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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼 (for you're such a lovely person who shares so many beautiful fics with us and is always up for talking. ily

I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting on this ask because I just love seeing you in my inbox. But, like with everything, I need to stop hoarding and write a little thank you <3

Something wasn’t quite squaring up with Nilfgaard’s army. It spread at an alarming rate, much faster than a regular army could. Whatever sorcery the mages and sorceresses have concocted, it was terrifying. Such an army shouldn’t have been able to sustain itself, it needed food, water, resources to travel. Yet, despite all this, the army seemed to move silently, without the usual almost locust like destruction and draining of everything in their path. Nobody seemed to be able to pinpoint where the army was when it wasn’t fighting, only small scouting groups. People learned to be wary of those groups too. Wherever they went, the army was never seemingly far behind, backing them up at a moment’s notice. It was a mystery that was yet to be solved.

Finding a Nilfgaardian on the run was quite unusual. Eskel didn’t think it was something he’d live to see. They were usually so cocksure, travelling in their little groups. He had learned to spot them, even if they weren’t trying to make a scene. One leader, with five protectors. Those five tended to be on full alert and guarding their leader which was a bit odd, but then again, Nilfgaard as a whole was a bit peculiar.

The man Eskel spotted was obviously from the South, he heard him order, the accent harsh yet lilting at the same time. Watching him find the darkest corner - the one Eskel had wanted for himself - curiosity was winning out. Only a desperate man would share a space with a Witcher and this man, though he shrank away, steadfastly refused to move from the shadows of the corner.

“Got separated from your group?” Eskel liked to make small talk if he could. Especially when it helped solve a curiosity like the man opposite him.

“Something like that.”

Evasive, huddled and not looking Eskel in the eyes. The plot thickened. “So you ran away.” While the man didn’t seemingly react, Eskel could hear his heartrate pick up. “Why?”

Silence stretched. The man finished his food in a great hurry and was up, evidently not wanting any kind of company. Oddly, Eskel didn’t think it had anything to do with him being a Witcher.

The next morning the man was nowhere to be seen. But Eskel caught his scent and, with nothing better to do, he set off at a leisurely pace in the same direction. If they bumped into each other he could always claim it was a funny twist of Fate. He shouldn’t have joked about it, not even in his own head because, not a few miles out of the village, he found the evidence of a scuffle. The whole stretch of road had a tang of death to it which he couldn’t place. However, he soon forgot about it because he could smell blood and hear the pained, laboured breaths of someone. Rounding the small clump of bushes, Eskel tutted. “Run into trouble?”

“No.”

The blatant lie drew a laugh from Eskel. He had to admit, he was intrigued. Grabbing his pack, he approached the man, showing him his hands in an attempt to reassure that he meant no harm. In fact, he was offering a helping hand.

“Did they get what they wanted?” The question tripped from Eskel’s lips as he lifted the man’s gambeson away to reveal a cut to his side. It wasn’t deep but it was in the crease of soft flesh that tended to sting like a bitch, Eskel knew that from experience. His only reply was a shake of the head. “Good. You sent them packing by the looks of it. I’m impressed. My name’s Eskel by the way.”

Still no reply and the man tipped his head back, staring at the sky with gritted teeth while Eskel saw to his wound.

“Well, you’re in no state to travel alone. You headed anywhere in particular?” Another head shake but this time the man watched him with guarded eyes. “Okay. Why don’t we travel together for a bit. I can help keep you safe.”

“I can’t pay you for your services.” Clipped words that sounded tired. "And you probably shouldn't be around me."

It was cute, how the man seemed so determined to drive Eskel away without being cruel. Most refreshing. "I don't need your payment. As I'm not headed anywhere in particular, I figured we could both use a bit of company."

That settled the matter and, for three days they travelled in companionable silence, sticking to villages and heading north. It was only in a larger village that Eskel learned the man's name and not because they were getting more friendly either. The poster bore quite a good likeness to Cahir.

"So-" Eskel said as they camped outside the village, "-want to tell me why Nilfgaard thinks you're dangerous enough to not be approached but your sighting should be reported swiftly and discreetly?"

Cahir let out a world weary sigh, shoulders drooping. "I control a large portion of their army. They want me back for that."

Which was interesting. In Eskel's experience no general tended to command such loyalty. He was also a sucker for those in need. Plus, the chance to fuck Nilfgaard over was quite glorious. He smirked. "Want to come to Kaer Morhen to hide out for the winter?"

It was a bit of a trek north still but Cahir began to relax around Eskel. They shared their first kiss at the foot of the trail up to Kaer Morhen. A few more were traded along the way but, for the most part, they huddled for warmth, cuddled up for the cold nights.

Slowly the keep filled up with its regular winter visitors, all of them somewhat hesitant to greet Cahir until Eskel intervened with a pointed glare from behind him. Everyone settled in, Geralt turned up with Jaskier, Lambert and Aiden did their usual thing, even Coen managed to slip through the gates before the snow hit. Soon, they were all enjoying the roaring fires, drink and songs. Despite his army background, Cahir turned down all invitations to train and share knowledge. It didn't make him very popular but his cooking helped ease any grumblings.

It was all going well until a portal opened up and Yennefer stepped through. midway through greeting everyone she froze and turned to the door as Cahir stepped in.

"What are you?" she hissed, hand curling to cradle an unleashed spell.

"Nilfgaard's finest deserter."

That didn't seem to help ease Yennefer and she looked over Cahir with a critical eye. "I can see Fringilla's work in there with several others'. You volunteer for this?"

"Only as much as someone volunteers to be a Witcher."

"Just what is going on?" Vesemir rumbled. He had a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to jump in. That had Cahir taking a step back, a pained expression.

"I wouldn't advise you hurt me. You have an awful lot of dead buried here."

The growl from Vesemir wasn't reassuring. "Don't threaten me in my own home, boy."

"Vesemir!" The warning came from Yennefer of all people. "Don't."

Something was crackling in their air, Eskel could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was magic but not any kind he had felt before. Even worse, he could trace the source back to Cahir whose eyes were turning black slowly.

"I'm going to go outside. Please nobody follow." Stiffly, Cahir turned and marched out of the keep, into the snow covered woods. Silence reigned in his wake.

"The fuck?" Lambert spat, looking angry in his bewilderment.

As one, they all turned to Yennefer for an explanation. None of them had felt even a hint of magic from Cahir until that moment.

"That-" Yennefer pointed to where Cahir had been, "-is an unnatural necromancer. No innate ability but, with the right stimuli, can raise the dead between here and the bottom of the mountain."

The silence stretched until Jaskier cursed. "Now we know how Nilfgaard's army is sustained."

As big as the revelation was, Eskel had a bigger concern. That was his boyfriend who had just walked out, looking ready to be consumed by his unnatural powers. Stepping out of the keep, Eskel had to whistle. The whole area between the keep and the woods was covered in flowers, a carpet of green dotted with blossoms of colour. In the middle of it all was Cahir, kneeling, eyes closed and head tipped towards his chest. His breathing was forcedly even and deep.

"Go away," Cahir gritted out.

"It's just me."

Looking up, Cahir's eyes were black and bottomless, his breath hitched as a tear trickled down his cheek. "I didn't mean to. I promise. They're everywhere."

Eskel could hear the footsteps, shuffling and shambling. Not all of them human, one alarmingly large.

"Old Speartip," Eskel growled. From the forest around them an army of the undead approached. All the bodies they didn't have the means to burn after the sacking, Old Speartip from his cave, forktails they'd left dotted around the mountain, they were all approaching Kaer Morhen. Along with them came the smell Eskel had scented on the road where bandits had accosted Cahir, now he knew what happened back then.

Cahir let out a shuddering breath, hands curled into a fist. "Threats of violence and pain make them come."

"And when you feel safe, do they go away?"

A miserable nod was his answer and Eskel dropped to his knees. He gathered Cahir against his chest and kissed his softly, demanding all his boyfriend's focus to be on him. The noise of the undead around them stopped, under his knees Eskel could feel the grass wilting back to its winter state. Pulling away, he was pleased to see the blue of Cahir's eyes.

"I'll always keep you safe," he rumbled. A darker thought crossed his mind. "The groups of six scouts for Nilfgaard, they weren't scouts at all, were they?"

From the doorway, Eskel could hear the others shuffling around and peering out at them. But his attention was on Cahir and Cahir alone.

"A necromancer and their guards who're also their tormentors." Cahir sniffled. "There's a reason I've not joined you in the waterfalls. To raise an army, they did unspeakable things."

Eskel pulled Cahir tightly to his chest, wishing he could make everything better. Alas, there wasn't much to be done other than what he'd already been doing; supporting and loving to the best of his abilities.

"We now know better," he tried to reassure. "How would you feel if, in the spring, we continued to travel together? We can take any road you feel comfortable on."

Looking up at Eskel with wide, wet eyes, Cahir licked his lips. "I can't pay you for your services," he said, repeating his words from all those months ago. "But how would you feel about fucking Nilfgaard over? We could rescue a few more necromancers."

It was a daring plan but one that Eskel was intrigued by. So were the others when, over dinner, Cahir haltingly told them everything. The Path was unpredictable at the best of times, the coming year it was going to get even more convoluted.

#eskhir #eskel/cahir #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #the witcher #tldr: nilfgaard creates necromancers to raise armies

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snarkymonkeyprime · 2 years

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Still struggling to write words for the model!au and SC/TMD but here’s something. I think?

“So,” Kai drawled, wagging his hands slow in front of him. “This whole demon clan war thing? Is it really that bad?”

Dek’s eyes glinted. “There was a reason I had many under my banner. Now I have none. There are several houses that threatened mine when I led the nearly three hundred vassals I controlled.”

Kai’s eyes widened. “Wait. So that many . . .”

Dek’s lips thinned. “Yes.” The demon held out his hands before shoving up the sleeve of his left arm. The black marks there shimmered like oily water. “I suppose, I should be pleased I survived.” He smoothed his shirt back over the tattoos. “The rebound has been spoken of but I know of no clan that has experienced it.”

Remembering the smoldering mess that had been Dek, Kai shivered. “You couldn’t even go in disguise or something?”

Dek sniffed, clearly insulted by the suggestion. “I see no reason to hide who I am. However, I also see no reason to court my death so quickly.”

“Okay. New question. Xerynn said your clan was top dog, right?”

The demon frowned but nodded. “I am unfamiliar with that description but I assume you mean who held power.” He pointed to his chest. “My house reigned for nearly a thousand years.”

Kai let out a low whistle. “Okay. Follow up: Who’s second?”

“Ah. That would be Farrsic. Farrsic sothra Loreth heads that house.” His lip curled. “That faceless wretch would not waste a moment in rending me to pieces. They’d likely make a spectacle of the entire process,” he admitted.

“Sounds dramatic.”

Dek settled into the couch and muttered, “Demons rather excel at drama; we’ve a great deal of time on our hands.”

Kai snickered. “Careful; might think you just made a joke.”

The demon’s mouth twitched and the gear-laden eyes shimmered under the lights. “An off moment, I assure you.”

Humor dampening, Kai cleared his throat. “Look, I know this isn’t what you’d expected - or wanted - and Xerynn did do that stupid watch-over-him-or-kill-you-both proclamation but, you are welcome here. I’d never have considered trying to mail you back to Chaos.”

Dek’s nose wrinkled. “Were you capable of learning how, it’d almost be an event that would worth experiencing.”

Kai scowled. “Just because I said you can live here, doesn’t mean you get to insult me.”

The demon shrugged. “You stated to be helpful. I am being helpful by pointing out where you lack.” Another shrug, this time accompanied by another mouth twitch.

Kai sat back with a grumble and pointed at the tv. “Just watch your damn cooking show, okay?”

#hhnf #kai hunter walker #tulath sothra dekar #like two people will care #maybe #if i'm lucky

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 3 years

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Mission of Mercy: Twenty- Nine

Joe watched you working on the dishes in his sink for a moment and turned to glance at Bucky. There had been no forthcoming explanation. Not one. Not that he really expected one. But. He was curious and it was killing him that you were patently not going to respond to his probing.

“We still taking a trip?”

“Out to the cabin?” you clarify, not turning.

“Yeah, Cooksy called last night asking.”

You make a soft thoughtful sound and shrug, “I can probably get the time off to take you all out there and make sure no one burns the cabin down.”

“And as soon as Steve hears ‘Camping’ he’ll want to go,” Bucky snorts.

“The more the merrier!” Joe declared, banging on the table, chuckling.

“Uh-huh,” you scoff, “And who’s going to feed everyone? And where are they gonna sleep?”

Joe gave you a sour look behind your back and Bucky winked at him, “That’s why we have Tony go… He’ll rent a bunch of cabins and it’ll be fine.”

And not for the first time today you bite your tongue. As a general rule, you don’t mind being teased. Or taking care of people. But your current workload and the sheer amount of work you have to get done before you can even do this trip… and all the emotional baggage that comes with it is leaving you raw. And tired. And being ganged up on is leaving you feeling irritable.

When you don’t say anything and put dishes carefully in the drainer before turning to put groceries away, Bucky frowns to himself but shakes his head and picks up the cards Joe slid across the table at him.

“Your mom called last night,” Joe said, changing the subject. He knew you were tired. He could see it in your handwriting on the grocery list and the way you held your shoulders.

“How’d that go?” you ask, making sure things are set to rights and the expired yogurt actually comes out of the fridge where it gets shoved to the back, where the old man struggles to reach it.

“She seems to be under the impression that wedding bells are ringing,” Joe snorted.

“If I ever do get married I’m eloping and Mom won’t know about it until we’ve been married like 10 years,” you sigh.

Bucky half-turned to look at you, quirking his eyebrow. He knew why. And he knew you were probably exaggerating, just a little. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t sting. Even if times were different now, part of him still wanted the big white wedding. And the house with the picket fence. And if not kids at least some beloved and very spoiled pets. He wanted a life that didn’t involve being a hero. And he wanted it with you. In whatever way you wanted it. It was true, he really didn’t even care if you never married him. He wanted you how ever he could have you. But there was still a reflexive little sting. A jolt when he realized how much you were pushing away to try and protect yourself. And Clay. It made him hurt for you.

“Say the word,” he teased gently, admiring the musculature of your legs and ass as you straightened.

“Don’t you start,” you scold, kissing the hand that was reaching for yours.

“What else did mom have to say?” you ask Joe, helping yourself to a soda.

Joe watched you, eyes narrowed, but he decided to forgo the lecture about things good girls did. At least for today. You looked wrecked and more than once today he’d felt prickles of irritation that weren’t his own. Something that only happened when you were getting run down. “She wants us to go to the cemetery on your birthday.”

As soon as he says it, he knows, without looking at you, exactly what your face is doing. The disgust and the irritation. And he could understand. Karlie never stopped grieving. Her life was defined by every person that was lost. Every major event was just one more reminder that loss was everywhere.

“Why on your Birthday?” Bucky asked, confused.

And you sigh, “So they can participate… And so Mom can-” you break off abruptly. “Well,” you start again after a moment, “The good news is, Mom’s in Florida so… I’m probably gonna not and say I did.”

“She’ll want pictures,” Joe said.

“I’ll sure one from a few years ago and photo shop it,” you say shrugging, “It’s worked so far.”

And Bucky blinked at you. He could understand you not wanting to do it. It was just how… Cavalier, you were about it. And the sudden lack of energy in the room. The sudden vacuum of you reigning yourself in. Tucking away your feelings and getting them out of the way. Shoving them down so you can pretend for a minute that everything is fine. That you’re detached.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say that you didn’t feel anything about it. People who didn’t know you tended to think that a lot. You got stilted. Aloof. Clinical. Especially when you were trying to avoid being vulnerable. And that stung too.

You trying so hard to not having feelings while dealing with everyone else’s. It made his chest hurt. And it was a little window into how lonely you’d been. Something he understood. And the more he learned, the less he had to wonder why you had clung so hard to Clay still being alive somewhere. He’d loomed so large over every aspect of your life. Christmas. Birthdays. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Mother’s day. Father’s day. Graduation… A theoretical wedding. There was nothing that was safe. Nothing that wasn’t a reminder that you weren’t worth living for. That the only thing that mattered was the fact that your brother was dead.

When you leaned against his side, resting your head on his shoulder, Bucky put an arm around you without thinking. Pulling you onto his lap and kissing your hair, “We should probably get you back, soon,” Bucky hummed.

“Probably,” you sigh, “I’ve got testing to run on rookies. And I’ve got some therapy appointments… and Tony wants me to take a pass at putting together some resources for the clean up efforts.”

Joe whistled softly, “Are they working you hard enough?”

“I think so,” You snort. “But I’m not enhanced or anything… And I’m only useful as an agent while I can run and gun so giving me some desk work is just a way to get their money’s worth out of training me.”

Bucky snorted now, “That and it fucks us all up when you get shot at.”

“That too.”

And Joe can only shake his head. Even if he hates that you’re an agent, he can’t be mad that it brought you to Bucky.

#Bucky Barnes #soft bucky #Bucky x reader #fluff #angst #grief #hurt/comfort

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circlingravens · 3 years

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“He’s probably a thief-- that would explain the whipping!”

“Valen, that doesn’t explain the accent.” “What accent?”

“Did you seriously not notice? He speaks extraordinarily properly.”

“So do you, Mora. You’re not a noble!” “He’s got the voice, though.”

The banter was cut short as the General strode up to the gathered soldiers. Minus Kien, of course-- the Prince was asleep, gently coaxed into slumber by Leon’s magic. It was best, the healer had claimed, that he rest.

“Let’s not speculate on our new arrival,” he interjected, folding both arms to eye the group sternly. For a moment, silence, before a slow smile spread across his face.

“Not when I’m not here to place a bet, anyway. He’s a soldier. Probably worked at the palace.”

Valen, for once, didn’t immediately jump in, but pondered the theory for a moment, then just shook his head.

“Naw, boss. You’re wrong on this one. They wouldn’t whip a guard.” Before the General could make his claim against that particular statement, Leon piped in, voice soft, but audible.

“I’m afraid you’re all wrong. He’s probably a commoner who married in to nobility.”

A heavy hand was placed on the healer’s shoulders, and a fond look passed between him and the larger elf crouching beside him.

“Leon, dear, the likelihood of this one being a rags-to-riches story is rather low.” “It makes sense!” He protested, but a soft grin from the other elf-- Reneth-- softened any indignity suffered.

“He’s a kid. Don’t think he’d marry so young. We should be careful, though. I don’t trust him.”

“He is not a kid!” Valen protested loudly, cutting the two short.

The argument erupted from there. Still, despite the raised tones, shouting, even, all of it remained perfectly friendly. Faux-punches were thrown, but never made contact, and varying smiles remained on everyone’s faces. Several bets were placed-- on Kien’s age, his status, his background.

