-blooded mass killing akin to many slasher films hasn’t really occurred in the franchise before. This makes Kanade’s bloody rampage here even more disturbing, as while we have had mass killings before, see Mukuro’s rampage through Giboua Middle School in Killer Killer, those are established as backstory drops for the characters, we never actually see one being carried out in action. And going back to that massacre, Mukuro only did it because Junko thought her sister’s killer intent might have slipped and it’s to prove to her she is still a killer, but here Kanade is killing for cold blooded revenge. And she doesn’t just kill a bunch of randoms as she brutally murders Iroha, Peko, Akane, Nekomaru, Sonia and Kokoro very brutally and very effectively. I knew something was up given that the entire school went into lockdown and all the fighters from Class 77-B were geared to fight Kanade to the death, and Kanade is such a pansy of a fighter that Sonia beat the living shit out of here, and Syo was taken down by the QC, and we all know how terrifying Syo is. But once the bodies started to drop, I knew that the first time that Hajime would reset on purpose was coming up and there were so many questions. Who set Kanade up for this? Someone had to be helping her…. but who and why? Juu could have let her out but he couldn’t have supplied Kanade with her tools and intel (more on that later) so it has to be someone else.

Within the darkness of this timeline there is of course your heroes. There are those like Peko who got a lucky shot on Kanade which set a chain line of events leading to Kanade’s death, Mikako who made Kanade’s injuries worse and Kokoro who stabbed Kanade in the eye. But those small victories led to total loses as even if Peko didn’t die, she would be crippled for life and moreover she failed to protect her classmates from Kanade’s wrath, and Mikako lost her mother, just as she started to finally connect with her. You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned two names yet, and that’s because they deserve their own paragraphs, I am of course referring to Nikei and Hibiki.

I’m gonna start with the next person who attacks Kanade and that is of course our Journalist boy here. To say this day has been terrible to him would be a massive understatement as one minute he is suffering an energy crash from downing one too many Red Bulls and having lewd thoughts, to running faster than if he happened to be in Mexico (Seriously, if you happen to be a journalist just don’t go to Mexico) to Hope’s Peak and thanks to Ankle Effects, arriving alongside Hajime to a bloodbath. There’s his constant refusal to accept that Iroha is killed, even though we as the audience knew that given Iroha tried to stop Kanade as soon as she arrived at Hope’s Peak and that Kanade was seen by Sonia and co chopping up security guards, the likelihood of her survival was next to none. This carries on from the conversation Nikei had with Yoruko in the previous Arc where he still believes he is dangerous and that he doesn’t see the other Voids as friends or equals, but rather he took the role as leader because he wanted to have power for once in his life, something he alluded to in the Void Theatre during Chapter 5. However, his reaction to Iroha’s unknown safety, and eventually the truth that Kanade really did butcher the poor painter, proves otherwise. While Nikei’s relationship with his fellow Voids canonically won’t get revealed until LINIQ decides to get around to doing the Onmake mode, in which one of the stories in that is going to be about Void pre Mikado- with someone, most likely Nikei, being the POV character, here the fact his first thoughts upon finding out his ‘little sister’ is dead is to disregard the no-killing rule and just beat Kanade to death, proves that he does care about his fellow Voids, but is in several layers of denial. Out of all the Voids, Nikei is easily the most guarded and paranoid of the lot, and while the others have loosened up around Hajime and co, Nikei still has a lot of inner demons he has to deal with before he could truly open up to the rest of the QC. And Kanade chopping his right hand off, doesn’t help matters though I do give Nikei credit that unlike in the OG timeline, where upon his right hand been blown up by his exploding gun, he just broke down crying, here, he tries to carry on the fight regardless, or he would have had the other person I need to talk about didn’t show up. This is pretty important to establish that while most of the Voids now are pretty far removed from their canon selves and are unlikely to regress back in that, Nikei is still closely tied with his bastard canon self and more work needs to be done for him to detach from that.

But moving on from someone who needs to get some work done, let’s move onto someone who has seen the natural conclusion of their character development, Hibiki! Ever since Hajime and Chiaki rescued Hibiki from her twisted sister (*rim shot*) back in July, she has been making a ton of progress, firstly coming to terms with what Kanade did and her true nature, developing friendly healthy relationships with Class 77-B, the QC and of course a romantic relationship with Hajime. It seemed kind of cliché for Hibiki to fall for Hajime but then again a) Danganronpa can be cliché at times and B) As a Danganronpa Protagonist Hajime cannot turn off his swag. Then there is her officially joining the QC, learning how to fight and being a complete and utter badarse and a caring lover when needed as she confronted Hajime back when he died the second time. We all knew it was only a matter of time when Hibiki had to confront her sister and when Kanade broke into the school, we saw fully, how much Hibiki has grown in the past 3 months. The old Hibiki would have curled up in a corner terrified, crying and probably going into the Puppet State. Here though, Hibiki’s FIRST THOUGHTS upon finding out that Kanade is more dangerous now is to done some armour and get some weapons, and face her sister head on with no hesitation. All without going into the Puppet State at least once, which probably means that its more or less gone now. Kanade tried to talk her sister out of fighting her, but Hikibi isn’t buying Kanade’s insurance anymore and a fight breaks out. If this ever gets animated or becomes a visual novel, I would love to see the Hibiki vs Kanade fight animated as its brilliant, its epic and it’s just so satisfying to see Kanade getting the living snot beaten out of her. You could argue that Nikei’s mauling of Kanade was like that but there, Nikei was more or less in grief due to Iroha’s death and the whole thing was as painful to watch as the final fight in Captain America: Civil War, not saying what because spoilers ahoy. Here though is a glorious battle, as Hibiki gets to deliver justice onto her demonic sister and it is SO SO satisfying, given that a reset happens shortly afterwards.

And sadly, with that, we come to easily the weakest part of not only this part of the arc, but the arc overall, Yasuke’s multiverse theory. It could be written better, and even the Mod agrees that the way it was presented shouldn’t have been the way it worse, that having Umeko throw some ideas at Hajime and him coming to the conclusion that they might have been living in a multiverse be better narrative then Yasuke be like ‘Oh hey I am suddenly an expert on Time Travel now’. It would make Hajime breaking his no kill rule that much more impactful as he doesn’t have the excuses of not only Nikei’s who was currently going through a mental breakdown, and in the current plot where Yasuke more or less planted the seed of doubt in Hajime’s mind. Yasuke still has a role to play in this arc but during the Massacre timeline, I feel like he could have been removed entirely from the plot and not only would it have made no difference, but then most readers wouldn’t be complaining about it as much as Yasuke being a general A-hole wouldn’t tick them off. I’m not saying ‘THIS IS AS BAD AS ONCOMING STORM’ as that Arc was just a giant clusterfuck of a mess, and aside from this one part, the arc is very strong overall, but I will give criticism when due. I’m not mentioning my thoughts on Yasuke as a whole here because he’s more relevant in other parts of the Arc. However, Hajime killing Kanade and himself at the same time is brilliant and seeing Kanade begging for her life as Hajime throws her out of the window is so satisfying given not only all the crap she has been dealing up until that point, but also because in SDAR2, she was 100% fulfilled with the events at that point and given it was HIBIKI who was begging for her life then, let’s just say karma is a bigger bitch then Kanade is.

And that concludes the Massacre part of the Arc as Hajime kills himself and Kanade at the same time and he goes back to just before Nikei started to have indecent thoughts. No time to look at the 3rd page of the national newspapers’ boy, we got a serial killer to stop! And with that I’m stopping here as the Massacre part is finished. But this review is far from over, this is just here because otherwise my, the Mod’s and everyone else’s brains won’t be able to process all of this. Stay tuned for part 2 when we cover Kanade’s capture, a scrum debate among the QC and a bold move by the Mod which I do wish will come up more! Until then, Adios! - Review Anon

//Part 1 of 3

//Finally get to submit these

#mod talks #a student out of time #submission #review-anon

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merrysithmas · 5 years

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you may have talked about this before but do you believe boris already knew he was queer and first approached theo bc he liked him or that he started crushing after they developed a close friendship and theo was what made him question his sexuality? i think theres reasons to believe either side- boris being bold enough to cuddle him in bed seems like he was making a move but him suddenly “loving” kotku seems like an impulsive move out of fear bc he realized he might like a boy. oof idk

I think Boris knew he was attracted to boys — which is evident by his playful, charming, almost teenaged-desperate pursuit of Theo. I think he probably inherently knew this about himself for a long time. I think Boris has always been physically attracted to boys since he’s entered puberty and since he’s still a young teen it is kind of a fun, funny, interesting, enlivening thing for him.

He’s never had a stable life and despite being all over the world he’s led an extremely sheltered existence in a certain way with only one terrible person as his constant (Vladimir). Boris lets it slip to Theo that everywhere the miners go they are hated — this includes Boris. Boris is hated by the public everywhere they go. So long as he is part of their unit, he is hated. That is mortifying to intelligent good-natured Boris. That is why he learns to slip out and around, to be so personable and friendly. His world travels have not been so glorious but probably rather extremely lonely and isolating (as with Judy in Canada), hurtful, and damaging. That is why Bami and Judy (and eventually, Theo) stand out to him so much — people who were kind to him in a childhood of isolated misery and directionlessness. Boris has no moral hang ups about his same-sex attraction - why should he? This directionlessness in his key developmental years is also a good thing: He never grew up around any sort of organized belief systems or stayed bound within an orthodox culture for too long for it to indoctrinate him as its own.

I think people really underestimate how incredibly remote and friendless Boris’ life must have been. Boris is a cheerful boy who Theo says is often plagued by black moods and sullen attitudes. He is an abused and secluded child dragged from location to location with literally no love or stability and constantly brutally beaten to the point where it does not even phase him. Boris actually equates love with that abuse — and nonchalantly claims his father loves him. That is painful to read, that amount of damage.

Living with a bunch of derelict miners whose leader was HIS FATHER (so surely then mostly assholes) and who are “hated everywhere they go” Boris has probably seen any NUMBER of things a conservative-minded person would (likely often erroneously) see as “morally unacceptable” — it’s like Boris is traveling the world with a crew of pirates. He’s probably seen drinking, all kinds of drugs commonly used in front of his face. He has esoteric knowledge about drug use that a child of his age should not — so he was taught by the miners: roll like this, dont include the stems, never mix this, tuck snuff like this, you can get this kind of drug here here and here, it isn’t safe if it doesn’t look like this. His young child’s mind eager to learn sucked up this black information from men who probably didn’t have a second thought to a child or what his developmental needs were. He’s probably first hand witnessed sex workers copulating with his father’s crew (how else would be have learned about the opportunity to lose his virginity in an Alaskan parking lot to a sex worker?), definitely thievery, and said he saw his father murder a man in the mine once and cover it up. Boris’ mind is full of a lifetime of this morally shadowed behavior being presented as normal, or at least secret but common.

I think he understands his attraction to boys in this same way. I think he feels it isn’t “appropriate” to share with Outsiders but it is something that Happens, something that is no one’s business but his own, and something that brings him pleasure and happiness and therefore something he will look for. However he knows it isn’t common or visible or “appropriate” to be showy about it in front of others — especially not people who could judge him (kids at school), kick him out (society), or hurt him (his father). Boris treats his attraction to Theo like his other vices and “bad” habits - barrels head first — but secret: deep dive into happy drug use (but don’t show his dad), steals everything he ever needs (but don’t let them see, put it in my coat), lies when it suits him (lies to Xandra and Larry and his father and Theo too), happily sleeps with Theo and has sex with him (but this is between you-and-me).

He knows other people might have a problem with his actions — but he does not. So that’s his hangup there. He is aware of and ever-vigilant of his surroundings. School: a safe place isolated from his father. He is free and happy to do what he wants at school — including crush on and go after Theo who he clearly likes. He thinks Theo is cute, flirts with him, tries to get him to notice him, talks to him after class, sits next to him on the bus, begs him to come over his house, tries to impress him with far-flung stories, gives him alcohol because it’s what he’s seen his father’s men do in pursuit of romantic partners or as a bonding ritual with one another.

Theo’s house is also a safe place. So safe in fact that Boris starts to leave behind some of the maladjusted development of his childhood and become more of a happy, clear-minded person. Boris and Theo suffer from arrested development and one of themes of the book is childhood lost. They are forced to mimic adults either knowingly or unknowingly, and act in ways that children should not have to in order to survive this Adult World alone. With one another they begin to heal from their traumas, their affection for one another the catalyst. Theo cooks for him, talks to a babbling eager-to-talk Boris (imagine how few people have listened to or understood the ideas of a smart boy like Boris, often surrounded by oafish alcoholics, his violent father where he is expected to keep quiet, or cultures where he does not speak the language), Theo sleeps next to him willingly, he likes Boris, a boy from New York (the top of the world!) he think Boris is funny and smart and worldly, shares his dog with him, hangs on his words, becomes his companion, cares for him if he drinks too much, tried to tend his wounds, welcomes him gratefully into his broken family, watches his favorite movies with him, celebrates holidays with him, inherently values him — and so starts to mend Boris’ broken heart.

A lot of things and viewpoints Boris has are clearly repetitions of things he has heard his father or the miners say — “Christmas is for children” (of course they’d say that to a tiny Boris longing for the magic of Christmas as a child stuck in a mining camp watching the peripheral joy of children around him and coming back to bleak hunger and a dark home), or “god yes I loved having sex with her” (about his hooker in the parking lot — Boris then says he knew she didn’t enjoy it and never shows enjoyment but rather avoidance towards women and girls in any genuine way afterwards, yet covets Theo’s physical company).

