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#I’m afraid if I don’t appeal it will block me from making another claim if I need it
Request Guidelines
Please make sure to attentively read all of the rules, as well as my disclaimers before submitting a request.
Please keep in mind that I tend to ignore vague requests, so don’t be afraid to give me details!
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⚠️ Disclaimers
• There may be spoilers for the series/games that I’ll be writing for.
• Some characters will be aged up. If you’re against aged up content, let’s kindly agree to disagree. Filling my inbox with hate is not appropriate, and you’re more than welcome to block me if my content doesn’t resonate with you. There are, however, some characters that I’ll still only write in a platonic manner. (Ex: Luke from Obey Me, and Ortho from Twisted Wonderland).
• I have the right to turn down a request if it goes against the rules I've set up, makes me uncomfortable, does not inspire me or if I feel that I'm not knowledgeable enough on the subject presented in the request.
• Please do not repost or claim any of my work to another website. I cross-post between Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3, and you can find all of my links in my bio. However, if you do see someone reposting my work, please notify me. Thank you! Inspiration is okay, plagiarism is not.
• I have a zero patience policy with people who pester me to hurry up with writing their request. Know that behind the words, there's a human being with a regular job, a home business, housework, a family and other hobbies.
• I tend to write with a more mature audience in mind. That being said, adult topics, 18+ content and potentially triggering topics may be delved into. Each story comes with its summary, tags and warnings, so please read accordingly and you use your judgement. You are responsible for the content you consume, not me. No worries, however, plenty of Rated E stories will be up.
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💕Available Fandoms
The list is subject to change. Some fandoms may be added, and some may be removed if I fall out of them. Announcements will be posted if a new fandom is added or if I’m redacting one.
• Obey Me! • Twisted Wonderland
• Hazbin Hotel
• Helluva Boss
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✔️I Will Do
• Female!Reader OR GN!Reader - My preference and default lies with a female point of view. I do write using you/your pronouns, so nearly all of my stuff can be read as GN by default unless explicitly stated that the reader character is female.
• Romantic Relationships - Self-explanatory.
• Platonic Relationships - Self-explanatory.
• AUs - I'm open to any AU suggestion you may have. Soulmate AUs, for example, should be specified what type of gimmick you'd like, as there are a lot out there.
•Song-Based Stories - I won't write a songfic as I don't find those appealing. I'm not a fan of padding a story with lyrics. However, music can be a huge inspiration, so if you have a song you'd like a story built around, let me know. Note that I may ignore your request if the song doesn't get the creative juices flowing for me.
• Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, etc - I'm open to pretty much any genre.
• Poly Relationships - I’m not the best at portraying them, but I’ll do my best!
• NSFW - Smut is very much allowed on this blog. I'm very open to many things when it comes to smut, so it'd be easier to just tell you what I won't do for smut in the following section. Requesting smut should be treated the same way as a SFW piece, so give me details. Location? Any particular events leading to the smut? Any particular kinks?
• Crossovers - If you would like the reader character to be based off of another video game or anime character/universe, I’m down! Example: An MC that has Katsuki Bakugou’s quirk, or an MC that has pokémon.
• Non-human!Reader - If you’d like the reader to be not fully human, go ahead! Vampire? Demigod? Kemonomimi?? Part dragon?! The list is endless, so go wild!
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❌ I Will Not Do
• Male!Reader - This is not meant to be discriminatory in any way; I'm just not very comfortable or good at writing a Male!Reader point of view.
• OCs or Canon X Canon - If you’ve been reading, you can see that this is a reader insert blog.
• Yandere - I know that yanderes are popular in the fandom, but I cannot bring myself to write that particular dere archetype. I can't put into words my disdain for the archetype.
• Non-Con - I'm not really into writing dark content for reader inserts. Note that this rule is for some form of graphic non-con depiction or fetishization. If your request is along the lines of X Character with an S/O that's an assault survivor, then that's fine. In other words, I don't want to fetishize non-con.
• Underage Romance or NSFW - Self-explanatory
• Incest - No.
• Hardcore Gore - Self-Explanatory. Blood and violence is fine in itself. I'm just asking to not cross the boundaries of gore porn, ya know?
• Certain Fetishes:
~Emetophilia
~ Scatophilia
~ Vore
~ Inflation
~ Feeding
~ Stuffing
~ Necrophilia
~ Non-consensual sex
~ CNC (I might? Depends on my mood)
~ Piss
~ Foot fetish
~ Pet play
~ Ageplay (I can let the term 'Daddy' slide, though I'm not fond of it. I just don't want to write characters acting like children in a sexual scenario.)
(Note that there may be more added to the list later on. These are the ones I could think off the top of my head.)
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Available Characters
~ Obey Me! ~
• Lucifer
• Mammon
• Leviathan
• Satan
• Asmodeus
• Beelzebub
• Belphegor
• Simeon
• Diavolo
• Barbatos
• Solomon
• Luke (PLATONIC ONLY)
• Mephistopheles
• Thirteen
• Raphael
~ Twisted Wonderland ~
• Riddle Roseheart
• Ace Trappola
• Deuce Spade
• Cater Diamond
• Trey Clover
• Leona Kingscholar
• Ruggie Bucchi
• Jack Howl
• Azul Ashengrotto
• Jade Leech
• Floyd Leech
• Kalim Al-Asim
• Jamil Viper
• Vil Schoenheit
• Epel Felmier
• Rook Hunt
• Idia Shroud
• Ortho Shroud (PLATONIC ONLY)
• Malleus Draconia
• Lilia Vanrouge
• Silver
• Sebek Zigvolt
• Dire Crowley
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10 notes · View notes
frink-o-matic · 3 years
Text
Stressing out about this Note of Determination I got from the EDD.
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seiyasabi · 3 years
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きつね (Fox)
(I wanted to try something different and write a few Romaji (ローマ字) words in Hiragana (ひらがな)! I promise it won’t be throughout the fic, but I thought it would be fun for those learning Japanese to practice :)) 
Here’s a !DARK! Kitsune (きつね) Kakyoin (かきょいん) x Female Reader story! Please proceed with extreme caution! 
TW: !NONCON!, !Foul Dirty talk!, !breeding kink!, !knotting!, !Size kink!, use of pepper spray!, you’re in the forest!,!no prep!, !gagging!,  !predator/prey elements!, violence!, mentions of blood and small wounds!, !mentions of drug use and alcohol! (Not you or in detail),  etc.. 
I’m sorry if this is too OOC!) 
“Go to the forest, they said, it’ll be fun, they said,” You grumble to yourself, nearly tripping over a stray tree root. All you want to do is get out of this damn forest and pass out in your dormitory bed, but it seems like Mother Nature has another plan for you. 
Currently, you’re regretting going into the creepy woods near your college. You’d only gotten to this college a few months prior, having transferred from your college in (prefecture/country) to one in rural Japan, and you thought this would be a fun experience. Your new friends claimed that the parties at a certain campground were wild and entertaining, but so far, you’d only seen a few drunken fights, you watched a girl snort a line off of another girls’ chest, and were almost shoved into the bonfire. After all of this, and the fact that your friends left you alone, you decided it was time to head home. 
But, as it turns out, you walked in the opposite direction of the parking lot, getting yourself absolutely lost in the hauntingly beautiful forest. Cursing yourself for your stupidity, you tried to bring up google maps, only to be stopped by that godforsaken icon of ‘no service.’ 
So, you opted for your phone’s flashlight, trying in vain to figure out where was North and where was South. 
“Fucking hell, I know I didn’t walk too far from the campsite, how did I get so lost?” Stumbling once again, you almost fall flat on your face, only to be stopped by a pale hand. The slender, long fingered hand grips the fat of your forearm in a firm grasp, holding you up. Seeing this, a horrified scream leaves your lips before you can stop it, thinking that the thing in front of you was an Onryō. 
Looking up, you’re suddenly face to face with a large, breathtaking man in a red and white kimono. His long, red hair is twisted into an intricate updo, highlighting his sharp jawline. That, in turn, shows off his dangling earrings, which just barely brush his cheek. His purple eyes twinkle in your phone’s flashlight, a small smirk quirking his full lips. 
“Hello there,” The redhead's voice is smooth, sounding like whipped butter personified, “Are you lost?” 
Knowing better than to expose your vulnerability, you shake your head no, “O-oh, no, sir. I’m just heading back to the party. I’m sorry if I bothered you,” You try to wrench your arm from his grip, but he seemingly grabs on harder. 
“There’s no need to lie, I heard your grumblings a few moments ago. I’ve also watched your sorry attempts of hiking through the foliage, and I’d be happy to help,” You eye him suspiciously, not trusting him for a second. 
“No thank you. I’m not so sure I trust a weird man alone in the forest. I hope you understand,” He laughs at your words, sounding like wind chimes. You shift your feet in discomfort, wondering what is so funny about your cautious words. 
“Don’t be silly. There’s a temple near here that I upkeep, and I was walking to the parking lot to head to a 7/11 near here. I’m heading in the same direction as you, so-“ He continues to speak, but you don’t hear a word. You never mentioned the parking lot, and if he was heading there, you’re pretty sure he would’ve just used a path that you carelessly disregarded. Noticing your sudden change of discomfort to extreme fear, he tries to comfort you, “Why that look? I promise I won’t hurt you. Here, why don’t you come to the temple and-“ 
You don’t give him time to manipulate you, suddenly whipping out your gel pepper spray. Chucking the cap in a random direction, you check that the nozzle is facing him, before spraying at full blast. A loud bark-like scream echoes through the air, as you’re suddenly released by his iron grip. Shoving him over, you start to sprint in the direction you just came from.  
“Come back here!” The red haired man yells, a deep growl reverberating through his chest. That urges you to run faster. Flashlight aimed at the ground, you leap and hop over foliage and debris, trying your hardest to evade the freak of a man currently after you. You can hear his footsteps behind you, the forest suddenly silent. 
Your body runs cold at the realisation; just what is this man, and why are the critters so afraid of him? 
Not deciding to find out, you then run in a zigzag fashion, trying to get him off of your tail. The crunch of sticks and leaves are constant, the loudest ones being the hulking man behind you. 
“You can’t outrun me, Pretty Girl!” 
Your chase goes on for a while longer, until you see the unmistakable light of a fire. This causes you to go faster, the idea of safety appealing. 
But, unfortunately for you, you didn’t notice the undeniable silence ahead of you. When you left, the music was practically earth shattering, along with the chatter of inebriated college kids and the loud noise of their cars and motorcycles. 
When you reach the fire, you’re greeted with the sight of a dark wooden structure. It’s a temple, but it looks a lot bigger than a normal Shintō one. In fact, it looks straight out of the fantasy anime your roommate made you watch with her. 
Taking your chances with the forest, you turn to run back into the dark green foliage, only to be tackled back first onto the stick covered dirt below. The twigs stab into your uncovered covered skin, drawing blood, as the kimono clad man above you pants in both pain and anger. 
He brings his face close to yours, making you turn yours away from his with a whimper. His warm breath fans across your uncovered neck, his purple eyes practically glowing down at you. The white around his irises are bright red and teary, showing the effect your weapon has against him. In the lightly you notice two flattened ears on the top of his head, making you gasp in surprise and confusion. Was this a guardian of the Forest? Or was this a demon here to steal your soul? 
“Why must you hurt me? I haven’t done anything to you,” He sounds somewhat hurt that you maced him, but who could blame you? If some creep approaches you in the forest, you fight first, ask questions later. 
“Why are you coming after me? There’s no reason for you to chase after me,” One of his rough hands grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His mouth is parted slightly, his sharp teeth glinting in the fire light as his face twists into a smirk. 
“It’s always fun chasing after prey,” He leans in closer, lips just barely touching yours, “Especially when the prey is as adorable as you. Now, we can do this the hard way, or the easy way; if you let me have you, we can go at your pace. If you don’t, I’ll take you however I want.” 
To say you’re shocked is an understatement, “Wha-what do you mean, ‘take me’? Didn’t you just say that you’re going to eat me?” 
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I’m still quite full from the meal I had earlier. I should thank those villagers; without them, I wouldn’t have been able to eat those delicious friends of yours,” All blood leaves your face, did he just say that he ate-
Looking at his kimono, you realise that the red isn’t a pattern at all; it’s blood splatter! 
“Oh my god,” You place a shaking hand on his chest, trying to push him away, “What the fuck? Holy shit- is that why the forest is so quiet? They know it’s your feeding time? Holy fuck-“ He silences you with a heated kiss, practically forcing his tongue down your throat. Lithe hands grope at your cropped tank top covered breasts, trying to squeeze the fat underneath, only to be blocked by your push up bra. Shoving with your entire weight, you’re still unable to force him off of you. Without thinking, you bite down on his tongue, drawing out another bark of pain from the ginger. 
That gives you enough time to breathe and regain your composure. Trying to wiggle out from underneath the muscular male, you’re quickly lifted and flipped onto your front, face pressed against the dirty ground. 
“My mother always told me that females are hard to get, but I never knew it would be this painful,” He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the ground near your head, making you cringe away from that spot, scraping your chest against a particularly sharp twig. A small yelp escapes your throat at the pain, trying in vain to use your arms as a barrier against the sticks and stones below you, “Awe, did my pretty girl hurt herself? That’s okay, I’ll still think that you’re pretty.” 
“Get off of me! What are you trying to do? If you’re going to eat me, get over with it already!” Finally being able to push yourself up onto your forearms, you try to buck him off of you, only to hear a high pitched whine echo out from behind you. Freezing in surprise, you peek at him from, only to be met with a ruby red face. 
“Did you know that foxes go through a mating season?” 
“What the hell does that have to do with any-?” You’re suddenly shoved back onto the floor, tits practically spilling out of your top. 
“I’m going to breed your empty womb, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re going to bear me many cute pups, and you’re going to stay here with me until the end of your days.” 
“Go find some female kitsune! I don’t want to have your babies!” Your stomach scrapes painfully against stones below you, dripping more blood onto the dirt. 
“But that’s the thing- you don’t get a choice, Pretty Pretty. You clearly can’t care for yourself! You got lost in the woods, for Gods’ sake! Now, obey your mate, and let me in,” He looks down at your cute mini-skirt, and flips it over your ass, exposing your emerald green thong. His cool fingers ghost over your unblemished ass cheeks, a hitched breath echoing through the Kitsune’s chest, “Oh, pretty girl, did you wear this for me? How did you know my favourite colour?” 
“Get off of me! I didn’t do any-“ He suddenly rips your panties from your cute cunt, before shoving them into your open mouth. You try to spit it out, but are unable to. Tears gather in your eyes, as you start to cry. This strange man is about to do the worst thing a person can do, and he doesn’t seem to care about your feelings. 
“Don’t cry, I’ll take care of you and our pups,” He spreads your legs open, giving him easier access to your soft pussy, “Ah, there’s your pretty cunt. Everything about you is so pretty, aren’t you lucky? If it weren’t for that and your perfect fertile womb, I would’ve eaten you.” 
He kneels on your shins, shoving down your front, arching your ass up into the air. 
“You smell amazing. It’s like your body is just calling for my thick seed. Don’t worry, Pretty Girl,
I’ll give it to you.” 
You hear his kimono shift, most likely pulling out his cock. This makes you choke on your sobs, as you try to pretend that this moment isn’t happening. That some monster of the forest isn’t about to breed you full of his-
A scream escapes your throat the moment you feel his wet cock head against your unprepared pussy. You thought he’d at least prepare your cunt, but it seems that he’s trying to go in dry. He grunts when he feels you starting to thrash, using the hand that once held his cock to smack your ass harshly. 
“Stop it. You can’t change my mind! Jotaro will be so jealous when he finds out I got the most beautiful, fertile, and resourceful mate. Now, hold still,” You don’t understand what he’s talking about, but you can’t help but feel shame. You know his friend’s name, but not his own! The least your rapist could do is tell you his name! As if sending this, he rubs one of your ass cheeks reassuringly, “I suppose you’d like to know your mate’s name, huh? I’m Noriaki Kakyoin. There’s no need for you to say your name, I heard you introduce yourself to those… disgusting humans earlier. But don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with them ever again.” 
He releases your ass in favour of gripping his cock once more, pushing its tip into you with some trouble. You scream through your makeshift gag, the pain of him pushing in feeling like he’s tearing your pussy apart. 
“Awe, are you a virgin? My mom always said a female’s first time is painful,” You want to shove a stick up his ass unlubed! Let’s see how he likes getting something forced inside of him without preparation! “But don’t worry, you should feel good once I’m fully inside.” 
With that, he forces himself in until he’s fully seated inside of you. Another scream escapes your throat, as you feel a small rivulet of blood dribble from your now torn cunt. By this point, you’re hyperventilating in pain, anxiety, and fear. This man is so thick, that you’re pretty sure your pussy will never go back to its original size ever again. 
“Fuck, you’re so tight. I knew you were the right one for me,” When he starts to move, that’s when one of your hands claws at one of his that’s resting on your hip. You feel his skin break under your nails, as you try in vain to make him stop. It feels like he’s splitting you in two! “Does my pretty girl feel good?” You shake your head rapidly, drowning in your pained sobs, “Don’t lie, I feel you getting wet.” 
Can’t he smell that that’s blood? 
You hiccup and wheeze, tears and snot dripping down your pretty face into the dirt. When he starts to buck his hips, you feel like you’re going to throw up. His cock is so heavy inside you, that you feel like he’s rearranging your guts. 
“I feel the opening of your womb on my tip, it’s almost like you’re trying to suck my cock into it!” Kakyoin starts to move his hips faster, making your body go limp. It’s almost like your body is going into shock at the severe pain you’re in, “You sure want my pups, even if you claim you don’t. I’m so close to filling you with my seed, so you won’t have to wait any longer to be filled!” 
He bucks into you at top speed, his own hips crashing into yours harshly. His heavy sack smacks against your ignored clit, sending small jolts of pleasure through your body. But, it’s not enough to make this easier for you. Your pussy is barely producing any slick, making this a lot harder for you to handle. The next time this happens, you know there’s going to be a next time, you should probably explain to him how to prepare you for his horse cock. 
“Shit, shit, I’m gonna fill you up, Pretty Girl. I’m going to make you heavy with five pups, hell, maybe even fifteen! Then once you have them, I’ll fill you up with even more! Doesn’t that sound nice? Your womb will never be lonely again!” 
He thrusts into you with three more powerful thrusts, before slamming his entire length inside of you at once. The head of his cock is right up against your womb, so when his entire length starts to swell, you can practically feel it prying at your cervix. More fat tears rain down your face in this rivulets, your fingers digging into the dirt, cutting up your nimble hands. Kakyoin grunts and growls in a deep voice, savouring the way your walls throw around him in pain. 
Whilst his cock is fully swollen, he releases all the cum he has into you. The large amount of seed isn’t all able to force its way into your cervix, causing it to pool in the canal of your cunt, bloating your stomach out slightly. 
“I can practically smell my seed taking. Your perfect body is accepting me very well, Pretty Pretty. I told you that we’re mates, and this just proves it,” he strokes your head softly, trying to console you as you continue to cry. At this point, he starts to become concerned, why haven’t you stopped crying? “What’s wrong? Didn’t you cum?” 
When you don’t shake or nod your head, he releases one of your hips, in favour of yanking your panties out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe with ease and finally speak. 
“You’re such a Monster,” You sob, face pressed against the cool packed dirt below you, “I-I can’t believe you-if you were going to rape me why didn’t you prepare me?” He makes a small whimpering noise, not quite understanding your gripe. 
“What do you mean?” You start to cry even harder, almost making yourself sick. 
“My pussy is torn open! I’m bleeding! The only one who felt nice is you!” You start to gag, unable to catch your breath properly without somewhat choking on your spit and snot, “Now I’m pregnant with your rape babies, and-and it hurts so bad! Get out of me!” 
You try to yank yourself off of his inflated cock, but he quickly stops you, trying not to hurt you even more. Looking down, he sees a large pool of blood below the place the both of you are connected. He gasps in shock. Sure, he knew that some girls bleed their first time, but this doesn’t look right! 
“What-why are you bleeding so much?” 
“Because you tore me open! I hate you! I hate you! I wish you just killed me!” 
Whilst he’s still stuck inside you, you continue to cry, which makes him feel even worse. He can’t believe that he hurt you so severely. This was never his intention, after all, both parties are supposed to feel good, are they not? 
But now, he’ll never be able to make you love him. 
How could you love someone as monstrous as him? 
378 notes · View notes
simpingforsoftboys · 3 years
Text
Curiosity Killed the Cat
ft. Kuroken
G/N Reader
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Read this first
Mini Series Here
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Thanks so much for the request anon! I actually went back and forth with this- but I’m finally satisfied with how this turned out! Hope you enjoy!
Kenma hated these types of events. Blaring music, flashing lights, horny drunk people, crowded spaces. Yes, parties were the worst- but it wasn’t like he could tell Kuroo “no, I’m not going to attend your best friend’s 27th birthday party just because.” Which is why they’re in Osaka and not Tokyo at the moment. Kuroo had gone off to god knows where- claiming he was going to get some drinks for them- but that was 15 minutes ago and he still hadn’t returned. Shoyo was arriving late, so there was no one the dyed blonde felt comfortable with speaking too. Seeing no other option, he decided to seek Kuroo out on his own. 
“Excuse me.” The short male muttered as he nudged people aside to get to the bar. No one seemed to mind, too caught up in their dancing- probably thanks to their alcohol induced haze. His skin crawled in disgust as he passed by some chick who was making out with Miya Atsumu- if Shoyo was right with his suspicions, Sakusa Kiyoomi would not be happy. He pushed that thought aside. Eventually he made it to the bar- successfully locating Kuroo. “I was waiting what’s-” He was shut up by his fiance’s hand over his mouth. 
“Shh... look over there, across the counter- is that Y/n?” Kenma followed where Kuroo was pointing, they couldn’t see the persons face, but they had a similar figure and skin tone to your own. Suddenly the person turned- but they realized that it wasn’t you. 
It had been two, nearly three years since your emotional breakup, and they still found themselves looking for you in every room they entered. Kenma hadn’t gotten over his love for you- he doubted he ever would, but it was just another thing he had learned to live with. Kuroo slowly began to realize how much of an impact you had on his daily life, things he had previously taken for granted like a homemade meal at the end of a long day, hot bath prepped and ready, folded clothes and cute little notes. Those things were gone now, so he and Kenma had to step up and do it- until eventually they just decided to hire someone to do it for them. It wasn’t the same- sure, the housekeeper did an amazing job, but the difference was palpable. It sounded dumb but they could just feel the lack of love- your absence had created a void in the large penthouse. 
It had taken time, but Tetsuro realized that yeah, he did love you- not as much as Kenma- yet, it was a tangible love all the same. Which is why it hurt him that day- not only because you left them, but because you didn’t feel loved by him. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at you- that was his own doing. All you had done was leave him with happy memories. 
Kenma found himself reverting back to his old habits. Their home was a lot lonelier without you. Kuroo often went on weeks- if not months long- business trips for the volleyball association, leaving Kenma home alone for lengthy periods of time. No longer did he have you to keep him company or monitor his sleeping or eating habits. Even his viewers had noticed his unhealthy lifestyle and urged him to take better care of himself, but it wasn’t the same. So, without anyone there to stop him, he would fall into ruin- because then, when he was exhausted or kept occupied by the newest trending game title- he wouldn’t be thinking about all that he was missing. 
Neither of them had spoken- or even checked up on you since that day, those  few years ago. You had blocked them on everything, made your accounts private, changed your phone number, and asked your mutual friends to not share anything about you with them. It hurt- because how can you so easily shut out the people you love- but after much thought and consideration, they realize you had to be hurting twice as bad as they did. Unlike them, you had the time to simmer in your pain, hurt, and longing, while they remained oblivious. 
Ignorance was bliss.
The two of them left Bokuto’s party early that night, Kuroo said something about an emergency Skype meeting in the morning as an excuse. In actuality they found themselves driving to one of your favorite restaurants- they hadn’t stepped a foot inside the establishment since the last time they ate here with you. But- as it was for many things apparently- tonight seemed to be one all about stepping out of their comfort zones. 
“What are you getting?” Kuroo tried to act casual, but Kenma had known him much too long to fall for his act. 
“I think I’ll get (f/f).” 
Kuroo nodded. “I think I will too.” Neither of them particularly liked (f/f), but it had been your go to order. Maybe by being here and eating the familiar dish, they could pretend that they were simply on a date as a triad- and you were running late- instead of dealing with the reality that they were a couple now and not a throuple. 
Their food arrives and they dig in, eating slowly, eyes shutting occasionally, it seems like they’re merely savoring the flavor- when in reality they’re trying to picture you dining with them. No words are exchanged between the two- they’re together yes, but it’s somehow a lonely occasion all the same. 
If you were here, the table would be filled with easy conversation- you were always so neutral when you spoke, teasing when you felt particularly daring (they realize now that this was such a rarity because you were hesitant about starting an altercation- which no one should have to be afraid of in any relationship). Kenma would let himself loosen up and exchange snarky words with Kuroo, who quipped back savagely, and you would watch them- laughter spilling from your lips. Too bad they didn’t try harder to include you in the conversation- not that they intentionally alienated you- just that they were enjoying themselves too much to bat an eye in your direction. 
Yeah, it was better for you that you weren’t here. That was a fact they still had trouble stomaching. 
They hear the restaurant’s door opening in the background, but don’t care enough to look who entered. It doesn’t matter to either of the two that it’s late at night and logically there shouldn’t be anyone else here but them. Their imagined scenario is much more appealing than real life. 
“Put me down Tsutomu!” A male scolds from the lobby area, despite their best efforts, they’re unable to block the newcomers voices out. 
Another male laughs in response. “Calm down Kenji, I got you!” 
“Hahah! Why are you so red Kenji-” Someone else adds, this person’s voice is familiar. Kenma and Tetsuro freeze at the sound. It’s kind of weird how they recognize it- despite having slowly forgotten what it sounded like over the course of passing time. You know how each time you recall a memory it actually ends up altering it a little? That’s how it was with your voice. Eventually their recollection of it was changed to the point that they couldn’t quite remember how exactly your laughter sounded, or even how your pitch changed with various moods. 
Their ears were filled with you- wonderful, gorgeous, breathtaking you- the one who cared too much and pushed aside prioritizing yourself until eventually you couldn’t take it anymore. The Y/n that they still, could never seem to love enough- even now. But it was dissimilar all the same, since you sounded so happy, so content- what was weird was that they didn’t even need to see your face to confirm it. 
Neither of them dare to look in your direction, afraid that you’d disappear right before their eyes. It isn’t until they see your approaching figure in their peripheral that they glance over. 
You’re positively glowing. It feels like you’re an entire galaxy- so far and out of reach- and they’re merely stargazers. They’re stuck on Earth, forever fated to watch and appreciate your splendor from an impossibly wide distance.
The purple-nearly black haired man that accompanies you pulls your chair out, gesturing to your seat with exaggerated motions. You laugh, sitting down in the most graceful manner possible and let him push your seat in. He places a kiss to your temple before going to pull out a chair for the other brown haired male- whose cheeks are still tinted red. 
The three of you order appetizers and speak about many things- Kuroo can overhear ‘volleyball’ and ‘hospital’ mentioned somewhere in the mix. The two men- your apparent lovers- don’t even have to make an effort to include you in their conversation, it’s like second nature for them, just as it should have been for him and Kenma. They listen intently as you ramble on about whatever, the shorter brown haired one adding his two cents in occasionally, while the taller male questions or presses you for more details. 
“Kuroo I’m not hungry anymore.” Kenma says, and only now does Tetsuro notice how upset his fiance is. Normally the half blonde is composed and neutral, but right now his face is scrunched up like he smelt something sour. The feeling is mutual. He isn’t happy with the situation either. 
"Do you want to head back to the hotel?”
“No, let’s stay a little longer.” 
So they stay, silently watching as you make lively conversation with your lovers. Observing as you polish off your plates and finish dessert, they’re still seated when the throuple pays the bill and walks out the exit. Eventually the elderly owner comes out and asks them if they want to order anything else- a polite way of letting them know that they’ve overstayed their welcome. 
They tell her no, pay their own bill, and head back to their car. They sit there in the parking lot a little longer.
“Hey Kenma.” Kuroo murmurs, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
“Hm?” Kenma hums.
“Do you think we could have made it work?” It’s a question that they’ve never actually voiced out loud- not even once- in the years since the breakup.
“Why do you ask? You already know the answer.” Is what he receives in response. Kenma’s right, he did know.
“I... guess I needed to hear it.” He says lamely.
He turns the key and starts the ignition. They drive back to their hotel in silence. 
They made their beds a long time ago. So it’s only right that they lie in it- even if the bedsheets are uncomfy and the blanket threatens to suffocate them.
Kenma regrets wondering about how you were doing now. At least before tonight he was able to take comfort in the fact that you still might be in love with them.
The old idiom was right. Curiosity killed the cat. And he certainly felt like he was dying.
A/N: Believe it or not the inspo behind this was the song Good Stuff by Griff. I really liked the whole idea of Kuroken x reader ending on semi good terms. The difference between how their emotions for the reader portrayed here vs IwaOi is an example of this. Unlike IwaOi, Kuroken is able to identify their emotions when given time and space, they’re not necessarily prideful and can acknowledge that despite being broken up with, they’re still the ones who were left with “the good stuff.”
They miss you sure, but they know it’s unfair to want you to come back to them when they’ll never be able to love you as they should. So they don’t even bother wishing or seeking you out. Of course, they do their best to maintain some semblance of a connection to you (like why they look for you in crowded rooms and eat your favorite food), but they’re fine with remaining curious. Of course no one can remain willfully ignorant forever though.
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ricaffeine · 4 years
Text
𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐓𝐰𝐨
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an: in conclusion i suck at writing, this took far too long to write and i'm not impressed. fingers crossed that the next chapter will make up for it 🖤
leave a comment! i'd appreciate it a lot :))
CHAPTER THREE
The doors creaked open, screeching into the frosty silent of the night, before snapping loudly against the wall. In contrast of the dark night, the full moon shined proudly, its light gently twinkled through the glass ceiling of the room.
Followed by were firm footsteps, shoe soles tapped against the hardwood floor and fainted into the distant. He collapsed onto his arm chair, a sigh of relief washing over as he shifted his weight back.
A knock was heard twice, followed by a steady pace of footsteps that visited the room. Kangtae averted his vision to the man– no, the ghost. Polished in his neat blue uniform, reflecting against the moonlight was a silver half-moon shaped pin tucked above his chest.
"Mr. Moon, you're back." His voice emitted softly as he stopped right in front of the desk- exactly four feet away– accompanying in this hotel for over seventy years– the longest person aside from Kangtae yet to stay, he had his own merits. Jin Hyun paused reluctantly, his wrinkles creasing from concern, eyes wide alert. "What happened to your hand?"
At first a bit muddled, but realization crept after him and Kangtae sighed. Glancing at his blood-clothed hand– scenarios of red winded up in his head. "Ah.. this?"
That impulsive woman.
"Just some accident." His reply was simple– like the man he was and unlike the moon guest house's previous owner, he was, you can say, far less complicated.
Kangtae peeled at his clothed hand, anticipating as the blood wrenched skin morphed back to what was before, clean flesh took back its place. "Where's Manager Lee?"
He then reached for his whiskey decanter, filling up a quarter of the lowball glass. "Isn't she back yet?"
Jinhyun hesitated. "About that, I'm afraid to tell you that there had been a major issue regarding your latest purchase. But do not worry sir, Manager Lee will inform you once she has discussed with the–"
"Tell her to take the day off tomorrow." Kangtae spoke and sipped his glass, embracing the scorching burn that drained down his chest. "I'll manage it myself."