The fight could have gone on for quite some time, with this particular group, devolving to any manner of ridiculous ideas, had the newcomer not silently padded up. Awake, apparently. And shirtless, given that Leon had cut his shirt open and he hadn’t been able to find any replacements within the healing tent.

Everyone fell silent, as one tends to when the subject of whom you were speaking of shows up to the discussion. Several awkward moments passed, before Valen broke the tension with a sharp whistle.

“You’re pretty buff, dude.” A soft chuckle ran through most of the group, if only to ward away silence.

“Speaking of which! Actually, not the same topic. How old are you?”

Kien blinked at the question, pursing his lips. Was that important? Did it reveal his identity? ...Probably not. Frankly, if they’d known of him, they’d have already guessed his identity, given the color of his eyes.

“Nineteen.”

Valen was… anything but subtle with his victory, and his triumphant woot! and fist bump revealed that to Kien, who just took it with a confused smile. Given the Prince’s observant nature (now that he wasn’t so completely distracted with fear), the quiet exchanging of coins from hand to hand wasn’t missed by him, and he raised an eyebrow at the group as a whole.

Still, though, despite the overall jovial mood, the General seemed rather bothered by Kien’s statement, and watched him for a long moment, frowning to himself. Before Kien could ask about it, though, the older elf had turned away.

“Would you like to come sit with us? They’re all hooligans, but we have drinks.” Mora’s offer was quiet-- she wasn’t nearly as loud as the others, but even without wearing the same grin most of them did, she was still politely friendly. Reneth was another story-- the hulking figure was practically scowling, now that Kien had joined the group. Gone was the tenderness he’d displayed towards Leon-- no, this elf was completely suspicious, if not downright hostile now.

“Sure. Thank you.” Kien wasn’t planning to drink-- he didn’t like how his senses were impared, and his injury left enough up in the wind should a surprise fight occur he did not need the additional barrier. And this was a war, he had to remember. Fights should be expected, as far as he knew.

Still, he joined them, taking a seat cross-legged on the ground around a low fire. The team was loud (most of the volume coming from Valen), but the atmosphere was overall quite pleasent. Kien said little, preferring to get a feel for the various soldiers he’d be fighting with. Of them, Valen talked the most, cracking jokes-- some clever, some crude-- and telling stories of his life outside of the war, the majority of which were about his wife back home. Leon and Reneth spent most of the time sitting close enough to touch, exchanging looks that made it quite clear they had a thing for each other. Mora’s inputs were usually startlingly witty, or calling Valen out on something stupid. The General, however, said very little, keeping his attention on Kien. Watching him. It was understandable-- he wished to keep his team safe, but Kien couldn’t help but feel a bit on edge. He had a secret to keep, and couldn’t have anyone learning it. Worse, he had no idea what the General would pick on, what tiny habits might clue him in. He’d have to think about every move before making it. Every gesture, every word, every step. Nothing could clue anyone in to his role as the Crown Prince, not if he wished to avoid his Father’s wrath. Assuming he survived this. Despite his worries, though, he found himself having a genuinely good time, and it seemed everyone else was enjoying themselves as well.

Until the flock of birds flew overhead, anyway. At the first rough squack, everyone, without fail, froze. Confusion flickered across Kien’s face, and he opened his mouth to express it, but a calloused hand clamped over his mouth. The General’s. A shutter wracked through Kien’s shoulders at the restrictive contact, but he too went still.

Mora tossed a bucket of water over the fire, letting the steam hiss up into the darkened sky, her eyes locked on the flock. Silence reigned for several seconds, until the birds had passed fully by. Only then did the General explain.

“This war is against the Shifters,” he hissed, tone still hushed. “They can assume any animal’s shape-- you can’t trust anything. They can usually be signaled apart from the natural-”

A crow’s croak cut him off. The sound was low, heavy, and stretched far longer than it should as it morphed into a scream, and the first of the birds dove. The rest followed in short succession, looping back and raining down upon the camp.

Before they hit the ground, each bird had assumed humanoid shapes-- lanky and graceful, with sharp-toothed smiles bared and long ears that angled downwards.

A single arrow split the air before the Shifters advanced as one, its singing filling all of the elves’ ears. Each of them knew the Lady Death’s tune all too well. Still, though, they rose, crouching to meet the advancing attack.

There would be blood spilled tonight.

#kien #my writing #cw war #the ganggg #whump #i mean kinda #the story is technically whumpy overall but this is not especially whump #shh its fine #the general #valen #mora #leon #reneth #i finally write again!#slowly will get back into writing #i'm bACK

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chanluster · 4 years

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ann summers | {c} ; mild {f}

oneshot | 2.56K words

“ your best friend was weirdly terrified of lingerie, and you found it irritating yet adorable.”

c o n t e n t s >> a very flustered seungmin, constant clownery, mild fluff, mentions of sex toys but no usage, sexual innuendo, a lot of swearing, y’all basically make seungmin hella uncomfortable lmaoaoo

a / n >> inspired loosely by real events when my friends and i got kicked out of a sex shop for fucking around :’) ann summers is a lingerie and sex shop, in case y’all didn’t know!

back to masterlist

YOU FOUND YOURSELF SIGHING OUT MORE THAN YOU PHYSICALLY THOUGHT POSSIBLE.

“Seungmin,” You explained for the last time, ”They’re not going to come alive and bite you.”

The boy stood in front of you shot you an expression which actually doubted your statement. He hugged himself tighter, white hoodie bunching up at the waist, either to warm himself from the bitter London cold or shield himself from another threat.

Monsters displayed in the windows of Ann Summers.

These creatures that your best friend shied from hung delicately either on racks, or were boasted upon the slim mannequin bodices, intricate lacing and beadings accentuating the dark colours. Posters of models adorning the god-forbidden entity, posing seductively as they showed off the latest collection.

You rolled your eyes, and this time it hurt as they reached the insides of your mind.

“You actual pussy,” you jeered. “Every woman wears a bra you know. Or at least some point in her life.”

You raised your own chest a little higher, pointing towards the goods. “Even I’m wearing one right now.”

Seungmin’s face was a classic painting of disgust. “You didn’t have to tell me that,” he whined, almost hiding within the folds of his hoodie. “Look, I’ll wait here, you go and do your shopping.”

“But that’ll be boring if I do it alone!” You looked up at the sky, grey clouds engulfing the sun for hours. “And it’ll rain any moment now, I can’t let you stay outside.”

“I’d rather stay outside than step foot in that…” he glanced at the lingerie shop for a millisecond before hurriedly settling his eyes upon you. “That place.”

“You say it like it’s some twisted underworld.” You waved a hand towards the shop. “To women it is a chance of feeling sexy.

“And I wanna feel sexy, Seungmin.”

He raised an incredulous eyebrow at you. “Who for? The men on your lockscreen you cry over?”

Chuckling, he dodged your hand, nearly whacking him. “Watch it, dickhead,” you warned. “And it doesn’t have to be for a man. I want to feel hot for myself.”

“But ___, you’re already pretty,” he pleaded rather than declared, the tone making you suspicious. “You don’t need that lacey shit.”

“Are you saying that just so I don’t go inside the store? Because I will anyway, whether I’m going to buy something or not.”

A few moments passed after the words left your mouth, and you watched his brows furrow irritably.

“Nevermind, you’re mad fucking ugly.”

“Hey!”

This time, your hand managed to hit home, earning a yelp from Seungmin, who rubbed his arm in pain.

“Now stop bitching and come inside,” you ordered, ready to take him by his sweater paws, but he stayed rooted to the cobblestone street.

“I’m not going in,” he muttered.

Perhaps hitting his head would get him to comply.

Before you could carry out your sentence, thunder reigned upon the ears of the shoppers and other citizens out, including you two who jumped from the rather loud sound.

You felt a drop of water hit your head. Then, saw another fall upon Seungmin’s face.

One drop. Two drops. Four drops.

Until drops became showers, and you started towards the Ann Summers building, dragging the hesitant boy along and rushed under the cover of the entrance.

You shot a glare as you slowed down, ignored by the boy watching the showers of rain grow angrier. “I told you this would happen.”

He turned, eyes now desperate. “Please don’t make me go in there, ___.”

“Look, this isn’t normal. You gotta learn to be comfortable with seeing bras and pants and sex toys—”

“Wait what? Sex toys?!” He backed away out of cover, and came running back when he felt the icy rain. “No way am I going in there now. You’re on your own.”

“Seungmin!” You exclaimed, and with his surprise, you took the golden opportunity to grab his sweater-cuffed hands, and with the other hand pushed the doors open as you pulled him inside with you.

You looked up at your surroundings, a whimper sounding from behind you.

It was an explosion of dark pink in the background, complimentary with black railings and racks as thousands of different pieces of lingerie hung, stacked and modelled before you, a full colour blast and wild designing. Lacing you had never seen before accentuating body suits, stockings promising brilliant bedroom results and everything naughty you could ever think of presented on a silver plate to the customer.

The store knew you sought pleasure, and made sure to offer it in an infinite ways and possibilities.

It made Kim Seungmin nearly scream.

“I’m going right now—!” he turned on his heel, but you successfully grabbed onto the hood, yanking him back to your side.

“No time for your whining, buddy.” You stared at the sexual haven, excited to uncover what it offered. “Let’s buy some motherfucking bras!”

“Oh dear God,” he could only murmur.

Batting your hand off the hood, he crossed his arms as he miserably followed you around, not leaving his eyesight from the carpeted floor. You, on the other hand, relished in the polished lingerie store, assessing each new piece in each hot collection, feeling like a proper woman. Of course you had some nice underthings for yourself, but there are always times where you wished you possessed something fancier, something with a little black lace and pants which were tied up at the sides. It seemed awfully silly saying all those little wishes to your best friend, but it was what you truly felt.

You just wanted to feel...nice.

“Seungmin, you do know no one is going to judge you for looking around with me.” You studied a certain two piece, a little too big for your breasts. “I think I’d judge you more for constantly looking down. It’s like you’ve already done something vile.”

“Don’t say that,” he grumbled. “I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m a weirdo.”

“No one’s going to think that,” you assured him. “Just don’t sniff the bras or shit like that. That would definitely get you kicked out.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of that, sick bitch.” He slid a little closer to you, wary of the other shoppers walking, assessing by. “Whatever, I’ll just wait for you.”

You let your lips curve into a malicious smirk. “But Seungmin, I wanted your opinion on a few things.”

The boy’s devastation nearly made you cackle. “No fucking way are you going to show me what you want.”

You gave into your wishes, laughing shamelessly at the blush rising in his cheeks. “Nah, I’m not that sadistic. Actually, I already know what I need, but I’m gonna take a while, so…” your knowing smile remained. “You can search around for yourself if you like.”

Those little cheeks blushed harder. “Shut up.”

Whistling, you only shrugged, walking past the lingerie in a slow stroll. “Whatever you say, buddy! And remember.” You glanced back, eyes dancing. “There is nothing to be scared of in here.”

You continued your search for your specific sized bras, collecting a few and hanging them upon your arm as you browsed, Seungmin close behind, ready to bolt out of the shop at any moment. Every so often a scandalous underwear would be shown off upon the shelves, and you’d pick out a piece, waving it in front of the boy and watch him scurry away from it as if it were a poisonous creature.

It made your insides sing at the thought of his reaction when he saw the contents further down the shop. You were sure he would pass out.

“Okay, Minnie,” You started, walking towards the far end of the room. “I’ve picked out a few things and am just going back there.”

“Hold up!” He sprang into a little jog, hastily avoiding the lingerie and stopping right next to you. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

“You were the one dying to stay away,” you reminded him, already catching sight of Seungmin’s final doom. “Now come here, I need to find myself one more thing.”

Taking his sweater paw, you lead him out of the lingerie section, a pink wall separating the contents behind the other side. A doorway was present, and you entered through it, the biggest, dirtiest grin adorning upon your lips.

You read out the sign, already feeling Seungmin go statue-still.

“Sex toys!” You declared.

And heard your best friend’s response.

“JESUS ON A FUCKING MARATHON—”

You let out a gasp. Never before had you seen him this frightened, and you’ve been through a hundred theme parks with him. You’ve seen how this idiot had screamed his voice dead at rollercoasters.

“Seungmin—” you started, but with a jolt you noticed he had wrenched his hood over his head, pulling at the strings so all you could see were his eyes, angry as the thunder crashing outside in the sky.

“What are you doing here—!” he mumbled into the opening of his hoodie, but you shut him up with your hand, shushing him.

“Look, we’re technically not allowed to be in here, so shut up.” You turned around once more to the sex toys, proudly being shown upon the shelves. The dildos were the main attraction, catching your eye with the vibrant colours, different sizes and special editions being listed on their tags.

Your best friend looked frantically around, making sure there were no employees around to catch you both. “I hate you so much,” he guttered, which only made you smile.

You dashed to the shelves, observing one brilliantly pink dildo, veins and all carved into the plastic. “Oh my God, Minnie, look!”

The disgust on Seungmin’s face made you pick up the object, assessing the little details engraved upon it. “It says it’s eight inches.” Your eyes widened. “Eight inches!”

“You better put that back, then,” the boy drawled, still not loosening the strings of his hoodie. “That shit’ll kill you.”

“You’re just mad you don’t pack that much.” You obliged, putting the dildo back. “Didn’t know cocktail sausages were designed based on your dick.”

“My dick is not small,” he argued. When he saw your knowing smirk, though, he visibly shrunk.

“Oh yeah?” You walked on, cackling. “Keep talking shit, Minnie, but I can’t see any bulge.”

“Oh my God-” he immediately yanked his hoodie lower, as red as a tomato. “Stop!”

“Don’t worry, bud,” you sang out, going deeper into the aisles. You’ll find a lovely girl who will look past your 3-incher.”

Seungmin only had his eyes on you, blushing even more. “fuck you, ____.”

His thoughtful comment was ignored, skipping past various sizes of anal beads, magic wands and other innovative little creations, surprised to find so much range. You knew you would probably never use these objects, but the idea of people trying to spice up their sex lives with all this was insane in your head.

It was too bad you and Seungmin were pain-stakingly virgin.

You were about to call exit when your eyes stopped on a certain invention, and your mouth dropped.

“What is that?”

You quickly picked it up, assessing its indigo, snake-like bodice, veins engraved all over with two heads on either sides. Laughing, you raised it to get your best friend’s attention.

“Look at this!”

Seungmin came over, took one glance at what you held, and turned a straight 180 degrees.

“Wait, wait!” You grabbed onto his hood once more, pausing his escape.

“I am not going to admire a double-ended dildo-”

“But look at how innovative this is!” You turn him around, gripping the sex toy like its a snake ready to strike.

Even the boy’s eyes were ready to dagger you. “____, I swear on Jesus and his disciples, I’m going to get your head checked.”

“How cute would it be if we used it together?” you teased, trying to hand him the tip, but he dodged your hand.

“I’m going! Ciao! Adios! Au revoir!” he crowed, finished with your tom-foolery, and leaving the sex toy’s section.

“No, Seungmin, wait!” You called after him, double-ended dildo still in hand, and trying to catch up to his rapid retreat.

You were about to fall into step beside him when a woman stopped you both.

When the two of you saw the Ann Summers tag on her blouse, and a rather interrogative expression, you both exchanged glances, yours a little more sheepish than his.

“What were you kids doing in the back section?” she asked, hands on her hips.

You could feel the nerves radiating off Seungmin’s body, so you opened your mouth, saying the first words that touched your tongue.

“My friend and I were, uh, at the back...trying things out.”

Suddenly, a laugh escaped your best friend.

The employee looked at the lingerie on your one arm, and the double-ended dildo in your other hand. Then she raised a groomed brow at you.

Your cheeks flushed aggressively, and with further surprise heard Seungmin’s chuckling grow louder.

“Children are strictly prohibited in the sex-toys section,” she scolded, regarding the shopping in your arms. “You can still buy the bras, but the other thing…”

“I’ll put it back right now!” you declared, eyes wide as your best friend’s laughter boomed across the shop. You hurried back in the erotica section, dumping the dildo among its brethren and returning to your surrender spot.

The attendant then took your remaining items and scanned them in, ushering you to the till. You paid the woman what was due, and took the black shoppings, exiting the shop hastily with a near-hysterical Seungmin at your heels.

The London rain had softened to a light drizzle when you burst out of Ann Summers, getting irritated with the continuous howling, and at last you whirled around, ready to shut him up when you stopped.

Your best friend’s hood was pulled over, and he bent forward, soft locks bobbing as he laughed out his soul, eyes disappearing within his grin. The sound of the rain harmonised with his melodious voice, and you watched, mouth parted in awe.

You had seen Seungmin laugh a million and two times. It was always after you faced the consequences of your frequent fuck-ups - just like this one. However, looking at him now, finally calming his roaring, toothy grin still on display, there was something quite fantastical in his mirth that made your heartbeat run fast - faster than you when returning that damned double-ended dildo.

“I hate you!” your best friend declared to London, smiling at you.

You could only return that pure happiness. “I hate you too,” you replied, heart still beating rapidly.

He finally strolled up to you, eyeing the black shopping bag. “You deserve that scolding.”

“I know,” you agreed, turning towards the street, another notorious shop in sight. “Let’s do it again.”

Seungmin shot you an incredulous look. “You already know I’m never stepping foot in Ann Summers again.”

“I don’t mean Ann Summers, Minnie,” you said, staring at the other shop. The next destination of trouble.

The boy followed your line of sight, and his joy nearly vanished. His eyes darted to you, disbelief in his expression.

“No, you’re fucking not.”

But you only stuck your tongue out at him and ran towards the building, you now being the one laughing.

Seungmin only rolled his eyes, a small smile escaping his lips when he looked at you and followed your footsteps, right into the Victoria Secret building.

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids #kim seungmin #stray kids fluff #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin imagines #seungmin fluff #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #stray kids crack

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kumeko · 3 years

Photo

A/N: For the ‘A lost Ballroom of gold’ rarepair zine! I had to write sylvixgrid and I wanted to lean into that masquerade feel. This is utterly self indulgent.

…

Ingrid softly sighed as she looked around the ballroom. Dozens of couples waltzed around the dance floor, each pair magically gliding past each other without so much as a bumped elbow. As A minor noble’s daughter, there were many perks to her family’s status: there weren’t as many functions she had to attend, her father allowed her free reign to hunt and ride on their lands in the attire of her choice, and society’s expectations for her were low.

Unfortunately, that was only when Fódlan’s was out of season. Now that the balls had finally started, her father had packed her off and sent her to the capital. The season really just meant ‘husband hunting’, as her friend Dorothea had put it. While Ingrid understood the importance of climbing up the social ladder, of marrying a more powerful family in order to help her own, she hated it with every fiber of her being.