Theo on the other hand, who for a short while and then so painfully ripped from him, grew up with love. His natural disposition in Vegas comes from a place of being so recently loved and cherished by his mother and he here, in this lonely place, turns the focus of this disposition onto the one person who is kind and protective towards him: Boris — his one light in a life that has turned very dark. This is like an alien world to Boris. Lonesome and neglected Boris is touched and startled and soon changed by this kindness. So much so that Theo, unknowingly, alters the rest of Boris’ life (Boris feels Theo saved his life).

So that is why I believe the Kotku Gay Panic came about. After their climactic Vegas pool scene where their abuse and trauma is opened to one another (their wounds from their fathers, from fire, literally pouring into the purifying chlorine of the watery womb - mother - pool as they try to drown one another, angry at their attraction to one another, but then cling to and save one another instead) Boris begins to not just have fun and have sex and have freedom with Theo (all okay things by Boris’ standards as long as it is secret) — after that scene and they sleep together and Boris satisfies that teenaged human sexual need... they continue to hookup and be at bliss for a very long, happy time where they both begin to psychologically heal— Boris doesn’t just have sex and fun with Theo, he realizes he starts to love Theo.

Love - an extremely foreign concept to Boris who literally freaks the fuck out because he has no baseline for it. It isn’t the type of “love” that his father gives him (violent, untrustworthy), it isn’t the type of “love” the men who grew up around valued (cheap parking lot sex), it isn’t the kind of “love” his idol Larry has with Xandra (Larry lies to Xandra all the time), it isn’t the kind of “love” Boris has seen in his favorite movies (men and women over and over). No, this love with Theo is very very scary to him. Very perhaps dangerous. He doesn’t know.

I think Boris accepts his physical attraction to men as nbd. I think he probably feels most people feel such attractions or some other harmless private desires that certain people may see as an aberrant from “normal” for whatever reason (either typical kinks and silly hush hush sex shop porno stuff - or other far more despicable things he’s witnessed his father’s men do) and so thinks nothing of his own innocent, consensual goodtime-centered desires. Boris, who likely grew up with little exposure to healthy LGBTQ representation and has a very isolated POV in some ways, likely to some degree at the Vegas point in his life (however casually self-accepting he is) equates same-sex attraction with hush hush taboo sex activities — nothing to be ashamed of, but you’re not going to tell your dad.

As long as it is a personal thing, for him only, Boris embraces it. But it is the emotionality, the healing, the care, the love that freaks Boris out and makes him make a run for it to Kotku — only to recede to what he knows and repeat the exact kind of fake “love” he was taught by his father: unbelievable exclamations of devotion (Boris’ dad sobbing and telling him he loves him + “I love her I love her! She’s beautiful and perfect!”) coupled with the black truth (Boris’ dad beating the shit out of him + Boris beating Kotku).

Boris knows he likes boys but when he starts to love one — that’s when he runs away. Because that means something totally different: societally and personally.

#ask #anon #the goldfinch #boreo

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the-writing-dump-bin · 4 years

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Hello, again! How are you feeling? May I have an nsfw romantic scenario w/ P3 DIO and a shy, innocent, sweet, passionate, and loving fem s/o? Thank you so much and have a glorious night! ❤️

My dear... I am thankful for your patience, TRULY! I know it has taken me months to get this done and out for you but I have been going through a lot.

I do apologize if this is lazy or not what you were looking for but it is all I could really come up with. I hope you are doing well in these uncertain times and hope that you liked this. 💜

Times certainly have been different lately.

With the world stuck down in a lockdown, there wasn't anything you could really do except stay home and do things around the house. Things were getting real dull real fast as you could only do so much cleaning. The only time you ever really went outside was to put out the garbage, maybe tend to your backyard or the thing you did the most, just sit and take in as much fresh air as you could. Sure, you took a trip to the store to get food every once and a while, but even that turned to be exhausting.

The sun made it's way down, painting the night in soft twilight. Sitting on the couch, you sighed heavily. Even television was getting boring with the same thing over and over again and the movies played weren't any good. But hey, you watched them anyways.

A familiar chill ran through the living room. A chill that you had grown to know that symbolized someone very special you had met before all this happened. He always came out at night, never the day. "I like how your schedule has changed since everyone had been told to stay inside..." The voice purred as a tall, muscular, blonde haired man came around the corner. "You sleep almost all of the day, just to be awake when I am."

"Dio..." You muttered out as his bulky frame appeared. Surprisingly, he had chosen to stay at your place during all this, taking the basement suite of your home. You weren't against it, though. At least you had someone to talk to and not be alone during all this crap. "You are up about thirty minutes later than usual..."

"Hmm..." Dio hummed, sauntering into the living room, taking a seat next to you. "Days are getting longer... You'll have to come downstairs every once and a while." He cupped your chin, pulling your face towards his only to give you a sinful grin and pull away, relaxing next to you on the couch. "I am sick of hearing about this every day." He grumbled, flicking his eyes to the TV.

"So am I." You agreed. Almost every damn channel was talking about it and you couldn't stand it anymore. Grabbing the remote, you turned off the TV and exhaled with boredom. "I am running out of things to do. I sit outside and tend to those little flowers that are trying to push though. I even bought things like puzzles and art supplies to keep me occupied but I am almost all done with those things now as well... Dio, I am just so bored!"

There wasn't anything said for a while. Dio watched you as you rubbed your eyes in frustration from being cooped up in the house for so long. Silently, he wish he could take you outside. Just take you anywhere but your home, but even Dio himself - way deep down inside - knew that keeping you inside and away from people would be safer for you. Bringing up a hand, he ran a finger down your spine, giving you chills and making you turn your head back at him. "I may not be able to take you away from this place... But what I can do..." He leaned forward to seductively whisper in your ear. "Is give you something to do..."

You knew what he was implying. It had been something you two have been doing a few times before and now that you basically had the same sleeping schedule, you could kill a few hours together. A smirk on your face and suddenly you were straddling his hips, running a hand through his golden hair. "I guess we could...hang out..." You giggled, leaning forward to leave kisses on his neck, working up to his ear and tugging lightly on his lobe.

A few minutes of this then Dio placed his hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you down onto your back on the cushions of the couch and pinning you under him. He liked looking down at you, especially when you would shy away from him a bit. The way you adverted your eyes and blushed, just made him want you even more. "Look at me, Y/N... Don't look away..." He grinned and slid his hand slowly up your shirt to your breast, squeezing it with his large hand. His other hand worked the button of your pants, pulling them down as best he could with one hand then hooked a finger in the waistband of your underwear.

Biting your lip, you suppressed a moan and let a heavy, aroused sigh instead. He knew how to touch you just right, making your mind fog over and forget where you are. Your hands wandered around his muscled back; he already wasn't wearing a shirt. The hardness of his member pressing between your legs brought out a few more sounds from you.

"That's my girl..." Dio cooed with your arms wrapped around him as he lightly grinded himself on you through the loose sweatpants you had bought him. "Keep making those noises. Tell me through them how good I make you feel..."

You did as you were told. Soft panting, low, pleasurable moaning and high squeaky mewls made Dio himself let out a satisfying hum while his hands wandered your sides. "My dear, sweet Y/N... You are too beautiful to be wearing such garments." Grabbing your underwear, he pulled them down and off of you. Sitting up a little, he pulled your shirt and bra up to expose you enough for him to take in the sight of your bare breasts.

"D-Dio..." You panted out, eyes silently begging for more of him.

He smiled his sinister smile, looking down at your pleading face. "Oh? That eager are we?" Bringing up a hand, he let the back of his index finger glide across your breasts, giving you goosebumps all over your skin. His hands always felt cold but it was the kind of cold you craved and loved.

Standing up, he pulled you up with him and brought you to the nearest wall, spinning you around so you were facing the wall with your hands splayed on its surface. He removed his pants with easy haste.

"Oh, my sweet, little pet..." He said, voice velvety smooth as his hand rested on your hip then snaked around in between your legs. "I want to make you feel good... To take your mind off of what is going on in the world and just forget for a while." He started out by rubbing you, getting you nice and wet for him. Slipping a couple of fingers inside you, he palmed you with a steady pace; the heel of his hand hitting your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

A gasp left your lips as you felt his fingers work their magic; your hips rocking into the motion. "Nnngghhh..." You moaned, biting your lip. "O-Oh, D-Dio..."

Dio buried his face in the crook of your neck, running his tongue over your veins and feeling just how the blood rushed through them. His cock twitched behind you, pressing into you so that you were sandwiched between him and the wall. When he thought that you were warmed up enough, he removed his hand and grabbed your hips, lifting you up and onto his cock.

You could feel yourself stretch out inch by inch; your own hands now supporting you up in the air against the wall. "I-It hurts..." You huffed out in pain. Dio entering you always hurt, he wasn't one to be taking so lightly. He did, tonight however, seem to take you into consideration and let you adjust to him before he set his pace. Moving your hair behind your ear, he whispered lightly "Let me know when you are ready for me, my darling woman..."

It took a while, but when you thought you could handle it, you turned your head to look at him behind you and nodded. "Send me to the heavens, Dio..."

Dio's tongue clicked and ran over his fangs, hands squeezing your hips and keeping you elevated as he thrusted into you. He started out slowly but then his primal instincts took over. He wanted this night to be about you. Not the selfish vampire he usually was when you would lay with him. He wanted you to feel and forget.

His cock drilled into you over and over again, hitting you so deep inside. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, breath becoming laboured as he kept going harder and faster. Pleasured screams rang through the living room. Pictures displayed on the wall above you shook with each thrust, threatening to fall down to the floor. "Y-Yes...Dio... More. More. More! Keep going! I am so close. Oh, fuck this hurts so good!"

"That's it, my pet... Let the feeling take over you." Dio leaned in more, licking your neck and rubbing his fangs across your pulsing veins. "I can tell from your scent just how delicious you would taste." His dominate hand came around again to rub your clit vigorously. "Cum for me, my darling. Cum for me..." He repeated his demand, his hand and hips going faster...faster...faster...

"Nnnngggghhhhh-AHHHH!"

It felt like everything snapped inside you; your orgasm taking over in a wave that made you feel like you were drowning. But in a good way! You held your breath and gritted your teeth, face pressed against the wall and frozen in time.

Behind you, Dio's rhythm slowed and he snapped against you as he filled you with his seed. He was silent for the most part; low grunts and growls is all that could be heard from him. His hands held you tight, feeling your walls clamp around his thick member. "That's my girl..." Gently, he slid you off of him, fluids seeping out and picked you up. But that gentleness was quickly changed when he tossed you back onto the couch, looking down at you like he was ready to devour you - his old Dio ways coming back to him.

"I will give you time to rest..." He purred with lust, rubbing his tongue over his fangs while he glared down at you. "That was just a taste of the night..."

#request #alana1101 #dio brando #dio #jojo #jojos bizarre adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #JoJo no Kimyō na Bōken #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #read more #n*sf*w

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venus-viz · 5 years

Text

Helpless

Sirius x Reader

Overview: FluffFluffFluffFluffFluffFluffFluffFluffFluff Sirius decides he wants to send you love letters while you guys are attending Hogwarts.

Word Count: 2,448

Warning(s): One curse word, that’s it. You’re safe here.

Note: The first two settings of this one shot take place during 5th year. You’ll know the setting of the third when you get there. Hope you enjoy reading. <3

Key:

(O/N) = Owl Name

Gif not mine

(No reposting, please!)

The hundreds of fluttering wings entering the Great Hall cut off everyone’s conversations as they excitedly waited for whatever mail they might be expecting.

(Y/N)’s parents were busy on business trips as they had described in their previous letter, so she stayed focused on the delicious pancakes in front of her. Sweet, fluffy pancakes-her mind seemed to have gone numb because Lily was practically shoving her to the point where she could fall off of her seat. “Oi, Earth to (Y/N)!”

Finally snapping out of her daydreaming state, she turned to the redhead that glared fondly in her direction. “Something’s arrived for you, you were too braindead to notice.” (Y/N) pouted in response but took the piece of parchment from Lily’s outstretched hand. Marlene attempted at peeking over her friend’s shoulder, trying to see the contents of the letter. Her actions didn’t go without (Y/N)’s notice, who blocked Mar’s view. A familiar fancy yet rushed handwriting filled the paper.

“Dear my darling dove,

I stole some parchment from Moony, I’ll have to be quick about this so I can send it before he murders me. I heard you talking to Evans about how you think getting sent love notes and letters is romantic, so I thought I’d start surprising you with some. I’m going to guess you smiled at that comment. Merlin, imagining it is making me want to see you already. Your smile is the only thing I continue living for, really. I got a little cheesy there, didn’t I? I’m not the best at writing but I want to make you feel like you’re loved, like you’re special. Being with you is one of the most wonderful things that’s happened to me, you’re truly the light of my life. Shit, I think I hear Moony. Going to have to cut this letter short, love. I promise the next ones will be worthy for a goddess like you.

Sincerely,

Your favorite Gryffindor”

There was a smile spread on (Y/N)’s face as she finished reading and looked over to a beautiful pair of grey eyes, the usual smirk on her boyfriend’s face. Sirius seemed to be satisfied with himself, winking over at her. Such a simple action but it sent butterflies coursing through her. The things that boy did to her. It will be one hell of a ride if he planned on sending more of those.

She then became suddenly aware of the giggle fits next to her as well as how dumb her loving expression must’ve looked to those around her. Marlene snickered. “I don’t think you need to tell us who it’s from anymore.”

- - -

Sirius had certainly lived up to the idea of sending love letters. He hadn’t missed a day so far. He’d sometimes even send more than one. However cheesy or cliché they were, she loved receiving them, nonetheless. She started to laugh softly to herself, remembering the rant he had went on during one of the letters about how he was certain Prongs secretly wanted him and not Lily.

