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zoeysdamn · 2 years

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There shall be night - Part.4 Morpheus x priestess! reader

[Part.3]

The year 1350 had been devastating, and (Y/N) had witnessed every day of it. The Black Plague had been ravaging Europe and Asia for nearly four years already and it felt like the longest years of the priestess’ life. She had dedicated all of her time to the infected people who sought help. During the day (Y/N) did all she could to ease their excruciating pain, and at night she soothed their dreams to offer them some rest. More than ever she took her priestess duties very seriously; people needed to dream more than ever, to carry on through the sickness and keep hope. The priestesses’ motto was whispered more than once through comforting prayers, “there shall be night”.

“What does it mean?” asked a coughing woman, laying on one of the dozen cots installed in the priestesses’ current home, somewhere in Germany.

“It means that even if the day puts us in trouble, in doubt or pain, the time of dreams will always welcome you” answered softly (Y/N), dabbing a wet cloth to the poor woman’s forehead. “It means that no matter what happens under the sun, we may find rest and answers in the land of the Dreaming. That we must keep hope”

The woman coughed again, clamping her hand tight in her mouth. (Y/N) winced a little; the woman didn’t have much longer left, she unfortunately knew that.

The woman coughed again “That’s a pretty phrase”she said, her now bloodied hand falling lazily on her chest. “I like it”

“I’m glad you do, '' said the priestess softly.

“I think ‘m gonna sleep now” mumbled the sick woman with heavy eyelids. “I have nothing to fear, ‘mma right? I’ll dream.”

With a lump in her throat, (Y/N) nodded slowly. The woman would probably not see another week, at best.

“You will” she assured her “There shall be night”.

Her patient smiled softly and closed her eyes, a contented smile on her tired face. (Y/N) released a breath she held for far too long. At least the woman would sleep peacefully. Should it be her last night, (Y/N) prayed that she would have a pleasant sleep.

She got up, crossed the infirmary and stepped outside. The fresh air in her lungs was very much welcomed. Even if the golden age of Morpheus’ priestesses was centuries behind her, she still kept faith. On days like this one she felt like she did something good at least. Everything within her mere long-living human powers may be not enough to cure the plague, but at least her duties to the dreamers helped soothe their pain.

Nearly twelve centuries have passed since her boisterous encounter with the Dream Lord. They never met since, at least not directly. She felt his presence every time she came to the Dreaming, a deep and heavy feeling in the air. She stopped feeling guilty for coming to him after his son’s passing decades ago. With the years her shame turned into remorse and she meditated on it a lot. She also reached for help, mainly from other priestesses’ caring ears. By the end of the tenth century, she only felt hurt about the Dream Lord’s violent reaction that resulted in him shunning her out for so long. (Y/N) also thought that maybe, the Dream Lord’s anger had softened for the dreadful feeling that loomed over her during her stays in the Dreaming had gradually disappeared. She didn’t expect him to have forgiven her; by now, she knew Morpheus was a prideful being. The initial adoration that blinded her from all of his flaws was gone, although she was still faithful.

Yes, she thought as some villagers took away another corpse under a white sheet, things had definitely changed since her time at the temple.

She may have been hundreds of years old, but losing someone was never an easy thing for (Y/N). Right now, holding one another's priestess' hand tightly may have been the hardest thing she had ever done for the last 20 years - and she had been through four years of the plague.

“It hurts,” moaned the priestess, burning with fever. “It hurts so much (Y/N), gods”

“Shhhh, I know dear, I know” she soothed, replacing the cold cloth on her forehead. “The tea will ease the pain, I promise”

With trembling fingers, the sick priestess took the cup offered by (Y/N) and drank slowly through her chapped lips. (Y/N) hardly recognised the priestess anymore. Once a youthful and dedicated priestess full of life, Beatrice was only the shadow of who she was once. (Y/N) thought that the sand of the Dreaming, which frequent contact gave them their longevity, could prevent any of her sisters from falling under this horrible disease. How she fooled herself.

Beatrice coughed harshly, her whole body shaking under her fever’s pressure. Feeling helpless (Y/N) couldn’t do anything but run her fingers through the poor woman’s hair. Once her coughing fit died down, Beatrice’s glossy eyes looked up at her friend’s tired face. Even if she was the one in the poorest condition, she tried to cheer up.

“It’s not such a glorious way to go, isn’t it?” asked the laying priestess with a weak smile.

Blinking away the gathering tears (Y/N) offered her a sweet smile. “You could never be anything less than glorious”.

“Oh shush you flattering fox” she responded with a painful laugh, gently swaying her hand.

The night after, (Y/N) was at Beatrice’s bedside. Her fever had died down a little, but (Y/N) still sat here for a few hours after tending to the other patient’s wounds - and dreams. She never got a lot of sleep - good, resting sleep - for months, but she couldn’t leave her friend alone. The candle on the nightstand was almost out and (Y/N) started to doze off. But then, she felt an unknown presence near the room. She frowned. No one was awake at this hour, and no one ever came during the night except for emergencies. Plus, this presence seemed somehow familiar.

The door opened, and a feminine figure entered the room. As she approached, (Y/N) gazed at the black-skinned nun. She has a soft smile and kind eyes, and felt somewhat familiar.

“Hello (Y/N)” she greeted her in a soft voice.

The priestess nodded back in acknowledgement, still a bit surprised by this sudden appearance. Then, she realised who it might be.

“You’re Death, aren’t you?”. Her voice held no hatred or fear. Just a bit of apprehension.

The woman nodded. (Y/N) stared at her for a few seconds before lowering her gaze to Beatrice's peacefully sleeping body. A lump grew in her throat.

“It is her time, isn’t it?”

“Yes” answered the woman in a gentle voice.

“Will she…will she go in her sleep?” asked (Y/N) as tears started swelling in her eyes, not tearing her gaze from Beatrice’s sleeping form.

“Don’t you wish to say goodbye?” offered Death who came closer to the bedside, carefully sitting on the opposite side of (Y/N).

She shook her head. “No…she deserves to go in peace…in her sleep where she can find rest”. She lowered her face and pressed her lips on Beatrice’s forehead for long seconds. By the time she pulled away, tears were flooding down her face.

She thought that Death would take Beatrice’s body right away, but she realised that the woman with kind eyes was still sitting in front of her.

“Did you know her for a long time?”

(Y/N) was a bit surprised by her question. She didn’t imagine Death to be one interested by human sobs stories.

“We met three centuries ago,” she sniffled. “She became a priestess just after we left the Adriatic’s sea shores.”

Through blurry eyes (Y/N) cast Beatrice a loving look.

“She was my friend. My companion. I…I would have probably not gone that far without her”

A sob escaped her lips.

“Will you walk her to the sunless lands?” she asked.

“I will show her the way” promised Death “But she has to make this trip on her own”

The priestess nodded. “Thank you”

Even if the Dream Lord had been cold with her, (Y/N) still met with Lucienne from time to time in the Dreaming. The librarian had told her about their lord’s older sister, and her duties. That’s why (Y/N), despite her grief, had a question.

“Why are you here?” she asked in a small voice. “I am thankful for the time you allowed for me to make my goodbyes, but I do not understand your presence in front of me, Lady Death”

The Endless smiled fondly at her.

“It’s a gift (Y/N), priestess of Morpheus”

(Y/N) stared in disbelief. “A gift?” she repeated. Death nodded.

“The last few years have been particularly rough, as you know. A lot of people have passed away, and more and more people started to fear me, priestess. But at your own scale, you helped me.”

“How so?” she frowned.

“You gave people hope. As a priestess of my brother, you take care of human lives in an aspect they tend to forget - as dreamers. As long as they dream, my arrival is less painful to them. They can go while bringing their hope”

“But…but why do you…care about the dreamers’ state?” asked (Y/N), still confused.

Death smiled gently again. “Being less hated is always a blessing. I serve humans, just like you do, but my services are rarely appreciated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that” whispered (Y/N).

“Don’t be” said Death in a reassuring smile “As I said, it is a relief to have someone providing help, wherever it be for a human…or an Endless”

Not sure of how to respond, (Y/N) bowed her head respectfully. The moment after she heard the sound of wings flapping, and when she looked up, Death was gone. (Y/N) took a few seconds to herself, then covered the body laying in the bed with a white sheet.

The next day, they buried Beatrice’s body.

“You are lucky, little brother”

Morpheus’ eyebrows slightly rose as he turned toward his older sister. It was rare to hear compliments from any of his siblings, even from his beloved sister.

“How so?” he asked in his usual low rumble.

“I’ve met your priestess”

His frown deepened. His sister’s visits were rarely without purpose, he wondered where she wanted to lead this conversation.

“Funny how you didn’t ask me which one I’ve met” she teased as they walked together in the Dreaming.

“Who did you meet?” he indulged although he already knew the answer. And Death certainly knew that, too.

“Don’t play smart with me, little brother” smirked Death while nudging his shoulder playfully. "But if you really want to be this dense, I met (Y/N)"

The Dream Lord hummed pensively. Of course he knew which one of his priestesses must have encountered his sister - and was still alive.

"Why did you come to her when it wasn't her time?"

"Aww, you do care about her" cooed Death fondly, even at her brother's immediate scowl. "I came for her companion"

"Companion?" frowned Morpheus, unaware that (Y/N) had held such links with someone else. Death almost laughed at her brother for his absurdly clueless behaviour.

"Another priestess of yours" answered Death while linking her arm to Morpheus'. "They shared a strong bond for decades, for what I understood. I wanted to grant (Y/N) a gift, so I allowed her to say goodbye to her companion"

"A gift? What for?" asked Morpheus with his usual frown, although a glimpse of jealousy passed briefly in his eyes.

"Are you really that oblivious, brother? Your priestess has been a great help to me during the last few years of the plague. The least I could do was at least to thank her"

"Her duties lie with me, not with you sister" growled the Dream Lord, jealousy slowly making its way in his guts.

"Dream" interrupted his sister with a kind but firm voice "She took care of people's health and ability to dream. Without her, a lot of humans wouldn't have been able to even hope to dream. She basically ensured that your realm was still needed"

"I still don't understand what it has to do with you" he grumbled.

Death sighed heavily. "Do you have any idea of how hard it is to have everyone hating you? Being afraid of you? Humans despite me, Dream"

"Why do you care?" he shrugged indifferently.

Death tugged hard on his arm, forcing him to look at her serious stare. In his sister's usual calm eyes, he saw a string of hurt like never before.

"I care. I don't have to justify how I feel to you when I say that I'm hurt"

Morpheus lowered in shame, disappointed in himself for having hurt his sister.

"Apologies, sister. Please, continue"

Death tsked but had already brushed it off, returning to her usual gentle self.

"(Y/N) made humans hold tight on sleep as a peaceful place, where they can be anything, including free of their pain. Once I came for them, humans who had been in contact with her were serene, Dream. I owe her big time"

"Interesting," muttered the Dream Lord.

"Her faith in you hasn't wavered" assured his sister "Although I sometimes quite don't understand why, given how you treated her a few centuries back" she added with a pointed look.

Morpheus whipped his head toward his sister, with narrowing eyes.

"Who told you that?"

"Delirium caught a word of that somehow, and the word spread among the family. You know how anxious she gets when you're angry"

"I'm not angry at her," mumbled Morpheus. "Nor am I still at (Y/N)"

"Oh? Well, it isn't the impression she gave me when I saw her. She was reeking with guilt and shame, hell she thinks she has failed you"

Morpheus didn't respond right away. Under his sister's watchful stare he knew he had to choose his next words carefully.

"I don't hold any anger toward her anymore. I forgave her centuries ago"

"Not that there was anything to forgive" sassed Death back with a roll of her eyes "And did you tell her that?"

The silence of her brother answered itself. Death released a loud gasp and slapped him on the arm.

"Dream! You let this poor girl rot in guilt for centuries just because your prideful ass and stupid ego forbid you to actually apologise?? Ugh!"

Once again, nothing but her brother’s silence answered her, and it made her even more mad at him.

“That woman had been devoted to you for ages brother, asking nothing in return but your trust. For what I understood she even was here for you when your son died!”

“Careful here sister” warned Dream in a menacing tone. Orpheus’ passing was still a touchy subject among the family. But Death didn’t stop her scolding.

“She loves you, brother. If you want to sulk in your grief and push any help like you did centuries ago, fine. But stop torturing her with your stupid ego and take your responsabilities toward her. She had served you faithfully, now she needs your help”

As Death walked away in a fury, Dream stood still dumbfounded. It has been aeons since he saw his sister this mad at him. Which definitely meant something.

For someone who has barely apologised to anyone in his life, it took Morpheus quite some time to bring himself to do so. Another one or two centuries, give or take. By this time, Renaissance was already blooming in Europe, Death was still mad at him, and (Y/N) and some priestesses had moved to England.

Morpheus would never admit it out loud, but his centenary meetings with Hob Gadling actually made him rethink a little the few connections he had with human beings - namely, Hob and (Y/N). Maybe immortal beings could teach him something, after all. And deep down he may actually feel sorry for how he treated his oldest and most devoted priestess. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, especially his siblings.

So here he was, standing in the alley across a downtown hospital. Jessamy had located (Y/N) and the other priestesses here a few hours ago. The raven shared her concern with her master, for (Y/N) had seemed very tired, bags under her eyes and slow gestures. And if she had noticed the raven at the window, she didn’t recognise Jessamy.

The Dream Lord waited for the people inside of the building to gradually go to sleep. As soon as he felt that most of its inhabitants had joined the Dreaming, he slipped inside the mansion. Passing through corridors leading to the patients’ rooms he reached the upper floor, where Jessamy said (Y/N) was.

He pushed open a slightly-ajar door and his gaze laid on his priestess. She was slouching in an armchair, one elbow plopped on a nearby table supporting her head. Her breathing was slow but traces of tiredness were visible on her face. Those days dreamers were more prone to harnessing more powerful dreams about discoveries of the “New World”, new technologies such as printing, and artistic blooming. Even if it was way more pleasant than previous times she lived in, her duties to the Dreaming could be often gruelling due to the intensity of the dreamers.

Concerned with her tired state, Morpheus noticed that (Y/N) wasn’t in the Dreaming yet. She seemed asleep, but was still at this early state of being asleep, but not yet dreaming. He approached silently and crouched before her. Looking at her fondly he realised that she must have just sat to rest for a few minutes before starting to doze off. He wondered how she had been during all these centuries. Unable to resist curiosity, he gently took her hand in his and reached in her sleeping memories.

Priestesses running away from the temple…tears flooding on her face as she cast a last look at her childhood home…

Teaching new recruits how to interpret dreams…how to recognize which herbs can put someone into sleep…congratulating them on their progress…

Learning new languages as she changed places… guiding people through the understanding of their dreams…

Silent prayers to him… demands of forgiveness he never answered… words of faith to regain some courage…

Burning piles of bodies… plagues and witch hunts… fellow priestesses passing away of illness….