It also didn’t help that she was terrible at courtship. She had two left feet, walked in a masculine fashion, and the only good thing about her was that if she kept quiet, she could perhaps pass for a gentle lady. Rubbing her arm, she tried not to glare. Ingrid couldn’t scare away everyone, after all.

“Careful, your face might freeze like that,” a man to her right teased.

“What—” Ingrid snapped, cutting herself off when she realized her childhood friend stood next to her. “Sylvain!”

The redhead grinned mischievously. “That’s the name, don’t wear it out!” Hands in his jacket pockets, he leaned forward to take her all in. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious in her pale green ball gown.

“What?” she asked, resisting the urge to tug on her long hair nervously.

With a wolfish grin, he whistled. “Wow, Ingrid, you look gorgeous. How’d they get you in that?”

Immediately, she wanted to elbow him. His flirting came to him as easily as breathing; she should have expected that by now. Still, her ears warmed at the compliment. “Sylvain, please tell me you haven’t said that to every woman in the room. I can’t save you if you’re attacked later.”

“Don’t worry, the idiot hasn’t talked to anyone yet,” Felix cut in.

Ingrid blinked, surprised. Leaning forward, she found her other childhood friend on Sylvain’s other side. The two were dressed in similar suits, with small differences such as tie colours and buttons matching their families’ crests and coat of arms.

It was odd. The season had started a few weeks ago, and while she’d only attended a few events since, she’d seen and heard Sylvain flitting about them. Felix, on the other hand, she’d barely heard a word about and she’d almost thought he’d stayed behind in his estate. “Felix? I thought you didn’t like balls.”

“I don’t,” he replied flatly. His posture was stiff as he looked around the ballroom, his perpetual scowl scaring away anyone who’d come near.

Well, if Ingrid didn’t find a partner tonight, she could blame Felix for it at least.

“Why do you two always gang up on me?” Sylvain pouted, his cheeks puffing slightly. He’d always had a childish streak. It was cute at times like these, when she wasn’t cleaning up after him. “Felix, you think she’s pretty too, right?”

Felix made a strangled sound before directing his glare at Sylvain. Despite her best efforts, Ingrid still felt a pang of pain; she’d long known that the extent of his affections was a bare tolerance. Anything more was pushing him. Before he could say something she couldn’t unhear, she stepped on Sylvain’s foot. “Don’t drag Felix into your jokes.”

Felix looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“I wasn’t, but fine, fine, I give.” Sylvain sighed, his handsome features twisting into a frown. “Anyways, been here long, Ingrid?”

“Not really.” She rubbed her wrist, remembering the journey over. “My carriage’s wheel needed to be fixed, so I arrived late. I could have just ridden here instead, with the time it took.”

“That sounds just like you.” Sylvain laughed. Leaning closer, he waggled his brows, already over his sulking. “So you haven’t danced with anyone yet?”

“No,” Ingrid replied slowly, stiffening. There was something inherently untrustworthy when Sylvain asked that many questions in a row. Even more so when her response caused him to sigh with relief and Felix to visibly relax.

Whenever the both of them agreed to something, there was trouble brewing. She’d never understood how Sylvain managed to drag her, Felix, or even the king’s son, Dimitri, into any of his nefarious plots, but then again, she’d never met anyone with a silver tongue like his. He’d even charmed her grandmother!

“Why are you asking?” she asked, stepping out slightly so she could glare at both of them.

“Nothing, nothing!” Sylvain walked closer, blocking Felix from her view. Felix had always been the worse liar. “Can’t a friend ask questions anymore?”

“Not when the friend is you.” She pursed her lips, trying to read his expression.

“Am I really that untrustworthy?” His smile didn’t drop a notch, his eyes crinkling with amusement. Without waiting for her to respond, he held out a hand. “Well, since you haven’t had a chance yet, could I claim your first dance?”

“Huh?” That wasn’t the response she’d expected. Flabbergasted, she stared at his hand. “Me?”

“Who else?” he winked playfully.

“But…but…” Incredulous, Ingrid spluttered as she tried to make sense of it all. She couldn’t tell if this was one of Sylvain’s japes, or if he was earnest. And even if he were earnest, this wasn’t one of their family functions; the dances here were for a singular purpose for them.

“Let’s get in before the song starts.” He gently grabbed her hand before she could reply and quickly guided her to the dance floor. When she hadn’t been paying attention, the last waltz had ended and a new one had started. Couples swapped on the floor, pairs exchanging partners as they tried to find a suitable spouse.

And now, in the midst of it all, she stood with Sylvain. His arm hooked around her waist, pulling her almost flush against him. His other hand slipping into her right, cupping it carefully. Her skin burned from the impropriety of it all, but this was the waltz. They were supposed to be this close. Sylvain’s breath was supposed to warm her ear, his long hair was supposed to mingle with hers if she turned her head just so, and no one would think this was shocking.

Unless they realized it was Ingrid he was dancing with, and not one of his many, many dancing partners. God, she hoped no one recognized her, she couldn’t handle the gossip after.

“Shall we?” he asked, cocking his head slightly, green eyes bright with merriment.

It was impossible to resist those eyes. Gingerly, she rested her hand on his shoulder and nodded, not trusting her voice. Luckily, the music started immediately after and they slowly glided through the ballroom in time with everyone else. Ingrid had never been a good dancer—she could handle the movements just fine, but she lacked the grace to make them look good. Sylvian never had that problem and in his arms, she felt comfortable with the moves for once. It was like she’d finally learned to read or solved a difficult problem.

“Having fun?” Sylvain asked quietly.

She hadn’t realized she was smiling. “Yeah. I didn’t realize dancing could be so” Fun. “Easy.”

“That’s because you always overthink things.” He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “You and Felix are both the stiffest dancers I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, sorry for that,” she huffed. “Why don’t you dance with someone more graceful next round?”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing!” Sylvain protested, dipping her slightly before pulling her back. “I find it cute.”

Ingrid fixed him with a flat stare. “Cute.”

“Yes, very cute.” Sylvain chuckled. “Your expression is so serious when you try to dance, and Felix’s is so determined to beat his partner. It’s like you’re both fighting a war. There’s just something really cute about how terrible you both are.”

“I’m not trying to be cute,” she grumbled automatically, though her mind was awhirl from what he’d just said. She’d had her suspicions over the years, but this was the second time he’d brought up Felix. Maybe she hadn’t been imagining things after all.

“Which makes it all the cuter.” Sylvain grinned as he squeezed her hand. “Man, I’m glad you finally debuted. The season’s was too long last year. I really missed you.”

If he hadn’t taken the lead, Ingrid would have frozen in place. Sylvain was a consummate flirt, something that was easy to forget in face of how goofy he was. These lines just rolled off his tongue naturally. They didn’t mean anything. He’d said them to dozens of girls, some she’d had to console after.

Her skin heated up anyways.

“Sylvain.” She frowned, looking up at him. “I know you act like this to every girl you meet, but you shouldn’t be telling people you have no intention of courting that they are cute or that you miss them or well, flirt with them.”

He didn’t look the least bit contrite or chastened as he locked eyes with her. “What makes you think I have no intention?”

The implication wasn’t lost to her. Incredulous, she studied his face once more, looking for some sign that this was another jest of his, that this was out of pity or something akin. “Sylvain, you’re supposed to take this seriously,” she hissed, lowering her voice.

“I am taking this very seriously,” he replied. For once, there was none of his charm in his voice, none of his light-hearted teasing. His green eyes bore into hers and she swallowed. The music stopped. Before she could get her bearings, he leaned close, his lips brushing her ear and sending a shiver down her spine. “I meant every word.”

Then he stepped away, bowing slightly, his usual teasing smile in place as he headed to the side of the room. She could only stare at his back, her blush spreading down her neck. How was she supposed to take that? React to that?

Someone behind her coughed, and Ingrid realized she was still on the dance floor. The next song would start soon. “Sorry,” she mumbled, turning around. “I—”

Her apology caught in her throat as she found Felix stiffly standing behind her, his hand out. “Next dance is mine.”

Felix looked utterly uncomfortable about the whole thing and Ingrid bit back a sigh. “I can guess why Sylvain did it, but you don’t have to copy him. I don’t need your pity too.”

He snorted. “Like I would do this out of pity.”

Well, she couldn’t deny he had a point there. Ingrid couldn’t remember the last time anyone had forced Felix to do something he didn’t want to. Even his father had a hard time reigning him. Puzzled, she bit her lip. “Then why are you here? You don’t like dancing. You don’t like the attention. You can barely tolerate me. What do you get out of this?”

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “The dance is about to start.”

“That isn’t an answer,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes as she took his hand. However infuriating he was, dancing with him was still better than dancing with yet another unknown suitor.

Felix’s hands were surprisingly gently as he slipped into position, his right hand featherlight as it settled on her waist. His other hand clasped hers delicately, like she was china and easily breakable.

“You can hold on a little tighter. You know I don’t bruise that easily.” Ingrid clicked her teeth disapprovingly, resting her left hand on his shoulder as she stepped closer. “We can’t dance if I’m that far.”

He didn’t say anything, not even his usual scoff, as his fingers dug into her side a little firmer. When she peeked up, she found his ears a soft pink, jaw clenched. Normally she’d think of it as his usual annoyed look, but now she reconsidered. Felix seemed more embarrassed than irritated. Ingrid giggled softly. Even when they were kids, he’d always strived for perfection; it must bother him that in this one arena he couldn’t quite reach it.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked as he took the lead.

“Nothing,” she lied, hiding her smile. Knowing how he’d take it, it was better not to say anything at all.

He harrumphed but didn’t press. This dance wasn’t quite as easy as her last. Felix was steady, for sure, and mostly smooth, but he lacked that innate grace that Sylvain had. Then again, she wasn’t much better herself, and she felt at ease as she kept up with him. They were equally uncomfortable on the dance floor, and there was something oddly reassuring about that.

From the corner of her eye, she studied him. Standing under the bright candelabras, he cut a dashing figure. A classical handsome, with his well-cut jaw and stern expression. Sylvain had always been the preferred one, but she’d still heard ladies tittering for Felix, not realizing just how sharp a tongue he had.

Or how carefully he hid his soft spots. Like this dance. Ingrid scanned the wall as they danced, trying to find their misguided friend. “I’m sure Sylvain pushed you into this, but thanks anyways.”

“Sylvain didn’t push me.”

His response was blunt, to the point, and Ingrid tore her eyes back to him, flabbergasted. “Huh?”

Felix’s eyes were dark, burning, as they met hers. She’d seen this gaze directed at Sylvain before, but now that it was on her, she was surprised by the intensity. “Why do you think I can barely tolerate you?”

“I…” It was a little hard to think and she studied his shoulder. “I’ve known you for years. After Glen—”

At the mention of his dead brother, of her ex-fiancé, his grip tightened. Even now, he hardened when Glen’s name was brought up. “That was years ago.”

Oddly enough, his voice was tempered for once. She’d expected his usual harsh outburst, but today he had reigned in his emotions enough for them to actually talk. “It was also a rejection,” she replied carefully. “Not just of the engagement, but of me.”

Ingrid hadn’t expected him to take on his brother’s engagement after; he had always chafed against his father’s expectations. But he had been unnecessarily cruel when he had. With time and distance, she could see it for what it was: a boy in pain lashing out. Yet they had never properly talked about it and it was ironic that out here, as they swayed and spun in time with a dozen strangers, that they were having the most honest conversation they’d had in years.

“We haven’t been the same since then,” she added, lowering her eyes.

Felix fell silent and she wondered if he hadn’t noticed the gap between them. Sylvain had always filled it; ever since he’d pulled her out of her depression, dragged Felix out of his rage, he’d always done that. They’d had a handful of times when it’d been just the two of them after, and it had always been an awkward dance of figuring out where they stood with one another.

Letting go of his shoulder, she twirled once before he pulled her back into his arms. Quietly, he muttered, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She had to strain to hear his response; he wouldn’t repeat this, she knew. It was as close to an apology as Felix could get, and something in her unclenched. Clearing her throat, she offered a lopsided smile. “It’s fine. Like you said, it was years ago.”

“Anything else?” he asked, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her.

It took her a moment to remember what he was talking about. “Well, there’s…”

Ingrid frowned, parsing through her memories. What else was there? Felix had a sharp tongue, it was true, and they’d gotten into more than a few fights over it, but that was the case with everyone. While he had never sought her company, it was almost impossible to imagine him asking for anyone either.

And even when she’d barged in, uninvited, he had never turned her away either. Even at his grumpiest, he’d listen to her rant about Sylvain and his pilfering ways.

“You…” She bit her cheek, trying to figure out why she’d felt that way. Grasping for straws, Ingrid mumbled, “You’re softer with Sylvain.”

Felix snorted. “You’re the same.”

Ingrid couldn’t deny that. “Then…” She had nothing else. Had she spent years misreading their interactions, all because she couldn’t let go of the past? Embarrassed, she stared at his shoulder. “I was wrong.”

She expected a smirk, an insult, anything but the soft chuckle he gave. Surprised, she looked up at him only to find his usual exasperated expression was more fond than annoyed. Felix brought them to a halt, bowing slightly as he let go of her hand.

As he left her not only with more questions, but the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“Fe—” Before she could take a step forward, broad shoulders blocked her sight and Ingrid looked up to find Sylvain grinning at her once more.

“Can I have the next dance?”

-x-

For all her intelligence, Ingrid knew she could be dense on some matters. However, after swapping between her friends yet again, even she could figure out what their plans were. Or, at least what part of their plans were—their conversations left her confused and flushed in ways she couldn’t understand.

Still, that could possibly be chalked up to the fact that she had done four dances in a row. For a woman that hated her heels, that was four too many. It was time to end this game. The second the song ended, Ingrid grabbed Felix’s hand before he could disappear. Pivoting immediately, she found a surprised Sylvain already waiting in the wings.

“We’re going to talk,” she ground out, snatching his hand as well. The nobles would titter about this, no doubt. It was highly improper to act the way she did, but she was tired of the questions, the confusion, and, most importantly, the dancing.

They’re almost too compliant as she drags them to a secluded balcony. Ingrid had never known Felix to agree to anything in his life. All but shoving them out into the cool, night air, she hastily loosened the curtains on the doors before closing them behind her. It was the most privacy they could get, unless she forced them further into the gardens.

Sylvain and Felix stood in the middle of the balcony, watching her expectantly. There was a single candelabra outside, giving just enough light that she could make out their expressions. Sylvain’s looked apprehensive, while Felix’s was more bored. Her heels clacked against the marble as she approached them, coming to a stop just in front of the two. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Felix snorted. “Told you we couldn’t keep it from her.”

“I know, I know.” Sylvain sighed, running a hand through his fiery mane. “I thought we’d have a little longer.”

Triumphant at this admission, she crossed her arms. “I knew it. Is this some sort of game.”

“Game?” Sylvain laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, we’re just keeping the others from dancing with you.”

That wasn’t a response she’d expected. Or, well, maybe from Sylvain, but not Felix as well. Confused, she glanced from one to the other. “What? Why?”

Felix regarded her coolly. “Why do you think?”

She didn’t really have an answer to that. Turning it over in her mind, she hazarded a guess. “You remembered how I complained about my father? I’m grateful, truly, but—”

The words died in her throat when Felix frowned, shooting her a derisive look. She’d guessed wrong. Even Sylvain sighed, pinching his nose. “How are you so sharp in everything else, but get this wrong?”

“Are you calling me an idiot?” Ingrid retorted hotly, flushing. She had known these two for years now, how was she having such a hard time reading them tonight?

Felix shrugged. “You are one,” he stated simply.

“Your denseness is adorable,” Sylvain smoothened over, grinning as he wrapped an arm around Felix’s shoulder. “But it makes things a lot harder than it has to be.”

“What? Dense?” Ingrid gaped, not sure how she’d ended up here. She was supposed to be the one lecturing them, not vice versa. What was she even being attacked for? Irate, she pointed at them. “I know about you two.”

This stopped their laughter in its tracks. Sylvain’s eyes grew wide, his expression almost comical as he managed an incoherent, “Huh?”

Even Felix looked shocked. It was a major victory. Ingrid savoured it for a second before she realized exactly what she’d admitted. Immediately, she covered her mouth, but it was too late. The cat was out of the bag. The air grew tense and she wondered if it was too late to step back into the ball and pretend that none of this ever happened. “I…”

“You knew?” Sylvain finally asked, regaining control of his mouth.

“Since when?” Felix was as straight to the point as ever.

Ingrid rubbed her arm, looking away, past the railing and out onto the barely lit gardens. It was strange, she had suspected this for years, but somehow their admission made her heart ache a little. Maybe it was the lies or the loneliness or—she didn’t know. It just hurt. Quietly, she explained, “It’s hard to miss the way you two look at each other sometimes. Or, you know, the way your hands linger.”

She blushed as she spoke; it felt even more inappropriate to talk about than it had been to witness.

Amazed, Sylvain stared at her. “And you noticed that?”

“That’s because I—” Watch you. Fortunately, what little brain power she had left was working right now and she cut herself off before she could embarrass herself further. If she even finished that sentence, she knew how Sylvain would look at her, and then how he’d ask questions she didn’t know the answer of. Clearing her throat, she finished lamely, “We’re close, that’s probably why. I’m sure no one else has noticed.”

“Who cares?” Felix grumbled, hands in his pocket.

Their parents, for one, high society, for another. While the nobles were willing to overlook discrete dalliances, anything too obvious would result in blacklisting. And with Sylvain’s penchant to flirt publicly and Felix’s inability to read any room, it was amazing they’d made it through life as it was.

For tonight, at least, they’d spent all that time dancing with her and not angering their peers. Whether it was out of pity (and her heart twisted again at the thought) or friendship, they’d spent the last few hours keeping suitors off her hands. It was the most fun she’d had at a ball, even if it had also been the most perplexing.

It was only fair she returned the favour. Clasping her hands in front of her, she offered, “I can keep the balcony empty for you two.”

“Huh?” Once more, a befuddled Sylvain stared at her.

“What are you talking about?” Felix asked, his brow furrowed.

It was strange, knocking them both for a loop a second time, and it threw her off balance too. Resisting the urge to rub her neck, she gestured at the empty space around them. “It’s a nice night, and there’s plenty of room here. I know you can’t dance inside, but the music still reaches here.”

“Ohhh.” Sylvain’s expression brightened, catching on. He whistled appreciatively. “Nice eye, Ingrid.”

“What are you going on about—”

Before Felix could finish his sentence, Sylvain wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Mmm, yeah, I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

“You’re an idiot,” Felix huffed, but he didn’t pull away.

Her heart tinged again, an inextricable pain. What did she want? It wasn’t this. They were her friends, she should be happy for them, but she didn’t want this. Not trusting herself, she turned around “I’ll keep an eye for a few songs. They won’t miss you for that long.”

Luckily, her voice remained strong. Maybe later she could figure out how to smile in front of them.