The weather outside was perfect. The warm sun wasn’t too intense, and a gentle breeze made the grass fly in the wind. A great day to work on Potions homework.

(Y/N) sat herself under a tree that provided her with shade, the same tree she and Sirius would usually cuddle under until getting scolded for being out after curfew. Grinning at the thought, she opened up her Potions book, dipped her quill in some ink and got to work.

Meanwhile, Sirius looked down upon her from the Owlery, admiring who he perceived as the most beautiful girl to ever exist. Letting out a love-sickened sigh, he leaned his head on the palm of his hand. He had started to forget the purpose of his trip when (Y/N)’s owl began pecking him lightly, an annoyed expression on their face. “Gah, okay, okay, you can stop now! Mangy bird.” He grumbled, scribbling words onto the parchment he had brought with him. (O/N) looked none too happy at his words, making their point clear as they poked him slightly hard on the head. Sirius scowled playfully in return. “I hear you, just let this dry for a moment.” During his waiting time, he decided to look out at where his girlfriend was again.

Some time passed by and stretching her arms up, (Y/N) realized that the sun had begun to set and that she’d been sitting out there for quite a while now. She took a moment to take in the scenery around her before packing up her things. The way the water out on the Black Lake glistened under the descending light especially caught her attention. She stared at her gorgeous surroundings until her eyelids began to droop.

Startled awake, she realized her owl was nuzzling her arm affectionately in hopes of her noticing them. She smiled, petting them gently and then taking the parchment they were holding out to her. “Another letter from Sirius, no doubt.” She thought aloud. Unrolling the paper, she began reading.

“Good evening, angel,

I can see you from the Owlery. That makes me sound like a creep, but I can’t erase it. You look so pretty today. Well, you’re gorgeous every day. Breathtaking, honestly. You’ll probably have such a cute blush while reading this. Maybe I should make it a goal of mine to get you bright, Gryffindor red. You look so concentrated on that Potions essay that I forgot about, which you’ll scold me for later. I love you so much. You’re so dedicated and passionate in everything you do. You’re so diligent and curious to learn more. Godric, the things you do to me. Remus poked fun at me for becoming soft, he even asked how I was able to see with all the hearts in my eyes. But how can I not be this in love when I have you? The most wonderful, intelligent woman in all of Hogwarts and you’re somehow mine. I just want to sing my love out to the whole WORLD. I can already hear you calling me dramatic, but that’s my middle name, doll. No, it is not Orion. Or Onion as Evans misread it. Anyway, you’ll be heading to bed by the time you read this, so I won’t make this too long.

Take care,

Your lovestruck boyfriend”

Chuckling to herself, (Y/N) bit her bottom lip to try and stop her smile from going across her whole face. (O/N) nudged her teasingly, to which she rolled her eyes. “You have no right to comment, I saw you eyeing an owl last week when I went to visit you.” (O/N) turned suddenly shy and tried to hide their face while their owner started cracking up.

- - -

Sirius nervously adjusted his black tie as he waited at the bottom of the stairway for (Y/N), thinking back on the past years they’ve experienced at Hogwarts. 7th year had finally come, and they’d all be graduating in a few days. They’d have to determine their future, but for now, they’d have a joyous time at their final school dance.

Speaking of, Lily and Marlene just walked down, which snapped Sirius out of his train of thought. Mar’ started making a trumpet impression before she began to speak. “Make way for our glorious and precious princess that I’ll continue to protect after school is over, (Y/N) (L/N)!” Lily covered her mouth to muffle her laughter as her dramatic friend did jazz hands.

Bashfully, (Y/N) stepped out from behind the wall she was using to not be seen and made eye contact with Sirius. His loving gaze admired her, and she couldn’t decide whether she felt more comfortable due to his presence or if she wanted to cover her face in fear that everyone would see her crimson cheeks. He then made it even harder to choose when he pulled out that charming smile on her, the one that just made her heart leap out of her chest.

“You look stunning, love.” He mused as she carefully walked down and over to him. The blush on her face intensified. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Sirius.”

Letting out a low chuckle that sent shivers down her spine, he held out an arm to her. “May I escort the beautiful princess to her ball?” (Y/N) accidentally let out a giggle at his extravagant act, mentally scolding herself for becoming a young teen for a moment. “Of course.” She responded as she wrapped her own arm under and around his. They stepped into the giant room that had been prepared for the students’ final, special night.

Everyone involved in the decoration certainly went all-out. A beautiful yet blinding chandelier hung from the ceiling, highlighting the dance floor. There were rows of tables with white cloth covering them stood off to the side. They had been filled with over a dozen entrée options to suit everyone’s tastes. The ribbons and balloons were gorgeous shades of blue and white. James had suspected they might’ve used the same decorations from the winter festivities, but everyone paid him no mind.

However, despite the effort that had been put in towards the way this ball looked, Sirius couldn’t help but stare at (Y/N) the whole time. The way her outfit of choice fit her just right and how the moonlight along with the chandelier brought out her eyes. She was like a magnet, pulling Sirius ever closer to the brink of madness. He often jokingly wondered whether she was part Veela in disguise.

“You going to stare holes through me all night or are you going to ask me to dance?” (Y/N) grinned at him.

Laughing softly, he took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss upon it. “Right, how rude of me. Would you care for a dance, my love?” Giddily, she nodded.

Truth be told, Sirius had been forced by his mother to learn how to waltz, even if he didn’t have an interest in finding out how to do it. When he and (Y/N) got closer, she had made the off-hand comment that she didn’t know how to do the elegant dance, so he then became her tutor. He couldn’t help but thank the stars for having given him such a great opportunity to use the otherwise unneeded skill.

Now, here they were, gliding across the practically glittering floor. Some people watched in awe, but to them, they were the only two people that existed in this moment. The only people to have ever lived. The only people that mattered.

As they looked into each other’s eyes, they shared a mutual thought: they would never leave the other’s side.

After a while of quiet dancing, (Y/N) decided to speak up and break the silence. “It’s so weird to believe that…we’re going to be leaving this place, you know? Hogwarts has just always been a second home to me - to all of us.” Sirius nodded in agreement and hummed to himself before responding, “It’s really a strange concept, isn’t it?” He twirled her in between thoughts. “I mean, we came here when we were eleven. Merlin, my hair was so bad-”

Laughing, (Y/N) subconsciously twirled a piece of his hair between her fingers. “I don’t know, I think you looked quite cute.” Her laughter only continued when Sirius reacted with a disgusted look. “I’m sure my younger self appreciates the compliment but please don’t sneak into my bedroom at night and give me a haircut.” This only caused them to share a laugh together.

Smiling, (Y/N) decided to ask him something, “Hey, since our school lives are over, does this mean it’s the end of your endless letters?”

At this, Sirius suddenly looked a little nervous, which was rare. She tilted her head curiously at his behavior. “Sirius? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing is wrong. I’m just…thinking of the right words to say, I guess.” He chuckled to himself, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “About those…I actually have one last letter I’d like you to read.” He started to reach for something in the pocket of his blazer and took up a folded sheet of parchment. (Y/N) made a motion to take it but he held it up too high for her to take. “Ah, ah, ah. I want you to read it in a more secluded area. You know, where people aren’t constantly twirling around us.” She laughed softly and they walked nearer to a window away from the dancing.

Sirius now handed over the paper, letting her gently unfold it. While her eyes went over all the words, he started fumbling with something else that was in his pocket.

“My love,

I write this to you in hopes that you’ll see how much I simply adore you. It’s the end of our last year here. There are so many fond memories tied to this place, many of which involve you. I could never imagine a life where I didn’t meet you. You’re so perfect and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I have flaws and I definitely don’t deserve you, but if you’ll have me, I want to be with you forever. I want to hold you close every moment I can and feel your soft hair in my hands. I want to protect you with my whole being and know you’re safe by my side. You’re my everything, (Y/N).

Will you marry me?”

Her eyes went wide as she reread that last line in her head. She turned to see Sirius but found she had to look down. He had gotten down on one knee, holding the box open, his eyes full of love for the woman in front of him but also tinted with a bit of worry. The biggest grin filled (Y/N)’s face as she nodded vigorously and lowered herself to the floor to hug him. “Yes, yes, of course I will you big dufus!” Sirius looked taken aback by the sudden gesture, almost falling back, but he smiled softly and hugged her back.

After holding each other for almost a minute, they stood up and Sirius slid the ring onto her finger. Making sure it was on perfectly, he moved her hand close and kissed it. (Y/N) admired the symbol of her new life. Not because of its beauty, although Sirius did make sure to pick out the best he could find, but because of what it meant for their future. Their future that they’d live out together.

“…so, I hope you’re ready for a new stream of letters dedicated to my lovely wife-”

“Oh Merlin, Sirius!-”

#sirius black #sirius x reader #x reader #harry potter #hp #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #one shot #fanfic #marauders #marauders imagine #my writing #writers of tumblr #helpless

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wildlyglittering · 3 years

Text

In the Gardens, Among the Flowers

It has been forever (two years) since I’ve written anything fanfiction-y so I’m trying to dip a toes back in. I have a few lined up but bear with me as I’m so totally rusty!

To a casual observer, Mor looked as fresh faced and glowing that morning as she did on every other.

If anyone heard about the events of the prior evening, and the levels of drinking, dancing and debauchery which had occurred, they would think it was the good fortune of Mor being high fae which kept her so bright.

Other's would think it the good fortune of being The Morrigan, a being whose vibrant personality and magic somehow exuded through her skin to wash away any trace of shadow or fatigue. At least, Mor thought to herself, that's what she believed others thought.

Those who loved her well would understand the glow she bathed in wasn't some higher fae power. They would work out what happened last night, note her satisfied smile and keep their comments to themselves.

Of course, life always contained an exception.

The prospect of early morning training must have beckoned him like a siren's call as that 'exception' had been absent from the house earlier than usual. Although Mor would roll her eyes at whatever spilled from Cassian's mouth, she welcomed his good-natured teasing.

The sun had barely risen when she bounded into his chambers as giddy as a small child, only to find them empty and his bed already made. Not wanting to disturb his training Mor decided to patiently wait in his rooms for his return.

While Mor never provided details to the rest of the Inner Circle she was nothing but honest with Cassian about when she took a lover. Her openness wasn't, as she once worried, done out of some strange obligation to their shared history but borne from a desperate need to share every element of her life with those she loved the most.

Despite his permanently laughing eyes and cocky grin, Mor trusted if she placed her very heart in Cassian's hands, he would shield it with his life.

Her plan had been to slide into his bed as she had done on many a morning and rest her head on the pillow beside his. The tradition was for Mor to wake him and tell the tales of her night-time escapades, their laughter filling the room as she relayed the expected nonsense.

Mor never worried about finding guests in his bed. Although the years had gifted her with the scent of other females on his sheets they were always gone by sunrise. Cassian made sure of it. The night may have been the dominion of nameless females she would never meet, but the mornings belonged to her.

It was more important than ever to find him this particular morning. Mor knew, as she would always know, Cassian above all others would share in her joy.

A fae named Aurielle had graced Mor's bed and it was as though the Mother herself had placed her in Mor's path.

Aurielle's eyes were bluer than any sky Mor had seen and the freckles which dusted the bridge of her nose were also painted across her shoulders. As the night progressed and the silks slid down, Mor discovered those glorious freckles in more places still.

Something of significance existed between them. Not Cauldron blessed but it felt sacred - a link which meant a promise and a promise Mor wanted to honour as it should be honoured.

Cassian had spent decades of time over the centuries reassuring Mor she was deserving of love, unwavering in his belief she would find someone. So it wasn't only excitement which made her want to tell Cassian before anyone else. In a way she wanted to reward his faith, to tell him the romance she'd hoped for had finally happened on an unexpected summer's night when the air was hot.

But there was another reason why she wanted to seek Cassian out and that was more complicated than any other. She couldn't shake the feeling something between them had shifted.

Now, when she teased him about his lack of romance and dearth of female company, his smile was subdued. When she pointed out females in Velaris, beauties who would normally catch his attention, it was as though they were invisible.

There were times now when she joked with him about his sex life, or lack thereof, where he couldn't meet her eye. Concern begun to burrow its way through her chest.

So that was the other reason Mor needed to seek Cassian out to perform their 'morning after' ritual. It was a way to reassure herself nothing between them had changed. She craved Cassian's reassurance that her world, the one which had been built on solid ground, was not breaking.

Recently it crossed her mind to be less forthcoming with Cassian about her romantic life in the same way she was with Az. The truth shrieking in her soul was that Cassian, her fierce yet tender-hearted friend, was pining.

Perhaps he was lonely and longing for the connection they all sought. Perhaps the longing had opened up old wounds and now part of him ached for Mor as he had once long ago. Perhaps her newfound openness with the full truth of her heart was now breaking his.

With Aurielle, Mor had met someone she hoped would be in her life on a permanent basis and so she needed to resolve whatever this situation was. If she was right and Cassian still held an ember of romantic flame for her then she would sooth his wounded ego and commit to finding him a welcome distraction.

Mor knew it wouldn't be hard to find someone interested in him, the issue would be to find someone who turned his head on such a scale. Despite countless lovers who previously caught his attention no one seemed to hold the ability to keep it.

Sat on his sofa, worn and scratched from weaponry and wings, she let thoughts of Cassian fill her mind. Ordinarily her magic would have given her an image of him in the training ring, his skin brown and glistening, but instead she uncovered a picture of a different kind.

He wasn't training as she had thought. While this meant she was able to speak with him sooner, it was still a surprise the magic called her to the gardens. However, she was unable to still her patience, and that's where she decided to go.

In truth, the Inner Circle had never really cared for the gardens. Their locations of choice involved places far more exciting than anywhere containing trees and plants. Still, the gardens had always been well tended, anything derelict and unkempt did not befit a High Lord of Rhys' standing.