Townspeople newfound respect for each sleep appeased… thoughtful discussion about nightmares and dreams with lords, peasants, ladies and people of church…

Intimate thoughts about him… to hold tight onto his being and his existence to carry on…

Times of doubt… bitter taste of convictions wavering after another failed attempt to help a dreamer… cries and wails of despair…

Occasional visits of the Corinthian… the habit of the nightmare to tease and haunt her… but also a kind of fondness and unexpected caring for every time he shows support…

Times of joy… of celebration for every priestess' birthday… of friendship and mutual faith through the years…

Holding Beatrice's hand…

Lonely nights were sleep comes with his name hanging on her lips…

Pulling away from (Y/N)’s memories, Morpheus released a breath he didn’t even realised holding. He felt a wetness on his cheeks but didn’t registered it as tears. His empathic abilites that came with his Dream Lord’s duties had always made him absorbing everyone’s emotions; in order to not drown under them, he always buried it deep inside of him, sometimes resulting in shutting some people out. Death and Delirium, even Lucienne were used to it; but he missed someone important. He had shut (Y/N) emotions for so long, he never realised all she’d been through. For maybe the first time in his life, he felt sorry.

A shift on the chair pulled him out of his thoughts. (Y/N) stirred and her eyes fluttered. Between half-lided eyelids, the priestess barely caught a glimpse of him but could make out the outline of a pale face and deep starry eyes. She’d recognised them anywhere.

“Morpheus…”

Her tired but adoring voice coming out above but in a whisper warmed something in his heart. Morpheus slowly letting go of her hand to reach inside of his coat. Grabbing a handful of his sand he hold it and very gently, blew it in her face. The golden sand beads caressed her face, kissing her eyelids shut and very slowly made her whole body relax and fall back. Before her body collapsed on the armchair, Morpheus had gently slip a hand on her neck, delicately cupping the back of her head. For a few moments, he got lost in the contemplation of her face. Her tired, imperfect, gentle, human face.

Hoisting her up in his arms, he pulled her out of the chair to guide her to the bed in a corner of the room. With utmost gentleness Morpheus laid his priestess on her bed, like he was laying a statue made of the finest crystal. His thumb carressed her cheek as he was trying to erase all traces of worry of her face. (Y/N) sighed soflty in her sleep and unconsciously leaned on his touch. Morpheus felt himself smile sadly. Maybe Death was right and he had been ungrateful to the one person who had always been devoted to him.

Leaning foward he brushed his lips on her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, dear priestess”

[Part.5]

A/N:

Me writing part 1: Lord Morpheus was poised, calm and to be respected

Me writing part 4: this little bITCH was so stupid and clueless I want to slap his face with a baguette

Also, bisexual reader bc there is no way anyone spend immortality being 100% hetero.

Ngl Death putting some sense into Morpheus' thick head is my favourite thing in the universe. You go mama Death, yeet your Doc Martens at that emo wet cat brother of yours.

Death 🤝 Unity Kinckaid

Looking at Morpheus dead in the eyes

while calling him a stupid bitch

and taking 0 shit about it

Taglist: @endlessdreamqueen @boofy1998 @layla2-49 @witchxlove @ londonbrandcandy

Plz tell me if I have forgot you in the taglist

#dream x reader #dream of the endless #Dream of the endless x reader #lord of dreams #the sandman #the sandman netflix #morpheus x reader #Morpheus #morpheus imagine #reader insert

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sajirah · 1 month

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The Prison Chapter Six

Blood Sacrifice

-o0o-

One again, you can read this here or on AO3. Enjoy.

-o0o-

There was something wrong.

He knew there something wrong. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, lingering just out of reach.

He was so tired though. The sun was still up. Surely it could wait until nightfall…

-o0o-

She heard him long before she saw him.

It was hard not to what with him crashing through the underbrush for the last half hour.

So Feyre sat huddled underneath the skeleton of her long dead monster companion, clutching her knife in a death grip and hoping against hope he wouldn’t notice her.

This worked well right up until it didn’t.

“I can see you in there.”

She tensed up immediately.

“You might as well come out,” the man continued. “I promise not to hurt you.”

Shockingly, Feyre found that quite hard to believe all things considered.

“I think not,” she replied cooly. “You’re more than welcome to be on your way. Otherwise I won’t hesitate to stab you.”

She glared fiercely as the man crouched down into view, just out of reach. He wasn’t really anything to write home about. Middle aged, with the kind of graying hair and nondescript features that probably led to him floating through life mostly unnoticed. He wore the same blue shirt and canvas trousers all the prisoners were given before being shipped off and dumped here, though his were clearly newer and in better shape than hers (how long had she been here now? A week? A month?).

A new prisoner then.

“I’m warning you-”

“I won’t come closer. See?” He held his hands up in a non-threatening manner, as if that truly meant anything to her in a place like this. Feyre wasn’t stupid. She was very likely the only woman on this island. She was both prize and prey to any man stupid and bold enough to venture this far inland.

“I see you’re new here,” she said eyes flicking over his far less bedraggled uniform. “Word of advice. Don’t harass a lady when she tells you she’s not interested.”

“Now what makes you think I’m new here? Perhaps I’ve always been here and we never crossed paths?”

Feyre snorted. “You must think I’m very dumb.”

“Alright, so I’m new,” he agreed smoothly. “Even more reason for us to be friends.”

“I don’t want any friends.”

“Allies then.”

“I don’t want those either.”

“Surely you need some help, pretty thing like you,” the man argued, though Feyre had a hard time believing she looked particularly ‘pretty’ under the layers of grime she’d accumulated in her time here. If anything she likely looked more animal than human these days. “After all, I know you’re the only female prisoner to have been sent to this island for the last 30 years. And the last one was an old woman who I doubt is still alive by now.”

She startled. “…How would you know that?”

“The same way I know there’s something on this island I’d very much like to avoid.” The man smiled blandly. “Ah yes, I see you know what I’m talking about. Good. Then we can help each other.”

“What makes you think I want to help you?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why we dump criminals on this island?”

“No.” Yes.

“You don’t think it’s strange to ship criminals off to a remote island and dump them there when we have a perfectly good prison system on the mainland?”

She had wondered that, but she also wasn’t about to let him know that so she just glared at the man and tightened the grip on her knife until her knuckles ached.

“You see,” he began, groaning as he shuffled out of his crouch to sit properly on the ground. “Oh yes, that’s better. You see, this island always was strange. People always lived here but it was mostly used as a waypoint for ships crossing the ocean. A refueling station if you will.”

Feyre didn’t bother to point out that she knew all this already, just letting him run his mouth as she eyed the horizon line and the sun slowly sinking towards it.

“But those port towns never lasted long. For a while everyone thought it was just the ravings of a bunch of superstitious locals. But then captains brought back stories of the strange behavior and disappearances of their crew who went ashore. Eventually it became such a hazard that ships stopped docking here, and with them went the local economy. The locals were forced to move inland and the few that stayed…well. No one is quite sure what happened to them. It was quite clear that there was something malicious on this island but no one was ever sure of what. Some locals claimed it was an angry ghost. Others were sure it was a monster prowling the woods…”

The man eyed Feyre’s skeleton home pointedly.

“Whatever it was, the government was quite aware of it. And then, oh just over 100 years ago, a new idea was floated amongst the elite. Why let the island go to waste? There were so many terrible people they would rather be rid of you see. And if there really were something hungry there, why not throw it a bone every now and then? A blood sacrifice, if you will.”

She felt a chill roll down her spine.

A blood sacrifice.

That’s what they were to the government. Meat. Something to keep Rhys fed and occupied.

“How do you even know all this?”

“Because I was one of the ones who put you people here.”

Feyre blanched. “What?! But then…why are you here?”

The man smiled self deprecatingly.

“Isn’t it obvious? I pissed off the wrong people.”

A politician then. A politician who knew too much and who was now being fed into the very meat grinder he had helped perpetuate. Well, she thought wryly, say what you will about them. They clearly have a sense of humor. A sick sense of humor, but a sense of humor nonetheless.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Simple. I want to know what you know. And I want to know how a sweet little thing like you has not only avoided capture but has seemingly survived out here alone. Unmolested by whatever keeps accepting our generous gifts.”

He didn’t know.

For all his regaling of the history of this island and the funneling of criminals onto it to feed some terrifying monster…he didn’t know what the monster was. He didn’t know about Rhys.

He didn’t know.

Feyre glanced back over his shoulder at the darkening sky.

And that was when he made his move.

Before she had any idea what was happening, the man lunged forward, grabbed her wrist and twisting. She cried out but still held onto her knife like her life depended on it.

Because it likely did.

He wasn’t a large man by any stretch of the imagination. But he was bigger than her and that was really all that he would need to overpower her. She gritted her teeth and snarled like an animal as she desperately tried to push him off with one hand while attempting to twist the other free.

“You know!” The man grunted. “You know something! Tell me!”

Feyre didn’t bother replying as she wriggled like an eel underneath him, trying to buck him off of her even though he had her hips pinned.

As the two struggled for control of the knife, the last rays of sunlight sank beneath the horizon.

And then everything went still.

Feyre felt a familiar sense of calm wash over her. Over her, the man who had just been trying to kill her had suddenly frozen in place. He blinked at her. Once. Twice. She couldn’t say when it was she knew it wasn’t him behind those eyes anymore, but she knew nonetheless.

Rhys grimaced at her with stolen lips.

“Are you alright?” He said with the man’s voice, though didn’t bother to wait for her reply before rifling through her head like he belonged there. When he seemed satisfied with what he found, she felt herself regain power over her own body again. She gasped. Her limbs shook with unused adrenaline. Rhys looked concerned until he saw Feyre’s face.

She was furious.

“What the fuck!” She yelled, shoving him off of her. He went easily, rolling back and letting her scramble out of his grasp to glare at him properly.

“That’s not a thank you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“Well you got it regardless. Do you truly think I would’ve let him attack you? Hurt you?” The man’s features twisted with rage as he gritted, “Rape you?”

Feyre paled.

It was clear Rhys was not speaking in hypotheticals. He’d read this man’s mind after taking possession of his body. He’d seen exactly what he’d had planned for her. She’d known he likely planned to kill her when he’d gone for the knife, but for some reason rape hadn’t occurred to her. It should have. Lord knew every other man on this fucking island wanted a piece of her. But somehow he’d made her believe he was either too worried about saving his own skin or too distracted by his talk about blood sacrifices to have any interest in rape.

Well…she certainly wouldn’t be making that same mistake twice.

“No, you won’t, because you will not leave my side again.” Rhys chimed in, answering the thoughts in her head in that irritating way of his.

“What side?” She sniped. “You don’t have a side! I don’t know if you’ve noticed this but you’re fucking dead!”

“Oh, but I do.”

“What are you talking-” And then it hit her. “Oh…oh no.”

“Oh yes. We have all night for me to use this body. I might as well make good use of it.” He grabbed a hold of her arm and hauled her forward like she weighed as much as a loaf of bread. “Come along Feyre Darling.”

And then he hauled her in the direction of the shore.

#the prison #my fanfic #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #feysand

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gh-0-stcup · 11 months

Text

Trying to think of more ways Darla living and making it to the end of the show could work. Mainly something that's not just a complete rehash of Angel or Spike's plots.

What if Connor continued functioning as Darla's soul? Not in a mystical, motherhood inherently makes you a completely better person sort of way. In a parenthood forces you to grow up and reevaluate the impact your actions have on other people way.

Darla survives the birth and it turns out the love she felt for Connor came entirely from her. She gives up her murder girlboss lifestyle so she can be part of his life. Connor's only going to live for like 82 years - what's that to someone who's been around since the 1600s?

So that's what kicks off her arc, trying to be a decent mom and not traumatize or endanger her child. From there, she starts to relearn how to interact with humans and live in their society. She'll have to play nice if she's going to be organizing playdates and going to doctor's appointments, PTA meetings, etc.

You could have a comedic episode where the B plot involves Darla getting a group of mommy friends who she despises but puts up with because it's "normal". And also they know a lot more about caring for human babies in the 21st century. They're all catty upper middle class winemoms, ofc.

Darla gets a job, because she wants Connor to live a cushy, spoiled life where bills are never a concern. She could have a little sugar daddy arc that ends when he expresses dislike about her son. Maybe she becomes an interior designer/stylist to the stars. She could also end up working for Wolfram & Hart, in PR or Marketing, which helps set up the s5 arc.

As the show continues, Darla slowly begins developing some empathy. She starts to see herself in mothers, Connor in children. She could be involved in a couple episodes featuring cases of kids or mothers, showing progress from disdain/boredom to offense or (repressed) sadness.

Season 4 or 5 could have a second episode featuring Darla's mommy friends. Usually just a recurring gag, this one could humanize them a bit. One of them has some sort of heartbreak - maybe it turns out her husband is a cheater and he makes her feel responsible for it (not pretty enough, bad at sex, etc). Darla helps the friend leave him and they enact some sort of petty, human revenge. Maxing out his credit cards, trashing the house, getting him fired, etc. It ends with the girls chatting and laughing about it, a new sense of camaraderie between them all.

Basically just helping show Darla's evolution, becoming protective over some women she was initially just using, feeling anger on behalf of another person. "Linda's botched tit job does make her sexually repulsive - but I'M the only one who's supposed to say that! And definitely NOT her HUSBAND who is middle aged, balding, and smells like cheap cheese!" kinda vibes.

Towards the end of season 5, she can start expressing a tiny bit of regret for some of the more heinous things she did to kids/mothers in the past. Her and Angel could have a chat where she concedes she may have gone a little overboard with the babynapping in China.

She could have a scene where she realizes Connor will probably have kids, who will themselves have kids. She's no longer so certain she can go back to her old lifestyle when Connor dies.

Darla doesn't end the series as a good person, exactly. And she'll never be a hero like Angel or even Spike. But she's a little more responsible, a little less selfish, and a very good mother.

Besides just being a way to keep Darla around, this idea helps tie her into the "faces the struggles of adulthood" theme ATS has going on.

Becoming a parent as a person with a complicated past or unhealthy lifestyle means you need to make adjustments if you want to be in that child's life. Loving and caring for a child changes you and the way you see the world. It's not a quick fix to all your problems, but it can motivate a lot of positive change if you let it.

Utilizing soulless!Darla to explore this opens up opportunities for representing real life struggles like:

How can I be a good parent when I have the history I do?

How do I not allow my problems to negatively impact my child?

Learning to interact with people normally after spending so much time basing your life around manipulation and selfishness.

Overcoming your addiction for the sake of your child.

While Angel could be used for these in an AU where Connor wasn't aged up, Darla is the better character for it having a stronger impact. She doesn't have 100 years of abstinence under her belt or an internal compass to guide and motivate her. All she starts with is love for her son, from there she must pull herself away from her impulses and change her life through sheer force of will.