Although struck in confusion, the old spirit knew better than to question his boss's command. Jinhyun nodded reluctantly, made sure he would address the message to the mortal being.
"It's the full moon today, so I think we are expecting many guests."
Kangtae drained his glass and set it back on the table, jaw clenched at the comment– though it was swiftly masked away with his poker face. "Open for business, but don't accept the ones whose death were so gruesome. They're a pain in the ass."
Suppressing the urge to tell him that discriminations shouldn't be allowed, instead Jinhyun bowed, no interest to provoke any further into his bitterness. "I will take special care, so they won't get in your way."
He left with another steady bow, footsteps fell into the distant and Kangtae picked on the red stained cloth that layed flat on his desk. A blue flame lit up on its end, he watched waves of blue consumed all of it, before golden ashes swirled and vanished into thin air.
One speck however, did not follow and he reached out, trapping it between his pincers.
"Ko Munyeong, what should I do with you?"
Munyeong slapped her phone shut.
Frustration built up like a ticking bomb as she threw it behind her. It landed with a loud thud, but she could care less. Yesterday's event had bittered her enough and Sangin's repeating missed calls since 6 a.m. weren't brightening her mood any better. Tires screeched against the waxed floor as she struck a sharp turn into the parking slot, the reserved for CEO sign knocked into nowhere.
In her new prized possession, Munyeong stomped through the building, brave less employees– who ever barely had the guts to look at her on a usual day, shuddered twice as much–
"Good morning Ms. Ko!" The tiny body wiggled its way to block her off. A weary smile is served from Sangin's pesky assistant.
"Move aside."
Seungjae shuffled, hands suspiciously frantic as she spoke. "Mr. Lee just informed me that he will be here soon–"
Munyeong hissed. "And?"
"..And that you should go wait in his office." She finished meekly, unsure of her tone.
"Why would I wait there?" She pointed her finger foward. "The meeting room is right here."
Not intrigued for her reply, Munyeong nagged the girl's shoulder, rather she'd figure it out herself.
"Move."
She strolled across, then paused within her pace, eyes captivated by a figure. Leaning onto the metal rail, Prada purse dangling in the air, she hummed in her own favor.
Ah. Him again.
"What a sight." Munyeong said as she stepped down in her extravagant red mini dress, ballooned sleeves cuffed tight at her wrists, a plunging neckline where she proudly presents her new gold necklace. True to her words, he appeared just as fine. Black slacks– which to her favor, did an incredible job in displaying his godly thighs. Cuffed sleeves of his button up accentuated his broad broad shoulders, and the spectacular waistcoat that hugged his chest.
"You look more dashing in these clothes."
The man teared his eyes away from The Witch's Rose– another of her cash-claiming pieces. A work of watercolors and actual blood splayed onto the canvas, everyone who has seen it ends up in complete awe.
However his gaze was not purely admiration, rather laced with criticism– certainly something she never enjoyed from anyone. But there are some exceptions for some specific people, aren't they?
"I thought you were different, but I was obviously wrong." She crossed her arms. "How much did he offer you?"
His voice was rough, almost coarse even. "If you can't talk politely, at least try to not be so cryptic."
"Ah. Look at you talking so casually."
Munyeong raised her chin and barged into his space, weaklings would have already shown signs of discomfort, but surprisingly he was remarkably unbothered. She dragged a finger along his shoulder, the curve of his skin firm beneath her touch, and tapped his bicep. "I practically stabbed you."
He swiveled around, this time his body directly faced hers. "What about it?"
"How much did Mr. Lee offer you to compensate and make sure your mouth stays shut?"
A short spur of silence fell before he let out an cocky ahh. "I'm guessing that method always works."
Her smile dropped. "Verbal consolation is bullshit, money is best."
"You really think so?"
She shrugged. "Then what do you want?" Eyes wide as she suggested. "Sex?"
In a swift moment he had drowned closer to her. His gaze burned at her, brushing at her lips and froze. "Is it worth that much?"
Admittedly he was good at getting on her nerves. Too good, though she'd never lose to anyone, including him. Munyeong let out a scoff.
"If you're not here for money nor sex, then what do you want?
He cocked his head slightly, his prominent eyes playing innocent and for a second Munyeong forgot that they were bickering. "A refund?"
A snap back to reality, her face laced with confusion. "What refund?"
He dodged her question and looked over her shoulder. "Ah. There it comes."
She turned around to see a Sangin entering with a box of not-so-secret cash in his hands.
"Good afternoon Mr. Moon Kangtae. I deeply apologize for what happened, what can we do–"
As usual, meetings with her always began with Sangin's devastated face– knowing all the trouble she is going to cost him– but today it did seem particularly worse.
Kantae lifted his hand, as if it was a sign to stop. "Let's cut to the chase– I want my money back."
Sangin's smile dropped, though immediately replaced by his appealing mask. "Yes, I understand–"
Kangtae stared at Munyeong, a smirk rising on the corner of his lips. "Including our little incident, I say it'd be 11 million."
Tragically, Munyeong had not noticed by the consequence of the appalling numbers. She snapped at the man to her side. "What the hell is he talking about?"
Sangin sighed. "Munyeong-ah, you see.. your little smashing session. It had wrecked The Nightmare Garden, therefore, we will have to repay our client. Mr. Kangtae is here to–"
Client?
Her eyes shot at him again, impossibly wider. "What do you mean client? Then who was that snobby lady?"
"Ms. Lee is my representative." Kangtae stepped in. "But it doesn't matter. The fact that you jeopardized my painting with that cheap wine-"
"I'm not giving up my money!"
"Well, there's nothing you can do." He smiled– devilishly and yes Munyeong would kill to wipe it off his charming face.
"You'll be hearing from my lawyers in a few days." Kangtae reached for his box of honey money, which was sheepishly handed from Sangin. "Until then, I'll take this."
With another amused– and irritatingly handsome smile, and piles of cash he headed off. Left in silence was a raging pit of fire and its hopeless manager.
Three hours and seven corspe employees later, Munyeong crumbled the paper cup in her hand. Furious was an understatement. How could she give her money back to him? She was set, eyes on her prize but just like a fucking clownery it vanished into thin air.
"Aish Moon Kangtae, that bastard." Munyeong trampled at the crumbled trash, letting out on a slice of her frustration. It was his choice to interfere with her, no one forced him to.
"Oh my my, you're a such a pretty girl." A squeaky voice giggled, penetrating into her quiet atmosphere.
She glanced at the lady, head to toe. Dressed in a horrifying shade of hot pink. Her frail grey hair was topped by a floppy hat- also in the same absurd color. She seemed to fond pearls, as it was accented everywhere, including on wrinkly her fingers where she had slotted a card in between. "Mr. Kangtae had asked me to pass this to you."
Her high-pitched voice rang like bells as she added. "He also said that he'd be willing to compromise, if' you go visit his hotel."
Munyeong raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
With a delighted smile, the lady nodded along and Munyeong promptly snatched it, ambiguous eyes interpreted onto the cursive blue lettering.
"Hotel.. Blue Moon?"
A condescending smile played on her lips. More so amused by the piece of paper and unaware of the soft breeze that swept past her.
Fine. If he wants to play with her, she'll play with him.
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frogjutsu · 3 years
Text
Pairing: Hatake Kakashi x Maito Gai
Word Count: 2088
Warnings: slight angst, lots of tomfoolery
A/N: written as part of the KKG server gift exchange! Feel free to read here or on Ao3
The sun filtering through the branches felt like a lover's caress. It was almost enough to make Kakashi forget how lonely he was. With a sigh he settled further against the tree. The bark scratched against his back and the grass felt cold against his thighs but the scent was comforting. The scent was home. 
Kakashi turned a page in whatever copy of Icha Icha he'd brought with him today. He'd read them so many times he could probably quote them from memory, but he had appearances to keep up. Anyone who saw him would simply assume he was reading his pervy books again and leave him alone. Well, almost anyone. 
"Ah, there you are, rival," Gai's voice boomed as he jogged up to Kakashi. He was surprised Gai wasn't running on his hands this time. "I've been looking for you."
"And you've found me," Kakashi said, not looking up from his book. It would be too much like looking into the sun. 
"I've devised a new challenge for us. One that will truly test our limits as shinobi. Are you interested?"
Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes, Kakashi thought, but what came out of his mouth was: "I suppose" coupled with a shrug. 
Gai laughed and it echoed through Kakashi's heart. It might've been the most beautiful sound he ever heard. "Cool as ever, dear rival. In that case, you'll need this." Gai whipped out a small booklet - from where in that skintight suit Kakashi couldn't tell. If Kakashi's eyes lingered too long, Gai didn't mention it. 
Finally, Kakashi set his copy of Icha Icha to the side and reached for Gai's hand. Their fingers brushed as he took the booklet and Kakashi wondered if all of Konoha could hear his heart pounding. Before he could ask what the book was, Gai interrupted: “Meet us at the theatre tomorrow night.” 
“Us,” Kakashi asked as he opened the book. His eyes trailed across a hand-written script. The character “Damsel” was highlighted. 
“Yes! Team Gai is going to put on the ultimate display of youth and you are to be our damsel in distress. Then the audience shall decide who embodied their emotions better: the infamous Copy Ninja or the Green Beast of Konoha.” Gai planted his fists on his hips, striking a pose as Kakashi stared at the pages before him. What had he gotten himself into? 
It was not the only time Kakashi asked himself that question. In fact, it seemed to be the only thought he could form as he memorized the few lines he had and showed up to the theater, only to be rushed into what was clearly a storage closet someone had hurriedly turned into a changing room. Sakura and Ino had been roped into helping Team Gai with makeup and wardrobe, though, as they forced him into a rather skimpy pink dress and braided wig, Kakashi doubted they really needed any convincing. At least Sakura was thoughtful enough to include a matching pink mask. 
As he was ushered onto the stage and the curtains lifted to reveal most of the village gathered around to watch this farce - play, Kakashi corrected himself - Kakashi tried to pinpoint exactly which decisions in his life had led him to this point: dressed in pink and lace surrounded by a trio of children with plastic swords and too-big costumes pretending to be pirates. Perhaps if he’d never joined the ANBU or if his father had never died. Maybe it was just an inevitability. Perhaps Kakashi Hatake was always doomed to give more of himself than he would ever receive. 
He was broken out of his gloomy reverie when Gai burst forth from the wings, dressed in a loose flowing white shirt and pants that seemed even tighter than his green jumpsuit. His hair was held back with a leather band and - Did he oil his chest? Kakashi thought, noting how Gai’s skin glistened under the stage lights. 
Lee elbowed Kakashi in the hip. “It’s your line, Kakashi sensei.” 
“Oh,” he replied, forcing his thoughts back to script. He cleared his throat and began: 
“Blessed be the gods for sending the Green Beast. Save me from these scoundrels and then we shall feast.” 
Gai stalked across the stage, pulling his own plastic sword out of its sheath. “My dear Princess, it would be my pleasure / for rescuing you would be life’s greatest treasure. / Avast, ye pirates. Stand and fight! / Draw your swords and face my might!” 
Now it was Lee’s turn to jump forward into the spotlight. “First you must pay the princess’s ransom! / I don’t care if you are devilishly handsome. / 10,000 yen is what we agreed. / If you can’t pay she’ll be tossed to the sea.”
Silence fell over the stage for a moment as Lee and Gai stared each other down. Then, Lee coughed and looked at Neji out of the corner of his eye. Kakashi thought he heard Neji mutter something about wishing the swords were real so Gai could kill him, but he stepped forward nonetheless. 
His voice was blank as he spoke, brandishing his sword as if he wished he were anywhere else. “Captain, please. Don’t be a fool. / There’s no way you could beat the Beast in a duel.” 
TenTen took a step toward Kakashi. She was definitely the most comfortable of the three of them, and, as she pressed the sword under Kakashi’s chin he honestly had to remind himself that this was just a play. “Take another step and I’ll end her life,” TenTen said. “And then you’ll never take her as your wife.” 
Wife. Kakashi let his mind turn the word around in his head, wringing it out until he could pull a drop of meaning from it. He’d never been one for domesticity. Never really given a thought to marriage, having spent so much time alone already, but Kakashi had to admit the thought of being whisked off his feet by a local folk hero and devoting himself so wholly to them held some appeal. Then again, as Gai leapt forward and began his choreographed fight with his teammates, Kakashi realized he was already devoted to someone. 
The fight was beautiful, really. Kakashi was sure Gai choreographed it himself. He could see the fluidity in the movements, the way each step was tailored to each character. Kakashi found himself distracted by the sheen of sweat dripping down Gai’s chest, trailing down and out of sight past a tear that appeared where one of the kids got too excited by their role as villains. The clash of plastic swords could barely be heard over the cheering of the audience as Gai gave one final blow to Lee and he died dramatically, dropping to the stage floor next to Neji and TenTen. 
Kakashi walked forward, hands still bound behind his back. “You truly are a hero, my dearest Gai. / Stuck with those pirates I was afraid I would die.” 
Gai closed the distance between them, reaching around Kakashi to pull at the rope around his wrists. It fell free with little effort, but the action brought their chests together and Kakashi swore he could feel the rumble of the next words Gai said in his ribs. “I will always save you, my dear Princess. / No matter the challenge. No matter the test.” Gai brushed his knuckles against the underside of Kakashi’s jaw, pulling his mask down just past his lips, and wrapped his left arm around his waist. “You’re free now to do what you like. / Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 
“The honor is mine,” Kakashi said, more breathless than he’d intended. He hoped Gai would just write it off as good acting. “After such a brave feat. / No better man could I hope to meet. / So ask me again. I’ll respond with a sigh. / There’s no greater honor than becoming Mrs. Maito Gai.”
The audience cheered as Gai pressed his forehead against Kakashi’s, but neither of them heard it. There could have been a stampede of elephants running across the stage or a surprise ambush from a neighbouring village and it wouldn’t have mattered. All Kakashi could think about was how warm Gai’s skin felt against his and how Gai’s hand felt like it belonged on the small of his back and how easy it would be to just lean forward and claim his lips and argue that it was an acting choice later, but that would require spine and Kakashi may have been reckless at times but he’d never been brave and - 
And then Gai did something unscripted. He pressed his lips against Kakashi’s and his knees buckled. Kakashi was sure he would’ve fainted if Gai’s arm hadn’t been there to hold him up. Gai was always there to hold him up. 
The audience erupted into cheers again, but Kakashi only cared about the taste of Gai’s lips. Salty and sweet, tasting vaguely of sweat and matcha and the dango they’d all had backstage before the show started. Kakashi let his tongue brush against Gai’s lips, but he broke away with a laugh. 
“Eager, I see, my dear Princess. / But after such an ordeal, I’m sure you must rest. / After all this concludes our heroic tale. / So now I must bid you all farewell.” Gai stepped away from Kakashi and took a deep bow. It wasn’t until Lee, Neji, and TenTen returned to the stage that he realized he was supposed to do the same. Gai’s hand felt like a hot coal in Kakashi’s. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to toss it to the ground or cling to it until it became a diamond in his grip. 
After what felt like an eternity of bowing and clapping and greeting the audience, Kakashi finally escaped back to his changing room. He quickly peeled the dress off and yanked on his uniform pants. He wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to simply use a teleportation jutsu to get home. Otherwise, he might have to face Naruto in the audience, and Kakashi wasn’t sure his nerves could handle that right now. 
A knock interrupted his plans. Before Kakashi could say anything, the door opened as quickly as it shut and Gai stood before him, still in his costume. The closet changing room didn’t offer much space and, with Gai blocking the exit, Kakashi knew there was little chance for escape. 
“You were wonderful out there tonight, rival,” Gai said. His voice seemed even louder in the small space. Kakashi didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. 
“Thank you, but I think you’ve bested me this time.” 
“Almost certainly,” Gai laughed. “But I must say, pink is your color.” He stepped forward and brushed his knuckles against Kakashi’s jaw again. In the dim light of the closet, far from the scrutiny of his peers, Kakashi let himself enjoy the moment. He closed his eyes and leaned against Gai’s touch, let himself be led as Gai pulled Kakashi closer by the hips. “What do you say to rehearsing for our next performance?” 
Kakashi might’ve said something in response, but it was lost as Gai claimed his lips with his own. It quickly became clear that the kiss on stage was an act, a buildup to this beautiful crescendo. Gai was more insistent now, pushing his own tongue between Kakashi’s lips as one hand slid up Kakashi’s bare back to tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck and the other held so tightly to Kakashi’s hip he knew it would bruise in the morning. He couldn’t bring himself to care as he cradled Gai’s face close to his, unwilling to let go. Unwilling to admit that this was probably just a dream or an act or something unreal because good things simply didn’t happen to him and there was nothing more good than Maito Gai. 
Finally, Kakashi’s brain caught up with him, though, and he jerked away. “Wait. What do you mean next performance?”
Gai only smiled, reaching behind to pull another booklet out of his back pocket. “A chance to regain your honor and prove who’s the better thespian when we perform the sequel.” 
Kakashi hummed in response as he took the booklet. Gai’s hands settled on Kakashi’s waist, stroking the skin over his hips and sending fire coursing through Kakashi’s body. He flipped through the booklet and pretended to read the words as Gai began to kiss the skin of his shoulders. There was a single character highlighted: Damsel. 
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eternalstrigoii · 4 years
Text
Salt of the Sea - I
Part of the U.W. ‘verse Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader; Maleficent x Diaval; Shrike x General Percival; Philip x Aurora; King John adopted everyone
                       A great battle warred in the courtyards of Ulstead.
Iron armor fended off fey wing, though gouged deeply from talon-claws. Those fighting were not unarmed this time – you wore a chest plate made of bronze over one of the spider-silk shirts Queen Aurora had woven for you. It was equally resistant to penetration, and for that, you were grateful.
Because Percival was a terrible shot.
King John’s – or, rather, Queen Aurora and Prince Philip’s – royal guard trained with your people on as frequent of an occasion as time allowed. They were nothing like you; they relied too heavily on their weapons and their armor. They had yet to learn to move like limbs of the same beast.
You and Borra did not have that problem.
You had fought for so long with him at your back that he knew when to hold out his hand so you could hook your arm through his and splay your massive wings. You threw your weight over his back, slamming your bare feet into the iron shields of the men that sought to overtake you. He righted immediately, blocking the sweep of Percival’s shield.
Aurora watched intently from one of the palace’s grand balconies with a child in either arm.
Your new, bronze gauntlets deflected blows much better than the leather ones. You hadn’t noticed the deep gash someone’s sword had cut when you’d crossed them before you the last time you play-fought. You’d felt the bite of iron on your skin and smiled with far too many teeth, but, still, John insisted upon the upgrade. (It delighted you far too much to watch the blood drain from their faces.)
One sword deflected from them, then another; your fist connected with someone’s face, and the whole three guardsmen training with you took a collective step backward. You pursued them anyway, kicking the dazed center one’s shield.
You heard the sizzle of iron in contact with Borra’s skin, and you knew he’d disarmed Percival again. He held the tip of Percival’s blade under his chin with a wild, wicked smile before tossing it down in the loose stone just as Philip had nearly a year before.
“You need to trust them,” he said, much more patiently than you’d thought he would. “If you don’t trust your men, you’ll die in battle.”
“He doesn’t have that problem with his faerie wife,” the man whose nose you’d broken said, and you smelled the flush that immediately took hold of Percival’s skin.
“Then Shrike will fight with you next time.” He turned, his eyes skimming over you before lifting to the others, “Next time, there will be more of us and more of you. You’ll learn to fight together.”
“Ain’t she about ready to pop?” one of the swordsmen asked.
You were a warrior, trained nearly from birth. The swell of your belly didn’t slow you down, not even when the child inside started to squirm and writhe – just as he did then, like he knew he’d been acknowledged.
“Not until harvest,” you replied, with no lacking measure of irritation.
Aurora, particularly, worried for you, though John and Philip had never seen a warrior of your caliber continue to fight. Your child was strong, this time; there was no poison in the water that fell in the moors’ peaks where you’d relocated. To be closer to Maleficent, you’d joked.
Borra rested his hand on your belly at one of your child’s favorite kicking spots, and their persistent movement made you sigh with theatrical exasperation. You dropped your head against his shoulder. “They’re trying to fight their way out.”
“Borra’s child already has an appetite for war,’ Percival joked.
He grinned so largely that the sun glinted off his sharp teeth, and the swell of pleasure in your heart became a tidal wave. “They can’t wait to meet you,” he murmured in your ear, then pressed a kiss to the apple of your cheekbone.
“They’re hungry,” you replied, deadpan-teasing. “So am I.”
“Come dine with us!” Aurora called from the balcony. You were starting to suspect some of Maleficent’s magic was rubbing off on her, the way she listened in.
You sighed fondly, your eyes still locked with Borra’s.
He grinned and tilted back his head. The sun glinted off the gold freckles in his skin and summoned your fingers to trace their path from his temple to his jaw. “Is that an order, daughter of Maleficent?”
“It’s a please,” she replied.
“Goat and turnips?” Percival asked, drawing the sharpness of your gaze.
He grinned. He’d eaten with you enough to know what sort of habits you’d fallen into. But, yes – goat, turnips and agave were your child’s favorite things (although with the variety of food in the palace, you truly could’ve fixated upon anything). It was in your best interest, and the best interest of your people, to decline lest you find a new and even less appealing vegetable to enjoy.
Shrike already had words for you about the turnips.
“Come.” He grinned at the both of you. “There’s a region in the East that’s already grown large pumpkins. Have you ever had one before?”
You’d found that, sometimes, they called things you were familiar with something different – like roast duck and herbed fish. You shrugged, and pretended not to notice Aurora’s retreat into the palace to join you.
“Must it be inside?” you asked.
“Nah, we’ll move the party out onto the veranda.”
You gave him another frustrated look. He knew you had no idea what in stars he was saying, and he did this only to you. He was kind to Shrike and too afraid of Borra (not that Borra didn’t laugh at your response from time to time).
“The balcony,” he clarified. “The one next to the dining hall.”
You growled at him just because you could, and it did nothing to faze him.
His men followed, one limping, one still holding his bloody nose.
“They aren’t wrong.” Borra kissed your jaw, his hands remaining in the cradle he’d made under your belly. “We’ve fought hard for them. You deserve peace as much as the rest of us.”
“I won’t be shelved because I’m carrying our child. I’m not Aurora.” Not fragile and delicate like she was. Your skin was like stone, and you wore stronger armor now – armor with bands that adjusted so even your growing child was safe.
“I haven’t asked you to be.” He kissed you again. “Just be careful. Hm? I love you.” Yet another kiss to your lips made them quirk with a smile. You kissed him in return. “You’re always at my side, Suren. That will never change.”
“If I don’t fight with you, Aurora will start making flower crowns and expecting me to wear them,” you said with exceptional gravity, as though it was the worst possible punishment you could think of. “She’ll have her pixies tailor gowns for me.”
He gave you a playful little growl. “Spider-silk wedding dress. Crown of roses in your hair.”
You swatted his armored shoulder. “You’re not supposed to like it!”
He had no reason to gather you into his arms, but he did, and you had half a mind to put on an act and pretend to be his damsel princess. You linked your fingers behind his neck and fluttered your wings with false helplessness, and fresh, warm laughter bubbled from him. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I am careful.”
He quirked a brow.
“I promise.”
There was no changing the way he felt. You knew what manner of man you loved well before he lobbied for Maleficent – before you heard the fury in his voice when he told the others of the council that she’d been shot, that humans would find her, that if Conall hadn’t found her, she would be dead.
You hadn’t trusted her then. Almost none of you had. But Borra was right, and he always was – she was what would save you. She had saved you all. And the child she raised brought justice with your peace.
You let him carry you to the veranda (a word you thought with an internal sneer), the great, pale balcony choked with white rose-vines leftover from the young queen’s wedding. Some of the flower sprites borne from it had to have contained the spirits of your people, though that hardly mattered when it came to the endurance of your dying race.
“Truthfully,” he pressed, sitting on the ledge with his massive wings draped over the many blooms. “How do you feel?”
Truthfully? You were growing more and more certain that your child would not wait until harvest. You’d been awoken overnight by their shifting, as though they were already trying to stretch their under-developed wings. How stifling your body must’ve been to them; you doubted they’d know the womb of the earth from which you’d come.
“I feel,” you righted yourself somewhat to gently bunt horns with him, “like you have no reason to worry. I know you will anyway, but I promise – they’re strong. They’re healthy, and they love you as much as I do.”
“And you?” the softness in his gaze when he brushed his fingers over your neck was unfair, he knew what his eyes did to you.
“I’m heavy, Borra. I’m always hungry, and I’m unused to being tired. As far as suffering goes, I’m not far gone.”
“I’m glad.” Aurora joined you on the balcony, then, with her little boys on either of her sides. The young princes were rapidly approaching their first birthdays, and you knew it was only a matter of time before your people started trying to convince her to celebrate on the moors with them and her mother.
She spent much too much time among humans these days.
“I have something to ask of you, if it wouldn’t be too much.” She’d prefaced many things in the last year that way, by handing you your favorite baby (the one you’d first held and given your blessing, though you loved his brother much the same) and preparing an unnecessary speech.
Borra claimed the other child without being asked, as though you and two more weren’t draped across his lap.
“I’d like you to be there, at the christening.” She twirled and twisted her fingers as though toying with invisible rings. You thought she had the nerve to look up at you, but, this time it wasn’t the case. “Maleficent and Diaval won’t be the only magical beings there, but they would be the only…” Dark fey. Dark fey, as though she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “Not-little ones. People will be afraid.”
“And you think we’ll make them any less?” you responded.
She glanced at you, and you nearly crawled out of your skin. The gentle innocence in her eyes was a lie; her eyes flickered down to the swell of your belly before rising back to your face, and she had the nerve to bite at the skin of her lower lip as though she had shame in giving herself away.
“You’re their godparents. And defender of the moors. You lead your people—”
“On a council,” you replied, damn near asking her out loud why Shrike and Percival weren’t their token interspecies romance.
“And I love you. You’re my family. All of you are. I’m not asking the others not to come, but out of everyone who will, I’d like you both to be there.”
But especially you, with the child inside of you disarming the terrified nobility. A symbol of peace and prosperity, the first of your kind born outside the cradle of isolation in centuries.
You owed her, you supposed. You didn’t, but every time she asked for something, that little part of you cropped back up. She’d done the right thing, and you were grateful, and though you should be insulted, you weren’t, because you were fond of her and her children and her silly young husband and her father-in-law, and, especially, her mother.
You looked to Borra. Let it be his call.
The baby in his arms could stand, now, which surprised you considering how rarely he was put down. He’d grabbed hold of one of Borra’s horns and stood on two feet in the safety of your mate’s curled wing. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow, hopefully. It’s….” Aurora’s hesitation melted away with a laugh. “It needed to be perfect.” Because it wouldn’t be like hers. King John of Ulstead was no King Stefan, whose exploits you’d been told in detail long after Diaval had begun to trust you, and though you had still hardly known Maleficent then, you’d taken wing to join her in her perch high in the peaks and embraced her as though she was your sister. You had known you hadn’t needed to, but you had, and something like a distant friendship formed afterward. You had grown, in some way, at least mildly fond of one another, primarily connected by your men as you were.
He met your eyes, and you gave a falsely-irritated sigh. “Couldn’t convince them to bring it to the moors?”
“No,” she said, and the obvious frustration in her voice satisfied your suspicion. The people of Ulstead still did not want you there, and for that reason alone, you quirked your head in approval.
“We’ll be there,” Borra replied.
“Good, I’m glad!” John exclaimed, leading the procession of food onto the balcony’s newly-set table. There were wooden plates and cutlery, though he must’ve known you wouldn’t use hardly any of it. “How is the armor we’ve designed working?”
You took your cue to gather the children and separate from your place on his lap, though you’d committed to not being ornamental. Aurora took hers back one at a time, lingering beside you as Borra closed the space between them.
“I’m not a fan of the plating.” They were all business again, strategy fresh in their minds. “We have to fly with it on. The way it’s designed now is too heavy. There’s too much stress on the joints.”
“You have to have something,” John pressed. About that, he wasn’t wrong.
“Yes, but they’re muscular. The bones are hollow. We need them to move a certain way, and if you reinforce plating with too much banding -- if you plate over whole sections of the wing at all—”
Philip joined you and his wife, pressing a kiss to Aurora’s temple. He was listening, just as you were, though his attention made up for the lapse in yours when one of the many servants got to work assembling a platter of a thick orange squash.
“Pumpkin,” you said to yourself, tasting the word on your tongue.
You never would’ve called it that, but humans were strange creatures.
                You awoke again that night with a jolt, startling at the force of your fledgling’s thrashing.
Borra’s arm tightened around you gently. He’d taken to holding you in the cradle of his wing, folded around your body like a blanket as though you’d ever want for warmth at his side. You shifted your hips, sighing in frustration when the movement didn’t cease.
You weren’t at all surprised to find him awake beside you. He always was quick to rouse, even without the potential for attack on the horizon.
“He’s restless,” you whispered.
Still, he watched you with an excess of caution. When you stood to stretch, he was slow to fully withdraw his wing from around your body. You fanned yours, beat them in the air, rolled your neck, and wandered the nest with equal restlessness.
Maybe your child did yearn for freedom as you had.
“Calm down,” you whispered to them, your hands running over the curve of your belly time and time again. “Let me rest. You’ll be here in no time, and then you can keep me up all night.”
All your movement worried him. It worried you, too, though you said nothing of it. As sacred and necessary every child was to rebuilding your people, the elders said the process would be uncomfortable. It required patience and resolve, commitment to your undertaking. There was little difference between pregnancy and the preparation for war.
But they’d said nothing about the little monster never sitting still. Maybe that was your fault. Maybe you’d given them an agave flower too many.
“Suren.” His voice was low as he shifted, drawing his great wings in.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’ve been like this almost every night.”
You felt like there was a weight between your hips. You’d felt it every night for nearly the last week – your child made you painfully aware of its presence. You’d thought, the first handful of times, their arrival might come with little warning.
He rose, intending to join you – to stop you from pacing, perhaps, though you thought you might completely lose your mind if you did. Though, almost as soon as he rose, you saw something in the distance.
Not a meteor, for it didn’t travel. Not a bonfire, for it wasn’t fixed. A strange glow bobbed along the other side of the moors – high above the ruined castle and the village still preserved. The people who still lived within it.
And you were torn back to Ulstead, to the explosion of red bombs. Men you’d known your whole life crumbling around you, reduced to nothing. Vaporized. Most of them didn’t have the time to scream.
It wasn’t the first time either of you were stolen by those vivid dreams, memories replayed in the darkness of your closed eyes. Iron nets. The fire of crossbows. Bolts, bullets, and arrows. The sting of pain at a shield’s contact, the bite of a sword into your leather, the hiss as a blade made contact with your skin. Sometimes you didn’t even have to be asleep.
But Borra interrupted them, with your face in his hands. He drew you back as though breaking a spell. His flared wings met yours, and his voice was gentle. “It’s alright. It’s over. It’s alright now.”
You hated that he understood. You hated that he shared it all with you, though some part of you was also grateful. The burns iron left on his skin, the mark on his arm where Percival pierced. It was all so much, and you had the nerve to bring a child into this world – a world where even you still felt hatred for what you most feared.
“It’s alright.” His forehead rested against yours, your horns practically one. “Come back to bed.”
“There was a fire,” you whispered, “over the wall of thorns.”
He drew you close to him. You almost thought it wouldn’t be there when his wings folded back, but, no – there it was, lingering above the wall of thorns.
A torch.
You felt him stiffen. You knew what he wanted to do, and yet he looked to you for your approval first.