So, although they had always been cared for by servants, they had never been loved.

Until now.

This was her first time on the grounds in a long time and rows of flowers stretched towards the sun, their petals as golden as Mor's hair, bobbing in the light breeze as she walked down the path they adorned.

The path routed her to a smaller garden, one filled with planters bursting with vegetables and leafy herbs before weaving its way through a miniature meadow filled with pink and purple wildflowers. It meandered again to another section, this one with boxed hedges and a manicured lawn set out with the human game she recognised as croquet.

None of this had existed before and it was almost appealing enough for Mor to spend time here. Almost. She would still prefer dusky evenings at Rita's with a glass in hand over bright mornings among weeds.

And, she thought, so would Cassian. But the magic called her and when she came upon a courtyard which splintered into multiple paths, she chose the one singing his name the loudest.

She found him in what had become a vast rose garden.

Mor stumbled to a halt. The magic had sung Cassian's name but hadn't added anyone else's to the tune.

The central path was covered by arches and numerous hanging boughs. Roses in a variety of colours weaved around trellis' and draped down to kiss her hair. A plethora of fragrances flooded the air around her and the combination acted as a blanket, hiding both her appearance and her scent.

Beyond the path and dotted on the luscious green grass were more rose bushes than could be counted and amongst their dark leaves bloomed soft creams, pastel pinks and vibrant reds. None however, were as vibrant as the siphons gleaming up ahead.

If she'd stumbled upon Cassian at any other time and in any other place Mor would have loudly called out his name but here and at this moment, she was too stunned at what she was seeing to alert him to her presence.

In the garden, among the flowers, stood the famed Lord of Bloodshed. His head was bowed in deep conversation with another, the expression on his face one of such intensity Mor hadn't even in battle.

The sheer hulk of him combined with wings, siphons and black training leathers made him appear grotesquely out of place with the setting but what was more jarring was his appearance against his companion.

Now her, Mor expected to see.

The love weaving its way around the garden had come from her fingers. Whether this was natural talent left over from her mortal days or something which bloomed, in every sense of the word, with her new fae blood Mor couldn't tell. There was no doubt however, the care for the gardens had come from the middle Archeron sister.

So no, it wasn't a surprise Elain was in what was considered 'Elain's gardens' but she never expected to see Elain and Cassian in them together. She also never expected to see them standing so close, speaking in tones so quiet even Mor's heightened hearing couldn't detect words.

Elain's golden-brown hair was tied loosely into a braid which draped down the front of her pale peach dress. Small white flowers had been strewn through adding to the innocent virgin look she continued to perpetuate.

A wretched unknown thing moved in Mor’s stomach.

This wasn't a pairing she'd ever considered, the one who brought death connected with the one who desperately maintained life. Mor never believed Cassian as wanting someone so gentle they were almost vacant.

In Mor's mind she expected Cassian would end up with someone like... well, someone like herself, with passion in their stomach and fight in their blood. But maybe she'd been wrong. Perhaps this was what he needed; someone soft and fragile to protect, someone pliable enough to exist with the Inner Circle without being intrusive.

Then, there was movement. Elain and Cassian were done with their conversation and Elain stood on her tip-toes, her face stretched up towards Cassian's before placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.

The something wretched moving in Mor's stomach twisted again.

Mor waited. The moment that was the cusp of their kiss lingered onwards except the kiss never came. At least, not the way she thought.

Elain pressed her lips to his cheek before smiling at him, one of reassurance, and as she rested her feet back on the ground, she gave Cassian an affectionate squeeze on the arm.

Mor's mouth dropped open. Whether this was better or worse than her initial assumption she didn't know. If it was longing for tender comfort on Cassian's part and a need to feel protected on Elain's she might have understood, but this platonic, familial interaction confused her.

Elain paused momentarily as she crossed the grass, her head slightly tilted to the side before she continued walking while Cassian wandered towards an over-flowing rose arch, his fingers idly trailing across petals.

Mor steeled herself to march over to him, to get her answers about why he was in the garden and most importantly what in the name of the Mother was he doing speaking so intently with Elain Archeron of all fae.

But, she didn't. She couldn't.

Something heavy in the air compelled her to observe, almost imploring her to view Cassian with clear eyes.

Centuries of time and love existed between them. They had seen the other at their best and worst and though it was only the once, there had been a time when Cassian's weight had pressed down upon her and she had greedily welcomed him into her body.

Mor knew every twitch his body made. He stood underneath the arch, leaves and petals brushing his hair, and she noted his guarded stance, the tightly tucked wings and the muscle flexing in his jaw. In the calmness of the garden, Cassian was anything other.

If Mor didn't know better she would have thought he was priming for battle. If Mor didn't know better than she would also have thought him nervous.

A sudden rustle sounded from behind her, of delicate silk sliding over soft skin and she turned to see Elain, an empty trug now swinging from her hand.

"Hello, Morrigan," Elain said, addressing her with the sweetest of smiles.

How had Elain crept up on her? Only a few, namely Rhys and Az, could appear without Mor noticing and Elain was neither High Lord nor spy. Still, Mor's voice was calm. "Hello, Elain."

"Will you walk with me?"

At her question Mor's eyebrows shot up. Of all interactions she had anticipated, being asked to go for a stroll around the gardens hadn't been one of them. Despite the honeyed tone with which Elain spoke, this was a request which invited no declination and so she found herself agreeing.

"Lovely. I have some roses on the other side of the garden I need to tend. Shall we?"

Mor stepped in beside her and walked through the arches toward the grass the other side of the path. She had never been this close to Elain before and while she knew Elain and Feyre shared many physical similarities she hadn't realised Elain's eyes were a deep chestnut. She also hadn't realised that Elain's skin was decorated with freckles, more so then Aurielle.

As a human Elain would have been considered pretty, but as a fae there was something about her which had been made into the other. What was once fair was now luminous, as though light had been poured into the female and, not being able to contain itself, had started to shine out.

No wonder, Mor thought, Lucien wanted to claim Elain as his mate. It was also no secret Az held a burgeoning fascination and, despite the friendliness of the interaction, there was now a possibility Cassian harboured his own desires.

Best then, Mor considered, to befriend Elain even if solely to understand her motives towards Mor's boys.

"I can almost grab your thoughts," Elain interrupted. "If I listened very carefully, I think I could pick them out."

Mor narrowed her eyes. Rhys and Feyre alone held that power and though Elain had been gifted the abilities of a Seer it didn't mean she could actually dip into Mor's mind. Although, Mor countered, it was probably safer to bury them anyway.

"I don't think you'd want them."

"Perhaps not."

They ended up walking as far away from Cassian as possible, stopping only when they reached a collection of bushes with roses of gold and silver, a variety Mor had never seen.

"Here we are," Elain said, turning to her with another saccharine smile, "you can help if you'd like?"

There was nothing in the whole of Prythian she would rather do less but the thought lingering at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch away was that she wouldn't be allowed to leave. There is, it said, no escaping this one.

So, Mor found herself nodding along and Elain, placated by the response, set herself to her task.

The magic which had originally drawn Mor towards the garden, her own magic, had been muted, becoming as light and flimsy as a cloud. The opposite was happening to Mor and it was as though she had grown roots into the ground and would remain as immobile as the roses she stood beside.

Cassian, who she could still see across the garden, matched her. He was a rigid feature next to the rambling roses that couldn't quite hide him from her view.

Of the three fae in the garden Elain was the one who moved at pace.

Even though she had requested help, Mor was surplus to requirements. Elain hummed and cut her roses and with each snip, a brand-new golden rose, more fragrant than before, filled its space. The newly sliced stem was placed in the trug and Elain repeated this pattern.

The scent filling the air was heady. Elain didn't appear to be affected but Mor found the longer she breathed in the more her brain pounded like she'd spent a week drinking dark liquor.

The perfume stung her nose and it drifted into her lungs, sharp and piercing, like she'd inhaled thorns. Mor wanted to step away to breath in fresh air but her feet refused to move.

"Is something wrong?" Elain asked.

Mor shook her head, her tongue too swollen for her to speak. A lie to Elain and denial to herself. There was always a possibility the middle Archeron had found a way to use magic to twist nature to her ends but was it deliberate? That the sweetest of the sisters had enough guile to bring Mor to this section of the garden and mute her magic.

Duplicitous little... but the thought cut off. No. Mor refused to believe she'd been out manoeuvred and out magicked by what was in essence a new-born fae. And a fae who wore daisies in her hair and pastel coloured dresses no less.

Besides, she considered, there was no reason for Elain to behave this way and no reason for Mor to be dragged away from Cassian.

But there was movement then, from the same place Mor had entered the garden. A figure walked through the very spot where Mor had stood and first watched Elain and Cassian. A figure stepped between the rose arches and on the grass towards its intended target.

If Mor had still waited at that spot then she she would have startled them off. If Mor was able to shake off the nature magic and get closer then she could have done something, but here she was, helpless. And now, slithering over to Cassian like he was her prey, came the worst Archeron.

"Sweet Mother," she managed to breath out. If Elain heard she said nothing and gave no indication of surprise at her older sister's presence in the garden.

Nesta, her golden-brown hair braided and bound around her head like she was a queen wearing a crown, marched closer to Cassian, her body rigid and face neutral.

Cassian's wings shuddered.

"Cauldron," Mor muttered, louder this time and she pushed with all her might to take a step forward. It was no good. Whatever held her there held firm and the sound of a blade slicing through stalks grew.

Nesta had reached Cassian underneath the trellis and they stood like opponents on a battlefield, less than an arm's length apart, their bodies twin tense columns.

From her viewpoint, Mor saw Nesta's face clearly but not Cassian's and only the side of his clenched jaw was visible. She imagined his expression though; one of irritation that his peace had been broken by the viper.

But he's been waiting for someone. The thought stole into her mind unwanted and once again, she shut it down. Yes, she countered, and now Nesta's presence will deter them.

The morning breeze picked up past Mor and though gentle was effective in blowing the fragrance away. It was though the fog filling her brain had cleared.

The grip around her had loosened enough for Mor to take a lightened half step forward.

The snipping stopped.

"Where are you going?"

Mor turned her head. Despite the wholesome innocence on her face with those delicate freckles and warm brown eyes Mor considered if she was a fool thinking Elain was harmless. The magic enveloping her been called forward and it felt like it had been summoned with intent.

"I think," Mor said, "you know where."

"Are you wanting to interrupt Cassian and Nesta?" Elain said with wide eyes and a tilt to her head, her tone conveying nothing but virtuous concern.

Mor frowned. The obliviousness to what Cassian was due to suffer in the next moments must have been fabricated. The level of vitriol that seeped from Nesta couldn't have bypassed Elain for the entirety of her life but those fawn eyes didn't convey anything other than curiosity.

"Yes, I am."

"Why?"

The laugh barked from Mor's mouth before she stopped it. Human's and fae alike had sheltered Elain from the truth and ultimately this had enabled her naivety as to what her oldest sister was truly like. This was an illusion Mor had no joy in shattering but shatter it she must.

"Why?" Mor repeated. "Why? It's Nesta." Perhaps saying her name with rancour would convey to Elain her outrage at being kept back from helping her dearest friend. "I can't leave poor Cassian with her."

It was so quick that had Mor not been looking directly at Elain she would have doubted she ever saw it occur. Gone in a flash but in that flash, the warm chestnut of Elain's eyes turned hard and any trace of gentleness perished leaving behind something more familiar with Nesta herself.

When Elain spoke next, her tone was as sweet as the Night Lilies which bloomed outside Velaris but possibly just as poisonous. She'd turned her back to Mor, resuming her small precise cuts along the stems, the thick unrelenting scent wafting anew.

Mor's head began to hurt again, the fragrance choking down her throat. It was so hard to move in this garden, to think, to breathe.

"Yes, poor Cassian," Elain trilled. "The vicious General of the Night Court armies and renowned Lord of Bloodshed. He who has completed the Blood Rite of the Illyrian mountains, burnt villages to the ground and massacred hundreds, if not thousands, of males in the name of Rhys' wars."

Snip.

"My heart goes to him. He only has wings, leathers, knives, centuries of training and seven siphons. How can such a male be expected to survive my weapon-less sister."

Slice.

Mor struggled to force the words out as they twisted inside her mind like vines. "She carries a weapon with her," Mor retorted, "it just sits in her mouth."

" I'm sure Cassian is used to her tongue by now."

Well, that gave her pause.

Not only the words but the way they were said. Sweet, gentle Elain who had led her away from Cassian, Elain who had taken her to the roses where she worked magic so strong Mor struggled in its depths. Elain who said things in such a way which meant Mor hadn't known she'd been stung until she had to pull the stinger out.

The unsaid truth had been trying to creep its way in. Mor had tried to wave them away but truth was Mor's gift and these had always been Mor's own thoughts. She just didn't want to believe them.

She looked back towards Cassian but immediately regretted it. Perhaps Elain, sweet, manipulative Elain who Mor had always thought too soft, had led her away for Nesta's benefit or perhaps it had always been for Mor's.

Even if the magic lifted, Mor wouldn't have moved, too horrifically eager to watch the scene unfurl in front of her.

Cassian and Nesta had shifted and now she saw both their faces.

They were talking, if it could be called that. Scowls lined their faces and their hands gestured wildly. If it was an argument, it was an impassioned one and Mor fought the compulsion to ask Elain if she knew what they were fighting about.

The breeze which carried Elain's magic away for the briefest of moments had drifted across to the pair and a strand of Nesta's hair was freed from its coronet to dance about her face.

It seemed an automatic move on Cassian's part. He reached out and tucked the strand behind Nesta's ear, his fingers lingering on the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheekbone before pulling away.