Before she could open the door, Felix growled, “Where are you going?”

That was the only warning she got before Sylvain’s soft hand wrapped around her wrist, halting her in place, before Felix’s hand splayed against the door from behind her, pressing on it hard as he kept it shut. Ingrid gave an undignified squeak when she realized she was penned in between the two of them and the doors.

Every one of Annette’s and Dorothea’s raunchy novels ran through her mind. It was the most inappropriate time for that to happen and did nothing to help her calm her racing heart as she slowly turned to the pair of them. Her cheeks burned a dark red but Ingrid tried to keep her voice as even as possible as she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Stopping you,” Felix scoffed, still towering over her.

“I can see that.” Ingrid glared at him. “I mean…” She tried to tug her hand out of Sylvain’s vise-like grip, but he merely grinned, not letting go. “I’m trying to give you some privacy.”

Sylvain chuckled. “That’s why I called you dense.”

“Huh?”

“You got us wrong. Or not entirely right?” He shrugged carelessly as he leaned forward, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “How could you see how we looked at each other, but miss how we’ve looked at you?”

“Me?” She swallowed. Certain she was misunderstanding, she glanced at Felix, waiting for him to deny it all in his usual blunt manner. “Felix?”

“Don’t make me repeat him,” he glowered, his ears a bright pink.

“Wait…then…” Ingrid’s eyes flickered from Sylvain to Felix and back again as she put together everything that happened tonight. “The dancing…”

“Well, you deserve a proper courtship,” Sylvain explained, his hand now cupping her jaw. Tenderly, his thumb brushed her cheek. “And we couldn’t let anyone else snatch you up.”

Felix lowered his hand from the door, his fingers now threading through her long hair. Even without saying a word, she got the message loud and clear.

It didn’t make sense, really. Even hearing their words, she couldn’t believe. But Ingrid had seen the way they’d look at each other, when they thought no one was looking. Something soft and hungry and more powerful than the sun.

It was how they were looking at her now.

“Really?” she asked, not fighting her blush as it spread down her neck and up her ears. Her voice came out softer than she’d intended, shyer.

If they noticed, they didn’t say anything. Sylvain leaned forward, pressing a kiss against the corner of her lip. “Really,” he answered, and she shivered as his breath warmed her skin.

“Like we’d do this for any other reason,” Felix grumbled, his finger brushing her ear, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

Ingrid wasn’t sure what she’d tell her father. Or the nobles. Or anyone, really.

But that was a tomorrow problem. The door was still closed behind her, the curtains drawn, and the night air cool on her hot skin. For now, all she wanted was a moment to just feel it all, this joy that threatened to burst her heart.

#fe3h #felix hugo fraldarius #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #sylvixgrid #fanfic

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dessarious · 4 years

Text

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt59

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

There was dead silence in the Watchtower for close to a minute before everyone erupted into chaos. Robin fought a smile as he watched the seasoned heroes turn into a mob of panic. The longer Discorde was active the more he liked her. Ladybug just sighed and rolled her eyes at her partner. This obviously wasn’t something they’d discussed. She let the pandemonium continue for a few minutes before letting out a sharp whistle to gain everyone’s attention.

“That’s enough.” Robin was impressed by the command in her tone. He even caught his father and Wonder Woman standing up straighter. “As Discorde said, I can cure this so there’s no reason for all this nonsense. Not to mention that the only ones that will be affected are those with Krytonian blood so most of you have nothing to worry about anyway.” That seemed to release some of the tension but they all gave Superman a wide berth regardless. Superman tried to level Ladybug with a glare but it was rendered ineffective by another coughing fit.

“I think you’ve proven your point, heal him already.” He had to say he was rather surprised that Green Lantern had worked up the nerve to glare at the heroine. He wasn’t surprised when the man backed down from the look she leveled at him.

“No, I don’t think I have. The situation in Paris is more volatile than ever and the last thing we need is outside interference to muddy the waters. Any action, including entering the city will be considered an act of war and we will retaliate.” Robin had to fight to hide his surprise at that statement and he heard a slight hitch in Discorde’s breath as well. “My team and I will handle the situation and recover the Miraculous. You will continue to ignore the situation as you’ve proven yourselves more than capable of doing for the past two years.”

There was a stunned silence as everyone processed the threat. Given Discorde’s display, going to war with the Miraculous would be disastrous and they all seemed to realize that. Some more grudgingly than others.

“Fine, but if this nonsense spreads outside of Paris, we’ll have no choice but to take matters into our own hands.” It was Superman’s last ditch effort to regain control of the situation and everyone knew it. Robin saw Ladybug’s expression soften slightly.

“Of course.” He watched her cast her cure and almost laughed at the stunned looks on various faces when the tables and chairs reappeared. Superman regained his normal color and the blood disappeared. There were more than a few sighs of relief. “I anticipate this will be the last time we need to meet like this. Hawkmoth’s reign of terror is about to come to an abrupt end.”

“And after?” The question came from his father. Robin hadn’t thought about what would happen after everything was settled. He was going to have to come up with an excuse to at least visit Paris. Ladybug just cocked her head in confusion.

“There is no after. Once this threat is dealt with there will be no need for us to interact. It’s best for everyone if the Miraculous stay hidden, and that includes their holders.” She sounded like she was reciting something that had been drilled into her. Discorde was even giving her a funny look. Wonder Woman looked confused more than anything. “We should be going.”

“Wait!” Wonder Woman approached and Robin could see Ladybug’s body tense. Discorde put herself between the two. “Could I speak to you privately for a moment?” Ladybug glanced at him and he could only shrug back at her. He had no clue what the woman could want.

“Fine, but only a moment. We really do need to get back.” They walked off to a corner together and Robin joined Discorde in frowning after them. Ladybug was listening intently and nodding every once in awhile but didn’t seem to be saying much herself. Wonder Woman seemed to be trying to break the sound barrier with her mouth.

“Should we be worried about that?” Discorde’s words were pitched low, for his ears only. He wished he had an answer for her.

“I’d ask Ladybug when you’re alone. She’s more likely to confide in you without witnesses.” She gave a thoughtful hum.

“Got yourself another girlfriend there Demon Spawn? I didn’t think you had it in you.” Robin pulled one of his knives without thinking and placed it threatening close to a tender part of his brother’s anatomy.

“I don’t have a girlfriend Hood and I suggest you learn to keep your ridiculous assumptions to yourself unless you want me to do everyone a favor and make it impossible for you to reproduce.” He really hated his family most days. Discorde was trying to split her attention between them and Ladybug but her heard the surprised hitch in her breath at his idiotic siblings next words.

“Oh calm down Damian it was just a joke.” He was going to castrate the bastard this time. He did feel a small amount of satisfaction that he’d been right about which one of them would end up outing them. Before he could properly deal with his father’s biggest mistake Ladybug came back and opened a portal for them. It dropped them on a rooftop about halfway between the apartment and the Grand Paris.

“You’re Damian Wayne?” It wasn’t really a question and he saw Ladybug’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Yes Chloe I am.” There was really no point in denying it after Todd’s massive screw up, but it did give him the satisfaction of seeing both Miraculous holders stunned for a moment.

“How did you…” He scoffed as Ladybug trailed off. She really must think him an idiot.

“Who else would you trust? I’ll admit if I didn’t know who you were I wouldn’t have figured it out but given your track record the choices were Chloe or Luka and I was pretty sure Luka wouldn’t disguise himself as a girl just for the hell of it.”

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

Ko-Fi

Tag List

@noirdots @valeks-princess @chocolatecatstheron @krispydefendorpolice @bee-wrecker @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @northernbluetongue @paradoxal-occurance @scrumptiouslyelegantchaosqueen @sonif50 @thequestionablyhuman @persephonebutkore @elspethshadow @geekydragonyt @mmwolf1605 @da-tasuky @mjisntme @bluerosette23 @anjuschiffer @littleredrobinhoodlum @tazanna-blythe @resignedcatservant @schrodingers25 @seraphichana @persephonescat @punstoppablechatnoir @magicalfirebird @crazylittlemunchkin @corabeth11 @cyborgcandy @casual-darkness @shamefullove @miraculous-simmer7 @tamoni112 @cat181818meow @littleblue5mcdork @allthebooksandcrannies @enchanted-nerd @disneyfoxuniverse @fallinginthe-void @mandy984 @goggles-mcgee @fontegagrilledcheese @dorkus-minimus @theatreandcomicfreak @zerotosiki @ayuchan07 @mindfulmagics @urbanpineapplefarmer @winter-gardenflower @mooshoon @my-name-is-michell @melicmusicmagic @7-sage-7 @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @alicesangelofmusic @caffeinetheory @nataladriana9 @multplelifes @wanderingreader1019 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mvaree @redscarlet95 @storyteller-d @howabouticallyou @ginamarie1512 @kurogaya913 @tbehartoo @maddrag @two-faced-biatch @senyahgirl @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @iloontjeboontje @kakashixobito @welcometopradasa @amirahevens @amlesi @miraculousbelladonna @virgil-is-a-cutie @18-fandoms-unite-08 @cupcakeandkisses @angelofmusickaterinapetrova @book-r-the-best @dur55 @moonlightstar64 @fertileleaf @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @thecaptainthunder @danielslilangel @novicevoice @nyaabinch @interobanginyourmom @welcometopradasa @charlietheepic7 @im-here-for-the-content @maya-custodios-dionach @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @starwindmaden @tired-butterfly @rogueptoridactyl @emeraldpuffguide @suzen23smith @yuulxd @animegirlweeb @alovelyocean @kris-pines04 @semaalcocer-blog @cadencehood @jardimazul @shethecat @silent-storms-posts @simplysslytherin @tog84 @thesunanditsangel @dast218 @tall-and-angry @the-alice-of-hearts @captainmac6 @theyellowfeverexperience @chrismarium @alessialeone6997 @heaven428 @tinyterror333 @smolplantmum @lilyellowink @naoryllis @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou @magewriter @doodledeerest @athena452 @peachedpocky @tired-butterfly @risingmoonyue @lunammoon @mylife-demonstrates-murphys-law @bobothyross @silvergold-swirl @loysydark @heaven428 @peachedpocky @hauntedwintersweets @awesome-starfish-and-tacos @silvergold-swirl @rosesgonerogue @castielsofficialtoothbrush @myazael @aestheticnpoetic @creator-josie @sturchling @snowstar1016 @myblacknightworld @kittycatwowmeow @midnightkaito @chylou34 @hufflejournals @indecisive-mess-named-me @uwuteamleader @sassakitty @jessigurl-design @demigodgirl20031 @freshbark @soup-served-chilling @elmokingkong @unknownvsworld @thatonegaybitchfromschool @tis-i-beanbandit @damianette-is-life @peachesbackup @nobodyw8s4evr

#maribat #marinette dupen chang #damian wayne #bffmaridami

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littlelittlebear · 3 years

Text

Pretty Girl | Harry Potter x Original female!character

A/N: Wow it’s been a long time coming, i’ve written a lot of stuff before but this has to be the first properly written... anything really XD Mind y’all, I’m a babie writer so its insanely far from perfect, but I hope its enjoyable nonetheless!!

Setting: Prisoner of Azkaban

If Harry was a poet, he’d write about how he’d hope to never be looked at any other way, comparing the girl in front of him to the angels up above, and how they could never compete.

But Harry’s not a poet.

So instead of all the wonderful things, all those things he could only hope his now 13-year-old mind could one day think up, he let his stupid mouth take the reigns.

Warnings: Literally nothing other than fluff and shitty writing- they’re 13 in this!! sheesh

First off, lemme just say that the first bit will be in headcanon-form, and the second bit will be written properly cuz hunny I just can’t be that bothered.

*NOT MY GIF*

Marching into platform 9 3/4, Harry Potter found himself sporting furrowed eye brows and stress lines that could rival Filch’s. And with good reason too, he wouldn’t call his last experience [or lack there of] with Hogwarts Express smooth sailing.

Stressed and practically running through the station, [which is always a great combination] Harry, being the clumsy fuck he is, practically falls into a small figure, tripping himself and before he knew it he was mere inches away from his “Pretty Girl”.

~Flashback~

Harry was browsing in Flourish and Blotts, collecting the textbooks he’ll need for the new year, when his eyes fell upon something that definitely wasn’t a a book.

It was a girl, a very pretty girl, Harry thought. She had long, chestnut, curly hair, only some of which was held back with a pale pink ribbon. Her cheeks were rosy and uplifted, and her lips were peachy as the cakes Mrs Weasley sent Harry last year.

His gaze, physically unable to be torn away from this girl, trails down to the book in her hands.

‘Omens’ [i can’t remember the real book’s name for the life of me HELP]

I wonder if that will come in handy

“Plannin’ on payin’ any time soon lad?” The owner teases, aware of the young boy’s obvious distraction.

Blushing and awkward, Harry practically throws him the money before briskly walking out the store.

- - - -

The young Potter boy walks down the concerningly-creaky staircase of the Leaky Cauldron for breakfast when he stops dead in his tracks. “Pretty Girl” [as Harry named her, it’s not what you would call a creative nickname, but what did you expect?] walks passed the little inn, her wavy hair swaying as shes visible one second, and vanishes the next- the inn’s walls between each window blocking her from view.

Her brief appearance was similar to one’s of a ghost. At least, the look on Harry’s face gave away that impression.

His breathing stilled, completely fucking petrified. Or happy, he can’t quite tell at the moment.

But before he could even decide as to what he should do next, he’s interrupted by the oh-so-familiar sounds of his two best friends bickering downstairs.

~End of Flashback~

[play] -> https://open.spotify.com/track/1yzoe7r21sTWPcPc57OrPc?si=vMP4aqL6Qq-ZWtU2t3EJ8Q

Papers and pamphlets fell from their not-so-secure blankets in between textbook pages, only they didn’t fall like paper would. They fell like silk, twisting and turning in ways that only fabrics could. The early morning sunlight streamed through the station roof, making the falling paper look less like silk and more like sunbeams.

It was a fucking sight.

As if the moment could become even more ineffably-fucking-beautiful, there stood the girl, whose face he’d practically memorised at this point (from both her recurring appearances as of late, and the amount of times he’s replayed all of her sightings in his head), with her big brown eyes looking straight at him like she’s found something she’s lost.

If Harry was a poet, he’d write about how he’d hope to never be looked at any other way, comparing the girl in front of him to the angels up above, and how they could never compete.

But Harry’s not a poet.

So instead of all the wonderful things, all those things he could only hope his now 13-year-old mind could one day think up, he let his stupid mouth take the reigns.

“You…” Crap.

“Me...?”

Christ, could that have gotten any creepier?

Naturally, got acquainted.

“Hi! Um, I’m Harry,” A pause, “Potter.”

Her left eyebrow raises just a touch before she settles into a comforting smile.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Lucy, Lucy la Barrie.”

Harry smiles, you look like a Lucy, he thinks.

“I hope that’s a good thing.” She beamed. Harry’s eyes widened- did he just say that out loud? “It is. A good thing.” He stammered, squinting slightly as if closing his eyes could lessen the embarrassment.

But the embarrassment left as quickly as it came when they started a surprisingly comfortable conversation, as she picked up a black cat that Harry learned was named ‘Beast’. A name that he joked to be completely inappropriate for the kitten’s tiny stature.

“Is it true that Voldemort doesn’t have a nose?” Lucy inquired jokingly as they started walking towards the train compartments.

Harry had been laughing so hard that moment, muttering a bewildered “yeah” after his laughing fit died down, that he had completely blown over the fact that Lucy had called Voldemort by his name, and not some silly cowardice nickname.

But what he did notice was that Lucy doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’s HARRY POTTER- Which he was thankful for.

After a moment of that peaceful silence found once you’ve finished laughing, Harry had noticed the blue and gold letterman jacket Lucy had been brushing off as they stepped onto the train. A bird surrounded by lightning bolts rested on its sleeve, with ‘la Barrie, 5’ stitched on the back. He was about to point it out but was abruptly interrupted by a whistle signaling the train’s departure.

“This is the compartment my friends told me to meet them in,” Lucy gestured to the empty compartment beside her, “I trust you’ll come to find me once we reach campus?” She smirked with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah! Yeah, definitely.”

“Good. I’ll see you around, Harry.”

With the lock of the compartment door, Harry sighs. His face is virtually unreadable, but boy does it look happy.

That is until the train starts up and he’s practically launched onto the opposing compartment door, taking that as his queue to look for Ron and Hermione.

He has a lot to talk about.

- - -

A A A it’s done!! I mean, it’s not done, theres going to be a couple more parts but this part’s doneeeeeee

I would really like to apologies for how terrible this is, but i had a lot of fun writing it so shit or not it was enjoyable for me XD

Please let me know if you liked it, and if i should continue <3

#harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x oc #harry potter x original female character #original characters #oc #meet cute #one shot #fluff #golden trio era #daniel radcliffe #shitty writing #hogwarts express #diagon alley #prisoner of azkaban

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cloudbattrolls · 3 years

Text

Sleep With One Eye Open

Notes: Vernrot belongs to @raitrolling!

Thrixe Varzim || 11.5 sweeps || Vernrot || Present Night

It’s the night after you made it to Vernrot, threw that obnoxious cusp into the harbor, and slept over at Lusien’s hive. But you need to stay at a hotel the rest of the time; you won’t trespass on his hospitality like that. Plus, the more time you spend around him, the more risk he’ll see you as...never mind. You need to be practical, figure out which QPIN contacts need to be checked on, which trade channels might need extra muscle -

“Stop.”

Your fins twitch in recognition, despite your attempts to stop them. You know that hard feminine voice, and you wish you didn’t.

Slowly, to emphasize your complete lack of eagerness to talk to them, you turn to face the two women who’ve apparently followed you here. Unless you’re just that unlucky.

Neither are tall, one olive and the other yellow. The yellowblood’s short horns are covered by her curly hair, her skin slightly darker than yours and her eyes serious above her grimly set mouth. The olive wears a grin that could seem innocently eager to a troll who’d never met her before, her short straight hair barely reaching past her large, round ears. Both are dressed simply in gray and black clothing, breath from their warmer bodies turning to fog in the cool air.

It was Zelist who spoke to you, and she does so again.

“It’s been long enough. You haven’t contacted us once since you left Derevnya. Our scout observed you coming here of all places. Why?”

You stare at her, annoyed even though you know you shouldn’t be.

“What are you doing in this town if not pest control, Varzim?” Purrs the oliveblood, now holding a long, sharp knife coated in some sort of glistening substance.

You never much liked Marisa; you don’t think most trolls do, even in her cult. Maybe it’s something about how she always smells of the undead.

Sure enough, Zelist glares at her sharply. “Give him a chance to explain.” She says, voice hard, but her eyes are on you and her suspicion is plain.