It mirrors pieces of both Angel and Spike's arcs, thematically connecting Darla to her vampire family, while still being a story unique to her.

#thank you for listening to my ted talk #in this essay i will #my darla lives masterplan mwahahaha #oh and also season 4 does not happen #connor stays a baby #w&h can be s4's big bad in this - as the main villain of the entire show they should have had a bigger focus anyway #darla can be the inside man who helps the gang foil their plans (something apocalyptic probably tangentially involving the first evil)#the gang's defeat of w&h and the defeat of the first evil in sunnydale can be what leads to them taking over the la branch #still a sketchy offer and season 5 proceeds on schedule #ats #darla

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anthonybtimmons · 8 months

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The inner workings of an obsessed mind.. (Age nine..)

Back in the late 60’s when I first started watching old horror movies was probably when I was first exposed at a very young age to the show Creature Features. Every Friday night, without fail the scene would play out pretty much the same way as it did on the previous Friday night. Mom would be in her bedroom putting on make up, getting ready to go out with her friends, my older sister would be in her room yakking with one of her friends, and there I’d be sitting on the front porch wondering which horrifying monster Creature Features was going to be serving up to me that night. Finally as Mom was getting ready to leave she would tell my sister the same thing as before.

“Keep an eye on your little brother, and make sure he doesn’t stay up to watch those god awful horror movies again!”

Of course that never worked because she would always coax my silence with fresh popcorn whenever she would secretly invite one of her friends over after our mother would tell her not to. So long about 7:00 PM, Midge would arrive and they would immediately go to my sisters room, with little care as to what I was doing mind you, and long about 8:20 or so they would come out and make hot buttered popcorn for my scare-a-thon before returning to the bedroom. I didn’t know what they were doing in there, hell I didn’t care either.. All I knew was soon, very soon, I would be completely immersed in the disturbing world of my beloved Creature Features.

The lights would go off, the TV would come on and long about 6:00 PM that music.. That wonderfully creepy music would permeate my senses.. and then- the title.. “The completely horrifying monster thingy that dripped blood and ate people!” Dun Dun DUUUUNNNNNN!!! ohhhhhh my.. A CLASSIC IN THE MAKING!! I don’t know what it was exactly, maybe it was due to the fact that I was only nine years old, but everything- especially the monster movies seemed a lot scarier then. The opening scene would always set you up, the black & white film would crackle to life.. An old car would slowly roll to a stop on a deserted dirt road leading into a heavily wooded area. The young attractive couple would seductively smile at each other, he would turn of the headlights as they leaned into each other for that first yucky germ spreading kiss. (Hey! Back off! I was NINE! OK??)

Slowly the camera would pan through the front wind shield, across the hood of the car, and there, just at the edge of the treeline something would stir. Eyes widening, that first delicious mouthful of semi burnt popcorn, (that your idiot sister never learned how to properly make..) Eyes straining, leaning forward, almost holding your breath. then you see the foilage along the trees rustling.. Ohhhhh.. its moving toward the drivers side of the car.. That means its gonna eat the guy first! ohh she’s gonna see the whole thing and she’s gonna scream at the top of her lungs.. and then.. its going to drag her off into the woods where it swallows her whole and then spits out her bones!! SWEET! and of course your bravery is short lived as you see it for the first time. Its Bipedal, it has twelve eyes, its hairy, has six long gnarly disgusting claw like digits- which of course are also hairy.. Over all it has a serious hygiene problem and is the most horrifying thing you’ve ever seen.

The orchestra kicks into overdrive as it rips the car door open, and brutally murders the dumbfounded young man in the driver's seat in the most brutally efficient, disgusting manner, that the human imaginations of the period were allowed to film at the time. and of course it would scare the living shit out of you, and popcorn would spew from your mouth and bowl and would fill the air, and that's how your mother would find you two hours later when she would return home from her date night. Huddled under a pile of blankets, behind the sofa,11:00 o’clock news playing on the television, popcorn right where it was supposed to be.. all over the floor, all because you were convinced that YOU were next! Lordy I loved that show!!

youtube

#Youtube

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babbletaels · 10 months

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Lets speculate about Zoras and how they age!

In ocarina of time, Ruto is a similar size to Link as children. After Links seven year slumber, Ruto has grown and looks to be a similar age to Link, both almost adult.

In breath of the wild, Link and Mipha look to be the same-ish age with Mipha looking a bit younger than an adult Zora would. It is implied that they were childhood friends and the Zora in the domain who are over 100 years old remember playing with Link when they were kids.

None of the Zora in breath of the wild or Tears of the kingdom look like the age that Mipha was, but I refuse to believe that she is the only Zora in the whole domain who is a little bit short so I'm deciding that she's short because of her age.

Sasan and Finley are an interesting case for this study. Whether they fall in love or not, the facts stay the same. When we meet him Sasan is around 18, and he thought that Finley was going to be "much" older than him. This can mean anything from a few years to decades with the logic of an 18 year old. In any case, Finley says that she is waiting for her growth spurt, making it seem like it could happen any minute now, but as we see in Tears of the kingdom (5+ years later), she still looks the same so her growth spurt hasn't arrived yet which is confusing.

In the domain, we can clearly see a pattern. There are some "old zora", some "adult zora" and some "child zora", with the only teenage looking zora being Mipha herself. This phenomenon - there not being any/many teenagers, no young adults, no older adults, no almost elderly, heck I would even claim that the child Zora look like toddlers so technically there are no kids either - is very much pointing towards what Finley said, the Zora age by having growth spurts.

This can also be strengthened by the Sidon fan club consisting of two members that look just like adult zora, but one member that looks like a toddler. Of course people of all ages can be in a fan club, but this one has only three members and they seem to be good friends. Usually adults don't start clubs where they swoon over a celebrity with children, so I'm thinking they are pretty close in age but one of them just hasn't had her growth spurt?

This brings us back to Mipha and Link. I've heard some people claim that Mipha was an adult when Link was a child, probably because she was eloquently writing in her journal about seeing him for the first time when he was a kid. But factor in that she mentions that Link "grew up" before her, and the fact that Finley - a Zora child - was writing messages to Sasan making him think she was very old, this all points to that mipha looked like a toddler for a long time as Link was growing up. Since she doesn't look quite fully grown yet, I'd say she pretty recently had her growth spurt during the events 100 years before botw. This would partly explain/excuse Zeldas shock regarding Miphas skill, Hylians probably know how Zoras age and Zelda probably knew that Mipha was very young and recently looked like a kid, even if Zelda never saw it herself.

The actual numerical age of the Zoras growth spurts don't seem to matter a whole lot, and it could even be that the ages vary by up to a decade or even more, which could be why Finley thought she was close to her growth spurt 5+ years ago.

Now we're coming back to ocarina of time. If we assume their biology works the same, this would totally explain why Ruto looks to be the same age as Link in both the past and the future. If we were to go with the theory that Zora just age slowly, then Ruto would not look the same age as Link and we would have to conclude "that was millions of years ago, they evolved since then" which is a boring excuse.

It doesn't really matter at which age you put the growth spurt, but I personally would actually put it around 15-30, because it just makes sense evolutionarily. The species on our earth that stay children for the longest are humans, and there is a reason for that; children are vulnerable. You can see with Zora children that, while they can swim better than a Hylian, they have significantly smaller fins than an adult, and they are very small as well. You can take care of a child until it grows up of course, but as we see in botw and totk, Finley is very much longing for adventure, and it's just a better biological trait for the species to grow up before doing dangerous things. It makes no sense to be a toddler for 50 years, even for a species that lives until they're 300. Sure time may seem like it moves slower because you live longer, but it actually doesn't and the longer time you're vulnerable the higher the risk is for the species' young to die before they can reproduce.

Sooo my theory is that Finley was probably 20 - because it seems in botw that she has waited to grow up for quite a while, and then 5+ years pass and she still hasn't grown - and Sasan is 17-18 and he was like "man she's so oooold".

And my theory is also that Mipha and Link did grow up as childhood friends so they're around the same age maybe she's a few years older, and Mipha reached her growth spurt 2-3 years before the calamity which is enough years to practice fighting (I haven't seen any Zora children doing that), show her more mature beauty to Link, be chosen as a champion and practice driving the divine beast

#botw #tloz #zora #totk

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neverluckygoldfish · 7 months

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19 -

Black or white. Wrong or right. Good or bad. It’s all a spectrum, but I have a really hard time seeing it that way.

Today, I’m trying to hold both of these things & give them equal weight:

1. I am an addict. I am an alcoholic. I have hurt the people I love. I have made choices that put myself, my loved ones, and society in danger. Intentionally as well as unintentionally. I’ve acted in ways, with no regard for others. I’ve made people worry and caused them anxiety. I still have more to see about the ripple effects of my actions.

I give myself a little grace because I started using and drinking at a young age (13 to be precise) But I continued this pattern through the age of 29. Probably still wouldn’t have admitted it was slowly killing me if it didn’t all blow up in my face and I had no other choice but to face reality. That’s just the truth.

Even at 13, I knew I was making a bad decision (hi DARE) but I didn’t care because I thought I was better than it (lol I was kind of a “I know better than everyone else” little b at 13).

In a way, I thought I was invincible. I’ve been so consumed by my own pain that I didn’t take the time to truly acknowledge others’. I ignored them. It’s not all me me me me me. I say this to take accountability.

2. I grew up in a turbulent household. My father was an alcoholic and those are my earliest memories. I was terrified of him & embarrassed of him. He got sober and then became a drug addict. He took me on drug runs. Our backyard was covered in crack pipes. He forgot about me, he belittled me, he degraded me. He physically abused my mother and myself. He told me I wasn’t worthy and my family kind of enabled that narrative. He’s clean now and has been for years but he is so wrapped up in his own delusional world - we have no contact. I found out recently that he suffered horrible abuse and neglect as a child. The cycle continues.

It was just my parents and I, not much extended family. One grandma - well, she swallowed a lifetime of abuse and pain. She wasn’t entirely sane, as a result. The other one? Everything was my fault in her eyes, I was just like my dad. Why am I making our lives so hard? At 3, at 7, at 16, at 21, now. Ok grandma, I get it. I wasn’t an easy child. Everyone else was pretty much on the fringe, never really saw them or knew them.

My mom wasn’t around because she was busy supporting the whole household and trying to keep it all together. I still don’t know how she did it. She’s also very stoic — actually, it’s a cultural thing. We come from a background where stoicism is revered. We. Do. Not. Talk. About. Things. We overcome and we swallow it or we whisper behind closed doors and pretend everything is fine. Patriarchy rules. You can’t change your situation, bad things happen and we endure silently.

I see things from her perspective now, she was in an impossible situation. She’s only human. These days, we are a lot more honest and compassionate with each other. She is my anchor and I would give her the sun, if I could.

But I held a lot of anger and resentment towards her for most of my childhood. Because I felt no one had my back. I had to grow up and parent myself starting at a very young age. I had to figure out the world on my own. When things with my dad finally ended and she was ready to parent me, I was like “fuck you”. I was 14 years old and thought I knew everything.

So, I attribute a lot of the issues I struggle/d with to my upbringing. To not having the resources, the support, or a caregiver who could actually provide care. What about me? I never got a sorry. I got ridiculed and gaslit for being a walking trauma response as a child. No one explained that this wasn’t okay. Actually, no one really said much of anything besides getting upset when I wasn’t docile and quiet. My self-esteem is the depth of a teaspoon (but growing stronger, each day). So what about me? Where is my fucking apology? They were adults who were supposed to know better and do better.

It’s the not dealing with these issues and hiding everything until I felt like I was going to explode — that led me to make the choices I made, turning to alcohol & drugs. Like I sprinted towards them. I knew there would be consequences sure, but I didn’t see myself being where I am today. I didn’t see myself causing hurt, anguish, pain to people around me who love me. I didn’t see myself wishing for death and becoming suicidal. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone really gave a shit about me so I was free to deal however I wanted.

I see those things now. I’m uncovering more and more each day. I start to remember so many times I’ve used and forgotten about — it makes me feel sick to my stomach. It’s hard. I’m coming to terms with these choices and their consequences. No one is obliged to forgive me & I respect their boundaries. Apologies don’t erase pain. I feel embarrassed to admit these truths, because they seem ridiculous to me now. But I have to. I want to be better.

It’s hard to not think that the decisions made were entirely wrong or entirely right. That the people involved (myself included) are all good or all bad. How can I acknowledge that my childhood was difficult and shaped me as I am today, but that my choices are entirely my own? At what point, what age, is it acceptable to say I knew better but continued to choose self-destruction? How do I forgive myself?

Maybe the issue is that I’m focused on that instead of understanding how decisions & people are far more complex than an either/or. I’m struggling to reconcile these things as truth, altogether — to understand the gray.

I still have a long way to go.

#addiction #addiction recovery #sobriety #healing #self love #recovery #alcoholism #drug abuse #drug and alcohol addiction #recovering addict #compassion #vulnerability #sorry for being depressing #sorry for the rant

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poly-queer-nomad · 1 year

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Email to Grandma

Hey, grandma. I asked Gabi for your new email since I didn't have it. I asked her a while ago, but I haven't sent a message yet because I have been avoiding it. The reason why I have been avoiding it is because the last time I was over, and the times before that you haven't respected my pronouns or name. After some time thinking about it, I am hoping that it's just because of your age. That you're just very forgetful and that you wouldn't disrespect me. Even if it's something you don't understand. I know that learning a new name can be hard, especially neo pronouns. But, it would mean a lot to me if you would put in effort. With the evolution of life, neo pronouns are becoming more popular, and also people using They/Them as pronouns. It's becoming the new normal, and accepted. Though, some places like Texas, and Tennessee are trying to make laws against Trans people, and even Drag queens. It's scary. They are trying to also slowly take away free speech. Which as they slowly do that, the pride fests that used to exist with riots might be happening again soon. I would be surprised if they didn't with how everything is going downhill now.

If my thoughts were right about how you just are very forgetful, and it's age. I will continue to let you know what's been going on with me.

As you know Alakzandar and I have been saving up to live on the road. The past year I realized that not only because of us working our butts off to save up money to do this by barely going out to hangout with people. Do fun things. Etc. But, also because the breakup with Freyja has really caused a lot of trauma for me. Not just the breakup itself, but everything that Megan caused with it as well. I tried to pack it all in a little box and forget about it. But, that's not healthy. It made me lose trust with people. Made me put up walls I used to have years ago. I started to not want to reach out to family, or friends. Or even make new friends. I kept to myself, and just focused on my goal with nothing else in sight.

I still don't know if I will be the person I once was before the breakup, but that's okay. We are human after all and always changing. We will always question who we are. It's just been harder than it has been for quite some time to know who I am. I feel like I always defined myself by the people I hangout with. But, with me only working and coming home to work on pricing everything to sell, or cooking, to eat, and head to bed. I don't have the guidelines I once had to know who I am.