“Go,” you whispered. “But take her with you.”
He kissed you, sudden and firm. You pretended not to feel its gravity as he ran, as he launched himself from your nest on his powerful wings.
You pretended you didn’t feel as though you’d been shelved, though that was exactly how you did.
         You scrubbed the tired from your eyes and stared into the breakfast fire.
The thick, juicy flesh of some large animal made your stomach growl. It was nearly done. Percival brought it with his arrival at dawn, and all the moors called out to him in welcome.
They woke you, curled in your mate’s wing. He had gone with Maleficent in the night, and they claimed to have found nothing (though you were still waiting to ambush Diaval to make sure).
“How do you feel?” Shrike slung her legs over one of the large, fallen logs that had begun to serve as perch for your people when the earth was too damp to be comfortable.
“Almost too heavy to fly,” you responded. “They keep me up at night.”
“It’ll come soon enough.” She ripped a generous portion of meat from the bone and offered it to you.
“I hate being taken care of.”
“Good, I’m the last person you want taking care of you.”
You conceded and took the meat from her, and she responded by pressing a hand to your belly. “Percy tells me you’ve got quite an appetite for war.”
The kicking started. You growled quietly, though you definitely preferred it when they moved to when they were silent. They. He. Whatever it was. Whatever it turned out to be, it was yours, and you loved it, no matter how tired and frustrated it left you.
“We’ll celebrate you next, little thing.” She drummed her talons lightly on the spot in response. “Once we’re done with Aurora.”
You couldn’t hide the face you pulled. Lovely, more celebrations.
“You’re bearing the first child born outside the nest in centuries. If you didn’t want fanfare, you should’ve taken them home.”
Percival rescued you from telling her that you believed that option to be fast-fading, though you weren’t particularly pleased with how. “King John sends his regards.” He set down a thick parcel of nesting cloth – blankets, they called them, and several thick, warm furs.
As difficult as you were about their fussing, you didn’t extend the same to the king. John was a good man, and surprisingly fond of you all despite what you’d done to his kingdom, his people, and his wife. He was the first human you’d allowed to touch your belly (besides Aurora, as though she could be stopped), and the first of his many gifts had been a set of mutilated (“altered”) shirts that fit comfortably over your growing belly when your leather chest-plate grew too tight. They laced behind the neck and left plenty of room for your wings. You wore them often, especially in Ulstead.
You still remembered his delight when your fledgling learned to squirm. It was as though he’d never felt anything like it. He loved children, his grandsons and the young fey especially. You’d thought of the heartless shrew he’d married, and you imagined that she regarded Philip as more of an obligation than a child, and the thought hadn’t surprised you at all.
You could’ve wept for him.
“What in skies are you doing?” Ini asked, drawing your attention from the parcel of furs.
General Percival retreated back toward the fire with a small, glass container of crystals that he sprinkled over the flesh of a raw beet. “Sugared beets. They’re delicious.”
“He eats like moor-folk!” she exclaimed with open delight.
“He is moor-folk,” you reminded, still holding tightly to your gift, “He’s made an alliance.”
Still, she laughed as he took another bite, and you paused to stare at him with new gravity. “You didn’t forget what I’ve asked of you, did you?”
He practically startled, leaving the beet in his mouth to go into his satchel. “Not at all.”
Your friends watched curiously as he passed you a smaller parcel wrapped in ornamental paper, the likes of which you were exceedingly eager to open. It was the second-best part of prolonged peace, your new fascination.
“What is that?” Shrike asked, rather distastefully.
“Candy,” Percival replied, trying to give you a measure of dignity. As though its proximity to the fire hadn’t warmed it enough to be soft and linger on your tongue and your fingers.
You motioned Ini to you, the excitement in the gesture unabashed, and she came to your side. You broke off a generous piece and whispered into her ear, “John calls it Chocolate.”
She nodded, mouthing the word to herself in retreat.
“It’s candy,” Percy repeated, “made of milk, sugar, and crushed beans.”
Shrike raised her brows at you. You licked your fingers and wiped the corners of your mouth. “Beans. Sugared beans.”
You extended some to her as well, and the face she made at you when you licked the smear from your fingers was worth every royal string pulled to acquire more.
“It’s good,” Percy offered, and it was his praise alone that got her to taste some.
“You little beast!” she exclaimed after a moment. “We grew these in the trees!”
“Not like this,” Ini rose to your defense.
Had it not been for the warmth of his gaze upon you (or the fact that Percy looked up and some of the joy still drained from his face), Borra might’ve been able to join you without warning.
“No wonder it keeps you up all night,” the disapproval was plain in Shrike’s voice. “It’s good for energy.”
Borra kneaded your shoulders lightly, and you tipped your head back to feed him a piece. His mouth quirked, and the glint of challenge in his eyes when he snatched the ornamental paper from you gave you no motivation to resist.
Not yet, anyway. Not in front of them.
“What’s over there?” he spoke to Percy, removing chocolate from the equation. He gestured out beyond the peaks, toward the wall of thorns.
He frowned, and you thought he was about to be deliberately literal. “Perceforest. King Stefan’s kingdom. Aurora liberated it.”
“Are they an ally?”
He shrugged. “There hasn’t been much communication with Ulstead since Stefan’s death. Aurora handled most everything – or, so we thought.”
Your wings sagged with the anticipation of relief.
“Ingrith presumed Maleficent had control over the region. To what degree, or whether or not she did, we never found out.”
And then they didn’t.
“Then there’s a chance they might still be our enemy.”
Percy shifted toward him, as did Ini and Shrike. You were glad Udo was still assembling the children to come join you; they didn’t need to hear this, even if he deserved to.
“Suren and I saw a torch along the wall of thorns last night. Someone walked along it.”
“I don’t have plans for the city,” Percy admitted, “I can see if there may still be guard towers.”
“There was no battlement on the other side. It was as though they’d climbed.”
A flutter of distrust ran through you all, for obvious reasons. And the flutter in your belly reminded you to eat regardless.
He sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
Borra rested his elbows on his knees and leaned deliberately close to him. “Tell me the odds that it was nothing.”
You watched him. You, Ini, Borra and Shrike. Though he wasn’t unshakable by any standard, Percival was careful with his response. “You know I can’t.”
“I won’t go,” Ini immediately replied. “Tonight, to Ulstead. If they know we’re leaving, they can attack.”
“If they know we’re leaving, they may anticipate some of us will stay,” Shrike responded. “We have to consider how well armed they may be.”
“Would they be so bold? To show themselves before attacking?”
“They may not have planned on being seen.”
“No one is attacking,” Percival interjected. “We can go to Perceforest if need be. Talk to them. Ask questions. For all you know, you saw a child trying to catch a glimpse of the faeries.”
You said nothing, and Borra noticed.
He wasn’t the only one.
Their eyes landed upon you, and you ate a generous strip of flesh from between your talons like carrion swallowed whole. You considered the things you wanted to leave out against the ones they deserved to know.
“Every night for the last several,” you began, “I awake with a feeling. I thought, at first, they might be coming,” as much as you hated the thought that your human companions found you fragile just for carrying a child, your hand went to the baby’s kicking-spot anyway. It comforted you to feel them move. “But they haven’t. It’s like a weight inside me. It makes us both restless. It’s like they want me to leave.”
“Who?” Ini asked.
“The baby,” you admitted.
The gravity of their collective stare – sans Percival, who rarely knew what to make of your council – nearly made you flinch.
“It’s like whatever they’re doing, the child can feel. Like the child’s telling me to leave for higher ground.” Like they anticipated another slaughter and wanted to escape themselves, with or without you. A warrior’s spirit. Their father’s sense.
Borra was the first to straighten. You hadn’t wanted to tell him how right he was – how well fear gripped you for their safety and all of yours.
“They’re not going to wait until harvest,” you told him, then. You might as well, since you were revealing all of your not-secrets at once.
His eyes locked with yours.
“I know they won’t. We’ll have to over-winter in the peaks. I won’t take them that far when the winds are shifting. They’ll still be too small.”
“When?” he asked in a low, frustrated hiss. You weren’t entirely sure if he meant when did you know or when are they coming, so you gave your best guess for both.
“When he squirms. It’s like he’s fighting to be loose. He’s strong, much stronger than either of Aurora’s children.” It wasn’t as though you’d had much practice with children of your own kind before you carried one; your war had been your child, Borra the subject of your devotion. “I’ve only suspected these last few days. He gets stronger every day, more active. I’d like to believe it’s wishful thinking, but after last night, I’m not sure.”
“Or they’re doing something,” he agreed, but the ferocity in his voice reminded you of the iron bullet he’d rolled between his fingers in the council-hall. The sizzle of flesh and the sear of his voice. He would protect you with his life, but that would never be the first resort – the first resort would be retaliation.
“I’ll go to Perceforest,” Percival said suddenly, rising before Borra could. “I’ll speak with them. And if they’re doing anything that could harm any fey,” you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on you, as though reminding your mate that no harm would come to your child, “I’ll stop it.”
“You’re not going alone.” Shrike stood, and he turned to her.
“And if they are planning something?” he lowered his voice. “If, by some chance, I walk in and uncover a plot, you need to be here to lead them.” He rested his hands on her arms, let them slide down to hold the gauntlets around her wrists. “Protect your people. I’ll take the guard. It’ll be an official matter of Ulstead, with John’s seal and signature.”
She looked to Borra. He, to you.
“Go,” you said. “Better him than us.”
You hoped your tone said that his punishment would be just where yours would involve teeth and talon. You were not entirely convinced that it did.
       You tilted your head back in pleasure at the feeling of cold water beading on your hot skin.
Borra knelt behind you, washing the dust from your hair. The sweat from your skin. You groomed and preened one another with increasing frequency in preparation for the child that would take both of your attention, their presence an inescapable constant.
“Are you upset?” It was the first thing you’d said since breakfast, not that Percival’s decision hadn’t left you all feeling strangely fractured. Humans operated independently; if they wanted to hold union with you all, they needed to learn to function as a unit.
He made a sound not too far from a jungle cat’s purr. “With you? No. Though no good comes from trying to spare my feelings.”
“I never want you to worry.”
He gathered your hair off your neck and pressed a kiss to his favorite biting-spot, where you were almost certain to have a lingering mark from how frequently the skin there had been pierced. “I don’t worry, I plan. You can’t tell me much that I haven’t planned for.”
Gone were the days of battle strategy held in council around the fire. The plans were all his now, your people willing to embrace peace as long as they knew there was a contingent option.
“I’m afraid,” you admitted in a whisper. “Not for them or me. For all of us. We should leave, Borra. I can’t tell you why I feel that way…” You hesitated. But he was patient, with you above any other. “I feel it. Like they’re lurking in the shadows, waiting for us to sleep. Waiting to kill them on the moors and shoot the rest of us from the sky.”
It frightened you how well you could imagine that, and you temporarily took leave of your senses toward why; humans slaughtered the moor-folk before. Ulstead ripped your people from the sky, as had countless other kingdoms. Your nerves were drawn and quartered with little sleep, and the child inside you, though dearly beloved, had the habit of literally dancing on your last measure of sanity.
“I won’t let that happen.” He pressed his horns against yours, though, for once, the gesture offered little comfort. Your fingers laced with his, and you gave his hand a desperate squeeze.
“I don’t like these odds,” you whispered. “I don’t like variables. I don’t like not knowing.”
“I know.” He held the back of your head. “Trust me. If nothing else, trust that I will never let you be taken from me.”
You wanted to protest, and he pressed horns with you a bit harder, encouraging you to sink back into the safety of his wings. “I did not fall to Ulstead’s queen, and I will not fall now. Trust me, Suren.”
You did. His certainty had always been the shore in a turbulent storm, and it was for you then, also.
“I do,” you whispered. “I always have. That doesn’t stop me from being afraid.”
He drew in a slow breath, let it warm in his lungs before it fanned your skin like the kiss of summer. “We’ve been afraid nearly every moment of our lives. That cannot stop us.”
It wouldn’t. Nothing could be stopped now; your child was strong enough that they could be torn from your dying body if need be. All your plans had been put into action, now their variables shifted. All the parts in play were slowly becoming revealed.
“Do you want to go back to the nest?” he asked, with a deliberate softness that eased your nerves.
“No.” You liked it here. You liked your little cave, the flighty little people who lived on the moors and the cast of humans who’d worked their way into your heart. To return to the nest would be to abandon your people, and that wasn’t something you would ever allow. “Fear isn’t worth our freedom.”
Not after all you’d given to secure it.
“Though you have more patience with me than you should.” You shifted onto your knees, intent upon reciprocating. You weren’t the only one preparing for the christening, though you wondered, faintly, if you should’ve also tended your armor.
“I don’t make decisions without you,” he replied, thumbs brushing your knuckles.
“You should.”
He made a sharp sound of disgust. You’d had this conversation before, but now, more than ever, did you squeeze his hands when he tried to soothe you. “I’m not their leader. They didn’t choose me.”
“We are a council of equals. You are at my side, and I’m at yours.” It’d been a long time since you saw defiance in the set of his jaw, and you couldn’t recall if you’d ever seen it directed at you. “Always.”
“And if I lead you back to war on suspicion and fear? If my hatred kills us, you’ll have only me to blame.”
He searched your eyes. You’d never come so close to speaking out loud that he was your greatest weakness. You were a warrior, and your skill in that you took immense and well-earned pride in, but you weren’t him. You would never lead them. You could separate the forest from the trees, but you could never see the way they intermingled. He assessed the danger, he planned, he gave the orders. You carried them out, and for the bulk of your life, it was sufficient.
And then Conall went and died, and peace and reason left the council on shifting sands, and you never regained your balance.
“That won’t happen,” he said, and you took solace in his certainty – if for no better reason than that he had never wronged you. “You’re not the only one entrusting your life. Your instincts never fail.”
You said nothing. You told him nothing of how you felt that they would now. Your sleeplessness, your restlessness, your peace – you feared that it dulled you. That you’d acclimated to the scent of human on your hair so well that you wouldn’t be able to tell if one was coming through the brush.
“Suren.” He took your face in his hands, and you soaked in their warmth. You basked in the press of his forehead to yours, in the way your noses touched as though the brush of your lips would be quick to follow. “I love you. For reasons I can name and ones I can’t. I hoped you knew most of them.”
A few of them, you did. Loyalty. Strength. Devotion. The fact that you had been willing to give peace a chance when you truly shouldn’t have.
“Trust yourself as you trust me. I do.”
A part of you had always thought that when Conall begged for peace, he had thought it would be Borra that would undo you. You’d known that you would’ve followed him into battle even if his plans weren’t fully formed, even if he didn’t know the odds and acted only out of vengeance. You’d assumed they had, also.
These days, you understood what Udo must’ve meant when you’d declared that you would die for him. If you did, if you gave in to your hatred and your fear, it would undo you all.
         It was a strange christening.
You had never been to one, of course, but it still struck you as exceptionally odd. The chapel in which it should’ve taken place contained the still-living bodies of fallen tree-folk, whose branches had finally overtaken the roof. You saw it buckling, the green of emerging leaves splitting the roof-seam.
It was strangely appropriate against the décor of the ruthless former queen that her captive nature would, at last, fight back. Even in death.
The doors to the great hall stood open for whoever elected to come. It was a grand affair, brimming over with dancing and food. Children flitted through the rafters and scurried through the legs of earthbound adults, playing the same game at different altitudes. Udo watched them fondly with his great, snowy wings folded at his sides. Aurora was thrilled to have him, and, of his plumage, her children were equally fond.
You were restless. The current of distrust ran from you into the mortals like the scent of fired gunpowder.
Percival’s absence didn’t help.
“Ini’s got men on every turret,” Shrike whispered to Borra when she joined you. “The king’s guard is out in full.”
“They’re expecting trouble,” you agreed.
Borra’s eyes traveled to Maleficent at the dais with John and their children. His wife’s throne was gone, you realized – replaced with something else, one made from the very earth. Woven branches and blooming flower vines. No cushion. Its roots breeched the stone floor and leaves slipped between the window panes – a living, breathing throne for a young, not-wholly-mortal queen.
It was as though her gaze had been summoned. She looked to you, and Borra waited for the nod that followed. Diaval flashed you a warm, reassuring smile.
“She’s told John of last night,” the fold of his wing drew you closer. “They’re prepared.”
“I don’t like this.” Shrike shifted, the streams over her leather leg-plating rustling like willow boughs.
“Then tell him to open the windows,” was Borra’s only reply. The glass wouldn’t hurt, but it would be an inconvenience.
She did, stalking across the open floor at a clip that made even those who knew her leave her path.
Aurora had not asked you not to wear armor, and for that you were grateful; you had, as had he, as had Shrike and Ini. Udo could not be convinced, though you imagined it was mostly because even in war, he preferred to act in defense. You were her tokens, evidence of a great and ever-growing peace, and yet you openly distrusted them.
Few of them noticed. You were as grand of winged fixtures as the queen’s statues. Most of which, you noticed, were no longer there.
“What’s wrong?” Aurora joined you much later than you imagined she would, reaching for your hands. Udo still held her children, which freed her to be the young and noble queen once more.
You pretended not to notice the eyes that followed her every move, though you certainly flared your wings. Her frown withheld no disapproval.
“Perceforest climbed the wall of thorns,” Borra said, his eyes as keen as yours. Fixed on them rather than her. “They’ve been looking out over the moors at night.”
“Has anyone gone missing?” she whispered, as though poachers were the only problem.
“No. But no one has tried to make contact, either. We don’t know what they want, and we can’t safely assume.”
She wanted to reassure you. You saw it in her round, open face, the soft set of her shell-pink mouth and the gentle wetness of her doe-eyes. Instead, she squeezed both of your hands and straightened her spine, and she looked more like her mother in that moment than you’d ever seen her.
“I won’t let any harm come to you. You are my family,” another squeeze, tighter.
“The queen’s guard isn’t properly trained,” Borra replied to her, quietly. “They’ll never withstand another attack.”
“Then I won’t let there be one.” She was ambitious, and you had to give her credit – her ambition rarely failed. “Please, enjoy the party. This isn’t just a happy time for me, I want it to be for you, too.”
“You want a lot of things, Aurora,” you said. The reservation in your voice almost sounded like sorrow.
“What’s wrong?” Philip joined your group, wrapping his arms around the waist of Aurora’s frilly gown. She smiled, though you considered asking him out loud if anyone knew another phrase of greeting.
Something warm and soft wound around your ankles. Without thinking, Borra bent and lifted the last queen’s cat into his arm. The angry little creature looked up at you both, large eyes dilated…and gently cast itself against his side, purring in contentment at his warmth.
That made Aurora glow. “If you like her, you can keep her.”
“And not because she terrorizes Pinto,” Philip was quick to add. “She also terrorizes Diaval.”
You felt your mate’s gaze and intentionally didn’t meet it, though a smile overspread your mouth whether or not you wanted it there. “Is that your blessing to me, Philip? An attack-beast?”
The prince grinned. “Oh, no, there’ll be no fey blood on my hands.”
You sighed, fondly this time, and reached out to touch the little creature.
It hissed sharply and swatted at your approaching hand.
You hissed back for posterity. “Give it to Udo.” He would be patient enough to teach it manners. You couldn’t guarantee your inability to eat it if it bothered you.
“Your highnesses?” one of their footmen approached, their eyes deliberately avoiding the both of you. “It’s time.”
Aurora beamed. Philip, ever the diplomat, bowed to you both before retreating with her in tow – leaving the bastard cat tucked in the crook of your mate’s arm like it was a pleasant distraction.
“We could call it Pipistrelle,” he said to you, sidelong. “Or Parodia.”
Bat or cactus. You might add Philip to your list of people whose lives were no longer guaranteed before the night was over.
The royal horns bleated like frightened animals, and those of you already gathered in the hall flinched. Aurora reclaimed her children from your friend, giving your favorite to their father, and rejoined her parents in front of her throne.
Maleficent rested a hand on her shoulder, the love in her eyes unparalleled.
There was an official declaration. Very official, you would’ve thought if you had truly been paying attention. Beyond the open doors, you heard the clink-drag of armor – bronze rather than iron. There were no wing beats, no even rhythm to the steps. You searched the faces of the royalty, the nobility, the gentry, and the people of Ulstead, mortal and fey.
Percival staggered into the door frame, bloodied and half-limp. You wordlessly gripped the crisp leather securing Borra’s bronze gauntlet. His eyes lifted, some of the first.
Percy looked your mate in the eyes, his breathing heavy, and nodded once. His voice was low enough that only those of you who knew it knew to listen.
“Run.”
Udo’s great wings beat. He gathered the children quickly, sweeping them out through the open windows. The amusement and delight the mortals expressed at the sight of them, their rainbow of plumage taking flight, fell away as quickly as Shrike ran to join Percival in the door, shifting his weight from it to around her neck with her folded left wing.
“Percy?” Philip asked, much too late.
“The kingdom of Perceforest is in revolt,” he said, and you thought it was much too loudly. “They’ve moved against the Midlands. They seek separation from Ulstead.”
“Why?” Aurora asked, her doe-eyes widening.
Maleficent’s fingers curled around her daughter’s shoulder. Your eyes snapped to Borra, your banded wings at the ready.
“You know why,” someone in the crowd declared. “Because of them.”
He held you. Not yet. Wait until they act. Leave no doubt as to their reason.
But they had given you no doubt the first time peace was broken. You had no doubt then, though you stayed where you were, tense at his side. You could’ve ground the points off your sharp teeth.
A dark-robed man emerged from the crowd, a peasant you’d seen in the streets. You’d disliked the way he looked at the little moor-folk, and your children when they played with theirs. There was nothing you could’ve done, then, but this was a different occasion.
“It is the same reason,” the dark-robed man continued, “that no priest is willing to christen the princes. What you bring to this land is unholy.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Philip moved to stand, placing his child in his wife’s awaiting grasp.
John held up his hand. “You don’t speak for everyone when you speak, father, though your role in our community does not go without respect.”
Of course. The bloody priest. A loyalist to that puritanical monster if you’d ever considered one. This was what happened when humans allowed any charlatan peddling promises to carry on tradition.
“Does it?” the robed man lifted his head, and you could’ve swept the quiet arrogance off his face with your talons had Borra not kept hold of you. “I recall telling you when you asked me that no priest in Ulstead, Perceforest, or the Midlands would bless this unholy union. As though these foul, grunting things—”
Now it was Percy’s turn to take hold of Shrike, as though the entirety of his weight didn’t rest upon her.
“—offer us anything but strife.”
“We’ve lost many to your kind,” Borra said, and the strength of his voice reminded you, for a moment, of Conall. “People who’ve done no more than spare your children from starvation over winter.”
“Is that what you call killing peasants on the riverbank?” the dark-robed man had turned on you, and you knew he saw the violence brewing in your eyes. “They should’ve dispatched a bounty on the lot of you.”
“You killed your share in return,” you snapped.
“Suren,” Aurora interjected. “Stand down.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” you hissed, your gaze unwavering.
“I’m not giving them.” She kept her voice soft, trying her best to speak only to you. “Please. For your child and mine.”
Borra’s wings flared. Many of the villagers didn’t know of what she spoke, but the offending priest did. “Sacrilege. Your queen brings a thing of the devil into your palace!”
Your felt your fury rising. You took an involuntary step toward him, talons poised as if to call branches up from the earth.
“That’s enough,” John thundered.
You paused, as did the priest. Your mate drew closer to you, parts of his wing extending before you in defense.
“Do you think this is Stefan’s kingdom?” the good king’s voice was harder than you could ever recall having heard before. “Do you believe I, or my family, will tolerate men like you undermining the treaties we’ve made? The laws we enforce?”
Your eyes darted to where Shrike and Percival stood together. They were like you and Borra, hovering close to the other, prepared for the moment at which their action, or their flight, be necessary.
“You ask for us to bless a curse!”
Borra had to extend his wing in full to stop you. You were not Aurora’s godmother, but you were her sons’, and you’d grown to agree with Maleficent as you’d watched them grow and fatten – they were defenseless, helpless, and small.
And you would have killed anyone, man or fey, who laid a hand on her child.
“You deny your people the truth, king.” The priest was emboldened, turning to address the crowd, “There will be no christening, unless it is by the witch who raised her.”
One of the guards gripped his shoulder suddenly, jaw clenched. “I would be very careful with what you choose to say.”
“You see!” He turned on them, gesturing, “Their corruption’s reached even the lowest of the palace! No one is safe from their unholy sway.”
The ravings of a madman, you thought, not that it soothed you. Ingrith was a madman too, and that worked out just fine for her. Until you picked the meat from her goat-carcass.
“Cease, or you will be arrested,” John exclaimed. The queen’s guard began to gather, and your attention suddenly diverted to Percival.
“Where in skies is your horse?”
A great commotion arose beyond the palace walls. The priest went for one of the guards’ swords. By no means should it have been noteworthy – they should’ve been able to stop him.
But that would’ve meant he acted alone. You knew how well frightened mortals rose together.
“Run!” Aurora cried to the moor-folk, and much of the faeries did. They fled in colorful streaks just as they had from the poor girl’s wedding.
Maleficent’s eyes fell upon you. As deeply as you loathed the thought of withdrawal, you had an obligation to protect your own. She could handle it. If anyone could squash a simple peasant revolt (and how earnestly you hated that you thought those words), it would be her.
You pulled the young queen and her children with you.
The stone steps under your feet were unpleasant. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d run without the pleasure of launching soon afterward, but the palace’s halls were too narrow – especially the ascending ones. You pushed Aurora ahead of you, tearing the hem of her gown when it started to make her steps falter.
Borra was right behind you, the bronze bands around his wings not enough to shield him from fire should it come.
“Wait,” Aurora started to cry when you’d reached a wider hall, “Wait! Philip! And John! My mother!”
“They’ll follow us!” You took one of the children from her arms and pressed them close to you. “Hold tight to him, Aurora.”
You didn’t know if she’d ever flown before. Being Maleficent’s daughter, you imagined she must have, though it was hardly the time to ask.
She trembled, but obeyed.
Shrike and Percy were fast on your heels. She practically carried him up the steps, his arm around her neck and his weight on her side. She nodded to Borra quickly and cast them both over the window ledge, giving her mortal no warning.
The prince came next with Maleficent and Diaval. You breathed out relief at the sight of the raven beside his mate, the way he placed himself between her and the ascending footfalls.
“Take her,” Maleficent said to Borra, and a fraction of the pressure in your chest released. She waited until Philip was nearly up the stairs to make the thick vines grow in his wake. To buy you time.
“Go!” Philip called ahead. His shirt was torn and his sword bloodied.
“Philip!” she cried, clinging to the child in her arms.
“Go!” he spared a glance back to her and faltered. “I love you.”
Borra wrapped his arm around her, trapping her and her child against new bronze, and leapt as Aurora screamed.
“Suren!” Philip called, and you paused with your foot on the ledge. “Tell them of me.”
“Tell them yourself, Philip of Ulstead. I’ll see you again.”
And you dove.
It was as it had been the first time your wings flattened to soar above the walls of Ulstead. Your people flew in chaotic, indecipherable patterns, drawing fire so the both of you might pass unharmed. There were no bombs this time; by all intents, you and your warriors had the upper hand.
But there was peace. No one gave the order to retaliate, and so you didn’t.
“Withdraw!” Borra called to the others as you neared the river. “Withdraw! Fall in behind me!”
They did, crying the order to one another in your wake.
You flattened your wings. Picked up altitude. Once you cleared the wall, you turned. Shrike didn’t, and you didn’t blame her – he was the first wounded mortal any of you tended. It wasn’t as though you knew whether or not he would give his life for her.
A horse broke free from the palace stable. Aurora’s white one, carrying still-king John. He was not trying to cause harm to his people; he rode quickly, snatching a torch from the hand of an otherwise unarmed man.
The thorns Maleficent called began to close around the entrance to the bridge.
You waited. You had to see her. You had to know you were all coming.
John’s torch lowered.
The enchanted wood began to recoil at the touch of flame, seeking the safety of magical ground. His horse was as fast as the bridge’s recession into the moors, and you tried not to notice the proximity near to him that Ini flew, as though prepared to pick him and his horse up by the saddle and carry them across if he failed to move quickly enough.
“Maleficent!” Borra called for her, though your retreat was swift and the thorn-branches that grew along Ulstead’s banks were thick and high.
“Maleficent!” Aurora chorused, the terror in her voice plain.
Your eyes were fixed upon her as she lifted off on massive wings, the raven Diaval at her side. Philip held tight to her, so poorly armed that you thought, for a moment, that this battle had to be a joke. There was no way they hadn’t anticipated…they couldn’t have been fools enough not to suspect.
You almost didn’t see the priest notch an arrow.
“Dive!”
Her head perked.
Diaval dove.
And the iron arrow pierced the raven cleanly through.
You shrieked. Changed course. But Borra caught your arm, pulled you hard.
She dove for him, as you knew she would. As deeply as you hated it, as passionately as you yearned not to withdraw, you did. There had been enough sacrificing for a thousand lifetimes without involving those children.
She was begging, you realized once you both had cleared the walls of Ulstead and were back over the open air of the moors. Aurora was begging, crying, screaming at the top of her lungs. She’d heard you call to her mother and nothing else, heard the fury of your shriek, and must’ve thought…
“Can we make it to the nest?” you yelled over the winds.
“Not if we want everyone to live.”
Sometimes you hated how closely to your thoughts his ventured. Mortal or fey, Percival was one of you. John was one of you, and the moor-folk. There were too many of you to flee the moors. You had no other option.
You gave no protest as you circled, the moors’ sharp peaks emerging from the mist as though unveiled by magic. The weather would be kind to you tonight; they may not know you’d stayed until dawn, provided not many of you took the same route.
It was in your nest you landed with Aurora and her young. Your mate set her down in your nest-bed and joined Shrike with Percival, prying the young man’s armor off. Summoning the draping moss to grow more quickly on the chilly rocks so it might be used to staunch his bleeding. Your heart was pounding, and you held too tightly to Aurora’s son – you nearly forgot to give him over until her reaching for him reminded you.
She was pink-faced, her sobs raw and filled with terror.
And the pressure in your hips returned.
“Oh, skies,” you whispered. Not the time, offspring.
“Percy,” Shrike said, more softly than you thought she was capable. The roughness of her voice had grown warm, and you wondered, faintly, if she would be spared this fresh hell by her choice in mate.
Ini landed behind you, with King John clutching her armor for his very life. His fear was, even then, interlocked with fascination – exhilaration even, though inappropriate.
Oh, skies. The shifting got worse. You fought to remove your chest-plate before the heat of it got too stifling. That was all, you reasoned. Just the warmth. The activity was too much. You had to be mindful of them, of their presence inside you. They had no control over your temperature, their natural endurance against inclimate weather and how inhospitable a host it must’ve made you.
“Let me.” Ini joined them, leaving Aurora to the comfort of the king.
“My mother?” She asked them anyway, clutching her fledglings to her chest. “John, did you see my mother?”
“Your mother’s coming,” he replied, “Last I saw, she had Philip with her.”
“Diaval?” you managed.
The roughness of your voice drew Borra’s eyes.
And John’s. He went to you as though he was your kinsman, helped you pry away the bronze and free your banded wings. You flared them in hopes it might help you breathe, but the pressure only built. The pressure became pain, and you gripped John as he pressed a hand to your lower back like he knew the source of your discomfort.
“This may turn out to be a happy occasion yet,” he said, and you snarled openly at the half-jovial tone he managed.
“They’re coming,” Borra said, searching your eyes for confirmation.
The pressure gave way suddenly, and a pain much like the ones you’d felt before (though much, much stronger) overtook you. You knew your talons had to bite through the king’s robes, and yet he helped you to your knees.