“I’ve tried to fight the horrors here. I never made any progress. So I gave up; they’re not actively hurting people, at least. Vernrot is…” you wave a hand vaguely. “Stable. Even if it’s not the kind we’d like.”

“That’s complacent talk, Varzim.” Says Zelist, arms crossed. “You could’ve asked us for help.”

You give her a look, fins twitching as your mouth curls in disdain.

“You people don’t do subtlety. I didn’t want to attract attention.”

She shakes her head, gaze detached but disapproving like one of your proctors would’ve been and for a moment you feel a flicker of guilt. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you should have talked to them, asked them for help...

“We let ourselves be corrupted before, but things have changed. We keep an eye on the other cults now, regulate summonings and artifact use. Everything is getting better. We should be allies, Varzim. We have the same enemies.”

Are the horrorterrors here your enemies?

Of course they are. All horrorterrors are anathema to trollkind. Different faces of the same incomprehensible forces, unable to understand trolls or respect their wellbeing. Too strange and terrible to bargain with.

But the ones here didn’t attack you unless you did first, and when you apologized how Lusien suggested, they went away...

No, you still can’t trust them, you decide. Horrorterrors are always bad.

Still, you trust the blueblood even if he’s wrong. You trust him because he’s the best thing that ever happened to you.

Even if it treats him badly, Lusien doesn’t want you to hurt Vernrot.

“Maybe we should work together.” You admit. “But I can’t attack this town. I mean, I’ve tried - I think if we threw more at it it would retaliate harder than we can hit. If we find a way to remove the horrorterrors here it can’t be with any collateral damage.”

You remember Sayamh, but push the memory away. He was too far gone to save, the undead wretch. He was better off as bullets.

Zelist purses her lips and Marisa laughs before speaking in her mocking tone.

“So soft you’ve become! I wonder why. Is it ‘the town’ or someone in particular? Something in particular?”

“How dare you.” You say softly, baring your fangs at her implication. “I would never be friendly with a horrorterror. I’m thinking of all the trolls here. None of them have any idea what’s happening! They wouldn’t understand what we were doing. They can’t see it even when it’s in front of their faces.”

Except one, forced to witness it alone as everyone thought he was insane.

“Then they’re better off purged anyway.” retorts the yellowblood dismissively. “If they’re so oblivious, they could enable the forces here by accident and let something out. The risk isn’t worth it. So help us, Varzim, prove all our suspicions are baseless. This can be easy and straightforward. We can all go hive happy.”

She holds out a hand to you, eyebrows raised.

You believe her. The lowblood is a lot of things, but unlike the olive she’s a woman of her word. She’s practical. Her goals make sense.

You shake your head anyway.

“No. You’re going to fail and this isn’t my fight. I’ll find other terrors to destroy.”

Zelist and Marisa exchange a look, and with a sigh, the yellow hands the green some caegers. The latter pockets them, smug as a satisfied meowbeast.

“Don’t bet against me.” Purrs the higher caste. “I told you when he didn’t cull that possessed cusp it was clear where his loyalties lay.”

Your fins flick in surprise. They know about the scientist?

“I’d hoped he’d have a good explanation.” Zelist retorts acerbically. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Marisa raises her knife and you knock it out of her hand, so quick that -

You’ve been stabbed.

“Such a simple trick to fall for.” She whispers, and her other hand withdraws a long, serrated blade covered in violet blood that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You try to kick her. Your body doesn’t move. The blood seems to drip off the metal in slow motion as you find you can barely even breathe, frozen in place with outstretched arms. The damp air is cold on your wound, which...isn’t closing.

Your wound isn’t closing.

Zelist shakes her head, and raises her hand to make a short signal. Dozens of other trolls come out, completely covered up in body armor, nets in their hands.

Your wound bleeds freely, staining your body armor, staining your new shirt.

The trolls close in, nets crackling with energy.

No. No. No. No.

The nets surround you, wrapping you up in a hopeless tangle as they shock you, and your wound isn’t closing -

You can’t speak. Can’t regrow. Can’t do anything.

Then you remember what you practiced with Teagan, what seems like a million sweeps ago now.

You take their minds. Despite the temptation, you don’t attack like you did with the indigo who threatened Lonnen. You only make them set you free, back off, leave this place and forget what happened, forget the cult itself; you grow new pathways in their minds, wiping away the old.

Breathing heavily once free of the nets, you turn to the pair of women who stare at you, whatever Marisa did having worn off or been purged by your body. Zelist is slack-jawed in amazement while Marisa exhibits a surprised sort of hunger, leaning forward slightly while still holding her blood-covered knife.

“Listen to me.” You say - snarl, really, despite straining yourself to sound civil. “I don’t want to fight you. But I will if I have to. This town is mine.”

Silence reigns for a few moments as the wind blows, bringing the scent of salt and fish.

“Since when could you do that, Varzim?” asks the yellowblood quietly. “You didn’t have that power when you fought the Siren.”

“I didn’t.” You agree. “I’ve learned more about my abilities since then. None of which I feel like sharing with you.” You remark, dry.

You give them a wry smile with a great deal of sharp seadweller teeth.

“Something about being stabbed and manhandled has put me in an antisocial mood. We’re done here. Go, before I make you leave.”

The two exchange another look.

Then Zelist pulls out a gun that reminds you uncomfortably of Sochet’s. The runes, the metal, the make...they’re almost twins, but this one is far newer.

You duck as a bullet whistles over your head, and you can feel it’s like the ones Sayamh died for - horrorterror essence turned against its source, anathema to your very existence. You pull out your own gun, shooting to keep her and Marisa - damn olive stabbing at you - back.

You fend off both of them, letting your training take over, and get up close to Zelist, knocking the gun out of her hands - even that hurts, making you shudder down to your core.

Then Marisa shoots you in the back and you feel yourself...melt.

Your existence starts to break down, your very presence in reality degrading.

But you can regenerate again.

As the bullet is flung back at its owner, as your monstrous nature takes over and you grow jaws and eyes, tentacles and tendrils growing as your choir of voices sings of victory, of growing unrestrained by troll shape, you struggle against it, but perhaps not as hard as you should.

Trolls warp into nonsense masses of flesh in your sight.

You sing in confusion. In fear. In joy. What odd creatures!

You sing unbothered by what your own flesh just went through, but the whispers of the others grate on you. An irritant, itching at your growth.

So you raise your voice to drown them out.

#cloud writes #thrixe varzim #finally get to write horror!thrixe #jovial fellow isn't he?#it's not that he's a different person as a horrorterror it's just an aspect of him he suppresses 99% of the time #that comes to the fore

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diddlesanddoodles · 4 years

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DUMPLING ch 43

Still feeling the heat and sting of her pride, Nenani decided to take a walk towards the guards courtyard and see if she might watch them sparring. The thought occurred to her as she exited the nearest tunnel that they might not spar everyday and she was on a fool’s errand when the sound of shouting and swords meeting struck her ears. And then Rheil’s voice snapping at someone to keep their elbows in.

It took her a moment to work out where the door to the walkway was from the corridor, but was pleased to find a door near the end of the hall where the sounds of guards sparring was loudest. Peaking around the frame, she saw the wooden pathway that edged high along the square courtyard, the battlements above creating a sort of canopy overhead. Rheil stood in a spot kitty-corner to where Nenani was, looking down and giving encouragements or criticism to his men below.

She went to the wooden railing. The topmost rail was far above her head, but the supporting beam below that was just at the proper height for her to rest her arms on and peer down. It’s actual purpose, aside from additional support, also seemed to be a place for giants to prop their feet up. As Rheil was doing. It was several minutes of watching the guards below before Rheil noticed her and left his spot to approach her.

“Back again?” he asked, the corner of his mouth curling in a teasing smirk. Placing his arms on the railing, he leaned forward until he could see her.

“Yeah,” she said with a little trepidation. She hoped he wasn’t irked at her from before. She’s ignored his orders outright and he had sounded properly angry. But looking at his expression, it did not appear to be so.

“You trying to pick up a few things for the next time you meet that mage?”

“...couldn’t hurt,” Nenani replied with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He chuckled at that. “I don’t suppose her grace approves of this venture?”

“No,” she admitted with a frown, turning to look back down at the giants below. “But only because...I think she’s just scared. More of him than me hurting myself. She can barely say his name sometimes.”

“Well,” he said with a conceding tilt of his head. “As I understand it, she was at his mercy for many years. That does things to a person, Nenani. Terrible things. Even if all my men and these thick walls and Maevis’s magic could keep him out of the castle for good, he’s always going to be there in her mind.”

“But if he were dead, she wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore...”

The mild amusement of his expression died and he studied her for a moment. “And you plan to kill him? Is that it?”

She couldn’t answer for several moments. “...when Nonna gave me my dagger, Mama didn’t want me to have it. She wants me to learn how to control my magic, but only because it could kill me if I don’t. I’m sure if she knew how to, she’d seal it again. She’s scared. That he’d hurt me. And...I think it might be also because she thinks that if that if I knew how to fight that I’d be more likely to try and fight him.”

Rheil raised an eyebrow at her inquisitively. “Well...is she wrong?”

With narrowed eyes, she starred down as a giant lifted his sparring sword and brought it down with a loud bang. After a pause, she said, “...not entirely.”

Rheil surprised her by barking a loud laugh. Looking up at him in confusion, he grinned down at her and said, “You know how funny is it to hear such a tone of conviction from a such a small and young person?”

She frowned at him. “Just so you know, even squirrels can bite.”

He let another loud loud and then tilted his head at her in amusement. “Looking to add warrior to your list of titles, are you?”

“No,” she said. “I just...I’m tired of feeling so...helpless. Like I have to wait for someone to do things for me.”

Rheil shrugged. “That might be more to do with your age than your size, Nenani. Even us big folk felt that way when we were your age. I know I did.”

She didn’t reply at first, but after several moments, she said, “...I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.”

The captains face grew thoughtful and he nodded. “I understand. But take it from someone who knows, lass. Don’t place that burden on yourself. People will be hurt. Some may even die. Our best defense against it is to be ready and to be smart. This mage...he’s different from anyone or anything I’ve ever faced. Nothing like those sorcerers a few years back. He commands an army of beast through forced coercion with a magic that not even the greatest arcane scholar in Vhasshal can decipher. He turns into bloody smoke for fuck’s sake. He’s more demon than man. As I’m sure you can attest to that better than most.”

“He is a demon,” she agreed.

“So a word a caution, lass,” he said, bending down into a crouch to be more on her level. “As I can see it in your eyes what’s going on in your head and you need to reign that in before you go on and do something stupid. I tell you this in all seriousness: no one is a mountain.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, looking at him with furrowed brows.

“If the time comes where you meet the mage again. Don’t act a fool and go at it on your own,” he reached out and gently poked her shoulder with a finger. “Rely on those around you. It’ll take the lot of us all to bring him down, mark my word. No matter how powerful your magic may be, remember: you’re not a mountain.”

She slowly nodded and let his words sink in.

“Now, all that aside,” he said with a smirk as he rose back to his feet. “If Nonna went on and gave you a dagger, it was for a purpose. Most folks think she’s a perfectly harmless little old lady, but believe me. I’ve been dealing with her since she arrived. That lady is a lot more devious and cunning than folks give her credit for. Warrick may lead the tribe now in name, but everyone knows Nonna is the real power there. So it seems an awful waste for you to not know how to use it properly.” He winked at her. “Even just a little bit.”

……………………………………………….

“See how they’re standing? You want your body angled to present as small a target as possible. Keep your weapon in front of you and your other hand up, it’s no use to you behind your back or at your side. Go on then, lads.”

Rheil stepped back from the two guards to give them room. Each held their own daggers clenched in their fists and raised up close to their chests. The other guards stood to the sides of the courtyard, watching the lesson with a sense of boredom.

Clint seemed to be the better of the guards when it came to close combat as he easily caught the other guards wrist with his own as their dagger plunged down and he twisted the wrist and the dagger up and away from his body which then afforded him a clean shot to his opponent’s vitals. He pressed the wooden blade of the sparring dagger against the other man’s throat and grinned. “And yer dead. Sorry, Jon.”

The other guard grunted and pushed the wooden dagger away. “All right then. One more time.”

They took their positions again, angled their bodies towards one another and at Rheil’s command, Jon thrust straight for Clint’s heart and just as before, Clint caught his wrist with his own and spun the arm away, his own dagger coming in to strike, but Jon’s other hand reached for his wrist and grabbed it. He turned his body as the inertia of Clint’s forward movement brought him closer and flipped the man over his shoulder and slammed him to the ground. The eyes of the other guards who had been finding the exercise rather boring were much more alert and several began to laugh. As soon as Clint was on the floor, Jon jumped onto him and held his dagger to his throat, grinning. “And yer dead. Sorry, Clint.”

Around them, the other guards yelled and laughed and clapped. From her seat on a crate nearby, Nenani’s eyes were wide. “That was amazing.”

“A dagger is a close combat weapon,” Rheil explained after dismissing his men. “It’s small size is deceiving and can easily do just as much damage as a broad sword if handled correctly. Now, I don’t claim to know much about the Thorn clans ways, but I have seen them use their daggers. The first time I ever saw it, it confused the hell outta me.”

“Why?” Nenani asked. “What were they doing?”

He tilted his head to regard with a small grin. “Dancing.”

She squinted at him in confusion. “...dancing?”

“Aye. Two little’uns with their daggers. Little younger than you. They were proper fighting forms, but they’d been blended into a dance. Had a guy banging away on a drum and everything so they kept in time. Kind of brilliant if you think about it.”

“I wonder if they’d teach me the dance,” Nenani said with a grin.

“You’ve never been to the Hill Tribes have you?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe next time I go, you can tag along,” he offered, leaning an arm against the crate. “I’m sure Nonna would be pleased to pieces to see you. She’s you’re...grandma?”

“Great aunt. Her brother was my grandpa.”

Rheil whistled. “Your a right proper wonder, lass. Never wouldn’ve guess the day I took you to the King you were actually a high born lady. Or a mage. Or a member of the Thorn clan.”

She snorted sardonically. “...it sounds so dramatic when you say it like that.”

“Don’t think so, eh?”

“I’ve never done anything to...earn all this. Or asked for it. It’s all been there,” she said. “I just didn’t know it. Kind of feels like people are just throwing it all at me...”

“Heard you’re asking folks to not address you as Princess too.”

She nodded, hunching her shoulders and making a face. “I don’t like it...”

“Oh?” he asked. “And why’s that?”

“I’m not a Princess.”

“Says who? Barnaby showed us the official record he’s kept all these years. He never took your mothers name out like he was supposed to. She’s still in the line of succession. The heir apparent. Till she’s officially crowned, that is and then she’d be Queen. Which makes you a Princess. Not sure how much Silvaaran succession laws are still applicable now. But that potentially makes you her heir.”

There was a sinking feeling in her belly and she pulled her knees up to her chest. “...what if I don’t want to be though?”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty to throw away that part of you, lass. A royal title does comes with a lot of hardships. But the trade off is you have the power to make changes. You could do some good with a title of Princess. Even just by being alive, you and your Mum and even your little brother, you’ve given a lot of folks in the tribes real hope.”

“Hope? For what?”

“A future. For them. The King took them in and gave them a safe place to call home. But he can’t give them back their Kingdom. They live and farm on granted land in a country not their own. If given the chance, I know a good many of them would go back to Silvaara. Try to rebuild. You and your family are a little sign to them that perhaps such a dream might be possible. Hope’s a powerful thing, Nenani. It can move mountains.”

She squinted at him. “What happened to no man being a mountain?”

He grinned at her. “Aye, still true. But you get three hundred or so folks behind you and give them the right inspiration, I promise you. That mountain will move.”

………………………………….

“Lift your arm just a bit more...there. Just like that.” A large finger gently nudged her bend arm into position. Her body was twisted at the hip with one foot forward and one arm up, clenched tight with an imaginary dagger. Rheil tapped her back leg. “Too far back. Scooch up a tad. That’s it.”

He stood back a step. “That’s your basic stance. No need to get any fancier than that as everything else is just a branch off from that. Like I said before, daggers are close quarter weapons. You have to get up into into your opponent’s face and look him in the eye as you gut him. Quite personal too. Most folks prefer a sword not just because it’s flashier, but yer a bit further away. Little less bloody.”

“What was that thing Jon did? Where he threw Clint over his shoulder?”

Rheil laughed at the gleeful way she spoke. “You’d need to be fighting someone a lot closer to your size to manage that one, I’m afraid.”

“And tell me captain,” said an all too familiar voice as they stepped through the doorway just behind them. “Just who do you imagine she’s going to be fighting?”

Rheil and Nenani both turned around and met the incensed eyes of Lolly, arms akimbo, and glaring at them both.

“I was just showing her some stances,” Rheil quickly assured the Matron. “Nothing ludicrous.”

But Lolly did not seem to calm any at his assurances.

“She...is...a lady, Rheil!” Lolly snapped as she closed the distance between them. “This is not an appropriate thing for her to be learning!”

“It was just stances,” Rheil repeated, though his tone was more gentle. “Basic form, Lolly.”

“The only thing she should be practicing is her magic and if not that, learning to do something more aligned to her station. Something safer. Like embroidery or water painting or...flower arranging!”

Nenani made a face. “Flower arranging?”

“Yes! Flower arranging,” Lolly told her with a deep frown. “You mother would have an apoplexy if she knew what you were getting up to.”

“I wasn’t hurting anything,” Nenani protested weakly.

“That’s not the point, Nenani,” Lolly said with an admonishing tone. “Do you not understand what it is we’re trying to do? What your mother and I are trying to prepare you for?”

The girl furrowed her brow at Lolly in confusion. “Prepare me for what?”

“Your debut at court,” she said firmly. “Your mother is already known to the Lords from before the war. This won’t be her official debut. It will be yours.”

“But why does that matter so much?” Nenani asked, her voice becoming heated. “It’s just a dinner!”

In that moment, Lolly looked very much like Farris as the ire built up in her expression. “Just a dinner? Nenani, it is a very big deal for someone to make their debut at court. For you and your future, it’s instrumental. Should rumors get around that the heir apparent of Silvaara is...learning battle techniques it could spoil the King’s whole endeavor!”

“What endeavor?” Nenani demanded, exasperated. She threw her hands up. “You haven’t told me anything! Just that I have to wear a really heavy dress and sit there and look pretty!”

Lolly put a hand to her face, appearing as though she’d been struck with a sudden headache. “We need the support of the Lords. And to do that, we must ensure we present to them a carefully crafted picture. Which mean, no combat lessons.”

Nenani let her arms drop to her sides and mumbled something uncharitable.

“I heard that,” Lolly warned before reaching out to her and plucking her up from the crate. Leveling an unimpressed glare towards Rheil, she said, “I trust I can depend on you not to encourage her, Rheil.”