I feel like I lost a huge part of myself. But, I feel like that's got to be normal after a breakup. Along with losing a best friend. Megan. Then before that, losing mom. After losing mom I really didn't know who I was anymore. I feel like what made me feel like I had gravity on this earth, was her. I feel alone. Maybe that's because I told mom everything that went on in my head. I knew I could, because I knew she would never judge me for anything I told her. She was always very open minded, and willing to learn. That's probably why all my friends called her mom, and reached out to her.

I feel like traveling will give me the answers I am searching for... Who Am I

I remember when I was a little girl. Mom and I were driving past Washington Elementary School. Mom asked what I wanted to do when I grew up. I pointed at this RV, and said "I want to live in that, and travel the world." I was so so small. I am surprised I even remember that memory. But, it stuck. Just like the memory of me wanting to be a model, when I was like three years old. Which I am glad I took that path, and got to experience being a runway model. It was very empowering.

We bought a truck. We are getting our RV in about two weeks or less, we already have money down on it. It's a 5th wheel. Pretty big, compared to what we thought we were going to originally get. But this way we can keep all our animals. Currently, I have been searching for remote jobs. I got an offer for one, and have a 2nd job interview Monday for another job. So for money making, I will have one on the road. Alakzandar is looking at jobs for Forests, or Campgrounds. We would have the company pay for our RV site, plus him hourly. Then I could stay home and work, and the animals wouldn't be alone. If Alakzandar can't find a job, he will just find a normal job, and we will pay for an RV ground. Then just stay there for a few months, and travel once it gets cold. Just keep moving slowly.

I never felt like Wisconsin was enough for me, Which is probably why I have packed my bags and left like three times now. But, coming back due to many issues I ran into. I am hoping since I will have a home on wheels that this is it. That if I don't like a place, or it's too expensive that I can just leave, but keep my home with me. It's funny really... I used to make sure that I didn't have that many things so I knew I could pack up my car and leave. But, after being with Freyja, I thought that settling down was the best thing. So, I started to buy more and more things. I remember having a breakdown once to Freyja about being settled down... How uncomfortable that made me. She told me that I would get used to it. But, I don't think I ever want to get used to that feeling. I want to see the world. Mom did too.

Mom taught me to love nature. The love for hiking. I used to just do it with her to do something with her. I thought it was somewhat boring. But, as I grew older I found the love for it more and more. When I wanted to move out of state before, it was because I wanted to get away from everything. Everyone. Now, I want to leave because I have seen almost everything Wisconsin has to offer with nature. Did you know I will travel three hours, just for a hike?... Then just drive back home once I am done with the hike. I have done that so much that there isn't anything left anymore. Some places up north of Wisconsin I haven't seen everything. But, I have gotten hotels just to visit more places up north. It's beautiful. There are so many waterfalls, it doesn't even seem like the Wisconsin we know over here.

Hiking makes me feel alive. Makes living seem worth it. Seeing new things. Mushrooms, plants, bugs, water formations. Birds. Kayaking in the water. Soon I hope to be able to do skydiving. I tried Ziplining once. It was too boring for me. Too safe.

I have a vlog on tiktok, but I think I am going to start one on Youtube. You could watch them if you wanted, see where I have been. I want to share my experience with others. To share, to inspire.

I love you, Grandma.

#my grandma #email #love #family #before my adventure

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peasthedumb · 2 years

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Arora’s story

[ this is told as if you’d asked her what her story is, and she’s answering ]

She’s also one of my own OC’s, not a undertale AU. She’s a small black dragon, roughly knee height to a human.

"huh? my story? you sure you wanna know that, it was half created by a 7 year old." she sways her tail curiously. "yeah, I'm fully aware I'm just a character. and I'm fully aware my creator is dumb. we talk sometimes. Buuut if you really wanna know my story then...sure! there are some plot holes though!"

The small dragon would shuffle, sitting down with her wings tucked back proudly, her tail around her feet. She was...quite odd. overconfident, sassy and a little bit mad in the head.

"well...all started back in the ice age in some universe. Its where my species originated. The rest of them were bigger and weaker than me. No clue why I'm like this. The early humans had figured out how to efficiently kill us though. poison berries in our food stores" she sighs in memory, " honestly we were stupid to fall for it. my parents fell to one of those traps. only reason I lived was because id ate before the humans had snuck in and poisoned the meat. Yeah, i know, 'ooo edgy orphan story', it was only because my creator couldn't be bothered to make stories for my parents too."

"anyway, after that I wondered around aimlessly for a few days, maybe years " she shrugged. " Eventually I accidentally found out i can make portals to different universes. I also learned how insignificant everything I knew was. Anyway, I went through this portal and found myself in the place i oh so creatively named 'the space between dimensions'. There was this guy, well, dragon, called Snowy. He'd somehow gotten himself stuck there and was half disintegrated. yeah, matter gets slowly destroyed in that place. Anyway I helped him out, dragged him back to his universe so his matter would reform. Lord could've known at that point what would happen after that. " she laughed to herself, shaking her head. "We both agreed to travel together. he was very very shy and quiet...he was a big pushover, but I kinda had a soft spot for him. Anyone else and i would've probably hated them. Anyway, we found this universe. Quiet, no people, just pretty wilderness, and we met a group of dragons there. They quickly put me as their leader, even though I wasn't even the biggest dragon. They just seemed to..put up with snowy though..."

"My best friend out of them was Ivy, a forest dragon. she was half my size, but mutated to have massive wings and an extraordinarily long tail. Hah, she was a goody two shoes. polite, curious, energetic, friendly. always caring too much. The other dragons were Sparky, a hopeless flirt, Trixy, the smallest bundle of the most vile bitchiness. Sparky was my size, Trixy was half Ivys size, and had tiny wings! I think she's just salty she cant fly. She essentially forced Splash to be her personal assistant. Splash...she was also a pushover...but she was also the biggest dragon. She was a little taller than your average human. She was polite though. The kind you never really interact with but still highly respect. She was kinda our guardian angel. Then there was sky..." she rolls her eyes a little, lowering her head. "hah...what a character. Just a little smaller than splash, and was as explosive as a volcano. angrier than a bull, stubborn as a mule. She'd somehow convinced herself i was being a cruel leader. Not sure how though. She decided to lead a revolt... She decided to try kill me, which lets be real, she could easily succeed at. She thought that once she attacked me everyone would join her side. NOPE. The others decided to exile her, after giving her a fair beating that is. That was the fight where i got the scar on my face you know! Sparky is a bit of a dumbass though and that's how things went south. I mean, he and Trixy would always pick on snowy, I should've known. Snowy was like my personal project to protect. He was just too innocent and kind for the world! poor snowy... Ugh, yeah basically uhm... so Sky tried to rejoin us buuuut....made the mistake of approaching sparky... who promptly told her to f right off and never come back. Reason this was bad? I wanted sky to come back! Anyway she took sparkys words right to heart and decided to try kill us all...well, mainly me." She'd look to the side, frowning a little, her wings flicking and tail swaying.

"So anyway...one night I was chilling with Snowy. We were sat on a tree branch looking up at the moon, we were getting kinda close and i was discussing his issues with him and coming up with ways to help then... well whaddya know, Sky comes swooping down, knocking us both off the branch. She immediately went to try get me but snowy..Snowy, bless his heart, decided to try be a tough guy for once. Two problems with that. He's not a tough guy AT ALL, he literally had scales so soft they could fall off if you brushed them the wrong way! And secondly... Me and Snowy are small, Sky is huge! Yeah uh." she coughs awkwardly, " yeah Snowy didn't...he didn't last two seconds. She just picked him right up, borderline crushed him in her jaws then whipped him against a cliff wall. Quite brutal really... I think...well, hope, he died quickly, cause if not, that would've h u r t... i miss that guy. Buuut also I don't hold a grudge against sky. I mean, fair enough. She did what she thought was right and got told to f off when she tried to right her mistake, and as far as she knows, I felt the same as sparky about her."

You could see her …well I suppose this is the closest to upset she gets. She looked more...disappointed than sad? But you could still tell there was sorrow in her eyes. She shook her head, shuffling her wings and getting herself back into her proud sitting posture. She'd forced a blank expression on her face.

"yeah well... I grew distant after that. Sky almost killed me that night too, but Splash was in time to scare her away. I didn't grow distant as in 'oh my friend died time to hate everything', i just got bored with that universe. I didn't really have a reason to stay, and it wasn't fun there anymore! I tried to make myself stay but one day i had enough. Ivy was pestering to know if i was okay, why id gotten so distant and I just...opened a portal and jumped through. I've never looked back since. " she gets a smug grin. "it was the best idea of my life. I've had so much fun playing around in the universes. Basically everything that could be different, of every single possible storyline or person, every single possibility, from something as small as an atom to something as important as the fabric of reality itself, there's a universe for every tiny nano-difference there is! and it always links back to the universe i so intelligently called 'real life'. Every single universe is tied to it somehow. I'm tied to it as the OC of someone there. Undertale is tied to it as a video game there. Any worlds or ideas thought of there, those ideas become universes out here. There are almost an infinite amount of almost identical universes too, so i can just go relive scenes or self insert into stories as much as i want! I've gone to several different universes, but at the moment this 'undertale' one is keeping me entertained. Did you know the entire undertale multiverse is just one universe for me. and theres infinite of em! For now this one called 'dreamtale' in these universes is keeping me happy. Love seeing all the different versions and rip-offs of them. I wonder how long it'll take for me to get bored of them like all the others though."

Yeah...you're probably confused, but She isn't going to elaborate. She's already distracted.

She's such a scatter brain.

[ugjgjhohkhgiuf I feel cringe I feel like this writing is bad I’m so sorry yall- I just wanted an excuse to tell everyone Arora’s story and also practice writing]

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lovee-infected · 3 years

Note

Hello! Recently I've seen a lot of twst blogs arguing on how twst characters are mischaracterized, especially Malleus. So do you have any ideas on how he is mischaracterized? Also, is it okay to ask for your general opinion on questions like a short character analysis or how a healthy a relationship with each twdt guy might be? Hope it's okay to ask!

For your first question anon, it's a GREAT thing to ask and to be honest I've been waiting for a chance to talk about him! And for your second one, yes, of course! I just love writing character analyis and it's totally okay to ask for character/personality/relationship analysis here! I've got a lot to say about Malleus so this is going to a detailed analysis about his whole personality.

There are commonly two popular opinions on how Malleus is which divides the fandom into two groups:

Group A:

Those who consider him to be an absolutely soft, baby dragon who just wants to be invited and have a friend. They believe that Malleus needs more attention and can be quite affectionate at the time, he can also be sometimes idiotic toward simple stuff like working with a computer or trying to talk with others which makes him even more adorable. "Despite Malleus's harsh and emo appearance and terrifying powers, Malleus is just a small baby inside," is also a common belief of this group.

Group B:

Those who argue that group A is totally shading everything important about Malleus's personality and true self just because he looks cute and plays with a childish tamagotchi. These group also comes up with rather strong points about his personality such as his status as a crown prince, his naturally dark personality as not only a dark fae but also Maleficent's grandchild, his maturity and cold nature and also, the aspect of his hellish powers which can make him look like an absolute monster at the time.

I believe most of you are familiar with these points of view but the question is, which one of them is the real Malleus?

And the answer is: Neither of them; yet both of them do have a point.

The main problem is how the fandom portraits him as either an emotional tamagotchi baby or an absolutely cold and heartless mister of evil, while the true Malleus is far beyond than just being either good, or bad.

Now let's discuss some of the important facts and common mistakes about Malleus's personality:

(1) Malleus isn't a baby, but he isn't a monster either

This is supposedly the main idea here which will be continued to be discussed through the rest of this analysis. This is often how many end up mischaracterizing him because: the way the describe Malleus is either too dark or too childish. What we need here, is a balance. This is the grandson of one of the most important Disney villains that we are talking about, and don't forget that Maleficent herself was confirmed to consume the powers of Hell, as she was indeed the mistress of all evil. So this dragon boy here surely isn't one to underestimate, and he clearly has inherited that hellish power of her grandmother. It's obviously seen through the story as well, from the way he was presented in chapter 2 and beans day event to how terrified other students always are to even talk about him.

But the thing is, there are softer aspects of his personality as well which prove that Malleus isn't just designed to present an undefeatable force of evil, and this is exactly what makes his personality a lot more interesting.

(2) Malleus is actually hard to approach and talk to

Let's be honest, Malleus isn't as soft and easy to befriend as many fans consider him to be. He doesn't get too friendly or chill as he speaks, and even his close allies like Silver and Sebek fail to get close to him as much as they wish to. When we talk about his dark aura, we aren't just talking about his horns and fearsome magic, it's also because of his personality itself. His calm yet cold tone always remains still regardless of who he's talking to. No need to mention that he isn't an ordinary student either, he not only comes from a well-known family but is also the crown-prince of valley of thorns. Out of all twst characters Malleus is the only one who is directly connected to the great seven by being Maleficent's grandson. His family and people on the other hand are overly protective over him, to the point of not letting him to even have a fake proposal in the ghost marriage event which means that Malleus has also got each and every of his actions under watch.

(3) He's slowly getting used to isolating himself

In his ceremonial robes story, he's obviously upset that he never had a chance to wear his ceremonial robes because he never got invited, but when Lilia says he'd one day overcome his ill fate and gets to wear them as he always wanted to, he says that he's fine. Then again when Lilia tried to bring him to the singing test in chapter 5 he avoids showing up. In his voice lines he also said: "Are you as well scared of me?" which is clearly shouting that he's no longer surprised to see people being afraid of him, he's getting used to being feared and at some point, hated. That's probably one of the bitter sides of his personality which he's slowly giving up on trying to change it.

(4) Malleus has got a great confidence and isn't shy at all

There many fanfics in which Malleus is presented as a shy boy who's scared of confessing to his s/o or asking them out, while he's the total opposite in reality. Just like Maleficent herself, he speaks calmly and in a formal tone, is very respectful as he speaks, and isn't one to ever have problem while talking to others.

It's others who always avoid talking to him while Malleus himself isn't the least uncomfortable with presenting his ideas and asking others for help when he needs to.

He isn't ever shy over his lack of ability to work with machines or asking others for help for seemingly childish issues like having his tamagotchi fixed or finding a friend for the GaoGao dragon.

The only thing left is how Lilia described him as "Kind of shy" in chapter five, which is most likely because of another reason discussed in part (3)

(5) He doesn't eat ice cream and play with a tamagotchi for no reason

Malleus explained that everything is ran by magic back in the valley of thorns and no one really uses any machines there, that's how he's pretty new to both technology and complicated tools.

I believe that the tamagotchi part was given to him on purpose, because else than showing the fact that he's bad with tools, it's great contrast to the harsh picture that his power and personality gives him!