The earlier expression on Elain's face, the one that appeared like lighting and disappeared, the one which reminded Mor of Nesta now happened in reverse.

In the seconds following Cassian's touch, Nesta's face softened into something fragile. Mor understood from his face that instead of shock at such a tender look, Cassian hungered for it.

"Elain," Mor spoke quietly, "release me."

"If I do, you can't go over." Elain held a golden rose to her freckled nose and took an exalted inhale. "It's unfortunate you found out like this; Cassian wouldn't have wanted it this way." A long sigh left Elain's lips, "No one comes into the garden."

The suspicion had turned itself into certainty at Elain's statement. This meeting between Cassian and Nesta was no anomaly.

The tightening in her chest, unrelated to the roses whose fragrance now dissipated, showed her fear. There was the possibility she was no longer the dearest thing to Cassian.

Shame burnt in her cheeks. She'd been certain his strangeness was because he'd fallen back in love with her, that he pined for her and the humiliation she'd considered that an option made her skin hot.

Elain scrutinised Mor's face. Mor could pretend she was concerned for her best friend's emotional welfare, that he would be left to romance a female who gave out cutting remarks and acid glances as easily as she breathed. Mor's magic whispered to her again; liar.

And here was Elain, looking at her as though she could see right through.

"You love him," Elain said.

"Of course, I do," she replied.

"But you aren't in love with him, you never have been. You don't love him like a lover would, like a mate." The golden rose twirled in Elain's fingertips and with the motion the thickness of the flowers, of Elain's magic, drift off. Finally.

The love Cassian and her had for each other was never a love blessed by the Cauldron and neither of them wanted it to be. However, it didn't mean she wasn't shaken by seeing Cassian and Nesta together, that despite the virulence of their argument there were sweeter moments between.

She thought back to all the times she'd pointed out females he would then ignore. He wouldn't glance at them, couldn't glance at them. Mor and Cassian were cut from the same cloth, if a link existed between him and another then Cassian would want to honour it as it should be honoured.

The solid ground on which Mor had built her world was shifting.

Mor didn't move.

She could have marched over to the secret lovers and demand her answers. She could play her hand, give Cassian his choice and, as he always chose her, win the deck. Cassian's eyes would fill with panic as she begged him to choose between a potential future and a confirmed past.

Part of her wanted to do all those things, there was a chance she may yet.

Still, she didn't move.

"He doesn't want me to know," she said, her voice quiet, "at least not at the moment. If he did, he would have told me."

Elain's voice was kind when she spoke. "He'll tell you when he thinks you're ready to hear it."

Mor could have tried to convince Elain she was ready but instead found herself saying something different.

"I just don't understand it."

Elain glanced in the direction of Cassian and Nesta, a smile lingering on her lips. "Because you don't see them."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Mor looked over at them again. Loose petals floated down upon their heads from the earlier breeze and it almost softened Nesta's appearance. Almost.

Mor saw Nesta reach up towards Cassian's face and she braced herself for the crack of the slap. But of course, that wasn't what happened. Nesta's fingers began to sweep the petals caught on his hair and as she pulled her hand away Cassian grasped it, turning it over to press his mouth on Nesta's palm.

The blush blooming on Nesta's cheeks made Mor think she was looking at another female entirely. The angles and ridges of Nesta's hard face softened and the nervous energy rippling through Cassian's frame disappared leaving behind a male radiating ease.

They were still talking but their words were too quiet for her to hear. Whatever they discussed must have ended in agreement as they turned and walked together down a different path, one Mor hadn't seen.

"If you're wanting to follow them," Elain said, "I would really suggest you don't. There's a hidden cottage in the garden. I was so pleased when I was the first to have found it." Elain pulled a face reminiscent of the expression on Feyre's when she ate something unpleasant. "Then I realised I wasn't the first to have found it at all."

"I don't follow."

"Exactly."

"No, I mean I don't understand."

Elain looked at her with a smile closer to a smirk. "I share a room with Nesta," she said, "and you're always skipping off into Cassian's in the morning so where do you think they cemented things."

Mor's stomach coiled, "Ugh, yes fine. I understand."

Elain let out a giggle. "They hadn't intended for me to find out either but I love Nesta and I won't judge her choices." Elain let out a sigh. "I know she can be sharp but it doesn't mean she deserves her heart to be broken. But I do trust Cassian, I made him promise the roses."

Mor watched Elain stretch out her hand, splashed with tawny freckles, and caress the petals of a rose before plucking it. She eyed Elain with caution.

Elain turned to her, the rose in hand. "You'll do the right thing," she said and held out the flower. "When I was human, I was a gardener. The Cauldron couldn't take that - I wouldn't let it. I'm not sorry for keeping you here but I'm sorry for how the magic made you feel - like you couldn't breathe. It was like that in the Cauldron."

A stillness crept onto Elain's face and all expression melted away. "It still feels like that for the both of us sometimes," Elain continued, "that we can't breathe. That we're still floating in the dark waiting to drown."

There was nothing. Elain slipped into the blankness with ease the same way Nesta slid into her rage. She wondered if her anger was what Cassian helped her with, if he also held Nesta's heart securely in his hands and guarded it with his life.

Mor reached out for the rose, lightly touching Elain's fingers with her own. Elain shook herself from her own mind and smiled at her, the first genuine one Mor had seen all morning.

"It will have to be another day when you can have an honest conversation with Cassian." Elain's reached with soft fingertips and glided them delicately over Mor's cheek. "You can talk to him about Nesta and perhaps tell him about Aurielle too?"

It took her a moment until the realisation hit her but while Mor blinked in shock, Elain had already walked off, far from the path Cassian and Nesta had taken.

Mor traced Elain's touch with her own fingers trying to be just as gentle. She thought of how the magic had led her to the garden, how she wanted to share blossoming love with someone.

Maybe, she thought, she shouldn't covet those she loved so selfishly. There was enough love to share between more than one.

With a promise to herself she would address all this another day, Mor tucked the flower behind her ear and walked back here she came from, wondering to herself whether she now liked roses.

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #Morrigan #elain archeron #i wrote something #it's been 800 years

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

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The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 28

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Thursday, cont’d

“We need to talk.”

Malcolm realized his mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and was already tightening his arms around her as her eyes went wide. “No, no, sorry- poor choice of words. I mean, we do, but- good talk. I promise.”

Rose relaxed against him, though a bit of stiffness remained in her posture. “Okay.”

“I love you.” He’d had a plan, a carefully written speech memorized, but in that moment, none of it mattered. He’d wanted to build up to it, to give her all the reasons before making his declaration, but that wasn’t important. They had the rest of their lives to say why, and how, and when- what was priority, here and now, was that she didn’t go a second longer without knowing, fully and completely, how she owned his heart. “I love you. I’m in love with you, and have been for quite some time now. All I am is yours. I’m in love with you.”

He waited with bated breath as she stared at him, expression blank, eyes and mouth wide open, for long enough that he started to doubt his surety of her response.

“You… what?” she finally whispered. “I- you- what? I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“I love you,” he said simply. “Head over heels, arse over teakettle, however you want to put it… Completely in love with you.”

She drew several shallow, shuddering breaths, shaking her head. “Is this for real? If this is a joke, or a prank, or-”

“Rose.” Freeing his hands from the blankets, he cupped her face, one thumb rubbing gently at her cheek. “This is… as real as it gets. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Do you… do you at all feel the same?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and then slowly, she began to nod. “Of course I do, you moron,” she breathed. “I love you too. I love you so much, have for ages. Do you really?”

“More than I knew was possible.” Tears pricked at his own eyes, and he beamed at her in joy. “Do you truly?”

“I think that’s been established,” she laughed, a glorious sound that made his heart take flight. “This is the part where you kiss me.”

He wasted no time in following her orders, pressing his lips against hers. She met him halfway, and an amazing kiss was elevated to spectacular when her lips parted, tongue slipping out to brush against his as he opened his own. It was somewhat wet, from their tears and the spray from the sea, but it was still perfect, the most wonderful kiss he’d ever experienced.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life kissing her.

Jack greeted them at the front door as soon as they walked in. He was smirking, which only grew when he looked them over and noticed their entwined hands and how close they stood. “How was the sunrise?” he asked innocently.

“Brilliant, thank you,” Malcolm replied, smiling widely as Rose blushed and giggled, pressing closer to his side, making his heart leap with joy. “Perfect morning.”

“I see that.” He turned to Rose. “Satisfactory morning?” His bawdy wink made it clear what he thought had happened, and though he was wrong, his wife didn’t give him any indication that he was wrong.

“Probably the best of my life,” Rose said, as if just thinking about it for the first time, pursing her lips. “I don’t know what was special about it, but the tea was incredible.”

She grinned as he looked between her and Malcolm, eyes narrowing in consideration. “Fine, keep your secrets,” he decided. “I’ll get the truth out of you sooner or later. For now, will you be wanting a proper breakfast?”

While the thought of food was appealing, he’d rather have a nap, but was willing to let Rose lead, looking down at her and raising his eyebrows in expectation.

Opening her mouth to respond, she didn’t get a single word out before a giant yawn ripped it’s way free. “Oh!” she yelped, belatedly covering her mouth as a second, slightly smaller one followed the first. “Sorry. Maybe a kip, first? You did wake me up at the arse-cr- really early this morning,” she changed direction at the last moment, making both men grin. “Then brunch, closer to noon?”

“I agree,” Malcolm said, relieved. “I’m exhausted. Jack, you’ll tell Ianto we expect a full brunch spread at… oh, let’s say half eleven?”

“Yes, sir,” his cousin snapped off a mocking salute. “Shall we serve you in bed if you’re not down?” Jack’s tone was innocent – too innocent.

“Fuck no.” Without another word Malcolm started for the stairs, tugging Rose along by their joined hands. “Do not disturb us.”

Jack’s laughter followed them all the way to their room.

Rose closed the door behind them fighting back another yawn- she hadn’t recovered from the embarrassment of the last one. “So…” she started hesitantly, leaning back against the door as she watched him cross to the bed, stripping on the way. “Now what?”

It wasn’t that she was necessarily opposed to consummating their love, but… she really did want a nap. Napping naked, snuggled together? Sure. Maybe starting something once they wake up, all warm and sleepy and comfortable? Sounds great. But first… sleep. But she also didn’t want to shut him down if he wanted a little loving before their kip. Didn’t seem very… wife-y.

“Sleep,” he groaned, flopping facedown on what had quickly become his side, wearing only his pants. “Not just a ‘nap’ – I’m talking hours.”

The slight tension in her chest eased, even though she felt a little guilty over it. “Sounds perfect.” She padded over to her side of the bed, toeing off her trainers and efficiently stripping off everything else, leaving them piled on the floor. She hesitated over removing her knickers, before shrugging and slipping them down her legs. It was worth it for the look in his face alone, as he watched her climb into bed. She definitely had his interest, and as she slid down into the sheets, he reached for her, palm warm on her bare hip, a delighted look on his face.

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”

Rose grinned, snuggling into him and pressing their bare chests together. “What’cha gonna do about it?” she challenged him, smiling coyly. “Spank me?”

He groaned, a deep and guttural thing that would’ve made her knickers wet if she were still wearing them; instead, she just smiled wider, hooking her knee over his hip. “Aye, if you want,” he eventually managed, voice low and dark and deliciously Scottish. “But first, sleep, temptress.”

Rose sighed dramatically, rolling onto her back and stretching an arm above her head. “If you insist,” she shrugged one shoulder, teasing. “We’ll play later.”

“Fucking right we will.”

Rolling to her other side, back to him, she scooted backwards until they were pressed together, his strong arm wrapping around her waist to anchor her to him.

“Sleep well, my love,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her head softly.

She fell asleep smiling.

They were halfway through brunch when Malcolm’s mobile chirped. Setting down his fork and grabbing the mobile instead of letting go of Rose’s hand, he fumbled with it until the screen unlocked.

“Everything alright?” Rose asked, shoving a forkful of beans in her mouth.

Malcolm’s blood ran cold, his visions of a romantic evening with her going up in smoke. “Uh…” Clearing his throat, he glanced up at her apologetically. “Apparently we invited Sarah round for dinner tonight.”

She stopped chewing, staring back at him for a long moment before swallowing. “Oh. Okay. That should be nice.”

“Maybe I should reschedule,” he fussed. “I mean, today… is special. Should be just us. Right?”

Rose set down her fork, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her thumb along the back of his hand as she watched him contemplatively. He could see her mind working, and leaned towards her, eager to hear her thoughts. He was always fascinated by her, by the way her mind worked, the way she saw the world so differently from how he did. “No,” she finally said. “Don’t reschedule- let her come for dinner. It’ll be nice to talk to her- especially now that things are so clear between us. We should have Jack, and perhaps Ianto join us as well. We have… the rest of our lives to celebrate us privately. Let’s share our happiness tonight. What do you think?”

Malcolm smiled, delighted and relieved by her answer. “I agree, but you come first. I want you to be happy. And I suggest you find a different way to phrase it when you invite Jack, because otherwise he might think you’re inviting him to an orgy.”

“I dunno, he’s pretty fit…” she teased, biting her lip, eyes bright with repressed laughter. “With the right amount of tequila, I could probably be talked into that.”

“Rose!”

She burst into giggles. “I’m kidding,” she gasped, “but you should see your face.”

“Don’t joke about that – Jack would absolutely try that,” he said firmly. “And I’m not sharing you. Sorry.”

Her expression softened, and she stood up, coming around behind him and wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning down and hugging him. “You’re the only one for me,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “I’m plenty satisfied with you.”

“Good.” He turned his head, meeting her lips in a soft kiss. “So, we’ll invite them to dinner.”