The captain nodded and tossed an apologetic look to Nenani. “Sorry Princess. Looks like you’re going to have to settle for one less title to your name, after all.”

Lolly snorted. “Indeed.”

Nenani had fully expected Lolly to take her back to her room and follow through with the assertion the only things she should be doing is her daily magic lessons and...flower arranging. But much to her surprise, she walked passed the staircase that would have taken them up to the royal apartments and instead headed towards the servants’ corridor. Towards the kitchens.

She could hear the hustle and bustle of everyone at work long before Lolly stepped down into the kitchen. She was forced to dodge a scurrying footman as he ran back up the stairs carrying a tray loaded with food. As he passed, Nenani noticed the human portioned foods as well.

And plenty of it.

Her mother had been spending a large portion of her days with the King, but whatever they had been discussing was a mystery to her and for the most part, she had held no interest in it. But now she was beginning to have a nagging suspicion her person may be playing a significant role in those talks, but without the courtesy of being privy to them.

Abruptly, Yale jogged passed them with a quick, “Hey, Dumplin’, hey Lolly,” before joining Quinn near one of the work tables and helped him load finished raw pastries onto the peels and shoved them into the hot interior chambers of the ovens. Kol was at one of the other ovens, pulling finished ones out.

Lolly walked further into the kitchen and stood just outside the spice pantry’s green door, her free hand on her hip, toe tapping impatiently on the stop floor. Avery and Gjerk, who were at the hearth, looked on in confusion. When the door finally did open, Farris froze mid-step, a collection of parchment in one hand and a folded note in the other.

“Farris,” Lolly greeted the spice master in a deceptively calm voice.

“Lolly,” Farris replied, returning the greeting with a confused one as he eased passed her into the kitchen. He sat his papers down onto the table and began to add a few notes to the bottom of one.

Lolly walked alongside him and regarded him with a curt look. “Do you know where I found your ward just now, sir?”

“Not ‘a clue,” he said without pulling his attention from his current task. “But I’ll be bettin’ yer about to tell me, ain’t ye lass?”

“In the guards’ courtyard,” Lolly huffed. “With Rheil. He was teaching her fighting stances.”

“Oh?” he said with a laugh. “What ever th’ fuck fer?”

“Gods persevere me if I know.”

The kitchen master turned his head slightly to peer at Nenani, lips curled into an amused smile. “Lil’un?”

For her part, Nenani just shrugged. “...I was just curious.”

“Uh-huh. Curious,” Farris echoed dubiously. “Well, did ye learn anythin’ useful at least?”

“Farris! It’s entirely inappropriate!”

“Ah, yer over reactin’, lass,” he said, straightening his posture. “Rheil showin’ her where to stick her feet ain’t gonna make her suddenly wanna become a soldier and run off t’war. That’s just how lil’uns are when they’re her age. ‘Specially that one. Sticks her nose into everythin’.”

“It’s because of that dagger,” Lolly said flatly. “The one Nonna gave her.”

Farris regarded Lolly for a moment, seeming to only realize the degree of irritated that Lolly had worked herself into.

“That dagger also happens t’be part of her heritage,” Farris added pointedly.

Lolly paused and the muttered a low, “Well. Yes, I realize that, but...”

“Ye can’t blame her for wantin’ to know more about it, lass,” Farris said, turning to lean against the table’s edge and crossing his arms. “Remember, not but a few weeks ago we all thought she was an orphan. Now suddenly she has family she never knew she had and an entire new culture. Or what’s left of it. Might chafe yer sensibilities, but fer her, playin’ with knives is in her blood. Better she know how to do it so she don’t lob her damn fingers off, eh?”

Lolly glared at him. “You are far too comfortable with this, Farris.”

“Lolly,” Farris said with a sigh and eyeing her sternly. “If the worst that one gets up to is learning how to gut a fella with that dagger ‘a hers, I call that a success. And a whole lot less dangerous than the shit she’s been caught up in recently.”

“That’s not the point,” Lolly asserted. “She needs to start acting like a lady.”

Farris raised an eyebrow at her, then looked down at Nenani before returning his eye back to Lolly. “Just what do ye think she’s been all this time? A goat?”

“Don’t be dim, Farris,” she said. “You know what I mean.”

“She’s a lil’ girl. Just let her be.”

“She’ll be twelve in a few weeks,” Lolly said sternly, setting Nenani down onto the table. “And will have made her debut at court. Her title, status, and rank will be confirmed. And then she will have obligations and responsibilities and expectations. And then there’s the whole bloody matter of possible suitors...”

“Wait. What?” Farris growled. Throughout their conversation thus far, Farris had maintained a muted irritation with the occasional slip into amusement regarding the whole affair. But now he looked perfectly enraged. He glared at Lolly. “What in the seven hells do ye mean suitors? The lot of ye plannin’ to marry her off now? She’s a child fer fuck sake! I’ve got tea towels older than she is.”

To her credit, Lolly appeared as though she knew she had said too much was immediately began an attempt at backtracking. “No, we’re not. Nothing like that. It’s only...I just…” She sighed. “What I mean to say that…ugh. Never mind. I have things to do.”

With a twirl of her skirts, Lolly scampered back up the stairs, leaving a very confused Nenani and a very irritated Farris.

“The closer this dinner gets,” Nenani said to Farris with a look of apprehension. “The less I want to go...”

“Fuck, I don’t think I want ye to be goin’ neither,” he admitted.

“Can I hide down here?”

“I’ll clean out a cupboard fer ye t’ live in,” he said with a wry grin. From across the room, Quinn, Kol, and Yale were looking towards Farris.

“Did I just hear that right?” Quinn demanded.

“Are they really tryin’ to marry the Dumplin’ off?” Yale demanded incredulously. “What the fuck for?”

“She’s a babe!” Kol added.

“Besides,” Avery added. “Who’s there for her to even marry? All the Silvaaran nobles are dead or poor as mice.”

“Back to it, ye lot. Ain’t no one marryin’ no one off,” Farris growled and then scooped Nenani up. As he headed back into the spice pantry, he muttered angrily under his breath. “And the first bloody fucker they try and shove at ye, I’m breakin’ his damn legs.”

Nenani was not entirely sure if Farris was being facetious or he really would follow through with the threat.

#DUMPLING #g/t #g/t story #Giant/tiny #g/t fantasy story #Nenani #Rheil #Lolly #Farris

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rvdispatch · 3 years

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EPISODE TWO SUMMARY

Episode Two aired on May 7th, 2021, on MNet.

Episode Two gave us our first big challenge, dividing the trainees into teams and getting them to learn nine songs-- which songs they would be performing, however, wasn’t up to them. The goal of episode two was to see the trainees bonding, tensions rising, and to show how the trainees acting under significant pressure, seeing as this turned out to be the biggest challenge in the history of all three seasons. But little did they know, so much more was about to happen.

The episode started with the trainees waking up in the dorm. Shots were shown of various trainees getting ready, be it alone or in groups. Then producers lead them to the main stage, so they can be given their next challenge. Before that happens, however, each grade group votes for their team leader, with the results being Hwa as A grade leader, Ilhoon as B grade leader, Hope as C grade leader, and Minah as D grade leader.

When the challenge is announced, most trainees meet the description with a look of confusion– to help the viewers understand, MNet provides step-by-step graphics on how the episode play out. And then the teams are made. They are all are assigned a laptop with the songs, lyrics and choreography loaded and a room to practice in for the week, with many trainees noting in their confessionals that they had been given these songs to practice before the show started-- some of them revealing that they perfected the songs, and others revealing that they hadn’t practiced at all.

All the groups watch the nine performances together in their respective rooms, with competitors ranging from excited to focused to scared. The trainees from Liberty, in particular, seem especially stressed about learning so much choreography so quickly.

In Team One, Hyunjoo takes the reins as the natural leader of the group. Not only did he compete on the previous season, where they had a challenge much like this one, but he and Eunyeol are the only trainees in this group that aren’t foreigners, and Eunyeol is a Liberty trainee. Despite how Hyunjoo typically comes off, he is a very helpful and patient leader to his teammates, going the extra mile to re-coordinate choreography formations so everyone gets a part that they know somewhat well.

Team Two is definitely a little more split-- While Ilhoon, Minsuk and Inho all are familiar with working with each other, it leaves the other two trainees feeling a little left out. Ilhoon does his best to keep everyone included, but when the choreography is being put together, it’s clear that there’s a disconnect between the Higher trainees, and the other two.

Team Three skews particularly young, with Haebi, Kahoru and Shiyin all being underage and fairly new to being a trainee. With Hwa being primarily a vocal trainee, a lot of the pressure falls on Hope to lead, which adds added difficulty with the language barrier. All five members of this team seem very eager to do well, and after some big bumps in the road, they manage to figure out how to communicate efficiently.

Team Four is very split from the beginning. It’s clear that Mirae wants to take control, and in confessionals, Minah and Yoora both agree that Mirae is the most qualified, as she is the highest rank, however Taeri seems to fight her for control, causing Mirae to snap and tell her off. Tension are very high for the entire time they are rehearsing.

And then the show comes screeching to a halt. Many confessionals are shown of the trainees explaining what happened and why production shut down, as well as how they coped with it. And, whether or not they thought the show would return at all. The trainees get back to work, though, and it’s easy to see which trainees kept practicing during the break, and which ones gave up and are rusty. Finally, however, shots are shown of the audience filling into the building for performance day, and Adonis (as host) taking the stage.

The teams are all brought onstage. The host spins a wheel, and it picks Team One to go first. It is spun again, and Team Six is set to go against them. All teams are sent back to the dressing room to get ready for their respective first stages, and the host reveals that Juliette’s Lion Heart is first on the docket.

Team One performs first, and their hard work is apparent. Hyunjoo did a great job making sure any wobbly parts are hidden. This team has the vocals to pull this song off, too-- despite Hyunjoo’s voice being a little too deep and standing out a lot, this team does very well. Some of them fall into the trap of making feminine choreography a bit of a joke, but most of them try their best. Team Six does a fairly good job as well, however their vocals aren’t strong enough to do the song justice.

Teams Two and Three are picked to go next, with Team Two out to perform first-- their song being Merci’s Lady. Inho in particular really stands out; despite being the youngest competitor, he has a lot of confidence and charisma, and does Jiae’s part well. Team Two has the right attitude for the song, however they don’t have the vocal power-- the whistle note in particular being hard for their vocalists.

Team Three had the opposite issue-- with none of them being rappers, and most of them having language barriers, the rap parts left a lot to be desired. However Hope did a very good job carrying the chorus, with Yihwa proving once again that she is one of the strongest vocalists in the competition.

Team Four and Five are the last to perform, with their first song being Pirate King. Team Four has some trouble with choreography, with many of them noticeably lagging behind Mirae, who for her part, did the song very well. Team Four’s inexperience and lack of synergy overall brought the song down. Team Five wasn’t memorable, but they put in a solid effort.

None of the winners of the matchups are shown– MNet keeps that footage until the end of the episode, to build suspense. While in real time, the trainees got to watch their stages after the first day, it is edited so that all nine matchups are first, trainee reactions are second, and the rank and matchup winners are last.

The editors continue as if it were the same day, and Team Four and Team One await onstage as their song is picked– Love Me Right. The production team has a fun time squaring up trainees against each other, with Mirae and Hyunjoo competing, as well as Eli and Mint. Team Four performs first, and while the choreography still seems a little out of some of their leagues, they have an easier time with this one than on day one. Thet has some trouble carrying the song, however Mirae nails the vibe of Love Me Right and gives an engaging performance. Team One does equally well, with the hosts calling this one one of the most even matchups yet. Hyunjoo, like Mirae, seems to fit the song very well, and his extra work with the formations shines through once more-- while the choreo is clunky, it’s disguised.

Team Two and Team Six both perform Venus’ Breakthrough. Adonis comments that this is one of the least well-known songs on the docket for this week, which could prove to be difficult, seeing as the other songs might be ones trainees practiced at their companies for evals.

Team Two goes first. While they do a very good job and their choreography in particular is top notch, Eda critiques Inho specifically, telling him that while he is a very good rapper, he went too hard for this song, and that beign a good rapper also includes tone and knowing when to go hard and when to be softer to suit the music. In a closed-door meeting between the judges, She comments on how she personally thinks a bit of unintentional misogyny is at play, with Inho not wanting to sound too feminine, or thinking this style of rap isn’t good (though she clarifies that she’s just speculating). Team Six is full of Venus fans, and while they do a good job, they get a little to excited, and their stage is a little sloppy

Team Three and Team Five compete with Empire’s Bang Bang Bang. In a confessional, Hope says that this was the song she wanted to do the least, since Kyuyeol and DK were both judges, and would be nitpicking people doing their own song. Team Three notably shifts the line distribution around, splitting both Prince and DK’s parts so that Yihwa gets the power notes and Hope gets the lower difficulty ones, and it works to their favor, with this team performing a near perfect stage. Team Five does well, but they had a particularly hard act they had to follow.

As for day three, the performances start with Team Two and Team Four performing I Am The Best by Reign. This is Team Four’s best stage, with Yuan commenting that it’s likely because of the less difficult choreography. Kyuyeol states that they had the right sort of confidence for this stage, and for this song in particular, that was what was most important. As for Team Two, the boys from Higher do well, but the other two lag behind. Adonis comments that since they are from Higher, they’ve likely had to perform this song before, and that it showed-- their performance came out a little hollow.

Team Five and Six go head to head with Inferno’s Devil next. Both performances are mediocre at best.

Finally, to finish off the performances, Team One and Team Three perform Haze’s Electric Shock. This is Team One’s best performance-- it’s the easiest choreography they’ve had to do yet, and while Hyunjoo’s voice is a touch too deep for the song, they all seem to be having a lot of fun. It’s a tight race, though-- Team Three has the same amount of fire and bubbliness to their performance, with DK mentioning that this one is going to be a photo finish.

MNet plays the shots of the trainees watching their own performances back, and then more random clips are thrown in too. The trainees are gathered in the Main Stage area with the coaches and the host, to see who won each match up. The votes for each trainee are to appear on the screen one by one, and then at the end, the overall tallies, to indicate who won.

For Lion Heart, Eli got the most votes, with Team One winning the match. For Lady, Hwa gets the most votes, however Team Two brings home the win. For Pirate King, Mirae gets the most votes as well as the win for Team Four. For Love Me Right, Mirae gets the most votes once more, but Team One wins. For Breakthrough, Minsuk gets the most votes and Team Two bags another win. For Bang Bang Bang, Hope gets the most votes and the win for Team Three For I Am the Best, Mirae once again is voted the highest, and Team Four wins. For Devil, Xueying gets the most votes, and Team Five gets their first W For Electric Shock, Hyunjoo gets the most votes, however Team Three wins.

The ranking is then revealed to the trainees and the audience, and the episode ends.

#rivalzip #ip3 episode 002

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revisionaryhistory · 3 years

Text

Three Days ~ 72

~*~Sebastian~*~

Yes, I gave Emma a key on her way out the door and told her to keep it. Pretty chickenshit, huh? Only it's not. I gave her a key on her way out the door and told her to keep it because it's not a big deal. There's no reason to have a conversation. I had my mom drive me to the back of the school where I put my shit in her vehicle. I knew the code and thought nothing of stowing my suitcase. I realize my apartment is different than a vehicle. Again, except it's not. The thought of her calling or, fuck, knocking on the door when she came back, did not feel right. And if I was in the shower, what was she going to do, sit outside the door and knock occasionally? Fuck no. So, I gave her a key.

The worst thing Emma would do is show up before I got home and rearrange some drawers and leave some cabinets open. Speaking of drawers, I cleared out a couple for her. The first thing I did after she left was to go into my bedroom and unpacked her suitcase, which I then shoved in the hall closet. The last time she was here I liked her things mixed in with mine. Still true. Her dresses hanging in my closet, shampoo in my shower, and the toothbrush I'd held hostage all made me smile.

Everything about Emma made me smile.

I got back to work only to be interrupted by a text from Will telling me Alissa was having lunch with Angie and Emma. Oh good, I might get to have another fun conversation. After the group chat with Alissa and Kirk I was confident that wouldn't happen. By the time we were done, I think they understood they could have fucked things up. Luckily Emma came to me. Plus, I learned how different my behavior looked to friends. Nothing I could do about that and in the end, it turned out well.

Before I knew it, I heard a key in my front door. The expected thrill from that was better than I imagined. I put everything down with a plan for her to return to my lap. Plan was blown when Emma and Angie struggled through the door carrying an obscene number of bags. So many colors, sizes, and store names on so many bags.

I stood to help, taking from one of her hands, "What the fuck did you two do?"

Emma stretched up onto her toes and kissed me, "I have a problem."

"You ran out of stores?"

"No." She glared at me. "Sometimes the stars align. Free time in the city on a beautiful day for shopping. My best friend for company and to stop me from buying a fashion faux pas. A boyfriend who has an appreciation for me in nice things. And an impending trip to France."

Angie added, "Stores with new inventory. And a tequila lunch to impair our impulse control at that adorable shop you two found."

I lined the bags up on our dance floor. "I think you two are dangerous. You don’t reign each other in."

They laughed, “Yes we do." Both waved a hand over the bags and Emma said, "This could have been much worse."

Just looking at the bags and glimpses of their contents I guessed there were many hundreds of dollars in my living room. I liked how she shopped. "Show me everything." This buying spree was all me. Show tonight, first date, and five days in Paris. "I’m excited.” Her trying on everything in a just for me fashion show would have to wait for another time.

I oohed and awwed and made cringey faces with each outfit. The pair had a similar style, with Emma's being kicked up a notch. She took more risks. "Which will you be torturing me with tonight?"

Emma stuck her tongue out with a huge grin, "Which do you want?"

I felt my dirty smirk, "You know which one." My pants felt a little tighter with just the thought.

Angie waved, "I don't."

"You'll have to wait."

Angie looked from Emma to me, "I'd warn you to be careful what you ask for, but I think you can handle the strain."

"Or die trying." I shrugged.

We sat down, laughing and talking until Angie noticed the time. "Shit."

Soundcheck at six, doors at seven, then music at eight. The second group on at ten-thirty.

"Can you get ready here and go over with us?" It made no sense for her to round trip to Brooklyn when Bowery Ballroom was ten minutes away on a bad night.

Angie looked at Emma, "Do you have shoes?"

Emma nodded.

I stood up, "Let me shower then you two can have the bedroom."

Emma stood, "I'll grab my stuff and we’ll start in the guest bath." She followed me into the bedroom, where she attempted to tackle me onto my bed. I let her. She pushed me to my back and stretched out on me. "Did you have a good day?"

First things first. I kissed her, resting my hands on her ass. "I did. Not as good as you."

"Then I will make sure you have a good night."

"That sounds fun."