Admit it, it's a funny and somehow, adorable contrast to see one of the strongest magicians who can burn the room to ashes in just a matter pf second playing with a children's toy. And I believe that it was given to him on purpose. They meant to give him some soft and cute features as well instead of just presenting him as an evil fae. He is indeed evil and his powers are terrifying, and that's how watching him play with a tamagotchi is rather surprising to many. If you saw Ortho or Cheka playing with one it wouldn't have gone any further than a simple "Awww" or "How cute" because it's something you'd expect to see from a kid, but when you see Malleus of all people playing with it, you can't help but to fascinated and flustered over how cute this fae's habits can be.

Ice cream on the other hand doesn't really have to do with cuteness, it's something Yana Toboso discovered while doing her researches on fae mythology which discuses that Dark faes enjoy cold and sweet foods, especially cream. So it doesn't really have anything to do with him being either a soft or a cruel boy, it's just a normal part of his nature as a fae.

(6) He might be crazily old to humans, but he's still pretty young as a fae

This one has really been getting on my nerves, come on people! It's true that he's probably been living for decades and possibly, centuries but don't forget that it isn't that much compared to a normal fae! Even Sebek calls him 'Young master' which means that he's still a pretty young one, no need to mention that he hasn't yet became the king either so he's not much different from the rest of the students in NRC.

I've seen people saying: "No Malleus won't do that he's -too old-" and I've got to say: What?

Come on even someone like Lilia who's been living for over 5 centuries can act like a nasty 14 year old at the time, so for faes at least, age isn't a limitation.

Malleus on the other hand is still a teenage fae! He needs to discover new things and talk with more people, just like a normal human being does. So if he doesn't enjoy doing anything too silly or stupid, it's because of his 'personality', not because he's too old. Even when tells Lilia that he isn't a child anymore, it's like how an 18 year old says it to his father.

(7) Malleus won't take insult easily

He is polite and respectful in general, but when he's offended, he'd seriously respond to it. Remember that a single swipe of hand from him can set the whole room on fire.

Rook and Leona were probably one step away from being burnt and when Leona really got on Malleus's nerves by humiliating him, Malleus stopped respecting him as a prince of an ally kingdom and humiliated back.

He is calm but to a specific point, and you can make sure that he won't be any soft or forgiving if you offend him, and it'll probably end in no good if he gets mad. So better not think that Malleus is one to just keep it in and later cry in a room because he's sad baby when someone dares insult him.

(8) Angelina Jolie's Maleficent has nothing to do with his story!

Nope, Malleus never had a lover who cut off his wings and sent him to a hell of depression and loneliness, and no you cannot find those two wounds on his back regardless of how romantic it may seem.

I admit it, it's a lovely Au, but it's JUST AN AU! I can still see people saying stuff like "Ohh!! Will we discover if Malleus too had his wings cut off in chapter 7?" and the answer is NO. While Angelina Jolie's Maleficent is surely a great one on its own, it needs be understood that twst's source of main information and characters designs is nothing else than the original Disney villains.

Malleus cannot be associated with any Maleficents else than the version we saw in 1959's sleeping beauty and it's an important fact to look through.

(9) Malleus is NOT Maleficent!

While they are a lot more similar than you can imagine(in both power and personality), let's not forget that Malleus is NOT Maleficent! He's a total new character on his own, and is unique in his own way.

He is twisted from Maleficent which means that no matter how similar they are, Malleus is a new character with a new personality.

Saying that he isn't soft at all and the fandom will see his true face when he overblots ( It's supposed to mean that the real Malleus is an absolutely evil and destructive one, just like Maleficent) is nothing different from denying all of Yana's hard work on designing him and his personality!

Malleus himself said that his grandmother's skills were far greater than his and most importantly: Malleus still has chance to have a better fate than Maleficent did.

Once again: He's still young! He still has a chance to be saved from turning into a heartless and isolated creature like Maleficent. No matter how cold he is, he hasn't yet got to the point of hating the whole world and losing all of his emotions. And that's why it's totally wrong to deny all the good that he might still have inside by saying that he isn't soft at all. He isn't a baby, but he isn't a monster either. Not yet.

(10) Even Lilia agrees that Malleus is still learning and his personality is in development

Can't you see? Malleus isn't attending to this school for no reason. His magic is already top notch, and his knowledge goes far greater than anything they might teach in NRC.

If you take a look at the story, you'll see signs of Lilia indirectly giving us signs of why Malleus still needed to attend to this school. In Malleus's SR robes' story, Lilia told him that he still has a lot to learn and knowledge isn't everything. And what might he find in NRC which has nothing to do with knowledge? People.

Lilia is trying to hold him back from isolating himself like Maleficent did, and is indeed trying to help him make friends and learn to get along with people without thinking that it's useless because they'd fear him anyway.

Also, he clearly wants Malleus to learn and experience new things in NRC by taking part in activities. In Malleus's Halloween SR story Lilia, who was always the one to choose Diasomnia's Halloween costumes, asks Malleus to choose this year's costume instead of him. Lilia first says that he wants Malleus to do it but later tells him that he has other reasons as well, he was trying to put Malleus into trying something new therefore he can have something learn from the experiment! (What a cute papa he really is...)

This is another proof of him not having the cold and unapproachable picture some imagine him to have, he isn't against experiencing and trying new things.

(11) He's still looking for a true friend

Malleus needs a friend, that's a fact. During his chats he mentions how Maleficent always had her loyal pet crow by her side as the only reliable creature she could always trust, and how Malleus wonders if he can ever find such a worthy ally of his own.

Even as he has Lilia, Silver and Sebek by his side he doesn't feel like he has such a friend.

People have been avoiding him through his whole life, and you can see how excited he got when Cater asked him for a selfie as he was one of the very first people who ever tried to approach him.

While he's slowly getting used to being feared by everyone, he'd still appreciate a friend and he needs one. Not even Maleficent herself could've made it all on her own without a friend by her side.

(12) Malleus isn't heartless

While he won't easily fall for anything or anyone, it isn't impossible for him to love.

We haven't yet seen anything that directly gets us to the point of love in the story but it's something you can tell through his actions and words.

When he cares for something or someone, he'd be serious about it.

Two obvious examples would be his tamagotchi and the ramshackle dorm. He'd certainly get out of his way to find someone to fix his dear tamagotchi and as we saw in the Halloween event, he furiously stated that he'd burn anyone who tries to the ramshackle dorm any harm, because he likes that place.

There isn't much he holds dear in life, but when he does, he won't let a single soul to take it away from him.

When he can be this protective over something that just entertains him, just try to imagine how far he might go to protect the one he loves. He falls in love very slowly and it'll probably take him a while to realize it if he actually does. He can begin with small interests and repeated meetings but at some point, it'll turn into a routine, an obsession. He won't easily fall in love, but when he does, he won't be able to easily let go of it either.

(13) His relationship with MC is far more important than you're thinking

Just by going through his voice lines, you can tell how MC is effecting Malleus's personality and life. I'm not saying that it's love or anything but the thing is, MC is changing Malleus nonetheless.

Their relationship has been a totally new thing for Malleus to experience from the very beginning, because MC didn't know him. Malleus is obviously used to being well-known as the infamous prince of the Draconia family by almost everyone, but MC was an exception.

He asked MC to talk to him and tell him stories, it can be clearly see that he enjoys talking to them.

He also mentioned that MC has made him feeling lots of things he hadn't felt before, which can also be connected to part (10) where we discussed how he's still young and needs more of communication and friends because he needs to learn.

Some argue that Malleus couldn't care less about MC and the only reason he shows up around them is because of the ramshackle dorm, which can be easily proven wrong by two hints:

1) Malleus sent a Happy holiday card to MC after the winter holiday.

2)What Malleus told Lilia at the end of the Halloween event stories after all the troubles that was brought upon the ramshackle dorm: "I want that human to enjoy Halloween too"

While it isn't necessarily romance that we're talking about, his relationship with MC is clearly telling us that he's a lot more of emotions and humanity inside him than what we were expecting.

At this point, it's important to see that in spite of his cold nature and mature personality he is slowly beginning to feel more and more emotions as the result of meeting newer people in NRC, especially MC. Saying that he is nothing but a heartless fae who is wrongly thought to be a soft and emotional boy is nothing different from judging him the same way as most of the people in twisted wonderland itself judge Malleus, it's important to see that he's a lot more.

His personality itself is surely amazing and as a Malleus hoe stan myself I can't wait to get more of his background in chapter 7, although it's probably going to be dark as well. They really did give his design a twist and that's how he's a balance of and menacingly powerful magician and a young boy who's just learning to deal with emotions.

For now, that's all I had in mind! Hope that I didn't miss anything. This was a general character analysis which also discussed some of the common mistakes about Malleus's personality but-

In case that you're wondering how he's being mischaracterized in reader insert fics, that'll be a totally different issue to discuss which would also need another post to be discussed through.

Small note: Just saying that there's often a dark lore to twst x reader fics (Especially for Malleus/ Leona x reader) which is usually better to be ignored while reading/writing for them...

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst theories #twisted wonderland theories #Twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #Character analysis #answered

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slugtranslation-hypmic · 3 years

Note

Hihihi this is may be a weird question but is your opinion on the main hypmic cast?

In brief:

(Spoiler alert: It was not brief. Stuck under a cut for length)

Ichirou: He's a good kid. I wasn’t super into him at first, as main protagonists very rarely hold my interest, but I appreciate him now for the struggles he goes through and the growth he’s experienced across the series.

Jirou: Jirou is also a good kid in his own way. I didn’t know what to do with him for a while, but now I feel like I understand him too. I don’t think he quite gets what makes Ichirou be as loved as he is, nor does he really understand what makes people love him for who he is. But that’s okay. He’ll get it someday.

Saburou: If you had tasked me as a fourteen year old to create an idealized anime boy sona, I would have come up with someone shockingly similar to Saburou. I’m fond of him. He can be a bit mean at times in a very fourteen way, but deep down, he’s a good kid too. All the BBs are good kids.

Samatoki: I just can’t not make fun of him. His posturing is so ridiculous to me that I am constantly filled with the urge to clown on him. Oh, you think you’re so tough? You think you’re a big tough guy? Well, I’m just a little bastard; what are you going to do about it? But underneath the posturing, I do feel sorry for him and admire his strengths a lot. He’s a good kid too under a very funny exterior.

Juuto: I’m enjoying learning more about him from the BB/MTC+ manga, but I’m a bit surprised at how much of a dick he is even deep down. Still, he has plenty of good qualities too, and I like him in a vague sort of way. I’d throw fruit at him over a fence but wouldn’t put any malice in it.

Riou: What a delightful individual he is. The BB/MTC chapter about him really resonated with me. For a character so outwardly obsessed with the military, Riou has an incredible understanding of the weight of his actions and such a deep appreciation for every living thing. There’s a lot of his depth to his simplicity, and the level of care he exhibits towards everyone is delightful to witness. An absolute favorite among the cast.

Ramuda: Self-recognition through the other (derogatory). In all seriousness, Ramuda’s story arc and actions are great narrative tools for me to examine some things about myself and grow to try to be a better, more considerate person towards myself and others. I want to see him achieve freedom and happiness.

Gentarou: I enjoy Gentarou quite a bit, although I think he gets overshadowed by the other members of Fling Posse at times due to my sheer passion for Dice and Ramuda. He’s my favorite character to translate at the moment, which is apparently heresy among Hypmic translators. More than the sheer fun of writing his witty banter, I find him to be a very intriguing individual, and I’m excited to learn more about him. I want his happiness too.

Dice: Oh, Dice... He’s a really good kid in a way that the BBs could never be. He’s deceptively good, and he does choose to hurt other people and himself in ways that characters like Ichirou don’t. But he also finds the goodness in the oddest places, like a person finding a coin in a cracked sidewalk, and that’s delightful. His narrative is one of the most compelling for me. What a champion of a character.

Jakurai: Wow, what a good foil for Ramuda. Let me bounce narratives off of you like a mirror. I’m slowly learning to find him compelling in his own right, however. This is also a self-recognition through the other (derogatory) scenario, but there’s more of an emphasis on the derogatory part.

Hifumi: A funny little individual bearing a lot of sadness and a whole lot more courage. Like most of Matenrou, I admire him a lot, but I think that Matenrou resonates much more strongly with other people than they do for me, so I prefer to sit back and let other people appreciate them. I think he’s very brave and very fun to read/write.

Doppo: The biggest fucking mood in existence. When you move past the stereotypical aspects, you end up with another character who has a lot of deep flaws but also an incredible amount of courage. I’m excited to see where they go with him, but again, I’ll sit back and let others take the first row here.

Kuukou: Having already drafted Saburou, if you came back to me at age eighteen and asked me to make an idealized anime boy sona, you would probably have ended up with a character astonishingly like Kuukou. He brings me sheer joy. Astonishingly, I feel like Kuukou has exhibited the least growth out of any of the cast, and yet I do not mind a bit. He is the closest to the perfect man I have ever met. I would drop everything to be this dude’s homie if he existed in real life. Just a champion individual.

Juushi: Juushi’s a good kid. I’m very fond of him and like writing him, but much like Matenrou, I feel like he does a lot more for other people than he does for me. Therefore, much of how I work with him is less, “How do I enjoy this character as a reader?” and more “How do I nurture the traits about him that other people love?”

Hitoya: Hitoya strikes me as a damn good person with a lot of heart who sometimes lets his anger drive him a bit too much. He’s also utterly ridiculous, of course, but I try to write him with as much strength as possible to be present behind his words. He honestly seems like a great person to know in real life, not simply as a fictional character, as well.

Sasara: I have to clown on him to assert dominance. Joking aside, I admire the depths of his character and the growth he’s shown over the series. He can be pretty callous at times and goes to odd lengths to get what he wants, but I think he’s now starting to realize how much his actions affect other people. For a while I was really in his camp as a hardcore Sasara lover (back before he was a main cast member - I love writing quirky minor characters), but now I approach him with the idea mentioned above, ie how I can present him for other people.

Roshou: Whenever he’s around the rest of Dotsu Hon, I think he’s kind of an idiot. I mean that in the best way possible. It’s very endearing. Yet moments when he’s on his own are where I think he best shines, and I would love to see more solo material for him. He’s an incredibly good support character, and I admire his passion for his students.

Rei: I really enjoy asshole antagonists, which is why I liked Ramuda for a while before the clone story came up behind me and struck me into the ground with its mighty fists. Now Rei fills this role. I would love to learn more about him and team up with the Buster Bros to pelt him with rotten eggs in a fun bonding activity. I’m sure there is some strong backstory that will absolve him of at least some of his shittiness, but until now, I’m still not excusing his whole abandoning his children thing, not to mention the human trafficking thing he pulled with Ramuda.