She kissed him again, firmer this time, tongue flicking against his, wiping everything from existence but her and him and their love. “Maybe see if tomorrow will work instead?”

Huh? He had to fight to open his eyes, staring blankly as he waited for the memory of their conversation to return, finally smiling when it did. “You’re brilliant.”

Malcolm let his eyes drift closed, unable to remember the last time he had been so relaxed. After a private, romantic dinner they’d adjourned to the library as they did every night, only for the first time, they’d ended up sprawled across the sofa, cuddled together. With Rose resting half on his chest, her limbs slung over his, he felt at peace with the world.

“This is nice,” she sighed, pressing a kiss to his heart through his tee. “I love this couch.”

“I love you.” Opening his eyes, he looked down at her, unable to help the wide smile that grew as their eyes met. “So much- oh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Rose tried to scramble up and away from him, though he kept her against him. “Did I hurt you? Are you sick?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he grumbled, guiding her back to her previous position. “I’m just stupid.” Relaxing back against him, she nevertheless gave him an unimpressed arched eyebrow. “I had all these things I was going to tell you this morning, and I forgot.”

Propping herself up on her forearm, she looked at him expectantly. “Now seems like a good time.”

Malcolm pouted, rubbing lightly along her spine. “It’s cheesy now.”

“C’mon,” she cajoled, leaning up to brush her lips against the corner of his mouth. “Tell me.”

He sighed, exaggerating the pout in the hope she would continue to kiss him; obligingly, she nipped and licked at his extended lower lip. “I was gonna say… how the sunrise reminds me of you,” he started slowly. “How you came into my life, and… shone your light on me. Your optimism, your hope, your determination, your sense of justice and equality… You burst in and lit up everything that had been sitting in the dark. The corners of my soul, the ones where love- well, romantic love- and joy in the everyday were sitting rotting. I was dying slowly, from a complete and total absence of sunlight- until you appeared.”

“Death by Scotland?” she asked innocently, bursting into giggles when he dug his fingers into her sides. “Stop tickling me!”

“Never,” he shook his head, smirking. “I’ll take any opportunity to have you writhing above me, gasping my name.”

She harrumphed, shifting further over him but otherwise maintaining her pursed lip expression. “You were saying how I was the sun?”

“Sunlight,” he corrected, shifting his legs so hers fell between them, straddling one thigh. “Just when I thought the dark and dreary days would never end, you confessed the miracle of your love. I’m butchering it now, but rest assured, it was very romantic and poetic.”

Rose smiled, cheeks flushing as she gazed down at him. “You saved me too,” she said quietly, her free hand pressing itself along his sternum, over his beating heart. “From loneliness, from unhappiness, from that feeling of ‘life’s pretty good but why do I feel like something’s missing?’, you know? You shine as bright for me as I do for you. That’s what makes us perfect together.”

He kissed her, because of the lovely words, because he loved her, and because he could. He poured everything into it, into her, trying to show her everything his mouth couldn’t figure out how to say until they were forced apart for oxygen.

“Malcolm,” she whispered, eyes searching his, “take me to bed.”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #Human AU #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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ibmiller · 4 years

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Little Women (2019) Thoughts

After some frustrations (this movie sold out incredibly fast), I managed to see this new adaptation (not a remake, very much so) with my two youngest siblings, with whom I’ve read and discussed the book, and seen both the 1994 and 2017 miniseries. Briefly, all of us prefer the 94 film (with Winona Ryder as Jo and Christian Bale as Laurie), but all three versions, this one included, have many charms worth discussing.

To start with, this film avoids the recasting issue that plagues Amy in the 94 version by starting with Jo in New York, using a flashback structure (similar to, but much better utilized, as that seen in the 2011 Jane Eyre film). Though Amy is still way too old, Gerwig’s script and Florence Pugh’s performance don’t push the character into the kind of ludicrous unlikeability of having a clearly 20-something actress do things that 10 year olds would be ashamed of. The visuals are also glorious, much better than the trailer seemed to suggest to me - the scene in the valley where Laurie proposes to Jo was jaw-droppingly gorgeous in use of landscape and framing (though ever since 1995′s Sense and Sensibility, I’ve been worried whether landscapes in period drama are CGI. Ah, well). As noted previously, the structure also prevents one of the most obvious complaints that hit the 2017 miniseries very hard - that it’s a “remake” of the justly beloved 1994 film. By making a film that focuses so much on aspects that the 1994 film elides or omits, it’s clearly not a remake, but a new adaptation saying interesting things about the book (though, as I remarked to my brother, it’s almost like the “deleted scenes” version of the book, focusing on a lot of stuff that doesn’t seem to happen in the book, providing depth and motivation for the adult sections).

All this positives made the film quite enjoyable and worthwhile seeing. That is not to say there aren’t drawbacks. The chief complaint I have are the moments where my philosophical differences with Gerwig rub too hard the wrong way. The line about Marmee being ashamed of her country, Amy’s speech about coverture (though that is likely fairly solid in terms of feminist rhetoric of the time, and likely deserves more study by myself), which struck me more as commentary on what Gerwig thinks about her audience than about the book. More than these two notes, however, was the handling of the ending. I have no objection to the ending Alcott gave Jo (especially in light of Little Men and Jo’s Boys) - marriage to a man she loved (who I believe she loves, though I know that seems to be a minority position) as well as worldwide success as an author. Gerwig, on the other hand, deliberately implies that Jo gets the book, and the marriage is fiction demanded by her editor. (For more support for the Jo/Bhaer ending, I provide these excellent links - https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/tag/professor-bhaer/ - examining Bhaer in the books and films and provides great weight to the argument that Bhaer is more than just a commercial decision or “spiteful” whim as Gerwig claims - and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osdVRusNGgg, examining the way the 2017 miniseries handled the issue.) The way Gerwig handles Bhaer is very romantic - perhaps to the exclusion of his intellectual appeal for Jo, though his honesty about Jo’s potboilers is well handled - but when it becomes an intentional, obvious parody of the “airport scene” in a romcom and it’s revealed as a fake demanded by the editor, a sour note is struck. Everything works towards Jo/Bhaer being satisfying in the film, which makes the attempt at philosophical statement deliberately scolding the audience for wanting that satisfaction much more frustrating.

Well, I say everything works. There’s one element that is completely unnecessary, even though it had a lot of promise. Jo makes the impassioned speech about female ambition which made the trailers, and though excellent articles point out that it’s directly from another Alcott novel - https://slate.com/culture/2019/12/little-women-movie-ending-explained-twist-jo-bhaer-married.html - normally would NEVER link to Slate, but this is honestly well argued on both sides, and I really appreciate Heather Schwedel’s take arguing in favor of the book and Jo/Bhaer). The speech doesn’t quite work for me - perhaps knowing that it’s from Alcott will help when it comes out on bluray, but it felt out of place. That quibble aside, unlike the trailer, the film has Jo end the speech with “But I’m so lonely.” Which I thought was a beautiful bit of nuance - showing the tension (often derisively mocked with the commentary about “having it all”) of ambition and the human desire for connection and community approval. That loneliness could have played well into a less ironic, above-it-all ending with Bhaer - but instead, Gerwig inexplicably decides to play Jo’s desire for Laurie some more, adding in a letter from Jo to Laurie begging him to propose again. I could sort of see the desire in Gerwig to play with the excellently handled Jo/Amy relationship, but it throws the emotions for a loop, and doesn’t work at all.

A few other moments don’t work quite as well. Jo’s writing of her novel - though perhaps, like the female ambition scene, was actually a common practice in novel writing of the mid-1800s, felt too much like a film pitching process instead of writing a prose narrative. That clash of artistic process wasn’t helped at all by the generic scoring of that section of the film by Alexandre Desplat. Perhaps unfairly, the 1994 film had a truly transcendent score by Thomas Newman, which stands out not only as a nearly perfect score for the film, but one of the best film scores of all time. The 2017 miniseries isn’t nearly as good as Newman’s, but does provide powerful moments like this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EosnXGSiDck

Lastly, Eliza Scanlan and Emma Watson as Beth and Meg are both left behind by several choices in the script, partly the fault of the flashback structure, but partly because it’s clear that Jo and Amy clearly interested Gerwig most (and it’s to her credit that she gave Meg the “my dream is valid” speech). Watson’s weakness as an actress continues to plague her scenes, especially in the scene where she voices her frustration about her poverty to her husband, and her eyebrows refuse to stop overacting. Beth is mostly just lost - interestingly, none of the filmed versions that I recall have allowed Meg to comfort Jo after the selling of her hair - this film highlights the Jo/Amy relationship in that moment, and the 94 film gives it to Beth (likely to beef up her part). Much as I love Claire Danes, I think Annes Elwy from the 17 miniseries is the best, most nuanced and accessible Beth on screen that I’ve seen.

In conclusion, this film is a work of art worthy of enjoyment and analysis, despite these disagreements I have. There’s a clear sense that Gerwig and her team created a richly textured world that existed outside of what we see - each scene gives the actors things to do that enrich their lives in my mind, and I love spending time with them. It resists easy relationship resolution - Jo’s frustrations with Amy don’t end with the ice breaking incident, and unlike a lot of the other versions, give Amy a LOT of mature and intelligent conversations, showing that it’s not all Amy’s fault that the two don’t get along. I don’t think Ronan, despite being one of my favorite actresses, will replace Ryder as my perfect Jo (even though I think I’ll appreciate Ronan as an actress much longer than Ryder - since her later career seems to be entirely made up on neurotic mannerisms, sadly), but she’s very powerfully written and played. Laurie follows a different route than Christian Bale or Jonah Haeur-King, but like those two, is also incredibly good. The proposal scene chooses differently, but equally powerfully and realistically, with what Laurie does in the face of rejection. Marmee played by Laura Dern is beautifully done, though she doesn’t have the script of Emily Watson in the miniseries giving her a lot more depth and connection with the audience. I don’t know that Florence Pugh can displace Kirsten Dunst as young Amy, but she’s definitely one of the best Amys on screen (though I think Kathryn Newton in the miniseries did a better job of changing her body language and mannerisms to show the character aging). Definitely recommended, and recommended to discuss afterwards!

#Little Women

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buttonpanels · 4 years

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So far, I’ve looked at the biggest shake-ups in comics status quos in the 2010s. Of course, I think those were important. They’re paradigm shifts that allow for different stories. But sometimes, you need to go smaller, and that’s what this is. This time, I’m going to be highlighting specific moments in comics that I feel were the best in the 2010s.

These can range from a single scene to a single panel, but they’re what I consider the best the 2010s have to offer. They might stand on their own or be the payoff for years of storytelling, but these are the ones that had the biggest impact on me as a reader. As a rule: it can’t be an entire issue. I’m also trying to avoid placing similar scenes on this list. So yes, it’s a loose criterion, but it’s mine. Anyway, let’s see what we have for arbitrarily ranked my personal best comic book moments of the 2010s…

15. “He was an Adventure”, Die #2

Die is a comic that embodies the best of Kieron Gillen. His knack for clever dialogue, interesting ideas, strong characterisation and self-aware contemplative narration are felt in every issue, bolstered by Stephanie Hans’ beautiful art. The concept of a role-playing game that sucks its players in is a bit derivative, but Gillen leans into the RPG side of things and really shows what an RPG made and played by a bunch of pretentious, conflicted teenagers would be like, and the world that would result. Nowhere is that better shown than when Dominic (or rather, Ash) reunites with Sir Lane.

After the cast return to their game as adults after having escaped it as teenagers, they run into immediate trouble. After dealing with it, the party discusses whether to take a horrible route to their destination or the one they used years prior, where everyone knows them. Before they can decide, Ash runs into an old flame of sorts — Sir Lane, a typical knight in shining armour who she was in a relationship with and said she would come back to. She teasingly cursed him so that he couldn’t rest until he saw her again, and now she’s come back… after over a decade and he’s a zombie. They’re forced to kill him, and decide to avoid taking the same path, lest they run into more from their past.

Die is a great series that captures the spirit and fun of RPGs while giving things just enough edge to feel interesting but not like the creative team is going out of their way to be edgy. This here is a great instance of that, bringing a dark edge to a fantasy cliché and taking full advantage of the setting and characters. The first issue of Die didn’t fully land with me, but this issue definitely did, with this dark and morbid scene and the poetic narration. Just a wonderfully executed moment.

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14. “You can’t help yourself… you are Apocalypse”, Uncanny X-Force (2010) #4

Here’s a moment that is heavily carried by the art. Rick Remender’s Uncanny X-Force is great, but this moment, which is otherwise not that spectacular, is elevated by an understated use of layouts and not only established that this would be a very different X-Force run, but the threat to come.

After the new, black ops and secretive X-Force team has hunted down the rejuvenated form of Apocalypse, they are at a crossroads when Psylocke refuses to allow them to kill the now child despot. The team debates before falling to infighting, before Angel finally gets the upper hand after wrestling with his inner demon, Archangel. When Apocalypse says he won’t become who they think he’ll become, Angel says he won’t be able to stop himself and goes in for the kill… only to hesitate… then Fantomex kills Apocalypse anyway. The team leaves with no fanfare or celebration.

The art is what really sells this scene. The fight between the X-Force members is well done and easy to follow, and the narration from Warren is executed very well with some great lettering, but that moment when Angel says that Apocalypse will always be a monster, and the art slows things down with wide panels and extreme close-ups and a peak into Warren’s soul, that is what sells this moment. It is a powerful pause in time that and scene that is emblematic of what the run would entail — wrestling with morality, nature vs. nurture and struggling with one’s inner demons.