“Tend her,” Ini said to your mate, too quickly. As though she could feel the urgency that had suddenly taken hold of you.
“Diaval!” you repeated. “He was shot!”
Aurora could’ve swooned. Damned skies, there weren’t enough of you. And how many of your men had fallen? What were your casualties? Aurora’s husband, her mother--?
“Horrible timing!” you hissed, shifting your talons to bite into the bronze at Borra’s shoulder.
He made a low sound of agreement. “We should name them after Conall.”
You listened for the beat of other wings, tried to separate the distinct pitch of the tundra and the forest, the fledglings and Udo. Skies and stars, you hoped there were no archers on the wall of thorns. You hoped the fog was thick enough. You hoped your people would run for the nest, go back into hiding, regroup and prepare all on their own.
It was to be a cause for celebration, the first child born outside the nest.
Instead, it seemed the whole of the moors echoed with your screams.
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angstymarshmallow · 4 years
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The Wolf’s Heart; part nine - “family first” (cal lowell x mc)
[a little note: okay wow, so apart of me wasn’t sure I could write anymore. Not to sound or be super dramatic, but I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus from writing fanfiction. Some of it is for personal reasons and has nothing to do with anyone else. Some of it is because of my own confidence and the rest is kind of...,my somewhat disinterest in choices books lately. But I did make a promise to keep this going and for those readers that still care and miss Cal and Wren, I’m sorry for keeping you guys waiting for so long. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy this update :)]
[words counted: 6483]
[summary: after flying back to New Orleans, Wren (MC) struggles with her newfound lycan capabilities while Cal struggles with what to do next in the wake of learning what’s happened since he’s been gone. Can they gather what’s left of this broken family and fix all the pieces?]
[part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight]
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Everything is different.
The sound of cars rushing by is louder than it’s ever been, regardless of the flurry of activity from pedestrians flooding the streets. Their faint and often stray conversations are louder too; picking up pieces at a time despite passing them quickly across the hot pavement. Even street meat doesn’t appeal the same way to Wren’s senses anymore. 
She can’t get away from any of it. 
Her biology has fundamentally changed who she was. And the fullness of it all slams into her with enough force for her to nearly stumble across the sidewalk.
Thankfully, Wren catches herself at the last possible second.
She needs more time than she thinks they have to gather her bearings again. It shouldn’t feel so new, but everything does and it’s not the same NOLA she remembers. She can’t even imagine how she’d manage on her own. At least with Cal beside her, she’s able to focus on something. Something that keeps her from being swept with the rest of city traffic.
His presence at her side is soothes the worst part of it all. It helps her better senses to keep some semblance of control. Think of him. Just think of Cal. Her mind implores. Still the rest of her remains hyperaware of even the slightest nudge or touch from strangers within her reach.
Her body goes stiff when a tall figure in particular roughly rushes past her - or tries to anyway. The moment she feels their intrusive touch, her body goes from rigid into immediate action. Within seconds, Wren has them pinned against a lamppost as a low snarl emanates from her throat. She swears all she sees is red until her ears perk at the sound of their sudden terrified yelp.
“Woah, hold on.” Cal’s voice breaks her focus. His hand promptly rests by her lower back and the touch is enough to shift her attention back onto him. Back onto what matters.
She doesn’t realize the scope of what’s happened until it’s already too late. Blinking, and feeling a little embarrassed, Wren’s cheeks heat a rare colour of pink as she utters a gruff apology and releases the man.
He isn’t taller than her by much, hell he barely measures up to Cal – but the stranger draws upon his full height nonetheless to glare down at her. “What the fuck?”
Maybe later when she’s less angry, she’ll realize that he’s got a right to be angry. But right now, his entire body radiates hostility and places the hairs on the back of her neck at ends with each other.
She doesn’t back down. She jerks her chin arrogantly at him as he puffs out his chest.
Fortunately for him, Cal beats her to a response as he presses his hand a little more firmly against the lower area of her back and takes a step between them. “She apologized,” he says smoothly. “I think we’re done here.” His massive frame speaks for itself and the other man immediately backs off.
To anyone else, one might mistake his smile as an apology but there’s an edge to it that Wren recognizes after months of living with him.
“Let’s call it an honest mistake, on both sides.” He diplomatically adds. His free hand bunches together into a tight fist as if daring the man to say otherwise.
The stranger lingers a moment longer, staring steely at Wren.
Wren fights the urge to bare her teeth.
Cal forces the guy’s attention back onto him as he takes another confident step towards him.
Another second passes before the stranger grumbles something about the heat and slinks away.
Cal lets out a sigh. Turning to Wren, he tugs her by the wrist towards the denser area of the sidewalk. “I let you out of my sight for one second and you almost get into it with a stranger.” Although when he says it, it’s with a half-smile and not a frown, there’s no mistaking the flash of concern clouding his dark eyes.
Wren’s mouth falls open to retort but just as quickly snaps back shut. Frowning, she drops her hands to rub her arms, suddenly hyperaware of how sensitive they feel. She’s surprised by amount of goosebumps that’s covered the surface and rubs harder to try and even them out.
There’s no denying that she doesn’t feel right. It’s not just her skin. But she chalks it all up to her body learning to adapt, learning how to be both human and lycan. It’s like she’s not really her anymore – at least not the old her. There are more layers to peel back and she’s worried she won’t recognize who she is anymore.
The stray thought terrifies her, but she shoves it back. She can’t be scared, not right now. She’s already made her choice. She chose Cal and this is what it means to be his mate.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Wren confesses, finally breaking away from her own thoughts.
She’s still not completely over it, but there’s nowhere for that energy to go. Restless. She gets it now. The wolf inside her is restless.
She breathes, deeply. In and out. She lets each breath of new air out over the dull roar of her racing heart.
Seconds turn into minutes but Cal doesn’t move away. He sticks by her side the entire time, patiently watching until he’s convinced her heartrate has returned back to normal.
But it’s not gone though. Not for Wren. It’s somehow…more manageable somehow. She glances back up at him; a question already forming inside her mind before she can say it. He gets it more than anyone, doesn’t he? After all, he was always meant for this life. He’s been a wolf since the day he was born.  “I –”
“Still feel like you need to let it out?” Cal finishes for her, drawing her closer to him. “Like there’s some itch you have to get rid of?”
Nearly his entire body blocks anyone else from accidentally bumping into her. “I get that.” He lowers his tone, crowding her vision to keep her focus on him. Only him. “I get that more than you know.”
Wren knows he would.
“It’s the wolf in you…it’s not satisfied with how you left things, especially when I stepped in.” His touch is back; swiping underneath her shirt - making her shiver as he rubs gentle circles across her slightly damp skin. “It wants more. It will always want more”
He’s right, of course he’s right. Somehow, he’s put into words exactly how she feels and she nods at him without really saying anything.
“But you’ll learn to control it. The wolf doesn’t always need to lose, but it doesn’t need to win right now either.” His touch is persistent and she shudders when his nails scrape against her flesh. “Just focus on me. I promise to get you through this.”
His touch has always made her feel safe. Protected. Cherished. It takes some of the edge off. But unlike before, there’s more to it now. It feels…right. Having his hands all over her. Having his fingers skimming the length of her spine, across where their nearly identical mark that’s claimed her as his rests.
Wren stifles another whimper when he increases the pressure of his nails. They dig a little harder into her sensitive skin and fierce desire instantly coils inside her belly. She takes in a ragged breath, fighting against the urge to jump him in the middle of the street.
“Control.” 
The one-word response is a soft command, almost clipped compared to his more natural and easy-going voice. The sharpness in his tone has her ears perked at attention at the distinct command veiled behind it.
The signs are all there. This is alpha, not just Cal anymore talking.
But alpha Cal is just as sexy - maybe even sexier as he holds her gaze, letting a tooth sink into his lower lip as he says the word again. “Control.” 
Air has left her lungs and it takes a few seconds for her to remind herself to breathe. “Right. Control.” She repeats, a little out of breath. I can totally do that.
His eyes linger across her face and then slowly his roughish features break out into smile. The change in his body language does something to her. Without thinking, she intently leans in – breathing his happy scent. It’s like the rest of the world has gone to sleep, leaving them the only two souls still awake and she basks in the sudden burst of happiness.
“I still can hardly believe it.” His words are for her ears only. “You’re really mine. My mate. My love.” He cups her cheek, “I want to laugh and cry all at once.”
“Well believe it – I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.” She tries to make it a joke, but her voice cracks a little at the end and he’s still looking at her as if she’s the only soul in this world.
When his heated stare drops to her barely-parted lips, Wren figures it’s damn impossible not to reach out and kiss him at this point. So, she does exactly that.
She dives head first into him, like she’s always done with past relationships in her life. But unlike the rest, this is the first time she’s discarded the breaks. There’s no her without Cal anymore.
She wants to be close. Close enough for rest of the world to finally drift away. Close enough for him to be the only thing that matters. It’s different kissing him now. She’s used to his gentle kisses, the soft ones he peppers across forehead and jaw. She’s used to the passionate ones too, the kind that finishes off with a scrape of his nails or teeth as a mark of their love minutes past after midnight.
But these are different. Every kiss is hotter and more demanding than the last. Every kiss sends her heart into palpitations and her skin tingles with the raw knowledge that it’s him. It’s only ever been this way with him.
And it doesn’t just stop there. She doesn’t just sense his desire, as he drags his teeth across her lower lip, she feels it. Tastes it on his tongue as he darts past the barrier of her lips. She embraces every moment they remain locked into each other’s arms. And she takes as much as she can get, nipping him playfully when he moans – urging him with the flicker of her tongue for more. God, if it isn’t for the fact that they’re completely surrounded by street traffic – she would have already slid down and taken him into her mouth right then and there, because there’s a hunger for him now that’s never been there before.
A raw, deep hunger that doesn’t feel like it’ll ever be sated.
The longer they remain pressed together like this, the more the world falls away as though all sense of reality has collapsed. And all that’s left behind is the taste of hm. The scent of his arousal intimately resting against her. And the shackles she’s tried so desperately to keep together despite how much they’ve splintered and cracked.
Cal breaks the kiss first. His dilated pupils glow faintly against the backdrop of the nearly dusk sky. He stares intently down at her and neither one of them speaks for a moment.  Chest heaving, he makes up his mind first and creates some distance between them.
Wren almost voices her protest. She swears he’s never looked quite so delicious – with the softest of orange hues resting behind him and the wild-eyed hungry look he gives her back before running his hands through his hair. How is she supposed to make it back home, when she can barely keep her shit together enough as it is?
Every emotion feels very real and very much like she’s losing pieces of her control.
Someone knocks her back into him as they cross the sidewalk, drawing Wren out of his orbit. They’re in the real world again with rushing cars, the pitter-patter of rain starting to fall. The hustle and bustle of city-dwellers laughing and chatting. They all come flooding back to her.
When she risks a glance up at him, the yellowish glow has already started to fade. “The things I’d do to you,” he shakes his head; emphasizing the words under a low and possessive growl, “if we weren’t in public.”
Fierce desire slams into her gut again and makes the next breath she takes almost a moan. “Promises, promises Lowell.” She walks a little faster, tossing him a smirk over her shoulder. “It’s a pity we have to wait, I expect you to make up for lost time later.”
His grin is just as wide as he takes an extra long slide to catch up back to her and loosely drape his arm over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I intend to.”
Now that they’re back in the city – things are different. Not just with her, there’s still the glaring issue of what to do about the pack and the worst part is Cal has no idea what’s going.
Wren gauges the thought to tell him right then and there instead of waiting till they get back, A small part of her is almost too afraid to tell him. He’ll think it’s all his fault. And she hates the idea of him beating himself over things that are  out of his control.
Wren sucks in a breath, and forces the panic back down. She has to tell him. It’s the right thing to do.
“I can practically see the wheels turning.” Cal says it playfully but when she doesn’t say anything in return, he frowns and lightly squeezes her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He searches her expression “Is this about the pack?”
When she doesn’t respond, his intuition tells him something is very wrong. “I’m…. not going to like what you’re going to say, am I?”
“No. ‘Fraid not.” Wren lets out a string of expletives before finally making eye contact again. “You want the good news, or the bad news first?”
Cal blinks. He should have seen this coming, part of him knows that. Leaving the way he did as a hard call, one that he’ll always regret but he was running out of options. And Kavisnky had shown him just a taste to how ruthless that kind of world is.
Is he ready to ask the question that both of them are dreading to talk about?
His brow creases in frustration.
By the look on her face, it must be really bad – which means it has to be pack business. He can’t be afraid to ask. This is what’s expected of him. He’s alpha. They’re his people. They’re family. And Cal never turns his back on family.
“Alright Wren, tell me everything.”
-
The ride back to the Howlers is mostly done in silence.
It isn’t for the lack of trying to talk though. Wren has never liked silence; she prefers filling it – even if it’s with idle chatter. She thinks the silence gives her too much time to think. And thinking isn’t one of her strong suits. She’s always been more of a force of nature.
But today isn’t about her. It isn’t about filling the silence with something stupid just to see his smile. Just to hear his laugh.
It’s about Cal and being there for him.
It’s about telling him everything and giving him time to process it. Things like this can’t be rushed. They have to be done delicately. They have to be done carefully.
For the better part of their drive, Wren’s left Cal to his own thoughts after the shitshow she dumped in his lap nearly a half an hour ago when she told him. Not that she’s been really counting, other than the millionth time she’s glanced at her phone for the time.
It can’t be easy to hear half of your pack is threatening to leave and the other half are pretty banged up from choosing to stay. She almost wishes she had more good news to tell him, than they didn’t all leave. But at least Donny’s not skipping classes anymore. So, there’s that at least.
But it’s been twenty-six minutes and Cal still hasn’t said anything.
She never wanted to tell him this way. She wanted to wait, but time is running out on them and she can’t think of only herself anymore. There’s him for starters. And Donny. And a whole bunch of werewolves that need protecting.
So, she told him every grisly and gritty detail. 
She has to give him credit, Cal has a remarkable poker face when it comes down to it. She doesn’t think she could hold it all together the way he does tonight as she explains. It must just be the alpha in him – the part that knows he’s got one big family to look out for and getting upset at her won’t do anything to help.
At some point, his free hand reaches between them and he entwines their fingers together. The solid touch eases some of the tension from between shoulders. “You doing okay in there?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He squeezes her hand. “Actually,” he hesitates. Some of the colour has left his cheeks but he makes a show of keeping calm. “I’m really not. I think I’m one second away from punching my hand through this damn windshield.” He takes a ragged breath. “But saying I’m fine kind of helps. At least I can pretend, right?”
Wren returns his squeeze, “you know you don’t have to pretend Cal, not with me.” Realizing how cheesy that sounds; she quickly switches gears and glances out the window as tress continue to whiz by and blur together. “So just lose your shit when you need to and know that I’m right here to help pick up back the pieces. I just hope…hearing it from me helps.”
“You’re the only person I’d want to hear it from.” He admits, dropping her hand. “I couldn’t be like this in front of anyone else.” He gestures to himself – rumpled clothes, bruises and all. He hasn’t gotten a decent bit of shut-eye since he left.
“I just wish I had something better to tell you.” Wren mumbles. “I wish we were going back under better circumstances.” She turns her attention to the dashboard and starts fiddling with the radio. “It just seems like ever since you’ve left, everything with the pack has just gotten…worse.”
He sighs. “I shouldn’t have left.”
“It was a tough call.” Wren offers. “And sitting around doing nothing isn’t like you.”
Cal shakes his head. “It was the wrong call,” he says, voice full of regret. “They needed me.”
“And you needed to figure out what the deal is between Kavinsky and Shaw.” She reminds him quickly. “I’m sure the people who do give a shit about you recognizes how important that is.”
“It doesn’t make me feel any better.” He mutters.
“It’s not supposed to. But Jayde and Donny are okay.”
“I’m glad they are, thank you for being there for them when I wasn’t.” Cal hesitates before adding, “It would have killed me if anything happened them. To Donny.” His hands around the wheel tighten for a moment before going slack.
“I would never let anything happen to him.” Not if she can help it anyway. Not that she’d ever admit it to him, but she’s too fond of that little kid.
Cal manages a half-smile. “I know.” His smile drops a fraction, “This isn’t going to be easy. Meeting the pack, or what’s left of it anyways.”
“Yeah, but you’re here now.” She waits until he glances at her before she forcefully adds. “You’re here, and that’s what matters.” Cal has never been all talk. He’s always shown up and she doesn’t want him to forget that.
“Thank you.” He says sincerely. “For helping Jayde and Donny – for –” he stops for a moment to think and then lets out a light chuckle. “Just thank you for being there. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to rely on someone like this.”
“I know what you mean.” It hasn’t been easy for her, but there’s no doubt in her mind anymore that this is where she’s meant to be. With him. And the pack – well they’ll have to just get used to it.
“I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you.”
The words startle her. She’s still getting used to it; all this sincerity, all this love. It makes it hard for her to breathe and for a moment she’s afraid she’ll start to panic. But then his fingers are there again, entwining her own and she doesn’t feel like she has to go anywhere. “I love you too.” She clears her throat, “and luckily for you – you’ll never have to find out.”
-
The Howlers is still a mess once they’ve gotten there. It’s been a few days since Wren has been here, and she can’t imagine how Cal is feeling since it’s been even longer for him.
Just looking around makes her realize that no one’s really been around to clean this place up. There’s still shattered glass on the carpet. Tables are still turned upside down. But at least the blood is gone.
“Shit, I forgot how bad it actually was.”
Cal flinches.
No matter where he looks, it’s all bad. All bad and all his fault.  After the years he’s put into helping this place, after the years of building it up with his dad and then Kristof. The work they’ve done to make it a hub for the pack –
He keeps telling himself to breathe but none of that is helping. He’s trembling with so much rage that he doesn’t think twice about grabbing a chair and tossing it to the other side of the room.
Oh boy, Wren thinks watching him,
He isn’t going to listen to reason right now but she doesn’t want him to add to the destruction of this place when he really cares about it. “Cal –” She takes a step forward, but he’s already across the room again looking for something else to throw that hasn’t been broke
Don’t you dare.” Her voice is low and steady as her determined eyes bore into him. “Don’t you dare put all this shit on yourself. You didn’t cause this.”
No, but he sure as hell hadn’t been there to stop it either.
I should have been here. I should have been here. The place is in ruins and no one is around because of him. I should have been here. The words play on loop inside his head and he can’t seem to stop himself from spiraling.
He grabs another chair, intent on tossing it until another hand grabs the other side. He snarls a warning and glares down at two perfectly glowing amber eyes. “Let go Wren.” He hisses.
“No.” She snaps back. “You don’t really want to do this.”
“Yes,” I should have been here. “I really do.” His words are clipped and he tries to yank it out of her hand.
But her instincts have gotten better than before and the chair barely moves more than an inch before she digs her heels into the floor and pulls back. “No, you don’t.”
Their tug of war is fiercely competitive, with neither one of them letting up until another set of eyes draw their attention elsewhere.
“…Cal?”
Cal drops the chair instantly, recognizing the voice before his eyes find his brother’s across the room.
It takes seconds for them to find each other; Cal’s longer strides making the distance disappear quicker and before long Donny’s hugging him tightly while he’s trying to will himself not to cry.
“Oh my god! You’re back!”
Something wet touches his chest and it takes a second to realize that he’s crying. Cal embraces him tighter, running his fingers through his brother’s messy hair -the way he used to when they were kids. “I’m back.” He repeats reassuringly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Donny’s breath hitches. “I thought…I thought.”
You thought I wouldn’t make it. But I’d never leave you alone little guy. “What kind of an ass would I be to have gone and gotten myself killed?”
Donny breaks away first, hastily wiping his eyes and laughing despite how much his voice cracks. “You’d be the biggest asshole after telling me you were going to come back.”
“Exactly.” He fires back, grinning.
“Geez, what a welcome wagon.” Wren folds her arms and strides a little closer. “I hate to interrupt but where does a gal have to go to get a welcome like that?”
“Wren!”
Before Wren can respond with another witty remark, Donny throws himself at her – which is kind of awkward considering the kid has a good amount of height on his side. Still, she hides a smile and reassuringly pats him on the back. “I told you I’d bring him back.”
‘You did.” Donny clears his throat, stepping away as if suddenly remembering it’s embarrassing to show any kind of human emotion. “You…” he hesitates, glancing at her up and down. “Something about you…” he trails off for a moment, brow creasing the way his brother’s does when he’s thinking. “You smell different. You –”
Not wanting to give up this chance, Wren grins and spreads her arms wide. “Yeah, I’m a pup. Just like you.” She pauses, “well not exactly like you, but I’m a werewolf now.”
“Holy shit.” Donny blinks. There’s a range of emotions on his face, but he’s suddenly hugging her again and Wren doesn’t know what to do with all this sudden attention.
Laughing, Wren makes a face to Cal over his shoulder. “Okay, this is starting to feel weird. I can’t deal with this much love kid, bring back broody Donny.”
Donny stiffens and releases her with a scowl.
“There he is.”
“I’m happy. You’re one of us now.”
Wren hadn’t realized she’s been holding her breath this entire time, waiting for his judgement. And for him to accept her so openly, makes the corner of her eyes wet. She blinks back the tears before they can get there. “Thanks kid…it really means a lot to me, hearing you say that.”
“Let’s not make this anymore weird than it actually is.” Now it’s his turn to make a face.
“Oh, so we can move past the gushy stuff already?”
“Definitely.”
Cal rolls his eyes. “And now everything is back to normal.”
“Almost.” Donny’s shoulder sag and he drops his gaze to the floor. “This is actually the only good piece of news I’ve heard in…” he trails off, looking back at Cal. “Since forever I guess.”
“I came as fast as I could.” Cal swallows back a lump he had no idea was there. “But I’m sorry that I couldn’t have been here sooner. Are you here alone?”
Donny shrugs, looking off to the side. “No, Jayde and I were out back…trying to fix all this mess.” He gestures half-hazardly to the room. “But it’s been tough without a lot of help.”
“Without a lot of help?” Cal echoes, brows furrowing. “Where is everyone?”
Another voice joins in, with a more subdued entrance to Donny’s. “Pete’s bringing Nick and the rest of the kids here.” Jayde slowly steps into view. She’s slightly limping the closer she gets to them and there’s a solemnness to her that hasn’t been there before.
But despite the scars across her tawny arms and left cheek she looks a lot better than the last time Wren has seen her.
Jayde cracks a small smile as Cal quickly strides over and bundles her up into a hug. “You’re back.”
“I am,” he pauses for a moment before stepping aside. “I’m sorry about being gone so long.”
“It was a calculated risk.” She lets out a sigh. “It’s just good to have you back.” Her emerald eyes settle on Wren and she inclines her head. “You smell different. Lycan looks good on you.”
“Uh, thanks. I think.”
“Seriously, it’s about damn time.” Jayde snorts. “If you guys came back and hadn’t done it, I would have had to listen to another earful from this one here.” She jerks her chin directly at Cal and he stutters out a disgruntled squawk. “And I can only take so much punishment as his second.”
Wren laughs, Cal is still trying to gather his composure again and Donny rolls his eyes as if to agree. “Hey, you’re not the one living with him.” He points out, to which Jayde chuckles.
“Good point.”
“Not that this hasn’t been fun and all,” Cal smoothly interrupts, letting his alpha voice speaks for itself. “But I just wanted to apologize. For not being here. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you when it happened.”
Something flickers inside Jayde’s eyes but she swiftly waves away his apology. “I can handle myself Cal better than most. I don’t need some ‘strong man’ to protect me.” She smirks; however, it falls short when her sharp features abruptly go soft.
For a moment, staring at her; this isn’t just Jayde his second anymore – she’s suddenly just the girl he remembers growing up with and caring a lot about in high school. “For the record, I’m glad you’re okay and not dead.” She smiles, almost shyly. “You’re a good alpha Cal and I’d hate it if you died before the end of our pact we made in high school.”
Cal snorts at the reminder. “Never.”  Switching back gears, he gestures to the mostly empty house. “Now where the hell is everyone Jayde?” Cal interrupts. He was trying to
Jayde’s expression wavers Something quickly passes between her eyes before she turns away. “That’s just it Cal, we’re the only ones that’s left.”
Wren’s stomach falls. Holy shit. It’s worse than I thought.
Cal’s entire body goes rigid at the same time but Wren can almost feel his anger and shock radiating off of him in waves “Cut the shit Jayde. What the fuck are you talking about?”
Jayde sighs and runs a hand through her midnight hair. “After you left, I’m not gonna lie – it was hard. Really hard. I couldn’t get everyone to keep in line.” Her hands started shaking but she covers them up by folding them across her chest. “We were all pretty torn over how to deal with the kids even though you tackled it aside.” She takes a breath,  “the more Shaw’s pack harassed us, the more people wanted them gone.”
Cal opens his mouth as if to interrupt and Jayde patiently waits until he thinks better of it.
“Things got out of hand. We started fighting and if it wasn’t for her,” she momentarily glances at Wren and then back at him. “I might have been dead.”
“But I don’t understand…where could they have gone?”
NOLA isn’t a small place and his pack is in control of this area. He can’t imagine all of them leaving just to find someplace else.
“A couple of us are still here…just waiting for you to come back. Others with less holding them back have moved on. NOLA hasn’t been home for everyone, and –” Jayde suddenly looks uncomfortable and Cal has an uncanny feeling as to why.
“Don’t tell me…they’ve gone and joined Shaw?”
Jayde nods once.
“Are you kidding me?” He hisses out the words through barely clenched teeth as he whirls away from them. He wants to yell and call Shaw every name he can think of, but by some miracle he’s able to hold onto his temper – by just a thread. He can’t lose his like this in front of them.
He does punch through a wall though. The worst part is he doesn’t remember doing it. It must have happened too fast and now there’s a hole in there big enough for his entire fist to fit through.
“Okay, before we all start punching walls and losing our shit –” Wren grabs his arm when he tries to look for something. Maybe she gave him too much credit earlier, but there’s only so much a person can take and Cal has already reached maximum capacity, “maybe we should come up with some kind of plan?”
“Some kind of plan?” Cal echoes. He shakes his head vehemently, “the only plan is to take this directly to Shaw. He’s already forced my hand and I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”
The last few words comes out more than a growl than actual words but Wren’s able to understand most of what he’s saying. “Not that I don’t like this angrier side of you, but you realize that’s exactly what Shaw wants right?”
“I agree.” Jayde says flatly, shaking her head. “You walk in there and they’ll eat you alive.”
Cal scoffs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But that’d only happen because Shaw isn’t man enough to do it himself.” He cracks his knuckles, “besides, I can handle a few pups.”
Jayde tosses him a droll stare. “Can you handle a hundred? Because that’s what you’ll be going up against – at least one hundred of them.”
“And one hundred pissed off wolves versus one pissed off alpha,” Wren whistles. “I know you can get with the best of them babe, but that’s…that’s suicide.”
“Well what else am I supposed to do?” Feeling frustrated, Cal throws his hands up in the air. “Shaw has forced me into a corner and I’m staring down at the barrel of his gun, on his terms.”
“You do the only thing you can do when someone’s got you by the balls,” Wren exchanges a glance with Jayde. For once, they’re on the same side.
“You find yourself a bigger gun.” Jayde finishes for her, with a slight smile.
Donny, whose been mostly quiet lets out a sigh at their grand conclusion. “You say that like it’s supposed to be easy.”
Both Wren and Jayde shake their heads. “If you think about it must be hard to have that many people stay loyal to you. And the fact that some of our own have turned to him means he’s got more people on his plate.”
“But more people definitely mean more problems.” Wren adds.
“So what? You think it’s only a matter of time before his own people turn on him?” Cal asks, baffled.
“To some degree yes.” Jayde gestures between them. “We’ve always had each other’s backs because we’re a family. I can’t say the way Shaw goes around turning kids into werewolves and stirring shit with other packs inspires confidence or competence.”
“Let’s not forget to add supernatural trafficking on the list when he joined up with Kavinsky,” Wren adds.
“Right!”
“Basically, this guy is an all-around dirtbag.” Donny summarizes.
“The lowlest of dirtbags.” Both Jayde and Wren say almost simultaneously.
Suddenly it clicks. The implication of their words. The status of Shaw’s leadership is being threatened. “His own people have been circling him and that’s why he’s been turning younger and taking pups into his pack. He wants to force loyalty down their throats.”
“Exactly!” Wren feels so proud of him that she’s this close to throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. But remembering their audience and the fact that they’re making some pretty important breakthroughs, she settles for squeezing his arm affectionately instead. “And if we can expose him for the piece of shit he is –”
“Then fighting him for alpha might not even be necessary.” Cal smiles then. It’s the first time since arriving in NOLA again that he’s felt reassured by his position in the pack. He was starting to believe he wasn’t good enough the second Shaw started giving him trouble.
“We need the kids as eye witnesses first.” Wren’s voice snaps him back out of his thoughts.
“Donny and I have taken pictures of this place and have gotten some of our own to speak out if we needed about that night as well.” Jayde adds with a small smirk.
“And we’ve still got the first time we heard wind of Shaw in our neighborhood from the bar.” Donny reminds them.
“Oh shit, yeah. You’re right.” Wren rubs her temples absently. “How could I forget about that ass-whooping….”
“So, this is it huh. We’re really going to challenge him.” Cal says it more to himself than to them. Quite frankly, he’s still trying to process everything that’s happened to him in the past several days. Hell, maybe even weeks. This place certainly hasn’t been the same since that fateful night at the bar.
“We might not have to but yes. We are.” Wren says confidently, stepping closer. “Whatever you need from us – we’re here and we’re not going anywhere.” She shifts her attention just enough to catch Jayde’s brief nod and Donny’s smile of reassurance.
Cal eyes them as a wave of uncertainty crashes into him. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “This is dangerous. This could get us all killed.”
“Yeah, so could most things in NOLA.” Wren replies with a scoff.
Donny snickers and Jayde’s lips seem to twitch before Wren points a finger at him. “And if you think for one moment, we’re gonna let you out of our sight again then you really haven’t learnt a damned thing.” Placing a hand on her hip, she gives him a pointed stare. “As your mate, I think I have right when I say there’s no fucking chance of that happening ever again. And I think I speak for all of us when I say, we’re….” she trails off for a moment, testing the word on her tongue. “family. You guys taught me what that meant. Up until now, I’ve never really had one – never felt like I needed one even in the fearie realm. But you’re all my family and I won’t let you go without a goddamn fight.”
Cal has never thought it at all possible – but he loves this damned frustratingly stubborn and passionate woman even more. He wants to crush her to his chest and kiss her senseless, but settles for drawing her snugly beside him and addressing them together. His family.
“Alright, if we’re gonna do this we’ve got to at least be smart about this.” He started, glancing at each of them. “We should wait till Pete and the others get here before we talk strategy. That’ll at least give me a good idea on what we have to work with.”
Being alpha has never been easy. It’s been frustrating. Rewarding. Ridiculously unfair. But right now, he feels a sense of pride and joy to for people like them to have his back. “Let’s do this.”
-
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scurvgirl · 4 years
Text
The Nature of Monsters, Part 6
 Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Remember a pre-COVID time where I was regularly posting this? This isn’t regular, but here’s an update!
Melarue belongs to @justanartsysideblog
This is NSFW
________________________________
When Kassaran wakes, she feels amazing. Better than amazing - superb, extraordinary, exceptional. She stretches languidly in bed, relishing the softness on her still naked skin. How lovely would it be to just...roll over and have sex again. But alas, she didn’t go to sleep with Melarue. Truthfully, it makes sense why they’d be hesitant about sharing a bed. In an early wakeful state, they could end up accidentally petrifying her - which no one wants. Still, Kass would be a little over the moon for some morning sex right about now. 