Otome: I hate translating her, if only because she and Rei frequently talk about things in extremely vague terms that I have no context for. It’s hard to make her sound idiomatic in English while also not shooting myself in the foot by accidentally filling in the wrong information. But with that aside, she’s okay. I like her, I guess. Her motivations are pretty interesting.

Ichijiku: Ichijiku was written for people who are sexually attracted to women, and I’m not at all, so I 100% approach her in terms of her pull on other people. She’s fun on her own, though, and I’m impressed at her ability to walk in high heels. Her complete disrespect for everyone but Otome brings me no end of entertainment in reading and writing.

Nemu: YOU. Maybe this is some stupid toxic masculinity thing, but I always feel embarrassed speaking affectionately about male characters but not at all about female characters. Therefore Nemu gets all of my loveposting. She’s a wonderful girl! She has such a strong spirit, and I’m completely overjoyed that she’s making her own decisions and becoming her own character defined on her own terms. I want to watch her grow up big and strong. Fuck yes, baby girl! Fuck it up! I’m very proud of her.

#not a translation #asks #hypmic asks

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peachysamu · 3 years

Text

Summary: just Grandma Yumie being the greatest wingwoman there ever was

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x fem!reader

Word count: 1.08k

Genre: fluff, the usual

You sigh at the screen before you, having been sat at the patio of your favorite café for almost two hours now. Starting your work at seven in the morning, you brought yourself outside a few hours later hoping that a new environment would stimulate motivation to finish your work due in the next couple of days. The fresh breeze is nice and the ambient noise of life ever so lulling, but anything is far more interesting than the assignments in front of you.

Such as the grandma before you scuttling stiffly to fix an imbalanced table tilting back and forth with just the smallest bit of pressure.

“Grandma, do you want to sit here?” You call, standing up with the intention of helping the older woman out. “My table is stable. I don’t mind moving.”

“Oh no,” She smiles through huffs until she successfully places a napkin underneath the shorter leg. She gives the table a small push, a satisfied grin upon her face when it obediently stays put. “I’ve got it.”

At that, you can’t help but smile at the woman whose age is probably older than she looks as you sit back down. Even through her rigid movements, it is obvious she is self sufficient, even if stubbornly so.

Staring back at the screen before you, your fingers hover above the keyboard having lost your sense of thought due to your distraction.

“Thank you for offering.” The older lady calls to you again. You look up to find her, a vision of mirth through closed lids. “That was very kind of you.”

A warm expression, “Of course!”

“I may be an old woman, but I still can do things on my own.” There’s fondness in your chest as she continues the conversation with you. Her words may be strung together slowly, but you’re astounded by the way she creates human connection so easily. Where people your age are consumed by their own selfish needs, protected in a bubble they’ve surrounded themselves in, this stranger easily concocts conversation like she’s known you for so many years. You think the candidness is nice for once.

Grandma takes a sip of her water before continuing. “My grandson has been awfully protective over me lately. He won’t let me do anything.”

You laugh at the way her face scrunches at the last sentence as though her grandson has been the bane of her existence. “My legs were feeling a little tense so I went for a walk the other day. Just a small one to the farmer’s market nearby.”

Now you’re absolutely entranced by the seemingly frivolous story, mindlessly picking at the egg sandwich you ordered hours ago.

“I went and looked around. I found some cabbage that looked nice. And then I stopped at a stall selling okonomiyaki. It smelled so good I had to try some.”

You’re nodding your head, fascinated by the woman’s mundane retelling. The little snippet into her lifestyle reminds you of how large the world is and small at the same time. Though you’ve never met her, and though she is years older than you, you relate to the need of hers to stop at a stall filled with the smell of savory foods.

“Then I get a phone call from my Shin-chan,” Frown lines appear when she says the name with a shake of the head, though you can tell she’s also slightly amused at the thought. “He was not yelling at me, but I could tell he was frustrated. He was asking me where I was. He told me it was ten in the morning and that I needed to get home before it got too hot! He thinks I can’t do anything on my own!”

Grandma is shaking her head furiously, but you’re amused all the same.

“I’m the same way Grandma!” You laugh with a piece of bread on your mouth. “I’m just like that with my mom myself.”

Grandma just shakes her head, indignant. “We’re independent.”

Yes, stubbornly so, you agree in your head before saying, “Of course, Grandma, but it comes from a good place. We just care about you is all.”

Grandma raises a withered hand, the most certain movement of hers you’ve seen yet. “Yes, yes, I know.”

The door of the cafe opens and a broad male figure obscures your view of the older woman as he sets a plate in front of her.

“Sorry, Grandma,” You hear him say, a soft, tender tone escaping him. “They didn’t have any fruit tarts so I hope strawberry shortcake is okay.”

“Oh yes. I was just talking to this nice lady, Shin-chan.”

Said Shin-chan turns around and then gives you an apologetic look. Suddenly, you’re feeling nervous at the sight of the subject of your conversation of the last couple minutes, surprised by the fact that he is more handsome than you imagined.

“Thank you for keeping her company,” He says. You find yourself at a lack of words, gulping and nodding at the same time.

“Ah, Shin-chan,” Grandma’s voice is playfully irritated, “Move to the side. I want to keep talking to the pretty lady.”

It’s then that heat permeates your cheeks, awkwardly letting out a nervous giggle that makes the grandson give his grandmother a quiet, scolding look.

“Grandma,” he starts, but takes the seat next to her anyways to get out of her view, “She’s probably busy. Let’s not bother her.”

“Oh no!” You interject happily, “Your grandma’s actually really interesting. I was having a good time.”

You’re being honest and it’s not because you’re looking for a distraction, or because her grandson is kind of hot. Okay, admittedly, his handsome features were some sort of factor in wanting to continue the exchange.

There’s a mischievous glint in his grandmother’s eyes. She clasps her hands together and the smile across her face tilts lopsidedly into a smirk. “Oh? Would you like to go with me to the farmer’s market then?”

Her head tilts to her grandson, “Since my Shin-chan won’t let me go alone?”

“Uh,” You laugh nervously, eyes flitting between the pair, appraising both reactions. The older woman looks satisfied while the other provides an amused look that is very similar to his relative’s.

“If you go,” He starts, “I guess I will come along too.”

Your heart beats quickly, but your hand is already finding itself closing your laptop. Yes, anything is far more interesting than your assignment. Especially if it’s the handsome, golden eyed boy and his good naturedly stubborn grandma before you.

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therealvinelle · 3 years

Text

Carlisle wouldn’t want to be human

This really goes for most of the Cullens, Rosalie excepted (I think Edward would last one day without his telepathy and superpowers before this happened (well honestly I think his denial would keep him from ever admitting this but this isn’t an Edward post so we’re cutting this thought short right now before it spirals)), but I see both Edward and general fandom just sort of take it for granted that if anyone offered Carlisle a miraculous human again pill (and I’m just picturing that as some hokey pill being sold on ad TV) he’d praise Jesus and swallow that down immediately, and I’ve to see anybody argue with that so here I go.

First of, if Carlisle were to suddenly find himself human again I have every belief that Aro would materialize and go, “My dear Carlisle has been made a human? How tragic! Never fear, old friend, I’ll fix that for you. Om nom nom.” and then Carlisle would not be human. And I’m only half joking when I say that, because Carlisle has a lot of friends, and while his animal diet is all well and good, if he were to actually do something like this they’d be very sad his human obsession has gone too far and stage an intervention. “We’re doing this because we love you, Carlisle. Now please try not to be too delicious. Om nom nom.” And then we’re back to Carlisle being a vampire again, though with slightly longer hair this time.

More seriously, if Carlisle was offered this miracle pill, then as a doctor he’d probably be less than enthused about it. He was there to see what happened to the Native Americans when the Europeans came carrying brand new disease, and after viruses and bacteria have had 350 years and a globalized planet to evolve, our seventeenth century priest is going to be in trouble. He’s unvaccinated to boot. He also has a completely different intestinal bacterial flora than modern humans do, which I imagine would not be fun for his digestion. This guy would be a sickly, constipated mess.

As for the main reason - why would Carlisle ever want to be human?

Before he’d mastered his thirst, then he’d probably feel obligated to. For as long as he hadn’t mastered it there was always the risk of him losing control and killing somebody. In his early days he certainly would have jumped on the chance. But none of this is a problem anymore.

So, to take the reasons why he wouldn’t say yes in the present day - first of, why would he not want to be a vampire? He is past worrying about his thirst. His vampirism is at this point purely an asset to him. It makes him great at his job. All his friends and family are vampires. If he were to become human again, he’d not just suddenly suck at his job (as I imagine he has incorporated his super senses into his work to the point where he would pretty much have to learn everything anew if he still wanted to be a doctor), his brain would be slow and limited, and he could never see his cherished friends, people he has known for centuries, again. He’d have to start over with another fake identity in a new place, and sure, this time he could stay until he died of old age, but he’d still be lying to everybody he met about his identity. Carlisle is very much a social butterfly, and he’d be unable to form meaningful friendships when he could never get truly personal with anybody.

In other words, Carlisle would be signing himself up for a lonely life of being average if not bad at his work. And his work is incredibly important to him.

Then there’s the fact that as a doctor, modern viruses aside, when it comes to health problems Carlisle has seen it all. He would know better than everybody that even if the modern viruses don’t make him a sickly mess, even if he doesn’t join the statistics of people who die in tragic accidents, he could still get a brain aneurism at the age of 24 and his human LARP is over. And who knows, maybe he had some nasty disease lurking in his DNA just waiting to ruin his life had he lived long enough, such as ALS. But assuming that Carlisle says “I’LL RISK IT”, even if he makes it to an older age, aging is no joke. Dementia, gout, incontinence, the general and inevitable decline of his body - this is the looming shadow hanging over all our heads. For an immortal who has seen countless humans succumb to it, why choose this?

And for what?

So he could have kids of his own, presumably with Esme?

He has a whole family. Rosalie and Edward especially are his children. Just, this guy loves his whole family so much, I can’t imagine he’d throw them aside in favor of some faceless toddler concept. I also don’t think he’d even want kids of his own, but I think that’s for another post. And also mostly a vibe.

So he could grow old with Esme?

Again - why? She’d be just as much an outcast as he, and face all the same health risks (except I suppose for the modern viruses, she hasn’t been dead for that long). I can’t imagine he’d want to sit idly by and watch her either die ahead of schedule, or live long enough to become unable to care for herself.

Then there’s the fact that at most he’d have six or seven decades. To him, that’s just the blink of an eye. And, again, a very unpleasant blink where he loses everything, is less intelligent, and slowly dies.

Lastly there’s the fact that the human he was is dead, his time has passed. Carlisle doesn’t belong in the human world any longer. He interacts with it because helping humans gives him joy and meaning in life, but he’s a man out of his time and this brave new world is not the one he once lived in. He would not in any way belong, and I think he knows that quite well.

Just, the whole idea that Carlisle would want this is founded on Carlisle having some sort of innate worship of humans where being human is inherently better. I’m sorry, but that’s Edward. If Carlisle felt this way, he wouldn’t be turning others into vampires, and he wouldn’t have vampire friends all over the globe. To him, thirst isn’t a problem, and his vampirism means he can save more humans than he otherwise would. The remaining concern would be God, but Carlisle’s life philosophy is that being a vampire is not by itself a sin, so he’s fine in that regard too.

In summation, I think Carlisle is quite happy being a vampire, and wouldn’t have it any other way.

#carlisle cullen #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #note on the intestinal bacterial flora #a study was done on an african tribe whose members were eating the same food as their ancestors had for thousands of years #and a group of regular americans #they switched diets #and the african tribesmembers' gut flora was noticeably decreased after just a few weeks #and as far as i remember this was irreversible change #while the modern americans did not have noticeable change #so if i understand that correctly then this might not be such a big problem for carlisle #but it's still food for thought #and i imagine the transition period would suck #he'd probably just take the easy way out and eat unprocessed organic food #be that hipster #vegan vampire and hipster human #... i'm quitting this 'carlisle's indigestion combat tactics' tag spiral #before it gets weirder #point is this guy would lose everything #he could never see his friends again #and in exchange he gets to give a forced smile and say 'yay. i'm human. yayy...'

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vogueinnie · 3 years

Text

✍︎︎ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍

━ WARNINGS ; fem!reader, age gap (reader is 20 and seungmin is 27), mention of cigarettes, smut (focused on the reader’s pleasure), oral (f.), everything is just fluffy and awkward, kinda love at first sight ━ WORD COUNT ; 2.2k ━ NOTE ; feedback are so welcomed!!

“At your brother’s work ?!” You clear your throat and apologize for being loud, giving Yeji, your bestfriend, a death glare.

You were supposed to go at her house but, as clumsy as she is, she forgots the keys… in the house. You had two options ; go back to your own, which means procrastinating and giving zero fucks about your homeworks, or go to her brother’s work to take back the keys.

“Hum, yeah… But, there’s a little something… He needs his keys to close the shop, so… we have to work there…” Second death glare. “But you know him, he don’t give a fuck as long as we’re not noisy ! And his co-worker is cool too, I promise.”

You were friend with Yeji since you were a child. Of course you knew her old brother, Hyunjin was such a nice guy. He may seems cold on the outside but he has the warmest personality and had always made you feel like his own little sister even tho you haven’t seen him in a while, due to school.

You sighed at Yeji’s puppy eyes, nodding, knowing that you’ve already lost the battle. She was the best negociator.

That’s how you ended up in front of one of the most famous tattoo shop in your city. Indeed, Hyunjin was the owner of it with his long-time friend. They both were tattoo artists since more or less 2 years. According to Yeji, he was drawing before learning how to talk so it seems pretty logical for him to work in something artistic.

Without knowing why you felt a little bit uneasy, asking the blonde girl if she’s totally sure that it won’t bother Hyunjin and his friend to have you there. You were just students and for adults aged 27-28 years it could be annoying to hear you talk about your lessons. But she was quick to reassure you, even showing you her texts with her brother through her phone.

“Hyunjin ! We’re here !”

As soon as you entered the shop Yeji screamed at his brother and you clap your hand to her forehead.

“Shush ! What if he’s wor- “

“Hello to the prettiest girl heeeeere. No, Yeji, I’m not talking about you, you ugly rat.”

Your smile was immediate after the blond-haired and obviously tattooed boy puts you into a warm hug, patting your head while poking his tongue to his young sister, like the very 28 years old matured adult he is. He had no customers at the moment, and he was just working on some new design, but you can still hear some little machine noises so you guess his friend was tattoing someone in the practice room.

“It’s been a really long time Y/N, how are you ? C’mon, have a sit. Y’all need to work on your classes ? You can sit there, I’m just here, he shows you the sofa right beside the table with his index, if you need anything. You’re at home, here. Seungmin will be over in maybe fourteen minutes so you have time to work.”