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13. “I think about it every day”, Grayson #12

Grayson is a series I will never shut up about, because it just works so much better than it should. Taking Dick Grayson out of the world of superheroes and putting him in the more morally ambiguous and backstab-prone spy world allowed Tom King and Tim Seeley to get to the root of his character, and make it all the more satisfying when he returned to the world of capes and tights. Case in point: Grayson #12, where Dick reunites with the Batfamily. While every reunion is great, the one that was the bet executed in my mind is Dick’s reunion with Barbara Gordon.

Dick is reuniting with his family after his boss at Spyral forces him to come back to the organisation. She lets him get in his goodbyes, however. Having already spoken to an amnesiac Bruce Wayne, he went on to talk to Jason Todd and Tim Drake and gave them a gift of two batarangs, and is now talking to Barbara. Dick had previously run into her in his secret Spyral identity, but she didn’t really know it was him. He tries to explain why he did what he did, but she’s not having it and leaves. Dick jumps after her… off a bridge, and gives her the trapeze pole from when they swung together after she was crippled in The Killing Joke, and confesses all his unspoken feelings for her.

There’s really nothing more to this moment than that, it’s just Dick and Babs reuniting and Dick telling her what she means to him. It’s heart-warming and cute, and the whole “Cluemaster’s Code” that Dick is using — the first letter of every sentence will spell out the real message — is used really well this issue, but I like that Dick repeats himself when he says he’ll come back to her. It’s as if he’s willing to muddle the message and Barbara understanding it just to reiterate how important she is to him. This moment wouldn’t properly go anywhere, since Tim Seeley set Dick up with a new love interest in a terribly executed romantic subplot in his Nightwing run, but for a moment, one of the best relationships in comics got a moment in the sun.

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12. “You’re poison”, The Sandman Universe Presents: Hellblazer #1

Hellblazer is at its best when it acknowledges what a toxic influence John Constantine is on his friends and family. Very few people come out of their interactions with him unscathed, and his addiction to magic only guarantees that those around him will have a rough time of it. Nowhere is that better demonstrated than with how his long-time friendship with Chas Chandler ends, which ushered in a return to form for Constantine.

After coming back from a terrible future and promising his future self to live his best life, Constantine goes to visit his friend Chas. He learns that, since his absence, Chas has contracted cancer and is now in the cancer ward of a hospital. Upon his visit, he finds demons possessing Chas and goes to free his friend, using the bodies of other cancer patients, only for Chas himself to call John out on his years of being a prick, his abandonment and the fact that John gave him cancer. Constantine’s constant smoking in Chas’ cab is what it’s attributed to and he tells John to leave him alone and fuck off. John respects his friend’s wishes just before Chas dies and John is left truly alone.

Despite how their friendship ended, this issue also did a great job giving it something of a heart-warming ending… sort of, as in the future, John tricks Chas into essentially performing a magic suicide bombing, but Chas, ignorant of this, tells John that sometimes you need to step up and be a hero. Both scenes work together to show the nature of this friendship — Chas is a good person at heart and one whom Constantine values and trusts… but he’s still someone Constantine will manipulate, and who will call John out on his bullshit. It’s a fitting end to the character and a great way to kick off this new era of Hellblazer.

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11. “I thought you loved me”, Venom (2018) #11

The relationship between Eddie Brock and the Venom symbiote has always been some level of abusive, but whether or not it’s a romantic relationship has generally not been touched on where it can be avoided. Maybe it’s the idea that Venom fans wouldn’t want a gay relationship, maybe it’s fear of the repercussions of a negatively portrayed gay relationship — the symbiote is identified as male a few times, after all — or maybe it’s just weird that Eddie is in a romantic relationship with alien ooze. But in the end, it’s usually more allegory and not so much a literal romantic relationship… until now, and it is glorious.

After a handful of issues of the Venom symbiote lacking its voice and Eddie’s cancer resurfacing, the Maker is able to “fix” Eddie while he goes through his memories and learns that certain parts were fake — his sister and initial cancer diagnosis being the primary ones he focuses on. He confronts the Venom symbiote, which can speak again, about why it changed his memories and it says Eddie needed to need it. They argue and Eddie wakes up to protect Dylan Brock, who he has just learned is his son.

Eddie’s relationship with the symbiote has always been destructive and unhealthy, and Cates fully leans into that here. The symbiote has manipulated Eddie into staying with it, forced him to become Venom and lied to him about his son. It has fully become an abusive lover and the sheer superhero-ness of this scene lends it a sense of self-awareness in what could otherwise have devolved into melodrama. However, Donny Cates is still able to end the scene with such conviction that it carries all the weight it was supposed to.

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10. “Smoke the meat”, Animosity #7

The biggest strength of Animosity is Marguerite Bennett’s keen eye for worldbuilding. The basic premise of “what if animals suddenly became fully aware” is explored for all it’s worth, with small bits of worldbuilding that truly make the world of Animosity feel alive yet relatable. The way Bennett uses these little pieces of worldbuilding to craft a nuanced and morally grey story is what really sells this series, and nowhere is that more apparent than in Animosity #7.

The scene in question deals with the aftermath of a fight the main characters get into, where they run into some carnivores. While everyone else tends to their wounds and gets some rest, main dog Sandor and the cat Pallas go to deal with the aftermath. They find their dead friends and we learn what they’re actually doing, and that it’s not uncommon — they eat the corpses of the dead. This time, they bury their friends, but the other animals that were killed are eaten all the same, and this isn’t the first time Sandor and Pal have done this, nor is it expected to be the last, and Sandor reminds Pal that, when Sandor himself dies, to feed him to his owner Jesse.

The scene is a wonderfully dark revelation, in a story where we learned more and more about what Sandor will do to protect his owner. It plays really well off the previous issues and does a great job escalating the moral ambiguity of the story. It not only adds more moral complexity to the wider world of Animosity, but furthers the story and characters. Every part of Animosity feels well thought out, and this moment not only advances the world but the story, in an unexpected and dark way.

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9. “He has you and me”, Doomsday Clock #12

DC Rebirth was a relaunch that truly returned some of what the DC universe had lost that made it so great. It lamented the loss of love, legacy and optimism, all of which were indeed sorely lacking, and told a story of how corrupting outside forces altered the DCU’s history and characters to better reflect a cynical outlook. Well, Doomsday Clock finally ended last week, and for all its faults and the discussions that can be had concerning creator rights and Watchmen, I think it delivered on its promise — the return of love, legacy and optimism, the latter of which was best exemplified in the return of the JSA and, as a result, of the Legion of Super-Heroes and Ma and Pa Kent.

After Flashpoint, it was established that Clark Kent had lost his parents at a young age, after they were hit by a drunk driver. Even after the Superman Reborn crossover patched up Superman’s history to essentially be the post-Crisis one — with some New 52 stuff sprinkled in here and there — he still had dead parents. Doomsday Clock revealed that Doctor Manhattan had caused the Kents’ accident, in order to transform Superman into a more cynical figure that he could relate to. However, after Superman inspires him, Manhattan believes in the ideals of love, legacy and optimism and undoes his changes to the timeline — or at least most of them, since DC’s plans clearly changed as this story was being published — and the restoration of the Justice Society of America is what kicks things into gear. Not only are the JSA my favourite superhero team, but their existence now changes Jonathan Kent’s outlook — instead of a cynical, protective outlook that causes him to discourage Clark using his abilities, the JSA’s existence causes Jonathan to encourage Clark instead, and he saves his parents as Superboy. The emergence of Superboy in turn causes the Legion of Super-Heroes to exist again. And they save the day, and all ends well, and Clark goes to reunite with his parents.

This moment is the perfect pay off to the entire Rebirth saga. There’s some wonkiness here as a result of rewrites, clearly. The Legion of Super-Heroes, as written now, are not inspired by Clark as Superboy but by Jonathan Samuel Kent as Superboy helping to found the United Planets, but the dialogue pretends like this is the Retroboot Legion from a few years back. Ignoring that, however, this moment just works. After the darkest parts of the story, with Imra fading away and Johnny Thunder broken and defeated, Superman’s inspiration is what undoes the changes and brings those people back. The legacy of the JSA that creates a new world of optimism, one that extends into the far future, and the return of the Kents is just makes it that much more satisfying that optimism and hope won out. This is a perfect ending to the story that Geoff Johns began in 2016, one that embraces what the DCU is about, even through its various reboots.

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8. “I’ll still hold your hand”, Doom Patrol (2016) #1

Gerard Way’s Doom Patrol run is a bit uneven, at least if you read it as it was ongoing like I did (you know, when every issue after the second was released late). But the first issue is a great introduction to the Doom Patrol, and the opening scene does a wonderful job setting the tone for Way’s run and introducing a character who is probably one of the best audience surrogate characters in comics.

The scene is pretty short and simple, giving a quick intro to Casey Brinke as she drives an ambulance during her day job. The narration is what sells it, as it carries this sense of poetry and angst that feels like it has enough conviction to be done well. Casey’s narration doesn’t feel ironic, self-defeating or cliché, but oddly reassuring — fitting, given she talks about what her job means to her. There’s some fun, of course, helped by the cartoony visuals and the neon colours, but otherwise it is just a relatively quiet intro to a character.

This introduction to Casey really does set the tone for the rest of Way’s Doom Patrol run, the more modern, straightforward and character-focused run. While there are stranger elements, such as when Casey and Terry None (a woman) have a biological son together and the cult that wants to transport itself inside Crazy Jane, at its core Way’s run was about the characters moving forward with their lives and Casey finding a place on the team. This introduction is great for setting that up, especially since some of the poetic narration is actually literally true, which was a very unexpected twist.

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7. “Batman punches people in the face”, Batman (2016) #53

Tom King’s Batman run is a thoroughly mixed bag, but it has moments of brilliance. One such moment is during the “Cold Days” arc, where Mr. Freeze is on trial after being captured by Batman, and a jury discusses his potential conviction. All are in favour of a guilty verdict but one — Bruce Wayne, who laments Gotham’s worship of Batman. This moment is probably the best culmination of Tom King’s Batman run up until this point, and gave real hope that his run would recover after the controversial wedding issue.

With Mr. Freeze arrested and on trial, Gotham’s jury is quick to label him as guilty despite the lack of evidence. Bruce attributes this to Gotham’s hero worship of Batman that he compares to worship of a god, because of the jurors’ perception of Batman is all-knowing, with his will having power over life and death. When asked what Batman means to him, Bruce tells the jurors that after his parents’ deaths, Batman was something he could believe in to keep him going, something he could rely on to always be there and save him. Not anymore; now that being Batman has taken Catwoman away from him, Bruce has become disillusioned with Batman.

This moment, as understated as it is, does a wonderful job paying off what had come in King’s Batman run. Bruce’s suicidal nature, his reliance on Batman as a means of achieving peace, his own obsession to keep fighting as Batman and the recent dissolution of his engagement with Catwoman resulting from his need to be miserable in order to be Batman, it’s all wonderfully played off by this moment that gives the readers a peak into how his breakup has shaken his foundation and made him doubt Batman. King’s run has a lot of flaws, but every now and then it delivered a powerhouse moment.

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6. “A man shouldn’t…”, Redneck #16

Redneck‘s core concept is relatively simple: vampires in the South of America. Donny Cates milks this for all its worth, with engaging characters and interesting lore. But what makes Redneck great is the characters, and how Cates is able to imbue them with a real sense of life. After a long string of tragedies, Cates gives his characters a few issues to breathe, and the result is one of the best scenes of the 2010s that deftly defies expectations.

The central family of the Bowmans is given a chance to breathe after their home is destroyed, they are betrayed from within and their generosity almost gets them killed. One character who is given a bit of a spotlight is Greg, who we learn is gay and who has a cute fling with minor character Winny. They talk about it becoming more when the patriarch of the Bowmans, his father JV, walks in on the two. What follows Greg trying to calm his father down, who walks away in shock, and Greg assumes his dad isn’t okay with his sexuality and ends up verbalising it for the first time ever… and it turns out his dad was more shocked because, well, he just saw his son after said son had just fucked someone. The two bond for a bit and JV says Greg should do whatever makes him happy.

The scene is just a really heart-warming moment and well-done, in addition to playing with expectations. The southern dad having a problem with his son’s homosexuality is pretty played out, but this series has its roots in the south, from its characters to its dialogue, so it wouldn’t be out of place for that trope to be played straight — especially given that JV is very old. But Cates defies expectations — and rather than think that is what makes a good story, actually does something with it, delivering what one of my favourite gay scenes of the 2010s. Cates gets a lot of praise for his narratives, but I don’t think his dialogue and character work gets as much praise as it deserves.

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5. “Everything lives”, Secret Wars (2015) #9

Jonathan Hickman’s multi-series Marvel saga is a sight to behold. A grand story told across multiple series, spanning the entire Marvel Multiverse, the sheer scale of it is unprecedented and expertly executed. Secret Wars (2015) was the culmination of his Marvel work, but rather than a gigantic event that stood on its own, it — for better or worse — served as the grand finale to his saga and specifically an ending to his Fantastic Four run. Taken like that, it hits it out of the park.

Secret Wars (2015) follows the birth and destruction of Battleworld, a patchwork world created from the remnants of the multiverse by Doctor Doom. Doom saved what he could, but has taken to ruling over everything with an iron fist, and a surviving Reed Richards ends up fighting him for the right to fix the world — at great risk, possibly destroying what remains. The fight ends when Doom admits that Reed would have done a better job, and the Molecule Man ends the fight and gives Reed the power. There’s an epilogue where Valeria Richards explains what happened, but the last scene is of a smiling Victor von Doom, mask removed and face restored by his friend Reed.