Instead, she climbs out of bed and dresses. She plans to train some more today, she wants to be in top shape before proposing working security at one of Melarue’s pleasure houses. As much as she has enjoyed taking this time off, she doesn’t want to feel entirely dependent on them, and she doesn’t want them to feel like she is freeloading. She is an independent woman who happens to...want to need them at this point. 
It’s still early enough that the sun is only barely peeking over the horizon when Kass finally leaves her room. The door clicks shut and she turns - right into Melarue. 
Their hands come to her arms in reflex and she stops, eyes landing on their face. They have their amulet on judging by the lack of curious snakes around their head, instead there is only the semblance of perfectly normal black hair coiled into ringlets. 
“Good morning,” they say and she feels herself relax into a sweet but knowing smile.
“Good morning,” she answers before dipping down to slant her mouth over theirs. They respond happily but do not otherwise move. Ever careful with their glasses, Kass pulls back slowly, still savoring their taste on her lips. 
“Sleep well?” They ask.
“Perfectly, you?” 
“Just as well.” They lean back up and kiss her cheek and then they walk downstairs to get breakfast together. They spend breakfast eating and talking and laughing, then Ash comes down, looking like the sleepy teenager she is. Melarue stays with them, listening to Ash excitedly talk about their outing the other day. It’s all so wonderfully domestic. 
“You are in your leathers, Kassaran,” Melarue says.
“Yes, I’m going to do some training today.”
“Mama wants to work again, so she has to get strong,” Ash says, “but I told her that she could do other things! She doesn’t have to fight.”
“You’re right,” Melarue replies, “she doesn’t have to fight if she doesn’t want to. Do you think this is wise, Kassaran?”
Kass rolls her eyes and bites her tongue to refrain from saying that there are precisely two ways she knows how to make money, and she has no intention of returning to sex work. Instead, she replies, “I want to work security at one of your houses, Melarue, if you would have me. I had wanted to be in better shape before approaching you, and I know that right now is...tenuous but I am not someone to laze around depending on other people like this. I need to work, if only to feel productive.” 
She maintains her gaze with Melarue, albeit obscured by the glasses. Melarue is silent for a moment before leaning forward, “Of course, I will have you. Though I am afraid I am not currently hiring.”
Kass feels her hopes deflate, but then they continue.
“Adair is hiring, however.”
“The healer who helped deliver Suvenin’s baby? Why does he need protection?
“Adair caters to those of us who cannot receive regular healing for fear of exposure and subsequent persecution. While he himself does not require protection, his patients often do. Someone with your background could be quite helpful for them to avoid hunters. I can recommend you if you like” 
Kass mulls it over for a second. It would be nice to repay Adair for healing her as well, and while he is a bit...eccentric, he’s not an unpleasant man. Part of her recoils at the idea of spending more time around monstrous people, but then again they’re her crowd now. After the moment’s thought, Kass nods.
“Yes, I’d appreciate that.” 
“Though I do not think you should be working until you build up your strength,” they qualify and she chuckles.
“Hence the training,” Kass says, finding it’s the only thing she can say after their words. They really do have a way with those things, don’t they? Her heart feels like it beats a little harder with each word they spoke and she has no clue on how to stop or fix this. She doesn’t even think she wants to. As nerve wracking it is to feel this way for them, she likes it, likes them. 
“Then we are in agreement.” 
**
Kass isn’t overly fond of the cold, but it feels nice for training. It keeps her from overheating, like in the summer months. After breakfast and seeing Ash set up with Lokraan, Kass sets out to begin her training. Most of it is strength building and conditioning, and it feels amazing to move it again. She feels strong and capable. 
After two hours of work, she is panting and hot despite the falling snow. She shucks off her outer layer and picks up a staff to work through fighting stances. She could have gone to her sword or her axe, but the staff requires a specific type of work that appeals to her at the moment. 
After thirty minutes, she loses another layer, leaving her in a short-sleeved undershirt and leather vest. 
“What a delightful view,” a low voice comments and Kass jerks around to see Melarue. They’re dressed far differently from any other time she’s seen them. Instead of a long elegant dress, they are bedecked in dark leather pants with matching jacket, a deep green shirt peeking through the fasteners of the jacket. surprisingly, their snakes are in free view. In their hand is a staff.
Kass raises an eyebrow, “Care to join me?” 
The grin is slow and sinful, “I was rather enjoying the show.”
“Whatever pleases your fancy,” she says, rolling her shoulders a bit. The longer she remains unmoving, the more the cold gets to her. 
Their head tilts and she thinks they’re following her movement. It pleases her to no end to know they find her attractive, even with all the wear and tear around the edges. 
They step forward with the staff, slow and graceful. Even outside of their obvious opulent finery, they move with the gracefulness of anyone who has spent time in the most lavish of courts. Like a snake, she realizes, which of course makes sense. They hold the staff low but their grip is anything but casual. 
“Melarue?” She asks, eyeing their movements. They stop and a grin spreads across their face.
“All this talk of how dangerous you are to me,” they say, turning away from her to remove their glasses. On instinct, Kass closes her eyes, but keeps her body facing them. “Relax, Kassaran, I am only blindfolding myself. The glasses are far too easy to lose in a spar.” 
Trusting them, Kass opens her eyes to see that they have indeed wrapped a black blindfold around their eyes. All the snakes then move to look directly at Kassaran. 
“You can see with their eyes,” she marvels.
“I can if I focus, it’s a bit like reading a book upside down.” Again, they step forward, the staff low in their grip but their stance anything but casual.
“Before we begin, we need rules,” Kass says and they nod.
“Agreed. I believe ‘stop’ and ‘enough’ are sufficient for this.”
“Yes. A bout is won if pinned longer than three seconds.”
“Or if a staff is put into position where it could decapitate were it a sword,” Melarue says softly. 
“No blows to the head.”
“No hair pulling.”
“Or real choking.”
“What sparring partner have you had that actually choked you?”
Kass laughs, “Some idiot who got mad that I kept beating him. Got his hands around my throat but stupidly forgot horns hurt on the receiving end of a headbutt.”
“Fool.” They smile and stop walking, stopping a small distance from Kass. Her heart thuds in her chest before she takes a deep breath, forcing herself to steady. She forces her perspective on them to change from imagining them naked and writhing beneath her to the formidable opponent that she knows they are. She bends her knees, dropping into a ready stance. 
Melarue doesn’t change their stance, but one of the snakes bobs and then they move faster than any vampire Kass has fought. But Kass has reflexes honed from those fights and moves just in time to block their strike. She pushes back, brings her staff low to counterstrike only to find them gone.
“Impressive,” they say from behind her. She whirls around to face them.
“Should’ve guessed you strike like a snake,” she comments.
“I admit, you’re the first to admit the thought.”
“The first to admit it, or the first who lived long enough to say it?” She teases and their expression turns serious.
“I could claim self defense, but it wasn’t always that.”
“Melarue, I didn’t mean -
“I know.” She nearly drops her staff to go and kiss them, to reassure them that she isn’t judging them. Goodness knows she has had to do regrettable things. She is the last to judge. 
Before she can take a step forward they’re moving and she is on the defensive again. Over and over they move to strike her, getting in a few hits. She grunts at the hits and they tsk their tongue at her. 
They land hit after hit, all fair, and nothing debilitating. 
“Concede! I’ve landed enough hits to -
“I’ve suffered worse and won!” She argues, striking at them. They dodge it.
“Stop being stubborn and rest!”
“Stubborn is my fighting style!” They make a noise of frustration at her comment and then they twist until they’re standing in front of her, staff leveled at her neck. She frowns.
“Alright, you win this bout. I’ll get the next.” 
As it turns out, she doesn’t win the next bout. She does manage to disarm them, but they get around her, get her to her knees and lay a gentle hand to her throat. 
“Again,” she asks.
“One more,” they acquiesce. She takes a deep breath and prepares herself. 
They move to strike her again and instead of dodging, she reaches up and grabs the staff. She’ll register the sting later, but right now she pulls on the staff quick and hard, disarming them. Before they react, she drops down and sweeps out the staves. They don’t trip, but leap out of the way. Kass tosses the extra staff away and moves to defend herself as Melarue switches to hand-to-hand combat. One would think that they’d be at a disadvantage without the staff, but that person would be very, and likely deadly, wrong. 
Kass is slower than them, no way to sugarcoat that. And they are deceptively strong. Yet, there is something in the way that monstrous people fight that she gets, and she knows how to fight. Monsters who’ve been outcasted from society have a quality to their fighting that feels like they’re close to giving up. Melarue doesn’t have a lot of that, but there is enough melancholy that causes them to...lean into danger, as it were. Kass has fought speed based monsters before, with varying success. Vampires are supposedly the fastest, though she suspects Melarue is faster when pressed. 
Kass blocks a few of their blows and gets herself into position. They dodge and strike with brutal efficiency. She decreases the distance between them bit by bit, until her reach exceeds theirs. Her foot darts out, destabilizes them at the ankles then her hand shoots out, grabs their wrist and she turns until their back is flush against her chest. Her hand cups their jaw carefully, not strong enough to stop them from moving. 
She lowers her lips to a pointed ear, trailing her lips down its curve before speaking, “Don’t underestimate me just because you hate how strong you are comparatively. Your strength is beautiful, and I am very glad that it has helped you survive so I could meet you, as selfish as that sounds.”
“My snakes are in striking distance,” Melarue says calmly, “You would not leave this alive.”
“Could they kill me before I kill you?” Silence is her answer and she sighs before placing a gentle kiss to their temple. She drops her hand from their jaw and pulls away to sit on the bench to regain her breath. Heavens but they worked her. 
“You never stopped,” they say, taking a seat next to her. 
Kass shakes her head, “That’s the thing. I get up as many times as I get knocked down. You’re fast, you’re strong. I’m resilient, and I have every reason to survive.”
“For your daughter,” they whisper and she nods. 
“Nothing motivates you like the need to make sure your kid’s okay.” She wipes at her forehead and when she looks back at them, they have a distant expression that makes her feel she said the wrong thing. They stand up and move to the table where they had their glasses and necklace.
“I had fun,” she says, hoping to relieve some of the tension that had suddenly arrived. They don their glasses and necklace, the snakes morphing into long, black hair, and the blindfold gets tucked into a pocket.
“I admit, I haven’t truly sparred in quite some time. And you are right, it was fun,” they reply.
“A shame for the fun to end,” she sighs, eyes lingering on their backside. 
They turn slightly, just enough for her to see a brow raised, “A shame indeed.”
She shrugs, “I’m just saying, the bath adjoining my room is large and can be lonely.” She walks by them, her hand reaching out to trail across their lower back as she moves. 
Just as her hand is about to leave them, they move with her so that they are walking with her. Her hand remains on their lower back and they don’t move to remove it, which brings her great pleasure. 
“If only I had the foresight to make the guest bath more accomodating,” they say and she can’t resist smiling at this point.
“I’ll forgive you,” she replies. 
Together, they quickly make their way up to her rooms. The main door shuts behind them and Melarue tugs her down to press their lips to hers. The kiss is hot and full of desire that has them peeling each other’s clothes off in a hurry. 
They don’t even make it to the bath right away. Instead, Melarue whispers filthy things in Kass’s ear and she falls back onto the chaise. They follow her and wrap the blindfold around her eyes before pressing kisses to her brow, cheeks, and mouth once more. She hears the tap of their glasses on the wood of the side table and then they’re back on her, hands touching her, mouth consuming her. They press against her and she feels a part of their anatomy she did not think they had press against her, making her gasp into their mouth. 
“You’re a shapeshifter,” she states the obvious, the thrill of passion seeming to inhibit all sorts of sense in her brain.
They chuckle, “Do you object?”
“Absolutely not,” she groans, and lets them have their wicked way with her. They are hot and hard and so very good at what they do. Then again, so is she. Kass gives as good as she gets in both battle and love making. She relishes their groans and the erratic thrusts ever so often when the pleasure is so great. In the end, she reaches her pleasure before them and then it’s a sizzling burn as they continue to move within her. It’s almost too much, but she doesn’t want to give it up, give them up. How have they become so integral in her life so quickly? She holds onto them as they groan and their hips still as they reach their pleasure. 
It’s so much, almost too much, and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from letting the tears spill out from her eyes. Heavens, the last time she cried during sex was...fourteen years ago, when Ash’s father found her again after she ran. Though, what that wasn’t exactly sex. 
“Did I hurt you?” The question is soft and full of genuine concern that has her smiling.
“Oh no, no, I’m...that was fantastic, I’m just…” she gestures, not finding the words. “You make me feel like I’m twenty-five, so new but feeling like I’m on top of the world.” Before they can worry more, she kisses them, full of the softness she feels for them. Slowly and sweetly she moves her lips over theirs, twines her tongue with theirs. When they break away to breathe she smiles.
“Come, let’s wash and enjoy that cavernous bath you so thoughtlessly installed,” she kisses their cheek at their smile and sits up. “You’ll need to help me get in there, though, I haven’t gotten so used to this place I can walk it blindfolded.” 
“Here,” they say and she feels their fingers gently remove the blindfold. She blinks her eyes back into focus to see their glasses are back in place. 
“I want you to be comfortable,” she argues gently.
“I am, and you should be comfortable too.”
“Turning my own logic on me, are you?” They both rise and make their way to the bath.
“I don’t play fair.”
“Clearly!” She turns on the water and it cascades from the ceiling in a great rush. “Did you invent this? What is this, I’ve never seen it before and it’s amazing.”
“I’m glad you like it. I cannot claim this invention, a vampire engineer created it about a year ago. Xe’s on a current mission to have what xe call plumbing installed in the entire city. I volunteered my home as an experiment, and I agree, it’s amazing.” 
“That is a noble cause, indeed!” When the bath fills to a satisfying point, Kass shuts off the water and climbs in with Melarue following. Kass sighs as she sinks in the hot water, her very worked muscles slowly relaxing with the warmth. 
Melarue sighs as well, sinking lower in the tub until only their neck and head is above the water. It’s only then she notices how pale they had been, now with the color returning to their cheeks.
“You stayed in the cold too long.”
They wave her off, “No, I enjoyed it. I knew I would be able to warm myself afterwards and it was worth it.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, but I don’t like that you placed yourself in an uncomfortable spot.”
“Kass, I will choose what I wish to do and why, I am not looking to be taken care of. I am your lover, not a ward.” 
“And as my lover, I want you to feel good -
“I do, trust me.”
She wants to fight that, but she stops herself. She should trust them, and they are choosing these things after all. Kass did not make them come out and spar with her, she did not ask them to don their glasses. They voluntarily did these things. Perhaps she doesn’t always have to be the one making concessions to keep others happy. 
“Okay, I will.” She needs to, they are her lover and she needs to treat them as such. It’s just been so long that she’s had a paramour that she forgets how to act with one. There is one thing she remembers, though.
“May I wash your back?” She asks. The corners of their mouth tilt up and they shift in the tub to let her run the cloth along their back. She takes her time, slowly moving it over their skin to wash away the sweat and grime built up over the last few hours. They lean into her when she finishes with their back, allowing her to move the cloth to their arms and front. 
One of the snakes, a rebellious one as the others are draped carefully away from Kassaran, moves towards Kass and looks directly at her. It flicks its tongue at her and she smiles at it. 
“Can I touch it? Them? Do they have names?”
“The snakes are a part of me, I haven’t named them. You can touch it if you like.” 
Carefully, Kass reaches out to the snake with her finger. Its tongue flicks out, scenting the air in its own little way. It bobs its head and moves closer, she moves her finger closer too. Ever so gently, she pets the snake’s head. It’s smooth and Melarue shifts.
“That feels...strange.”
“Bad?”
“No, but I feel it distantly.”
“Has no one ever touched your snakes before?” She trails her finger down the snake’s back a little and it moves closer to her, seemingly wanting to be touched. 
“No.” As they speak, another snake moves from its position on Melarue’s shoulder to join its curious friend. Kass lets it scent her then pets it. She’s never petted a snake before, so she doesn’t know for certain if they’re enjoying this, but they’re not moving away or hissing so that’s likely a good sign, right? 
Melarue suddenly turns and before she can say anything, they kiss her gently. 
“You are too good to me.”
“I am not, you deserve all of this goodness.” She kisses them back and feels them smile against her.
The rest of the bath is wondrously relaxing. She’s loathe to end it, but eventually the water goes tepid and there is only so much time someone should spend in their filth. They both rise from the tub, dry, then dress in short order. The ease she feels with them is so unlike anything she’s experienced before, and she isn’t sure how to handle it. 
They leave her rooms and head down the hall, passing the library on the way. Kass can hear Lokraan inside with Ash, lecturing her on magical principles. There’s a flash of light from around the door and she worries for a moment that Ash has set fire to the library. No smoke or screams arise, though, so...everything ought to be fine. 
“Melarue? Do you trust Lokraan?” She likely could have phrased the question better, but it is so easy to not censor herself around them.
They startle in their own way, a sudden rigidity taking to their shoulders, “Of course, I would not have put him with your daughter otherwise. Why? Have you concerns?”
She chews her lip, “Something...doesn’t sit well with me about him, but...perhaps it’s just my old hunter instincts. I’m still adjusting.”
Melarue frowns, “I have known him for some time, he is an expert in magical theory and well-educated. His...situation is unique and I am not at liberty to say what it is, but I trust him.”
“Right, of course.” She tries to wave off the concern but she clearly doesn’t do a good job of selling the lie, to herself or to Melarue.
“I also trust you. Has he done anything to Ash?”
Kass shakes her head, “No, he’s only said that her power can make a difference in the world. In all respects it should be a wonderful thing to hear, but something about it...it didn’t settle right with me.”
They ponder for a moment, “I am not one to write off intuition, my own has saved me countless times. I have no doubt your intuition has saved your life similarly. If it will reassure you, I will keep an eye on him.”
Kass relaxes, tension she didn’t even realize she was carrying, easing away, “I would appreciate that, thank you.”
Their smile is small and polite, and she doesn’t need their glasses removed to know it doesn’t reach their eyes.
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lukeysgirl · 5 years
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swallow me whole | c.t.h pt. 1
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synopsis: nasty calum hood smut w a decent storyline?
word count: 10k+ (i got carried away but like) 
authors note: i know this is so long and intimidating bt its a good read (i think) and youll like it (maybe) !! 
PART ONE  I N V I T A T I O N 
“Y/N! Work better, not faster!” 
Your heart beats just a bit faster as you straighten your back and link eyes with your manager. That taunting demeanor never seems to ease up, causing you to gulp as you glue your arms to your sides. “I’m sorry-- I didn’t realize how fast I was being.” 
The witch who hired me gestured behind me, “then you should start noticing more, Ms. Y/L/N.” You slowly turn your body while listening to your managers heels clink away from the aisle you were working in. You emit an annoyed sigh when you see the cans (that you swore to have stacked perfectly) sprawled about the recently-mopped floor. 
You bring your fingers to your ears, using your indexes to see if you had your earbuds in. But you didn’t, causing you to frown. How did I not hear them fall behind me? You asked yourself in your head as you shake your head and reluctantly went back to re-stack them. 
XXX
“You should just quit already.” 
You glared over at your gorgeous friend beside you, “ah yes, and would you like to pay my bills until I finish my degree and get a better job?” The model could only roll her eyes and smile, knowing that you were a realist and she, in many aspects, was not. 
Merigold Leigh is one of the kindest souls that walks the earth. Although she is a Victoria Secret model, she couldn’t give less of a damn about it. ‘It pays the bills and keeps me healthy,’ she claims as she eats her least favorite vegetables. She listens and holds you whenever you’re at the very brink of tears. She comes around every single time you need her, and whenever she can’t, she calls and gives you every free second she has. 
“I mean, I always tell you to move in with me,” Meri begins with a shrug. She looks all around her lavish apartment and smiles. “You can ravish in my luxuries without worry so you can focus on your studies.” 
You smiled but shook your head. You hated to decline her, seeing as her apartment had way more than enough space to house the both of them. It was a large New York City penthouse, with everything you’d expect a millionaire to have. Paintings imported from Paris, wine bottles imported from Italy. Her entire home was furnished with the most expensive (yet simple) things. It was like walking into a small IKEA. She kept from placing photos of herself or the awards she has won all over the apartment, as she isn’t too bothered to flaunt about her worth. 
You pulled the shared quilt to cover your body more, “if only I didn’t have so much pride.” Meri giggles while taking another spoonful of Fage yogurt into her mouth. The two of you were very comfortable on her gray couch, with both pairs of legs up and both bodies curled up into balls. “Besides, all the excitement of sleeping over would be taken away if I moved in with you.” 
Meri rolls her eyes, “your first mistake was assuming that I could become boring.” You giggle, tossing a few pieces of popcorn at her before taking another bite. “You love taunting me with your ability to eat whatever your heart desires.” 
“Is’not on purpose,” you struggle to say through a full mouth. Chewing it down and swallowing, you glance over at her kitchen, “you don’t have food for regular humans here.” She rolls her eyes once again and threatens to catapult a bit of yogurt in your face. 
She begins to scrape the corners of the container, “I still think you should quit. That supermarket will be the death of you.” You shrug, staring distantly. It wasn’t a bad gig but you can certainly do with a better manager, better hours, and a better uniform. “Green doesn’t suit you well.” 
“But who else will get you discounts at Whole Foods?” You question slyly. Meri could only push some of her natural red locks off of her tanned shoulder. She places the empty container of yogurt on her coffee table and licks off any residue from her lips. 
“Forget the discount; I want you to be happy,” she insists warmly. Your smirk dissolves and you begin to grow distant again. She notices and quickly takes your hands into hers, forcing your attention to return to her. “Working and studying at the same time is bringing you stress and that is something I don’t want.” 
“But I need to work for money so I can pay for my apartment,” you begin somberly, “and I need to study so I can work a better job for more money to get the hell out of here.” 
“That’s so cruel, Y/N,” Meri pouts. “You’re in the city of dreams-- the city that never sleeps! Everyone would kill to live where you live.” 
“Yes, but will they kill for how I live?” You scoff at her words. “I pay almost $700 for a studio apartment that if I literally laid down on the floor and stretched all my limbs, I’d occupy the entire place.” 
Meri gently brings her hand up and flicks the very top of your forehead. “Your apartment is literally a block away from mine and we literally live next to Times Square.” You roll your eyes, still not persuaded. “And you’re studying at NYU-- that’s a dream that only so many people could live.” You still shrugged her words away. 
You didn’t feel special. There’s thousands of students studying at NYU, who live in an apartment similar to yours and have done the same amount of exploring as you have. You have walked around all the boroughs, have tried almost all the cuisines more than once and know the MTA system well. Those are not experiences or skills unique to you as this is one of the biggest cities in the world. 
“You know what you need?” Meri tugs your hands, bringing you back to earth quickly. You listen attentively, assuming she would be spewing wise words. “Some dick.” 
Immediately, you retract your hands, your sudden movement causing your bowl of popcorn to fall on the floor. You quickly get on the floor to clean up your mess, Meri following your motions. “I’m so sorry, Meri. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”
“It’s all good, sis, don’t fret so much,” the sweet ginger insists as you both pick up the pieces of popcorn and place them back into the bowl. Once the mess was done, you rose from the ground and headed straight to the kitchen to dispose of the fallen food. Meri tails after you, with full intention to continue entertaining the subject. “But am I wrong?”  
You open the silver trashcan and slowly dig out the popcorn from the bowl and into the mint-scented Glad bag. “Meri, I really don’t think dick is what I need.” 
“Okay, maybe I was a bit rash,” she hums behind you, taking a seat on her quartz kitchen island. “But I think you should finally go out with me and live a little bit.” Here she goes again… 
Every weekend since the day you met her, Meri has asked you to go out with her. Whether it be to Victoria Secret shows, bars, celebrity parties, or a random trip to Europe. She encourages the careless for you, even though she knows very well that you have many responsibilities that keep you strapped in. Although you definitely knew that your social life was in desperate need of some flavor, you could not just spontaneously add some flavor to it. You have school to attend to, homework to get done, and bread to get. It wasn’t your fault that you have to be an adult and Meri got to live her best life. 
“Maybe I can get another boyfriend to ruin my life again,” you began sarcastically. “Distract me from my studies and force me to call off days from work. Make me poor again and slack in my courses-- what a joy that would be.” 
Meri huffs, clearly irritated by your words. “You won’t meet another Chris, I pinky swear.” 
The very name she emitted made you want to vomit. Knowing alone that he existed erupted discomfort all over your body. There are days where you could be fine being reminded of him, but other days absolutely defeat you. Socializing would just lead to another Chris and although that’s very narrow-minded of you, you were just too afraid to risk it. 
“Even so,” you begin as you bring the empty bowl towards the kitchen sink. Turning the faucet on, you take the initiative and start washing the buttery dish. “Partying is your thing. I don’t necessarily fit in the party scene.” 
“That’s because you refuse to go to parties,” Meri pointed out a fact. You could feel her right behind her, her warm breath right on the back of your neck. She clung her hands on your shoulders and squeezed them gently. “Just one night and I’ll never ask you again.” 
...One night really couldn’t hurt, could it? Wait, no, stop. Meri was good at being persuasive but when it came to parties, you are extremely adamant. You didn’t favor being in the position of being surrounded by many drunk people, potentially being touched by them and then sweating out buckets due to the summer heat and the cramped space. That idea did not appeal in any way. 
“But Meri-eeeeee!” Whining was a very good tactic for you, as it typically worked. But Meri was not having it this time around. As soon as you finished washing your hands and shutting off the faucet, she turns you around and forces you to face her. 
“You’re sleeping over this weekend, right?” Merigold begins with facts. You nod, unsure as to where she was going with this. “That means you finished all your homework due for the coming week, yes?” You nod again. “That also means you don’t work this weekend?” Another nod. “Perfect. We’re going the fuck out, bitch.”
You accidentally nod from the pattern but completely shake your head when realizing it had actually been broken. “I-- wait, Meri, no. I’m not going out--” but she had shut you up with a finger pressed against your lips. 
“It’s Friday night and there's a party happening at one of my favorite bars,” Meri begins to fill you in. “It’s been booked for the night for the event so there won’t be anybody I don’t know. You’re going to let me doll you up like the Barbie doll you’re supposed to be.” 
“I’m not plastic, Meri,” you grumble in annoyance. But her face glistened from the triumph. She easily defeated you and there was nothing more you could do. Plus, seeing her so excited made you feel somewhat better about going out with her. 
She rubs her hands down your arms to weave her fingers between yours, “you’re much too beautiful for plastic, Y/N. I just want to dress you up and make you believe how gorgeous you really are. Live that fairy tale story just for one night.” 
Her green eyes were full of hope and excitement, with a hint of puppy eyes and begging. She knew you already lost, but this had to be the cherry on top. You weren’t going to deny her, seeing as she was so excited to finally go out with her best friend. And maybe it really was time to embrace just how attractive you were and show off. 
You let out a shaky sigh before nodding and giving her a small smile, “alright then; dress me up.” Meri widened her eyes and squealed so loudly, you had to look around to see if she broke any glass. 
XXX
Merigold might have gone a little overboard with the consent you gave her. 
She wanted you to look bold yet classy, bombastic yet very well put together. So she decided to flatten your hair with a steam-powered flat iron (to prevent damaging your hair, of course.) She parts your hair in half so each side of your head has enough hair to cover. Using the front parts of your hair, Meri pushes it behind your ears while pulling the rest of your hair a little forward to create that clean and nicely done hairdo. 
For your face, she didn’t want to do too much. She only wanted to highlight your features (which is everything about your face, according to her.) She lightly applies foundation and contour on your face, with a bit of concealer here and there to help with your stress marks. She fills in your eyebrows nicely and does a red/brown ombre eye shadow that isn’t too much but states its existence on its own. With small wings and a bit of mascara, Meri finishes with a cherry lip gloss on your cleaned and lip-scrubbed lips. 
Then, it was your outfit. And you didn’t keep yourself from vocalizing your opinion this time. 
“Meri, this is a bit much, isn’t it?” You quietly question, looking down at your outfit. Meri was body-deep into her shoe closet, sifting through for a pair of heels that you know you’re going to have some trouble walking in. You haven’t worn heels since your high school graduation. “Meri?” 
“Y/N, you look bitchin’,” Meri insisted while tossing shoes around. You looked over to see her frantically look through boxes of name brand shoes you’d never afford. “These shoes will make it come together.” 
Goosebumps crawled all around your body as your self-consciousness finally decided to scream at you. A lot of your skin had been showing and you were barely wearing much clothing to cover the others worth concealing. Much cleavage had been showing, as the skimpy dress stopped right above your knees. Your chest as pressed a bit, having the top of your breasts protrude. You instinctively hugged your body, attempting to cover as much as you can in the completely white walk-in closet. 
“Here they are!” Meri cheers in success as she returns to you and offers you these fairly low wedges. You took them hesitantly, taking a seat on one of her leather stools and easing in the golden-strapped shoes around your feet. “Are you cold?” Her warm hand begins to rub your upper arm. “Should I put the temperature up in here?” 
You shake your head as you finish up strapping the wedges. “I’m not cold-- just a little nervous…” Meri bent down before you, holding your chin between her fingers while giving you an encouraging smile.
“You actually haven’t looked at yourself yet, have you?” You shook your head, knowing that Meri wanted to complete the outfit before surprising you. She stands up straight once again and offers her hands. You take them and allow her to guide you over to her tall body mirror. It reached from the floor to the ceiling. But before you could stand in front of it, she gives you a good look and a squeeze. “You actually have no idea just how beautiful you are.” 
She pulls you gently while you sheepishly let her present yourself in front of the mirror. You look straight into your own eyes before allowing them to look at yourself up and down. This can’t be me, can it? You looked down at your forearms, seeing the golden accessories hang from your wrists, neck, and ears. 
“That’s… me?” You whisper to Merigold as you continued to scan yourself in the mirror. Your fingers trailed around your body, your skin glistening with gold sparkles ornate all over from all the luxurious products Meri let you use. “You’re kidding.” 
“I’m not,” Meri confirmed. She joined you in the mirror, still in her pajamas and unready but nonetheless beautiful. Meeting shoulders, she smiles widely and nudges you lightly. “Aren’t you a tall glass of water?” 
You were swallowed up by a completely crimson dress, which did wonders complimenting your body as well as your makeup. There were no words to say for it-- you weren’t Y/N anymore. Tonight, you were the woman you’ve been wondering about all your life but never let her out. 
“Wow,” you breathed out, unsure as to how to really react. You then turn over to her and begin to fret. “Wait, you have to get ready too! Is there enough time before the party?” 
“Girl, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing,” Meri hums quietly. “It’s only 6 and I’ve invited my favorite nail salonists so we can get mani-pedis.” You raised your eyebrows at her unnecessary amount of spending and she could only raise her hands shyly. “You’re finally letting me spoil you-- let me have my moment.” 
“Yeah, yeah…” you rolled your eyes while flattening any wrinkle on the dress. But the dresses fabric on the outside didn’t exactly wrinkle so you were all set. “Hey, I have a question,” you started, with Meri staring at you in fascination. “When did you get my outfit that’s exactly my size?” 
“I’ve been waiting for this moment, Y/N,” Meri stares at you wistfully. “Finally, my time has come and my purpose will soon be fulfilled.” 
“You’re so annoying,” you shove her playfully before the two of you go back downstairs to prepare for the nail salonists. Meri failed to mentioned that she also invited her hair stylist and makeup artist so everything could get done at the time. All you could do was shake her head as she begins to explain her outfit to you. 
XXX
“Can I back out now?”
“Absolutely not.” 