You both nod in unision, sitting on the chairs to starts working on an unfinished cases while Hyunjin was giving you two glasses of water to finally go back to focus on his drawings. Yeji and you were sharing ideas, writing and making some researches on your respective laptops. No breaks were allowed unless you’ve finished what you’ve started.

“Maybe we should add the fact that... Hey, Seungmin !” Yeji’s smile was wide and she greets someone behind you, shaking her hands.

Politely, you turn around to face the one you’re supposed to be Hyunjin’s co-worker, Seungmin. You hold back your jaw from dropping on the ground the moment your eyes met his.

He was, honestly, the most beautiful human being you have ever seen. His dark purple hair where falling onto his forehead in a delicate way, covering half of his dark brown and absolutely magnetic eyes. His pretty nose was pierced with a silver ring and his lips were as pink as your burning cheeks. His broad shoulders were hidden in a large black t-shirt and at this right moment your eyes were glued to his inked forearms. Of course you’ve already seen inked people, Hyunjin was one of them, but him…There was something special about him.

“Hello ? Is anybody here ? Youhou, are you alive ?” You heard Hyunjin while he was moving his hands in front of Seungmin’s eyes causing you to cut the contact between the two of us.

Apparently, he was gazing in your eyes too.

“Yeah… yeah, sorry I was just thinking about... you know... stuffs. Hey, Yeji, you good?“ Even his voice was soft and smooth, almost honey-like. He comes closer to the desk you were working on so you immediately stand up, bowing down respectfully and you realized how taller he was compared to you. “Who are you ?”

You frowned your eyebrows, almost agape by his suddenly cold voice and distant attitude. Your eyes can’t no longer detach from each other, and you open slowly your mouth. Everything about him was fascinating, from his lack of expression to the way he was nervously playing with his fingers. Well, you supposed it was nervosity.

“I... I’m Y/N. I’m Yeji’s friend, I’m sorry if we’ve disturb you.”

He hums and nods, leaning over you to take his cigarettes pack and you gulp silently at your sudden proximity. His strong and wooded scent was all around you, making you melt. You had the perfect view on the two black eyes drawn on his throat and you almost felt judged by them from acting like a teenager. It felt like they were staring into your soul, knowing your deepest secrets.

But the most humiliating part was probably the Hwang’s suggestive look on you.

—————————————✰ —————————————

You were so stupid. Nobody could be dumber than you. You were at the highest rank of stupidity. Idiot was your second name.

You sigh, dry throat and shaking hands. You were at the front door of Hyunjin and Seungmin’s tattoo shop. Alone. Indeed, yesterday your brain wasn’t working like usual, thanks to one particular man, and you forgot your phone there. Yes, your phone. You were that distracted. It was 2pm and Yeji couldn’t come with you cause she had classes, but you didn’t. And you really needed your phone after almost a day without it.

You came into the shop, looking all around you to realize that Hyunjin wasn’t here. Seungmin was staring at you from across the room, coming closer to you with your treasure in his hand, and you had forget for a moment how much his inked hands looks like. You stare at the pretty heart drawn on his thumb, the long black line on his major digit and the word “ LOVE “ on his wrist. You were so focused that you almost forgot about your phone.

“You like them ?” You jump at his slow voice and you can feel your cheeks burning instantly. Were you really that dumb to fix your eyes on his hands ? “You can touch them, if you want.”

He puts your phone on the table near you, holding out his two hands in front of you. It was almost sureal. Two adults, standing in front of each other awkardly. You can’t hide the excited smile to grows on your lips and with softness you touch his tattoos with the tip of your index finger, retracing them as if it was a pen. You were surprised by the softness of his pretty skin.

“They are so pretty... You points at a cute little smiley on his other hand. This one is my favorite ! You hear him chuckles, looking at you with such fondly eyes you were so destabilized. You back off him when you realize the situation, biting your lips. I’m sorry... I... I was just... I mean, you know, my phone...”

“You can stay. He said quickly. Hyunjin isn’t here and I have no appointment. I’ve heard you were working on some juridic cases yesterday and I... Well, I have a master in law, so I was wondering maybe I can help you ?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, first cause he was offering you to stay with him, alone, and second cause he has done the same studies as you, something you wouldn't have thought of.

The both of you were then sitting in the sofa, casually talking as if you knew each other since forever. You’ve discovered that he didn’t wants to be a lawyer but his parents had always put some pressure on him to have what they liked to call a good job. And it wasn’t his way of thinking, he wanted to feel free, to love his job and not to feel any pressure from anyone. He was so kind to you, making you more feel comfortable than yesterday. Shy, sweet, talkative and curious about anything you’re saying. A 28 years old man, mature, understanding and independant.

Needless to say that you didn’t talk about your school lessons, but just about the two of you. Also needless to say that you were fascinated. There was just something about his eyes scanning you everytime you were talking, and it felt so good to be the center of his attention. Your conversations were so fluids, you couldn’t hold back yourself to talk and to look at his beautiful features.

“Mind if I draw on you?” He cuts you off when you were talking, grabbing his colorful pens that was near him. He looks at you with his still hypnotic dark eyes and you nod your head with a shy smile. He kneels down infront of you on the ground as you were still sitting on the sofa. You internally thank the beautiful days for allowing you to put on a skirt. “Can I draw on your thighs? I mean, I have a big idea! But I want you to discover it, but if it makes you uncomfortable I-”

“No, no! It’s ok! You can, of course, do it Seungmin. I trust you.”

He smiles timidly, probably knowing that he got a little carried away. He was so passionnate about art that you couldn’t refrein him to do what he has to.

Seungmin then starts drawing on one of your legs, starting from your ankle to your knee. He draws pretty colorful flowers on your skin, it was so soft and beautiful you can’t stop staring at his work on you. He quickly reaches the level of your thigh and he was so close to you that you felt his hot breath against your shivering skin. You felt you mind dizzy for a moment, as his lips were also close to you. Unconsciously you tighten your legs between them, which makes him raise his face to look at you. His pupils were now totally black and this view of him between your legs was all you needed to lose your mind.

You softly grab his hair, making him smirk and immediatly starts to kiss your two thighs. He was so soft, taking his time to discover all of your sensitive spots. And you ? You were already lost, spreading your legs slowly so he can be placed correctly between them. Your inner thighs was his target, he sucks your flesh and you whines at the feeling.

“Please...” You see him smile, licking everywhere but your heat spot. Even your pubic area was drowned in sweet kisses. “Please, I... Do something I can’t...”

Seungmin hums, gripping your legs so they can rest against his shoulders. He lifts your skirt up, moving your pantie on the side and take his time to look at your intimate parts with hungry eyes. You clear your throat, embarassed that he looks at you like that and he gives your clit a kiss.

“So fucking pretty... Fuck, Y/N you’re so pretty, look at that pretty flower...” You chuckles at the surname he gaves to your womanhood.

He doesn’t waste any more time and starts kissing your wet folds at a slow pace, taking his time to taste your wetness. His tongue was heaven like against you, he was so precise and slow, you couldn’t contain your moans escaping your mouth. His plump lips surround your bud, sucking on it and circling his wet muscle all around your swollen one.

Your legs tighten against his head as you feel the heat waves crashing against your lower abdom like a delicious torment.

Two of his fingers join his tongue and he finally insert them in your clenching wetness. Your eyes rolls back the moment you feel yourself kinda full, but you lost it the moment he curls his fingers inside of you to stroke your sweetest no-return point.

You moan his name, biting your lips, moving your hips against his magical mouth as he helps you rode your orgasm, pumping his two fingers in you while licking tirelessly your folds and clit the fastest as he can.

Your breath was cut, and you can feel him gives butterflies kisses on you, replacing correctly your clothes on you. He stands up, cleaning his own fingers by licking them which make you blush at the view. He strokes your messy hair, kissing your forehead with a reassuring smile.

“I think I’ve found my muse.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #seungmin smut #seungmin scenarios

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #hook heel #this is also apparently my 50th work on ao3 #which is just patently nuts #so if you guys have been clicking and reading all these words know that i am a little in love with you

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magicforjournals · 3 years

Text

The Green Dress (A Story About Loki)

Chapter 5 - Gravity

This is long overdue and I apologize! I hope you like it !! Taglist is still open :)

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Warning : Explicit (18+)

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You’re sitting on the couch, giggling, as you’re watching Loki fumble through your cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, looking for a bottle opener for the wine. He had insisted on ordering pizza for you, since the dinner you had prepared for the two of you was no longer edible, and you had agreed it was a great idea.

“Got it!” he says, waving the bottle opener proudly. A wave of desire washes over you again as you watch him walk over to you, his pants falling loosely on his hips, shirt unbuttoned, his perfect body just taunting you.

He plops down on the couch next to you, smiling tenderly, as you brush his hair out of his eyes, no longer combed back. You can’t help but smile, feeling complete with Loki by your side. The pure happiness you felt in his presence was so overwhelming to you, you’d never felt like this before. Without even knowing him that well, you feel like you belonged together, it was almost magnetic, two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together. And as much as you loved this pull between you, it scared you. Terrified you to your very core. And for so many reasons. Loki was… well Loki. He had, in the past, caused so much pain and destruction, to your world, even to you. Granted, you were one of the lucky ones that had not lost family members or friends in the attacks, but you had lost the first home you ever bought. Even though you were never overly materialistic, that loss still stung. But Natasha was right, everyone needed a chance at redemption, and you were not against it. On the contrary, you were a teacher, it was deeply ingrained in you to bring people to see the best in them, to work hard to become a better version of themselves. But, you didn’t want to become a lifeline for him. You didn’t want anyone to depend on you that way. It was different with your students, but Loki was a grown man. In fact, he was a god, from an entirely different world and, you, you were just a simple mortal. How could you make a relationship work? How could you ever measure up to his existence? You just had so many questions, so much was just standing in the balance, too many uncertainties.

“Are you ok?” Loki asks, gently stroking your face and bringing you back to reality.

“Yes,” you smile back at him, pressing your head softly against his touch.

“Would you like some wine?” He offers, handing you a glass.

“Thank you very much.”Nodding slowly.

“Anything for you.” He adds with a wink, making you blush.

“I realize there’s not much we know about each other,” you start, grabbing a slice of pizza, bringing your bare legs under you. After you had finally decided to get out of bed, solely because of your rumbling stomach, you had thrown on the same oversized t-shirt from before and slid on a pair of lace panties.

“Not much indeed, what would you like to know?” Loki answered, his gaze locked on your thick thighs he desperately wanted around his face again.

“I.. uhm… everything?” You chance.

He laughs, your heart swelling at the sound. “We’ll be here for days, my darling,” he replies, stroking your cheek once more, igniting another fire through your stomach.

“I want to get to know you,” you whisper.

Grabbing his own glass of wine, he snuggles in next to you, adjusting his position to face you and resting a gentle hand against your arm. “Well I was raised on Asgard, as you know.” He pauses, hesitates before continuing in a soft voice. “But I was born on Jotunheim, home of the Frost Giants.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage, shocked by the revelation. You had heard of the Frost Giants from Thor’s stories, but you never knew that Loki was one of them. If Thor had ever mentioned it, it certainly wasn’t when you were around. “What happened to your biological parents?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“I know nothing of my birth mother, but my father is Laufey, King of the Frost Giants.” That made sense now that you thought about his last name; Laufeyson. The connection had never occurred to you before. Loki takes a deep breath, “Odin found me when he came to Jotunheim, waging war against the Frost Giants. I had been abandoned in a temple by Laufey, he had deemed me too small and weak to be a Frost Giant and had left me there to die. Odin brought me home and Frigga, my mother, raised me as her own, making sure my Frost Giant appearance remained hidden to others. She did it to ensure my safety. I was a child, and I didn’t understand why she would keep me away from a lot of people, or made sure I didn’t get in trouble, but also treated Thor differently. It was all to keep me safe... I miss her.” He whispers. You knew about the horrible fate Frigga had succumbed to. It had taken quite the toll on Thor, and you couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for Loki to lose his mother. He looks up at you, his beautiful green eyes filled with tears, pain and grief apparent in them. As a single tear falls down his cheek, you realize that this seemingly confident, strong man standing in front of you is still profoundly grieving the only being he truly loved and who truly loved him.

Putting your glass down, you reach over to grab his and set it on the coffee table. Slowly, you climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a deep embrace. His strong arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you even tighter to his chest, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he sighs softly, whispering a low “thank you” against your skin. Pulling away, Loki cradles your face and gazes into your eyes before kissing you ever so softly. You whimper quietly in his mouth, drawing him closer and tightening your thighs around him. The kiss turns into one steamy and full of passion, every kiss he gives you surpasses the previous ones in intensity. It sends shivers down your spine as he runs his hands up your back and into your hair. You could stay here and kiss him forever. With a sigh, he pulls back gently, a quiet protest escaping your lips as he chuckles at your reaction. Blushing violently, you hide your face in his neck, muttering a sad “sorry”, which only makes him giggle harder.

“It’s okay darling, don’t apologize,” Loki whispers in your hair. “I just have to restrain myself, I could spend hours just tasting you.”

The sound of his deep voice as he whispers those words so close to your ear transforms you into a puddle in his lap and you hope he won’t be saying things like that again, or you’ll soak his pants.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” He asks, running his hand up and down your spine. “All I know is that you’re a teacher and you are friends with the Avengers. I want to know more about you.” He adds, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as you turn your head up to meet his eyes.

“My life is pretty boring,” you chuckle. “Is there anything you want to know?”

Loki smiles at you and cradles your face. “I want to know everything.” You laugh before he adds, “why don’t we just start with your favorite food?”

“Uhmmm tough one…” you answer. “I really love sushi, it became my favorite when I moved to the city. But, my mother’s lasagna will probably always be my favorite.”

“You’ll have to make it for me then!” He says, all smiles.

“I would mess it up ! No, no way!”

“Well then, we’ll have to practice to make the perfect lasagna won’t we?” He says, playing with your hair. There’s that we again, you think.

“It’ll take years.” You chance, waiting to see what his answer will be.

“That’s okay.”

“What’s your favorite food?” You ask. “Is it some dish from Asgard?”

“No actually. It might shock you, but I love human food a lot more than Asgardian food.”

“There’s no way Loki!” You laugh. “How can our food be better than Asgardian food?”

“I don’t know,” he replies softly. “It just is. I absolutely love your food! And I do have a preference for pizza, if you couldn’t tell.” He adds, pointing to the box on the coffee table.

Laughter fills the room as you both sit up to grab a slice of pizza. You eat in silence for a little while, just basking in each other’s presence. Once you finish your slices, you lean back down against his chest, cuddling up in his lap.

“Can I ask you another question?” Loki whispers in your ear.

“Mmmhmm,” you nod softly.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 26,” you answer simply, shrugging your shoulders. “How old are you? I mean, do gods even age?”

“Yes”, Loki chuckles. “I do age, just extremely slower than humans... “ Pause. Hesitation? “I was born in 965 A.D.”