This ending is a perfect ending to the themes of Hickman’s Fantastic Four run. The idea of believing in the future and not being fearful of saving what’s left, but instead building what comes next is the given a literalisation in the final battle between Reed and Victor. Reed and Franklin rebuild the multiverse together as one last act of father-son bonding, after the theme of fatherhood was so central to Hickman’s run. And, finally, Reed proves himself the better man, that his morality is what makes him who he is, as he gives Victor one last gift and a new lease on life, setting up stories for the future. This ending is so emblematic of all things good about Hickman that it was the perfect note for him to leave the universe on… but then he came back and reinvigorated the X-Men, and that’s also a great thing.

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4. “How could I ever forget you?”, DC Universe: Rebirth #1

It wasn’t too long ago that DC Universe: Rebirth #1 released and heralded the return of much of what made the pre-Flashpoint DCU so great. A return of love, legacy and optimism, Rebirth truly revitalised DC’s comics and moved things forward, while not neglecting the past. And it all took the form of the Flash fan from Blue Valley, Nebraska coming home.

After years of questionable output from DC, Rebirth was the much-promoted revitalisation of the line. It was leaked that Wally would be returning, but given that it’s literally the premise of the issue, it doesn’t really affect the comic — in fact, it probably got more people excited for the relaunch than anything (especially since they teased his return beforehand but excluded him from the Rebirth panel). And when Wally finally returned, it was glorious. Wally traverses the New 52 and laments the loss of what fans loved, while simultaneously embracing the new. And after Linda fails to remember him in this issue, Wally goes to say goodbye to Barry in a heartfelt monologue, and it’s possible this really was going to be the end for Wally, but then he’s saved from the Speed Force.

Wally is the perfect character to usher in the Rebirth era. He is a character defined by his connection to the Flash legacy, whose love for his wife Linda has saved him on countless occasions and he’s a character who has never been defined by the tragedy in his life. Wally is the character that was all about moving forward, embracing the new — he represents what was so great about the DCU. As a long-time Flash and DC fan, this was everything I wanted — essentially an apology for how these two things were treated for most of the 2010s. Johns’ dialogue is sentimental and earnest, and it really resonates as a result. There are a lot of meta moments like this in the 2010s, but this one landed with me the most.

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3. “Did we do a good job, son?”, FF (2011) #23

While Jonathan Hickman is known for his epic scope, I think what doesn’t get enough attention is his keen eye for human emotion. His aforementioned Fantastic Four run spans the multiverse, but at its core is about family. The larger than life scale of his run lends a grandeur to the sentiment, but in the end, the stories are about family — and it all ends with Reed and Sue talking to their son in his bedroom, before he’s gone forever.

There’s comic book science involved, obviously, but an adult Franklin Richards spends the day with his younger self before telling his past parents that he needs to return to his own time. What follows is a heartfelt, earnest scene that anyone who even has a passing interest in parenthood can relate to — Reed and Sue tell Franklin about their worries, their concerns if they did things right, and ask Franklin if they were good parents, and Franklin tells them yes.

Hickman’s Fantastic Four run was about the family, but a running element was Reed and Franklin’s relationship, and how they just aren’t similar. Sue expresses the concerns that a mother would express, but Reed getting to the root of it is a beautiful way for Hickman’s run to end. After he neglected Franklin and they’ve bonded, after he gained a broader view of his children, he’s finally able to reconcile his parenting with every other part of him.

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2. “You’re the fastest man alive!”, The Flash (2016) #50

Yes, another Wally West moment. After Wally returned in DC Universe: Rebirth #1, it was assumed by many that he would be given a greater role in the DC Universe. Instead, he appeared in a mediocre-to-bad Titans series where nobody seemed to know what to do with him. After several badly received stories, Wally was returned to the Flash book, where he was given a lot of prominence and importance, and Joshua Williamson showed a strong love and affinity for the character. Then came “Flash War”, a story that I dreaded for its tagline of “there can only be one fastest man alive”, and anyone familiar with DC’s heavily contrasting treatments of Wally West and Barry Allen can tell you why.

However… “Flash War” was great. It mined Flash lore for interesting ideas, tackled the plot point of Wally’s forgotten children when it seemed like writers forgot about them, and delivered a triumphant moment of Wally. As Barry and Wally start losing sight of a Speed Force-empowered Hunter Zolomon, Barry speaks the words that we all knew to be true — that Wally is the fastest man alive. Wally catches up to Hunter and, in a way that gets to the core of the character and what the Flash legacy means to him and to readers, defeats Hunter.

The epilogue issue that followed was also great, with some great meta-commentary, but I’m keeping it to one issue per series. So, make it an honourable mention. And sure, what followed “Flash War” for Wally was terrible and speaks of how badly creators can screw up characters, but for a brief time, Wally West was where he belonged — with his family, as the fastest man alive. Instead of Titans encouraging him to let go of his memories, The Flash has him embrace them and his past, because that’s what makes him who he is.

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1. “Dawn”, Silver Surfer (2016) #14

Dan Slott’s Silver Surfer run is a joyful ride through the strangeness of space and is a soaring tribute to the Silver Age. However, at its core, Silver Surfer is about the relationship between Norrin Radd, the Sentinel of the Spaceways, and Dawn Greenwood, an average girl from Earth. This moment typifies that in the best way possible.

After Norrin and Dawn travel to before the Big Bang, they are stranded and decide to live their lives there. They get married and Dawn eventually passes away from old age, and Norrin doesn’t. As the old universe dies, Norrin travels through the event and ends up in the current universe once again, throwing Dawn’s essence into the Big Bang, creating the signature red and black dots of the power cosmic from her ladybug motif. Later, we see that every species has the same word for the sun rising: “Dawn”.

This moment is a perfect ending to a perfect run. It is goofy and weird, but also epic and heart-warming, paying tribute to Jack Kirby’s art and honing in on what made this run so great. If Dan Slott’s Silver Surfer was a tribute to the Silver Age, this moment is a testament that, for all the high concepts and strangeness, the Silver Age was about joy and wonderment.

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There you have it, my personal best comic book moments of the 2010s. Probably nobody is going to agree with me on these, but these are the ones I liked the most. There were others, but I had to be a bit strict, so this is what is left. Hopefully the 2020s will have just as many good moments, and of just as high a quality. But I don’t know, I don’t have 2020 vision.

(Sorry).

As the decade comes to a close, I've decided to look at the best moments in comic books from the 2010s, a decade which delivered some of my favourite moments in comics. So far, I've looked at the biggest shake-ups in comics status quos in the 2010s. Of course, I think those were important.

3 notes · View notes

sometimesrosy · 5 years

Note

How do you feel about the radio calls being addressed in the premiere? It bums me out a bit. I wanted them to be a turning point for Bellarke, but we know s6 starts out becho centric.

No. We don’t know that s6 starts out b/e centric. Who told you that? Where did you get that impression? We know that they’re still together because they haven’t dealt with the repercussions of the last 2 weeks on the ground, and bellamy spent most of that time with Clarke rather than Echo. But that is not the same thing as being b/e centric. Having a relationship be canon does NOT mean that the relationship is central to the story or endgame or that it is important for itself. Clarke and Bellamy have been “canon,” in one form or another, with other people multiple times. Satisfied girl, Roma and Bree, Finn, Raven, Niylah, Gina, Lxa, and now Echo. Are we SURE being a canon ship means they are central? I think this is a failure with shipping analysis, when you only accept kiss/confess/sex as canon. Because it only works as REAL proof when the story has magical genitals, and having sex mystically makes them forever tied as soulmates, true loves and happily ever after endgame.

I mean. There ARE actual stories out there like that, and quite a few. So I’m not saying that this can’t be correct. In Disney stories, for instance, we get a lot of that (no sex because G rated, though.) And Disney is pretty widespread and influential. And I believe this “purity culture” also presents this concept of love and romance. It doesn’t make it true irl, and it doesn’t make it an accurate interpretation of stories that are NOT telling a magical genitals story. Oh sorry. There’s probably some other name for that kind of romance, but I don’t know what it is, since it’s not my jam. In this story, sex, romance and love is a PART of the characters’ lives, and it doesn’t dictate their narrative or character arcs. (Every time I mention this, though, I start getting anons calling, particularly, Clarke a slut. But also Bellamy. Because they think that since Bellarke is/should be endgame, they should be unable to love or have sex with anyone else. And that’s not how this story or life works.)

Don’t get confused between a plot device and what the story is about. B/E is a plot device to get Bellamy, Clarke, Octavia, the blake siblings and bellarke where they need to go in the narrative. The story is ABOUT, Clarke and Bellamy. It is not, nor has it ever been, nor will it ever be, B/E centric. Because there is no story there for the narrative to hang on. B/E is NOT the story they are telling. COULD it be the story if the story were something different? It most certainly could!!! MANY stories in The 100 could be the main story if you wrote it from that direction. Every single romance could be told as the main ship of their own love story. Every single antagonist could be the hero of their own story. All of the side characters have their own narrative arc that could be expanded to be their own book or show. That means they are well written and not cardboard. It’s a good thing. But that doesn’t mean they are the main story. The main story is Clarke. Bellamy, Octavia, Bellarke, the Blakes, and The salvation of the human race/their people. If you follow those stories, the likelihood that you get off base is lower. Because those ARE at the center of this show.

There is no point in s5 where b/e, the canon ship, was central to the narrative IF it did not ALSO involve either Clarke OR Octavia. It was Bellamy centric. It was not, however about b/e. It was about both Bellarke and the Blake siblings. Those were the conflicts. Those were the main relationships. It was about how they all had changed and how Bellamy had to choose. He chose Octavia over Echo. He chose Clarke over Octavia. And now he’s got the decision to be made in season 6. Does he choose Clarke or does he choose Echo. (funny, that’s the question Chelsey joke/asked at Conageddon.)

I am sorry if this does not work for a b/e shipping centric interpretation, but shipping interpretations can be wrong if you pick a ship that the story is not about. Because you’re not JUST enjoying a ship you love, you’re also trying to make sense of the main story THROUGH the ship. If you pick a side ship to enlighten the main story, you’d better hope it’s central enough to help you follow the story or you’ll get lost. And if you’re hoping for your ship to be the central story when it’s not, you ARE going to be disappointed. Loving your ship is not ever wrong. But using your ship to interpret a story that is not ABOUT your ship? That can be wrong. Not morally wrong, just incorrect. I mean, every ship is going to shed SOME light on the narrative, I think, but sometimes, it’s in a supportive role, not main. It SUPPORTS the main story. B/E is a supportive ship, not a main ship and not central to the plot. It just isn’t. It supports Bellamy’s development and the reunion of Bellarke and dissolution (and eventual repair) of the Blakes.

The story of b/e is about loyalty, family and…this is not from a shipping perspective, but from a narrative one… Bellamy choosing between Clarke and Echo. That. HAS. To. Happen.

And it’s going to become an imperative sooner rather than later.

We saw one pic with b/e together. And Clarke was in the scene, looking visibly uncomfortable. That is not b/e centric. If anything it’s c/b/e centric. It’s a love triangle. It’s the choice. Clarke or Echo. Choose Echo and you leave Clarke on the outside to suffer, even when she pretends it’s fine. (It is an echo of how he left her on earth and took spacekru to safety. THAT is intense.)

We can’t have an informed choice here unless Bellamy knows about the 2199 calls. Which he now knows. HOWEVER, unless he talks to her, it’s just his assumptions. He needs to talk to her.

Therefore? How do I feel about them talking about it right away? GREAT!

It’s a plot point that appeared AT THE END OF SEASON 4!!!! And it left us hanging for ALL OF SEASON 5!!!! And it became a turning point for Bellamy in the season finale!!!!

At the end of season 4, I said that was a cliffhanger and we’d need to address it before we could move on. Then, instead of addressing it right away, they dragged it out, referenced it and had Clarke REFUSE to tell him, which told me it was 100% presented as romantic, because non-romantic partners don’t need to keep secrets about non-romantic feelings for their non-romantic partners, but non-romantic partners DO need to keep secrets about ROMANTIC feelings for said partners. And then, season 5 became about how Clarke and Bellamy needed to RECONNECT. Their reunion ended up being more than one scene. Or one episode. It was a continual process throughout the season UNTIL the finale where Madi played parent trap and exposed her secret feelings and devotion.

ANNND it brought them back to where they were at the end of season 4. With an about face on Bellamy’s anger at her betrayal almost exactly like what happened in the rover. “wait, you care for me that much? ok i’m not mad anymore. i was mad because i thought you didn’t care about me.” Except NOW they have a love triangle in the way, which gives them a ROMANTIC obstacle instead of a survival or a political obstacle.

It’s not like the politics or survival is going to go away. But the romantic obstacle needs to be sorted out. Because these two now NOT non-romantic partners will be working together closely, while he ALSO has a canon romantic partner. That gives him, yes, two romantic partners. And Clarke will not pursue him because that’s who she is. So it’s up to Bellamy. Except Echo gets a say, TOO. Does she want to be with a man who is in love with someone else? Was she or was she not CORRECT when she said everything would change between them when they got to the ground. Because they were there for like 30 seconds before Bellamy’s true love and soulmate came back to life. Echo is not his true love or his soulmate. Echo is his family, he loves her and cares for her, and is loyal to her, though. So this is a sticky pickle!

Damn right I want them to talk about the 2199 calls in ep 1. I want it to be canon and explicit and I want them both to go about being “non-romantically” partnered knowing that Clarke is in love with him and Bellamy returns the feelings. And I want Bellamy to be with Echo KNOWING that he loves Echo, but he is IN LOVE with Clarke.

I want the whole fandom to realize that their feelings for each other are NOT platonic, and that messes everything up.

YES.

PLEASE.

GIVE US THE GLORIOUS MESS.

Let’s talk about 2199 days apart, but never letting go of each other.

#the 100 #bellarke #love triangle #2199 radio calls #c/b/e #b/e #the blake siblings #damn right i want them to address the calls in episode 1 let's go we waited long enough you had your reunion and development

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