You bite down on your bottom trembling lip as you looked through the shaded window of Meri’s SUV. The flashing lights of the city night wasn’t foreign but could definitely burn your eyes. Lines were piled with people who clearly weren’t allowed in with an army of guards protecting not only the door of the bar, but the surrounding blocks. Paparazzi swarmed the area as well, and quickly had taken notice of Meri’s car. 
“Meri,” you begin quietly, “what other celebrities will be here?” 
She looks down and thinks for a moment before nodding, “other models, artists, producers, actors. You know, a typical party.” Your eyes widened, unsure if you heard her correctly. “It’s no biggie, Y/N. You’ll meet them and it’ll be like you’re talking to normal people.” 
“Ah yes,” you spat, “normal people with millions of fans and millions of dollars. Their faces are on the TV I watch and the magazines I barely read.” Meri shoves you lightly and pouts. “I’m just a little nervous, okay?” 
Meri smiles. Her hands carefully hold up the bottom of your head and meets with your eyes. “I promise you shouldn’t be nervous. They’re really just like us; super chill and just looking for a good time.” 
You swallowed harshly, letting out several sighs while keeping yourself calm. You begin to shake your hands, feeling your palms get clammy from the anxious sweating. “Do I look okay? Am I presentable?” 
Meri shakes her head, “you’re beautiful, okay?” She then straights up your back and pushes your chin up. “Be confident, okay? You’re going to shoot arrows directly into everyone's hearts, I promise you that.” 
You take her word and release a majority of the nerves. This was your moment after all. Why should you be nervous when you look like a million dollars? Tapping on the glass, Meri’s security opens the door for you and offer a hand to assist you out. 
Taking the hand, you were immediately blinded by camera flashes. They were deafening, with the added spouts and shouts of the paparazzi and fans stood on the side. You raise a hand above your eyes to protect them as you turned and waiting for Meri to come out. And she does, with a smile touching ear to ear. 
“Merigold Leigh! Look over here!” Desperate calls for her to look over sounded as Meri gave them looks and smiles. She looked beautiful, with her ginger hair in waves and blue makeup done very subtly. Her caramel body was hugged nicely with a cerulean blue dress, flaunting every inch of her curves. 
“Y/N, let me go first,” Meri suggested. You listened while letting her lead, but she offers her hand for you to hold so you don’t part from her. She didn’t see, but you were smiling so warmly from how sweet your best friend was. She’s really one in a million, and you weren’t willing to exchange for anybody else. “Pardon me, my best friend and I are coming through!” 
The two of you made the cement below you sound as paparazzi continue to call her name. But Merigold was focused on getting the both of you in as you and her stood before the bouncers. The bouncer looks down, clearly recognizing Meri but glancing curiously at you. “She’s my plus one, love.” The bouncer nods, not needing any explanation as another bouncer opens the door and allows the both of you in. 
Though getting through was difficult with several fans touching you guys, Meri managed to pull you two in with a fair amount of ease. The bass of ‘bad guy’ quickly coursed through your veins as Meri held your hand tightly while squeezing you through the crowd. You kept your eyes down, knowing that the people surrounding you were famous and owned a net worth higher than yours will ever be.  
Where are we going? You thought to yourself as Meri seemed to have known where she was dragging you. With each step you took, you could feel yourself get more embarrassed. Your legs were completely out and bare, as you felt your thighs rub gently against each other with every step you took. Thankfully, Meri had a solution to the chafing but the embarrassment had none. You just had to deal with the fact that you’re flaunting. 
“Ashley!” You were suddenly halted and lost hold of your best friends hand as you looked up and watched her hug another woman. You looked to see that it was a fellow model; Ashley Graham. Meri told you what you were to expect, but that didn’t stop your heart from running. 
“Meri, how are you?” The brunette model hums excitedly. You listened to the ‘duh’ of the song before the beat gently dropped. You watched their happy reunion as fellow models you were familiar with had joined in and exchanged hugs. But Meri made the exchange quick so she could pull you in and introduce you. 
“Ladies, this is my bestest friend, Y/N,” Meri begins while putting her arm around you. You smile shyly, recognizes the few faces you’ve met several times due to Meri’s work. But you respected Ashley Graham a lot and put out your hand. 
“It’s very nice to meet you,” you started as Ashley got closer to hear you more properly. “You look gorgeous tonight.” White pearls gleam as she returns the handshake. 
“Awh, thank you,” Ashley kindly takes the compliment and eyes you up and down. “You look just as beautiful-- I mean, look at you! Are you not a model as well?” You cheeks went hot as you waved your hands and shook your head. Meri shook her head to confirm it and Ashley remained wide-eyed. “That’s shocking. You’d be an amazing model.” 
You shook your head, “I think Meri should be the model between us. I’m too busy studying in NYU anyways.” Meri grinned, squeezing you a little closer as you listened to the next verse of the tune come in. 
“She’s my study bug.” Meri smiles warmly at you, “she tends to study a little too much but I love her all the same.” 
Everyone chimed in with giggles as you rolled your eyes. Words are flung all through the conversation until you and Meri divide. She went ahead to talk to her fellow models (likely about their work) as you decided to take a seat beside Ashley. The wedges, though comfortable, were finally starting to bother you. 
Ashley quickly spews a drink to the bartender and gives you a look while she waits. “Did you not bring a purse with you, Y/N?” 
You looked down at your crossed legs, placing your hand down where your phone is, “Meri told me I wouldn’t need to bring my wallet or anything so I only brought my phone with me.” She looks down to see where your hand was. “But my ID and credit card are in my case.”
“Do you have it strapped against your thigh?” You nod. “Y/N, you’re absolutely clever.” You laugh while doing a small bow. She joins in the laughter and you exchange a few more words until Meri comes and interrupts. 
“I feel terrible to cut this short, but Ash we’ve gotta go,” Meri informs. She gives her a puzzled face, “our managers are looking for us. Y/N, you stay here.” You nod, following through with your given instructions as you watch the beautiful women wave at you before being dissolved into the crowd of people. 
Subconsciously, your eyes began to scan the crowd and felt your eyebrows rise. The Jonas Brothers are here? What kind of event was this exactly? Feeling the intimidation from being surrounded by so many known people, you decide to turn back to face the bartenders. But as you did, you met eyes with the bartender that had finished making Ashley’s drink. 
“Oh, she had to go do something,” you explained as you began to reach for your phone, “how much is the drink? I’ll pay for her.” The bartender smiled warmly at you and waved his hand. He began walking away, having you assume it was on the house. 
You bring the small glass cup close to you, having you look down to see several cubes of eyes and a small amount of a transparent substance. You gave it a whiff before concluding it was vodka. Bringing it up to see the bottom, you squint your eyes to notice there were some sort of flakes in it. What in the world… 
“It's a shot of Gold Flakes Supreme,” the bartender returned with a rag and a small glass in his hands. You met with his azure eyes, nodding at the information before putting the drink down and pushing it slightly away from you. “You don’t want it?” 
“It wasn’t meant for me,” you reply simply, “plus, I don’t drink much.” The bartender nodded but gave the small glass a push. “Uh…?” 
“I wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” he begins with a smirk. “A beautiful girl like you deserves at least one expensive drink tonight.” You blush, looking down at the polished dark oak bar as he pushes it into your peripheral vision. With your elbows leaned against it, you support your head with your hands and wistfully stared down at the drink. “Though, you must be used to drinking such luxurious drinks like this one.” 
You kept blushing as you met his eyes again and shook your head, “o-oh no, I’m not famous!” His eyes widen but you laugh it off, “my best friend is a model and wanted me to come with.” The bartender comprehends and smiles a little cheekier. 
“That explains how kind you are,” the bartender begins, “many celebrities are more stuck up.” You shrugged. 
“I take it you’ve met many celebrities,” you put out. Right at your last word, someone calls for the bartender and he glances back. He winks at you before turning away to serve another customer. 
You felt your cheeks warm. No! You began to scold yourself. Cupping your cheeks, you tried cooling yourself off with your cold hands. For the sake of your career, you were not going to immediately fall for a man so easily. You didn’t even catch his name. 
While you were working away your thoughts, you felt an abrupt and harsh thud beside you. Turning slowly, you were met with a large man who seemed to be absolutely fuming. Your eyes scanned this man up and down, the sound of Eastside and his grown fusing together. And the man was very quick to notice your staring as he snapped his neck towards you, his brown orbs full of intimidation. “Can I help you?” 
You found yourself distracted by how attractive this man was. Though the strobe lights made it difficult to tell, his skin was clearly sun-kissed. His jawline was sharp and obvious, but those chubby cheeks of his made them slightly less daunting. His nose was fairly big with facial hair randomly ornate about his face-- but he was handsome. Dark circles sat under his eyes, but those brown orbs were absorbing you completely. 
“Hey!” A deep and strained voice brought you back to reality. You blink a few times before looking at the buzzed-cut man glaring down at you. “The fuck you lookin’ at?” Attitude. 
You quickly look away and mutter a small “nothing.” He nods and turns back towards the bar, snapping a bartender his way. You glanced over, noticing that this man was completely in black. A black dress shirt tucked into what seemed like a shinier (and darker) pair of black pants. You let your eyes wander away once again, your nerves collecting up and down your spine. 
A different bartender comes his way, in which he scoffs, “fucking finally. Can I have 8 shots of absinthe?” The bartender looked like her soul was just kicked out of her body. She nods anxiously before dissolving into the large wall of alcoholic drinks. 
You decide to put your focus on the bit of vodka meant for Ashley. The ice was watering up the drink, making you feel awful for wasting such an expensive drink. Then, like you had spoken your thoughts, the man beside you asked, “are you going to drink that?” His voice was deep, nasally, and sounded like a warfare between two accents. 
You meet with his eyes again and shake your head, “it isn’t mine.” He frowns. 
“Then whose is it?” 
Does it really matter? “Clearly not yours.” The man raised his eyebrows in shock. You, too, were shocked by the sass that left your tongue. You watched as he clicked his tongue against his bottom teeth. 
“Do I know you?” He asked condescendingly. 
You shook your head. “Do I know you?” The bartender returned to the man with the 8 shots he requested. The shots were full of this dark green liquid that made your liver already want to hurt. He nods away the bartender before returning to you with a smirk. 
“You’re not famous, are you?” You shake your head. “A plus one?” You nod. He nods slowly before preparing to pick up one of the shots he ordered. 
“I take it you aren’t a plus one?” He follows you and shakes his head. “Makes sense. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person without a net worth here.” You watched his plump, soft lips hold onto part of the shots rim and downs the shot with ease. He grimaces from the taste and shrugs. 
“And you don’t know who I am?” He asks while recuperating from the shot of poison he just drank. 
You shrug, “I’m sorry, am I supposed to?” The man chuckles and shakes his head. “Are you an actor, artist, producer-- model?”
He emits a raspy chuckle, “do I look attractive enough to be a model?” You could feel your cheeks tint pink. He smiles at this, having you notice that he has a very sweet smile. It makes him much more appealing compared to the angry expression he held when he first came over. “I’m in a band. I play bass.” 
“Oh, cool.” You were genuinely impressed. Though you have no other celebrity to compare to aside from Meri, this man must have talent if he’s at this bar right now. “I’m sorry if I was rude earlier.” 
“Ah no, it’s my fault,” the man admits as he waves off your apology. “I’ve been crabby all night and decided I wanted a drink.” 
“That’s not the best coping mechanism, you know,” you commented as he took another shot. He grimaces yet again and slams the empty shot glass on the table. The man suddenly got closer to you, causing you to back off slightly. “H-hey--” 
“I’m sorry,” he speaks a little louder, “I can’t hear you too well over the music.” Eastside was blaring pretty loudly, you had to admit. You eased up and nodded. “I know I shouldn’t drink, but my life feels like it's falling apart.” 
“Are you stressed out?” You asked politely, your voice much softer and kinder. “I can imagine being famous isn’t easy.” The man shrugged. 
“That’s always going to stress me out, you know?” You nodded. “But I’ve recently received some shitty news, which only brought shittier news.” You frowned. You felt his words completely. “I’m just kinda stuck between a rock and a hard place.” 
Aren’t we all? You felt kind of bad. Even though he’s famous and could have everything, he’s still human and has the potential of losing things, too. And drinking doesn’t seem like his best friend either. He must be having a pretty hard time. And you weren’t sure why, but you decided to take the shot of watering vodka and forced it down your throat. The man beside you sat and watched as you coughed from the disgusting and very warm drink. 
“My best friend brought me out here so I can try to get a better social life,” you admitted sheepishly, clinking the empty glass with your acrylic nails. “But I’m not famous so I don’t know what she expects from me.” 
The man keeps quiet for a moment before slowly sliding one of his shots to you, “you’re doing pretty good right now.” You look down at the shot and smile curtly. He seemed kind, even though his aura is pretty off-putting. “Have a shot with me.”
“I shouldn’t…” you murmur as you bring the shot glass between your hands. 
He holds up a shot near you and smiles, “I insist. You’re the only person I want to drink with right now.” You shook your head but he placed his hand on yours. You flushed up, feeling the hard and dry calluses ornate on his large hand. “Please.”
His voice emanated pure defeat, like he had nobody else but you. There was a touch of beg, and there was only so much you could do to resist such an irresistible man. With a shaky sigh, you pick up the shot and meet his eyes. “Fuck it.”
An hour passes, and each of you were full of shots and giggles. You two bounces off of each other from conversation with ease, like a perfectly made algorithm. He explained his broken accent, as he’s originally from Australia but had unfortunately been Americanized from fame. He told you of all the lovely experiences he’s had traveling all around Asian and Europe with his band mates who also happened to be his best friends. Listening to how content he was telling you these stories made you glad for his mood change. 
Even if the two of you were a bit too tipsy. 
“You know, you’re a really good listener,” Calum began seriously. He was a very chill drunk, extremely collected with very few slurred words. “Thank you for lending me your ears.” 
You nodded, feeling your head heavy from the motion, “I get that a lot.” You felt a little sluggish, your eyes barely keeping up with his. He notices this and quickly whistles over a bartender. Your eyes wandered to see that it was the male bartender from early. He asked for a water bottle and the bartender eyes you worriedly before fetching his request. 
“Let’s sober you up a bit,” the man insists as he takes the water bottle from the bartender and opens it up for you. You feel fingers lift your chin up as you felt the bottle gently sit between your lips. Cold water slowly entered your mouth as you swallowed a good amount. It was refreshing, and tasted so much better than the vodka and absinthe you drank. He pulls away the bottle after you wave it away and lets you go, “how you feeling?” 
“Mmm,” you nod, “better.” The man smiles warmly at you. He then squints a bit before he brings his hand up to your face. You backed off a bit but he stuck out his thumb and began to dab your bottom lip. You could only blink as he gently dabbed away the loose water that remained on your glossed lips.
“Good girl,” he breathed, putting his hand down slowly. His brown eyes were captivating; you couldn’t find yourself looking away. And hearing him call you a good girl made you feel a bit weird. A little bit hot. He seemed entranced, too, as his face gradually came closer to yours. “Hey stranger, can I ask for your name?” 
“I’m Y/N.” You stuck your hand out to him. 
“Calum.” His large hand shakes yours. But he holds onto it, your eyes still locked with his. You smiled goofy. Calum. 
“I like your name,” you slur out. 
“I like your lips,” Calum murmurs quietly. His hot breath tickled your lips, having you realize just how close he was to you. “Hey Y/N… can I kiss you?” 
It was a shot in the dark. But it was only one shot and it’s either a complete hit or a complete miss. Although you weren’t completely in your right mind and should probably be looking for Meri, you really wanted to seize this opportunity. After all, when would a very attractive man such as him come around again? 
You nodded and closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the interlocking. And, without wasting a second, the man by the name of Calum, pressed his lips firmly against yours. They were warm and soft and plump-- exactly what you expected. You felt the way his warm tongue dragged along your bottom lip, savoring the saccharine goodness of it. His teeth would gently graze along your bottom lip while calming it with his tongue. 
His hands quickly worked their way to your face, cupping your cheeks gently with his fingers fairly spread out. His thumbs were lightly denting your face while the other fingers had been gently massaging the back of your head and neck. Calum wanted more and more of you, as if you two weren’t locking lips, noses touching. Your hands found their way to his thighs, keeping you up as you two tried getting closer to one another. 
Calum smelled good. He smelled of clean clothes and cologne, but he wasn’t drowned in it. It made the taste of booze easier to bare from his lips. Your pussy kept clenching, your hormones clearly desiring this man. Subconsciously, your hands crawled over to find that his crotch was protruding and twitching desperately. He groaned into your mouth from your touch. 
“Fuck,” he growled against your lips. Your anxiety quickly rose as you pulled away. “Hey--” 
“N-no, we shouldn’t be kissing here,” you mumbled nervously, looking around the bar. “Others could be taking photos, or paparazzi--” 
“Y/N,” Calum spoke over you. “Paparazzi isn’t allowed in here and celebrities mind their own business among other celebrities.” You blinked a few times, still pretty drunk and attempting to understand his words. “Just like them, I want my privacy. So don’t stress, okay?” 
You nod shyly, causing Calum to smile widely again. “Okay but um…” You pressed your thighs closer together, feeling a bit wet between them. “Can we… change scenery?” 
Calum’s brown eyes glowed, offering his hands to you, “I was just about to ask the same thing. Come on.” He looks around before muttering an ‘um.’ You watch as he untucks his dress shirt and proceeds to unbutton it. 
“Calum?” 
Without answering you, Calum removes his dress shirt and begins to cover your head. Confused, you held the shirt down so it didn’t slide off. You were going to ask but Calum was quick to answer, “I don’t want the paparazzi taking photos of you when we step out.” Protecting my identity, you thought. Sick. 
Calum checked his pockets to make sure he had everything before standing up and offering his hand. You slowly rose from the stool, using Calum’s forearms to help you up. As you did, you glanced back to see the bartender watching you from afar while making a drink for another customer. You look back at Calum and allow him to guide you out the bar. 
“Cover as much of your face as you can, okay?” Calum instructs as he begins to lead you out of the bar. You take in your instructions as you slip through celebrities. You felt like you were going to get stuck with how crowded it was, but Calum had a very firm grip on you. “Excuse me!” 
In seconds, you felt fresh air coat you all over. Your lungs were celebrating from the warm yet refreshing air. But you couldn’t bask in the excitement of being outside as you two were quickly met with flashing lights and shouts. You heard the paparazzi scream ‘Calum Hood,’ allowing you to safely assume that that was the man's full name. 
“Miss!” Several of them then began beckoning to you, feeling hands attempting to reach you and reveal yourself. And they were close, but you had a pretty firm grip on the shirt. His smell was intoxicating and you looked like a nun covering your face with the shirt. But one more grab finally sparked some initiative from Calum. 
He pulled you into his arms, your body firmly against his built torso, “stop fucking touching her!” He spat at the paparazzi, who only ate this up and resumed taking more photos and videos. You noticed from the little hole you had to see that security quickly came and pushed them back. This gave you and Calum enough time to get to his car and escape. “In here, beautiful.” He opens the door to his black SUV. 
You struggle with your wedges but you get inside the car. As he closes the door, he rushes over to the driver's seat and joins you in the car. “You can take that off now.” Removing the shirt, you look around in paranoia. But his windows were shaded so nobody would be able to see the inside. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” 
You fold the shirt and hand it over to Calum, “I’m fine, don’t worry.” He smiles while taking the shirt and gently placing it in the back of the car. He looks straight again and presses the button to start his car, watching as everything turns on and lights up. His radio immediately blasted Slow Motion by Trey Songz and you giggled. 
“Shit, I’m so sorry--” Calum begins to apologize as his fingers try to lower the volume. But you loved this song and couldn’t help but jam out. 
“Baby, when I saw ya walking out the door,” you sung, your hands reaching up to touch the roof of the car. “I jus knew you needed somethin’ more.” 
Calum watched you in fascination as you sway your body to the sensual song. His boner had been getting worse and worse as you dragged your fingers down your collarbone and towards your chest. You notice that the car had been running but not moving. You look over at Calum. 
“Shouldn’t you be driving?” 
“Shit, yeah.” 
With that, Calum pulls away from the curb and begins to drive to his apartment. You watched him drive, noticing how muscular his arms were. They were bigger than your face. Your eyes guide down to his collarbone, noticing one of the two tattoos that sit just below it. You bring your hand to touch it, causing Calum to flinch. But his tension dissolves as you slowly trace the lines. 
“Like it?” He hummed quietly. 
“It’s fitting,” you reply with a nod. You begin to drag your fingers towards his shoulder and down his muscular arm. They barely grazed his skin, but it had done just enough to make goosebumps rise. “Does my touch make you nervous?” 
“Nah,” he replies unconvincingly. He quickly blasts the A/C and chuckles, “I’m just cold.” You giggle, continuing your adventure down his side. Your fingers reach his pants, causing you to bite your bottom lip. Your hand swiftly finds itself right on top of his boner, getting a “fuck!” out of him. 
“You seem to have a problem down there,” you mumbled quietly. Calum chuckled. 
“Amazing observation, Y/N,” Calum compliments sarcastically. You roll your eyes as you look up to see car lights glisten against Calum’s face. You look over to notice why he began sucking his teeth and sighing. “Fucking traffic,” Calum grumbles as he begins ot honk. “Fucking go!” 
You laugh at his rage before returning your focus down on his crotch. Gently, you rub his boner, feeling his limb gradually get larger. Calum lets go of the wheel as he’s taken his defeat in the traffic and begins to pay attention to your actions. You look up to see his brown eyes study your hand and his bottom lip firmly stuck between his pearly whites. 
You toy with the zipper of his pants before you halt and pout, “is this okay?” 
Calum nods, “it's way more than okay.” 
You resumed, pulling down the zipper slowly while Calum helped in pulled the pants down slightly. His black Calvin Klein's couldn’t do much as Calum’s boner immediately shot up. The tightness from the pants had been restricting his cock for too long as you heard Calum emit a relieving sigh. Your hands cling onto the waist of the boxers before pulling it completely down. You noticed that he was cleanly shaved before your eyes were on his bare cock. It immediately slapped against Calum’s stomach. 
Without any more delays, you move closer to the drivers while using Calum’s thigh to hold you up. Using your free hand, you hold the 7-inch limb to keep it from slapping his stomach. Veins danced up and down his cock, his tip a light hue of pink. You let out a nervous sigh before bringing your lips to his tip. A throaty moan escapes Calum’s lips as your lips wrap around the top of his cock. 
“Fuck,” Calum dragged, throwing his head back as you licked the man’s cock up and down. His dick was shiny from your saliva, making it easier for your hand to stroke it up and down while your mouth did the rest of the work. “That feels so fuckin good…” 
His large hand takes up your flattened hair, keeping it from distracting you as you slowly took in more of his cock. His dick slid in with ease, through his tip was somewhat rough on your throat. More moans ensued from the man’s mouth as you take him as deeply as you could. He began to thrust up, desperate to put his dick as far into your throat as he could. 
“Shit, Y/N,” Calum growled as he moved the car inches in the slow moving traffic. “Can I?” You felt his hand weave through your hair and massage the back of your scalp. He wanted to face fuck you. You used both hands to hold onto his thigh as a way to give consent. He bites down on his bottom lip harshly as he brought his other hand to hold your head. Slowly, he started to move your head up and down his cock. Your warm tongue swirled around his cock as he shoved it in and out your mouth. 
Your panties became wetter from being face fucked. Although your eyes were tearing up and likely ruining your makeup, you wanted Calum to use your body more. “Your mouth feels so fucking good, Princess.” Your new nickname made you hotter as you gagged uncontrollably around Calum’s cock. You swallowed down the piling up saliva in your mouth, and that made Calum high. “F-fuck, your throat is so tight…” 
He began to go a bit faster, tears quickly running down your cheeks. Your fingers and nails dent into his thigh, holding on tighter as Calum used your mouth the way he wished. A string of moans escape his lips-- he wants to cum soon. “I’m gonna cum right into your pretty little throat, okay Princess?” He informs you, his speed not relenting for a second as you felt his cock get bigger in your mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat so many times a minute that you knew it’ll be sore later. 
Calum loved the sound of your saliva all over his cock, going in and out your mouth. “Y/N, I’m cumming--” even though you were warned, your widened your eyes when you felt a warm liquid getting forced down your throat. Immediately, you shot up and released his cock with a pop! Sound. You began to cough, relieving your mouth of being stuffed. With that, a bit of his cum still sat on your tongue and dripped down your bottom lip. It was bitter and salty, but you licked the remaining bit into your mouth. You looked up at Calum, whose eyes were suddenly filled with rage. 
“Princess,” Calum begins darkly, pinching your chin with his fingers. His brown eyes were dim and haunting, causing goosebumps to rush all over your skin. “You let some of my cum drip into my car.” 
You gulped. “I’m sorry…” 
“Oh, I know,” Calum murmured quietly. “I’m gonna make you regret it anyways, Princess.” He then reverted back to driving mode as both hands clasped onto the wheel. You sat back into the passenger's seat properly, shifting uncomfortably from your juices leaking out of your pussy. Calum brought his hand to your thigh and kept it there, ensuing silence in the car as you mentally prepared for whatever the unpredictable Calum had in store for you. 
XXX
You looked out the window when Calum pulled up in front of an extremely fancy and expensive apartment building. You watch Calum turn off the car and exiting it. Walking around it, Calum opens your door and offers you a hand. You looked around curiously, “are you sure I can show my face?” 
Calum nodded, “the paparazzi hasn’t figured out where my city apartment is.” You take his hand and allow him to help you out as he shuts the door behind you and clicks a button to lock the car. Several security guards stood right before you as Calum tossed his ‘car key’ to one of them. You glanced back as one of them gets into the car and drives away to park it. 
Calum’s warm hand holds yours into the beautiful and expensive building. The intensity of the bright lights was blinding as you kept your head down and followed Calum. But when you were looking down, you noticed the inner legs glistening due to how horny you were. And you still weren’t quite that sober so you squeezed Calum’s hand tighter in desperation. 
He chuckles at you, “what’s wrong, Princess?” He glances back at you to see your face as red as a tomato. You bit your bottom lip and shook your head, too embarrassed to tell him your situation. Snickering, Calum guides you to an elevator and presses one of the buttons. You looked up slightly to see that they were going to the 48th floor. 
“C-Calum,” you stuttered, looking up at him. He looked of a sadist right then, knowing that you were wet beyond belief and that you were desperately seeking relief. “I need you.”
“You need me?” Calum repeats. You nod your head slowly and Calum was in a short fit of chuckles. “Alright, c’mere.” He pulls you into his body and holds you tightly at your waist. Your cheeks were burning, and you watched Calum dip down to kiss your lips once again. 
You clung onto his black tank top desperately, feeling his large hands slowly crawl down to your ass. Calum rubbed, grabbed, and spanked your ass as you two kissed through the floors. You listened to the sound of the elevator skipping each floor as Calum’s tongue breached into your mouth. It was clear he was the dominant, his tongue swirling around yours and eventually pressing it down before returning its focus to your upper lip. The gloss that was once on your lips were completely licked away by Calum. 
You felt Calum pull your dress up to tease his middle finger from between your cheeks down towards your pussy. You twitched a bit as Calum’s finger began rubbing between your labias through your panties. “Y/N,” Calum parts his lips from yours, “when did you get so wet?” 
You brought your hands up to his face and pulled it down to kiss him again. Calum’s finger pushed into your pussy, bringing your soaked panties along while rubbing the rim of it. You began clenching inside, desperate for this man to stick his finger completely inside. But before he could, the elevator had finally reached the 48th floor. 
“Let’s go.” Calum pulls your dress down and holds your hand once more to guide you to his apartment. You followed him through the lavish halls of the floor, taking a look out the window to see the mesmerizing sight that was New York City at night. 
“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. Calum looked over and nodded. You heard him fish out keys from his pocket with his free hand. He forced the key in to his apartment and opened it with ease. Calum lets you go as soon as you two enter, closing the door behind you two while you just begin to wander in. “Princess.”
“Mm?” 
Suddenly, two large (and now familiar) hands grab your hips and pull you back. Calum turns you and presses your back against the door. He grabs your wrists and hold them against the door as well, his large body surrounding you. “Finally,” Calum murmurs before he dips into the crook of your neck and drags his tongue on your neck. You let a moan slip, feeling Calum’s teeth begin to tug and tease your flesh with his tongue sliding on to ease the bit of pain. 
“C-Calum…” you force out. Calum’s tongue teased up your neck, his plump lips nibbling your ears. You clench your hands into fists, wiggling in his hold as his teeth grazed along your skin. But he halts to bring his lips to your ear. 
“Tonight,” Calum growls, “I’m Daddy.” Your eyes widen as he tugs your earlobe with his lips. “Do you understand, Princess?” 
You nod, “yes, Daddy.” Calum backs up a bit and holds your chin in his fingers. Although you two were in pitch black darkness, you knew he was smirking at you. He releases your wrists but takes your hand again to guide you through his apartment. You follow obediently, your heart pumping quickly from the rush. You weren’t foreign to one night stands, but this one feels different. This one was more exciting, with a thrill you haven’t felt in a long while. 
He brings you into a bedroom. That was clear as one of his walls were entirely of glass and allowed tonight's light to shine in. You notice a king sized bed with a bedside table and a few drawers. Any other detail was hard to tell from your gradual sobering as well as still being in a fair amount of darkness. He turns around and holds you gently by your neck. 
“Get on the bed,” Calum instructed. “I’m hungry.” 
Gulping, you quickly walk to the end of the bed and take a seat. Calum walks over and swallows you in his shadow, looking down at you as he grinned. He tells you to lay down, in which you listen and try to calm yourself down. You thanked yourself a million times for shaving before you went to Meri’s house tonight. As you tried slowing down your heart, you felt Calum unstrapping your shoes from your feet. 
“Mm?” You wiggled your toes to catch his attention. You heard him chuckle from the end of the bed as he frees your feet from your wedges. 
“I just wanted you to be more comfortable.” You knew that you two were supposed to be fucking, but his gesture was really endearing. You felt your heart warm up from how considerate he was to you. But that sweet moment quickly dissolves when Calum starts pulling your dress up and your panties down. “Spread your legs, Princess.” 
Obediently listening, you spread your legs apart. You cover your face with your hands, completely embarrassed by the situation. Calum’s breath tickled your inner thighs as he completely removed the panties from your body. The tip of his tongue first touches your clit lightly and you were already in shambles. 
“C-Calum…” you moaned. This made Calum stop to glare at you. 
“What’s my name?” He growled. 
“D-Daddy, it’s Daddy,” you pleaded with him. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Calum nods in satisfaction after your apology and dips back into your pussy. You feel his tongue swirling around your clit, stimulating it. You felt waves of pleasure surge through your body, your hands returning to the bed to desperately grab the sheets. His large hands had to hold down your thighs to make you squirm less, his tongue rimming around the entrance of your pussy. 
But he quickly found that dull and brought one hand to your flower. Calum forces his middle finger in first, having you arch your back in pure bliss. Moans drip out from your lips as you hear the sipping and slurping sounds of Calum eating you out with his plump lips. He thumbed aggressively against your clit, beads of sweat began to collect on your forehead and neck. 
“Y-you’re going so f-fast,” you stutter, “it's t-too much…” 
Completely ignoring your breathless warnings, Calum laps his tongue around your clit. He digs two fingers into you, sending sparks all around. You pull at the sheets desperately, your breathing completely off tempo. He thrusts his long fingers in and out slowly, spraying some of your cum out onto the bed. “I’ll be the judge of that,” Calum’s hoarse voice speaks against your flower. 