Emma kissed me, her tongue seeking out mine. I left one hand on her ass and sunk the other in her hair I didn't let her go the first time she tried to push away. I wasn't ready. The second time I eased my grip and she stayed up on her arms hovering over me for several seconds. I cocked my head and pulled down my eyebrows. She smiled and lowered for a soft kiss, “I love you."

"I love you."

Emma stood up and walked to where she'd put her bag. "Umm, Sebastian?"

I'd taken off my shirt, working on my shorts, "I unpacked."

"You unpacked me?" She looked a little surprised.

"I did." I walked into the bathroom naked. "Makeup and stuff in here. Clothes in some drawers."

She followed me, "Thank you." Emma's fingers trailed down my chest, stopping below my navel.

"Would you believe me if I said I don't like bags on the floor?"

"No."

I touched my lips to hers, staying close, "Smart girl." I pulled open the shower door, "Get away from me or we'll be late."

She pinched my ass with a laugh before grabbing her stuff and leaving.

I've given up drawer space before. Having someone dig clean panties out of a suitcase after you fucked her is shitty if she's staying longer than a weekend. I didn't think giving her drawers warranted a conversation either. However, now that she's home and I'm alone in the shower my overthinking brain wonders. It would have to wait.

The ladies were dressing up, but I was not. The Bowery is a big hot room shoved full of people. When I'd been there, one side of the mezzanine was roped off for a VIP area with tables and bar service. There's no way in hell Kirk won’t have a section for friends and family for him to hold court in. Still, it's a rock show. I pulled on a pair of jeans, a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of boots. Brushed my teeth, threw some product in my hair, and prepared to evacuate the space. I yelled down the hall, "Ladies, room is yours.” I heard them gathering and coming my way. I waited until they were in the room before holding out my arms, "Do I look acceptable?"

Emma stopped with a smile, "You look wonderful."

Angie shook her head, "Uh uh, she's wearing black. You’re too dark and you’ll blend."

I wasn't a stranger to complementary dressing for a date. "The blue’s not different enough?"

"Too dark a blue. On the mezzanine it'll look black."

I looked for Emma who was sitting on the bed, "Don't look at me. I wear tour shorts to dad's shows and Jimmy wasn’t about to change from his collared shirts."

Angie laughed, "His style was pretentious asshole." She thought a second, "I'd say white for a stark contrast or a red. Even though red is darker it’s a good look. Red and black is better than navy and black."

Emma raised her hand.

Angie called on her, "Yes, Emiliana."

"Ms. Angie, I would like to vote red." Of course, she would.

Angie looked at me, "How does Mr. Seb feel about the request?"

"I feel like my girlfriend is making me her own personal eye candy." The two ladies looked at each other aghast. I snickered, "I approve because I got input on the dress." I ducked onto the closet and pulled out the exact red shirt Emma wanted. Our second date and her first visit I opened the door in it. I held it out, "Better." They nodded. I handed the red one to Angie, handed the navy one to Emma, and took the red from Angie. They were shifting eyes from each other and me. I stood there looking between them.

"Do we pay you for the strip show?" I liked Angie playing with me like I did Chris, Will, and Chace goofing off with Emma.

I shook my head, "No, but tips are appreciated." I glanced at the clock, "We need to be out in thirty minutes if we don’t want to be late."

"We'll be ready."

"You both already look beautiful. Your clothes are in the right three drawers." Emma nodded with a smile and I leaned over on one foot to kiss her, "Love you."

Emma threw out, "Te iubesc, Sebasti-an."

I shivered, "I'll be waiting by the window.”

I was out the door when I heard Angie. "He's not emotionally unavailable. He's crazy in love."

I yelled back, "Thanks for your confidence."

I forgot the best friend was in the room when Alissa and Kirk were dropping bombs. We're way past that now. If Angie had doubts I couldn’t blame her. She'd be the one to deal with any destruction I caused. I was going to bust my balls not to. I may not be the best at giving myself credit for my good points, but I’m not stupid. Most of the time.

The longer it took them to come out the antsier I got. Emma doesn't take this long to get ready. Either they're talking more than getting ready or she's doing something complicated. No idea which.

Twenty minutes in Angie came down the hall. She'd curled her hair and had on the bright red dress she'd bought today. It was fitted, short, and off the shoulder. I whistled, "Sexy. Your husband will like."

Angie smiled, "Thank you. He likes red."

"Looks good on you." I laughed. "I can see why Eli never disputed the throuple thing. I'm going to enjoy walking in with two of you."

"Yeah, he ate that up. I'm sure he felt like his single self again. Threesomes with fans were his thing. Every night on tour and when they played locally."

I didn't know what to say. Part of me was impressed. I'd had threesomes, but every night? They're fun, but there's a lot of things going on all at once. Unless you just lay back and enjoy the attention. I think I'll stop now.

Angie read something on my face. She shook her head, "I tell you this to say that Eli was a very different person before we met. People change. People want different things in different relationships. Sometimes things they didn’t know they wanted. Eli was very different with me than those who came before me. You get to be different too."

Did not expect that. She had her butt on the window sill beside me. I leaned over and kissed her cheek, "Thank you."

She nodded with a smile, "You're welcome." Angie chuckled, "Eli's friends, especially the band, struggled with the changes. Then Boone met this cute little twink and discovered he was gay. Eli's changes were comparatively minuscule."

We were still laughing when Emma came into the room. I stopped laughing and mumbled, "Fuck."

Emma curtsied, "Thank you."

Emma's little black dress was... wow. The top looked like it had a built-in bra that lifted her breasts and showed an enticing amount of cleavage. Straps were far to the side, almost under her arms and straight over her shoulder. There was another pair of straps that connected at the corner of the dress and shoulder strap. They went diagonal across her chest and connected to a thicker collar around her neck. Triangles of bare skin showed off breasts and collar bones. It was the collar that would keep my attention for the skin in covered. Emma's favorite place to be kissed was hidden. What had taken them so long was her hair. Usually, she puts smooth curls into her naturally wavy hair. Tonight her hair was long and straight. It hung over one shoulder and was inches longer than when curled.

I stood from the window sill and stepped toward her while plotting where my hands went. I think one to her waist to feel the tight stretch of material over her body and the other is going for her hair. The material was thick and soft. It had the structure to hold everything in place. Up close I could see the black underwire on the bra and the soft swell of her breasts blooming over the top. I had plans for kissing there. I pulled up a strand of hair close to her temple and ran my fingers through to the end, well past her breasts. She wore more makeup than usual, still beautiful, but I didn’t want to mess her up. I pulled her bottom lip between mine and ran my tongue over. I kept her close as I pulled from her lips, "Beautiful doesn’t cover it, Emma."

M-am gandit la tine toata ziua, Sebasti-an. <I've been thinking of you all day.>

“Mă voi gândi la tine toată noaptea. Fiind în interiorul tău, gustându-te.” <I'll be thinking of you all night. Being inside you, tasting you.>

From beside us I heard, "I don't know what he said, but from the tone it's dirty." Angie took Emma's hand from my shoulder and led her away. "You can translate later. I need to go say dirty things to my husband."

Ten minutes later we were at the Bowery Ballroom. Angie had texted Eli to meet us at the door. A guy wearing a "STAFF" t-shirt opened the door and asked if we knew where we were going. Angie and Emma nodded. I shrugged. I hadn't been here in years and had forgotten that once inside you went down a set of stairs to a low ceilinged bar. Past the bathrooms, you went upstairs to the main floor. A larger bar was at the opposite end from the stage. There were stairs on either side leading to the balcony. There were black cases opened on the floor in front of the stage. That’s when it hit me. This was her world, not mine.

I could feel the excitement rolling off Emma. She looked over to me, her smile wide, and I squeezed her hand. Eli jumped off the stage, kissing Angie before greeting us. The other band had taken longer to soundcheck and they were running behind.

Emma looked around, "Where is Keaton?" Eli pointed up. She added, "Mia here?"

"Not yet."

"We'll see you up there." Emma led me to a hallway to the right of the stage and up another set of stairs, talking as we walked. "Keaton opened for Pearl Jam many years ago and then the last tour. He and Mia had just gotten together the first time. Now they have two kids. They like to tell their story to new people. It's fun."

At the top of the stairs, I stopped, pulling her hand back to me. "I love how excited you are. You know this world, how it works." Her confidence going into a backstage area was evident. She knew what she was doing, where she was "I want to see you backstage at a Pearl Jam concert. I bet you’re treated like royalty."

She smiled, "Staff and the longtime fans are protective, you don't fuck with the Vedder women. Even on fan sites and social media friends and family are treated with respect. People are quick to be put in their place or kicked out. None of the guys put up with shit. Ed calls people out from stage. But I’m not anybody here"

I didn't believe that for a second. She is Eddie Vedder's daughter. I bet she's treated with respect here too, partly because if she’s not, the band will never open for PJ again. I was getting increasingly proud and excited being with her here. Excited for me to experience something I didn't know from the inside.

Top of the stairs was a security guard. First one I'd seen since we arrived. He was bigger than me, but not by much. Beefy Civil War Bucky could have taken him easy. This guy had a clipboard and a list.

"Name?"

I let her handle this. Her name, one of her options, held more weight than mine. Emma smiled, "Emiliana Vedder."

He looked up from his list, eyeing her slowly, "I'm a huge Pearl Jam fan. You need anything you find me. I’m Dylan."

“Thank you, Dylan."

Dylan pointed down the hall.

I laid my hand on her hip. Without her, I didn't belong here. Part of my brain was enjoying being second to her in this world. I wasn’t as thrilled when I was second in the acting world. That felt like competition. This feels like fun. No pressure or networking for me. Hollywood and music were built on knowing and improving your place in the food chain. I think she's at the top of this food chain. Not that it matters, but I can’t help thinking this way. When I walk into a party or event I am immediately checking for who I know and who I want to know.

Short hall to an open door, Emma called out as we got closer, "Hope you're decent."

A deep voice with a New York accent answered, "Have you ever known me to be decent?"

"Ok, just not naked?"

We went through the door and the owner of the voice came toward us. "Close enough."

The man was taller than me, had long skinny legs, and a strong upper body. He wasn't in a shirt, but he had enough chest chair to count as a sweater. He went straight for my girl, wrapping her into a tight hug. "It's been too long." He stepped back and looked her over more closely than I liked, "You are bloody fucking gorgeous. If I didn't have Mia I’d be taking you home with me tonight"

Emma laughed, "I think he might object." She nodded in my direct.

Keaton’s attention turned to me, "Lucky bastard." He held out a hand, "Keaton."

"Sebastian. Nice to meet you."

Keaton introduced the others in the band. Kevin spoke when done, "Can we call you Bucky?"

"Not if you want me to answer." My canned response sets a limit and gets a laugh. And they did laugh.

My thinking had been correct. Emma was the star of our couple tonight. They caught up and Emma filled them in on what Ed was doing before attention turned to me. The questions weren't about Marvel. They wanted to know about the weightless stuff in The Martian and making out with Margot Robbie. Stacy, Kevin's wife, wanted to talk about Once Upon a Time.

We talked over the soundcheck going on below only interrupted by the arrival of a pixie sized woman coming into the room. She looked over all of us, seemed to wink at Emma, then locked eyes with Keaton, "Hey, Rockstar."

Keaton stood to go to her, "Cheerleader." They met for a kiss that I could feel.

Emma pointed, "That's Mia." Everyone else went back to talking and out of the corner of my eye I could see the couple stop kissing to talk then start kissing again. No one paying attention told me this wasn't unusual. They didn’t break apart until Eli and company came through the door and only then because Kirk pushed Keaton away so he could hug Mia.

With the moment gone Keaton joined the rest of us, grabbing a backpack before he sat down. Mia followed less than a minute later, pulling Emma off the couch, "So excited when Keaton told me you were coming."

They hugged and Emma said, " We've got some catching up to do."

Mia looked at me, "Yes, we do."

I stood while Emma laughed, "Mia this is Sebastian."

"Nice to... oh" I was surprised when Mia pulled me into a hug, "meet you."

Mia stepped back, "Sorry, I'm a hugger."

"Me too." I smiled, "It’s nice to meet you."

A voice came from the doorway. The same man who had let us in, "Doors open."

Eli nodded, "Thanks, Bill."

Bill moved out of the way as a server with a large tray of shot glasses came into the room. Everyone took one and Eli asked him to close the door as he left. I was in the middle of a tradition and followed along. Eli held up his glass, "Good friends, good music, good times."

Keaton added, "And a night we'll never forget, except the parts we can't remember."

Everyone drank. Keaton pulled a joint out of the smaller bag he’d pulled from his backpack and lit up. I guess we'd be marking get high together off our couple's Bingo card. The joint got to Emma first and she inhaled deeply. I took a kiss as she handed it off to me. The smoke hit my lungs and it was like they remembered, opening up to pull in a memory. I'd hadn't had a cigarette in years, a heavy habit that had been hard to break. My pot usage varied. More social than solo and it had been awhile. Thinking back, I hadn't been high since we'd met. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly with a smile, "Pot makes me horny."

I heard laughter and opened my eyes. They were laughing at Emma, whose arms were up like she was signaling a touchdown.

Eli was looking at me, "When are you not?"

I started to protest then pulled back, "Good point.” Emma was signaling another touchdown. I pulled her arms down. "Why are you acting like you never get laid?"

All four women shook their heads. Stacy had just handed off to Mia, "That’s celebrating the good sex to come."

I could already feel the mellowing out and my smile felt slow, "Ok, that's good, or it will be."

Emma put her arm over my shoulder and kissed my cheek, "Very good."

Mia pointed back and forth between us, "How long has this been going on?"

I went in with the answer, "A month on Monday."

Keaton, Kevin, and JP looked at each other with a low growl, "New couple sex is such a fun crapshoot. You gotta try everything at least twice."

Kirk snickered, "That’s two birthdays, Seb."

I flipped him off.

Keaton had a shit-eating grin on his face, "My Mia doesn't get horny. She gets touch hungry and I can play that to turn in to horny.”

Angie threw her hand out toward Emma, "Also gets touch hungry and a dirty mind. If she can stop laughing."

JP started laughing, "Oh yeah, remember Iowa?

Emma shook her head violently, "Nothing good happened in Iowa. Iowa was a disaster with bright moments."

I leaned in, "I wanna hear this. I'm envious of tour stories." They went quiet, "Who's going to start?'

Emma huffed out a breath, "Iowa was a festival in the front yard of a water company. It was muddy, hot, and in the middle of nowhere. Pearl Jam was the headliner. There were several other acts. Keaton, Neon Trees, Hanson, Adam Lambert. I wanted to meet Adam. Dad said not alone. I took Keaton."

Keaton picked up the story, "Adam is a fucking wall wrapped in leather and spikes. Imposing. I take her to his trailer, he's smoking, and we join. The conversation got filthy fast. They were making plans."

Emma took over, "They were imaginary threesome plans. Very detailed. Keaton was all in until he figured out this threesome had him as the center of attention, not me. Adam turned it on and Keaton thought leaving me with Adam was safer than him staying."

I laughed, "You bailed!"

“The plans had gotten too specific and he's big. You know what I mean." He shivered, "I went back and got stoned with Ed. That’s fucking nirvana every time. Who doesn’t dream of getting stoned with Pearl Jam."

I pouted, "I haven’t met him."

Emma sang, "Christmas."

Eli picked up, "You’re going to Hawaii?"

I nodded.

"Maybe don't tell him getting high makes you horny."

"Let's get stoned so I can fuck your daughter is a bad idea?" We were all laughing again. I was not going to do that.

Emma stood and went toward the refrigerator. I glared at Kirk and he followed her. He needed to apologize. Keaton went for his guitar, "He’s very protective."

The musicians started getting ready. Changing clothes, adding deodorant, and last trips to the bathroom. People shifted from sitting to standing and between pods of people. Emma and Kirk were still in the corner by the fridge. I joined Keaton and Kevin and heard more about Iowa. Emma was right, it was a disaster, but they had fun. Another joint went around and I noticed what a strange word Iowa was. It has too many vowels. Also realized[LW1] I didn't know where it was, "Is that one of the square states?"

Since we were high things were funnier than they actually were. Like my question.

"You skip fourth grade?" Keaton snickered.

"I was in Austria in fourth grade."

"No shit!"

I laughed at his expression. "Romania, Austria, then here."

Keaton sighed, "I fucking loved Prague."

"That’s the Czech Republic.”

"Not Romania?" He shook his head slowly as he spoke.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

I pointed to myself and said emphatically, "Romanian."

"Well, fuck me. I thought it was Romania."

"Don't give me shit about not knowing Iowa."

We laughed so hard and so long we were holding onto each other with tears running down our cheeks.

Heaving for breath Keaton got out, "Squarish state attached to the Chicago state. At the bottom. West."

"Thank you."

We kept laughing until I felt hands on my waist slide around on my stomach. I knew it was Emma, but since I was stoned, I glanced at the hands just to be sure. What was coming would be bad if it wasn't her. Emma's touch hunger and my horniness were an incendiary combination.

I raised one arm to turn in that direction. Emma loosened her hold enough to allow me to face her. I put my hands on her face diving straight into a kiss. Our tongues met and her fingers dug into my back. She tasted of weed and tequila. I couldn't get enough of all three.

I heard Keaton's voice behind me, "Time to go, Seb."

I peeled myself away from my girl and took her hand. Since this wasn't a true opener and main act sort of thing the non-performing group would be upstairs with the rest of us. As we filed out of the room, we passed by Kirk who was holding a small bowl of gummy bears. The edible would kick in as the joint was fading and see us through the night.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction #sebastian stan X ofc #marvel actor fanfiction

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targaryenimagines · 5 years

Text

Reign

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,022

Summary:

Warnings: None

A/N: This is Dany's side of the story.

"Khaleesi it isn't safe," Tyrion pleads, his desperate voice bouncing off the stone walls of the hall.

"I never believed that it was," Daenerys says, coolly, her voice coming out with perfect disinterest. "But, I need allies and the Island of Videvik is the most powerful army we could have by our side."

Tyrion sighs despondent at the words that ring softly down the hall. "They're the most powerful, Daenerys, but they're also the most dangerous. There is a reason that they've been left alone for so long. They don't want any outsiders coming in, and they make sure to keep it that way."

"I know you think me a fool Tyrion, but please believe me when I say that I'm not going there blindly or without protection. My children will be by my side throughout it all, and you know how Drogon gets when he perceives any danger that could be a potential threat to me," Daenerys says as she stops in front of the council rooms door. Turning towards her dear friend and advisor who was still nervously fidgeting. She could tell that he was clearly displeased by her lack of caution when it came to her safety. Offering a slight smile she rests her hand on his shoulder. Trying to show him without words that there was nothing to be afraid of. Her faith in her children and the men she was taken was unwavering, and she hopes Tyrion will see that.