“WHAT?!” You shoot up in his lap as if someone had shocked you. “You were born in 965 A.D.?! But that would make you…” Your nose scrunches up as you’re trying to figure out how old Loki really was.

“1054 is the number you’re looking for,” he answers you. 1054 years old… that is… too many lifetimes.

“How… How does that translate in human years?” You whisper, still profoundly confused.

Loki sets you down gently on the couch next to him, and covers you up in the blanket you had discarded while climbing into his lap. “Well, it’s hard to really know how old I am in human years. Asgardians live for approximately 5000 years.” An audible wheeze escapes your lips as you take that in. Loki would outlive you. He would also forget you. “However,” he adds, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m not Asgardians, and I’m unsure on how fast the Frost Giants age. If I were to take a guess, based on my knowledge and research about my origins, I would say that I should be around 28 years old. But it’s really hard to tell, after all I’m younger than Thor by almost 500 years, and he would only be 25 years old.” You shake your head, trying to make sense of all the information that was just thrown at you. Thor was older, but acted - and was - only 25. Did that mean that technically, Loki was even more immature than his brother sometimes? He said he should be around 28, but was he really? Age was never really a big concern of yours. Obviously too young or too old wasn’t ok, but Loki was ancient.

“Does my age bother you?” Loki asks, and his worried tone snaps you back to reality.

“Oh!” you gasp yet again. “No… Not really. At least I don’t think so.” You answer honestly. “I thought you were older, but 1054 just took me by surprise... God, you’re really old Loki!” You say, laughing loudly.

“Yeah I know, my back’s been killing me lately too!” Loki says, following you in your laughter.

You keep laughing as you rest your head on his shoulder. What were you expecting? That he was the same age as you while he comes from a different planet and is a literal deity?

“If there is anything that bothers you about my origins, you would tell me, right darling?” Loki asks after your laughing spurt.

“Yes, of course.” You reply. There was so much you wanted to ask him about where he thought this - you two - was going, how he felt about you, but it was too early for that. You’d only kissed him a handful of times and had slept with him on an impulse. Not that you regretted it, no, never, but it was too early to think of you two as anything else than what you were in the present moment.

You shuffle around on the couch as Loki bends over to grab a slice of pizza and your wine glass, which he hands you. “Could I ask you a couple more questions about your life?” He asks politely.

You giggle as you nod your head.

“Tell me about your family,” he says.

You cuddle up next to him as you tell him about your younger sister and brother, how your parents are still as much in love as the day they met, how your entire family; aunts, uncles and grandparents, are all tightly knit. You tell him how your family is one of the most important parts of your life, how they have always supported you in any decisions you made. You start giggling as you tell him that your parents had even supported your decision of nursing a baby bird, that had fallen out of its nest, back to health when you were about 9 years old. Your mother had no idea how to properly feed a bird that young, or even what to feed it, but it didn’t stop her from doing research and helping you get that little baby back to its parents.

“You are so loving and compassionate,” Loki says, in a soft voice while staring at you with loving eyes. “I’m certain that you are an amazing teacher.”

“I truly hope so. I only want what’s best for my students.”

“I am positive that you are the best teacher out there. I’m curious, what made you decide to become a teacher?” He asks.

“I-I’m not sure... “ you answer. “I always knew that I wanted to help people. I could have become a nurse or a firefighter… but for some reason, teaching was always my calling. I used to help my siblings and the kids in the neighbourhood with their homework every week when I was younger. I guess I just always thought of myself as a teacher.” You add, shrugging.

Loki puts a gentle hand on your cheek, turning your face towards his and giving the softest and most passionate kiss yet. “You are truly amazing,” he whispers against your lips. A goofy smile spreads across your face as he praises you.

“What about you, always wanted to be a trickster,” you ask, winking at him.

“Oh, you think you’re funny! I should change you into a frog.”

“Oh my God no, please have mercy Loki, please!” You plead, moving away from him as quickly as you can.

“Too late!” He grabs you by the ankles and pulls you back towards him, trapping you in his arms. “Now you’re my prisoner, however, maybe I should keep you like this, I like you better as a human.” “What a compliment, O mighty Loki.” You tease him.

He starts laughing, as he pulls you in closer.

“You know, in the past, I would’ve given anything to hear people call me that... Not anymore.” He says, stroking your cheek. “You know... I regret my actions. I’ve come to the realization, in the last couple of years, that power was my way to feel retaliate. I thought that if I had power, I could be important, people would notice me like they noticed my brother. I was really angry with everyone, with the world, for what had happened to me as a child. I didn’t realize that my mother had tried to protect me, a baby that was brought to her quite unexpectedly. I was angry with Odin for treating me differently. I was angry with Laufey for abandoning me. I was angry with Thor for always seeming so perfect…” Loki pauses, taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t until after my mother’s death and I took my father’s throne,” he offers you a crooked, apologetic smile, “that I truly realized that power wasn’t what I thought it was, it wasn’t happiness. I had lost my mother, and I could never tell her how truly grateful I was that she had taken me in, loved me and raised me as her own. I have made my peace with my father and my brother, and I have been working relentlessly to make up for my past actions… But I know that trust, once broken, isn’t easily fixed.”

“You know,” you say, taking his face between your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Everyone is deserving of a second chance.”

“But what happens if they mess up their second chance?” He whispers between your hands.

“Third time’s a charm,” you shrug. “I used to be angry at you Loki... for attacking the city, destroying homes… my home. B-”

“I destroyed your home?!” he interrupts you, sitting up quickly, pushing you to the edge of his lap. “How.. When.. I-I’m so sorry.” He adds, tears slowly filling up his eyes.

“It’s ok. I mean, I’m over it now… I think at the time it was harder because it was the first home I had ever purchased. But I had just moved in, barely any of my things were there. So I didn’t lose everything.” Loki looks at you in horror, you can see the pain in his eyes as you tell him how his attacks on the city affected you.

“I should leave,” he says, trying to lift you off of him, as you repeat over and over again that it’s ok. “You should not be here with me, I’ve hurt you. You should be angry with me. Why are you not angry with me?!”

“Loki,” you say, your tone firm, grabbing his face between your hands again. “It’s in the past. The house, it was just wood, something that can be rebuilt. I’m ok, my belongings are ok, I didn’t lose anything that was extremely important to me. A house is just a house.”

“No, it was your home.” He whispers, avoiding your eyes.

“You’re wrong,” you tell him softly, his eyes darting back up to meet yours. “My home is wherever and with whoever I choose it to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki says quickly before bringing your face to his and kissing you passionately. He keeps kissing you with more and more passion, whispering soft “sorrys” as his hands make his way up to your hair, fingers getting lost.

You moan softly as you bring yourself closer to him, slowly grinding your hips along his lap. He wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you in tight, deepening your kiss. You can feel him getting harder under you, pushing gently against you and making you so wet. In one quick movement, you’re on your back on the couch, Loki towering above you.

“I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you,” he says softly. “I know I can’t make it up to you, but I need you to know that I will try. I will beg for your forgiveness if that’s what it takes. You are important to me. I don’t know why, but I can’t stay away from you, I can’t stop thinking about you. I need to be close to you.” He adds before kissing you again, almost desperately this time, making you moan. You want him, you want all of him. You were mad, you were upset, but what’s past is past. And Loki seems genuinely sorry about his past, and you believe in second, even third chances. And right now, you just want his lips, his hands on you.

You wrap your arms around his neck as he kisses you, pulling him closer, needing his body against yours. Loki moves his lips to your neck, sliding his hands down the length of your body, grabbing your thigh tightly, a moan escaping your lips. You grind your hips up to meet him, rubbing against his erection. You want him inside of you, you want to feel him pulsing and throbbing as he makes love to you. Slowly, his hand that was groping your thigh moves to the inside of it, making its way to your panties. You feel him run a painfully slow finger along the lace of it, right over your needy clit and you gasp, begging him to just touch you. Pushing the fabric to the side, Loki starts drawing little circles around your clit as you pump your hips up, trying to get the friction you desperately need. He chuckles as he starts rubbing faster, and then he slides a long finger inside of your soaking folds, replacing his finger on your clit with his thumb. Catching your lips again, trapping your moans in your throat, he starts pumping his finger, getting faster and faster before he adds a second finger, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck Loki, I’m gonna cum,” you moan out.

“Cum for me darling, cum around my fingers.” He groans at you.

His words alone push you over the edge and you whimper loudly as you cum all over his fingers, walls clenching down around him, your body shaking from your orgasm.

“Such a good girl,” Loki says, bringing his fingers to his mouth, tasting you.

With shaky legs, you stand up, stripping out of your shirt and soaked underwear. He looks at you with hungry eyes, devouring every inch of your body. He watches you as you kneel down between his legs, undoing his pants and sliding them off. His dick is bulging under his boxers and your mouth waters at the sight of it. Slowly, you reach for it, rubbing your hand along the length of it, Loki’s moan escaping his lips. He lifts his butt up for you to slide off his boxers, releasing his throbbing cock. Grabbing it in your hand, you stroke him slowly, licking the tiny bead of precum pearling at the tip, before licking the length of him, making him groan under your touch. Standing up, you straddle him on the couch, lining him up with your soaking cunt. Gripping your hips, Loki gently pulls you down on him, his thick cock filling you beautifully. You stay there for a second, savoring the feeling of each other, before you start to ride him slowly. Leaning his head back on the back of the couch, he moans as he grips your hips tighter, letting you ride him at your own pace. Leaning down to kiss his neck, you grind your hips on him, making him growl under you. You begin to ride him faster, harder, bouncing on his lap as his dick hits that spot inside of you that you didn’t know existed until tonight and you feel yourself getting closer as you ride him.

“F-Fuck, you’re so big Loki.” You moan, grinding your hips, looking for some kind of friction on your clit to get you off.

“Don’t talk like that, I- I won’t last.” He replies, his hand dipping in between the two of you, thumb starting to rub tight circles around your clit as if he understood your grinding.

“Oh fuck Loki!” You scream as his digit meets your tiny ball of nerves.

“I-I’m so close, don’t stop.”

Gripping your hips tighter with one hand and rubbing faster with the other, Loki brings you to your fourth orgasm of the night. You let out a choked out scream as you cum all over his dick, walls again clamping around him, and milking him as he cums with you. Slowly, you ride out your orgasms, holding each other close. Loki cups your face as your body starts shaking, and kisses you gently.

“You are amazing,” he whispers against your lips.

“I could say the same about you,” you whisper back. “However, I now need a shower.” You add giggling.

“I will take my leave then, give you some privacy.”

You flutter around him before any words leave your lips and he smiles at you, feeling you clench. “I don’t want you to leave.” You say.

“Alright darling, I won’t leave until you ask me to.” He answers, stroking your cheek and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Getting off of him and walking to your bathroom, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. Loki follows close behind and wraps his bare arms around your waist as you turn the shower on. Showering together, you keep teasing one another, lathering soap up excruciatingly slow, lingering touches, soft kisses. There’s a moment where he freaks out, turning almost hysteric, as he rubs soap between your legs, realizing that he came inside of you twice tonight. With a laugh, you reassure him that you’re on birth control and there’s very little possibility you’ll get pregnant. He let out the biggest sigh ever, telling you he should’ve been more careful regardless because he didn’t want to upset your life.

When you step out of the shower, you notice the clock for the first time that night and gasp at how late it is. Following your gaze, Loki apologizes for taking up so much of your time.

“Don’t you dare apologize, tonight was amazing.” You say, getting up on the tip of your toes to kiss him.

Wrapping his arms around you again, Loki kisses you back before whispering how the thought of leaving you tonight pains him.

“Stay,” you whisper back.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“Yes.”

As you lay in your bed, Loki’s arms wrapped around you, you can’t help but feel at peace. You’ve never felt this happy before, never felt like you truly belonged somewhere. But in Loki’s arms, you feel complete and slowly, you drift off to sleep.

———

The sun coming through your window and warming up your face is what wakes you up the following morning. Loki’s arms are still around you and you can’t help but stare at his angelic face. His black hair all in disarray from sleeping with wet hair, his face relaxed with sleep, you could look at him forever. Glancing over his shoulder, you see that your alarm clock is showing 7:45am. You overslept! Classes start in an hour, and you need to be at school before 8:30.

“Loki,” you say, gently shaking him awake. “Loki, we need to get up. We overslept, I’m gonna be late for work.”

“Mmmm…?” He groans at first. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“Stop apologizing,” you laugh. “Just get your butt out of my bed.”

“Yes ma’am!” He says, shooting up and running to the living room to put his clothes on.

Rushing to your closet, you throw on your favorite dress with a pair of nylons and knee high boots before putting your hair in a bun and wiping the mascara from under your eyes. Thankfully, your makeup from the night prior wasn’t really smudged and was therefore acceptable for you to wear at work. Grabbing your glasses, you walk out to your living room to see Loki by the front door, with your bags in hand and a banana plucked from your kitchen counter along with your to-go coffee mug. You see the coffee machine is shutting off after use.

“Breakfast,” he says, waving the banana at you. “I’m driving you to school, so you can drink your coffee and eat.”

“Loki, you don’t have to.”

“I insist, you’re late because of me.” He argues. “Let’s go now!”

You giggle as you grab your coat and keys, locking your door and making your way to his car. The ride to school isn’t a long one and you chomp down your banana while he sings along to the music on the radio, making you smile.

As he pulls up in the parking lot, he tugs on your shirt, pulling you in for a soft kiss. Sighing against his lips, you wish you could stay with him all day. Loki gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger side to open your door.

Extending his hand to you, he helps you out of the car, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “Can I see you again tonight?” He asks, flashing you that smile that makes your inside twist.

“Not tired of me yet?” You giggle in his arms. “I would love to see you again tonight, but it’s test day today, which means I’ll have about 60 copies to grade tonight. My coffee machine will be working all night.” You add.

“How about I come to cook you an amazing dinner, which I promise won’t burn this time,” he winks at you. “I just want to make sure you eat a proper meal. I’ll leave afterwards if you don’t want me to stay, I promise.” He proposes.

“Uhmmmm….” You reply. “That does sound tempting. Pick me up at 4 then?”

“It’s a date darling.” Loki says, leaning forward to kiss your lips softly.

He grabs your bags out of the back seat and kisses you once more before letting you go. As you walk away, you feel an emptiness settle in the pit of your stomach. You can’t help but turn around to see Loki standing, driver side door open, watching you walk away from him. The way he’s looking at you, adoration in his eyes, makes you want to run back to him. This feeling between you, this attraction, this need to be with the other, it’s as if gravity itself was pulling you towards each other. Unexplainably, you knew, at that moment, that he was your world now, and you were his.

@kingtwhiddleston

#loki x reader #loki x you #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki smut #marvel #marvel fanfic series #mcu #Avengers #tom hiddleston #reader insert #the green dress #green dress a story about loki

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