Eventually, Calum bends his fingers at your g-spot right behind your clit and you writhe in pure euphoria. He smirks at your reaction and keeps doing it while circling around your clit (which had been gradually becoming swollen by his constant touch.) Your climax was closing in on you as Calum start leaving wet kisses all over your thighs, fingers still inside you. He slips his index finger in and you curl your toes. “S-so close…” you moan, thrusting a little bit to get his fingers deeper inside. 
He keeps going but immediately notices the thigh strap with your phone stuck in it. Carefully, he pulls it out of your thigh and puts it beside you on the bed. He’s intrigued by this and keeps it in his head while he continued to pleasure you. “D-Daddy, please,” you shrieked, your nails threatening to poke holes through his sheets. Then, seconds before reaching your climax, your euphoric state comes to a halt. 
Calum retracts all of his fingers and rises from the floor. You glance over to look at him, watching as he rids the tank top on his torso. Though it was still fairly dark, you could his flesh dent kindly to form his wondrous set of abs. You hear a soft snort before hands are offered before you. “Here’s your punishment.” 
Following his lead, he gets you on your feet and holds your face. Your toes adjust to the flatness of the ground as Calum purposely wipes away his lips drenched with your juices with his tongue. He continues to lick his fingers as well, stirring your insides just a painful bit more. This man isn’t human, you thought. He couldn’t be. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs. You widen your eyes, complaints already filing in your head.
“But you didn’t finish--” 
“Are you denying my order, Princess?” Calum growls. He pinches your chin and forces you to lock eyes with him. Goosebumps spread like wildfire as you shake your head. He smiles, “good. Now do as I told you.” 
Nodding, you slide down to the floor, your hands gliding down from his thighs. Your knees dug into the carpet, knowing that it’ll leave rug burns and bruises on them. Calum’s eagerness shows; his thick bulge was right before your very eyes. Your hands carefully undo the zipper like earlier, and your hands quickly pulled down the waist of both his pants and boxers. 
His cock hits his stomach and you could only bask in its largeness. Before you could indulge though, Calum pokes your forehead and reaches for something on the bed. You eye to notice your phone in his hands. “What are you…” 
Calum slides into camera mode and begins to take what you guessed was a video. As he smirked mischievously into the camera, his hand held the back of your head and encouraged you to begin. Both of your hands quickly wrap around his cock to help it into your mouth. A rough moan escapes his lips before switching the camera to record you sucking him off. You were somewhat anxious about it but the video was in your phone so nobody but you could access it. Plus it was dark, so how much could one really see? 
Calum watches wistfully at you as you suck him off the way you did in the car. But Calum was much rougher since he could dedicate his attention entirely to you. With his one hand, he forced his cock deep down your throat and sped up the tempo to his liking. Deja vu. Tears ensued once again, your hands holding onto his thighs so he could face fuck you with ease. 
You could feel his cock twitch inside your mouth, your eyes looking up at the camera above you. Calum had been smiling the entire time, knowing that his climax would be coming soon. Eating you out made his throb cock so hard for you and he wants nothing more but to fuck you. But he had to teach you a lesson. 
Precum slid down your throat, making you swallow around the tip of his cock. He stopped recording and tossed the phone back on the bad. He rested a hand on his forehead, euphoria completely taking him over. But he suddenly pulled you off his cock. 
“Mm.” A string of saliva kept your lips and his cock connected. You clear your throat, easing your throat from the face fucking. Calum grabs your hands and turns you around. With one hand holding the back of your neck and the other right above your ass, he bends you over the bed. 
“Do I have to use a condom?” He presses his body against your back to speak these words into your ear. 
“No, Daddy,” you reply. You were on the pill so there were no worries. Calum nipped at your ear happily before standing up straight. His large hands hold onto your hips, his fingers denting a bit for a good hold. He rubs his cock against your soaked pussy, his tip teasing your entrance dreadfully. “Fuck, please!” 
“Please what, Princess?” He’s a sadist. 
“Please Daddy.” 
You couldn’t see, but you knew for a fact he had a smirk painted across his lips. Without wasting another second, Calum thrusts right into your pussy. You hold onto the sheets, pushing them close together as you dig your face into them. His cock was stretching you harshly, but you wanted him deeper. Your insides clench around, hugging his cock happily to feel his length fuck you harder. 
“Fuck Princess,” Calum mutters. “I love the way your pussy wraps around my cock.” His waist slapped your ass, his hands instinctively going to give it a few spanks. It was too much-- you were seconds from cumming. Your squeals gave you away as Calum starts thrusting faster. “I’m gonna ruin you.” 
Your breathing couldn’t be controlled as you felt an exultant climax finally come. Your release coated Calum’s cock, but his cum was also filling you up. You moaned into the bed, trickles of sweat dripping down the both of you. The combined orgasms poured onto the bed and seeped into the sheets. Calum gave you every drop before pulling out. 
Exhaustion slowly began taking you over while you listened to Calum walk over to his bedside table. Your squinted eyes watch him retrieve two items from the drawer before walking over to the wall of glass. The last thing you saw was a cigarette being placed between his lips before you fell into a deep slumber. 
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
part 2 here
this is long as fuck but this is only the beginning. please let me know if it was any good or bad here and ill see yall in the next part
- gabby xo
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tricksheart · 4 years
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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Meme.
Mun
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& Muse
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fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.
tagged by:  Stolen from: @niflheimqueen​ tagging:  Everyone else who hasn’t yet! You have been tagged!
MY MUSE IS:   canon / oc / au / slightly canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated. IS YOUR CHARACTER POPULAR IN THE FANDOM?  YES? / NO. IS YOUR CHARACTER CONSIDERED HOT™ IN THE FANDOM?   YES / NO / IDK. ( Have you went through his character tags? Every day I see a post that comments on Akira / Ren / the Persona 5 Protagonist and how good looking he is, with or without his glasses or in his Joker costume. And between the 3 wildcard protags: Minato. Yu, and Akira , everyone mostly agrees that my character is the hottest out of them ). IS YOUR CHARACTER CONSIDERED STRONG IN THE FANDOM?   YES / NO / IDK.  ( He becomes a freaking god / demon lord temporarily, defeats gods 3 times, the greatest control over his own personas and has stronger personas of protagonists from the past aka picaro versions. He’s extremely overpowered and has several METAs in his tags to back that claim up from the fandom’s point of view ). ARE THEY UNDERRATED?   YES / NO / IDK.  ( Actually he’s a little overrated. Probably will be until Persona 6. Mainly because he’s in so many games besides the persona franchise. He’s even in a SAO game for crying out loud and him being a playable character in Super Smash Bros doesn’t help either since a lot of people that can’t play persona get to see and like him ). WERE THEY RELEVANT FOR THE MAIN STORY?   YES / NO WERE THEY RELEVANT FOR THE MAIN CHARACTER?   YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAGONIST ARE THEY WIDELY KNOWN IN THEIR WORLD?   YES / NO / IT’S COMPLICATED. ( He’s mostly known to the world as Joker / leader of the Phantom Thieves and of course the rumors about his reputation around the school as being the troublesome delinquent transfer student. Other than being somewhat infamous, he tends to blend in with his surroundings and doesn’t stick out that much. It’s in fact a ruse but a really good ruse to fool almost anyone. The only one that barely calls him out is Goro Akechi but mostly out of jealousy ) HOW’S THEIR REPUTATION?   GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. ( In most cases, his reputation is quite bad but it’s not really his fault. Getting falsely accused, having it get leaked by a teacher in his new school and having people generally spread rumors that aren’t true about him really hurt his social status. He’s not even allowed in the library in the beginning of the game and several people actually root for him to drop out of school completely. That doesn’t even compare when a few individuals call him actual garbage / trash. And he even can’t join any clubs at school despite wanting to join. He’s the only one of the wildcards that can’t join any after school activities. With his friends and confidants, it’s really quite neutral. Some people adore / rely on him ( ‘Kasumi’ / Sumire, Futaba, Ann, Ryuji, Yusuke, Hifumi, Shiho, Shinya ) and others initially don’t want anything to do with him  ( Sojiro / Iwai / Mishima / Kawakami, Takemi, and yes, even Goro but it’s more hidden away because he is capable of hiding it so easily). He’s had the most bad luck in game between the 3 wildcards. HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON?   —  ( I try to stick close to canon as possible but I’ve had Akira even before his game was released so a lot of things are headcanon’d but honestly, Akira is basically a self-insert as there is no set canon. Even his name isn’t permanent ( not counting all the names he has, why atlus why?? ). The great thing about persona protagonists are that you can use just the bare bones of what the game gives you and just run with it because everyone’s interpretation is different / unique.)
SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting
in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. —    ( He’s always fighting for freedom and justice, actually seeks out to destroy the injustice placed on the younger generation or the weak by rotten adults or people that just don’t care that bad shit is happening to others. He’s always looking towards a brighter future and sticks to his own beliefs and never wavers ( unless it’s a bad end AU or just fails to complete a dungeon on time ). He’s willing to rescue / help anyone in need, even if it’s harmful to himself and never sells out his friends, even under pressure. Plus, he’s pretty and has a smirk so devilish charming that you can’t help to notice that he’s a really handsome boy, with or without his glasses. ).
Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  ( His anime counterpart is so bland when compared the game and manga series, mainly because it really doesn’t focus on him too much and mostly on the other characters that surround him. He’s also quite rude to some of his confidants and he can take deals that only benefits him ( like with the Demiurge and Maruki’s happy world reality ). He can be a little selfish and moody, cranky even and I don’t think some muses / people would find that appealing). 
WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE?   —  ( I guess it was how similar I saw myself in him. I actually relate to this protagonist the most. Isolated, away from home with no relatives taking care of him, few to no friends while in a strange place, everyone doesn’t care about his situation and told him to basically be complainant and not to cause trouble. Also what he represents and strives towards. I truly believe he is the best protagonist out there, with Maya Amano from Persona 2 right behind him. He basically inspires others which in return, inspires me to write this character. ).
WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING?   —  ( I actually have the most fun when writing him and those who interact with me and my character really seem to enjoy him and his characterization. Plus, I spend a lot of time and effort into him that it keeps me motivated ).
Some more personal questions for the mun. Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.
DO YOU THINK YOU GIVE YOUR CHARACTER JUSTICE?   YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? DO YOU FREQUENTLY WRITE HEADCANONS?   YES / NO / SORT OF? DO YOU SOMETIMES WRITE DRABBLES?   YES / NO / IT’S COMPLICATED DO YOU THINK A LOT ABOUT YOUR MUSE DURING THE DAY?   YES / NO  ARE YOU CONFIDENT IN YOUR PORTRAYAL?   YES / NO / SORT OF? ARE YOU CONFIDENT IN YOUR WRITING?   YES / NO / A LITTLE BIT. ARE YOU A SENSITIVE PERSON?   YES / NO. / SORTA DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL?   —  ( Yes and no. If it’s legit constructive by all means but if it’s met with ill content, I get defensive. If anyone doesn’t like my version of the protagonist then by all means block me and then go find another one. ) DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU TO EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER?   — ( Yes, I do!! I love when people are general curious about my version of Akira, although sometimes I have to think about something a long time before I can answer them ). IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY? — ( Sure I’ll listen to their side. It’s great to hear different opinions since everything is up to interpretation. ) IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT?  —  (If my portrayal doesn’t fit your idea of Akira / Ren / Persona 5 Protagonist / Joker then perhaps I’m not the Akira / Ren / Persona 5 Protagonist / Joker for you and the block button is always there. No harm done really. ) IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT? — ( My rules state that all hate towards my character will result in a block and I am not afraid to do so if I get any sort of messages or downright horrible comments. Why even follow me if you hate my character, you know? ) ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS?   —  ( Sure. Even if English is my first language, I still make mistakes here and there. If I do spell something wrong or the sentence doesn’t make sense, please let me know ) DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN? — ( I like to think so. There’s not a lot that makes me mad or angry. I’m really chill for the most part ).
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belennui · 5 years
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So about the Netherlands winning Eurovision
To be entirely clear from the start, I’m not making this post because I ‘hate’ the Netherlands or even Duncan Laurence. I don’t. I write this as someone born and raised on Curaçao and from that position has noticed a certain...lack of knowledge, both outside and within the Netherlands.
Because there’s this image that Dutch people cling to and project outwards, that the Netherlands is a small, nice, tolerant country of hard workers who have a lot to offer the world! And the smoking and selling of weed has been decriminalised!!! And we’re so tolerant!!! Incredibly tolerant!! Have always been!! Gay marriage has been legal since 2001!!!
Which is, uh, nice. Except that it becomes pretty grating, in the face of continued and evolving racism, homophobia, and islamophobia, to name just a few things.
For all the tolerance the Netherlands claims to have, we have the following things:
[sources in English] [sources in Dutch]
Zwarte Piet (Black Pete), which is large part of what I like to call national Blackface season. In the last years, ZP has become a lot more controversial than in my childhood, as Black Dutch people have protested against a Blackface caricature who is the companion/servant of a White Saint.  Some places and organisations have since decided to change the way Zwarte Piet looks, but many White Dutch people feel like the whole discussion is rubbish. Think of the [White] children! It’s a children’s party! We’re not racist, you’re racist for thinking ZP is racist! ZP is a friend of children!
Yeah
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The last time I posted about Zwarte Piet, calling it Blackface and the time around it “Blackface season”, I got this ask:
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Yeah.
Black people who have protested against Zwarte Piet have continually been met with physical intimidation and physical violence, have many times even been blocked from protesting and/or wrongfully arrested. One memorable occasion was when Jerry Afriyie, the leader of Kick Out Zwarte Piet, was violently pushed to the ground by police officers (raw footage) in Gouda, in 2014. After this, even the UN stepped in and questioned the Dutch representative about rights violations.
Afriyie also lost his job as a security guard due to his involvement with anti-Zwarte Piet protests. The gist of it is that security guard licenses are overseen by the police, and they refused to give him his. When he appealed, the judge sided with the police.
Here’s what our Prime Minister, Mark Rutte, had to say about Zwarte Piet: “Black Pete is Black, and I cannot change that. He’s called Black Pete.” ... “This is an old tradition.” ... “ I can only say that my friends in the Dutch Antilles, they are very happy, when they have Sinterklaas because they don't have to paint their faces.”
Also mentioned in the above video is none other than Geert Wilders, one of our local right-wing populists, leader of the Freedom Party (PVV) who is widely known for being incredibly Islamophobic and stoking up anti-immigrant sentiment. One time, he very literally asked a group of his supporters whether they would like more or fewer Moroccans in the Netherlands
Another time he is on record straight up lying about who assassinated Pim Fortuyn, who was an openly gay right-wing politician and called Islam a “backwards culture”. Wilders claimed Fortuyn was assassinated by a radical Muslim, when in fact Fortuyn was assassinated by Volkert van der Graaf, a White Dutch man.
For more information on how this man is a shitstain upon the Earth, I refer you to Google.
I guess we need to talk about Thierry Baudet, Usurper of Wilders’ throne. Baudet is the founder and leader of Forum for Democracy (FvD), a right-leaning party that has managed to go from 0 to 12 seats in the senate in recent provincial elections. Upon winning, Baudet held a speech in which he said, among other things: “Just like the other countries in our boreal world, we are being torn apart by the people who should protect us. We are being undermined by our universities, our journalists. By people who receive our art subsidies and design our buildings. And especially by people who are our governors(/governing body).” (translation mine, from here).
A lot of people voted for this guy. A lot of young people voted for this guy. He’s been very openly sexist and misogynistic in the past, and recently even published an essay in which he basically claims that, women who have careers, and access to abortion are causing the downfall of Europe
I’d also like to point out that Baudet has tweeted that it should be possible to fire gay teachers, and the second person on FvD’s list is on record stating that the emancipation of homosexuals has made society dumber.
Since we’re on the topic of homophobia, in January 200+ people, mostly preachers and church leaders, but also a Christian political party leader, signed the Dutch version of the Nashville-statement, which state that marriage should be between one man and one woman, and that the acceptance of gay and trans people is not a neutral moral question.
And if I may circle back to racism:
In 2015, Mitch Henriquez, an Aruban man, was murdered by police officers. He had shouted at them that he had a weapon and pointed at his crotch, upon which five officers descended upon him with pepper spray and batons, and one of them even held him in a chokehold. He died the next day. Two officers were charged and given a suspended sentence, which they have since appealed against, claiming to have done nothing wrong.
In August of 2017, after months and months of being harassed by local hooligans, Gilly Emanuels snapped and used her broom to hit one of them. One of them had thrown a tangerine at her as she stepped out of her car with her two-year old son. In a video that went viral, you can hear how they call her a “cancer-nword”, “cancer-monkey”, and tell her to “go to [her] tree.” After court case of a year and a half, the judge decided she wouldn’t be sentenced to jail time.
And the thing is, these all seem to be individual cases, but they really are part of a much broader pattern of institutionalised racism. It’s incredibly difficult and exhausting trying to talk about racism in the Netherlands, because people here firmly believe in the idea of the Netherlands as a tolerant nation-state, and any voice that tries to raise points counter to this image is immediately shut down.
Nowhere is this clearer than in how Sylvana Simons is treated. She, a Black woman, entered the political scene and eventually founded her own political party, and since then has been subjected to abuse and vitriol both from the people and the political establishment:
When she criticised Zwarte Piet, unleashed massive backlash against her, and someone went and made a video with her face superimposed on the bodies of lynching victims
If you watch any videos of her, for the love of all that exists Do Not read the comments. It’s full of people being incredibly abusive towards her
Recently, when she tried to bring up the topic of police brutality and ethnic profiling in a debate, she was barely allowed to speak, and was told (by White men, her colleagues), that she should be ashamed of herself and that it was disgusting of her to “suggest that black people should be afraid of the police.”
Earlier in that same debate, Johnas van Lammeren, insisted that she should apologise for the fact that someone from her party had called another female politician a “cis white woman.” Upon her asking him if he knew what ‘cis’ means, he said to her, “You should be ashamed. It would dignify you to sit down and be humble.”
There is so much more I could add, not in the least to continued hierarchical and still colonialist relationship between the Netherlands and its former colonies, but this post is already incredibly long. And again, the point for me isn’t to hate on the Netherlands, I just want to point out that the Netherlands isn’t magically free or absolved from its relationship with racism, the rising wave of extreme-right politics, sexism, and homophobia, among other things.
So next year when the Netherlands is on all our screens projecting this image of perfection as they host Eurovision, remember it’s not so simple.
P.S.: pro-Zwarte Piet folk, I kindly ask you not to interact with this post or with me. I will block you.
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{Part One: Lucie Blacknall}
- Hiraeth -
Given the distance from my destination, days of travel by train left me with too much time alone with my thoughts. Staring listlessly out the windows as trees and vistas passed by, my mind wandered, having discarded the book I picked up at the first station. Oscillating between guilt over abandoning Soledad in the abandoned apartment block in an old part of the city I just escaped and guilt over leaving my sister years ago. I was developing a bad pattern of disappearing on people who relied on me.
I tried to tell myself that leaving Soledad was what was best for her, and I did truly believe that. She wasn't cut for the life of a vagrant: the daughter of upper class political moguls who had no time for her, causing her to act out in such ways as escaping her family's estate by way of blackmailing a thief she had discovered was pilfering her mother's personal pharmacy. I hadn't been overly pleased about being found out, and much less so about being blackmailed into bringing someone ill-prepared for a life of vagrancy ... but it had more appeal than a jail cell. She was used to being waited on, having everything there for her, and lounging by the pool all day - never had she gone without a meal, had to run for her life. More to the point, she was hopelessly clumsy at nicking things. Eventually, she was sated with lounging in my questionable abode while testing any and all substances I managed to bring back for selling, which was helpful but only just. She did have other ... skills that were much to my liking (as well as her own), but that was more of a perk of being blackmailed into keeping her.
But it wasn't enough to keep me around.
The moment a little bald man managed to find me (how he ever did, I will never know I'm sure - it seemed almost supernatural) and present me with a envelope detailing a relation and an inheritance I had no idea existed, I was partially out the door.
I did feel bad for taking advantage of Soledad's near state of a constant high by telling her I was running to the shops. She muzzily asked me to join her in bed. Brushing off her weak hands, I planted a light kiss on her head, shouldered my rucksack, and left. I had tucked a note into her jacket before leaving as a goodbye - mostly to save face in pretending that it pained me terribly to be away from her despite our shared, er, lust - and maybe felt even worse about calling the tip line set up by her "concerned" parents regarding her whereabouts. Boarding the first train, I imagined black cars converging on the old apartment block, spilling out well-tanned and toned men in dark suits and sunglasses, and rushing the stairs to find her dozing peacefully.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
Days later found me walking into a coastal village on the tip of god knows where from a bus stop a kilometre or two outside the village proper. I didn't mind the walk, but spending so much time alone in my own head was starting to wear on me, both physically and emotionally. I had successfully chewed away the skin around both thumbs and had made a start on my fingers by the time the bus rolled up to the weathered shelter. No one else got off and no one got on as I stepped off to find the number for a taxi that, once called for, never came.
Luckily, I didn't have to go much further when I located the pub. Like all pubs in small towns, it was filled with slightly grizzled but hardy looking older men and women having their customary evening drink and social. They all stopped and turned to stare as I walked in, my hair flapping like a frizzy pennant in a sudden gust that had come up, pushing me slightly into the warmth of the local den. I plopped down on a stool, dumping my rucksack on the floor as the publican - a willow of a woman with shockingly pale hair - appeared to take my order.
I should have known better but I was craving a dark stout and ordered as such. My nerves were beginning to take over, but I tried my best to ignore them as my stomach churned, hoping the drink would offer some ease.
I was very, very wrong.
The publican asked a few questions as I began to drink, but before I could give up an answer that might satisfy the locals, my stomach heaved in protest. I rushed into the women's, clanged open a stall, and fell to my knees like a repentant sinner before emptying the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl before me. Reeling back, I wipe a shaky hand across my mouth, unable to stand for a few moments. Pressing my back to the stall wall, I squeezed my tight trying to ignore the sour taste in my mouth or the sluggish churning of my stomach.
Maybe this was a mistake.
I had no right to reappear like this into Luna's life. Had no right to claim whatever Blacknall inheritance there might have been in my true name. I wasn't her anymore ... at least I didn't feel like I was.
Several minutes and another downpour from my insides later, I walked out of the bogs shakily, face and hair damp from hastily splashed tap water. I slumped back into my stool, eyes downcast as I huddled closer to my half finished stout not wanting to finish it wishing desperately that I had taken a booth instead of boldly sitting at the counter.
A glass of water appeared before me with a dull thud. I looked up to see the publican waiting almost patiently before reaching slowly to take my unfinished beer away and sliding the water into its place before me.
"Drink," she commanded, turning away to attend the other patrons. Tentatively and obediently, I took a sip, savouring the feeling of the cold, clear water washing the sour taste away and back down where it belonged. Greedily I gulped down the rest of it.
"Did Mr. Thwart not show you the way proper?" came a voice from behind me. I turned out of interest, but realized an older man was looking at me curiously. "That little ras - oh, er sorry you're not ... Miss Blacknall," he trailed off.
Luna was already here. Of course. My stomach churned its nothingness - I would have to arrive tail between my legs. Not that I imagined it any other way, but this confirmed it.
I offered a weak smile. "Miss Blacknall in a sense," I replied, the name feeling strange to hear myself say after so long. "You must have met my sister, I'm guessing." The man looked a little relieved to hear this, relaxing slightly. He looked as if to say something else, but the woman behind the counter got there before he did.
"You're a Blacknall as well then?" I turned back to look at her.
"More common than I thought," I tried to joke but the publican barely tweaked a smile. Instead, she looked me over, as if trying to assess my status based on my recent inheritance. "You'll be wanting to get to the cottage before dark," she stated, eyes unreadable. "Priam, will you take the girl?" she asked, addressing the man beyond my shoulder. His expression mixed between wanting to help and a nervousness that I couldn't make sense of - maybe he was afraid of the dark? Places like these often clung to old mothers' stories about the fair folk and other bogeymen.
"That's all right," I piped up, feeling braver than I felt, "I don't mind a late night walk. Just set me in the right direction and I'll get myself there." I grinned broadly, trying to appear as convincing as possible. "You've already delivered my sister safe, so that as much I thank you for and couldn't possible ask of more now that it's getting late."
The old man's face flushed a bit red as he glanced from me to the woman behind me, a look of shame and embarrassment coming over him. She shook her head in a manner that indicated how foolhardy she clearly thought I was, but the gentleman slunk off to join others around a table, visibly shrinking before throwing guilty look my way.
A curious lot, these locals, I thought. I was used to finding my way and taking care of myself - a little night time stroll was hardly enough to scare me off.
In the time it took me to pluck up both my courage and rucksack, the publican had stretched out a length of string, snipped it with a pair of ancient scissors, and began twisting it into several knots.
"You'll be needing this," she said, finishing the last knot before holding it out to me. I looked at the string - the type used for typing up parcels - and looked at her, the cynic in me taking over momentarily. Her eyes gazed back intensely, indicating that it would probably be best for me to take it without question.
"Erm ... thanks," I replied, holding it awkwardly.
"Keep it on you."
I waved her off dismissively, trying to get out of the pub as quickly as possible and to remove myself from the events that had taken an undoubtedly strange turn. I strolled down the high street, glad to be putting distance between myself and the pub, and enjoying the fresh sea air being blown in as the dark clouds above heralded an incoming storm. My steps faltered a little upon realizing I hadn't gotten any directions to the cottage I was meant to go to, but at the edge of the town I could see, highlighted by the moon, the caisteal in the distance sitting precariously upon a cliff's edge. Easy enough to find.
Casting off the odd bit of string for birds to use, I made my way, pushing against a sense of foreboding and the desire to run away in fear of an awkward reunion and forgiveness that would need to be sought.
I wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised if Luna even let me in. It would probably serve me right to have to sleep on the cottage steps.
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jacksonroseroth · 6 years
Text
Is Thicker Than The Water Of The Womb Chapter 2
Warnings: Angst, mild violence, a sprinkle of fluff
Words: 2,520
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Tora took a step back and fell back on the stairs, clutching her chest. Ubbe rushed to her and helped her up, holding her waist to keep her steady and letting her grip his hand as her whole body shook in shock.
“Why did it take you so long to find her?” Bjorn asked, stepping forward and blocking his view of Tora, defensively. “Everyone in Norway knows that raid was done by King Ragnar.”
“That was not what we were told.” The young man beside Keld, the one he named as his son Rolf, spoke up. He stepped forward, standing next to his father. “We asked if Ragnar had raided England once more and we were lied to. If we knew it was Ragnar, we would have come here and claimed her long ago.”
“Forgive us for not trusting you,” Ubbe said, letting Ivar take Tora as Ubbe stepped forward next to Bjorn, Hvitserk flanking Bjorn’s other side. “Tora is our sister. We will not allow some man claiming to be her father take her from us.”
“You must prove this before we even think of letting her part,” Hvitserk said. Tora clung to Ivar, staring in disbelief at the two men, and touched at how the brothers rallied around her in solidarity. Rolf glared at them.
“My wife, Brenna, was an Englishwoman. I was taken in by her family when my father’s ship wrecked on the beach. I lived with them and learned their ways, soon convincing her father to let me marry her and bring her here to Norway. We couldn’t leave. We didn’t have the money to build a new boat that would hold until we arrived. Brenna abandoned her Christian ways for the gods.” Keld said. “When Tora was born, she had a birthmark going up her thigh. The same mark that killed my father when he was cut by his own sword in the shipwreck, making him bleed out. I told my wife this was a sign from the gods that it was time to make the journey home. Tora is my daughter.”
Tora’s breath hitched and her heart seemed to stop. She had wondered about that mark and what it truly meant all her life, but kept her questions to herself. Since she was mute, she never said anything, therefore no one ever knew she even had such a mark. Tora broke away from Ivar and pushed through Hvitserk and Bjorn, who tried to keep her back. She gave them both a look and laid a hand on their arms before stepping forward. Aslaug lifted her chin even more as she watched her. Tora took a few tentative steps forward and Keld beamed with pride as he looked over his daughter.
“Tora.” He said, softly. He stepped forward and took her hands, the touch making all the Lothbroks twitch in anger. “I understand you are mute, but please...I am your father. You do not need to be afraid.”
“I am no longer mute,” Tora said as a small smile came to her face. “I-I have wanted to know who my father was for a long time, but...How-How do I know you are who you say you are? I am sorry, but my-”
Tora glanced back at the brothers.
“ They ...Are right. I must ask for proof that you are my father.” Tora said, pulling her hands away. “If you are who you say, we shall speak. If not, you must leave and never return. If you truly trust in the gods and believe I am your daughter, you will respect my wishes and do as I ask.”
Tora took a step back toward the boys. Ivar had inserted himself between Bjorn and Ubbe and now stepped forward and slid a protective arm around the front of her waist, keeping her close, as Ubbe and Bjorn stepped forward, protectively as well. Rolf took a step forward also, but Keld stopped him.
“No, my son.” He said, not giving him a second glance. “She is right to ask these things. Tora, I cannot express my regret for not trying harder to find you. But I will do as you ask and prove to you we are family.”
Keld looked to Aslaug and said, “My Queen, I respectfully ask for shelter as we meet your family’s needs.”
A snarky smirk came to her face as Aslaug said, “You have but a week to make your case. If Tora doesn’t believe you, you shall leave and never return and abandon any rights to her as your daughter, whether she is or not. We have raised this child for 14 years and she has come to be like a daughter and sister to us all. We will not willingly let you take her from us without sufficient evidence.”
Keld bowed his head in respect. Satisfied, Aslaug added, “You and your company will be shown to your rooms outside the hall. Gather your evidence and we shall call on you.”
“Thank you, Queen Aslaug,” Keld said. The rest of his company bowed and they all turned to leave. Once the doors closed, Tora let out a soft whimper and gripped Ivar’s arm, burying her face in his neck and crying softly. Ivar held her close and sighed.
“Mother, you cannot let him take her, even if she is his,” Ubbe said as all three boys turned to Aslaug.
“If we had claimed her, he would have a weaker case. But she was never officially adopted. I have no power but to give him the right to prove himself.” Aslaug said as she stood and stepped down. She went to Tora, touching her shoulder to make her turn. “But I will leave the decision to you, Tora. Whether you stay, whether you go, even if you should like to invite them to stay here. You have the final say.”
Aslaug pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her cheek.
“No matter your choice, you will always have a place among this family, Tora. Never forget that.” Aslaug whispered to her. Tora smiled and nodded as they broke apart.
“Thank you, Aslaug. You have always treated me with kindness and I thank you.” Tora said. “You have truly been the mother I never had.”
Aslaug cupped her cheek and smiled.
“Go rest, child,” Aslaug said. Tora nodded and left. Once she was gone, the brothers all slowly trickled out. “Ivar.”
Ivar stopped and sighed, turning to his mother.
“Yes, Mother.” He said. Aslaug went to him.
“If you wish to marry her, you had best make it known now. If Keld doesn’t want her to marry you and he proves he is her father, he takes all control away from me to decide.” Aslaug said. “I know you love her and care for her, so make your decision wisely. This is what she has wanted for years. Her family, her father. Now she has a brother. If she wishes to leave, you must let her.”
Ivar stayed silent. He didn’t want Tora to leave. He wanted her to stay here in Kattegat with him. The thought of simply strangling Keld and Rolf in their sleep was appealing, but if it turned out this man was her father, he might lose her for it. Aslaug cupped his cheek and lifted his head.
“You’ve told her you love her. Now you must ask her to marry you or you need to let her make her own choices.” Aslaug said. She kissed his cheek and left him in the hall. Ivar sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin. He turned to leave and stopped, seeing Hvitserk leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and looking pissed.