Bowing his head Tyrion speaks with resignation laced within his tone. “Of course, Khaleesi, I will trust your judgement and try not to interfere too much.” Daenerys allows a warm smile to spread across her lips at his acceptance, but as she moves to step into the council room Tyrion grabs her arm. His hold gentle but an underlying tone of urgency made it like iron. His words only showing what his grip was trying to keep hidden. The fear that he had for her and the worry that came with it. “Please be careful, Dany.”

“Always.”

-----

The wind is like a siren song against her ears. The sound only being able to come to fruition when on dragon back. When a person was high enough in the heavens to feel like they were apart of it. The sweet whistling tone was melodic in its embrace. It was like a fine wine that only got better with time. The sound was the sound of home and it filled her with a sense of belonging. A feeling that she hadn’t had for a very long time.

A small smile curls her lips when Drogon gives a soft hum. The sound seamlessly joining the beautiful song that wrapped around her. Rhaegal and Viserion soon joining their brother in the music only they could hear. The air was starting to come alive with dragon song, and it was a beautiful thing to behold. For so long the world had been deprived of it and now it was getting to hear it once more. Something that fills her heart with a sense of warmth and happiness. A feeling that only her children could ever invoke in her.

Turning her head she looks down at the ground below her. The sparkling water of the Narrow Sea shining underneath the sun. Causing the blues and greys to glow with an ethereal light. It was a sight that took her breath away for she had never seen such a sight before. A thought that causes a fond feeling to wash over her body as it reminds her of Tyrion. The man who had teased her about getting lost in her observations of the world. Saying that she was in her head more than any scholar and that she had to be careful about it. Stating that she should never be distracted in public because the moment her guard was down someone would strike. That no matter what she should always be somewhat wary of people that she is not familiar with.

It was advice that he kept reminding her of as she was getting ready for this trip. His worry and overall fear for her driving him to nag her, and if he was anyone else she would have snapped at him. However, he was not anyone else he was her Hand and one of her most trusted advisers. She could tell that he was nagging her because he was worried. A fact that warms her heart because Viserys never worried about her in the sense of her actual wellbeing. He cared what she was doing because she was an integral part in his plan to get back the throne. It had nothing to do with his brotherly bond to her or his fear for her safety. So having Tyrion actually worry about her filled her with warmth, which is why she didn’t care that he was nagging her. He was doing it because he cares for her and that is all she could ever ask for. Not that Missandei was any better when she learned about the planned trip, but she was much more soft-spoken about it. A thought that causes her smile to have a softer edge.

She wishes that her best friend was able to make the trip with her, but Daenerys knows how dangerous it is. She had no other preconceived notion than that. There was a reason why no one ever returned from Videvik. She knows that many believe her impaired by wanting to go there, but she needs the allies. She needs to have people that she can trust, and she knows that the inhabitants of Videvik are strong and hardy people. However they were, more importantly, loyal to anyone that gained their trust. Something that Daenerys wants nothing more than to earn.

She had to earn it because if she didn't… she has no idea what will happen to her and her men.

There could be no other alternative. If not for her for the people she brought along. She refuses to let them die for her like this. Against their will and without any idea that it was about to befall them. She had a duty as their leader to protect them.

By the Seven Hells she was going to, or die trying.

-----

Daenerys paces the length of the hall she had been told to wait in. Her nerves causing her hands to fidget by her side. Something she tries to rectify by clenching them, but soon her fists started bouncing on her thighs. Finally, with a sigh, Daenerys sits down on one of the chairs against the wall. Her eyes trained on the window opposite her. Trying desperately to not think about the potential executioner that could be heading her way.

She isn't always old fashioned, but Daenerys does prefer her head when it's attached to her body. A thought that brings amusement rushing through her body. Tyrion would be proud of her cynicism in the face of this danger. Though he would probably be angry at her for getting herself in this situation to begin with.

A feeling that comes to a screeching halt as the door swings open. A woman stepping through in a floor length dress that reminds her of Valyrian fashion. Daenerys meets the woman's intense gaze and tries not to fidget.

Instead Daenerys stands with her back straight and a charming smile on her lips. Trying to show that while she is trying to be cordial she was also there on business. Meaning that although she didn't want to be disrespectful towards the woman before her she couldn't allow herself to appear weak.

To appear complacent in the face of adversity.

No, that was something she had to be with Viserys. She refuses to be so again and she will try her best to never be again. Daenerys believes that she can be polite and courteous without bending over backwards for them. If she had to do that she would let herself be killed.

A Khaleesi doesn't beg or plead, but she does make allies and that's exactly what she was going to do.

"So you're the Breaker of Chains?" the woman asks, her voice bouncing off the walls. Her gaze still leveled with Daenerys's own. As if she was assessing her and Daenerys had to fight the urge to once again fidget. Instead she opts to respond to the question that was given to her.

"I am."

At her confirmation Daenerys watches as something relaxes in the woman. Her eyes turning soft and a small smile curling at her lips. With a few graceful strides the woman is suddenly in front of Daenerys. Her scent washing over her in an intoxicating cloud. Daenerys has to fight herself from inhaling too deeply at the scent.

However, despite being relaxed by the woman's scent, Daenerys still tenses when her soft hand touches her bare shoulder. Not used to being touched in such a manner without proper warning or foresight. Something that the woman seems to be aware of by the way her smile grows.

With a warm squeeze the woman speaks. Her eyes sparkling with warmth and happiness. Both of which exude into her tone causing Daenerys to liken it to honey. "Then, your grace, welcome to Videvik. How can we help you?"

The question only causes Daenerys's own smile to appear. Her shoulders sagging in relief at the words. Thanking the gods that this didn't end in disaster.

-----

Daenerys opens her eyes and stares at the throne with a soft smile. Her eyes sparkling with happiness at the sight. She couldn't believe that was in front of her. After so long of fighting and surviving she was finally here. She was standing in front of the throne her family had built.

A founder smile pulls at her lips as she thinks of the reason. It was all because of her love and her army. Once Videvik had joined her ranks none of her enemies stood a chance. The alliance between the queen of Videvik and Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen was a sight to behold. Not that many lived to tell the tale of it.

However, her army wasn't the only thing she earned from the alliance. She found her true love in every way in the queen. Her love, her mate was everything to her. For she was kind and caring to those she protected and cared for, but fierce and cold to those she didn't. She was compassionate and loving without being too overbearing. She was everything and more to Daenerys, and the Khaleesi felt so lucky to have her in her life. Daenerys couldn't think of a better person to rule by her side.

She just wishes that the start of her reign started better. The thought of it brings a pit of despair back into fruition. Daenerys wishes that she had realized what was happening before it was too late, but she hadn't and because of her mistake hundreds of innocent people were killed. Daenerys closes her eyes and wishes that she would have noticed the barrels. The barrels that contained something more volatile than dragon fire.

Wildfire.

Daenerys can still see the green flames tearing through King's Landing. She can still hear the screams of her people as they were engulfed by it. She can still feel the heat of the flames on her skin as she tried to rescue people. She can still smell the ash that clogs the air. She can still feel the despair and anguish that permeated the air. All because she hadn't noticed the barrels.

With a sigh Daenerys opens her eyes once more and tries to control her grief. She was going to honor all of the people that died, and make sure their families were taken care of. It was the least she could do for what she did.

Approaching footsteps pulls Daenerys out of her thoughts. Turning she can see the burly figure of Jon Snow approaching her. Allowing a small smile to appear on her lips Daenerys approaches the man. Her eyes sparkling with warmth at the sight of the man.

"Jon I'm glad to see that you weren't hurt," she says as she stops in front of him. Her eyes assessing him, despite her words, for any injuries however small.

She watches as a small grimace makes its way onto his face, and couldn't help the frown that flashes across her own. She watches as his eyes flash conflicting emotions. As if he was trying to decide something, and Daenerys watches with horror beginning to spread across her body as his hand drop to his side.

Backing up Daenerys stares at Jon with an aghast expression. Her eyes not believing what she was seeing. The man she considered a close friend was planning to kill her, and she knows that she doesn't have a chance. She's unarmed and alone in the throne room. Drogon was resting after the day's event, and she knows he won't be able to get to her in time.

She meets Jon's gaze and can see the pain that's starting to grow in them. She can see the way his hand trembles slightly with the weight of his emotions. It was a sight that gave Daenerys hope that he may not do it. That he may talk to her instead of killing her. That they would be able to get through this without bloodshed.

Taking another step back, towards the throne, Daenerys raises her hands. Trying to show Jon that she wasn't a threat. While desperately trying to figure out what to do. In the back of her mind she can feel Drogon's shifting emotions. She can tell that he was waking up and was becoming aware of what was happening. She could feel the fear he had for her. The worry that was festering inside of him, and she knows she has to stay breathing for just a little longer. Drogon would be by her and she would be protected. She knows that her son would never let anything harm her.

Focusing her gaze back on Jon she knows what she has to do. She has to keep him occupied at least until Drogon arrived. Daenerys begins to speak her words coming out in a soft whisper.

"Jon you don't have to do this. Please think about the repercussions that this will cause," she says, her voice taking a begging lilt despite herself. Though she couldn't bring herself to care. All she could think about was the fact that she would be leaving her son and love. That the man she entrusted her life with was going to kill her.

"I'm sorry, Dany, but there is no other way," Jon responds, his own words softer than Daenerys ever thought possible. They hit her in the chest all the same. The weight of them crushing her. Daenerys could feel tears starting to prick her eyes. Assassin's have been around her for her entire life. She had been fearful for her life for as long as she could remember, but she's never reacted like this before. She's never felt as crushed as she does now, because Jon Snow wasn't some hired mercenary. He was her friend, she trusted him and this was how he repaid her. With a knife figuratively in her back and literally in her heart.

Taking another step back Daenerys tries to find her words, but none come to her. Everything leaving her in the moment she needs them the most. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Blood rushing in her ears at a deafening rate. She could feel the soft touch of the wind against her skin. Can feel the way the stone of the dais underneath her shift. She can feel the moment her heart breaks as Jon begins to move towards her. His eyes showing his remorse but his movements fluid as he pulls out his dagger. The metal shining in the dying light of the day.

Daenerys feels her heart stutter as Jon stops in front of her. His brown eyes leveled with her violet and she wishes that it was someone else. That Jon wasn't the one doing this. She wishes that her love was with her. That she could hold her one last time. Daenerys wishes that she was able to say goodbye to Drogon. That she was able to hold him one last time because she wasn't able to do that with either Viserion or Rhaegal.

She wishes that she had more time.

Staring in brown orbs Daenerys allows her eyes to slip shut. Not wanting to look at the executioner standing in front of her. She doesn't want to see the face of her friend as he killed her. With a deep breath Daenerys prepares herself for the pain. The burning hot feeling as the knife goes into her, but nothing happens.

Instead the heavy presence in front of her is replaced by a much lighter one. Feeling a soft hand against her cheek causes Daenerys to open her eyes. Her gaze taking in the most beautiful sight she's ever seen. Her love was standing before her with ash covering her body, but a smile on her face. Daenerys could see the worry in her gaze but she doesn't do anything as Daenerys launches herself into a warm embrace.

Both women holding onto each other as tightly as they could. Knowing that they very nearly lost one another, and Daenerys drops her gaze to the floor. Seeing the still form of Jon Snow laying before her fills her with grief, but she can't help but be happy that she was still breathing. That she was able to be in her loves arms once more.

That her mistake didn't kill her. That everything was righting itself in the world, and that would be able to begin her reign with the woman she loved.

For Fire and Blood may have come to Westeros. Peace and mercy was staying, and the reign of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen was just beginning.

#daenerys stormborn #daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #reign

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impulsive-astrophile · 4 years

Text

Find me defenseless (Chapter 2)

(chapter 1, chapter 3)

Summary: “How did you get Mulder’s phone?” She asks, praying she’s wrong.

“Haven’t you guessed?” Comes the voice. “He’s with me. Say hi, Fox.” A pained grunt is the only response. “Now, now, Fox, what have we said about using our words?”

A muffled “fuck you” comes through the speaker then, followed by a chiding, “manners! Where are your manners?” and the sharp sound of skin on skin.

Scully’s heart races, anger making her feel red-hot. No one touches her Mulder. “Don’t you hurt him, you son of a bitch!”

OR:

Mulder is called to Des Moines, Iowa, without Scully to profile a serial killer targeting young men with military/law enforcement backgrounds - but without Scully there to watch his back, Mulder is kidnapped by the killer. When Scully gets a taunting call from the killer, she flies to Des Moines and raises hell to get him back. Mulder’s hers, and she’ll be damned if anyone stands between her and whoever dares to hurt him.

Words: 1200, Chapters: 3/5, Language: English

Fandom: The X-Files

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: F/M

Relationship: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully

Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, Various minor OCs

Additional Tags: Case fic, Casefile, Hurt Fox Mulder, Fox Mulder Whump, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Dana Scully Angst, Protective Dana Scully, Actual Puppy Fox Mulder, Dana Scully Would Flip Tables For Her Man Okay, Profiler Mulder, No betas we own our mistakes and cry about them like men

Read it on AO3, or below the cut!

Motel 6 Des Moines, Iowa 48 hours earlier

If an outsider were to see the state of Mulder’s motel room, combined with that of the man himself, they’d probably have him committed.

The darkened room, bathed only in the light from the lamp on the desk, is covered floor-to-ceiling in crime scene photos, scattered notes, and case files. Mulder sits hunched over the desk, writing frantically on a scrap of paper as if the words are being forced out of him.

What’s my motivation? Mulder wonders. My targets have all been young men with histories of military service and/or law enforcement experience. Do I have authority issues? Did my father serve in the military and abuse me? He discards the last thought. No, my victims are too young. Maybe I have a sibling in the military that daddy likes more than me, or I served and got passed over for a promotion by some hotshot who thought he was better than me.

Yeah, that could be it.

But all of my victims have all had different hair and eye colors. Been different heights and weights. Served in different branches of the military or worked for different police departments. How am I choosing them? And why am I escalating?

I held my first victim for more than a week - took my time with him, really let myself enjoy it; took weeks to cool off between him and my second victim… but I’ve had 4 new victims in the last 3 weeks. I only held the latest for 48 hours. I started out slow, just like I always do, but I ended up beating him to death. Why?

Mulder looks at the crime scene photos of the latest victim. Richard Miller had been savagely beaten; there wasn’t an inch of his body that wasn’t bruised or broken, and his face had been so caved in they couldn’t get dental records. Identifying him had been nearly impossible.

Okay, so I’m angry. No, not just angry - I’m furious, and it’s only getting worse with each victim. I’m looking for something in them, and whatever it is, I’m not finding it…

Oh.

I’m looking for a surrogate.

He could smack himself, it’s so obvious. It’s been right in front of his face this whole time!

Mulder reaches for the phone for a fresh sheet of paper with fingers he doesn’t notice are shaking. Time to translate this profile into something people can actually use.

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door. “Agent Mulder? It’s officer Brady Hoover.”

Mulder doesn’t recognize the name. He groans; he’s not in a state to see anyone, let alone some rookie he’ll probably scare the shit out of. “Coming,” he calls, taking a brief moment to try to at least straighten out his clothes before opening the door. “What brings you by, officer Hoover?” Mulder asks, trying to go for ‘comforting senior agent’ rather than ‘crazed man with a gun’.

The officer at the door looks young -- definitely a rookie, Mulder thinks to himself -- but makes an admirable attempt not to look shocked at Mulder’s disheveled appearance. “Um, the chief sent me. She thinks we have a line on the killer.”

Mulder perks up, instantly more alert. “I’ll grab my coat. Where is he?”

The kid hesitates as Mulder turns to grab his blazer. “Well, we’re not actually sure --”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” Mulder asks, ushering Hoover back so he can shut the door behind him.

The pair heads out to the patrol car the kid left running in front of the mote, climbing in. “Well, Chief Burns thinks we found his hideout, but he wasn’t there when we got there. She wants you to check it out and see if you can learn anything about him.”

“Perfect,” Mulder says as Hoover pulls the car out of the parking lot. “That should give me everything I need to finish my profile.”

“Already?” The kid looks surprised. “Wow, that was fast! What do you have so far?”

Mulder stares out the window at the passing blur of shadowy hedges on the roadside. “He’s a young white male, somewhere between twenty and thirty, probably of average build and intelligence. He'll have barely finished high school and quickly pursued a career in law enforcement or the military -- possibly both -- instead of higher education, feeling as though he deserves to have power over people.

“He feels as though he’s better than everyone else. People who know him would probably tell you he’s aggressive, arrogant, and easily provoked - liable to throw a punch over the smallest sleight and never forget that you’ve wronged him. They would not be surprised to learn that he’s a killer.

"His choice in victims tells me that he’s angry at some perceived injustice - maybe he got passed over for a promotion or fired because of a man whom his victims remind him of. This man is out of reach for him, though, and he’s trying to find a surrogate in these victims but none of them have been right; that’s why he’s escalating. He’ll continue to kill until either he finds the perfect surrogate -- which is unlikely -- or he’s caught.”

Silence reigns for a few minutes after Mulder finishes his profile. Then, seeming to find his words, the kid says simply, “wow, you seem to know a lot about this guy.”

“I’ve been profiling for a long time,” Mulder says grimly.

The kid nods. Mulder doesn’t notice the way his jaw clenches and his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

It doesn’t take them long to pull up outside of an average-looking one-story house.

Mulder frowns as Hoover parks, looking around. “Where is everybody? Even if it’s been cleared, there should be at least a couple of officers here to secure the scene.”

The kid shrugs. “The chief knew we were coming. She must’ve sent them home.” Hoover gets out of the car, crossing to the other side of the car to open Mulder’s door for him.

“Hmm,” Mulder says to himself, still frowning but getting out of the car nonetheless.

“Why don’t you head on in ahead of me,” the kid suggests from the trunk, where he’s rooting around for something.

Mulder nods, making it about halfway to the door before hearing the scuff of boots behind him and turning, expecting to see the kid jogging to catch up to him. Instead, he’s met with a police-issue flashlight to the temple; he crumples to the ground, motionless.

“That was easy.” Hoover smirks to himself, discarding the flashlight to haul Mulder over his shoulder. “Fuck, you’re heavy,” he grunts.

Hoover carries him into the house, then down the stairs into the basement, where he plops Mulder down on a metal restraint chair. He whistles quietly to himself, strapping Mulder into the chair before retrieving a nearby pair of scissors and cutting through Mulder’s clothes, leaving him in just his boxers. The discarded strips fall to the ground in an uncaring heap.

Hoover sets down the scissors and climbs the stairs, returning with a broom to sweep them up. They’re going to be here for a while; no reason to start with a mess, is there?

(chapter 3, chapter 4)

#fic #xf fic #mine #msr #The X-Files #X-files #casefile #case fic #protective dana scully #actual puppy fox mulder #profiler mulder #dana scully would flip tables for her man okay

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