“You are truly going to ask her to marry you?” He asked, looking up at him. Ivar sighed and pushed past his brother.
“I don’t have time for your jealousy, Hvitserk,” Ivar growled. Hvitserk turned and caught his arm before Ivar got too far. Ivar snapped and turned on him, slamming him up against the wall. Hvitserk chuckled.
“What are you going to do, brother?” Hvitserk hissed. “Kill me? Beat me? You think any of that will win over our sweet Tora?”
“If you wanted her, you should have asked her a long time ago,” Ivar said. “I am not going to pay for your mistakes and I’m not going to stand for your childish jealousy.”
“I didn't come here to fight you, Ivar,” Hvitserk growled, prying Ivar’s hands off his shirt and shoving him back, making him stumble away and hit the wall. “Just tell me the truth! Do you truly, honestly love her, or is this just to prove a point?”
“And what point is that, Hvitty ?” Ivar hissed.
“That you can have any woman you want,” Hvitserk said.
“That point has well been proven. I want her because I love her and I care about her. If you truly felt the same, then you would let her be happy with her choice, whether it’s me, or Ubbe, or another man.”
“Would you be happy for her if she chose me?” Hvitserk challenged. Ivar clenched his fists. He would hate Hvitserk for the rest of his life if Tora chose Hvitserk over him. But she would be happy and that’s all he wanted. Ivar sighed and unclenched his fists.
“If that was her choice. If she was happy with you, then yes. I could live with it.” Ivar said. Hvitserk blinked in surprise, shocked he didn't say he would fight for her. In the silence, Ivar gave his brother one last glare before taking off down the hall. Hvitserk leaned back against the wall and sighed.
~
Late in the night, Tora stole away again. She didn't know if she wanted to be alone or to be with company, but she knew she needed to be anywhere but the hall. She made her way out to the dock and stood at the edge, staring out into the darkness of the night. As the moon shone onto the water a crisp breeze blew past, making her tug her shawl tighter around her.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Tora jumped and turned, giving a smugly smirking Ivar a look as he approached.
“I just needed a moment.” She said as he came up beside her, sliding an arm around her. They looked at each other for a moment before they both turned to look out over the water. Tora moved closer to him and rested her head on his chest, huddling against him in the cold night air. Ivar sighed.
“Do you truly believe this man is your father?” He asked, softly. Tora slowly lifted her head and looked up at him. She was surprised, yet hurt, to see Ivar looking disappointed and sad, almost as if he knew she had made up her mind to leave.
“I don’t know. I’ve never told anyone about my birthmark. My mother told me the story, though it didn't make much sense at the time, and no one else ever knew. It’s very vague in my memory, but I remember enough.” Tora said. “My mother’s name was Brenna and I knew she was an Englishwoman, not a Northwoman.”
“You didn't know your father was?” He asked, looking down at her. Tora shook her head.
“My mother never really spoke about him. Not that I remember. And I always assumed my father was an Englishman.” She said. Ivar nodded and looked back to the water. Tora watched him a moment, before reaching up a hand to cup his cheek, making him look at her. “Do you think I’ll leave?”
He gave a soft laugh. “I hope you won’t.” He said. “I don’t want you to leave.”
A small smile spread across her face. “I don’t either. But if he is my father…”
“You should go with him.” His response shocked her. The Ivar she knew would always fight for what he wanted. A toy when they were children, the best sword when they got older, he even fought to raid with Ragnar when the time came. So the fact he didn't seem to fight for her now made her wonder.
“I don’t know what I want to do.” She said, pulling her hand back, resting it on his chest. Ivar reached up to grab it, gently, then turned to her, taking her other hand.
“You know I love you, Tora. I would do anything for you, to have you.” Ivar said. “But if this is what you want, I won’t stop you. If this makes you happy, I won’t stand in your way. I’ll let you go.”
Tora’s eyes filled with tears and she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, pressing her forehead to his chest.
“Why must you do this, Ivar?” She asked with a small chuckle, accompanied by a sniff before she looked up at him. “Why must you say such beautiful things and make me question everything?”
Ivar chuckled and cupped her chin. “I don’t know. You force them out of me. I can never lie to you now.” He said. “All I want is to know how you feel, to know what you want. Tell me, please.”
Tora rested both her hands on his chest as Ivar took her waist.
“I love you.” She said. “I want you, but it all can’t be this simple.”
Ivar chuckled and pushed her hair back as he cupped her cheek.
“It can.” He said, softly. “Right now, Aslaug still has the power to see us betrothed. If this man is your father, he will see your happiness and allow it. We can have everything, Tora. We just need to try...Marry me.”
Tora opened her mouth to respond, but Ivar’s was quick to be on it, making whatever was on her mind disappear. Tora wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her closer. They kissed again and again, letting their emotions for the other overtake them and fill them up without any hesitations or fear. They broke apart and looked at each other, briefly, before Ivar buried his face into her hair and neck as Tora clung to him, sliding her nails over his scalp as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“Tora,” Ivar spoke, softly. “Stay with me tonight. Please. I promise you will leave with your purity still, I just want you with me tonight.”
Tora nodded and smiled as Ivar straightened to look down at her and smile. He kissed her, deep and slow, one last time, then took her hand, leading her back to the hall and to his room. Once they were there, Ivar lowered himself onto his bed, rubbing his aching legs. Tora knelt in front of him and helped him remove his braces, then helped him settle himself on his bed. Tora had stopped in her room to change into her nightgown and now took down her hair from earlier and settled herself next to Ivar. He held her close and smiled, pushing a hand through her hair. They settled themselves for the night and soon fell asleep.
~
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palerdin · 6 years
Text
The Siege
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It all began one bleary morning. Mairèad was coming off the usual bender she went on when she returned to Stormwind from any type of travel and didn’t have to worry about conserving rum. Her trip had been a productive one, one that ended with Mairèad’s coffers much fuller and her body exhausted from marathon romps with Krogu, who hadn’t left her bed for a good five days straight. The seas had been fine during the trip back from Kalimdor as well, and the skies fair. The Burning Legion was defeated, the world was pulling itself back together around the wound in Silithus (or so she heard, still not going near the damned thing with a thousand foot pole), and all was well and right.
The sun was too bright that morning, sending stabs of agony through Mairèad’s head, but she smiled anyway, still coasting off the goodness of her trip, and staving off the rest of her hangover with magic and ice water and plans for a pastry. The latter was what got her in trouble; she could have remained blissfully ignorant for days, had she not disembarked, still adjusting her belt and scabbard around her waist, not really watching where she was going until she careened head-on into a Kaldorei.
“Oh! ‘Scuse me!” she chirped good-naturedly but felt her smile fade as she saw the victim of her clumsiness: statuesque and elegant, but covered in ash and tears and wearing a haunted expression. He mumbled something in Darnassian, not even looking at Mairèad, and staggered onward. Beyond him, Mairèad could see more and more of them: Kaldorei refugees, wailing and sobbing, healing each other’s wounds, all burnt or ashy or coughing or something in between.
It took Mairèad what felt like hours to finally piece together the story of Teldrassil’s burning, and when she had, the pastry seemed unimportant. Most things seemed unimportant, really. The banshee queen had done genocide, right when the world was finally supposed to see the peace for which it had been fighting for millennia. The summons to fight must have come not hours after Mairèad had left port Ratchet, and the fighting and horror were so unevenly matched and through so quickly that she didn’t even hear of them until the battle was lost.
When the horror had sufficiently sunk in, something else struck Mairèad that she might not have otherwise considered, had she not just spent five days making lazy love to an orc. Before the thought was fully formed, she paid for a portal to Dalaran and scribbled a hasty note that she shoved in the faction neutral mailbox she and Krogu used to write each other.
Krogu,
I don’t know if you heard about Teldrassil. I can’t imagine you didn’t. Please tell me you’re alright. Please tell me you didn’t help burn it. That’s all I need to know. I don’t care if you fought, I don’t care if you killed, that’s war, but please, please be alright, please don’t have that genocide on your conscience.
I’m fine. & slightly drunk.
Love you,
Mair
Stormwind now buzzed with war preparations, more than it had even when the Legion’s ships tore the sky open and dotted Azeroth’s landscapes. Rumors flew about where and when the counterstrike would be, but they soon coalesced into a solid truth: the Alliance would take back Lordaeron.
Mairèad, Kul Tiran at her most legitimate, had no true sentiment for the kingdom beyond that it was the home of her adopted family, a foothold for the Alliance, and the heart of all the labors of the Silver Hand and Argent Crusade. Still, the idea of taking out the banshee queen held universal appeal, and she found herself aboard one of the navy’s ships, trekking northward and overcrowded with those eager to fight.
She’d combed the crowd for any familiar faces, but the volunteers to fight in Lordaeron were too numerous, and all for different reasons. Nearly every human wanted to take the kingdom back, a healthy number claiming some sort of heritage there. The Gilneans, both cursed and uncursed, saw an opportunity to take from the banshee queen what she took from them, and the few Kaldorei well enough to join in the fight felt the same way. Others rode the ships out of a sense of loyalty to the Alliance, and still others in a mindset of moral correctness. They all seemed in good, determined spirits, or at least seemed optimistic about the battle. They had the element of surprise; surely they’d take back the city.
Mairèad felt less certain. The whole affair had the air of a trap, not just the battle itself, but the fact of Undercity’s involvement. She’d never been there, being alive and all, but she’d heard that it was a twisting labyrinth of sewage and rot, accessible only through old drain pipes and guarded lifts. Though she wouldn’t be in the Undercity herself, she couldn’t imagine that its invaders would escape with their lives.
But good odds or bad, they arrived north of the city and pressed down through Brill to the front gates under the command of King Genn Greymane and, eventually, King Anduin Wrynn. The battle was intense, far more than battles against the Legion had been, not least because the faces glaring back at her from the other side mirrored her own. Few wore expressions of virulent hatred; most were furious, afraid, determined, sad.
The Horde, unlike the Legion, still clung to some shreds of humanity.
Even as their enormous war machine rolled out across the battlefield, crushing fallen soldiers beneath it. Even as magic and arrows and blood flew. Even as the commanders’ voices grew hoarse and cracked with effort. Even then, the Horde weren’t mindlessly evil, following their very nature to destroy. Even then, they were soldiers, as much as Mairèad was.
As much, she realized, as Krogu likely was.
And once she realized that, she saw him in every orc that charged at her, every face glaring back through a halo of Light or a haze of fire. And it was more than that. She started to recognize faces, not by name but by familiarity, from Light’s Hope. Tauren and Blood Elves both; she couldn’t have called their names if she wanted to, but she felt sure that she’d exchanged smiles with one or two, sharpened her Orcish with another. They called upon the same Light she did, and the expressions of doubt and horror on their faces matched the one on her own.
Had any on the battlefield experienced this sort of thing before? Mairèad couldn’t imagine so. The Horde and Alliance had, she knew, tenuously worked together in Northrend, but things had been tense. She couldn’t recall a time when they hadn’t at least been separate, not until the Legion arrived, not until their world was in more danger than any but the oldest among them had seen. And now, Mairèad knew she wasn’t the only one struggling to strike against those with whom she’d so recently shared bonds.
She almost couldn’t help herself when she held up her shield to block the blow of a Troll charging at her; he must have been twice her height, but he also seemed impressed that she was able to throw him off with her Light-enhanced strength. He seemed even more impressed, behind his carved mask, when she remarked, “Hell of a day for it, too, is it not?” in Orcish.
Impressed, and amused. “Ya,” he answered with a chuckle, bringing another blow toward her side, as though they were sparring partners. “Where ya from? Ya Orcish sound like a Blood Elf’s.”
Mairèad snorted, stomping her foot and grinning as the Troll leapt away from her consecration. “It is funny, because in Common, I sound like a peasant!” she answered.
The Troll spun his staff about in a complicated gesture and seemed about to reply when an arrow flew from behind Mairèad and caught him in the neck. Mairèad staggered back, watching as he fell, one hand reaching towards her but soon growing still. “...fuck,” she whispered, rooted to the ground. What was she doing here? What were any of them doing here?
Now all she could think of was finding Krogu, if he was even at the battle. “Please don’t be here, please don’t be here,” she murmured, pushing forward. All of the Orcs she encountered were tall and taller, even the ones with hair the same hue as hers. Krogu had a good nearly two feet on her, but he was scrawny for one of his race, and none of the Orcs Mairèad faced stood an inch below seven feet.
And then--
There he was, she was sure of it, the features she’d memorized with her lips and fingers coated in blood, the mouth that whispered her name so sweetly bared in a snarl. She started to call out to him when the world in front of her exploded in clouds of sickly green--Blight.
Mairèad stumbled and coughed; around her, the armies began to scream in pain and horror, and not just the Alliance armies. “She’s blightin’ her own soldiers!” someone yelled, and Mairèad choked from something besides the wretched disease.
Paladins, especially those who bear shields, are not known for their rational decisions or for running away from danger. Mairèad let out a war yell and ran forward, into the sickening cloud, towards where she’d seen Krogu before the explosion.
She didn’t know how long it had been when she finally woke up again, woke with a cough that made her ribs ache and a pounding headache and her skin pink and raw and healing from chemical burns. She didn’t know what day it was, but Chadley was there, and he told her that he’d stopped her from charging in “like a complete idiot.” That the grace of the Light was the only reason they’d survived. That the Horde had been driven from Capital City, but it was a hollow victory, since Sylvanas had flooded the city with Blight as she fled.
No one had news on the casualties among the Horde. It was hard to say, as Sylvanas had raised so many of those she killed with the Blight, as so many were left in the ruins of the city that was destroyed out of nothing but spite.
Mairèad was bed-bound for the next several days, per orders of the medic who’d bandaged and healed her the rest of the way, after Lorcan and Chadley had stabilized her back in Brill. She’d fought it at first, but when she’d dropped to her knees in pain after just a few steps, she surrendered to her body’s pleas for healing. Her mind and heart still raced, but she wouldn’t be going anywhere on her own for a while.
So she held the letter in her hand, unsent, for nearly a week after the battle, hoping that her delay wouldn’t cause the kind of panic she felt.
Krogu,
Please tell me you’re alright, please don’t be blighted. I saw you there, I wanted to say something, but then fucking Sylvanas--
I’m alright. Mostly. I did something stupid and got myself fucked right up for my trouble. I’ll be alright once I’ve rested up.
Just please tell me you’re alright. Please. Please.
I love you.
Mair
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littlehollyleaf · 6 years
Text
Two times Ed was made to confront the darker parts of himself
So I’ve felt for AGES like there was something of a parallel between the scene with Eddie and Ozzie in Arkham in Reunion and the final scene between Eddie and Izzy in Blood Rush. Like, not in the sense they match exactly as scenarios, but in the sense that they have some curious similarities that highlight both notable comparisons and differences to Eddie’s relationship with both Ozzie and Izzy and Ozzie and Izzy’s attitudes and behaviours towards Ed and… no matter how much I try to forget about or dismiss this, my mind just keeps circling back to it and it’s driving me crazy!
So here I am picking the scenes apart (IN EXCRUCIATING DETAIL) in the hope I can finally stop associating them with each other.
(disclaimer: truth is this comes with a TON of insecurities on my part, because when it comes to the Eddie and Izzy scene I’m ashamed to admit that Izzy’s behaviour didn’t ping as abusive to me until people started pointing it out and I guess I’ve been kinda paranoid ever since that I might overlook abusive behaviour again… so I suppose that made me hypersensitive to Ozzie’s behaviour with Ed in Arkham, and then seeing some things as similar to Izzy’s behaviour made me extra anxious to not dismiss the idea that Ozzie’s behaviour could also be understood as abuse/assault, plus there has been a few metas suggesting just that to compound my anxiety… then there’s the fact I was worried my nygmobblepot bias might blind me to Problematic stuff… plus there’s the way I’ve also always felt that Izzy was unfairly vilified beyond her legit creepy behaviour, so it started to upset me to think that possible similar behaviour by Ozzie was maybe being painted as good, both in itself and for Ed, while Izzy’s behaviour and motives were so universally denounced and people were kinda implied as being dirtywrong if they still enjoyed the scene with her and Ed (which I do fyi, because I think it’s fascinating)… basically, I’ve quietly been a bit of a hysterical mess over this for some time, my apologies to @witchunters in particular for pretty much falling apart on them over chat while they tried their best to fix me, so… let’s hope this helps finally sort me out...)
(if you can’t be arsed with this lengthy nonsense I’ll understand xx)
Compare
Izzy and Ozzie both appear to Ed in ways that make Ed afraid they will 'unleash' a violent side of him that will cause him to hurt someone he (thinks he) loves ie. Isabella herself and Lee.
With Izzy this is via her dressing as Kristen, because Ed has convinced himself there is something about Kristen's face/appearance that unlocks violence in him – “What if there is something about Miss Kringle’s – Kristen’s – ISABELLA’S face – what if there’s something about her face that unlocks this side of me?” (Eddie in Blood Rush).
With Ozzie this is via him calling Ed ‘Riddler,’ because Ed has convinced himself Ozzie has some kind of power over him and that by acknowledging/validating his ‘Riddler self’ Ozzie can unlock not just violence in Ed but a whole different person – “I am held captive all day, my brilliance locked away. This prison must be broken. The key – my name which must be spoken” (Eddie’s ‘Riddler self’ riddle to Ozzie).
ASIDE: Another minor comparison – seems like in both instances these different beliefs are prompted by the darker/repressed/unconscious parts of Ed ie. Hallucination!Kristen is the one who suggests Izzy’s similarities to Kristen will unleash violent impulses in Ed that will lead him to kill her and Hallucination!Riddler is the one who concludes that Ozzie is the one who has the power to ‘free’ Ed’s ‘Riddler self.’ This could suggest that the darker/repressed/unconscious parts of Ed are the parts of him with greater self awareness. If we consider them as manifestations of the parts of him Ed is frightened/unwilling to face and thus is trying to keep himself in denial about that could make sense – they are the ugly truths, or what Ed believes are ‘ugly’ at least, about him given form ie. that he wanted to be and enjoyed being violent with Kristen, and therefore wants to be violent with Izzy and that he loves cares about Ozzie Ozzie’s opinion of him and desperately yearns for his validation.
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A key difference between the two confrontations is that Izzy arranges hers of her own volition, while Ozzie arranges it in answer to a direct appeal from Ed/part of Ed himself.
HOWEVER –
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When it comes to Ozzie and Izzy’s motivations, both seem to think/believe they are helping Ed face his fear and/or the truth about himself, as well as both having selfish motivations for wanting him to embrace his darker/violent side too.
Izzy tells Oswald that she is “not going to let [Ed] go” (Blood Rush) despite Ed’s choice to break up, because she believes “[she] loves him and he loves [her]” and so they belong together, that he doesn’t really want to break up with her, he is just (wrongly, according to her) afraid he will hurt her if he doesn’t. Then during their confrontation she tells him she is “forcing [him] to face [his] fear” so he can see the truth that he “won’t hurt [her].” Which is a mix of selfish motivations/desires, because she wants Ed to stay with her, and also, arguably, genuine belief that what she is doing is helping to give Ed what he truly wants deep down ie. to stay with her because he loves her.
Ozzie, on discovering Ed’s unconsciously left note, mutters “you’re still in there” (A Beautiful Darkness), followed up by “and you’re gonna help me find a way out of here.” Then during their confrontation he talks about seeing “him” and “the other you” in Ed (Reunion) and that he plans to ‘free’ that side/version of Ed because he has “earned” it and because “[Ozzie needs] him.” Which, again, involves some selfish motivations/desires, because Ozzie wants ‘Riddler’ to help him escape Arkham and, although he doesn’t technically say it (since the letter was technically just a code), there’s a lot of implication that he wants Ed back as a friend (and maybe more??). But there’s also, arguably, genuine belief that Ed’s unconscious acts (the origami riddle, responding to Oswald’s coded message) imply that what Oswald is doing is what Ed truly wants deep down ie. to be ‘Riddler’ again.
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Both Izzy and Ozzie trick/push Ed into visiting them when he has literally claimed he doesn't want to / can’t do it / won’t do it – “I can’t do it – I can’t break up with her – I need you to do it for me” (Eddie to Oz in Blood Rush); [reading Ozzie’s letter] “I want to apologise… can we be friends again… what?! What is he – ? I’m never gonna forgive him!” (Eddie in Reunion)
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While Izzy's trick catches Ed completely unawares, as he thinks Izzy has invited him over just to talk, Ozzie’s trick only fools a part of Ed, since Ed’s ‘Riddler self’ knew Ozzie would be waiting to confront him/them at Arkham and wanted to be there specifically for the confrontation. In fact, with Ozzie, Ed’s ‘Riddler self’ was not only in on the trick but orchestrated it by sending a message to Ozzie first, so Ed effectively tricks himself into visiting Ozzie.
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In both instances, when Ed recognises the confrontation for what it is ie. an attempt to make him face the part of him he is scared of, he resists.
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With Izzy he literally tries to run away, while with Ozzie he argues for a bit (“You’re wrong! I am Ed - Edward Nygma, that is it!”), then tries to finish signing the papers that will have him committed to the asylum, but doesn't try to physically escape...
HOWEVER  –
With Ozzie, the way to the door is literally blocked by Ozzie himself, which could be a reason for the difference? But if so why doesn’t Ed try to push past him? Arguably his fear keeps him frozen. Or alternatively, his failure to run like he did from Izzy could suggest he didn’t really want to escape.
OR, considering his conscious reason for coming to Arkham was to protect Lee from himself, was he afraid to run from Ozzie and the asylum for that reason? ie. he feared if he escaped Ozzie his ‘Riddler self’ might still gain control of him and go on to attack Lee.
Ergo, could Ed's act of trying to finish signing commitment papers be comparable to him literally running from Izzy? Both are, perhaps, in their own way, an attempt to escape the confrontation - via leaving Izzy's proximity and via completing something that would allow Arkham staff to lock him up out of Ozzie's reach (or if not out of his reach, at least locked up so that if Ozzie succeeded in unlocking his ‘Riddler self’ he would be safely contained anyway).
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Seeing Ed's attempt to avoid/thwart the confrontation, Izzy and Ozzie both rush over and physically stop him.
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Izzy is persistent and aggressive in her physical assault of Ed, pushing him back into the room and even slapping him when he continues to protest.
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While Ozzie releases Ed after his initial lunge and seems to make a point of trying not to touch him again (though he does kinda brace his hands against Ed’s chest for a moment a bit later in response to Ed grabbing him), instead countering Ed's protests verbally (although he does remain very much within Ed's personal space with Ed pulling away from him in apparent discomfort).
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Both confrontations have a key climax Izzy and Ozzie are building to ie. Izzy putting Ed's hand on her neck, Ozzie calling Ed 'Riddler.' As this climax approaches Ed makes one last verbal protest against it.
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With Izzy this protest is a breathless repetition of “no no no no no,” while Izzy forcibly places his hand round her neck and Ed holds himself still and I think tense?
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With Ozzie this protest has additional phrasing around Ed’s use of ‘no’ that makes the words arguably more ambiguous – “no, please - please don't... no... PLEASE” - accompanied by Ed, without any prompting from Ozzie, fisting both hands into Ozzie's shirt and seemingly holding Ozzie to him (or at least not pushing Ozzie away). Because of this each 'please,' especially the last, can arguably be read as Ed begging Ozzie to continue as opposed to stop.
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With the climax of the confrontation reached ie. Ed with his hand at Izzy's throat and Ed hearing Ozzie call him 'Riddler,' Ed reacts by embracing both Izzy and Ozzie in a wild but intimate fashion, seemingly overwhelmed by some inner emotion (swelling music in both instances arguably suggests this is a triumphant, or at least defining, moment).
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With Izzy this moment is a kiss. 
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With Ozzie it's Ed grabbing Ozzie's face.
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Ed goes on to embrace the darker/violent side he was originally afraid of without causing the hurt he claimed to fear ie. via the implication of him engaging in kinky (violent?) sex with Izzy without hurting/killing her, via him helping Ozzie escape Arkham and take on Sofia without hurting/killing Lee.
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With Izzy this confrontation of his darker/violent side seems to be presented as curing him of his inner conflict and thus helping make him more balanced maybe?? ie. in the way he returns to Ozzie later all smiles and relaxed (in contrast to the tense anxiety we saw in him before the confrontation) and claiming that “everything is wonderful” and Izzy showed him he was “worried over nothing” (Blood Rush). 
While with Ozzie, the confrontation of his darker/violent side seems to be presented as flipping his inner conflict and leaving him imbalanced still, so that instead of fearing/resisting his darker/violent side, Ed is now resisting his loving/softer side?? ie. in the way he tells Lee that “Ed is gone” (Mandatory Brunch Meeting) and he refuses to say he loves her  (whether you want to argue that he truly does love her or not, the fact he refuses to say it can be taken as evidence he is actively trying to avoid associating himself with the concept of love I think?)
Conclusion?
So… IS Ozzie’s behaviour abusive like Izzy’s? 
I’m still nervous to argue definitively one way or the other, damn it. 
Ambiguous though Eddie’s in the moment protest against Ozzie calling him Riddler is, it is still ostensibly a protest that Ozzie knowingly ignores, meaning Ozzie, like Izzy, does technically force something on Ed seemingly without his consent, and that still niggles at me (does the fact it was just saying a word make it less of a thing? maybe… but idk, couldn’t you also say Izzy was ‘just putting Ed’s hand to her neck’? both things are in themselves innocuous, but held enough emotional/psychological significance to Ed to make them emotionally painful/frightening to contemplate, so…? Idk!).
Buuuut – Ed’s massive psychological split involved in the scenario with Ozzie DOES MAKE A DIFFERENCE I think. Because it does mean that while Ed is outwardly protesting, Ozzie has had what is arguably clear confirmation that actually Ed DOES WANT him to say the name (confirmation that Izzy, on the contrary, did not have). So… is he really acting against Ed’s consent??
Certainly it’s understandable that Ozzie may not have thought so. I think it makes sense that Ozzie would understand the origami plea as being the stronger indicator of Ed’s true desire and thus default to that over any immediate opposition (although that’s not to say I think he wouldn’t overrule any opposition anyways – I’m not saying I think he’s incapable of manipulating Ed into an emotional/psychological state that is preferable to him… that is pretty much what I understand him as doing via killing Izzy after all… just that he wasn’t necessarily trying to that here).
When it comes to the issue of whether Ed himself actually did want/consent to the confrontation with Ozzie though… that’s a little murkier. And I am slightly weary that arguing that ‘Ed wanted it really’ or ‘Ed was asking for it’ risks sounding a bit like victim blaming.
BUT – as witchunters recently reminded me, Ed does have a tendency, via denial of stuff about himself that he doesn’t care to face, of presenting himself as a victim when he isn’t. Such as his insistence that Kristen’s death was a tragic accident that befell him, as opposed to the result of his deliberate (albeit probably not intentionally fatal?) physical abuse of her. So, there is an issue here, perhaps, over whether Ed was really a victim during the confrontation with Ozzie, or if he was just playing up to the idea, because he didn’t want to actively accept his ‘Riddler self’ as a part of him? Like, maybe he wanted to have Ozzie seemingly force his ‘Riddler self’ into existence, because then he could embrace that part of himself while simultaneously not feeling responsible for having done so?
That could be why he responded positively to Izzy’s manhandling and controlling behaviour as well – because part of him craves having someone else take control of him and push him towards unlocking/embracing his darker/violent side, so he doesn't have to be responsible for it?
Then we’ve got the different RESULTS of the two confrontations to consider. Because both end in Ed embracing Ozzie and Izzy seemingly happily and in relief – which could be taken as supporting the whole ‘he wanted it really’ idea not just with Ozzie, but with Izzy too maybe?
Especially since with Izzy the aftermath of the confrontation goes on to appear arguably even more positive for Ed, as he seems to be, again arguably, at peace with himself in the next scene, with his words implying he believes this to be because of Izzy’s actions. While in the aftermath of the confrontation with Ozzie, Ed/Riddler is shown/implied to still be in conflict with himself during his Riddle Factory conversations with Lee…
BUT – since with Izzy there was no indicator prior to the confrontation that Ed desired it, unlike all the ‘Riddler self’ stuff implies with Ozzie, perhaps the most that can really be understood about Ed’s opinion of Izzy’s behaviour is that he came to view what she forced on him as good for him retrospectively. As in, no it was not something he wanted or consented to, but in the end it seemed to make him feel better about himself so he ultimately became happy about it.
Since Ed/Riddler remains conflicted after the confrontation with Ozzie though – does that therefore imply there is part of him that remains unhappy about what Ozzie did?
Considering the different relationships Ed has with both parties that could make sense.
Because while he was scared to hurt her, all of Ed did very much seem to love Izzy (or believed that he did) and regarded that love as a positive thing.
So Ed was perhaps predisposed to see Izzy's behaviour in a positive light. As well as being happy to accept the idea of her taking control of him, with or without his consent, and that her doing so provided him with what he needed. Because maybe he felt, due to his confused ideas about what love is and means, that loving someone means that their words/actions necessarily do and even should have power over you, and that if they truly love you back you need them to use that power on you because it can only be a good thing?? Hence why he seemed so at peace afterwards? Because all of him accepted what had happened as a triumph of his and Izzy’s love for each other? So it wasn’t necessarily that Izzy’s behaviour/actions were good for him and what he wanted/needed, but that he convinced himself they were?
Whereas, even within the same episode as the confrontation, part of Ed was insisting he hated Ozzie, or at least would never forgive him. Plus he’d been shown to have developed a much more complicated attitude towards love as a concept, with his ‘Riddler self’s’ mocking references to it and attempt to kill Lee because he seemed to feel ‘Ed’s’ love for her was holding him/them back, suggesting part of Ed very much regards it as a negative thing now.
So, part of Ed was predisposed to see Ozzie’s behaviour in a negative light, maybe. And was not happy about the idea of Ozzie having power over him (enough that an innocuous word from him ended up having such emotional/psychological significance) and that Ozzie may be able to provide him with what he needs. Because that would suggest their feelings and connection to each other do in fact match his idea of what love is? And would therefore force him to accept/admit that he and Ozzie maybe do, in fact, share a mutual love? Hence why he’s been in conflict since the confrontation? Because his ‘Ed’ side (or ‘edcicle’ as I sometimes call him :p) seems adamant about refusing to believe that Ozzie’s love for him is genuine and very much refuses to believe he might love Ozzie, so that part of Ed is now locked away inside him somewhere trying to convince himself that what happened with Ozzie was not what he wanted/needed and nothing to do with a shared love between them. Meanwhile, his ‘Riddler side’ maybe does recognise that there is love (or at least sexual attraction?) between them and accepts that’s why Ozzie’s validation of him had such power (because I certainly do believe there’s a case to be made that the parts of himself Ed represses into this ‘Riddler side’ include attraction to men and Ozzie specifically) BUT that side of him has gone on to also simultaneously attempt to convince himself to reject that love/attraction, because he considers it a weakness??  Ergo – constant struggle and lack of peace!
(obviously I’m thinking romantic love here, since we’re comparing to Izzy, but the ‘love’ involved on Ed’s side here could theoretically work as platonic love as well).
PFFT.
Damn it Eddie you TANGLED STRINGY BEAN!
So… in a nutshell I guess maybe –
Izzy forced something on Ed that he didn’t want, but Eddie didn’t feel abused because he ended up enjoying parts of it and so convinced himself it was a necessary bit of tough love?
Ozzie gave Ed what part of him wanted, but part of Eddie felt abused because he was busy convincing himself he didn’t want it, and both parts of him are trying to convince themselves love isn’t or shouldn’t be part of the equation?
(solution – Ed clearly needs to have kinky sex with Ozzie, thank you, the end)
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